the oxford handbook of

......................................................................................................................................................

POLITICAL
INSTITUTIONS
......................................................................................................................................................

Edited by
R . A . W. R H O D E S
SARAH A. B INDER
and
BERT A. RO CKMAN

1
t h e ox f o r d ha n d b o o k of

POLITICAL
INSTITUTIONS
 the
oxford
handbooks
of
political
science

General Editor: Robert E. Goodin

The Oxford Handbooks of Political Science is a ten-volume set of reference books
oVering authoritative and engaging critical overviews of all the main branches of
political science.
The series as a whole is under the General Editorship of Robert E. Goodin, with
each volume being edited by a distinguished international group of specialists in their
respective Welds:
POLITICAL THEORY
John S. Dryzek, Bonnie Honig & Anne Phillips
POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS
R. A. W. Rhodes, Sarah A. Binder & Bert A. Rockman
P O L I T I C A L B E H AV I O R
Russell J. Dalton & Hans-Dieter Klingemann
C O M PA R AT I V E P O L I T I C S
Carles Boix & Susan C. Stokes
L AW & P O L I T I C S
Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen & Gregory A. Caldeira
PUBLIC POLICY
Michael Moran, Martin Rein & Robert E. Goodin
POLITICAL ECONOMY
Barry R. Weingast & Donald A. Wittman
I N T E R N AT I O N A L R E L AT I O N S
Christian Reus-Smit & Duncan Snidal
C O N T E X T UA L P O L I T I C A L A N A LY S I S
Robert E. Goodin & Charles Tilly
POLITICAL METHODOLOGY
Janet M. Box-Steffensmeier, Henry E. Brady & David Collier
This series aspires to shape the discipline, not just to report on it. Like the Goodin–
Klingemann New Handbook of Political Science upon which the series builds, each of
these volumes will combine critical commentaries on where the Weld has been
together with positive suggestions as to where it ought to be heading.
 3
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 Co ntents
.........................................

About the Contributors ix

Preface xii

PA R T I I N T R O D U C T I O N

1. Elaborating the ‘‘New Institutionalism’’ 3

James G. March & Johan P. Olsen

PA R T I I A P P R OA C H E S

2. Rational Choice Institutionalism 23

Kenneth A. Shepsle
3. Historical Institutionalism 39
Elizabeth Sanders
4. Constructivist Institutionalism 56
Colin Hay
5. Network Institutionalism 75
Christopher Ansell
6. Old Institutionalisms 90
R. A. W. Rhodes

PA R T I I I I N S T I T U T I O N S

7. The State and State-building 111

Bob Jessop
8. Development of Civil Society 131
Jose Harris
vi contents

9. Economic Institutions 144

Michael Moran
10. Exclusion, Inclusion, and Political Institutions 163
Matthew Holden, jr.
11. Analyzing Constitutions 191
Peter M. Shane
12. Comparative Constitutions 217
Josep M. Colomer
13. American Federalism and Intergovernmental Relations 239
Alberta M. Sbragia
14. Comparative Federalism 261
Brian Galligan
15. Territorial Institutions 281
Jean-Claude Thoenig
16. Executives—The American Presidency 303
William G. Howell
17. Executives in Parliamentary Government 323
R. A. W. Rhodes
18. Comparative Executive–Legislative Relations 344
Matthew Søberg Shugart
19. Public Bureaucracies 366
Donald F. Kettl
20. The Welfare State 385
Jacob S. Hacker
21. The Regulatory State? 407
John Braithwaite
22. Legislative Organization 431
John M. Carey
23. Comparative Legislative Behavior 455
Eric M. Uslaner & Thomas Zittel
24. Bicameralism 474
John Uhr
25. Comparative Local Governance 495
Gerry Stoker
 contents vii

26. Judicial Institutions 514

James L. Gibson
27. The Judicial Process and Public Policy 535
Kevin T. McGuire
28. Political Parties In and Out of Legislatures 555
John H. Aldrich
29. Electoral Systems 577
Shaun Bowler
30. Direct Democracy 595
Ian Budge
31. International Political Institutions 611
Richard Higgott
32. International Security Institutions: Rules, Tools, Schools,
or Fools? 633
John S. Duffield
33. International Economic Institutions 654
Lisa L. Martin
34. International NGOs 673
Ann Florini

PA R T I V O L D A N D N E W

35. Encounters with Modernity 693

Samuel H. Beer
36. About Institutions, Mainly, but not Exclusively, Political 716
Jean Blondel
37. Thinking Institutionally 731
Hugh Heclo
38. Political Institutions—Old and New 743
Klaus von Beyme

Index 759
 A b o u t t h e Co n t r i b u t o r s
..............................................................................................................

John H. Aldrich is PWzer-Pratt University Professor in the Department of Political

Science, Duke University.
Christopher Ansell is Associate Professor, Department of Political Science in the
University of California, Berkeley.
Samuel H. Beer is Eaton Professor of the Science of Government emeritus, Harvard
University.
Sarah A. Binder is a Senior Fellow in Governance Studies at the Brookings
Institution and Professor of Political Science at George Washington University.
Jean Blondel is Professorial Fellow at the European University Institute, Florence,
and Visiting Professor, University of Siena.
Shaun Bowler is Professor and interim Chair in the Department of Political
Science, University of California, Riverside.
John Braithwaite is an Australian Research Council Federation Fellow in RegNet,
the Research School of Social Sciences, Australian National University.
Ian Budge is Professor in the Department of Government, University of Essex.
John M. Carey is Professor in the Department of Government, Dartmouth College.
Josep M. Colomer is Research Professor in Political Science in the Higher Council
of ScientiWc Research, Barcelona.
John S. DuYeld is Professor in the Department of Political Science, Georgia State
University.
Ann Florini is Senior Fellow, Foreign Policy Studies, The Brookings Institution.
Brian Galligan is Professor in the Department of Political Science, University of
Melbourne.
James L. Gibson is Sidney W. Souers Professor of Government at Washington
University in St. Louis.
Jacob S. Hacker is Peter Strauss Family Associate Professor of Political Science at
Yale University.
x list of contributors

Jose Harris is Professor of Modern History, University of Oxford.

Colin Hay is Professor of Political Analysis in the Department of Politics and
International Studies, University of Birmingham.
Hugh Heclo is Clarence J. Robinson Professor of Public AVairs, George Mason
University.
Richard Higgott is Professor of Politics and International Studies at the University
of Warwick.
Matthew Holden, Jr. is Emeritus Professor in the Department of Politics, University
of Virginia.
William G. Howell is an Associate Professor in the Harris School of Public Policy,
University of Chicago.
Bob Jessop is Director of the Institute for Advanced Studies and Professor of
Sociology at Lancaster University.
Donald F. Kettl is Director of the Fels Institute of Government and Stanley I. Sheer
Endowed Chair in the Social Sciences at University of Pennsylvania.
James G. March is Emeritus Professor in the Department of Political Science,
Stanford University.
Lisa L. Martin is Clarence Dillon Professor of International AVairs in the Govern-
ment Department at Harvard University.
Kevin T. McGuire is Associate Professor in the Department of Political Science,
University of North Carolina.
Michael Moran is W. J. M. Mackenzie Professor of Government in the School of
Social Sciences, University of Manchester.
Johan P. Olsen is Professor in the Centre for European Studies, University of Oslo.
R. A. W. Rhodes is Professor of Political Science and Head of Program in the
Research School of Social Sciences, Australian National University.
Bert A. Rockman is Professor of Political Science and Head of the Department at
Purdue University.
Elizabeth Sanders is Professor in the Department of Government, Cornell
University.
Alberta M. Sbragia is Jean Monnet Chair ad personam in the Department of
Political Science and the Director of the Center for West European Studies and of
the European Union Center of Excellence at the University of Pittsburgh.
 list of contributors xi

Peter M. Shane is Joseph S. Platt/Porter Wright Morris and Arthur Professor of Law
at Ohio State University.
Kenneth A. Shepsle is George D. Markham Professor of Government in the Social
Sciences at Harvard University.
Matthew Søberg Shugart is Professor of Political Science and at the Graduate
School of International Relations and PaciWc Studies, University of California,
San Diego.
Gerry Stoker is Professor in the Institute of Political and Economic Governance,
University of Manchester.
Jean-Claude Thoenig is Professor of Sociology at INSEAD, Fontainebleau, and
Directeur de recherche at Dauphine Recherche en Management (DMSP), Univer-
sity of Paris Dauphine.
John Uhr is Reader in Politics in the Asia PaciWc School of Economics and
Government, Australian National University.
Eric M. Uslaner is Professor in the Department of Government and Politics,
University of Maryland.
Klaus von Beyme is Professor InstitutsproWl, zentrale Einrichtungen, University of
Heidelberg.
Thomas Zittel is Project Director, European Political Systems and their Integration,
at the University of Mannheim.
 Preface
...................................

The study of political institutions is central to the identity of the discipline of

political science. When political science emerged as a separate Weld, it emphasized
the study of formal-legal arrangements as its exclusive subject matter (Eckstein
1963, 10–11). For a time, institutions ‘‘receded from the position they held in the
earlier theories of political scientists’’ (March and Olsen 1984, 734). Recent decades
have seen a neoinstitutionalist revival in political science—a return to the roots of
political study. This Handbook begins in that most appropriate of places, an
institutionalist call to arms by March and Olsen themselves.
While the older study of institutions is often caricatured today as having been
largely descriptive and atheoretical, more nuanced accounts of the origins of the
professionalized study of politics recall the profession’s early focus on political
institutions as prescriptive based on comparative, historical, and philosophical
considerations (see especially Chapter 6). The older studies of institutions were
rooted in law and legal institutions, focusing not only on how ‘‘the rules’’ chan-
neled behavior, but also on how and why the rules came into being in the Wrst
place, and, above all, whether or not the rules worked on behalf of the common
good.
As political science foreswore its historical, legal, and philosophical foundations,
it borrowed deeply from economics, sociology, anthropology, and social and (later)
cognitive psychology—the currents of knowledge that formed the bases of the
‘‘behavioral revolution’’ (Dahl 1961). That revolution followed from empirical
observations in organizational and industrial sociology and psychology that
revealed discrepancies between behaviors and organization forms noted in the
1930s (Roethlisberger and Dickson 1939). People frequently did not adhere to the
rules, and informal groups of peers often became more inXuential than the formal
organizational settings these individuals found themselves in. Moreover, the advent
of the technology of mass surveys at mid-century allowed researchers to discover
how remote average citizens were from the normative role of involved rationality
toward and comprehension of the political environment (Campbell et al. 1960).
The institutions of constitutional government seemed to operate at some distance
from the cognitive limits of citizens.
The return of institutions to the mainstream of political studies arose, in part,
from comparative behavioral research suggesting that diVerences in behavior more
 preface xiii

likely Xowed from variations in political organization than in essential variability

between citizenries of diVerent political systems (Converse and Pierce 1986). But
there also was a suspicion that less sophisticated versions of the behavioral revo-
lution had run their course—that ‘‘opinions’’ were free-Xoating and unhinged
from incentives to behave on them and that opinions were being treated as
increasingly endogenous, that is, individuals had either more or less structure to
their beliefs. What were the consequences, if any, of opinion? That question and the
need to understand the nature of continuity and change were fundamental to the
resurgence of institutions as a focus of analysis. Because institutions channeled the
opportunities and incentives for behavior or induced powerful insulation to
change, opinion distributions by themselves told us little.
Political scientists’ return to the study of institutions has been explored and
developed in many venues, most visibly perhaps by James March and Johan Olsen
(1984, 1989, 1995). As has become clear by the numerous essays examining the
institutional and historical turn of political science, no single orientation charac-
terizes the vast scholarship that falls under the heading of neoinstitutionalism
(see, among others, Hall and Taylor 1996; Pierson and Skocpol 2002). And as the
chapters in Part II of this volume attest, the range of theoretical approaches
underlying the contemporary study of institutions is remarkably diverse, let alone
the range of empirical and methodological orientations.
Despite the incredible growth in institutional studies in recent decades, we lack a
singular deWnition of an institution on which students of politics can Wnd wide
agreement. Indeed, if anything, we have witnessed an even greater diversity of ideas
over the period as to what constitutes an institution. This range of ideas is
consequential: it signals that there are also considerable diVerences of view about
why and how we should study institutions, about the impact of institutions, and
indeed about the extent to which institutions may be thought to be endogenous
(independent or autonomous) or inextricably exogenous (woven into traditions,
culture, norms, and preferences).
There is no doubt that institutions are said to do quite a lot. For example, they
may be thought to embed history and political thought and to reXect, therefore, a
set of traditions and practices, whether written or unwritten. Institutions thus can
be interpreted as reXecting habits and norms, more likely to be evolved than to be
created. But institutions also may be seen as architecture and as rules that deter-
mine opportunities and incentives for behavior, inclusion and exclusion of poten-
tial players, and structuring the relative ease or diYculty of inducing change, and
the mechanisms through which change may be facilitated or denied.

Rational-choice institutionalists think of institutions as a system of rules and

incentives. They remind us that this way of seeing institutions has traditions in
law, but also in political engineering. The founders of American political science
were themselves proponents of a science of political engineering to improve the
xiv preface

common good—or at least they so justiWed these eVorts in this way. Of course, the
founders of the political science profession in the USA were themselves greatly
aVected by the temper of their times (the emergence of middle-class Progressivism
as a political force) which emphasized the reform of political institutions as a way of
weeding out both corruption and partisanship from politics—with the aim of
reorganizing politics more in the form of administration. The institutional reform
motif of American political science in the early twentieth century reXected not only
the reform focus of its time but also the idiosyncrasies of its own political culture.
Political institutions were largely seen as endogenous: rules, design, structures. It was
plausible to imagine institutions in this particular way in a society that had devel-
oped a strong legalistic tradition based on written documents and that lacked a past
struggle between aristocracy and commerce or a powerful working class mobiliza-
tion. Thus, there was little history—or so it was perceived—to be embedded into
American governing institutions other than through its colonial experience.
DeWned as rules, design, and structures, institutions are a potential variable in
the political process. In this view, rules that deWne institutions or that alter
thresholds for participation in the institution are likely to be contested to the
immediate political advantage of some set of actors over another. Institutions in
this sense provide arenas for conXict, and eVorts to alter them stimulate conXict
inasmuch as they change the rules of the game in such a way as to alter the
allocation of advantages and disadvantages. From this vantage point rules are
never neutral, but are instead part of a struggle between challengers and holders
of power.
Still, a more prevalent view of institutions as rules—derived from economic
models of cooperation—suggests that institutions may be the product of agree-
ments that are Pareto optimal—that is, one party is made better oV, but no one is
made worse oV. Log rolls, reciprocities, mutual advantages also produce new
institutional arrangements. And there is a reciprocal relationship here; that is,
institutions of certain forms, particularly ones that fragment power and provide
multiple veto points, are likely to induce log rolling, reciprocities, and mutual back
scratching. Such conditions make coherent change or direction and central lead-
ership less likely, all things equal, though hardly impossible.
Inevitably, institutions advantage some in the short term and disadvantage
others, but the long run may be a diVerent story. The same rules and structures
may, over longer stretches of time, provide advantages or disadvantages to diVerent
interests, indeed even reversing which interests are advantaged or disadvantaged.
The so-called Wlibuster rule of the US Senate, ironically the product of an eVort to
create greater institutional eYciencies by deterring tiny minorities from tying up
the Senate indeWnitely, clearly helps concerted and substantial minorities and
frustrates majorities that are less than supermajorities. It had been used by
conservatives to block liberals’ civil rights agendas. Now it is being used by liberals
to forestall the aims of conservatives. In this sense—what goes around comes
 preface xv

around—institutions that strengthen the blocking power of minorities may be

remarkably equitable, though perhaps only when viewed in historical, rather than
immediate, terms.

Historical institutionalists see institutions as continuities. As they point out,

institutions are meant to be preservative. Indeed, the emphasis on path dependence
is another way of saying that the transaction costs of doing things diVerently is
almost always prohibitively high, although dire conditions may reduce the mar-
ginal costs of change. But if institutions are about preservation, politics is about
manipulation and leadership is about overturning constraints. Consequently,
institutions are like dried cement. Cement can be uprooted when it has dried,
but the eVort to do so is substantial. It is easier to alter the substance before it
hardens. Exiting leaders want to harden their preferences through institutions; new
leaders often want to extirpate the past. The consequence is that institutions may
be designed to fail. Given uncertainty about future political control, majorities may
prefer to hedge their bets (Tsebelis 1990) or even prefer to design ineVective
institutions than risk having their creations used against them (Moe 1990).
Institutions, of course, are constituted at many levels. They may be constitu-
tional; they may be procedural; and they may be programmatic—for example,
national health insurance or national pension systems. One should expect pro-
grams that have been durable and thus thought of as being institutionalized to be
more responsive to exogenous shocks than changes at the constitutional level. But
it is not always clear that this logic obtains in a general sense. Durable programs are
partly a reXection of the real Wnancial costs of altering them and the political costs
of changing popular programs. Changing the social security system wholesale by
privatizing it could be done in an authoritarian system under the Pinochet
government in Chile, but it has proven to be much more complicated in demo-
cratic systems. The cumulative weight of past choices—which help to shape actors’
preferences, routines, and expectations—plus the preferences of stable majorities
inhibit large-scale or relatively rapid change.
Clearly, in any conception of institutions, the cost of change whether formal or
non-formal and whether Wnancial or organizational must be part of what an
institution confers. Equally, the political costs of trying to disturb the status quo
are far greater where the struggle involves many actors with diverse preferences
rather than only a few with homogeneous preferences. So, any system that makes
decision-making diYcult tends toward the preservation of existing institutions.
But none of this is absolute.
Sociological institutionalism sees institutions as norms and culture. It points to
an alternative view, which suggests that institutions are almost wholly exogenous,
by which they mean that the history and norms of a polity become embedded into
institutions. We think of institutions in this perspective as exogenous, because it is
hard to consider them as creations of ambitious political actors. Instead,
xvi preface

institutions are viewed as independent entities that over time shape a polity by
inXuencing actors’ preferences, perceptions, and identities. Individuals are
governed, as March and Olsen (1989, 1995) would say, by the ‘‘logic of appropri-
ateness’’—meaning that institutions can be considered as embedding rules and
routines that deWne what constitutes appropriate action. Rather than acting out of
overt rational self-interest, individuals are said to behave according to their sense of
duty and obligation as structured by prevailing rules and routines. However, when
preferences are suYciently homogeneous, it may be in one’s self-interest to
get along rather than be seen as a deviant.
This view of institutions has implications for the character and pace of institu-
tional change. We might say that there is a superstability to institutions because
they are woven into an historical and normative fabric. In other words, there are no
obvious means of altering institutions, short of signiWcant social, cultural, or
political change. The important implication is that institutions evolve in a rather
indeterminate way, resembling if anything geological shifts and drift, rather than
conscious design. This geological view recalls the perspective of institutional
scholars of the early twentieth century, such as Edward Sait, who viewed institu-
tions as ‘‘coral reefs’’ that grew by ‘‘slow accretions’’ (Sait 1938). The historical
approach underlying this view of institutions as norms and culture should thus
come as no surprise.

This brief survey of the multiple conceptions of institutions provides an apt

launching point for this volume on political institutions. It may be that this
book raises more questions than it answers about the origins, evolution, and
impact of institutions on politics and policy alike. Our hunch is that such questions
and controversies will remain central to the agendas of political scientists for some
time to come. Where do institutions come from? How have they evolved and often
hardened over time? How diYcult or easy are the rules governing their change?
What are the consequences of institutions for political behavior and policy out-
comes? Can institutions resist exogenously induced pressures for change including
leaders’ eVorts to overturn the past? These questions are at the heart of the chapters
that follow—questions that we trust will continue to energize research on politics
in the years to come.
Starting with a statement from the founders of the ‘‘new institutionalism,’’ Part
II builds on various attempts (Hall 1996; Lowndes 1996; Peters 1999) to characterize
the diversity of institutional approaches. It surveys several theoretical approaches,
including normative institutionalism, rational choice institutionalism, historical
institutionalism, international institutionalism, constructed institutionalism, and
network institutionalism, as well as older traditions. Part III covers the traditional
concerns of political science with constitutions, federalism, executives, legislatures,
courts, parties, etc. These reXect the broadening concerns of the Weld in recent years
with chapters on international institutions and the institutions of state and civil
 preface xvii

society. Furthermore, these reXect more recent interest in theory and the con-
structed nature of institutions. Finally, Part IV provides four reXections on ‘‘the
state of the art’’ by some of the master practitioners of the Weld.
In his Pensées, Joseph Joubert (1842) advised, ‘‘One of the surest ways of killing a
tree is to lay bare its roots. It is the same with institutions. We must not be too
ready to disinter the origins of those we wish to preserve.’’ We disinter institutions,
not to kill them, but rather to learn from them as repositories of our collective
experience.
For any book on this scale, the editors need help. Rod Rhodes would like to
thank Bob Goodin and Mary Hapel. Sarah Binder would like to thank Alan
Murphy for research assistance. All the editors would like to thank the contributors
for their patience and cooperation when asked to revise their chapters.

References
Campbell, A., Converse, P. E., Miller, W. A., and Stokes, D. 1960. The American Voter.
New York: Wiley.
Converse, P. E. and Pierce, R. 1986. Political Representation in France. Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press.
Dahl, R. A. 1961. The behavioral approach in political science: epitaph for a monument to a
successful protest. American Political Science Review, 55: 763–72.
Eckstein, H. 1963. A perspective on comparative politics: past and present. Pp. 3–32 in
Comparative Politics: A Reader, ed. H. Eckstein and D. E. Apter. Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press.
Hall, P. and Taylor, R. 1996. Political science and the three institutionalisms. Political
Studies, 44: 936–57.
Joubert, J. 1842/1928. Pensées and Letters, trans. H. P. Collins. New York: Brenatno’s.
Lowndes, V. 1996. Varieties of new institutionalism: a critical appraisal. Public Adminis-
tration, 74: 181–97.
March, J. G. and Olsen, J. P. 1984. The new institutionalism: organizational factors in
political life. American Political Science Review, 78: 734–49.
—— —— 1989. Rediscovering Institutions. New York: Free Press.
—— —— 1995. Democratic Governance. New York: Free Press.
Moe , T. 1990. Political institutions: the neglected side of the story. Journal of Law, Eco-
nomics, and Organization, 6: 213–53.
Peters, B. G. 1999. Institutional Theory in Political Science: The ‘‘New Institutionalism.’’
London: Pinter.
Pierson, P. and Skocpol, T. 2002. Historical institutionalism in contemporary political
science. Pp. 693–721 in Political Science: State of the Discipline, ed. H. Milner and
I. Katznelson. New York: Norton.
Roethlisberger, F. J. and Dickson, W. J. 1939. Management and the Worker. Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press.
Sait, E. M. 1938. Political Institutions: A Preface. New York: Appleton-Century.
Tsebelis, G. 1990. Nested Games. Berkeley: University of California Press.
 part i
...................................................................................................................................................

INTRODUCTION
...................................................................................................................................................
 chapter 1
...................................................................................................................................................

E L A B O R AT I N G T H E
‘‘ N EW
I N S T I T U T I O NA L I S M ’’
...................................................................................................................................................

james g. march
johan p. olsen

1 An Institutional Perspective
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

An institution is a relatively enduring collection of rules and organized practices,

embedded in structures of meaning and resources that are relatively invariant in the
face of turnover of individuals and relatively resilient to the idiosyncratic preferences
and expectations of individuals and changing external circumstances (March and
Olsen 1989, 1995). There are constitutive rules and practices prescribing appropriate
behavior for speciWc actors in speciWc situations. There are structures of meaning,
embedded in identities and belongings: common purposes and accounts that give
direction and meaning to behavior, and explain, justify, and legitimate behavioral
codes. There are structures of resources that create capabilities for acting. Institu-
tions empower and constrain actors diVerently and make them more or less capable
of acting according to prescriptive rules of appropriateness. Institutions are also
reinforced by third parties in enforcing rules and sanctioning non-compliance.*

* We thank Robert E. Goodin for constructive comments.

4 james g. march & johan p. olsen

While the concept of institution is central to much political analysis, there is

wide diversity within and across disciplines in what kinds of rules and relations are
construed as ‘‘institutions’’ (Goodin 1996, 20). Moreover, approaches to political
institutions diVer when it comes to how they understand (a) the nature of
institutions, as the organized setting within which modern political actors most
typically act; (b) the processes that translate structures and rules into political
impacts; and (c) the processes that translate human behavior into structures and
rules and establish, sustain, transform, or eliminate institutions.
Institutionalism, as that term is used here, connotes a general approach to the
study of political institutions, a set of theoretical ideas and hypotheses concerning
the relations between institutional characteristics and political agency, perform-
ance, and change. Institutionalism emphasizes the endogenous nature and social
construction of political institutions. Institutions are not simply equilibrium
contracts among self-seeking, calculating individual actors or arenas for contend-
ing social forces. They are collections of structures, rules, and standard operating
procedures that have a partly autonomous role in political life.
Institutionalism comes in many Xavors, but they are all perspectives for under-
standing and improving political systems. They supplement and compete with two
other broad interpretations of politics. The Wrst alternative is a rational actor
perspective which sees political life as organized by exchange among calculating,
self-interested actors. The second alternative is a cultural community perspective
which sees political life as organized by shared values and world-views in a
community of common culture, experience, and vision. The three perspectives—
institutional, rational actors, and cultural community—are not exclusive. Most
political systems can be interpreted as functioning through a mix of organizing
principles. Nor are the perspectives always easy to distinguish. True believers in any
one of the three can reduce each of the other two to the status of a ‘‘special case’’ of
their preferred alternative. Pragmatically, however, the three perspectives are diVer-
ent. They focus attention on diVerent aspects of political life, on diVerent explana-
tory factors, and on diVerent strategies for improving political systems.
The key distinctions are the extent to which a perspective views the rules and
identities deWned within political institutions as epiphenomena that mirror envir-
onmental circumstances or predetermined individual preferences and initial
resources; and the extent to which a perspective pictures rules and identities
as reproduced with some reliability that is, at least in part, independent of
environmental stability or change.
Within an institutional perspective, a core assumption is that institutions create
elements of order and predictability. They fashion, enable, and constrain political
actors as they act within a logic of appropriate action. Institutions are carriers of
identities and roles and they are markers of a polity’s character, history, and visions.
They provide bonds that tie citizens together in spite of the many things that divide
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 5

them. They also impact institutional change, and create elements of ‘‘historical
ineYciency’’.
Another core assumption is that the translation of structures into political action
and action into institutional continuity and change, are generated by comprehen-
sible and routine processes. These processes produce recurring modes of action and
organizational patterns. A challenge for students of institutions is to explain how
such processes are stabilized or destabilized, and which factors sustain or interrupt
ongoing processes.
To sketch an institutional approach, this chapter elaborates ideas presented over
twenty years ago in ‘‘The New Institutionalism: Organizational Factors in Political
Life’’ (March and Olsen 1984). The intent of the article was to suggest some theoretical
ideas that might shed light on particular aspects of the role of institutions in
political life. The aspiration was not to present a full-blown theory of political
institutions, and no such theory is currently available. The ideas have been chal-
lenged and elaborated over the last twenty years,1 and we continue the elaboration,
without making an eVort to replace more comprehensive reviews of the diVerent
institutionalisms, their comparative advantages, and the controversies in the Weld.2

2 Theorizing Political Institutions

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The status of institutionalism in political science has changed dramatically over the
last Wfty years—from an invective to the claim that ‘‘we are all institutionalists
now’’ (Pierson and Skocpol 2002, 706). The behavioral revolution represented an
attack upon a tradition where government and politics were primarily understood
in formal-legal institutional terms. The focus on formal government institutions,
constitutional issues, and public law was seen as ‘‘unpalatably formalistic and old-
fashioned’’ (Drewry 1996, 191), and a standard complaint was that this approach
was ‘‘relatively insensitive to the nonpolitical determinants of political behavior
and hence to the nonpolitical bases of governmental institutions’’ (Macridis
1963, 47). The aspiration was to penetrate the formal surface of governmental

1 March and Olsen 1984, 1986, 1989, 1995, 1998, 2006. Some have categorized this approach as
‘‘normative’’ institutionalism (Lowndes 1996, 2002; Peters 1999; Thoenig 2003). ‘‘Normative’’ then
refers to a concern with norms and values as explanatory variables, and not to normative theory in the
sense of promoting particular norms (Lowndes 2002, 95).
2 Goodin 1996; Peters 1996, 1999; Rothstein 1996; Thelen 1999; Pierson and Skocpol 2002; Weingast
2002; Thoenig 2003.
6 james g. march & johan p. olsen

institutions and describe and explain how politics ‘‘really works’’ (Eulau and March
1969, 16).
Theorizing political institutions, Polsby, for example, made a distinction
between seeing a legislature as an ‘‘arena’’ and as ‘‘transformative.’’ The distinction
reXected variation in the signiWcance of the legislature; its independence from
outside inXuence and its capacity to mould and transform proposals from
whatever source into decisions. In an arena-legislature, external forces were
decisive; and one did not need to know anything about the internal characteristics
of the legislature in order to account for processes and outcomes. In a transforma-
tive-legislature, internal structural factors were decisive. Polsby also suggested
factors that made it more or less likely that a legislature would end up as an
arena, or as a transformative institution (Polsby 1975, 281, 291–2).
More generally, students of politics have observed a great diversity of organized
settings, collectivities, and social relationships within which political actors have
operated. In modern society the polity is a conWguration of many formally
organized institutions that deWne the context within which politics and governance
take place. Those conWgurations vary substantially; and although there are dissent-
ers from the proposition, most political scientists probably would grant that the
variation in institutions accounts for at least some of the observed variation in
political processes and outcomes. For several centuries, the most important setting
has been the territorial state; and political science has attended to concrete political
institutions, such as the legislature, executive, bureaucracy, judiciary, and the
electoral system.
Our 1984 article invited a reappraisal of how political institutions could be
conceptualized, to what degree they have independent and endurable implications,
the kinds of political phenomena they impact, and how institutions emerge, are
maintained, and change:
First, we argued for the relative autonomy and independent eVects of political institutions
and for the importance of their organizational properties. We argued against understanding
politics solely as reXections of society (contextualism) or as the macro aggregate
consequences of individual actors (reductionism).
Second, we claimed that politics was organized around the interpretation of life and the
development of meaning, purpose, and direction, and not only around policy-making and
the allocation of resources (instrumentalism).
Third, we took an interest in the ways in which institutionalized rules, norms, and standard
operating procedures impacted political behavior, and argued against seeing political action
solely as the result of calculation and self-interested behavior (utilitarianism).
Fourth, we held that history is ‘‘ineYcient’’ and criticized standard equilibrium models
assuming that institutions reach a unique form conditional on current circumstances and
thus independent of their historical path (functionalism).

In this view, a political order is created by a collection of institutions that Wt more

or less into a coherent system. The size of the sector of institutionalized activity
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 7

changes over time and institutions are structured according to diVerent principles
(Berger and Luckmann 1967; Eisenstadt 1965). The varying scopes and modes of
institutionalization aVect what collectivities are motivated to do and what they are
able to do. Political actors organize themselves and act in accordance with rules and
practices which are socially constructed, publicly known, anticipated, and accepted.
By virtue of these rules and practices, political institutions deWne basic rights and
duties, shape or regulate how advantages, burdens, and life-chances are allocated in
society, and create authority to settle issues and resolve conXicts.
Institutions give order to social relations, reduce Xexibility and variability in
behavior, and restrict the possibilities of a one-sided pursuit of self-interest or
drives (Weber 1978, 40–3). The basic logic of action is rule following—prescriptions
based on a logic of appropriateness and a sense of rights and obligations derived
from an identity and membership in a political community and the ethos,
practices, and expectations of its institutions.3 Rules are followed because they
are seen as natural, rightful, expected, and legitimate. Members of an institution
are expected to obey, and be the guardians of, its constitutive principles and
standards (March and Olsen 1989, 2006).
Institutions are not static; and institutionalization is not an inevitable process;
nor is it unidirectional, monotonic, or irreversible (Weaver and Rockman 1993).
In general, however, because institutions are defended by insiders and validated by
outsiders, and because their histories are encoded into rules and routines, their
internal structures and rules cannot be changed arbitrarily (March and Olsen 1989;
OVe 2001). The changes that occur are more likely to reXect local adaptation to
local experience and thus be both relatively myopic and meandering, rather than
optimizing, as well as ‘‘ineYcient,’’ in the sense of not reaching a uniquely optimal
arrangement (March 1981). Even when history is relatively ‘‘eYcient,’’ the rate of
adaptation is likely to be inconsistent with the rate of change in the environment to
which the institution is adapting.

3 Institutional Impacts on Political

Actors and Outcomes
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Although it is argued that much of the ‘‘established wisdom’’ about the eVects of
political institutions is very fragile (Rothstein 1996, 155), scholars who deal with

3 ‘‘Appropriateness’’ refers to a speciWc culture. There is no assumption about normative super-

iority. A logic of appropriateness may produce truth telling, fairness, honesty, trust, and generosity,
but also blood feuds, vendettas, and ethnic conXicts in diVerent cultures (March and Olsen 2006).
8 james g. march & johan p. olsen

political institutions are generally less concerned with whether institutions matter,
than to what extent, in what respects, through what processes, under what condi-
tions, and why institutions make a diVerence (Weaver and Rockman 1993; Egeberg
2003, 2004; Orren and Skowronek 2004). In this tradition, institutions are
imagined to organize the polity and to have an ordering eVect on how authority
and power is constituted, exercised, legitimated, controlled, and redistributed.
They aVect how political actors are enabled or constrained and the governing
capacities of a political system. Institutions simplify political life by ensuring that
some things are taken as given. Institutions provide codes of appropriate behavior,
aVective ties, and a belief in a legitimate order. Rules and practices specify what is
normal, what must be expected, what can be relied upon, and what makes sense in
the community; that is, what a normal, reasonable, and responsible (yet fallible)
citizen, elected representative, administrator, or judge, can be expected to do in
various situations.
It is commonplace to observe that the causal relation between institutional
arrangements and substantive policy is complex. Usually, causal chains are indirect,
long, and contingent (Weaver and Rockman 1993), so that political institutions can
be expected to constrain and enable outcomes without being the immediate and
direct cause of public policy. The same arrangement can have quite diVerent
consequences under diVerent conditions. The disentanglement of institutional
eVects is particularly diYcult in multilevel and multicentered institutional
settings, characterized by interactions among multiple autonomous processes
(Orren and Skowronek 2004; March and Olsen 2006).
One cluster of speculations about the eVects of institutions focuses on rules and
routines. The basic building blocks of institutions are rules, and rules are connected
and sustained through identities, through senses of membership in groups and
recognition of roles. Rules and repertoires of practices embody historical experi-
ence and stabilize norms, expectations, and resources; they provide explanations
and justiWcations for rules and standard ways of doing things (March and Olsen
1989, 1995). Subject to available resources and capabilities, rules regulate organiza-
tional action. That regulation, however, is shaped by constructive interpretations
embedded in a history of language, experience, memory, and trust (Dworkin 1986;
March and Olsen 1989). The openness in interpretation means that while institu-
tions structure politics and governance and create a certain ‘‘bias’’ (Schattschneider
1960), they ordinarily do not determine political behavior or outcomes in detail.
Individuals may, and may not, know what rules there are and what they prescribe
for speciWc actors in speciWc situations. There may be competing rules
and competing interpretations of rules and situations. Indeed, the legitimacy of
democratic political institutions is partly based on the expectation that they will
provide open-ended processes without deterministic outcomes (Pitkin 1967).
A central theme of organization theory is that identiWcation and habituation are
fundamental mechanisms in shaping behavior. In institutionalized worlds actors
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 9

are socialized into culturally deWned purposes to be sought, as well as modes of

appropriate procedures for pursuing the purposes (Merton 1938, 676). Members of
an organization tend to become imbued not only with their identities as belonging
to the organization but also with the various identities associated with diVerent
roles in the organization. Because they deWne themselves in terms of those iden-
tities, they act to fulWll them rather than by calculating expected consequences
(Simon 1965, 115, 136).
Observing that political actors sometimes deviate from what rules prescribe,
institutional scholars have distinguished between an institutional rule and its
behavioral realization in a particular instance (Apter 1991). They have sought an
improved understanding of the types of humans selected and formed by diVerent
types of institutions and processes, how and why diVerent institutions achieve
normative reliability (Kratochwil 1984), and under what institutional conditions
political actors are likely to be motivated and capable of complying with codes of
appropriate behavior. The coexistence of the logic of appropriateness and the logic
of consequences, for example, also raises questions about how the two interact,
which factors determine the salience of diVerent logics, and the institutional
conditions under which each logic is likely to dominate.4
With whom one identiWes is aVected by factors such as how activities are
subdivided in an organization, which positions individuals have and their respon-
sibilities. It makes a diVerence how interaction, attention, experience, and memory
are organized, the degree to which goals are shared, and the number of individual
needs satisWed by the organization. IdentiWcation is also aVected by tenure and
turnover, the ratio of veterans to newcomers, opportunities for promotion and
average time between promotions, job oVers from outside, external belongings,
and the prestige of diVerent groups (March and Simon 1958; Lægreid and Olsen
1984).
Strong identiWcation with a speciWc organization, institution, or role can
threaten the coherence of the larger system. It has, in particular, been asked to
what degree political order is achievable in multicultural societies where it is
normatively problematic and probably impossible to create common identities
through the traditional nation-building techniques (Weber 1977). For example, in
the European Union, national identities are dominant. Identities are, nevertheless,
increasingly inXuenced by issues and networks that cross national boundaries
and there is no single center with control over education, socialization, and
indoctrination (Herrmann, Risse, and Brewer 2004; Checkel 2005). The vision of
‘‘constitutional patriotism’’ reXects a belief in the forming capacity of shared
institutions and that political participation will fashion a post-national civic

4 March and Olsen 1998, 2006; Fehr and Gächter 1998; Isaac, Mathieu, and Zajac 1991; Olsen 2001,
2005.
10 james g. march & johan p. olsen

European identity (Habermas 1994). Still, it is diYcult to balance the development

of common political institutions and the protection of cultural diversity. It is
argued that the EU will face deadlock if governance aims at cultural homogeneity
and that the EU needs institutions that protect cultural diversity as a foundation
for political unity and collective identity, without excluding the possibility of
transforming current identities (Kraus 2004).
Over the last few years, students of political institutions have learned more
about the potential and the limitations of institutional impacts on policy and
political actors. More is known about the processes through which individuals
are transformed into oYce holders and rule followers with an ethos of self-
discipline, impartiality, and integrity; into self-interested, utility maximizing
actors; or into cooperating actors oriented towards the policy networks they
participate in. More is also known about the processes through which senses of
civic identities and roles are learned, lost, and redeWned (March and Olsen 1995;
Olsen 2005). Still, accomplishments are dwarfed by the number of unanswered
questions about the processes that translate structures and rules into political
impacts and the factors that impinge upon them under diVerent conditions.
This is also true for how institutional order impacts the dynamics of institutional
change.
These interests in describing the eVects of institutions are supplemented by
interests in designing them, particularly in designing them for democratic political
systems. The more diYcult it is to specify or follow stable rules, the more democ-
racies must rely on institutions that encourage collective interpretation through
social processes of interaction, deliberation, and reasoning. Political debates and
struggles then connect institutional principles and practices and relate them to the
larger issues, how society can and ought to be organized and governed. Doing
so, they fashion and refashion collective identities and deWning features of the
polity—its long-term normative commitments and causal beliefs, its concepts
of the common good, justice, and reason, and its organizing principles and
power relations.
Legitimacy depends not only on showing that actions accomplish appropriate
objectives, but also that actors behave in accordance with legitimate procedures
ingrained in a culture (Meyer and Rowan 1977; March and Olsen 1986). There is,
furthermore, no perfect positive correlation between political eVectiveness and
normative validity. The legitimacy of structures, processes, and substantive
eYciency do not necessarily coincide. There are illegitimate but technically eYcient
means, as well as legitimate but ineYcient means (Merton 1938). In this perspec-
tive, institutions and forms of government are assessed partly according to their
ability to foster the virtue and intelligence of the community. That is, how they
impact citizens’ identities, character, and preferences—the kind of person they are
and want to be (Mill 1962, 30–5; Rawls 1993, 269).
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 11

4 Institutional Order and Change

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The dynamics of institutional change include elements of design, competitive

selection, and the accidents of external shocks (Goodin 1996, 24–5). Rules, routines,
norms, and identities are both instruments of stability and arenas of change.
Change is a constant feature of institutions and existing arrangements impact
how institutions emerge and how they are reproduced and changed. Institutional
arrangements can prescribe and proscribe, speed up and delay change; and a key to
understanding the dynamics of change is a clariWcation of the role of institutions
within standard processes of change.
Most contemporary theories assume that the mix of rules, routines, norms, and
identities that describe institutions change over time in response to historical
experience. The changes are neither instantaneous nor reliably desirable in the
sense of moving the system closer to some optimum. As a result, assumptions of
historical eYciency cannot be sustained (March and Olsen 1989; March 1994). By
‘‘historical eYciency’’ we mean the idea that institutions become in some sense
‘‘better’’ adapted to their environments and quickly achieve a uniquely optimum
solution to the problem of surviving and thriving. The matching of institutions,
behaviors, and contexts takes time and has multiple, path-dependent equilibria.
Adaptation is less automatic, less continuous, and less precise than assumed by
standard equilibrium models and it does not necessarily improve eYciency and
survival.
The processes of change that have been considered in the literature are primarily
processes of single-actor design (in which single individual actors or collectivities
that act as single actors specify designs in an eVort to achieve some fairly well-
speciWed objectives), conXict design (in which multiple actors pursue conXicting
objectives and create designs that reXect the outcomes of political trading and
power), learning (in which actors adapt designs as a result of feedback from
experience or by borrowing from others), or competitive selection (in which
unvarying rules and the other elements of institutions compete for survival and
reproduction so that the mix of rules changes over time).
Each of these is better understood theoretically than it is empirically. Institutions
have shown considerable robustness even when facing radical social, economic,
technical, and cultural change. It has often been assumed that the environment has
a limited ability to select and eliminate political institutions and it has, for example,
been asked whether governmental institutions are immortal (Kaufman 1976). In
democracies political debate and competition has been assigned importance as
sources of change. Yet, institutions seem sometimes to encourage and sometimes to
obstruct reXection, criticism, and opposition. Even party structures in competitive
systems can become ‘‘frozen’’ (Lipset and Rokkan 1967).
12 james g. march & johan p. olsen

The ideal that citizens and their representatives should be able to design political
institutions at will, making governing through organizing and reorganizing insti-
tutions an important aspect of political agency, has been prominent in both
democratic ideology and the literature. Nevertheless, historically the role of
deliberate design, and the conditions under which political actors can get beyond
existing structures, have been questioned (Hamilton, Jay, and Madison 1787 [1964,
1]; Mill 1861 [1962, 1]). In spite of accounts of the role of heroic founders and
constitutional moments, modern democracies also seem to have limited capacity
for institutional design and reform and in particular for achieving intended eVects
of reorganizations (March and Olsen 1983; Goodin 1996; OVe 2001). Constitutions
limit the legitimacy of design. The need for major intervention may be modest
because routine processes of learning and adaptation work fairly well and the
capability may be constrained by inadequate causal understanding, authority,
and power (Olsen 1997).
The standard model of punctuated equilibrium assumes discontinuous change.
Long periods of institutional continuity, where institutions are reproduced, are
assumed to be interrupted only at critical junctures of radical change, where
political agency (re)fashions institutional structures. In this view, institutions are
the legacy of path dependencies, including political compromises and victories.5
Massive failure is an important condition for change.
The assumption, that institutional structures persist unless there are external
shocks, underestimates both intra- and interinstitutional dynamics and sources
of change. Usually, there is an internal aspiration level pressure for change caused
by enduring gaps between institutional ideals and institutional practices (Bro-
derick 1970). Change can also be rule-governed, institutionalized in speciWc units
or sub-units, or be generated by the routine interpretation and implementation
of rules. Typically, an institution can be threatened by realities that are mean-
ingless in terms of the normative and causal beliefs on which it is founded, and
eVorts to reduce inconsistency and generate a coherent interpretation are a
possible source of change (Berger and Luckmann 1967, 103). As people gradually
get or lose faith in institutional arrangements, there are routine switches
between institutional repertoires of standard operating procedures and struc-
tures. Reallocation of resources also impacts the capability to follow and enforce
diVerent rules and therefore the relative signiWcance of alternative structures
(March and Olsen 1995).
Thus, a focus on ‘‘critical junctures’’ may underestimate how incremental steps
can produce transformative results (Streeck and Thelen 2005). For example, in the
post-Second World War period most Western democracies moved stepwise towards
an intervening welfare state and a larger public sector. The Scandinavian countries,

5 Krasner 1988; Thelen 1999; Pierson and Skocpol 2002; Orren and Skowronek 2004; Pierson 2004.
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 13

in particular, saw a ‘‘revolution in slow motion’’ (Olsen, Roness, and Sætren 1982).
Since the end of the 1970s most Western democracies have moved incrementally in
a neoliberal direction, emphasizing voluntary exchange, competitive markets, and
private contracts rather than political authority and democratic politics. Suleiman,
for example, argues that the reforms add up to a dismantling of the state. There has
been a tendency to eliminate political belongings and ties and turn citizens into
customers. To be a citizen requires a commitment and a responsibility beyond the
self. To be a customer requires no such commitment and a responsibility only to
oneself (Suleiman 2003, 52, 56).
Institutions face what is celebrated in theories of adaptation as the problem
of balancing exploitation and exploration. Exploitation involves using existing
knowledge, rules, and routines that are seen as encoding the lessons of history.
Exploration involves exploring knowledge, rules, and routines that might come
to be known (March 1991). Rules and routines are the carriers of accumulated
knowledge and generally reXect a broader and a longer experience than
the experience that informs any individual actor. By virtue of their long-term
adaptive character, they yield outcome distributions that are characterized
by relatively high means. By virtue of their short-term stability and their
shaping of individual actions, they give those distributions relatively high reliability
(low variability). In general, following the rules provides a higher average return
and a lower variance on returns than does a random draw from a set of deviant
actions proposed by individuals. The adaptive character of rules (and thus of
institutions) is, however, threatened by their stability and reliability. Although
violation of the rules is unlikely to be a good idea, it sometimes is; and without
experimentation with that possibility, the eVectiveness of the set of rules decays
with time.
It is obvious that any system that engages only in exploitation will become
obsolescent in a changing world, and that any system that engages only in explor-
ation will never realize the potential gains of its discoveries. What is less obvious,
indeed is ordinarily indeterminate, is the optimal balance between the two. The
indeterminacy stems from the way in which the balance depends on trade-oVs
across time and space that are notoriously diYcult to establish. Adaptation itself
tends to be biased against exploration. Since the returns to exploitation are
typically more certain, sooner, and more in the immediate neighborhood than
are the returns to exploration, adaptive systems often extinguish exploratory
options before accumulating suYcient experience with them to assess their
value. As a result, one of the primary concerns in studies of institutional change
is with the sources of exploration. How is the experimentation necessary
to maintain eVectiveness sustained in a system infused with the stability and
reliability characteristic of exploitation (March 1991)?
Most theories of institutional change or adaptation, however, seem to be
exquisitely simple relative to the reality of institutions that is observed. While the
14 james g. march & johan p. olsen

concept of institution assumes some internal coherence and consistency, conXict is

also endemic in institutions. It cannot be assumed that conXict is solved
through the terms of some prior agreement (constitution, coalition agreement,
or employment contract) and that all participants agree to be bound by institu-
tional rules. There are tensions, ‘‘institutional irritants,’’ and antisystems, and the
basic assumptions on which an institution is constituted are never fully accepted by
the entire society (Eisenstadt 1965, 41; Goodin 1996, 39). There are also competing
institutional and group belongings. For instance, diplomacy as an institution
involves an inherent tension between being the carrier of the interests and policies
of a speciWc state and the carrier of transnational principles, norms, and rules
maintained and enacted by the representatives of the states in mutual interaction
(Bátora 2005).
Institutions, furthermore, operate in an environment populated by other insti-
tutions organized according to diVerent principles and logics. No contemporary
democracy subscribes to a single set of principles, doctrines, and structures. While
the concept ‘‘political system’’ suggests an integrated and coherent institutional
conWguration, political orders are never perfectly integrated. They routinely face
institutional imbalances and collisions (Pierson and Skocpol 2002; Olsen
2004; Orren and Skowronek 2004) and ‘‘politics is eternally concerned with the
achievement of unity from diversity’’ (Wheeler 1975, 4). Therefore, we have to go
beyond a focus on how a speciWc institution aVects change and attend to how the
dynamics of change can be understood in terms of the organization, interaction,
and collisions among competing institutional structures, norms, rules, identities,
and practices.
Within a common set of generalized values and beliefs in society, modernity
involved a large-scale institutional diVerentiation between institutional spheres
with diVerent organizational structures, normative and causal beliefs, vocabularies,
resources, histories, and dynamics. Institutional interrelations varied and changed.
Institutions came to be specialized, diVerentiated, autonomous, and autopoietic—
self-referential and self-produced with closure against inXuence from the environ-
ment (Teubner 1993). There are strains and tensions and at transformative points in
history institutions can come in direct confrontation. In diVerent time periods the
economy, politics, organized religion, science, etc. can all lead or be led and one
cannot be completely reduced either to another or to some transcendent spirit
(Gerth and Mills 1970, 328–57; Weber 1978).
A distinction, then, has to be made between change within fairly stable institu-
tional and normative frameworks and change in the frameworks themselves. For
example, there are routine tensions because modern society involves several criteria
of truth and truth-Wnding. It makes a diVerence whether an issue is deWned as a
technical, economic, legal, moral, or political question and there are clashes
between, for instance, legal and scientiWc conceptions of reality, their starting
assumptions, and methods of truth-Wnding and interpretation (Nelken 1993, 151).
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 15

Likewise, there are tensions between what is accepted as ‘‘rational,’’ ‘‘just,’’ and
a ‘‘good argument’’ across institutional contexts. DiVerent institutions are, for
instance, based on diVerent conceptions of both procedural fairness and outcome
fairness and through their practices they generate diVerent expectations about how
interaction will be organized and diVerent actors will be treated (Isaac, Mathieu,
and Zajac 1991, 336, 339).
There are also situations where an institution has its raison d’être, mission,
wisdom, integrity, organization, performance, moral foundation, justice, prestige,
and resources questioned and it is asked whether the institution contributes to
society what it is supposed to contribute. There are radical intrusions and attempts
to achieve ideological hegemony and control over other institutional spheres, as
well as stern defenses of institutional mandates and traditions against invasion of
alien norms. An institution under serious attack is likely to reexamine its ethos,
codes of behavior, primary allegiances, and pact with society (Merton 1942). There
is rethinking, reorganization, reWnancing, and possibly a new ‘‘constitutional’’
settlement, rebalancing core institutions. Typically, taken-for-granted beliefs and
arrangements are challenged by new or increased contact between previously
separated polities or institutional spheres based on diVerent principles (Berger
and Luckmann 1967, 107–8).
Contemporary systems cope with diversity in a variety of ways. Inconsistencies
are buVered by institutional specialization, separation, autonomy, sequential at-
tention, local rationality, and conXict avoidance (Cyert and March 1963). Incon-
sistencies are also debated in public and a well-functioning public sphere is seen as
a prerequisite for coping with diversity (Habermas 1994). Modern citizens have lost
some of the naive respect and emotional aVection for traditional authorities and
the legitimacy of competing principles and structures have to be based on com-
municative rationality and claims of validity. Their relative merits have to be tested
and justiWed through collective reasoning, making them vulnerable to arguments,
including demands for exceptions and exemptions that can restrict their scope
(Kratochwil 1984, 701).
In general, the Enlightenment-inspired belief in institutional design in the name
of progress is tempered by limited human capacity for understanding and control.
The institutional frames within which political actors act impact their motivations
and their capabilities, and reformers are often institutional gardeners more than
institutional engineers (March and Olsen 1983, 1989; Olsen 2000). They can
reinterpret rules and codes of behavior, impact causal and normative beliefs, foster
civic and democratic identities and engagement, develop organized capabilities,
and improve adaptability (March and Olsen 1995). Yet, they cannot do so arbitrar-
ily and there is modest knowledge about the conditions under which they are likely
to produce institutional changes that generate intended and desired substantive
eVects.
16 james g. march & johan p. olsen

5 The Frontier of Institutionalism

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

As the enthusiasm for ‘‘new institutional’’ approaches has Xourished over the last
twenty years, so also has the skepticism. It has been asked whether institutional
accounts really present anything new; whether their empirical and theoretical
claims can be sustained; whether their explanations are falsiWable; and whether
institutional accounts can be diVerentiated from other accounts of politics (Jordan
1990; Peters 1999).
It has, however, turned out to be diYcult to understand legislatures (Gamm and
Huber 2002), public administration (Olsen 2005), courts of law (Clayton and
Gillman 1999), and diplomacy (Bátora 2005) without taking into account their
institutional characteristics. It has also been argued that the study of institutions in
political science has been taken forward (Lowndes 2002, 97); that ‘‘there is a future
for the institutional approach’’ (Rhodes 1995); and even that the variety of new
institutionalisms have ‘‘great power to provide an integrative framework’’ and
may represent the ‘‘next revolution’’ in political science (Goodin and Klingeman
1996, 25).
The ‘‘new institutionalism’’ tries to avoid unfeasible assumptions that require
too much of political actors, in terms of normative commitments (virtue), cogni-
tive abilities (bounded rationality), and social control (capabilities). The rules,
routines, norms, and identities of an ‘‘institution,’’ rather than micro-rational
individuals or macro-social forces, are the basic units of analysis. Yet the spirit is
to supplement rather than reject alternative approaches (March and Olsen 1998,
2006; Olsen 2001). Much remains, however, before the diVerent conceptions of
political institutions, action, and change can be reconciled meaningfully.
The fact that political practice in contemporary political systems now seems
to precede understanding and justiWcation may, however, permit new insights.
Political science is to a large extent based upon the study of the sovereign, territorial
state, and the Westphalian state-system. Yet the hierarchical role of the political
center within each state and the ‘‘anarchic’’ relations between states are undergoing
major transformations, for example in the European Union. An implication is that
there is a need for new ways of describing how authority, rights, obligations,
interaction, attention, experience, memory, and resources are organized, beyond
hierarchies and markets (Brunsson and Olsen 1998). Network institutionalism is
one candidate for understanding both intra- and interinstitutional relations
(Lowndes 2002).
There is also a need to go beyond rational design and environmental dictates as
the dominant logics of institutional change (Brunsson and Olsen 1998). There is a
need for improved understanding of the processes that translate political action
into institutional change, how an existing institutional order impacts the dynamics
of change, and what other factors can be decisive. The list of questions is long,
 elaborating the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ 17

indeed (Thelen 1999; Orren and Skowronek 2004; Streeck and Thelen 2005). Which
institutional characteristics favor change and which make institutions resistant to
change? Which factors are likely to disrupt established patterns and processes of
institutional maintenance and regeneration? What are the interrelations between
change in some (parts of) institutions and continuity in others, and between
incremental adaptation and periods of radical change? Under what conditions
does incremental change give a consistent and discernable direction to change
and how are the outcomes of critical junctures translated into lasting legacies?
Which (parts of) political institutions are understood and controlled well enough
to be designed and also to achieve anticipated and desired eVects?

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 part ii
...................................................................................................................................................

A P P R OA C H E S
...................................................................................................................................................
 chapter 2
...................................................................................................................................................

R AT I O NA L C H O I C E
I N S T I T U T I O NA L I S M
...................................................................................................................................................

kenneth a. shepsle

‘‘An irrational passion for dispassionate rationality will take all the joy out of life,’’
wrote the economist John Maurice Clark a century ago. Canonical rational choice
theory has been a staple in political science for four decades. While it may have
taken the joy out of life for many traditionalists in the Weld and a behavioralist or
two, it has become an engine of social scientiWc research, producing theoretical
microfoundations, an equilibrium orientation, deductively derived theorems and
propositions about political activity, a comparative statics methodology yielding
testable hypotheses, and an accumulation of tools and approaches that are rou-
tinely found in the curriculum of major graduate programs. We think more
sophisticatedly today about optimizing political actors, the organizations of
which they are a part, and most recently the role of information in retrospective
assessment, systematic foresight, and strategic calculation more generally—that is,
we think more sophisticatedly about political purposes, beliefs, opinions, and
behavior. We also have more nuanced views about the contexts in which political
activity unfolds, the way these contexts channel behavior, and the way behavior, in
turn, maintains or alters contexts. These contexts are inhabited by political actors
and organizations to be sure, but it is the institutions that arise and persist there

* This chapter beneWted from the constructive comments of volume editors Sarah Binder, Rod
Rhodes, and Bert Rockman, and series editor, Bob Goodin.
24 kenneth a. shepsle

that provide scripts for political processes. These institutional arrangements and
the patterns and regularities they produce are the subject of the present chapter.
This chapter is loosely organized into several themes. The Wrst deals with
deWning the terrain, in particular reviewing the several theoretical ways in which
institutions are interpreted by rational choice theorists. The second theme surveys
the progress we have made in understanding what I call structured and unstruc-
tured institutions. The third theme looks brieXy at the limitations of rational
choice institutionalism, and at the ways in which some of the bright lines that
formerly distinguished this Xavor of institutionalism from the many others
(see Hall and Taylor 1996) are becoming less discernible.1

1 Interpretations of Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Within the rational choice tradition there are two now-standard ways to think
about institutions.2 The Wrst takes institutions as exogenous constraints, or as an
exogenously given game form. The economic historian Douglass North, for
example, thinks of them as ‘‘the rules of the game in a society or, more formal-
ly, . . . the humanly devised constraints that shape human interaction’’ (North
1990, 3). An institution is a script that names the actors, their respective behavioral
repertoires (or strategies), the sequence in which the actors choose from them,
the information they possess when they make their selections, and the outcome
resulting from the combination of actor choices. Once we add actor evaluations of
outcomes to this mix—actor preferences—we transform the game form into a
game.

1 Rational choice institutionalism is a large topic and not one easily summarized in a brief essay. So
the interested reader should avail him- or herself of other surveys that complement the present one.
Weingast 1996, 2002 and Shepsle 2006 cover some of the recent political science literature. Accessible
textbooks on rational choice political analysis include Hinich and Munger 1997, Laver 1997, and Shepsle
and Boncheck 1997. A comprehensive review of the public choice literature in economics and political
science is found in Mueller 2003. Systematic coverage of the work of political economics in a
comparative framework is presented in Persson and Tabellini 2000. An intelligent methodological
perspective is oVered in Diermeier and Krehbiel 2003. And Wnally, the gold standard for positive
political theory is the two-volume treatise by Austen-Smith and Banks 1999, 2005.
2 An early formulation of institutions as exogenous constraints is found in Shepsle 1979, and
elaborated further in North 1990. A critique of this formulation is found in Riker 1980. Schotter 1981
and Calvert 1995 develop the endogenous interpretation of institutions. Distinctions between exogen-
ous and endogenous institutions is presented in Shepsle 1986, 2006. Weingast 2002 organizes his
outstanding review of rational choice institutionalism around this distinction as well. For alternative
frameworks, an excellent source is Crawford and Ostrom 1995 and Ostrom 2005.
 rational choice institutionalism 25

To give an ancient example of a game form from Downs (1957), the actors are n
voters and two candidates. The candidates each select a policy position represented
by a point on the unit interval, [0,1]. They either do this simultaneously, or choose
in a particular sequence but the candidate choosing second does not know the Wrst
candidate’s choice in advance of his own choice. (While candidates do not know
the choices of other candidates, they do know voter preferences as deWned below.)
Voters then vote for one candidate, the other candidate, or abstain. The candidate
with the most votes is elected. If each candidate obtains the same number of votes
(including none if all voters abstain), then a random device determines which of
them is elected. This is a game form, an exogenously provided script that gives the
various ways the strategic interaction can develop. If (i) candidates prefer winning
to tying to losing, and (ii) each voter i has single-peaked preferences on [0,1]
symmetric about his or her most preferred policy, then we have characterized actor
preferences and now have a game. The well-known Median Voter Theorem applies:
The candidate who locates closest to the most-preferred policy of the median voter
wins the election. In game-theoretic language, the Nash equilibrium of this game is
for both candidates to locate at the median ideal point and one of them to be
randomly chosen as the winner.3,4 Shepsle (1979) called this a structure-induced
equilibrium of the institutional game.
The second interpretation of institutions is deeper and subtler. It does not take
institutions as given exogenously. Instead of external provision, the rules of the
game in this view are provided by the players themselves; they are simply the ways
in which the players want to play. A group of children, for example, might take the
oYcial rules of baseball as a starting point to govern their interactions, but then
adapt them to speciWc circumstances or tastes. A ball rolling into the creek that
borders the Weld, as I recall from my childhood, allows the baserunner to advance
only one additional base. On any particular day, however, the kid who brought the
bat and ball might insist on a variation to that rule more to his liking—say, a ball in
the creek is an automatic home run—and be in a position to induce the others to
accept his preference. In this view of institutions, there is nothing exogenous
about the rules of the game, and certainly nothing magical. They do not compel
observance, but rather reXect the willingness of (nearly) everyone to engage with
one another according to particular patterns and procedures (nearly all the time).
The institutional arrangements are, in this view, focal (Schelling 1960) and may
induce coordination around them. Calvert (1995), one of the intellectual architects
of this perspective (see also Schotter 1981), puts it well:

3 A Nash Equilibrium is a set of strategies, one for each player, with the property that no player can
improve her or his position by changing to some other strategy (assuming other players stick to their
initial strategies).
4 If there is a cost to voting, then indiVerent voters abstain. If voting is costless then indiVerent
voters randomize their choice (or abstain). In either case the expectation is a tie between the
candidates which is broken randomly.
26 kenneth a. shepsle

[T]here is, strictly speaking, no separate animal that we can identify as an institution. There
is only rational behavior, conditioned on expectations about the behavior and reactions of
others. When these expectations about others’ behavior take on a particularly clear and
concrete form across individuals, when they apply to situations that recur over a long
period of time, and especially when they involve highly variegated and speciWc expectations
about the diVerent roles of diVerent actors in determining what actions others should
take, we often collect these expectations and strategies under the heading institution . . .
(Calvert 1995, 73–4).

Institutions are simply equilibrium ways of doing things. If a decisive player wants
to play according to diVerent rules—like the kid who threatens to take his bat and
ball home if the rules are not adjusted to his liking—then the rules are not in
equilibrium and the ‘‘institution’’ is fragile.
We come to think of institutions (in the ordinary language sense) as scripts that
constrain behavior—the Wrst interpretation above—because in many political
contexts ‘‘highly variegated and speciWc expectations about the diVerent roles of
diVerent actors’’ are involved, and decisive individuals or coalitions are not pre-
pared to change the way business is conducted. Calvert’s point, however, is that this
does not mean decisive actors are never inclined to push for change. Early in the
last decade, for example, a newly elected Labour government in Great Britain, to
the surprise of many, transformed the Bank of England from one of the most
dependent central banks in the developed world into a much more independent
agency. A revision of the Rules of the US Senate—particularly Rule 22 to make it
easier to end Wlibusters—has been contemplated on many occasions (Binder and
Smith 1996). Twice in the last century there were major changes in the rules to
make cloture Wrst possible, and then easier. The Republican majority in the US
Senate of the 109th Congress (2005–7) has raised this issue again in the context of
the conWrmation of judges and justices.5
There is a third interpretation of institutions (indeed, there are many others)
that is decidedly not rational choice in nature; it bears describing brieXy in order to
contrast it with the two interpretations just given. I associate it with Sait (1938) and
his legacy in various forms is found in the work of modern historical institution-
alists. For Sait, institutions are magical. He describes them with the wide-eyed
wonderment of someone examining a coral reef for the Wrst time.6 They just form,
and re-form, according to complex, essentially unknowable forces. Law, slavery,
feudalism, language, property rights—these are the ‘‘ediWces’’ Sait considers
institutions. His emphasis diVers from that of the institutions-as-constraint
and institutions-as-equilibrium schools of thought described above. Institutions
for him are macrosociological practices deWned, and altered, by historical

5 Powerful agents need not be myopic, of course. Thus, they may forgo an immediate gain for long-
run reasons. Institutions, as a consequence, often have a persistence even in the face of potential
windfalls for powerful agents.
6 March and Olsen 1984 were also struck by Sait’s coral-reef metaphor.
 rational choice institutionalism 27

contingency. There is microanalysis neither of the patterns of behavior they induce

and sustain nor of the human attempts to alter institutional properties. There is for
him no architect of Roman Law, for example. An institution is an accretion,
changing ever so slowly and never by identiWable human agency. Perhaps we
need a diVerent name for one of these.

2 Structured and Unstructured

Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

I think of institutions that are robust over time, and lend themselves to compar-
isons across settings, as structured. They persist in roughly the same form from year
to year, and their similarities to and diVerences from objects sharing their label in
other places also persist.7 Thus, the US Congress, or the New York Assembly, or the
Irish Dail are structured in this sense. So, too, is a parliamentary cabinet, a judicial
court, an administrative bureau, a regulatory agency, a central bank, an electoral
regime, even a political party, a royal court, or an army. Rational choice institu-
tionalism has explored many of these. There is surely variation among the myriad
instances of any one of these structured institutions; but there are also powerful
central tendencies. This is what induces us to group them together and to think it
sensible to compare them.
Other institutions are less structured. Like structured institutions, they may be
described as practices and recognized by the patterns they induce, but they are more
amorphous and implicit rather than formalized. Norms, coordination activity,
cooperative arrangements, and collective action are instances of what I have in mind.
Senatorial courtesy, for example, is a norm of the US Senate eVectively giving a
senator a veto on judicial appointments in his or her state (Binder and Maltzman
2005; Jacobi 2005). Seniority was a norm of both chambers of the US Congress for
most of the twentieth century, establishing queues or ladders in congressional
committees on which basis privileged positions—committee and subcommittee
chairs, the order of speaking and questioning in hearings, access to staV, etc.—were
assigned.8 Neither of these norms is a formal rule of the institutions.

7 In Shepsle 2006 I examine the various endogenous mechanisms by which institutions may be
changed, including amendment procedures, interpretive courts, escape clauses, nulliWcation, suspen-
sion of the rules, and emergency powers.
8 Each of these examples illustrates that unstructured institutional practices may exist in structured
institutions, often constituting their sociological underbelly.
28 kenneth a. shepsle

Various forms of patterned informal interaction, including coordinated

agreements like which side of the road to travel, sharing rules like ‘‘split the
diVerence,’’ and understandings like ‘‘tit for tat’’ (Axelrod 1984) and ‘‘taking
turns’’ (Ward 1998), also constitute unstructured institutions. These patterns
emerge informally and often are not actually written down as formal rules; they
simply come to be known as ‘‘the way things are done around here.’’ They are, in
short, equilibrium patterns.
Collective action—the capacity of a group of individuals to coordinate for
mutual advantage—sits close to the boundary between structured and unstruc-
tured institutions. Sometimes it takes the form of well-organized and formalized
arrangements; other times it looks spontaneous and idiosyncratic. Interest-
group political organizations described by Olson (1965) constitute instances of
the former, while intergroup ethnic relations, sometimes peaceful sometimes not,
are often patterned but unstructured and implicit (Fearon and Laitin 1996).

2.1 Structured Institutions

Probably the single biggest success of the rational choice institutionalism program
is the analysis of structured institutions. There are several factors that facilitate
rigorous analysis and thus account for this success.
First, politicians in these settings are selected in a relatively well-deWned way—
election to legislatures or party oYces, appointment to courts, regulatory agencies,
or higher executive posts. Politicians may thus be thought of as agents of (s)electors
(Bueno de Mesquita, Smith, Siverson, and Morrow 2003). Their activities while in
oYce will be motivated in part by the objectives of the (s)electorate—see below.
Second, politician objectives can be speciWed with some precision, due in part to
selection eVects. In the literature these objectives are often grouped into
oYce preferences and policy preferences.9 Ideal-types holding preferences of the
former category care primarily (only?) about oYce and the perquisites that come
with incumbency—salary, inXuence, control of staV, generalized prestige. More
recent work, under the rubric of career concerns, places special emphasis on
selection eVects.10 The policy preferences ideal-type cares about policy
outcomes. In the spirit of Downs (1957), oYce-oriented politicians make policy in

9 In the context of the multiparty politics of Western Europe, the issue of politician objective
functions is taken up in Müller and Strøm 1999. Also see Calvert 1985 and Wittman 1973.
10 Holmstrom 1979, 1982 is the exemplar of this genre. A good survey is found in Dewatripont,
Jewitt, and Tirole 1999. Recent work by Ashworth and Bueno de Mesquita 2004 applies the career
concerns logic to legislative politicians.
 rational choice institutionalism 29

order to win elections whereas policy-oriented politicians win elections in order to

make policy.11
Third, politician behavioral repertoires are delineated by institutional rules and
processes. A legislator on the Xoor of the chamber, for example, may seek recog-
nition from the presiding oYcer or not. If he does, he may oVer a substantive
motion, a second to a motion, an amendment to an existing motion, a procedural
motion (to table, to recommit, to adjourn, etc.), a point of order or information,
and so on—some of which are permitted by the rules (‘‘in order’’) and some of
which are not (‘‘out of order’’). If a vote is called, he may vote yea, vote nay,
or abstain (in whatever manner of vote expression is required). That is,
the ‘‘legislation game’’ may be written down and the strategies available to the
politicians speciWed.12 In other structured institutional settings, the repertoires of
judges and bureaucrats may be portrayed in clear-cut ways.
Fourth, outcomes are clearly implied by the conWguration of rules in a struc-
tured institution. These rules prescribe the mechanism for aggregating behaviors
into a Wnal result. Thus, any combination of behavioral repertoires by institutional
politicians maps into a speciWc outcome.
Fifth, payoVs may be inferred from the objective functions of politicians. Policy-
oriented players will prefer the combination of behavioral repertoires that map
into more desirable outcomes. OYce-motivated politicians will prefer those
repertoire combinations that improve their prospects with their (s)electorate.
If the selection mechanism chooses politicians with policy preferences closely
aligned to those of their (s)electorate, then we may not be able to distinguish
between the two preference types empirically. The strategic choices of oYce types
and policy types will be observationally equivalent.
Finally, there is the matter of (s)electorate preferences. The (s)electorate is the
collective principal that chooses an institutional politician to act as its agent. With
their preferences in hand, we complete the circle. (S)electorates are vulnerable to
two kinds of ‘‘agency problems’’—adverse selection and moral hazard.
The Wrst problem is associated with hidden information—characteristics of the
prospective agent that cannot be known in advance by the principal. Is the politician
of ‘‘high quality?’’ Does he or she share policy preferences with the (s)electorate?
The second problem is associated with hidden action—strategic agent behavior that

11 Some revision is required to take account of the fact that ambition, whether for policy inXuence
or for oYce enjoyment, need not be static. Progressively ambitious politicians, for instance, continu-
ously monitor their environment for opportunities to seek higher oYce (Schlesinger 1966). These
comments pertain to judges and bureaucrats, too, though with some amendment since the terms of
tenure and career advancement diVer from those of legislators.
12 The strategies can be quite sophisticated, subtle, even arcane. For example, because a motion to
‘‘reconsider’’ may only be oVered by someone on the winning side of a vote, a legislator who wishes to
see a bill ultimately defeated (or its supporters visibly embarrassed may support a bill against her
preferences at one stage to position herself to force a second vote.
30 kenneth a. shepsle

may not be discernible by the principal. Does the politician support the preferences
of the (s)electorate in arenas where his or her behavior cannot be directly observed
(an unrecorded vote, a secret committee meeting or party caucus, a meeting with a
lobbyist)? The connection between (s)electorate and politician entails some form of
delegation from principal to agent and is characterized by more or less accountability
by the agent to the wishes of the principal. The rational choice literature on each of
these facets of institutions is vast.13

2.2 Unstructured Institutions

The Archimedian lever of rational choice institutionalism is provided by the
structure of structured institutions. This structure embeds the logic of optimization
in a strategic context. The context of unstructured institutions is more Xuid,
providing a less Wrm foundation for analysis. Many more things are possible;
many more contingencies need to be accounted for. However, considerable pro-
gress has been made.
The great success story in this region of the rational choice institutionalism
program is the logic of collective action (Olson 1965). The foundational basis for
this work is the analysis of public goods, dating back to the early work of Samuelson
(1954). Collective action for a group is a public good, an outcome desired by its
members but diYcult to elicit costly contributions for its production. Members,
according to this logic, are attracted to the free-riding option since non-contribu-
tion is a dominant strategy in the collective action game. Mancur Olson took this
insight and demolished prevailing pluralist and Marxist views on groups by arguing
that they will not of necessity form around common interests and objectives (as
these more sociological arguments had taken for granted) precisely because of the
logic of free-riding. Individual contributions are both personally costly and often
only trivially important in achieving a group goal, especially in large groups. So
individuals are tempted to abstain from contributing. This temptation is reinforced
by the realization that everyone else will be tempted to free-ride.
Groups do form and not everyone free-rides all the time. Why? Answering this
question has constituted something of a light industry. Olson argued that since
success in inducing an individual to contribute does not come from the prospect of
realizing group objectives (which will be enjoyed if the group succeeds whether she
contributes or not, and whose contribution is negligible in any event), then it must

13 On accountability, the loci classicus are Barro 1972, Ferejohn 1986, 1999, Austen-Smith and Banks
1989, Banks and Sunduram 1993, and Fearon 1999. On delegation, Kiewiet and McCubbins 1991 and
Epstein and O’Halloran 1999 provide a guide to research with special emphasis on the American
system.
 rational choice institutionalism 31

come from some other source. Groups must be able to oVer things of value to
contributors and only to contributors—selective beneWts, not collective beneWts.
The group objective is Wnanced, therefore, as a byproduct of bribing individuals
to contribute with private compensation.
One of the earliest responses to Olson’s classic was a book review by Wagner
(1966). There he pointed out a glaring omission in the byproduct logic of Olson’s
theory of collective action—namely, the role of leadership. (Also see Frohlich,
Oppenheimer, and Young 1971.) Wagner suggested that even Olson’s byproduct
logic must have some source of implementation. Inventing the term political
entrepreneur, he argued that particular individuals may make unusually large
contributions of time and energy and Wnancial and (especially) logistical resources
not (only) because they care passionately about the group’s objective but
(also) because they see an opportunity to parlay this investment into something
personally (read: selectively) rewarding. It is no surprise, for example, when a
congressman from south Florida (home to many retirees) provides political lead-
ership on issues beneWting the elderly—the electoral connection supplies the ex-
planation (whether the congressman is personally passionate about these issues or
not). Likewise, it is surely not entirely explained by ‘‘generosity of spirit’’ when a
young lawyer takes on a cause—say, the lead-poisoning of inner city infants—even
though there may be no immediate remuneration. Applying the career concerns
logic just suggested about the congressman, this political entrepreneur takes lead-
ership of an issue in order to advance a personal agenda (of which Wnding a solution
to the issue at hand may be part, but only part), possibly parlaying his public spirit
into a political career, a network of contacts, future remuneration for his legal
practice, etc. The leadership explanation is not entirely compelling in all settings.
But it invites us to scrutinize some of the less obvious motives of those who assume
the mantle of leadership. (On the rational choice analysis of leadership more
generally, see Fiorina and Shepsle 1989; and Shepsle and Bonchek 1997, ch. 14.)
A feature of all collective action from a purely rational perspective is that
outcomes are not Pareto optimal. Everyone would be better oV if there were some
way to coerce contributions. Selective beneWts and political entrepreneurs are two of
the most important contributions of rational choice institutionalism to an appre-
ciation of solutions to collective action phenomena. Leadership, in fact, may be
interpreted as giving some agent the authority to wield carrots and sticks—that is,
provide selective incentives—to induce contributions to group objectives and thus
move the collectivity onto the Pareto surface. (Indeed, this is a rough approximation
of arguments made centuries ago by Hobbes and Hume to justify the existence of
the state. Generally, see Buchanan and Tullock 1962; Hardin 1982; Sandler 1992.)
A third ‘‘solution’’ to the problem of collective action is best understood in the
problem writ small—the problem of cooperation. Axelrod (1984) paved the way to
understanding how to get individuals to seize a cooperation dividend, rather
than leaving it on the table, by examining repeated prisoners’ dilemma (PD)
32 kenneth a. shepsle

situations.14 In the PD an individual can cooperate with another and capture a

beneWt, exploit the cooperative inclinations of the other by non-cooperating and
do even better while the other suVers a loss, or join his opposite number in
non-cooperation and get nothing. A dominant strategy in the one-shot PD is for
both individuals not to cooperate, producing a zero payoV and something left on
the table. (What is left on the table is a positive payoV had both cooperated.) The
idea exploited by Axelrod, and I count this as the third important solution to
collective action problems (along with selective beneWts and leadership), is repeat
play. Axelrod noticed what game theorists had discovered even earlier—that
repeat play allows for ‘‘history contingent’’ strategies. Thus, in the play of a PD
game at any time t, each player may take into account the way the game was
played in earlier periods, and make his or her behavior in the current interaction
contingent on previous play. Today’s play, therefore, determines not only today’s
payoV but will inXuence the behavioral choices of others tomorrow. This may,
depending upon how much the players value tomorrow’s payoV relative to
today’s, induce them to eschew their dominant strategies in the one-shot play
of the PD and choose to cooperate instead. Indeed, unlike leadership and selective
beneWt solutions to collective action, repeat play is more like an invisible hand.
I have oversimpliWed this discussion, but it allows me to observe that
history dependent behaviors in equilibrium—‘‘tit for tat,’’ ‘‘take turns,’’ ‘‘split the
diVerence’’—come very close to the ordinary language meaning of norms and
conventions.15 The program of rational choice institutionalism thus provides
analytical handles on the collective action problem writ large and writ small.

3 Conclusion: ‘‘Limitations’’ of
Rational Choice Institutionalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The research program of rational choice institutionalism is founded on abstrac-

tion, simpliWcation, analytical rigor, and an insistence on clean lines of analysis
from basic axioms to analytical propositions to empirical implications. Much of
the research in this program actually practices what it preaches! Self-conscious and

14 Even earlier, Hardin 1971 noted the connection between Olson’s collective action problem and an
n-person version of the PD. Also see Taylor 1976 .
15 Other types of two-person repeated interactions capture diVerent kinds of norms. Equilibrium
behavior in repeated play of the ‘‘Battle of the Sexes’’ game made famous by Luce and RaiVa 1954, for
example, may be identiWed with coordination norms like ‘‘drive on the right and pass on the left
(unless you live in Great Britain.’’
 rational choice institutionalism 33

self-imposed limits are an inherent part of the program so that conclusions can be
stated in the conWdence that they can be traced back to their progenitors. For some
(Green and Shapiro 1994) this is a fatal weakness. Limits, after all, are limiting.
In another sense, however, they are liberating—hence the quotation marks in the
title of this concluding section. The measured relaxation of limitations is the way
forward both to generalize what we already know from limited contexts and to
expand the intellectual coverage of the program. Through this process the rational
institutionalism program has been engaged, almost since its beginnings, in a
conscious blurring of distinctions. Perhaps the most obvious of these is bounded
rationality (Simon 1957, 1969; Cyert and March 1963). A second is the rise of
behavioral economics and the experimental methodology closely associated with
it. A third is transaction-costs economics. And a fourth is analytical narratives. I treat
each of these brieXy.

3.1 Bounded Rationality

Initiated in the early work of Herbert Simon, though also associated closely with
the work of the social psychologist Sidney Siegel, bounded rationality takes the
perspective that being rational is costly on the one hand, and is constrained by
cognitive limitations on the other.16 Consequently, real human beings, in contrast
to automatons, are only approximately rational. Their behavior reveals levels of
aspiration, rules of thumb, standing decisions, stopping rules, and satisWcing. At
times boundedly rational behavior can be shown to be identical to canonical
rational behavior under uncertainty and costly decision-making, so it is not a
radical departure from the canonical program. But it has loosened the strictures
and thus paved the way for a second, more recent development.

3.2 Behavioral Economics

This branch of rational choice examines what happens in markets and Wrms when
individual agents are cognitively constrained. Perhaps the most inXuential work in
this area was stimulated by the ground-breaking research of two psychologists,
Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky (1979, 1981). The emphasis here is on
rationality qualiWed by psychological limitations—loss aversion, framing eVects,

16 A recent elaboration of this approach that brings attention to the relevance of the work of
modern cognitive science for democratic theory is Lupia and McCubbins 1998. A broad interpretive
essay on this same subject by Goodin 2000a is well worth consulting.
34 kenneth a. shepsle

hyperbolic discounting. This work is only just Wnding its way into the rational
institutionalist research program, but again is an illustration of how the bright line
between canonical rationality and psychological reality is fading.17

3.3 Transaction-cost Economics

This work has its origins in the seminal contributions of Ronald Coase (1937, 1960)
and applications of his ideas (along with those of students of bounded rationality)
by Oliver Williamson (1985). In this work the fundamental unit of analysis is the
transaction and the fundamental institution of transactions is the contract.
Emphasis is focused on the costliness of searching for transaction partners, drafting
agreements, anticipating contingencies of relevance to the agreement, devising
mechanisms to interpret agreements in novel circumstances, policing and
enforcing compliance, and dealing with transgressions. Exchange, in short, is
neither automatic nor cost-free. It requires institutions of governance. The
economic institutions of capitalism, to use Williamson’s phrase, are in eVect
political. Running a Wrm is governing a Wrm. Implementing a contract requires a
framework of governance. The structure of a Wrm provides a framework for
‘‘private politics.’’ And economic exchange, properly understood, is political to
its core. Economics segues into politics. This is no more apparent than in Weingast
and Marshall’s (1988) transaction cost analysis of the organization of legislatures.

3.4 Analytical Narratives

A Wnal blurring of distinctions attacks the line between rational choice institution-
alism and historical institutionalism. Separately and collectively, Robert Bates,
Avner Greif, Margaret Levi, Jean-Laurent Rosenthal, and Barry Weingast, have
developed the analytical narrative as a case-oriented methodology for studying
institutional development in historical context (Bates et al. 1998). The object of
analysis is an historical case—economic growth in medieval Italian city-states,
conscription, the institutional origins of the American civil war, the coVee cartel
in Latin America, the historical evolution of European absolutist regimes. What
distinguishes this approach from mainstream historical institutionalism is the
use of analytical models—a spatial representation, a game form, an optimization
set-up—as a framework in which to embed the case. An analytical narrative is a

17 Stimulating explorations of the Kahneman–Tversky approach for political phenomena, includ-

ing public opinion and citizen competence, are found in Druckman 2001, 2004.
 rational choice institutionalism 35

case study but there is an underlying model that motivates analysis and frames the
empirical materials.

Rational choice institutionalism began as pure theft, lifting analytical tools from
mathematics, operations research, and economics. In its focus on institutions in
politics, economics, and society, it developed boundaries, a canon, and an identity.
Some of this has been surveyed in this chapter. The program has prospered but is
not without its critics. Many have felt, almost from the outset as the quotation
from Clark that introduces this chapter suggests, that the assumption of rationality
is too demanding; developments in bounded rationality and behavioral economics
are responding to this. Some believed that even canonically rational actors would
have trouble in the world of politics living up to the expectations of the invisible-
hand standards of market exchange; explorations of transaction cost phenomena
attempt to deal with some of these frictions. Still others emphasized the ahistorical
quality of rational choice institutionalism; history dependent and contextualized
aspects are now a part of game theory, and rich historical cases are now examined
in a rigorously analytical fashion.
In defense of the early program in rational choice institutionalism, it must be
acknowledged that a paradigm, as Kuhn (1970) reminded us, develops protective
boundaries in order to permit normal science to progress. Rational choice insti-
tutionalists were no exception, diVerentiating their product and pushing its para-
digmatic assumptions as far as they could. Eventually, however, some of the
criticism is constructive, it begins to attract attention, the boundaries weaken,
and practitioners seek ways to accommodate what they had formerly rejected. I
believe this is the current state of the program in rational choice institutionalism. It
is increasingly responsive, not imperialistic, and the distinctions between it and its
institutionalist cousins are beginning to weaken.18

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 chapter 3
...................................................................................................................................................

H I S TO R I C A L
I N S T I T U T I O NA L I S M
...................................................................................................................................................

elizabeth sanders

The central assumption of historical institutionalism (HI) is that it is more

enlightening to study human political interactions: (a) in the context of rule
structures that are themselves human creations; and (b) sequentially, as life is
lived, rather than to take a snapshot of those interactions at only one point in
time, and in isolation from the rule structures (institutions) in which they occur.
As to the development of the behavior shaping rule structures themselves, a now
conventional notion, borrowed from economics and popularized by Paul Pierson
(2000), is that institutional development over time is marked by path dependence
(PD). A crisis, or a serendipitous conXuence of events or social pressures, produces
a new way of doing things. For example, in the case of regulating railroads by
independent commission, ‘‘increasing returns’’ accrued to the steady elaboration of
this path—and not to Xuctuating experimentation with other methods of reducing
social costs occasioned by uncontrolled railroad entrepreneurship—and, for that
reason, the railroad commission lasted a long time and its functional connections
to society became ever more elaborate. Transportation businesses, trade unions,
investor decisions, and legislative and party politics gained a stake in the ‘‘path’’ of
railroad regulation by independent commission and calculated and defended their
interests within its rules. To understand the actions of all these political players, one
must take cognizance of the historical development of the institution, and the
original, distinct culture and problems in which it arose. That is the central logic
40 elizabeth sanders

of HI, and to its practitioners the advantage of studying politics this way is obvious
and noncontroversial.
Nevertheless, the popularity of historical analysis of institutions—their origins,
development, and relationship to policy and behavior—has by no means been
continuous. As historians of knowledge remind us, attention to the development of
institutions has Xuctuated widely across disciplines, and over time. Its popularity
has waxed and waned in response to events in the social/economic/political world
and to the normal intradisciplinary conXicts of ideas and career paths (Ross 1995).
This chapter will examine the context in which a new attention to institutional
analysis arose in the social sciences in the 1970s, the distinctions between historical
institutionalism and its closest competitors (rational choice and quantitative
cross-sectional analysis), and the search for agents of institutional maintenance
and change that is at the core of HI. It will conclude with comments on aspects of
institutional development that have received (I argue) too little attention:
the pathologies that become imbedded in public institutions and constitute
‘‘moral hazards’’ in the performance of public oYcials.

1 The Waning and Waxing of Historical

Institutionalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

It is true that some classic works that analyze institutions in historical perspective
have enjoyed a more or less continuous life on political science syllabi. Books by
Max Weber, Maurice Duverger, Alexis de Tocqueville, John Locke, Woodrow
Wilson, Robert McCloskey, and Samuel Beer are prominent examples. Such work
was increasingly sidelined, however, with the rise of behaviorism after the Second
World War, particularly with the emergence of survey research and computer
technology. With the availability of large data-sets on contemporaneous attitudes,
elections, and legislative roll call votes, and with statistical analysis of those data
made enormously easier by computers and statistical software, political scientists
largely abandoned the study of history and institutional structures in the 1960s.
However, after a hiatus of several decades, the study of institutions in historical
perspective reemerged in political science in the 1970s, took on new, more analyt-
ical, epistemological characteristics, and Xowered in the 1980s and 1990s. Why this
reemergence? The simplest explanation is that economic relationships were in
crisis, if that is not too strong a word (‘‘Xux’’ would be far too mild). Largely as
a result of their revealed malfunctions and vulnerabilities, post-Second World War
 historical institutionalism 41

democratic institutions based on stable economic growth were being criticized and
challenged in the 1970s as they had not been since the 1940s.
Increasingly loud criticism of institutions that had long been taken for granted
(particularly those concerned with regulation, money supply, and social welfare)
now provoked questions that intrigued a generation of scholars: why had those
institutions been created, how had they evolved to reach this point, and why were
they no longer adapting successfully to changing needs? How, in other words, had
the stable, adaptive path dependence of Western institutions come to experience
operational crisis and undermined conWdence in the ideas and processes on which
they were founded? And how did the diVerent sets of national institutions diVer in
the way they accommodated to the new economy of the late twentieth century?
That it raised such questions should not imply that Wnding the answers has been
easy for HI, as the approach lends itself much better to the study of incremental
growth around an original path than to sudden, drastic change.

2 The Epistemology of Historical

Institutionalism and its Competitors
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The search for the causes and agents of institutional change has had many
epistemological consequences, not least of which was a new attention to ideas. In
steady state, the ideas and assumptions that institutions incorporate tend to be taken
for granted. But in times of crisis, new ideas are put forward and Wnd adherents. In
economics, the ideational turn of the 1970s and 1980s discredited Keynsianism and
promoted contending arguments mainly associated with the ‘‘Chicago School.’’ The
new paradigm incorporated neoclassical theories about the greater eYciency of
minimally regulated markets, and new theories about money supply (Eisner 1991;
Hall 1989). In political science, a revived inXuence of economic ideas—pioneered
after the Second World War by Kenneth Arrow, Mancur Olson, and Anthony
Downs—augmented the popularity of a rational choice paradigm (RC) focused on
individual preferences and utility maximizing strategies. (See Shepsle, this volume.)
But, somewhat paradoxically, there was, at roughly the same time, a rebellion of
social scientists and historians against the individual centered behaviorism that had
dominated political science (most completely in the United States), and against its
dominant paradigm, pluralism (see esp. Lowi 1969). The ‘‘normal’’ political science
of the 1950s and 1960s, focused on contemporary (but well established) interest
groups and individual attitudes (as measured by survey responses), was of little
42 elizabeth sanders

help in understanding the apparent maladaptation of institutions after long

periods of stability, or the challenge to institutions posed by the new social
movements of the 1960s and 1970s.
A major outcome of the 1960s–70s challenge to pluralism was the rediscovery of
the importance of state institutions and their partial autonomy from civil society
(that is, the perception that public institutions were much more than ‘‘black boxes’’
processing demands from society by turning them into policies). The attack
on pluralism thus contributed importantly to the new Xowering of historical
institutionalism (HI).
As it turned out, rational choice practitioners and historical institutionalists
were largely in agreement on one essential deWnition and premise: that institutions
constitute the ‘‘humanly devised constraints that shape human interaction’’
(North 1990). But the two schools diVer greatly in the object and timespan of
their studies. For RC, it is the microcosmic game, the particular interaction of
preference-holding, utility-seeking individuals within a set of (stable) institutional
constraints (whether those are viewed as exogenous, or permeable and action-
constructed) that is of interest, and RC borrowings are mainly from economics and
mathematics.
For HI, what is mainly of interest is the construction, maintenance, and adapta-
tion of institutions. HI scholars are not uninterested in individual preferences and
the logic-driven, stylized way they might play out, but HI is more likely to deWne
human motivation in terms of goals—which have a more public, less self-interested
dimension—and in collective action, whether among executive oYcials,
legislators, or social groups. RC (at least as perceived by HI) cares more about
the abstracted game under the microscope, whereas HI is generally more
concerned with the long-term evolution and outcome (intended or not) of a welter
of interactions among goal-seeking actors, both within institutions, and with their
challengers outside.
This attention to goals, collective action, outcomes, and persistence inevitably
draws HI to ideas, and ideas are diVerent from the preferences or consciousness of
rules with which RC is concerned. Ideas are relational, and often embody norma-
tive a prioris. Whether or not ideas are mere abstractions from, or disguises for,
individual preferences is less interesting to HI than the obvious fact that ideas serve
as mobilizing forces for collective action by social groups that want to create or
change institutions (Lieberman 2002, for example); and for institutional actors
themselves, ideas serve as the glue that holds an administration, party, or agency
together in its tasks, help to garner public support, and provide a standard to
evaluate the institution’s policy outcomes.
It is a short step from concern with ideas and outcomes to concern with
evaluative/normative questions about the ‘‘goodness’’ of particular institutions,
or struggles to achieve a ‘‘good state.’’ HI scholars have a more normative, reformist
bent than the studiously dispassionate and market-aYrming RC group (one
 historical institutionalism 43

must interject here Polanyi’s now-classic observation that the decision to let
markets determine outcomes is itself a normative choice, and that the apparatus
of the presumably ‘‘free’’ and ‘‘natural’’ market takes a lot of deliberate constructing
and coercive buttressing to survive).
The analysis of the RC fraternity, in Shepsle’s words, is ‘‘founded on abstraction,
simpliWcation, analytical rigor, and an insistence on clean lines of analysis from
basic axioms,’’ whereas most HI analysis is founded on dense, empirical description
and inductive reasoning. A focus on interactive games draws RC to mathematics
and economics, while interest in the construction, maintenance, and outcomes
of institutions draws HI toward history and philosophy. The former proceed
essentially through equations; the latter often count manifestations of behavior
(and in fact have a stronger empirical bent than most RC exercises), but HI
employs much more narrative in setting out its causal chains; and of course, its
causal chains are much longer.
In sum, HI pays more attention to the long-term viability of institutions and
their broad consequences; RC, to the parameters of particular moments in history
that are the setting for individual self-interest maximization. As Paul Pierson
(2004) has emphasized, RC takes preferences for granted, whereas HI is interested
in how ideas, interests, and positions generate preferences, and how (and why) they
evolve over time. There is no reason why the two approaches should be viewed as
antithetical, however. They may well be complementary. The choice of focus
between practitioners of RC and HI may be a matter of individual temperament
and the assumptions and methodological aYnities that go with it, but the
questions they ask may well be of mutual interest. That is certainly the case for
the present writer.

3 Three Varieties of Historical

Institutionalism: Agents of
Development and Change
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

If institutions are humanly designed constraints on subsequent human action, then

those who study them over time will inevitably be drawn to ask: whose design? And
when institutions change, or collapse, what are the exogenous social forces
or internal group dynamics that are responsible? These questions about agency-
in-change receive a lot of attention in HI—more attention, it is probably fair to
claim, than in RC or conventional pluralist social science. The notion of path
44 elizabeth sanders

dependence that is central to HI is compatible with diverse scholarly orientations

toward agency in path establishment, as well as in pressures for institutional change.
Thus the identiWcation of agents provides one way to organize a brief discussion of
the contributions of HI.
The choice of where one goes to look for prime movers in the genesis and
development of institutions may again be conditioned by scholarly temperament,
as well as philosophical and methodological inclinations. Some analysts have
started at the top, attributing agency in the establishment and development of
institutions to presidents, judges, high-level bureaucrats, and the intellectuals and
business aristocracy who advise and inform them. Others have gone to the bottom,
seeing the broader public, particularly social movements and groups motivated by
ideas, values, and grievances, as the instigators of institutional construction,
change, and destruction.
Inevitably, other scholars have come forward to argue that neither a focus on the
top, nor on the bottom can, by itself, tell the whole story of institutional estab-
lishment, development, and change; and so one must adopt an interactive
approach that analyzes the ideas, interests, and behavior of actors in both state
and society. Comparativists, in particular, prefer a multifocal (multivariate) search
for the actors and conditions that produce diVerences in national outcomes, but
even HI scholars who work on single country settings seem increasingly drawn to
interactive approaches.
The choice of focus has methodological implications, because at the top there are
few actors and one is likely to proceed by analyzing documents, decisions, speeches,
memoirs, and press reports of actions/events. In the study of social movements,
voters, and the legislators who are usually the ‘‘Wrst responders’’ to their demands,
the ‘‘n’’ is larger, and quantitative analysis more plausible. But a high word-
to-number ratio usually characterizes HI work in all categories, and distinguishes
it from both RC institutionalism and conventional, cross-sectional, quantitative,
hypothesis-testing political science. Compare, for example, the work of Eric
Schickler (2001) and Sarah Binder (1997)—both historical institutional works
that analyze changes over time in congressional rules—to the conventional Ameri-
can Political Science Review quantitative and RC studies of congressional politics.
All this diversity—of agency, methodology, and single-country vs. comparative
analysis—might be seen as a weakness in HI. It is, undeniably, a messily eclectic
genre, and the lack of agreement on foci and approaches does distinguish HI from
RC and conventional, cross-sectional political science. The ‘‘undisciplined’’ nature
of HI in its late adolescence was no doubt what prompted the two founders of
APD’s Xagship journal (Studies in American Political Development) to write their
2004 book, The Search for American Political Development (Orren and Skowronek).
However, worries about lack of common deWnitions, methods, and parameters
have not produced, as yet, much sentiment to impose order via more restrictive
criteria for scholars in the American HI fold.
 historical institutionalism 45

4 Institutional Formation and Change

from the Top Down
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The 1980s revival of HI among political scientists in the United States was strongly
centered on actors in the national state, and its explanation for the birth and
development of a modern centralized state tended to start at the top. Social
scientists rediscovering history (and the state in history) were inXuenced by the
work of the neo-Marxist and other elite focused historians with similar foci. Such
was the case with Theda Skocpol’s pioneering States and Social Revolutions (1979)
and the seminal article on the diVerential success of innovative agricultural and
industrial policies in the New Deal by Skocpol and Kenneth Finegold (1990), as well
as Stephen Skowronek’s Building a New American State: The Expansion of National
Administrative Capacities, 1877–1920 (1982). These scholars were pioneers in the
budding 1980s sub-Weld of American political development, and in the creation of a
new section on politics and history in the American Political Science Association
(APSA). It might be noted that HI’s respectability, in a discipline dominated for the
previous half century by RC and ahistorical quantitative work, is evidenced by the
size of the politics and history section in its parent professional organization. It
ranks in the top quintile of APSA’s thirty-four sections, and has been joined by a
new political history section with an exclusively international focus.
As Skowronek and his co-author Karen Orren write in The Search for American
Political Development, the historical analysis of politics assumes that political
institutional development unfolds on sites that are deWned by rule structures
and their enforcers, holders of ‘‘plenary authority.’’ It is not surprising, then, that
the Wrst wave of HI in the United States has done its process tracing with a focus on
those plenary authorities in national government, the rules they promulgate and
uphold, and the ideas that motivate their actions. That is in itself a tall order, and in
practice leaves little space for attention to ‘‘ordinary people.’’ The latter are seen as
the objects of governance, not as subjects whose ideas and demands might shape
institutional development and provoke institutional change.
Ironically, then, as historians were abandoning the study of powerful white men
for the lives of ordinary people, political scientists of an historical/institutional
bent were rediscovering the momentous agency of ‘‘state managers.’’ Social move-
ments of the poor and middling orders of society, if they were noticed at all, tended
to be viewed as inconvenient obstacles to the modernizing projects of political
elites, or as clients of reformist state actors. For Stephen Skowronek (1982), farmers
and their representatives in the progressive era Congress, along with judges jealous
of the power of the new regulatory agencies, were the main obstacles to the holistic
modernization schemes of a few visionaries in the Interstate Commerce Commis-
sion (ICC) and Senate. For Skocpol and Feingold (1990), workers were important
46 elizabeth sanders

New Deal clients, but not themselves agents of labor policy change in the New Deal.
(For an opposing view that stresses labor agency, see GoldWeld 1989.)
Skowronek’s Building A New American State (1982), one of the founding works in
the 1980s revival of historical institutionalism in the United States, focused on three
cases in the modernization of the American national state: the beginning of
national railroad regulation, the Wght for a meritocratic civil service, and the
struggle for a permanent professional army. Though each case of necessity touched
on Congress, the states, and parties, the prime movers in these accounts were
distinctively elite. In the case of civil service reform, Mugwump intellectual
reformers, with the support of important businessmen who hoped for a more
eYcient bureaucracy, were the activists who championed a meritocratic bureau-
cracy against party ‘‘spoilsmen.’’ Of course, it was acknowledged that elites had to
settle for partial loaves and halting progress, in view of the centrality of patronage
resources for American parties. Skowronek’s central argument is that a disjointed
state ‘‘of courts and parties’’ could succeed only in erecting a ‘‘patchwork’’ rather
than a fully rationalized administrative state.
In the Wght for railroad legislation, according to Skowronek, well-educated
intellectual reformers worked through a savvy Midwestern senator to restrain
(while moderately responding to) agrarian forces in Congress. In 1887, they created
the nation’s Wrst independent regulatory agency, the Interstate Commerce Com-
mission. From the time of its founding, commissioners, judges, and ultimately
presidents were the principle actors, in Skowronek’s narrative.
Presidents, intellectuals, and generals were the prime movers in the struggle to
create a professional army (the ‘‘continental army’’ of progressive era policy
debate). Elite business actors were strongly supportive, since a permanent, profes-
sional military promised better protection for investment, at home and abroad,
than the traditionally decentralized and part-time militia. ReXecting the power of
path dependence unfolding from initial policy decisions, echoes of this debate still
reverberate in the speeches of Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld, who would clearly
prefer a larger professional military (and private national contractor corps)
to what he sees as the reluctant amateurs in the national guard contingents raised
by the states.
To a large extent, the elite-centered account of APD in Skowronek’s early work
was shaped by the chosen cases: the campaigns for military and civil service
professionalism were not popular causes in the United States (far from it).
Likewise, Daniel Carpenter (2001) has recently challenged claims of social move-
ment responsibility for reforms in the early twentieth-century United States. His
careful archival and statistical work has demonstrated that entrepreneurs in the
country’s early bureaucracies came up with ideas for expanded bureaucratic
authority and then engineered social movements to support new postal services
and food and drug regulation. However, the elite leadership in these two
arenas cannot be generalized to other policy domains (Sanders 1999), and the
 historical institutionalism 47

phenomenon of bureaucratic entrepreneurship of the order reported by Carpenter

may itself be time-bound, particularly marking the struggles for legitimacy of
Xedgling agencies.
But there are, surely, resounding cases of institution building and expansion in
which elite leadership is to be expected. One is monetary policy, in which Wnancial
elites and their governmental allies pioneered the creation of central banks and
stable national currencies (although the structure and powers of the resulting
agencies did not follow elite designs in critical areas: Livingston 1986; Broz 1997;
Sanders 1999). Another is military policy, where (as Skowronek’s case study of the
campaign for a national, professionalized army underlines) expansion of bureau-
cratic resources has been, in the United States, almost entirely under presidential
leadership; on the other hand, major attempts at rationalization of military and
intelligence bureaucracies (through reorganization and new mandates) has come
from Congress. As the 9/11 episode revealed, presidents have been more interested
in assuring that the defense and intelligence agencies support their policy
preferences than in assuring that these agencies eVectively serve the national
security interest (Zegart 2000, 2005).
Skowronek’s early HI work centered on the critical policies that initiated the rise
of a modern administrative state. John Gerring, also a pioneer of HI, and of the
establishment of a distinct Weld of qualitative methods that gained popularity in
the wake of HI’s emergence, shifted the focus to political party ideologies and their
development over two centuries (Gerring 2001). As critical intermediary institu-
tions linking leaders and their societal constituent groups, parties have been
ambiguous institutions in HI. The early work of Skocpol and Finegold (1990,
1995) treated them as extensions of political elites—recalling Maurice Duverger’s
(1954) labeling of major US parties as ‘‘cadre’’ organizations, founded by and
elaborated around competing national political Wgures.
Gerring follows this perspective, too, centering his narrative (and impressively
rigorous counting of patterns of discourse in party platforms and oYcial
pronouncements) on the expressed ideas of party elites (mainly nominees for,
and holders of, the presidency). The ideas that constitute the public philosophies,
and guide the policy foci of diVerent party regimes—in two distinct periods for the
Whig/Republicans and three for the JeVersonian/Democrats—are assumed to arise
with elites, and then Wnd favor with the masses. This is the usual assumption of
scholarship focused on elites and ideas, though constructivists would argue for a
broader and more socially interactive ideational provenance.
An alternative, but still elite-centered way to look at party institutions in APD is
found in Richard Bensel’s thick and empirically buttressed account of the rise and
maintenance of the post-Civil War ‘‘party-state’’ constructed by leaders of the
victorious Republican Party. The identifying contours of that party ideological
superstructure (Bensel would say ‘‘facade’’) do not diVer signiWcantly from
Gerring’s account, but where Gerring sees a coherent national party ideology
48 elizabeth sanders

organized in the minds of national political leaders and then articulated to the
masses, Bensel sees party leaders instrumentally brokering bargains among
coalition factions who have very diVerent policy interests, and then herding them
into a corral that Xies an ideological banner (Bensel 1991, 2000, 2004).
Bensel parses out the institutional complexity that buttressed Republican
ideational and policy dominance for half a century by allowing diVerent coalitional
interests to hold sway in diVerent institutions. He shows that diVerent aspects of
the GOP postwar program (policies concerned with the tariV, gold standard, and
creation of an unfettered national market) were parceled out to Congress, the
White House, and the federal courts—and that institutional diVerentiation, rather
than a national consensus on ideas, held the GOP together, in his account
(Bensel 2000).

5 Societal Agents in Institutional

Development and Change
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Political scientists, historians, and sociologists of the 1960s–80s grew uncomfort-

able with the implication that elites were the motor of history, even as they
condemned the ‘‘naive’’ assumptions of dispersed power so dear to pluralism.
Sociologists and historians made vital contributions to knowledge by disputing
the reigning ideas about social movements of the poor and marginalized that had
marked post-Second World War scholarship. American Greenbackers and Popu-
lists, once condemned as clownish or dangerously atavistic factions of an otherwise
healthily modernizing polity (or worse, as proto-fascists), were subjected to new
and much more rigorous analyses that revealed them to be impressively rational,
inventive democratic reformers responsible for much of the social, political, and
economic progress of later periods (McMath 1975; Schwartz 1976; Goodwyn 1976;
Pollack 1987).
His own participation in the civil rights movement of the 1960s led Doug
McAdam (1982) to undertake an analytical history of the rise of that movement
that set out a whole new theory of social movement formation and interaction with
the state, one that stressed grassroots organizational resources and the opportun-
ities available to movements of the disadvantaged in times of serious elite conXict.
By the end of the 1980s, the Xaws in previous journalistic and literary works on
populism and other ‘‘petit-bourgeois,’’ presumably status-obsessed movements
(work typiWed by Hofstadter 1955) were clearly revealed, and the superWcial
 historical institutionalism 49

connections made between American dissidents and European fascists were no

longer sustainable (Brinkley 1982).
These path-breaking movement studies exploited primary sources and (in the
case of Michael Schwartz and Doug McAdam) methods indebted to rational choice
and statistical political science, to suggest linkages between past and present
movement struggles. William Gamson’s important meta-analysis of the political
achievements of ‘‘challenging groups’’ from 1800 to 1945 further clariWed
the theoretical insights that could be gained from the historical study of social
movements. These studies by sociologists and historians thus contributed sign-
iWcantly to the revival of interest in history, and in ‘‘poor people’s movements’’
(the title of a 1977 book by sociologists Piven and Cloward) among political
scientists, but their focus was on the emergence of dissident organization and
strategy in the context of political economy, not on the development of political
institutions. It remained to link group struggles ‘‘from below’’ to the dynamics of
institution formation and development.
Sociologists moving into the developing sub-Weld of politics and history made
important contributions to this linkage. Theda Skocpol, a pioneer of politics and
history and of American Political Development (HI’s foremost vehicle in the
United States), turned her attention from political elites to dissident social organ-
izations with her 1992 book, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers: The Political Origins of
Social Policy in the United States. Connecting a ‘‘maternalist’’ cultural ethic and the
hard work of women’s local and national movement organizations in the late
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Skocpol traces the modestly successful
eVorts of voteless women to inXuence social policy for women and children (and,
ultimately, to win suVrage). Another political sociologist, Elisabeth Clemens,
published in 1997 The People’s Lobby, an important analysis of the honing of
lobbying skills and strategies by farm, labor, and women’s groups targeting
state legislatures in and after the 1890s. The emergence of energetic grassroots
organizations, linked in state and national associations that paralleled the structure
of federalism, not only produced an outpouring of new state legislation in the
progressive era, but created the template for the intermediary political institutions
so intimately involved in US politics from that era forward.
In 2003, Theda Skocpol took another important look at the interaction between
the national state and social organizations in Diminished Democracy, a richly
detailed account of the rise and decline (after about 1950) of voluntary civic,
occupational, and fraternal organizations in the post-Civil War United States. In
this book, she lays out not only the extraordinary level of group membership in
(often cross-class) civic organizations, but also their diverse political agendas and
contribution to reform. Then, in a fascinating twist on the presumed direction of
group inXuence to government action, Skocpol describes the numerous instances
in which national oYcials turned to the voluntary groups for assistance in the
First and Second World Wars. The large voluntary associations became important
50 elizabeth sanders

purveyors of war-related services, and most prospered as a result of the wartime

state–group cooperation (though, one may ask, at what cost in autonomy and
future eVectiveness?).

6 The Dynamics of State–Society

Interaction in HI
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

As Skocpol’s focus on the ‘‘patriotic partnerships’’ developed in wartime suggests

(Skocpol 2003; Skocpol, Munson, Karch, and Bayliss 2002), social mobilization and
institutional development can be seen as interactive processes. Dissident move-
ments often demand, or indirectly call into being, new or expanded governmental
institutions. They may use independent, non-, or bipartisan strategies, or become
components of existing major parties, and thereby transform the party itself
(Sanders 1999, 104). Once a new policy and its implementing institutions are in
place, group demands and coalitional dynamics are themselves shaped by the
making and interpretation of rules by public oYcials.
Even the decisions of the US Supreme Court, which many earlier scholars treated
as philosopher-kings constructing and disseminating the public philosophies that
guided subsequent policy-making at all levels of government, can, from a more
historical and developmental perspective, be viewed as reactions to social move-
ments and party realignment (Rosenberg 1991; Gates 1992). In a more nuanced and
interactive way, the doctrinal landmarks of philosophical regimes deWned and
promulgated by the Supreme Court have been described by Ken Kersh (2004) as
the culmination of ‘‘a layered succession of . . . spirited ideological and political
campaigns’’ in society—a process that is far from linear, but rather (borrowing
a Skowronek–Orren term), one marked by ‘‘intercurrence, disharmony, and
complexity’’ (Kersh 2004, 18).
As we have seen in the Werce ideological and religious combat of early twenty-
Wrst-century US politics, the enshrining of those ‘‘culminating’’ doctrines (like
the liberal dicta on abortion, gay rights, and religion) become themselves the
provocation around which new social movements form.
‘‘Policy begets politics,’’ as Theodore Lowi put it in 1969, though his focus was on
the societal elaboration of clientele supports for developing state institutions—
powerful groups and second-level institutions (like the congressional committee
and the administrative bureau) that ultimately could ‘‘wag the dog’’ of national
policy elaboration. Disdaining the abandonment of institutions by 1950s political
 historical institutionalism 51

science, Lowi pioneered both the ‘‘return to the state’’ and an early formulation of
path dependence.
His deWnition of institutions was the legalistic one that most historical institu-
tionalists have adopted: institutions for Lowi were not just any set of behavior
constraining rules or social norms, but the formal rules and procedures established
by the action of governments, and backed, ultimately, by the coercive power of the
state. Less interested than his students would be in how and why institutions had
been created in the Wrst place, or in the reformers who pressed for new laws and
institutions, Lowi urged attention to what happened after institutions are estab-
lished, and demanding and sustaining interests become attached to, and evolve in
tandem with, the agency.
Perhaps the most closely examined, mutually constitutive relationship between
state institutions and social movements is the case of organized labor. Long
identiWed as a major determinant of national diVerences in social policy, the
strength of labor movements and their relationship with political parties and
courts has been a favorite subject of HI scholars. In the United States, with its
powerful, independent judiciary, the doctrines handed down by the courts shaped
labor’s organizational and political strategies, its language, and its very self-
conception (Tomlins 1985; Forbath 1991; Hattam 1993; Robertson 2000). And yet,
when and where it could manage to amass suYcient political strength, organized
labor might change the law and the personnel on the courts, and even emancipate
itself from ancient feudalisms embedded in the common law (Orren 1991).
Racial divisions and animosities among workers have further burdened the
politics of American labor, and diminished the political support for social welfare
policies. Discriminatory racial norms were frozen in 1930s labor and social policy,
their mitigation dependent on presidential political and wartime manpower needs,
the slow amassing of voting power in northern cities, and sometimes—in
a departure from its constraining role in labor organizational rights—racial
accommodation leadership from the federal courts (Mettler 1998; Lieberman
2001; Kryder 2001; Frymer 2003). In Congress, however, disfranchisement of blacks
in the south and segregationists’ fears that trade unions would undermine white
supremacy led southern Democrats to ally with conservative Republicans and use
their institutional power to build an ediWce of labor law that sapped the legal
foundations of worker organization in the decade of labor’s greatest membership
growth (Katznelson, Geiger, and Kryder 1993; Katznelson and Farhang 2005).
Those who seek to unravel the complex and interactive evolution of parties,
unions, cultural norms and ideologies, and state policy are logically drawn to
comparative studies of two or more nations. Among the important contributions
in this Weld are economist Gerald Friedman’s State-Making and Labor Movements:
France and the United States, 1876–1914 (1999), which analyzes and compares labor
organizational and partisan strategies, and national government responses in those
two countries.
52 elizabeth sanders

Of course, the marshalling of suYcient empirical evidence to make one’s case

will inevitably limit the time period covered, and the fullest understanding of
policy paths and policy change can probably be gained by studies that concentrate
on single-country experiences, like that of Daniel Tichenor’s (2002) comprehensive
HI analysis of social pressures and the twists and turns of US immigration policy in
the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; and Jacob Hacker’s (2002) masterful,
theoretically original treatise on the development of the peculiar public/private
hybrid welfare state that grew up in the USA after the mid-1930s.

7 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Those who ignore history, as the old adages go, are doomed to repeat it . . . as farce
and tragedy. Reason enough to learn what we can from the history of institutions.
But there are two aspects of political institutions that remain under-explored, and
considering their importance, this is both a mystery and a concern. There is a
perhaps inevitable modernization focus in HI. The expansion and elaboration of
national states is implicitly applauded, and that may account for the minute
attention given to deregulation, privatization, devolution, and the other state-
shrinking processes of the post-Reagan/Thatcher era which so violate the path
dependent assumption. But one area of the state has not shrunk in the United
States: the presidency and the war-Wghting bureaucracies. These agencies are now
of historically gargantuan size, and the pathological consequences of such un-
checked (by internal or external rivals) power are increasingly apparent.
But expanded executive power, control of news, manipulative propaganda, wars
of dubious necessity, and the starving of the domestic social and regulatory state to
pay for the warfare state—all these conditions have existed in the past, and may be
more implicit in the incentive structure of executive power, even in (or perhaps
especially in) a democracy. Stephen Skowronek’s The Politics Presidents Make (1997)
calls attention to the timeless qualities of executive behavior in a two-party
democracy, but lacks a critical perspective on the pathologies that recur in regime
cycles (such as the attractiveness of war-making for ‘‘articulating’’ presidents).
That is not a weakness of his analysis, so much as an opening to further
reXection on the unanticipated, largely unacknowledged ‘‘moral hazards’’ entailed
by the growth of executive power. Changes in the candidate recruitment process
that aVect the personal qualities, and group and class ties, of presidents since 1972,
and the amassing of enormous military resources and extensive control of infor-
mation that accompany the rise of the USA to unrivaled global power, suggest that
 historical institutionalism 53

it may be time for a critical examination of the institution of the presidency, quite
apart from the usual attention to the individuals that inhabit it.
Historical institutionalists, then, will not be distracted by wishful thinking about
diVerent personalities occupying executive power. If HI teaches us anything, it is
that the place to look for answers to big questions about class, power, war, and
reform is in institutions, not personalities, and over the longer landscapes of
history, not the here and now.

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 chapter 4
...................................................................................................................................................

C O N S T RU C T I V I S T
I N S T I T U T I O NA L I S M
...................................................................................................................................................

colin hay

The proliferation of new institutionalist scholarship has, perhaps unremarkably,

led to a corresponding proliferation in the adjectives used to characterize its
variants. In 1984 James G. March and Johan P. Olsen spoke quite comfortably of
the new institutionalism in the singular. By 1996 Peter A. Hall and Rosemary Taylor
eventually settled on three new institutionalisms (having toyed, in earlier iterations
of the same now classic article, with four). And by 1998 B. Guy Peters identiWed no
less than seven new institutionalisms. Yet none of these authors made any reference
to constructivism, far less to a distinctive constructivist variant of institutionalism
in its own right.1 Indeed, until very recently, there has been very little if any
reference to what is now variously described as an ideational, discursive, or as
here, constructivist institutionalism. This is for three very good reasons—construct-
ivist institutionalism is by far the most recent addition to the family of
institutionalisms, it arises out of an engagement with the limitations of the others,
and, as a consequence and in contrast the others, it is still very much in its

* I am greatly indebted to Mark Blyth and to the editors for encouraging and perceptive comments on
an earlier version of this chapter. Alas, I must bear sole responsibility for the errors of substance and
interpretation.
1 The Wrst published references that I can discern to a discursive and/or ideational institutionalism
are in John L. Campbell and Ove K. Pedersen’s (2001) edited collection on The Rise of Neoliberalism
and Institutional Analysis.
 constructivist institutionalism 57

inception. It is, nonetheless, already highly distinctive (ontologically, analytically,

and methodologically), and it poses a series of challenges to extant institutional-
isms (see also Abdelal, Blyth, and Parsons 2006; Schmidt 2006).
My aim in this brief chapter is quite simple—to summarize the distinctiveness of
constructivist institutionalism and to identify the nature of the challenge that it
poses. The chapter proceeds in three sections. In the Wrst, I consider the origins
of constructivist institutionalism in an attempt to grapple with the limits of
pre-existing institutionalist scholarship to deal with post-formative institutional
change, particularly that associated with disequilibrium dynamics. In the second,
I consider the ontological and analytical distinctiveness of constructivist institu-
tionalism’s turn to ideas and the associated nature of the challenge its poses to
existing neoinstitutionalist perspectives. In the third and concluding section,
I consider the contribution to the analysis of complex institutional change that
constructivist institutionalism has thus far made.

1 From Historical to Constructivist

Institutionalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Constructivist institutionalism, as I will label it, has its origins in attempts to

grapple with questions of complex institutional change—initially from within
the conWnes of existing neoinstitutionalist scholarship (see also Schmidt 2006).2
In this respect, rational choice and normative/sociological institutionalism proved
most obviously limiting (see Table 4.1). The reason was simple. Constructivist
institutionalists were motivated by the desire to capture, describe, and interrogate

2 I prefer the term constructivist institutionalism to either ideational or discursive institutionalism

since the former implies a distinct ontology such as might credibly inform a distinctive approach to
institutional analysis. This would seem consistent with Peter A. Hall and Rosemary C. R. Taylor’s
(1996) reference to rational choice institutionalism, sociological institutionalism, and historical
institutionalism, each of which might lay claim to a distinctive ontology (or, in the case of historical
institutionalism, perhaps, a combination of ontologies). This is a point to which we return. On the
ontological diVerences between these four new institutionalisms, see Figure 4.1. One of the implica-
tions of labeling institutionalisms in terms of their ontological assumptions is that network institu-
tionalism (see Chapter 5) is not further discussed in this chapter, since it is not characterized by its
distinct ontology so much as by its empirical concerns. At this point, it is perhaps also important to
note that the term sociological institutionalism is by no means always enthusiastically embraced
by those to whom it is intended to refer. In what follows I will, then, depart slightly from Hall and
Taylor’s terminology by referring to normative/sociological institutionalism where they refer to
sociological institutionalism.
Table 4.1 The ontological distinctiveness of constructivist institutionalism

Rational choice Historical Normative/sociological Constructivist institutionalism

institutionalism institutionalism institutionalism

Theoretical approach Context-specific To contextualize To contextualize To sensitize the analyst

theoretical agency both agency culturally and to key moments of change
modelling (where historically and institutionally; to and to the conditions of
possible); institutionally; to sensitize analysts existence of complex
qualified parsimony sensitize analysts to logics of appropriate institutional change
to logics of path conduct within
dependence institutionalized settings
Theoretical assumptions ‘‘Calculus’’ Actors display a ‘‘Cultural’’ approach—actors Actors are both strategic
approach—actors combination of ‘‘cultural’’ follows norms and socialized—they can
are instrumentally and ‘‘calculus’’ logics and conventions behave in a variety of
rational different ways
Analytical approach Deductive Deductive–inductive Deductive–inductive Deductive–inductive
Method Mathematical Theoretically-informed; Often statistical Theoretically-informed process
modeling historical; narrative (thesis testing); tracing; discourse
(where possible) sometimes analysis
narrative
Conception of ‘‘The rules of the ‘‘Formal and informal Cultural conventions, Institutions as
institutions game in a procedures, routines, norms, cognitive codified systems of
society’’ (North) norms and frames ideas and the
conventions’’ (Hall) practices they sustain
Institutional 1 Focus on the 1 Focus on institutional 1 Focus on 1 Focus on the socially
change (positive) functions creation as defining institutional creation constructed nature of
an institution the path down as the diffusion of political opportunity
performs which subsequent a pre-existing structures
 evolution occurs institutional template
2 Focus on 2 ‘‘Punctuated 2 Focus on the 2 Focus both
rational institutional equilibrium’’ yet equilibrating effects on institutional creation
design little emphasis of institutionalization and post-formative
on post-formative and associated institutional change
institutional change logics of 3 Focus on the ideational
appropriateness preconditions of
institutional change
Key themes Bounded Path dependence Diffusion of Discursive construction
rationality institutional of crises; institutionalization
templates as the normalization
of policy paradigms
Weaknesses Functionalist; Rather static Rather static Unclear about the origins of
static both interests and of
systems of ideas; unclear
about the relative significance
of material and ideational
factors
Common bias towards moments of institutional creation (focus on institutional genesis but
not on subsequent development)
60 colin hay

institutional disequilibrium.3 As such, rational choice and normative/sociological

institutionalism, which rely albeit for rather diVerent reasons on the assumption of
equilibrium, were theoretical non-starters.4 Unremarkably, then, and by a process
of elimination, most routes to constructivist institutionalism can trace their origins
to historical institutionalism (see, for instance, Berman 1998; Blyth 2002; Campbell
2001, 2004; Hay 2001, 2002; McNamara 1998; Schmidt 2002).
Yet if historical institutionalism has typically served as an initial source of
inspiration for constructivist institutionalists, it has increasingly become a source
of frustration and a point of departure. For, whilst ostensibly concerned with
‘‘process tracing’’ and hence with questions of institutional change over time,
historical institutionalism has tended to be characterized by an emphasis upon
institutional genesis at the expense of an adequate account of post-formative
institutional change.5 Moreover, in so far as post-formative institutional dynamics
have been considered (for instance Hall 1993; Hall and Soskice 2001; Pierson 1994),
they tend either to be seen as a consequence of path dependent lock-in eVects or,
where more ruptural in nature, as the product of exogenous shocks such as wars or
revolutions (Hay and Wincott 1998). Historical institutionalism, it seems, is incap-
able of oVering its own (i.e. endogenous) account of the determinants of the
‘‘punctuated equilibria’’ (Krasner 1984) to which it invariably points. This, at
least, is the charge of many constructivist institutionalists (see, for instance, Blyth
2002, 19–23; Hay 2001, 194–5).
If one follows Peter A. Hall and Rosemary C. R. Taylor (1996) in seeing historical
institutionalism as animated by actors displaying a combination of ‘‘calculus’’ and

3 Though hardly constructivist, the work of Robert H. Bates et al. (1998) is particularly interesting
in this regard. Operating from an avowedly rational choice institutionalist perspective, yet concerned
with questions of social and political change under conditions of disequilibrium which they freely
concede that rational choice institutionalism is poorly equipped to deal with (1998, 223), they
eVectively import insights from constructivist research in developing a more dynamic but still
essentially rational choice theoretical model. Whilst the resulting synthesis can certainly be challenged
in terms of its internal consistency—ontologically and epistemologically—it does lend further
credence to the notion that constructivist insights have much to oVer an analysis of institutional
change under disequilibrium conditions (for a critical commentary see also Hay 2004a, 57–9).
4 Strictly speaking, normative/sociological institutionalism does not so much assume as predict
equilibrium. For the ‘‘logics of appropriateness’’ that constitute its principal analytical focus and that
it discerns and associates with successful institutionalization are themselves seen as equilibrating.
The key point, however, is that, like rational choice institutionalism, it does not oVer (nor, indeed,
claim to oVer) much analytical purchase on the question of institutional dynamism in contexts of
disequilibrium.
5 Interestingly, this is something it seems to have inherited from the attempt to ‘‘bring the state
back into’’ (North American) political science in the 1980s out of which it evolved (see, for instance,
Evans et al. 1985). For, in the former’s emphasis, in particular, upon the institutional and organiza-
tional capacity to wage war eVectively upon the process of state formation, it came to identify the
highly consequential and path-dependent nature of institutional genesis for post-formative institu-
tional evolution (see Mann 1988; Tilly 1975). In Charles Tilly’s characteristically incisive aphorism,
‘‘wars make states and states make war.’’
 constructivist institutionalism 61

‘‘cultural’’ logics, then it is perhaps not diYcult to see why. For, as already noted,
instrumental logics of calculation (calculus logics) presume equilibrium (at least as
an initial condition)6 and norm-driven logics of appropriateness (cultural logics)
are themselves equilibrating. Accounts which see actors as driven either by
utility maximization in an institutionalized game scenario (rational choice insti-
tutionalism) or by institutionalized norms and cultural conventions (normative/
sociological institutionalism) or, indeed, both (historical institutionalism), are
unlikely to oVer much analytical purchase on questions of complex post-formative
institutional change. They are far better placed to account for the path-dependent
institutional change they tend to assume than they are to explain the periodic, if
infrequent, bouts of path-shaping institutional change they concede.7 In this
respect, historical institutionalism is no diVerent than its rational choice and
normative/sociological counterparts. Indeed, despite its ostensible analytical con-
cerns, historical institutionalism merely compounds and reinforces the incapacity
of rational choice and normative/sociological institutionalism to deal with dis-
equilibrium dynamics. Given that one of its core contributions is seen to be its
identiWcation of such dynamics, this is a signiWcant failing.
This is all very well, and provides a powerful justiWcation for a more construct-
ivist path from historical institutionalism. It does, however, rest on the assumed
accuracy of Hall and Taylor’s depiction of historical institutionalism—essentially
as an amalgamation of rational choice and normative/sociological institutionalist
conceptions of the subject. This is by no means uncontested. It has, for instance,
been suggested that historical institutionalism is in fact rather more distinctive
ontologically than this implies (compare Hay and Wincott 1998 with Hall and
Taylor 1998). For if one returns to the introduction to the volume which launched
the term itself, and to other seminal and self-consciously deWning statements
of historical institutionalism, one Wnds not a vacillation between rationalized and
socialized treatments of the human subject, but something altogether diVerent.
Thelen and Steinmo, for instance, are quite explicit in distancing historical
institutionalism from the view of the rational actor on which the calculus approach

6 This is, of course, not to deny that standard rational choice/neoclassical economic models can
describe/predict disequilibrium outcomes (think, for instance, of a multiplayer prisoner’s dilemma
game). Yet they do, assuming initial equilibrium conditions.
7 The distinction between path-dependent and path-shaping logics and dynamics is a crucial one.
New institutionalists in general have tended to place far greater emphasis on the former than the latter.
This perhaps reXects the latent structuralism of the attempt to bring institutions back into contem-
porary political analysis (see Hay 2002, 105–7). For institutions, as structures, are invariably seen
to limit, indeed delimit, the parameters of political choice. As such, they are constraints on
political dynamism. This is certainly an important insight, yet there is a certain danger in tilting
the stick too strongly in the direction of structure. For, under certain conditions, institutions, and
the path-dependent logics they otherwise impose, are recast and redesigned through the
intended and unintended consequences of political agency. Given the importance of such moments,
the new institutionalism has had remarkably little to say on these bouts of path-shaping institutional
change.
62 colin hay

is premised. Actors cannot simply be assumed to have a Wxed (and immutable)

preference set, to be blessed with extensive (often perfect) information and fore-
sight, or to be self-interested and self-serving utility maximizers. Rational choice
and historical institutionalism are, as Thelen and Steinmo note, ‘‘premised on
diVerent assumptions that in fact reXect quite diVerent approaches to the study of
politics’’ (1992, 7).
Yet, if this would seem to imply a greater aYnity with normative/sociological
institutionalism, then further inspection reveals this not to be the case either. For,
to the extent that the latter assumes conventional and norm-driven behavior
thereby downplaying the signiWcance of agency, it is equally at odds with the
deWning statements of historical institutionalism. As Thelen and Steinmo again
suggest:

institutional analysis . . . allows us to examine the relationship between political actors as

objects and as agents of history. The institutions that are at the centre of historical
institutionalist analysis . . . can shape and constrain political strategies in important ways,
but they are themselves also the outcome (conscious or unintended) of deliberate political
strategies of political conXict and of choice. (Thelen and Steinmo 1992, 10; emphasis added)

Set in this context, the social ontology of historical institutionalism is highly

distinctive, and indeed quite compatible with the constructivist institutionalism
which it now more consistently seems to inform. This brings us to a most important
point. Whether constructivist institutionalism is seen as a variant, further develop-
ment, or rejection of historical institutionalism depends crucially on what historical
institutionalism is taken to imply ontologically. If the latter is seen, as in Hall and
Taylor’s inXuential account, as a Xexible combination of cultural and calculus
approaches to the institutionally-embedded subject, then it is considerably at
odds with constructivist institutionalism. Seen in this way, it is, moreover, incom-
patible with the attempt to develop an endogenous institutionalist account of the
mechanisms and determinants of complex institutional change. Yet, if it is seen, as
the above passages from Thelen and Steinmo might suggest, as an approach
predicated upon the dynamic interplay of structure and agent (institutional context
and institutional architect) and, indeed, material and ideational factors (see Hay
2002, chs. 2, 4, and 6), then the diVerence between historical and constructivist
institutionalisms is at most one of emphasis.
Whilst the possibility still exists of a common historical and constructivist
institutionalist research agenda, it might seem unnecessarily divisive to refer to
constructivist institutionalism as a new addition to the family of institutionalisms.
Yet this can, I think, be justiWed. Indeed, sad though this may well be, the prospect
of such a common research agenda is perhaps not as great as the above comments
might suggest. That this is so is the product of a recent ‘‘hollowing-out’’ of
historical institutionalism. Animated, it seems, by the (laudable) desire to
build bridges, many of the most prominent contemporary advocates of historical
 constructivist institutionalism 63

institutionalism (notably Peter Hall (with David Soskice, 2001) and Paul Pierson
(2004)) seem increasingly to have resolved the calculus–cultural balance which
they discern at the heart of historical institutionalism in favor of the former. The
bridge which they would seem to be anxious to build, then, runs from historical
institutionalism, by way of an acknowledgment of the need to incorporate micro-
foundations into institutionalist analysis, to rational choice institutionalism. This
is a trajectory that not only places a sizable and ever-growing wedge between
cultural and calculus approaches to institutional analysis, but one which essentially
also closes oV the alternative path to a more dynamic historical constructivist
institutionalism.

2 The Analytical and Ontological

Distinctiveness of Constructivist
Institutionalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the context, then, of contemporary developments in new institutionalist schol-

arship, the analytical and ontological assumptions of constructivist institutionalism
are highly distinctive. They represent a considerable advance on their rationalist
and normative/sociological predecessors, at least in terms of their capacity to
inform an endogenous account of complex institutional evolution, adaptation,
and innovation.8
Actors are strategic, seeking to realize certain complex, contingent, and con-
stantly changing goals. They do so in a context which favors certain strategies
over others and must rely upon perceptions of that context which are at best
incomplete and which may very often prove to have been inaccurate after the
event. Moreover, ideas in the form of perceptions ‘‘matter’’ in a second sense—
for actors are oriented normatively towards their environment. Their desires,
preferences, and motivations are not a contextually given fact—a reXection of
material or even social circumstance—but are irredeemably ideational, reXecting
a normative (indeed moral, ethical, and political) orientation towards the context

8 This is an important caveat. Ontologies are not contending theories that can be adjudicated
empirically—since what counts as evidence in the Wrst place is not an ontologically-neutral issue.
Thus, while certain ontological assumptions can preclude a consideration, say, of disequilibrium
dynamics (by essentially denying their existence), this does not in itself invalidate them. On the
dangers of ontological evangelism, see Hay (2005).
64 colin hay

in which they will have to be realized. As this suggests, for constructivists, politics
is rather less about the blind pursuit of transparent material interest and rather
more about both the fashioning, identiWcation, and rendering actionable of such
conceptions, and the balancing of (presumed) instrumentality and rather more
aVective motivations (see also Wendt 1999, 113–35).9 Consequently, actors are not
analytically substitutable (as in rational choice or normative/sociological institu-
tionalism), just as their preference sets or logics of conduct cannot be derived
from the (institutional) setting in which they are located. Interests are social
constructions and cannot serve as proxies for material factors; as a consequence
they are far more diYcult to operationalize empirically than is conventionally
assumed (at least, in a non-tautological way: see also Abdelal, Blyth, and Parsons
2005; Blyth 2003).
In common with rationalist variants of institutionalism, the context is viewed in
largely institutional terms. Yet institutions are understood less as functional means
of reducing uncertainty, so much as structures whose functionality or dysfunction-
ality is an open—empirical and historical—question. Indeed, constructivist insti-
tutionalists place considerable emphasis on the potentially ineVective and
ineYcient nature of social institutions; on institutions as the subject and focus of
political struggle; and on the contingent nature of such struggles whose
outcomes can in no sense be derived from the extant institutional context itself
(see, especially, Blyth 2002).
These are the basic analytical ingredients of constructivist institutionalism’s
approach to institutional innovation, evolution, and transformation. Within this
perspective, change is seen to reside in the relationship between actors and the
context in which they Wnd themselves, between institutional ‘‘architects,’’ institu-
tionalized subjects, and institutional environments. More speciWcally, institutional
change is understood in terms of the interaction between strategic conduct and the
strategic context within which it is conceived, and in the later unfolding of its
consequences, both intended and unintended. As in historical institutionalism,
such a formulation is path dependent: the order in which things happen aVects how
they happen; the trajectory of change up to a certain point itself constrains the
trajectory after that point; and the strategic choices made at a particular moment

9 The aYnities between constructivism in international relations theory and constructivist insti-
tutionalism are, perhaps on this point especially, considerable. And, on the face of it, there is nothing
terribly remarkable about that. Yet however tempting it might be to attribute the latter’s view of
preference/interest formation to the former, this would be mistaken. For while the still recent labeling
of constructivist institutionalism as a distinctive position in its own right has clearly been inXuenced
by the prominence of constructivism within international relations theory (Abdelal et al. 2005), the
causal and constitutive role accorded to ideas by such institutionalists predates the rise of construct-
ivism in international relations (see, for instance, Blyth 1997; Hall 1993; Hay 1996). As such, con-
structivism in international relations and constructivist institutionalism are perhaps best seen as
parallel if initially distinct developments.
 constructivist institutionalism 65

eliminate whole ranges of possibilities from later choices while serving as the very
condition of existence of others (see also Tilly 1994). Yet, pointing to path depend-
ence does not preclude the identiWcation of moments of path-shaping institutional
change, in which the institutional architecture is signiWcantly reconWgured.
Moreover, and at odds with most existing new institutionalist scholarship, such
path-shaping institutional change is not merely seen as a more-or-less functional
response to exogenous shocks.
Further diVerentiating it from new institutionalist orthodoxy, constructivist
institutionalists emphasize not only institutional path dependence, but also
ideational path dependence. In other words, it is not just institutions, but the
very ideas on which they are predicated and which inform their design and
development, that exert constraints on political autonomy. Institutions are built
on ideational foundations which exert an independent path dependent eVect on
their subsequent development.
Constructivist institutionalism thus seeks to identify, detail, and interrogate
the extent to which—through processes of normalization and institutional-
embedding—established ideas become codiWed, serving as cognitive Wlters through
which actors come to interpret environmental signals. Yet, crucially, they are also
concerned with the conditions under which such established cognitive Wlters
and paradigms are contested, challenged, and replaced. Moreover, they see
paradigmatic shifts as heralding signiWcant institutional change.
Such a formulation implies a dynamic understanding of the relationship
between institutions on the one hand, and the individuals and groups who
comprise them (and on whose experience they impinge) on the other. It empha-
sizes institutional innovation, dynamism, and transformation, as well as the need
for a consideration of processes of change over a signiWcant period of time. In so
doing it oVers the potential to overturn new institutionalism’s characteristic
emphasis upon institutional inertia. At the same time, however, such a schema
recognizes that institutional change does indeed occur in a context which is
structured (not least by institutions and ideas about institutions) in complex and
constantly changing ways which facilitate certain forms of intervention whilst
militating against others. Moreover, access to strategic resources, and indeed to
knowledge of the institutional environment, is unevenly distributed. This in turn
aVects the ability of actors to transform the contexts (institutional and otherwise)
in which they Wnd themselves.
Finally, it is important to emphasize the crucial space granted to ideas within this
formulation. Actors appropriate strategically a world replete with institutions and
ideas about institutions. Their perceptions about what is feasible, legitimate,
possible, and desirable are shaped both by the institutional environment in
which they Wnd themselves and by existing policy paradigms and world-views. It
is through such cognitive Wlters that strategic conduct is conceptualized and
ultimately assessed.
66 colin hay

3 Constructivist Institutionalism
Applied: Crises, Paradigm Shifts, and
Uncertainty
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Whilst there may well be something of a tension between the contemporary trajec-
tory of historical institutionalism and the developing constructivist institutionalist
research agenda, this should not hide the considerable indebtedness of the latter to
earlier versions of the former. The work of Peter A. Hall, in particular that on policy
paradigms, social learning, and institutional change (1993), has proved a crucial
source of inspiration for many contemporary currents in constructivist institution-
alism. Indeed, the latter’s indebtedness to historical institutionalism is arguably
rather greater than its indebtedness to constructivism in international relations
theory. For despite the ostensible similarities between constructivist institutionalism
and constructivism in international relations theory, the former has been driven to a
far greater extent than the latter by the attempt to resolve particular empirical
puzzles. Those puzzles, principally concerned with understanding the conditions
of existence of signiWcant path-shaping institutional change, have led institutional-
ists to consider the role of ideas in inXuencing the developmental trajectory of
institutions under conditions of uncertainly and/or crisis. They were explored Wrst
by historical institutionalists, most notably Peter A. Hall.
Hall’s work represents by far the most sustained, consistent, and systematic
attempt within the historical institutionalist perspective to accord a key role
for ideas in the determination of institutional outcomes. Like most of the con-
structivist institutionalist scholarship which it would come to inform, Hall’s
approach to ideas comes not from a prior ontological commitment (as in
constructivist international relations theory), but from the observation of an
empirical regularity—ideational change invariably precedes institutional change.
Drawing inspiration from Kuhn, Hall argues that policy is made within the context
of ‘‘policy paradigms.’’ Such interpretative schema are internalized by politicians,
state managers, policy experts, and the like. They come to deWne a range of
legitimate policy techniques, mechanisms, and instruments, thereby delimiting
the very targets and goals of policy itself. In short, they come to circumscribe the
realm of the politically feasible, practical, and desirable. As Hall elaborates:
policy makers customarily work within a framework of ideas and standards that speciWes
not only the goals of policy and the kind of instruments that can be used to attain them, but
also the very nature of the problems they are meant to be addressing. . . . [T]his framework
is embedded in the very terminology through which policy makers communicate about
their work, and it is inXuential precisely because so much of it is taken for granted and
unamenable to scrutiny as a whole. (1993, 279)

The identiWcation of such distinctive policy paradigms allows Hall to diVerentiate

between: (a) periods of ‘‘normal’’ policy-making (and change) in which the
 constructivist institutionalism 67

paradigm remains largely unchallenged (at least within the conWnes of the
policy-making arena) and in which change is largely incremental; and (b) periods
of ‘‘exceptional’’ policy-making (and change), often associated with crises, in which
the very parameters that previously circumscribed policy options are cast asunder
and replaced, and in which the realm of the politically possible, feasible, and
desirable is correspondingly reconWgured.
Hall concentrates on developing an abstracted, largely deductive, and
theoretically-informed periodization of the policy process which might be applied
in a variety of contexts. It stresses the signiWcance of ideas (in the form of
policy-making paradigms which are seen to act as cognitive Wlters) and leads to a
periodization of institutional change in terms of the policy-making paradigms
such institutions instantiate and reXect. Yet it remains largely descriptive, having
little to say about the processes of change which underlie the model.
This provides the point of departure for a signiWcant body of more recent, and more
self-consciously constructivist, scholarship (see, especially, Blyth 2002; Hay 2001).
This still nascent literature asks under what conditions paradigms emerge, consoli-
date, accumulate anomalies, and become subject to challenge and replacement.
Attention has focused in particular upon the moment of crisis itself, a concept much
invoked but rarely conceptualized or further explicated in the existing literature.10
Blyth’s meticulous work on the US and Swedish cases (2002) shows well
the additional analytical purchase that constructivism oVers to institutionalists
interested not only in institutional process tracing but in accounting for the
emergence of new policy paradigms and attendant institutional logics in and
through moments of crisis.11 Indeed, his landmark study demonstrates the causal
and constitutive role of ideas in shaping the developmental trajectories of advanced
capitalist economies. It has rapidly become a, perhaps the, key referent and point of
departure for the constructivist institutionalist research programme.
The analytical focus of his attentions is the moment of crisis itself, in which one
policy paradigm is replaced by another. Crises, he suggests, can be viewed
as moments in which actors’ perceptions of their own self-interest become
problematized. Consequently, the resolution of a crisis entails the restoration of a
more ‘‘normal’’ condition in which actors’ interests are once again made clear and
transparent to them. As nature abhors a vacuum, so, it seems, political systems abhor
uncertainty. Crises thus unleash short bouts of intense ideational contestation in
which agents struggle to provide compelling and convincing diagnoses of the
pathologies aZicting the old regime/policy paradigm and the reforms appropriate
to the resolution of the crisis. Moreover, and crucially for his analysis, such crisis
theories, arising as they do in moments of uncertainty, play a genuinely constructive
10 It is perhaps again important to note that although constructivist institutionalists come to a
position very similar to that of their fellow constructivists in international relations suggesting, for
instance, that ‘‘crises are what states make of them’’ (cf. Wendt 1992), this is an empirical observation
not a logical correlate of a prior ontological commitment.
11 The following paragraphs draw on and further develop the argument Wrst presented in Hay
(2004b, 207–13).
68 colin hay

role in establishing a new trajectory of institutional evolution. They are, in other

words, not reducible to the condition they seek to describe and explain.
The implications of this are clear—if we are to understand path-shaping institu-
tional change we must acknowledge the independent causal and constitutive role
of ideas, since the developmental trajectory of a given regime or policy paradigm
cannot be derived from the exhibited or latent contradictions of the old regime
or policy paradigm. It is, instead, contingent upon the ideational contestation
unleashed in the moment of crisis itself. Though this is not an inference that Blyth
himself draws, there is, then, no hope of a predictive science of crisis resolution, capable
of pointing prior to the onset of crisis to the path of institutional change—for the
causal chain is incomplete until such time as the crisis has been successfully narrated.
This is an important intervention and it provides a series of correspondingly
signiWcant insights into the developmental trajectories of Swedish and US capital-
ism in the twentieth century. In particular, it draws attention to the role of business
in proselytizing and sponsoring new and/or alternative economic theories and in
setting the discursive parameters within which inXuential crisis narratives are likely
to be framed, and to the crucial relationship between business, think tanks,
and professional economists. It also reminds us, usefully, that in order to prove
inXuential, (economic) ideas need not bear much relationship to the reality
they purportedly represent. In a classically constructivist institutionalist vein, it
demonstrates that, if believed and acted upon, economic ideas have a tendency to
become self-fulWlling prophecies (see also Hay and Rosamond 2002).
Yet its limitations also show that constructivist institutionalism is still very much
a work in progress. Blyth raises just as many theoretical, methodological, and,
indeed, empirical questions as he answers. Moreover, the text is characterized
by some signiWcant and by no means unrepresentative tensions, contradictions,
and silences. None of these are insurmountable impediments to the development
of a more consistently constructivist institutionalism. Yet they do perhaps serve to
indicate the work still required if the profound challenge that constructivism poses
to more conventional approaches to institutional analysis, and the insights it oVers,
are both to be more widely appreciated.
In the context of contemporary neoinstitutionalism, it is Blyth’s comments
on the relationship between ideas and interests that are likely to prove most
controversial. It is in these comments that the distinctiveness of the constructivist
variant of institutionalism resides. His core claim is, in essence, that actors’ conduct is
not a (direct) reXection of their material interests but, rather, a reXection of particu-
lar perceptions of their material interests (see also Wendt 1999, 113–35). Our material
circumstances do not directly determine our behavior, though our perceptions of
such circumstances (and, indeed, of our stake in various conceivable outcomes),
may.12 In his own terms, it is ideas that render interests ‘‘actionable’’ (Blyth 2002, 39).
12 The parentheses are important here. There is something of a tendency in the existing literature to
treat the issue of interest-formation and representation as a question solely of the accuracy of the
information actors have about their external environment. If there is a disparity between an actor’s
 constructivist institutionalism 69

However intuitively plausible or obvious this may seem, it is important to note

that it sits in some considerable tension to almost all existing neoinstitutionalist
scholarship. For, conventionally, it is actors’ material interests rather than their
perceptions of those interests that are assumed the key determinants of their behavior.
Though convenient and parsimonious, this is unrealistic—and this is the construc-
tivist’s point. Yet, there is some ambiguity and inconsistency in the manner in which
he operationalizes this important insight, which speaks to a potentially wider
ambiguity within constructivist institutionalism. For, on occasions, Blyth refers to
interests as ‘‘social constructs that are open to redeWnition through ideological
contestation’’ (2002, 271; see also Abdelal, Blyth, and Parsons 2006). All trace of a
materialist conception of interest is eliminated at a stroke. At other points in the text,
however, interests are treated as materially given and as clearly separate from per-
ceptions of interests, as for instance when he counterposes the ‘‘ideas held by agents’’
and ‘‘their structurally-derived interests’’ (2002, 33–4). Here, like many other con-
structivists, Blyth seems to fall back on an essentially material conception of interests
(see also Berman 1998; McNamara 1998; Wendt 1999). Obviously it makes no sense to
view the latter as social constructs. To be clear, though these two formulations are
mutually exclusive (interests are either social constructs or given by material circum-
stances, they cannot be both), neither is incompatible with Blyth’s core claim (that in
order to be actionable, interests have to be capable of being articulated). They are
merely diVerent ways of operationalizing that core assumption. Yet it does serve to
hide a potentially more fundamental lacuna.
This only becomes fully apparent when Blyth’s second core premise is recalled:
crises are situations in which actors’ interests (presumably here conceptualized as
social constructs rather than material givens) become blurred. In itself this is far
from self-evident and, given the centrality of the claim to the overall argument he
presents, it is perhaps surprising that Blyth chooses not to defend the claim. It is
not clear that moments of crisis do indeed lead to uncertainty about actors’
interests. Indeed, whilst crises might plausibly be seen to provide focal points
around which competing political narratives might serve to reorient actors’ sense
of their own self-interest, in the Wrst instance are they not more likely to result
in the vehement reassertion, expression, and articulation of prior conceptions of
self-interest—often in the intensity of political conXict? Is it not somewhat
perverse, for instance, to suggest that during the infamous Winter of Discontent
of 1978–9 (as clear an instance of crisis as one might imagine), Britain’s striking

perceived interests and those we might attribute to them given an exhaustive analysis of their material
circumstances, this is assumed to be a function solely of the incompleteness of the actor’s information.
Arguably this is itself a gross simpliWcation. Interests are not merely a reXection of perceived material
circumstance, but relate, crucially, to the normative orientation of the actor towards her external
environment. My perceived self-interest with respect to questions of environmental degradation, for
instance, will reXect to a signiWcant extent my normative sense of obligation to other individuals
(living and yet to be born) and, conceivably, other species.
70 colin hay

public sector workers were unclear about their interests in resisting enforced wage
moderation? Or to see the Callaghan Government as unclear about its interests in
bringing such industrial militancy to an end?
A second problem relates to the rather uneven ontology that Blyth seems to rely
upon here. In situations in which actors’ interests are not problematized, ideas
matter less and, presumably, non-constructivist techniques will suYce; yet in con-
ditions of crisis, in which interests are rendered problematic, and ideas ‘‘matter
more,’’ only constructivism will do (for similar formulations see Berman 1998;
Campbell 2001). As I have suggested elsewhere (Hay 2002, 214–15), however tempting
it may be to see ideas as somehow more signiWcant in the uncertainty and confusion
of the moment of crisis, this is a temptation we should surely resist. It is not that ideas
matter more in times of crisis, so much that new ideas do and that we are particularly
interested in their impact. Once the crisis is resolved and a new paradigm installed,
the ideas actors hold may become internalized and unquestioned once again, but this
does not mean that they cease to aVect their behavior.
Yet this is not the key point at issue here. For it is only once we accept as self-
evident the claim that moments of crisis problematize pre-existing conceptions of
self-interest that the problems really start. If crises are moments of radical inde-
terminacy in which actors an incapable of articulating and hence rendering
‘‘actionable’’ their interests (moments of ‘‘Knightian uncertainty’’ in Blyth’s
terms), then how is it that such situation are ever resolved? Blyth, it would seem,
must rely upon certain actors—notably inXuential opinion formers with access to
signiWcant resources for the promotion and dissemination of crisis narratives—to
be rather clearer about their own interests. For the resolution of the crisis requires,
in Blyth’s terms, that such actors prove themselves capable of providing an idea-
tional focus for the reconstitution of the perceived self-interests of the population
at large. Whose self-interests does such a new paradigm advance? And in a
situation of Knightian uncertainty, how is it that such actors are capable of
rendering actionable their own interests? In short, where do such ideas come
from and who, in a moment of crisis, is capable of perceiving that they have a
clearly identiWed self-interest to the served by the promotion of such ideas? If, as
Blyth consistently seems to suggest, it is organized interests with access to sign-
iWcant material resources (such as business) that come to seize the opportunity
presented by a moment of crisis, then the role of ideas in determining outcomes
would seem to have been signiWcantly attenuated. If access to material resources is a
condition of successful crisis-narration, if only organized business has access
to such resources, and if neoliberalism is held to reXect the (actual or perceived)
self-interest of business, then won’t a materialist explanation of the rise of
neoliberalism in the USA in the 1970s or Sweden in the 1980s suYce? To prevent
this slippage towards a residual materialism, Blyth and other exponents of
constructivist institutionalism need to be able to tell us rather more about the
determinants (material and ideational), internal dynamics, and narration of the
 constructivist institutionalism 71

crisis itself. The overly parsimonious conception of crises as moments of Knightian

uncertainty may, in this respect, obscure more than it reveals.
This is perhaps suggestive of a broader, indeed somewhat characteristic, failing of
constructivist institutionalism to date—its tendency to fall back upon, or at least not to
close oV fully, the return to a rump materialism. Very often, as in this case, alternative
and more parsimonious accounts can be oVered of the very same data constructivist
institutionalists present that make little or no causal reference to the role of ideas.
A second set of concerns relates to the theoretical status of constructivist
institutionalist insights. Again, the issue is a more general one. For, like much
work within this development tradition, although constructed as a work of
explanatory/causal analysis, it is not always clear that Blyth does adequately explain
the outcomes whose origins he details. Indeed, it would seem as though abstracted
redescription and explanation are frequently conXated. In other words, an
abstract and stylized sequence consistent with the empirical evidence is presented
as an explanation of speciWc outcomes in the context being considered. While crises
may well be what states make of them, it is not clear that constructivist institu-
tionalists have explained why states make of them what they do—indeed, it is
precisely in this ambiguity that the possibility of the return to a residual materi-
alism arises.
This brings us to a further, and closely related, issue—the epistemological status
of the claims Blyth makes about the US and Swedish cases, speciWcally, and those
made by constructivists about institutional change more generally. Understand-
ably, Blyth is keen to stress that his chosen constructivist brand of institutionalism
provides us with a ‘‘better understanding of political change’’ than more conven-
tional materialist modes of political analysis (2002, ix; see also Abdelal, Blyth, and
Parsons 2005; Berman 1998). Yet it is not clear from the text why sceptics should
accept such a view—largely because no sustained consideration is given to how one
might adjudicate preferences between contending accounts (see, for instance, Bevir
and Rhodes 2003). Nor is it clear that constructivists can easily claim the kind of
epistemological self-conWdence required to pronounce the analytical superiority
of their perspective. Presumably, ‘‘better’’ here means more complex, more
nuanced, and more able to capture the rich texture of social, political, and
economic interaction—in short, the standard that Blyth seems to construct is
one of correspondence to an external reality. This is all very well, but external
realities, as most constructivists would concede, can be viewed diVerently.
Moreover, whilst complexity and correspondence can plausibly be defended as
providing the standards by which competing theories should be adjudicated,
parsimony, analytical purchase, and predictive capacity have arguably just as
much claim to provide such a standard. And by that standard, most constructivist
institutionalism is likely to be found wanting.
Constructivism has much to contribute to contemporary institutional analysis,
though its appeal is likely to be greatest for those who do not believe that a
72 colin hay

predictive science of politics is possible. Yet whether its clear superiority to other
contending positions has already been, or is ever likely to be, established, is another
matter. Blyth’s concluding remarks are, in this respect, particularly problematic. The
purpose of his book, he suggests, is ‘‘to demonstrate that large-scale institutional
change cannot be understood from class alignments, materially given coalitions, or
other structural prerequisites. . . . [I]nstitutional change only makes sense by refer-
ence to the ideas that inform agents’ responses to moments of uncertainty and crisis’’
(2002, 251). This is a bold and almost certainly overstated claim. For, rather than
demonstrating that structural prerequisites cannot inform a credible account of
institutional change, constructivist institutionalism is perhaps better seen as dem-
onstrating that alternative and compelling accounts can be constructed that do not
restrict themselves to such material factors. Moreover, Blyth here seems to drive
something of a wedge between the consideration of ideational and material factors in
causal analysis. This is unfortunate, because as he at times seems quite happy to
concede, there are almost certainly (some) material conditions of existence of
ascendant crisis narratives and crises themselves would seem to have both material
and ideational determinants. Ideational factors certainly need to be given greater
attention, but surely not at the expense of all other variables.

4 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

As the above paragraphs hopefully suggest, whilst constructivist institutionalism

has much to contribute to the analysis and, above all, the explanation of complex
institutional change, it is still very much a work in progress. Its particular appeal
resides in its ability to interrogate and open up the often acknowledged and yet
rarely explored question of institutional dynamics under disequilibrium condi-
tions. As a consequence of this focus, it has already gone some way to overcoming
the new institutionalism’s characteristic failure to deal adequately with post-
formative institutional change and its tendency to Wnd it rather easier to describe
(and, even more so, to explain) path-dependent as opposed to path-shaping logics.
Yet, in so doing, it has stumbled over other problems. In particular, it seems unclear
whether constructivist institutionalists are prepared to abandon altogether the long
association of interests and material factors in political analysis that they ostensibly
challenge. Similarly, the extent to which constructivist institutionalism entails the
substitution of material by ideational explanations, the development of explan-
ations which dissolve the dualistic distinction between the two, or merely the
addition of ideational variables to pre-existing material accounts remains unclear.
 constructivist institutionalism 73

Finally, there is still something of a tension it seems between the assuredness and
conWdence with which the superiority of constructivist institutionalist insights are
proclaimed and the theoretical modesty that a constructivist ontology and episte-
mology would seem almost naturally to entail. None of these are fundamental
impediments to the development of a fourth new institutionalism alongside the
others; but they do provide a sense of the debates that must, and are likely to, animate
the constructivist institutionalist research programme over the next decade.

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 chapter 5
...................................................................................................................................................

N E T WO R K
I N S T I T U T I O NA L I S M
...................................................................................................................................................

christopher ansell

1 Overview
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In some respects, ‘‘network institutionalism’’ is an oxymoron. The term ‘‘network’’ tends

to imply informality and personalism, while ‘‘institutionalism’’ suggests formality and
impersonalism. Network perspectives also tend to be more behavioral than institutional.
Nevertheless, it is reasonable to understand networks as informal institutions (though
they may in some cases be formal). In this sense, a network can be thought of as an
institution to the extent that it represents a stable or recurrent pattern of behavioral
interaction or exchange between individuals or organizations. In much the same spirit as
Peter Hall has describedinstitutionalism,the network approachviews networks as critical
mediating variables that aVect the distribution of power, the construction of interests and
identities, and the dynamics of interaction (Hall 1986, 19–20).
No single network paradigm exists, but rather overlapping discussions in political
science, organization theory, public administration, and economic sociology. Yet it is
fair to say that four meta-principles or assumptions are shared across the various
strands of network institutionalism.1 The Wrst and most general principle is a
relational perspective on social, political, and economic action. Emirbayer (1997)
contrasts relational with attributional approaches to social explanation. In the latter,
1 Wellman (1988) provides both an intellectual history of the network approach and an important
statement of its distinctiveness.
76 christopher ansell

phenomena are explained in terms of the attributes of individuals, groups, or

organizations. Network institutionalism, by contrast, emphasizes relationships—
which are not reducible to individual attributes—as the basic unit of explanation.
A second meta-principle is a presumption of complexity. Relationships that connect
individuals, groups, and organizations are assumed to be complex, in the sense that
linkages between them are overlapping and cross-cutting. Groups and organizations
are not neatly bounded, certainly not unitary, and are often interpenetrating. The
third meta-principle of network institutionalism is that networks are both resources
and constraints on behavior. As resources, they are channels of information and aid
mobilized in the pursuit of certain gains; as constraints, they are structures of social
inXuence and control that limit action. The Wnal meta-principle is that networks
mobilize information, social inXuence, resources, and social capital in highly diVer-
entiated ways. Not only is the social world complex, but also highly biased. Networks
provide variegated access to resources, information, and support.
Although this chapter aims to provide a broad interdisciplinary overview of net-
work institutionalism, it is worth brieXy describing how the network approach is
congenial to political science.2 First, political scientists have long been fascinated by the
ways in which power and inXuence work through channels of personal connections—
the proverbial ‘‘old boys network.’’ Network institutionalism oVers an approach that
systematizes this fascination. Second, many problems in political science involve
complex bargaining and coordinating relationships between interest groups, public
agencies, or nations. While it may be suYcient to describe these relationships as
‘‘coalitions,’’ ‘‘factions,’’ or ‘‘alliances,’’ network institutionalism suggests that precise
patterns of connection matter for explaining political outcomes. Third, network
institutionalism rejects any simple dichotomy between individualist and group-
oriented explanation. It insists that individual behavior must be understood context-
ually, but rejects the assumption of unitary groups—a salutary perspective given the
tensions in political science between individualistic and group-oriented approaches.
The remainder of the chapter clariWes the meaning of the term ‘‘network,’’
provides a brief survey of techniques used to analyze networks, and then focuses
on Wve substantive domains in which network institutionalism has been prominent:
(a) policy networks; (b) organizations; (c) markets; (d) political mobilization and
social movements; and (e) social inXuence, social psychology, and political culture.

2 What is a Network?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A network is a set of relationships between individuals, groups, or organizations. A

relationship, for example, might be a friendship between two Members of Parlia-

2 See Knoke 1994 for a more comprehensive account of network approaches to politics.
 network institutionalism 77

ment or a cooperative exchange between two public agencies. Although conXict

between two individuals or organizations could also count as a relationship,
network institutionalism tends to presume positive relationships. Informed by a
Durkheimian perspective on social solidarity, many network studies emphasize the
social and aVectual bases of relationships. However, it is not always necessary
to assume that networks are solidaristic. Networks may be merely patterns of
interaction or connection. For instance, two stakeholder groups may interact
frequently in the context of a policy arena or the boards of two NGOs might
share the same directors. Such relationships do not necessarily produce social
solidarity and may be rife with conXict. But they imply the possibility that these
connections are conduits, even if inadvertent, for information, ideas, or resources.
Frequent interaction in a legislative committee, for example, might be the basis for
the Xow of critical information (regardless of whether the actors involved have any
sense of mutual obligation). Interdependence oVers a third way to interpret
networks. For example, one lobbyist might have information that another lobbyist
needs or two nations might have extensive trading relations. This interdependence
may motivate them to engage in exchange relationships with each other. Successful
exchange can, in turn, generate strong norms of mutual obligation and reciprocity
(sometimes referred to as ‘‘generalized exchange’’). The prominence of bargaining
in political relationships makes this exchange approach to networks a natural one
for political science.
Granovetter (1985) has argued that social network approaches steer a course
between oversocialized (norm determined) and undersocialized (self-interest
determined) understandings of social behavior. From this perspective, social net-
works have both a social (aVectual) and instrumental (exchange) dimension. If the
neoclassical market exchange takes places at ‘‘arms-length,’’ we should expect little
loyalty in such relationships and we should not expect them to provide the basis for
the kind of trust or reciprocity necessary to produce exchange where goods are
ill-deWned or the timeframe for exchange is poorly speciWed. It is precisely the
social character of network relationships built on loyalty and mutual obligation
that allows us to think of them as social structures. Yet, Granovetter suggests,
social actors are not mindlessly governed by these social norms. An instrumental
calculus, mediated by social norms, remains at work in most social relationships.
A relationship between two actors (dyad) is the basic unit of any network.
However, network approaches are typically interested in sets of interconnected
dyadic relationships. The term network typically refers to this aggregate of inter-
connected relationships. The simplest network therefore actually requires at least
three diVerent actors—a triad. Much of network analysis is concerned with the
global properties of a network as a single social structure—that is, as an aggrega-
tion of interconnected dyads. In network analytic terms, a typical organizational
hierarchy is one kind of network. Subordinates are connected to their superordin-
ates, who are in turn connected to their superordinates, until one reaches the top of
78 christopher ansell

the pyramid. However, many discussions, particularly in organization theory,

suggest that networks are diVerent from hierarchies. As pointed out by Kontopou-
los (1993), the diVerence is that hierarchies are distinguished by ‘‘many-to-one’’
relationships, in which many subordinates are linked to only one superordinate.
A network by contrast is an ‘‘entangled’’ web of relationships characterized by
‘‘many-to-many’’ relationships. Ansell (2000) uses this many-to-many criterion to
characterize regional (subnational) policy in Europe.
Thus, a network can be distinguished both by the content of relationships
(positive recurrent relations, built on mutual obligation, aVection, trust,
and reciprocity, etc.) and by its global structure (interconnected dyads, many-
to-many relationships).

3 Network Analysis
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

One of the distinguishing features of network institutionalism is the availability of

a range of quantitative techniques designed to analyze the properties of networks.
The development of these techniques grew out of the use of graph theory to
represent networks, though much recent network analysis also draws on algebraic
methods. It is beyond the scope of this article to provide more than a cursory
discussion of these methods. However, several book-length introductions are
available. Scott (1998) and Degenne and Forsé (1999) provide useful surveys
of social network analysis and Wasserman and Faust (1994) provide a compre-
hensive, but more mathematically demanding treatment. Several software pro-
grams are also available for social network analysis, of which the most popular is
UCINET.
Prominent techniques of social network analysis include centrality and
‘‘sub-group’’ identiWcation. Centrality is a particularly useful measure because it
identiWes the relative importance or prominence of individual actors in a network
based on information about all the actors in the network. Various measures of
centrality have been developed (degree, closeness, betweenness, etc.) that seek to
capture diVerent aspects of what it means to be a central actor. For example,
betweenness centrality deWnes centrality in such a way as to identify actors
likely to serve as important brokers. Another class of network techniques identify
‘‘sub-groups’’ within the network and they are particularly useful for identifying
social cleavages or factions. These techniques range from those that identify
sub-groups in relatively inclusive terms (e.g. component analysis) to those that
are much more restrictive (e.g. clique detection).
 network institutionalism 79

Social network analysis also distinguishes between ‘‘cohesion’’ and ‘‘equivalence’’

as the basis for sub-groups. The cohesion approach suggests that sub-groups are based
on the density of direct dyadic ties. Hence, the greater the number of ties within a
group, the more cohesive it should be. By contrast, the equivalence approach argues
that sub-groups will be composed of actors with equivalent ties to third parties.
Marx’s analysis of class formation is a classic example: workers are brought together
not by their direct solidaristic ties, but by their common opposition to employers.
The distinction between cohesion and equivalence is related to a broader set of
discussions in network analysis. Research on what came to be known as the ‘‘small
world phenomenon’’ discovered that people were often connected to quite distant
others through a surprisingly short number of intervening steps. As Watts (2003) has
clariWed, this is most surprising when networks are relatively ‘‘sparse.’’ Watts found
that small world networks have particular properties. They exhibit high local
clustering combined with a limited number of ‘‘shortcuts’’ between clusters.
Granovetter (1973) also built on the small world phenomenon in his inXuential
argument about the ‘‘strength of weak ties.’’ He found, for instance, that jobs were
often not found directly through friends (strong ties), but through friends of friends
(weak ties). The logic is that weak ties often ‘‘bridge’’ across clusters. Burt (1992) has
further reWned this logic in his work on ‘‘structural holes.’’ He argues that informa-
tion in small tightly knit clusters is redundant (everybody knows everybody’s
business). Moreover, clustering creates ‘‘holes’’ in the global network that limit the
Xow of information. Thus, ties that bridge across structural holes (‘‘shortcuts’’ in
Watt’s terms, ‘‘weak ties’’ in Granovetter’s) are powerful conduits of information.
The cohesion perspective suggests that the critical mechanism in networks oper-
ates through direct dyadic ties. An extension of this logic suggests that the stronger
the tie (e.g. the more frequent, intimate, and intense the interaction), the more
cohesive the relationship. At the global network level, then, a denser network is
presumed to be a more cohesive one. The logic extends to multiple networks.
Network analysis refers to the situation in which two actors are tied together in
diVerent types of ways—for example friendship, advice, co-work, residence—as
multiplexity. In the cohesion logic, the more multiplex the network, the stronger it
is. By contrast, the equivalence perspective emphasizes the importance of indirect as
well as direct ties. Actors are similar not because they have strong ties to one
another, but because they have similar ties to others. Actors who are structurally
equivalent are therefore interpreted as having a similar position in the network.
Multiple networks are important when they reinforce structural equivalence.
The diYculty of collecting network data has been one of the limits on the more
widespread usefulness of social network methods. Two basic classes of network
data exist. Egocentric networks begin with a focal actor or actors (ego) and then
collect network information on relationships of ego to others (alters). A later phase
of data collection collects further information on the relationships between ego’s
alters. The general problem with egocentric data is that it is highly selective, since
80 christopher ansell

by deWnition it reXects only ego’s network. Alternatively, a complete network provides

a more comprehensive perspective. Data for a complete network are collected by Wrst
identifying a group of actors and then collecting information on relationships
between all of them. Such data can be diYcult to collect for two reasons. First,
identifying connections between all the actors in a network creates a large volume of
data for even a small number of actors. Second, complete networks confront a
problem of boundary speciWcation. As the small world phenomenon demonstrates,
everyone may be (at several removes) connected to everyone else. So where should
the boundary be drawn? Network analysts generally solve this problem in one of two
ways—each of which corresponds to a diVerent technique for gathering the data.
One approach is to specify the boundary at the outset on the basis of non-network
criteria—for example the boundary of the organization or work unit, the policy
sector, or geographical units. In such cases, it is often useful to begin with a complete
list of the individuals, groups, or organizations contained within this boundary. The
researcher then asks each actor on the list about their relationship with every other
actor on the list. A second approach is often used when the boundary is diYcult
to specify ahead of time. In fact, identiWcation of who is part of the network may be
one of the main purposes for gathering data. In this case, snowball sampling is used
to collect network data. Much like egocentric data, this approach starts with a
few focal actors and then asks them about their relationships. It then builds
outward, asking actors speciWed in the Wrst round of interviewing who they are
related to. Sampling may continue until the discovery of new actors drops oV.

4 Policy Networks
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The network analysis literature described above has mostly been developed in
sociology and anthropology. In political science, a largely separate body of research
has developed to study ‘‘policy networks.’’ The policy network literature itself arose
at the conXuence of several streams of research. Among the earliest precursors to
the policy network literature was Heclo and Wildavsky’s (1974) study of the British
Treasury Department, which uncovered the importance of personal networks
between civil servants and politicians as an important factor shaping policy
decisions. In the USA, development of the policy network concept arose out of
work on ‘‘sub-governments’’—the idea that policy-making and implementation
were controlled by a select group of agencies, legislators, and interest groups.
Working in this tradition, Heclo (1978) coined the term ‘‘issue network’’ to describe
more diVuse forms of linkage than implied by the terms ‘‘sub-government’’ or
 network institutionalism 81

‘‘iron triangle.’’ A closely related stream of European work on policy networks grew
out of studies of corporatism and interest intermediation (Katzenstein 1978;
Lembruch 1984). A second stream of research arose from an international group
of researchers studying complex interorganizational relationships in government
in the 1970s (e.g. Hanf and Scharpf 1979). This work emphasized that policy-
making and implementation required complex coordination and negotiation
among many diVerent actors. A third stream of policy network research grew out
of work on ‘‘community power studies,’’ which essentially examined the social
structure of politics in cities. Work by Lauman and Pappi (1976), in particular,
advanced this into the study of policy networks.
All of these approaches combine two somewhat opposed images of political
organization and process: all of them stress that political structure and process is
highly diVerentiated, comprising the participation of a diverse range of actors; the
opposing image suggests that these actors are linked together around their mutual
interest or interdependence in speciWc policy domains. Thus, the network
approach has the advantage of representing the ideas of both pluralists (empha-
sizing diVerentiation) and elite theorists (emphasizing connectivity).
The next generation of policy network research began to clarify diVerences
internal to networks and to articulate mechanisms by which they worked. Notably,
Rhodes (1985) distinguished Heclo’s concept of ‘‘issue networks’’ from ‘‘policy
communities’’ in terms of the stability and restrictiveness of networks. He also
articulated a ‘‘power-dependence’’ perspective that provided a framework for
thinking about why and how networks were formed and how they operated. In a
recent review of the policy network literature, Rhodes (2006) contrasts this
‘‘power-dependence’’ approach with the rational choice institutionalist approach
to policy networks developed by Scharpf (1997).
Some of the policy network literature has drawn on the network analysis
techniques described above. Laumann and Knoke’s (1987) massive study of Ameri-
can policy networks and Knoke, Pappi, Broadbent, and Tsujinaka’s (1996)
comparative study of labor policy networks oVer important examples.

5 Organizations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The study of organizations is another area in which network institutionalism is well

represented. La Porte’s (1975) work on complexity, which deWned organizational
complexity in terms of the number of units and the number of interconnections
between these units, provides an early precursor to this network institutionalism.
82 christopher ansell

The shift to an open systems perspective, particularly with its increased focus on
interorganizational relations, provided another impetus. Benson’s (1975) political
economy approach to interorganizational relations claimed ‘‘networks’’ of organ-
izations were a new unit of analysis.
A decade or more later, the rising inXuence of institutional economics provided
another context for the articulation of network ideas. The work of Oliver
Williamson posed ‘‘markets’’ and hierarchies’’ as two alternative means of organ-
izing economic transactions. The framework placed organization on a continuum
between contract (market) and authority (hierarchy). In an inXuential article,
Powell (1990) argued that ‘‘network organizations’’ were neither markets nor
hierarchies. He argued that network organizations achieve coordination through
trust and reciprocity rather than through contract or authority.
Other work on organizations points to structural aspects that made them diYcult
to describe either as markets or as hierarchies. For example, Faulkner (1983) applied
network models to the process of forming project teams in the American Wlm
industry. At the same time, the burgeoning importance of strategic alliances and
joint ventures between Wrms gave credence to thinking of interorganizational rela-
tions between Wrms in network terms. Gerlach’s (1992) network analysis of Japanese
intercorporate relations provides a notable example. A 1990 volume by Nohria and
Eccles gave additional impetus to thinking of organizations as networks. These ideas
have been used in political science to describe political parties (Schwartz 1990).
A somewhat separate line of research in public administration stressed the
importance of thinking about interorganizational relationships in network terms.
Fragmentation of service delivery and the complexity of implementation processes
was a major concern of this literature. One common theme was how to achieve
coordination among multiple public agencies with overlapping missions and
authority. Chisholm’s (1989) study of the role of informal networks in coordinating
multiple transportation agencies and Provan and Milward’s (1995) comparison of
mental health networks in four American cities oVer good examples of this genre.
The managerial emphasis of this work is well represented in Kickert, Klijn, and
Koppenjan (1997).

6 Markets
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The Welds of political economy and economic sociology have also used the idea of
networks to conceptualize markets and market dynamics, and to describe the
relationship between states and markets. Baker’s (1984) study of social relationships
 network institutionalism 83

on the Xoor of the Chicago stock exchange was among the Wrst to call attention to
social networks underpinning market exchange. He demonstrated that even in the
archetypical market, actual patterns of buying and selling were shaped by social
relationships. Social networks helped to manage the uncertainty that traders
experienced in the stock market.
Drawing on Polanyi’s description of the social embeddedness of markets,
Granovetter (1985) provided a seminal statement of the network approach to
markets. Much like Powell’s argument that network organizations were diVerent
from either markets or hierarchies, Granovetter argued that many economic
transactions were shaped by social relationships that build on norms of trust and
reciprocity. His statement spawned serious research on the way in which embedd-
edness shaped economic decision-making and cooperation. Notable studies
include Brian Uzzi’s several studies of the banking, garment, and law industries
and Mizruchi and Stearns’ (2001) study of bank decision-making.
Another well-developed line of economic sociology research examines inter-
locking corporate boards. This work treats the overlapping memberships of boards
of directors as a social network that connects otherwise independent Wrms
together. Notable studies include Mizruchi’s (1992) analysis of interlocking direct-
orates to explain political campaign contributions and Davis’s (1991) analysis of
the diVusion of managerial strategies (the ‘‘poison pill’’) through interlocking
directorates.
A range of other research has described the structure and dynamics of markets in
network terms. Important exemplars include Powell, Koput, and Smith-Doerr’s
(1996) analysis of knowledge creation in the biotech industry in terms of interWrm
networks, Padgett’s (2001) study of networks underpinning the emergence of
modern banking in Renaissance Florence, and Stark and Bruzst’s (1998) description
of the evolution of post-Communist East European markets in network terms.
Political scientists Anno Saxenian (1996) and Richard Locke (1994) have also used
network ideas to describe regional economies and the logic of state intervention in
these economies.

7 Political Mobilization and Social

Movements
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The network concept has also had signiWcant impact in the study of political
mobilization and social movements. Much of this work has been historical. For
example, Bearman (1993) analyzed the way in which the Puritan faction in the
84 christopher ansell

English Civil War emerged from networks of religious patronage and Padgett and
Ansell (1993) demonstrated the way the Medicis’ successful control over the
Florentine state was based on the mobilization of a powerful political party
constructed from economic and marriage ties. Gould (1995) demonstrated
that resistance on the barricades in the Paris Commune of 1871 was based on
neighborhood networks.
The social movement literature has drawn extensively on network concepts.
Work by McAdam and others (e.g. McAdam and Fernandez 1990) demonstrated
that social recruitment in movements often operates through social networks.
Other work has demonstrated that the network concept can be used to describe
and analyze broader social movement Welds. For example, Diani (1995) uses the
network approach to describe relationships between environmental organizations
and between environmental activists in Milan. By studying overlapping
memberships in underground protest organizations in Poland, Osa (2003) explains
how the powerful Solidarity movement emerged to challenge the Communist
regime. Diani and McAdam (2003) provide an overview of the relationship
between social movements and networks. Closely related work by political scien-
tists has been attentive to international networks of NGOs dubbed ‘‘transnational
advocacy networks’’ (Keck and Sikkink 1998).
Network approaches have also been used to study social capital. In contrast to
economic capital, social capital is conceived of as capital derived from
social structure. Network approaches provide a useful representation of this social
structure. While much of the best known work on social capital draws loosely on
network metaphors, Lin, Cook, and Burt (2001) suggest a speciWc social network
approach to social capital.

8 Social Influence, Social

Psychology, and Political Culture
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The network approach has also been used to understand patterns of social
inXuence, social cognition, and political culture. Krackhardt’s (1990) concept of
cognitive networks is among the most intriguing ideas in this genre. In studying a
computer Wrm, Krackhardt found that more centrally located employees in actual
social networks were also more accurate in their cognitive understanding of these
social networks (cognitive networks). He also showed that reputational power in
the Wrm was associated with this cognitive accuracy. Social psychologists have also
 network institutionalism 85

used network approaches to model how social inXuence processes work through
networks. Friedkin (1998) provides a powerful approach for modeling these inXu-
ence processes. In political science, network processes are also understood as a way
to model ‘‘contextual eVects’’ precisely. Political scientists have used these network
models to analyze the inXuence of neighbors on political attitudes towards candi-
dates (Huckfeldt and Sprague 1987).
In addition to studying cognition and social inXuence, network approaches have
also been applied to studying political culture. Examples include Mohr and
Duquenne’s (1997) network analysis of the historical evolution of social welfare
categories in New York City and Ansell’s (1997) study of how institutional networks
and symbols interacted to produce a signiWcant realignment of French working
class institutions.

9 Critique and Progress

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The work cited above is by no means exhaustive and many more speciWc domains
of application could be reviewed. In fact, the network approach remains more a
diverse set of overlapping discussions than a single uniWed approach to under-
standing institutions. Although the usefulness of the network approach has been
proven across a range of disciplines, two basic types of criticism are often leveled
against it. The Wrst is that the network approach tends to produce a static and
overly structural view of the world not suYciently sensitive to process, agency, and
meaning. Emirbayer and Goodwin (1994) forcefully made this critique of social
network analysis and Bevir and Rhodes (2003) have made it of policy networks.
These authors agree that network language tends to slip easily into the kind of
structuralism that treats networks as objects. In particular, they suggest that
network approaches must be more attentive to the cultural or interpretive elements
of relationships. Just as network institutionalism criticizes the reiWcation of groups,
it must avoid a similar reiWcation of networks. Padgett’s (2001) recent work
provides a good example of eVorts to overcome the tensions between structure,
culture, and agency in network institutionalism.
A second related critique is that the network approach is primarily a framework
for description rather than explanation. It is good at describing economic, political,
or social complexity, but less useful for deriving testable causal arguments. There is
truth in this criticism: the network approach lends itself more easily to description
than to explanation. The obvious retort is that a good description is the necessary
foundation of a good explanation. But that response sells short the explanatory
86 christopher ansell

potential of network institutionalism. This chapter has featured work attentive to

the ways in which networks operate as mechanisms to explain political mobiliza-
tion, social inXuence, or interest intermediation.
This chapter concludes by returning to the current and potential value
of network institutionalism for political science. One of the principal advantages
of network institutionalism is that it provides an analytical framework that
grasps the ever-increasing complexity of our age. As our technologies become
more like networks, so must our institutions. The archetypical pattern of
governance at the beginning of the twenty-Wrst century requires political coord-
ination across levels and between jurisdictions of government; the number of
stakeholders has increased and elaborate webs of interaction and exchange
between them have developed. Network institutionalism provides an unWnished,
but highly promising paradigm for describing this complexity and explaining
its consequences.

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Wasserman, S. and Faust, K. 1994. Social Network Analysis: Methods and Applications.
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 chapter 6
...................................................................................................................................................

OLD
I N S T I T U T I O NA L I S M S
...................................................................................................................................................

r. a. w. rhodes

1 Introduction
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Over the past decade, the narrative of the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ has been touted as
the new paradigm for political science. For example, Goodin and Klingemann
(1996) claim that political science has an overarching intellectual agenda based on
rational choice analysis and the new institutionalism. That is one set of approaches,
one research agenda, and speciWc to American political science. The focus of this
chapter is broader; it looks at the study of political institutions, whenever,
wherever. I deWne and give examples of four diVerent traditions in the study of
political institutions: modernist-empiricist, formal-legal, idealist, and socialist. My
aims are simple: to show there are several long-standing traditions in the study of
institutions in the Anglo-American world, and to illustrate that variety worldwide.
I have a second, equally important objective. It is a taken for granted assumption
that the rise of the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ replaced the ‘‘old institutionalism.’’ Old
institutionalism is not limited to formal-legal analysis. It encompasses all the

* I would like to thank Haleh Afsher, Mark Bevir, John Dryzek, Jenny Fleming, Bob Goodin, and John
Wanna for either help, or advice, or criticism, and sometimes all three. I must record a special thank
you to Robert Elgie for his thorough and detailed advice on French political science (personal
correspondence, 6 June and 20 July 2005).
 old institutionalisms 91

traditions discussed below. I argue there is life in all these old dogs. Moreover,
formal-legal analysis is not dead. Rather I argue it is a deWning starting point in the
study of political institutions. The distinctive contribution of political science to the
study of institutions is the analysis of the historical evolution of formal-
legal institutions and the ideas embedded in them. The ‘‘new institutionalisms’’
announced the rediscovery by American modernist-empiricist political scientists
of this theme, and they oVer sophisticated variations on it, but it is still the starting
point.
I cannot cover the many traditions of political science worldwide, so I focus on
the two most similar countries—the UK and the USA. If I can show diVerent
traditions in the Anglo-Saxon world, then my argument will travel well beyond it.
To show that potential, I provide brief examples of the study of political institu-
tions in Australia, France, and the Muslim world. I oVer a narrative that is just one
among several of possible narratives. I set my narrative of traditions side-by-side
with the narratives elsewhere in Part II. The aim is to decenter the dominant
Anglo-American tradition found in many ‘‘state of the art’’ assessments.

2 Traditions in the Study of Political

Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A tradition is a set of understandings someone receives during socialization. A

certain relationship should exist between beliefs and practices if they are to make
up a tradition. First, the relevant beliefs and practices should have passed
from generation to generation. Second, traditions should embody appropriate
conceptual links. The beliefs and practices that one generation passes on to another
should display minimal consistency.
This stress on the constructed nature of traditions should make us wary of
essentialists who equate traditions with Wxed essences to which they credit
variations. For example, Greenleaf (1983, 15–20), following Dicey (1914, 62–9),
describes the British political tradition as the dialectic between libertarianism and
collectivism. But Greenleaf ’s categories of individualism and collectivism are too
ahistorical. Although they come into being in the nineteenth century, after that they
remain static. They act as Wxed ideal types into which individual thinkers and texts
are then forced. At the heart of the notion of tradition used in this chapter is the idea
of agents using their reason to modify their contingent heritage (see Bevir and
Rhodes 2003, 2006). So, tradition is a starting point for a historical story. This idea of
tradition diVers also from that of political scientists who associate the term with
92 r. a. w. rhodes

Table 6.1 Traditions in the study of political institutions

Traditions Modernist-empiricist Formal-legal Idealist Socialist

Definition Formal rules, Public laws that Institutions The specific

of political compliance concern formal express . . . ideas articulation of
institution procedures, governmental about political class struggle
and standard organizations authority . . . and
operating practices embody a
that structure continuing approach
relationships to resolving
between the issues
individuals in which arise
various units in the relations
of the polity between citizen
and the economy and government
Eckstein Miliband 1977: 19
1979: 2
Hall 1986: 19–20
Johnson 1975:
131, 112
Present-day USA: New institu- French UK: Conservative Pan-European
examples tionalisms constitution- Idealism post-Marxism
alism
Examples March and Chevallier 2002 Johnson 2004 Laclau 1990
Olsen 1989

customary, unquestioned ways of behaving or with the entrenched folklore of

premodern societies (cf. Oakeshott 1962, 123, 128–9).
Table 6.1 identiWes four distinct traditions in the study of political institutions:
formal-legal, idealist, modernist-empiricism, and socialist. Of course, these tradi-
tions are examples. The list is not exhaustive.

3 Where are We Now—Modernist-

Empiricism?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

For many, the study of political institutions is the story of the ‘‘new institutional-
ism.’’ In outline, the story goes that the new institutionalism was a reaction against
behavioralism. Thus, for Thelen and Steinmo (1992, 3–5) both historical institu-
tionalism and rational choice are a reaction against behavioralism just as
 old institutionalisms 93

behavioralism was a reaction against the old institutionalism. This reaction comes
in three main guises, each rooted in one of the main social science disciplines. So,
political science gave us historical institutionalism, economics gave us rational
choice institutionalism, and sociology gave us sociological institutionalism (see
Goodin 1996, 2–20; Hall and Taylor 1996, 936). Approaches proliferate (Lowndes
2002; Peters 1999). The labels vary—sociological institutionalism begat ideational
institutionalism begat constructivism. The several proponents squabble. For
aWcionados of such debates, the several approaches, the key contributions, and
their diVerences are clearly set out in Chapters 1–5. A further summary is unne-
cessary.
There are important diVerences between the several approaches; for example,
between inductive and deductive methods. However, such diVerences are less
important than their common ground in a modernist-empiricist epistemology.
Thus, institutions such as legislatures, constitutions, and civil services are treated as
discrete objects that can be compared, measured, and classiWed. If American
concern with hypothesis testing and deductive methods raises the collective skep-
tical eyebrow of British political science, then Bryce’s claim (1929, vol. 1, 13) that
‘‘[I]t is Facts that are needed: Facts, Facts, Facts’’ would resonate with many. British
modernist empiricism has much in common with the positivism underpinning
mainstream American political science; both believe in comparison, measurement,
law-like generalization, and neutral evidence.
In so labeling the new institutionalism, I do not seek to criticize it, only to locate
it in a broader tradition. Adcock et al. (2006) do this job admirably. They explore
the diverse roots of the new institutionalism to dismiss the conventional narrative
of a shared rejection of behavioralism. They dispute there is a shared research
agenda or even the prospect of convergence. The new institutionalism is composed
of diverse strands, building on diVerent and probably incompatible intellectual
traditions, united only in the study of political institutions and their commitment
to modernist-empiricism. The new institutionalism may be a shared label but its
divergent roots in incommensurable traditions mean the several strands have
little else in common. When we move further aWeld, the divergence is even
more marked.
At Wrst glance, British political science took to historical institutionalism like a
duck to water. However, many British political scientists denied any novelty to the
new institutionalism. After all, in Britain, neither the behavioral revolution nor
rational choice had swept the study of institutions away. Also, the new institution-
alism is such a jumble of ideas and traditions that it can be raided for the bits that
easily Wt with other traditions. So, British political scientists could interpret the rise
of the new institutionalism in America as a vindication of British modernist
empiricism, with its skepticism toward both universal theory, and the scientism
characterizing American political science. Thus, Marshall (1999, 284–5) observes we
do not need ‘‘more or deeper conceptual theories’’ because ‘‘we have already have
94 r. a. w. rhodes

most of what we need’’ for ‘‘detailed description, classiWcation and comparison’’

and the ‘‘explanatory problem is simply that of describing relevant segments of the
system in suYcient detail to expose what happens or happened.’’ Case studies of
institutions can be dressed up as a revitalized institutionalism and British political
scientists can claim they wear the latest fashionable clothes. But, if you look closely
little has changed. Barry (1999, 450–5) concludes there is no shared intellectual
agenda based on the new institutionalism, no shared methodological tool kit, and
no band of synthesizers of the discipline. The new institutionalism is little more
than a cloak with which Whigs and modernist-empiricists can pursue the kinds of
work they long have done unruZed by the pretensions of behavioralism and
rational choice.
The same argument can be made for Australian political science. Aitkin (1985,
4–6) notes the discipline was shaped by the strong intellectual links with Britain
and the dominance of law, history, and philosophy in the universities. Formal-legal
studies were alive, even dominant, well into the 1980s (see Jinks 1985). It is hard
to discern the local impact of the new institutionalism (see McAllister et al. 2003,
part 2) and the impact of rational choice was even less (see the locally inXuential
critique by Stretton and Orchard 1994).

4 Where did We Come From—

Formal-legal Analysis?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The study of political institutions is central to the identity of the discipline of

political science. Eckstein (1963, 10–11) points out, ‘‘If there is any subject matter at
all which political scientists can claim exclusively for their own, a subject matter
that does not require acquisition of the analytical tools of sister-Welds and that
sustains their claim to autonomous existence, it is, of course, formal-legal political
structure.’’ Similarly, Greenleaf (1983, 7–9) argues that constitutional law, consti-
tutional history, and the study of institutions form the ‘‘traditional’’ approach
to political science, and he is commenting, not criticizing. Eckstein (1979, 2)
succinctly deWnes this approach as ‘‘the study of public laws that concern formal
governmental organizations.’’
The formal-legal approach treats rules in two ways. First, legal rules and
procedures are the basic independent variable and the functioning and fate
of democracies the dependent variable. For example, Duverger (1959) criticizes
electoral laws on proportional representation because they fragment party systems
 old institutionalisms 95

and undermine representative democracy. Moreover, the term ‘‘constitution’’ can be

narrowly conWned to the constitutional documentation and attendant legal judg-
ments. This use is too narrow. Finer (1932, 181), one of the doyens of the institutional
approach, deWnes a constitution as ‘‘the system of fundamental political institu-
tions.’’ In other words, the formal-legal approach covers not only the study of
written constitutional documents but also extends to the associated beliefs and
practices or ‘‘customs’’ (Lowell 1908, 1–15). The distinction between constitution
and custom recurs in many ways; for example, in the distinctions between formal
and informal organization. Second, rules are prescriptions; that is, behavior occurs
because of a particular rule. For example, local authorities limit local spending and
taxes because they know the central government (or the prefect, or a state in a
federation) can impose a legal ceiling or even directly run the local authority.
Eckstein (1979, 2) is a critic of formal-legal study, objecting that its practitioners
were ‘‘almost entirely silent about all of their suppositions.’’ Nonetheless, he
recognizes its importance, preferring to call it a ‘‘science of the state’’—staatswis-
senschaft—which should ‘‘not to be confused with ‘political science’ ’’ (Eckstein
1979, 1). And here lies a crucial contrast with my argument. Staatswissenschaft is not
distinct from political science; it is at its heart.
The formal-legal approach is comparative, historical, and inductive (Rhodes
1995, 43–6 and for the usual caricature see Thelen and Steinmo 1992, 3). Finer (1932)
is a Wne exponent of the comparative approach (and see Eckstein 1963, 18–23
and Bogdanor 1999 for more examples). In sharp contrast to many of his contem-
poraries, Finer did not adopt a country-by-country approach but compared
institution-by-institution across countries. He locates his institutional analysis in
a theory of the state. For Finer (1932, 20–2), the deWning characteristic of the state is
its legitimate monopoly of coercive power (see also Sait 1938, ch. 5). He surveys the
main political institutions ‘‘not only in their legal form, but in their operation’’
(Finer 1932, viii), as they evolved. Political institutions are ‘‘instrumentalities’’
which embody the ‘‘power-relationship between [the state’s] individual and
associated constituents’’ (Finer 1932, 181). Then and only then does he begin to
compare the political institutions of America, Britain, France, and Germany. His
analysis covers the elements of state organization, including: democracy, separation
of powers, constitutions, central-local territorial relations, and federalism. Finally,
he turns to ‘‘the principal parts of modern political machinery, namely, the
Electorate, the Parties, Parliament, the Cabinet, the Chief of State, the Civil Service
and the Judiciary’’ (1932, 949). His approach is not narrow and formal. It is
grounded in a theory of the state and explores both the evolution of the institutions
and their operation. The critics of the institutional approach do not do justice to
his sophisticated analysis.
Formal-legal analysis is also historical. It employs the techniques of the historian
and explores speciWc events, eras, people, and institutions. History is extolled as
‘‘the great teacher of wisdom’’ because it ‘‘enlarges the horizon, improves the
96 r. a. w. rhodes

perspective’’ and we ‘‘appreciate . . . that the roots of the present lie buried deep in
the past, and . . . that history is past politics and politics is present history’’ (Sait
1938, 49). Because political institutions are ‘‘like coral reefs’’ which have been
‘‘erected without conscious design,’’ and grow by ‘‘slow accretions,’’ the historical
approach is essential (Sait 1938, 16).
Finally, formal-legal analysis is inductive. The great virtue of institutions was
that we could ‘‘turn to the concreteness of institutions, the facts of their existence,
the character of their actions and the exercise of their power’’ (Landau 1979, 181;
emphasis in the original). We can draw inferences from repeated observations of
these objects by ‘‘letting the facts speak for themselves’’ (Landau 1979, 133).
In Britain and the USA, formal-legal analysis remains alive and well today in
textbooks, handbooks, and encyclopedias too numerous to cite. Major works are
still written in the idiom. Finer’s (1997) three-volume history of government
combines a sensitivity to history with a modernist-empiricist belief in comparisons
across time and space, regularities, and neutral evidence. He attempts to explain
how states came to be what they are with a speciWc emphasis on the modern
European nation state. He searches for regularities across time and countries in an
exercise in diachronic comparison. The History sets out to establish the distribu-
tion of the selected forms of government throughout history, and to compare their
general character, strengths, and weaknesses using a standardized typology. It then
provides a history of government from ancient monarchies (about 1700 bc) to
1875 ad. As Hayward (1999, 35) observes, Finer is either ‘‘the last trump reasserting
an old institutionalism’’ or ‘‘the resounding aYrmation of the potentialities of a
new historical institutionalism within British political science.’’ Given the lack of
any variant of new institutional theory, the result has to be old institutionalism,
and a Wne example of an eclectic modernist-empiricism at work.
Formal-legal analysis is a dominant tradition in continental Europe. It was the
dominant tradition in Germany, although challenged after 1945. The challenge is
yet to succeed in, for example, Italy, France, and Spain. Here I can only give a Xavor
of the variety that is French political science and establish it as a distinctive
endeavor that runs at times in a diVerent direction to, and at times parallel with,
Anglo-American political science.
There is a strong French tradition of constitutionalism. It is a species of the ‘‘old
institutionalism’’ in that it is descriptive, normative, and legalistic. It focuses on the
formal-legal aspects of institutions, but not on case law. It is another example of
staatswissenschaft. For example, Chevallier (1996, 67) argues that ‘‘the growth of the
French liberal state in the nineteenth century led to the predominance of the law
and lawyers emphasizing the guarantee of citizen’s rights and limits on state
power.’’ These jurists monopolized the Weld for nearly a century and it remains a
major inXuence (see for example Chevallier 2002). So, despite various challenges,
the 1980s witnessed ‘‘the resurgence’’ of ‘‘legal dogma’’ with its focus on the state’s
structures and functions (Chevallier 1996, 73).
 old institutionalisms 97

Outside the tradition of constitutionalism, the French approach to the study of

institutions remains distinctive and does not engage with the Anglo-American
literature. An early example is Duverger (1954, 1980). Although his work on
electoral systems and semi-presidentialism is probably better known outside
France than inside, nonetheless it was a major challenge to the academic lawyers
and inXuenced a younger generation of scholars. Latterly, ‘‘the strategic analysis of
institutions’’ is an example of the new institutionalism before that term was
invented. Its main proponents include, for example, Duhamel and Parodi (1985).
Their heyday was the 1970s and 1980s but Parodi remains a major Wgure. The
approach focuses on electoral systems, and core political institutions (such as the
presidency), and tries to identify how institutions, singly and in combination,
aVect behavior (for citations see Elgie 1996). Parodi explains the changing nature of
the Fifth Republic’s political system by identifying how, for example, the direct
election of the president with a majoritarian electoral system for the National
Assembly bipolarized the party system. The approach is positivist and rigorous
with some clear aYnities to both rational choice and empirical institutionalism
(see Peters 1999, ch. 5). However none of the proponents of the strategic analysis of
institutions publish in English; none engage with the Anglo-American literature.
Francophone and Anglophone traditions proceed in mutual ignorance. In short,
French political science is rooted in constitutionalism or staatswissenschaft and,
when it diverges from that tradition, it remains distinctive.

5 What are the Competing

Traditions—Idealism?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In British political science, the idealist tradition encompasses those who argue that
social and political institutions do not exist apart from traditions or our theories
(or ideas) of them (see Nicholson 1990). The major British idealist of recent times
is Oakeshott (1991 and the citations on pp. xxiii–xvi). I concentrate on the
application of his ideas to the study of political institutions.
The inheritors of idealism challenged behavioralism for its neglect of meanings,
contexts, and history. Oakeshott (1962, 129–30) argued political education required
the ‘‘genuine historical study’’ of a ‘‘political tradition, a concrete manner of
behavior.’’ The task of political science, although he would never use that
label, is ‘‘to understand a tradition,’’ which is ‘‘participation in a conversation,’’
‘‘initiation into an inheritance,’’ and ‘‘an exploration of its intimations.’’
98 r. a. w. rhodes

For Oakeshott (1962, 126–7) a tradition is a ‘‘Xow of sympathy’’ and in any political
activity we ‘‘sail a boundless and bottomless sea’’ and ‘‘the enterprise is to keep
aXoat on an even keel.’’ This is a conservative idealism that treats tradition as
a resource to which one should typically feel allegiance (cf. Taylor 1985;
Skinner 1969).
For Johnson (1989, 131, 112), political institutions ‘‘express . . . ideas about
political authority . . . and embody a continuing approach to resolving the issues
which arise in the relations between citizen and government.’’ Institutions are also
normative, ‘‘serv[ing] as means of communicating and transmitting values.’’ They
are the expression of human purpose, so political institutions necessarily contain a
normative element (Johnson 1975, 276–7). The task of ‘‘political science,’’ a term
Johnson would abhor, is to study institutions using ‘‘the methods of historical
research . . . to establish what is particular and speciWc rather than to formulate
statements of regularity or generalisations claiming to apply universally.’’ History is
‘‘the source of experience’’ while philosophy is ‘‘the means of its critical appraisal’’
(Johnson 1989, 122–3). Johnson’s (1977, 30; emphasis in original) analysis of the
British constitution is grounded in the ‘‘extraordinary and basically unbroken
continuity of conventional political habits.’’ The British ‘‘constitution is these
political habits and little else’’ and the core notion is ‘‘the complete dominance’’
of the idea of parliamentary government. Johnson (2004) applies this idea of the
customary constitution of practices ‘‘mysteriously handed down as the intimations
of a tradition’’ and ‘‘inarticulate major premises’’ (the reference is, of course, to
Oakeshott) to New Labour’s constitutional reforms; for example, devolution. His
detailed commentary is of little concern here. Of relevance is his ‘‘bias’’ towards
‘‘the customary constitution’’ because of its ‘‘remarkable record of adaptation to
changing circumstances and challenges’’ (Johnson 2004, 5). However, a customary
constitution depends on support from a society that is sympathetic to ‘‘habit,
convention and tradition.’’ Johnson fears there is a ‘‘crumbling respect for trad-
ition’’ and ponders whether the current reforms move ‘‘beyond custom
and practice,’’ and ‘‘piecemeal adaptation may have its limits.’’ The customary
supports of the constitution may well have been ‘‘eroded beyond recall.’’ Johnson
(2004) ends on this interrogatory note.
The notion of institutions as embedded ideas and practices is central to
Johnson’s analysis. It also lies at the heart of the Islamic study of political institutions.
Al-Buraey (1985, ch. 6) identiWes a distinctive Islamic approach to the institutions
and processes of administrative development. Its distinctive features include: its
emphasis on Islamic values and ethical standards; prayers in an Islamic organiza-
tion—salah Wve times a day is a duty because it is as necessary to feed the soul as to
feed the body; bureaucracies that represent the groups they serve; and shura or the
process of continuous dialogue between ruler and ruled until a consensus emerges.
Also, as Omid (1994, 4) argues, Islam can produce two contrasting views of the role of
the state. The state exists ‘‘only to protect and apply the laws as stated by God.’’ The
 old institutionalisms 99

Saudi model means that you cannot have elections, leaders emerge by consensus and
rule according to the teachings of the Koran. The Iranian model builds on the
alternative view that Muslims have to abide by the rulings of Islam but that which
is not prohibited is permitted. So, there can be elections, parliament, and legislation
but the laws have to be subject to scrutiny by a council of guardians. I do not end on
an interrogatory note, but stress the primacy of ideas in the study of political
institutions (see also Blyth 2002; Campbell and Pederson 2001; Hay 2002).

6 What are the Competing

Traditions—Socialism?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

If historical materialism and economic determinism have been relegated to the

dustbin of history, what is left? I seek to show that the tradition persists and
introduce brieXy the Marxist theory of the state; the post-Marxists, whose work
has been inXuenced by ‘‘the linguistic turn;’’ and the non-Marxists with their
predilection for social engineering.

6.1 Marxist Political Economy

The speciWc area of concern to the student of political institutions is their analysis
of the state. The literature burgeoned (see for example Hay 1996, 1999; Jessop 1990;
and Chapter 7).
Jessop is a central Wgure. He argues against all those approaches to state theory
predicated on a distinction between structure and agency. He treats structure and
agency only as an analytical distinction; they do not exist apart from one another.
Rather we must look at the relationship of structure to action and action to
structure. So, ‘‘structures are thereby treated analytically as strategic in their
form, content and operation; and actions are thereby treated analytically as
structured, more or less context sensitive, and structuring.’’ This approach involves
examining both ‘‘how a given structure may privilege some actors, some identities,
some strategies . . . some actions over others,’’ and ‘‘the ways . . . in which
actors . . . take account of this diVerential privileging through ‘strategic-context
analysis’ ’’ (Jessop 2001, 1223). In other words, individuals intending to realize
certain objectives and outcomes make a strategic assessment of the context in
100 r. a. w. rhodes

which they Wnd themselves. However that context is not neutral. It too is strategic-
ally selective in the sense that it privileges certain strategies over others. Individuals
learn from their actions and adjust their strategies. The context is changed by their
actions, so individuals have to adjust to a diVerent context. Institutions or func-
tions no longer deWne the state. It is a site of strategic selectivity; a ‘‘dialectic of
structures and strategies’’ (Jessop 1990, 129).
According to Hay (1999, 170), Jessop’s central achievement has been to transcend
‘‘more successfully than any other Marxist theorist past or present’’ the ‘‘artiWcial
dualism of structure and agency.’’ I do not want to demur from that judgment or
attempt any critical assessment. For my purposes, I need to note only that Jessop’s
contribution is widely noticed in Continental Europe and substantially ignored by
mainstream political science in America and Britain.

6.2 Post-Marxism
Ernesto Laclau is a leading Wgure in post-Marxism (Laclau 1990; Laclau and MouVe
1985). His roots lie in Gramscian Marxism and with post-structuralist political
philosophy, not with mainstream political science. Discourse theory has grown
without engaging with mainstream political science. There is no speciWc critique of
political science. Rather it is subsumed within a general critique of both modern-
ism and naturalism in the social sciences (as in for example Winch 1990).
Discourse theory analyses ‘‘all the practices and meanings shaping a particular
community of social actors.’’ It assumes that ‘‘all objects and actions are meaning-
ful’’ and that ‘‘their meaning is the product of historically speciWc systems of rules.’’
Discourse analysis refers to the analysis of linguistic and non-linguistic material as
‘‘texts . . . that enable subjects to experience the world of objects, words and prac-
tices’’ (Howarth 2000, 5, 8, 10). The ‘‘overall aim of social and political analysis
from a discursive perspective is to describe, understand, interpret and evaluate
carefully constructed objects of investigation.’’ So, ‘‘instead of applying theory
mechanically to empirical objects, or testing theories against empirical reality,
discourse theorists argue for the articulation and modiWcation of concepts and
logics in each particular research context.’’ At the heart of the approach is an
analogy with language. Just as we understand the meaning of a word from its
context, so we understand a political institution as sedimented beliefs within a
particular discourse (and for commentary see Critchley and Marchant 2005).
If Laclau’s debt to post-structuralism has undermined many of the characteristic
themes of Marxist thinking—for example, his emphasis on the role of discourses
and on historical contingency leaves little room for Marxist social analysis with its
basic materialism—nonetheless he leaves us with the deconstruction of institutions
as discourse.
 old institutionalisms 101

6.3 Non-Marxists: Fabian Social Engineering

One strand in Fabian thought espoused social and administrative engineering:
‘‘disinterested inquiries into social problems that could be utilized by the leaders of
either of the major parties.’’ This ‘‘application of the scientiWc method or ‘system-
atized common sense’ ’’ stressed such topics as public ownership in the guise of
nationalizing industry and extending municipal enterprise (Pierson 1979, 314, 335).
Its proponents range from Sydney and Beatrice Webb at the turn of the twentieth
century, through postwar advocates such as William Robson and John Stewart, to
the current heirs in such New Labour thinks tanks as Demos and the Institute for
Public Policy Research. British political science diVers sharply from American
political science because it has a strong, diVerentiated socialist tradition.
Robson was ‘‘one of the Olympian Fabians, worthy company to the Webbs’’ (Hill
1986, 12) and a founder of public administration in Britain. His approach to the
study of British government and public administration was formal-legal institu-
tionalism and analyzed the history, structure, functions, powers, and relationships
of government organizations. In Robson (1939, 1960), he fought for vigorous local
democracy and he was a staunch defender of the public corporation. In the
festschrift for Robson, GriYth (1976, 216) revisited Robson’s (1928) Justice and
Administrative Law, concluding that it was ‘‘a remarkable work of academic
scholarship and political perception’’ that ‘‘challenged some major assumptions
of the system, and not merely some defects which needed remedy.’’ To modern eyes
much of his work seems overly polemical. Robson took as self-evident, truths and
propositions we would challenge today; for example, the positive relationship
between increasing size and eYciency. It matters not. Robson typiWes that blend
of institutional description and reformism so typical of the British school.
I seek not to praise or bury Caesar, simply to point out that the Fabian social and
administrative engineering tradition is alive and well and advising the New Labour
government (see Perri 6, Leat, Seltzer, and Stoker 2002; and on the antecedents see
Bevir 2005). And this conclusion applies to the several strands of the socialist
tradition. It is long-standing, durable, varied, and still with us whether it is
analyzing the state, deconstructing institutions as discourse, or advocating network
governance reforms.

7 Conclusions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

I address two questions. Were we right all along to focus on formal institutions?
Where are we going in the study of political institutions?
102 r. a. w. rhodes

7.1 Were We Right all Along?

My concern has been to identify and describe some of the many distinctive
traditions in the study of political institutions. I have not even remotely exhausted
the variety of such traditions. I have not attempted to pass judgment on their
relative merits. I am wary of treating any one theoretical perspective as the valid
one from which to judge all others, preferring to probe for neglected traditions. If
there is a judgment, it is that we should not overlook them. For many readers, the
formal-legal tradition may seem an anachronism, but if one looks at constitution
making throughout developing countries, Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet
Union, one has to conclude the tradition is alive and well.
When we look beyond Anglo-American institutionalism and cover at least some
of the various traditions in the study of institutions we see there is a common core
of ideas. The distinctive contribution of political science to the study of institutions
lies in its emphasis on: describing the written constitutional documents and their
associated beliefs and practices, drawing on history and philosophy—the founding
constituent disciplines of political science—to explore the historical evolution of
political institutions. Such texts and their allied customs constitute the governmen-
tal traditions that shape the practices of citizen, politician, administrator, and
political scientists alike. Even for Anglo-American institutionalism such analysis
provides the basic building blocks of analysis.
Of course modernist-empiricism adds two more ingredients to the pot: some
permutation of the modernist-empiricist tool kit of hypothesis testing, deductive
methods, atomization, classiWcation, and measurement; and contemporary social
and political theory, under the label ‘‘the new institutionalisms.’’ For proponents of
behavioralism and the new institutionalism alike, the kiss of death for formal-legal
analysis is its atheoretical approach. Behavioralism found the study of political
institutions wanting because of its ‘‘hyperfactualism,’’ or ‘‘reverence for the fact,’’
which meant that political scientists suVered from ‘‘theoretical malnutrition’’
and neglected ‘‘the general framework within which these facts could acquire
meaning’’ (Easton 1971, 75, 77, 79). New institutionalism takes it for granted that
the ‘‘old institutionalism’’ was ‘‘atheoretical’’ (see Thelen and Steinmo 1992, 4; and
for a survey of the various criticisms and reply see Rhodes 1995).
Viewed from the modernist-empiricist tradition, these criticisms seem like the
death knell. Proponents of the formal-legal approach do not spell out their causal
theory. However, many would dispute the relevance of this criterion. If you are not
persuaded of the merits of present-day social science, then you do not aspire to
causal theory but turn to the historical and philosophical analyses of formal-legal
institutionalism. For example, Greenleaf (1983, 286) bluntly argues that although
‘‘the concept of a genuine social science has had its ups and downs, and it still
survives, . . . we are as far from its achievement as we were when Spencer (or Bacon
for that matter) Wrst put pen to paper.’’ Indeed, he opines, these ‘‘continuous
 old institutionalisms 103

attempts . . . serve only to demonstrate . . . the inherent futility of the enterprise.’’

He holds a ‘‘determinedly old-fashioned’’ view of the study of politics, with its
focus on history, institutions, and the interaction between ideas and institutions
(Greenleaf 1983, xi). Moreover, Bogdanor (1999, 149, 150, 175, 176–7, 178) is
not about to apologize for his version of ‘‘political science.’’ He has a profound
aversion to ‘‘over-arching theory’’ and ‘‘positivism,’’ opting for ‘‘an indigenous
British approach to politics, a deWnite intellectual tradition, and one that is worth
preserving.’’ This is the tradition of Dicey, ‘‘who sought to discover what it was
that distinguished the British constitution from codiWed constitutions;’’ and
Bagehot, ‘‘who . . . sought to understand political ‘forms’ through the analysis of
political ‘forces’.’’ Similarly, viewed from a constructivist standpoint, the absence
of the conventional battery of social science theories is also not a problem because
its proponents emphasize the meanings of rules for actors seeking the explanation
of their practices in the reasons they give. Null hypotheses and casual modeling
play no part. Formal-legal analysis has its own distinctive rationale and, under-
stood as the analysis of the historical evolution of formal-legal institutions and the
ideas embedded in them, it is the deWning characteristic of the political science
contribution to the study of political institutions.

7.2 Where are We Going? History, Ethnography, and the

Study of Political Institutions
A key concern in the formal-legal analysis of institutions, in idealism, in post-
Marxism, and in various species of the new institutionalism is the interplay of ideas
and institutions. In their diVerent ways, all analyze the historical evolution of
formal-legal institutions and the ideas embedded in them. So, we read constitu-
tions as text for the beliefs they embed in institutions. We also explore the related
customs by observing politicians and public servants at work because observation
is the prime way of recovering ideas and their meanings. My argument for the
continuing validity of old institutionalism, therefore, stresses, not the provision of
‘‘facts, facts, facts,’’ but historical and philosophical analysis.
The focus on meanings is the deWning characteristic of interpretive or construct-
ivist approaches to the study of political institutions. So, an interpretive approach
to political institutions challenges us to decenter institutions; that is, to analyze the
ways in which they are produced, reproduced, and changed through the particular
and contingent beliefs, preferences, and actions of individuals. Even when an
institution maintains similar routines while personnel change, it does so mainly
because the successive personnel pass on similar beliefs and preferences.
So, interpretive theory rethinks the nature of institutions as sedimented products
of contingent beliefs and preferences.
104 r. a. w. rhodes

If institutions are to be understood through the beliefs and actions of individuals

located in traditions, then historical analysis is the way to uncover the traditions
that shape these stories and ethnographers reconstruct the meanings of social
actors by recovering other people’s stories (see for example Geertz 1973; Taylor
1985). The aim is ‘‘to see the world as they see it, to adopt their vantage point on
politics’’ (Fenno 1990, 2). Ethnography encompasses many ways of collecting
qualitative data about beliefs and practices. For example, Shore’s (2000, 7–11)
cultural analysis of how EU elites sought to build Europe uses participant obser-
vation, historical archives, textual analysis of oYcial documents, biographies, oral
histories, recorded interviews, and informal conversations as well as statistical
and survey techniques. The techniques are many and varied but participant
observation lies at the heart of ethnography and the aim is always to recover
other people’s meanings.
This ‘‘interpretive turn’’ is a controversial challenge to the mainstream. It is
probably premature and certainly unwise to claim we are on the threshold of a
postmodern political science. However, postmodernism does not refer only to
debates about epistemology. It also refers to the postmodern epoch and the idea
of a shift from Fordism, or a world characterized by mass production of consumer
goods and large hierarchically structured business organizations, to Xexible spe-
cialization, and customized production (see for example Clegg 1990, 19–22,
177–84). By extension, a postmodern political science may well be characterized
by a Fordist heartland in the guise of rational choice institutionalism and customi-
zed political science rooted in national political traditions. And among these
niches, old institutionalism will continue to thrive. Also, for the Fordist heartland,
it will remain the starting point.
Pondering the aphorism ‘‘what goes around comes around,’’ I conclude that old
institutionalism has not only stayed around but that its focus on texts and custom
and its commitment to historical and philosophical analysis make it increasingly
relevant. Weighing the mounting criticism of rational choice institutionalism (as in
for example Green and Shapiro 1994; Hay 2004), I expect to listen to a new
generation of stories about actors and institutions. Interrogating the ‘‘interpretive
turn,’’ I conclude it is built on shifting sands because our notion of institutions
is variously constructed within competing, non-commensurable traditions. So,
we already live in a postmodern world with its tribes of political scientists. The
key issue is whether we talk past one another or whether we have a reasoned
engagement.
Bates et al. (1998) are distinguished proponents of rational choice who also argue
for political anthropology and attempt to synthesize rational choice and interpret-
ive theory. As Hay (2004, 58) argues, and Bates et al. acknowledge, ‘‘the post-
positivist epistemology and post-naturalist ontology of interpretivism cannot be
easily reconciled with the positivist epistemology and naturalist ontology of
rational choice theory.’’ Interpretive theory has not been assimilated to the rational
 old institutionalisms 105

choice mainstream. Rather, Bates et al. should be seen as ‘‘deploying rational choice
techniques and analytical strategies in the service of an interpretivist theory’’ (Hay
2004, 58; emphasis in original). But, more important, their work is an example of
reasoned engagement between the traditions.
Such engagement ought to be our future. I fear the professionalization of the
political science discipline is the enemy of diversity; a case of ‘‘vive la diVérence,’’
but not too much.

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 part iii
...................................................................................................................................................

INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................
 chapter 7
...................................................................................................................................................

T H E S TAT E A N D
S TAT E - B U I L D I N G
...................................................................................................................................................

bob jessop

The state has been studied from many perspectives but no single theory can fully
capture and explain its complexities. States and the interstate system provide a
moving target because of their complex developmental logics and because there
are continuing attempts to transform them. Moreover, despite tendencies to reify the
state and treat it as standing outside and above society, there can be no adequate
theory of the state without a wider theory of society. For the state and political system
are parts of a broader ensemble of social relations and neither state projects nor state
power can be adequately understood outside their embedding in this ensemble.

1 What is the State?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

This innocuous-looking question challenges anyone trying to analyze states. Some

theorists deny the state’s very existence (see below) but most still accept that states
are real and provide a valid research focus. Beyond this consensus, however, lies
conceptual chaos. Key questions include: Is the state best deWned by its legal form,
112 bob jessop

coercive capacities, institutional composition and boundaries, internal operations

and modes of calculation, declared aims, functions for the broader society, or
sovereign place in the international system? Is it a thing, a subject, a social relation,
or a construct that helps to orient political action? Is stateness a variable and, if so,
what are its central dimensions? What is the relationship between the state and law,
the state and politics, the state and civil society, the public and the private, state
power and micropower relations? Is the state best studied in isolation; only as
part of the political system; or, indeed, in terms of a more general social theory?
Do states have institutional, decisional, or operational autonomy and, if so, what
are its sources and limits?
Everyday language sometimes depicts the state as a subject—the state does, or
must do, this or that; and sometimes as a thing—this economic class, social
stratum, political party, or oYcial caste uses the state to pursue its projects or
interests. But how could the state act as if it were a uniWed subject and what could
constitute its unity as a ‘‘thing?’’ Coherent answers are hard because the state’s
referents vary so much. It changes shape and appearance with the activities it
undertakes, the scales on which it operates, the political forces acting towards it, the
circumstances in which it and they act, and so on. When pressed, a common
response is to list the institutions that comprise the state, usually with a core set of
institutions with increasingly vague outer boundaries. From the political executive,
legislature, judiciary, army, police, and public administration, the list may extend
to education, trade unions, mass media, religion, and even the family. Such lists
typically fail to specify what lends these institutions the quality of statehood. This is
hard because, as Max Weber (1948) famously noted, there is no activity that states
always perform and none that they have never performed. Moreover, what if, as
some theorists argue, the state is inherently prone to fail? Are the typical forms of
state failure properly part of its core deWnition or merely contingent, variable, and
eliminable secondary features? Finally, who are the state’s agents? Do they include
union leaders involved in policing incomes policies, for example, or media owners
who circulate propaganda on the state’s behalf?
An obvious escape route is to deWne the state in terms of means rather than ends.
This approach informs Weber’s celebrated deWnition of the modern state as the
‘‘human community that successfully claims legitimate monopoly over the means
of coercion in a given territorial area’’ as well as deWnitions that highlight its formal
sovereignty vis-à-vis its own population and other states. This does not mean that
modern states exercise power largely through direct and immediate coercion—this
would be a sign of crisis or state failure—but rather that coercion is their last resort
in enforcing binding decisions. For, where state power is regarded as legitimate, it
can normally secure compliance without such recourse. Even then all states
reserve the right—or claim the need—to suspend the constitution or speciWc
legal provisions and many states rely heavily on force, fraud, and corruption and
their subjects’ inability to organize eVective resistance.
 state and state-building 113

Building on Weber and his contemporaries, other theorists regard the essence of
the state (premodern as well as modern) as the territorialization of political
authority. This involves the intersection of politically organized coercive and
symbolic power, a clearly demarcated core territory, and a Wxed population on
which political decisions are collectively binding. Thus the key feature of the state is
the historically variable ensemble of technologies and practices that produce,
naturalize, and manage territorial space as a bounded container within which
political power is then exercised to achieve various, more or less well integrated,
and changing policy objectives. A system of formally sovereign, mutually recog-
nizing, mutually legitimating national states exercising sovereign control over large
and exclusive territorial areas is only a relatively recent institutional expression of
state power. Other modes of territorializing political power have existed, some still
coexist with the so-called Westphalian system (allegedly established by the
Treaties of Westphalia in 1648 but realized only stepwise during the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries), new expressions are emerging, and yet others can be
imagined. For example, is the EU a new form of state power, a rescaled ‘‘national’’
state, a revival of medieval political patterns, or a post-sovereign form of authority?
And is the rapid expansion of transnational regimes indicative of the emergence of
global governance or even a world state?
Another inXuential theorist, the Italian Communist, Antonio Gramsci, deWned
the state as ‘‘political society þ civil society;’’ and likewise analyzed state power in
modern democratic societies as based on ‘‘hegemony armoured by coercion.’’ He
deWned hegemony as the successful mobilization and reproduction of the ‘‘active
consent’’ of dominated groups by the ruling class through the exercise of political,
intellectual, and moral leadership. Force in turn involves the use of a coercive
apparatus to bring the mass of the people into conformity and compliance with the
requirements of a speciWc mode of production. This approach provides a salutary
reminder that the state only exercises power by projecting and realizing state
capacities beyond the narrow boundaries of state; and that domination and
hegemony can be exercised on both sides of any oYcial public–private divide
(for example, state support for paramilitary groups such as the Italian fascisti,
state education in relation to hegemony) (Gramsci 1971).
Building on Marx and Gramsci, a postwar Greek political theorist, Nicos
Poulantzas (1978), developed a better solution. He claimed that the state is a social
relation. This elliptical phrase implies that, whether regarded as a thing (or, better,
an institutional ensemble) or as a subject (or, better, the repository of speciWc
political capacities and resources), the state is far from a passive instrument or
neutral actor. Instead it is always biased by virtue of the structural and strategic
selectivity that makes state institutions, capacities, and resources more accessible to
some political forces and more tractable for some purposes than others. Poulantzas
interpreted this mainly in class terms and grounded it in the generic form of the
capitalist state; he also argued that selectivity varies by particular political regimes.
114 bob jessop

Likewise, since it is not a subject, the capitalist state does not, and indeed cannot,
exercise power. Instead its powerś (plural) are activated by changing sets of
politicians and state oYcials located in speciWc parts of the state in speciWc
conjunctures. If an overall strategic line is discernible in the exercise of these
powers, it is due to strategic coordination enabled through the selectivity of the
state system and the role of parallel power networks that cross-cut and unify its
formal structures. Such unity is improbable, according to Poulantzas, because the
state is shot through with contradictions and class struggles and its political agents
must always take account of (potential) mobilization by a wide range of forces
beyond the state, engaged in struggles to transform it, determine its policies, or
simply resist it from afar. This approach can be extended to include dimensions
of social domination that are not directly rooted in class relations (for example,
gender, ethnicity, ‘‘race,’’ generation, religion, political aYliation, or regional
location). This would provide a bridge to non-Marxist analyses of the state and
state power (see below on the strategic-relational approach).

2 The Origins of the State and

State-building
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

State formation is not a once-and-for-all process nor did the state develop in just
one place and then spread elsewhere. It has been invented many times, had its
ups and downs, and seen recurrent cycles of centralization and decentralization,
territorialization and deterritorialization. This is a rich Weld for political
archeology, political anthropology, historical sociology, comparative politics,
evolutionary institutional economics, historical materialism, and international
relations. Although its origins have been explained in various monocausal ways,
none of these provides a convincing general explanation. Marxists focus on the
emergence of economic surplus to enable development of specialized, economic-
ally unproductive political apparatus concerned to secure cohesion in a
(class-)divided society (see, classically, Engels’ (1875) Origins of the Family, Private
Property, and the State); military historians focus on the role of military conquest in
state-building and/or the demands of defense of territorial integrity in the expan-
sion of state capacities to penetrate and organize society (Hintze’s (e.g. 1975) work
is exemplary; see also Porter 1994). Others emphasize the role of a specialized
priesthood and organized religion (or other forms of ideological power) in giving
symbolic unity to the population governed by the state (Claessen and Skalnik
1978). Feminist theorists have examined the role of patriarchy in state formation
 state and state-building 115

and the state’s continuing role in reproducing gender divisions. And yet other
scholars focus on the ‘‘imagined political communities’’ around which nation
states have been constructed (classically Anderson 1991).
The best approach is multicausal and recognizes that states change continually,
are liable to break down, and must be rebuilt in new forms, with new capacities and
functions, new scales of operation, and a predisposition to new types of failure. In
this context, as Mann (1986) notes, the state is polymorphous—its organization and
capacities can be primarily capitalist, military, theocratic, or democratic in character
and its dominant crystallization is liable to challenge as well as conjunctural
variation. There is no guarantee that the modern state will always (or ever) be
primarily capitalist in character and, even where capital accumulation is deeply
embedded in its organizational matrix, it typically takes account of other functional
demands and civil society in order to promote institutional integration and social
cohesion within its territorial boundaries. Whether it succeeds is another matter.
Modern state formation has been analyzed from four perspectives. First, the
state’s ‘‘historical constitution’’ is studied in terms of path-dependent histories or
genealogies of particular parts of the modern state (such as a standing army,
modern tax system, formal bureaucracy, parliament, universal suVrage, citizen-
ship rights, and recognition by other states). Second, work on ‘‘formal constitu-
tion’’ explores how a state acquires, if at all, its distinctive formal features as a
modern state, such as formal separation from other spheres of society, its own
political rationale, modus operandi, and distinctive constitutional legitimation,
based on adherence to its own political procedures rather than values such as
divine right or natural law. Third, agency-centered theorizations focus on state
projects that give a substantive (as opposed to formal) unity to state actions and
whose succession deWnes diVerent types of state, for example, liberal state,
welfare state, competition state. And, fourth, conWgurational analyses explore
the distinctive character of state–civil society relations and seek to locate state
formation within wider historical developments. Eisenstadt’s (1963) work on the
rise and fall of bureaucratic empires, Elias’s (1982) work on the state and
civilization, and Rokkan’s (1999) work on European state formation over the
last 400–500 years are exemplary here.

3 Marxist Approaches to the State

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Marx’s and Engels’ work on the state comprises diverse philosophical, theoretical,
journalistic, partisan, ad hominem, or purely ad hoc comments. This is reXected in
116 bob jessop

the weaknesses of later Marxist state theories, both analytically and practically, and
has prompted many attempts to complete the Marxist theory of the state based
on selective interpretations of these writings. There were two main axes around
which these views moved. Epiphenomenalist accounts mainly interpreted state
forms and functions as more or less direct reXections of underlying economic
structures and interests. These views were sometimes modiWed to take account of
the changing stages of capitalism and the relative stability or crisis-prone nature
of capitalism. Instrumentalist accounts treated the state as a simple vehicle for
political class rule, moving as directed by those in charge. For some tendencies
and organizations (notably in the social democratic movement) instrumentalism
could justify a parliamentary democratic road to socialism based on the electoral
conquest of power, state planning, or nationalization of leading industrial sec-
tors. Others argued that parliamentary democracy was essentially bourgeois and
that extra-parliamentary mobilization and a new form of state were crucial to
make and consolidate a proletarian revolution. Frankfurt School critical theorists
examined the interwar trends towards a strong, bureaucratic state—whether
authoritarian or totalitarian in form. They argued that this corresponded to
the development of organized or state capitalism, relied increasingly on the
mass media for its ideological power, and had integrated the trade union
movement as a political support or else smashed it as part of the consolidation
of totalitarian rule.
Marxist interest revived in the 1960s and 1970s in response to the apparent ability
of the Keynesian welfare national state to manage the postwar economy in
advanced capitalist societies and the alleged ‘‘end of ideology’’ that accompanied
postwar economic growth. Marxists initially sought to prove that, notwithstanding
the postwar boom, contemporary states could not really suspend capital’s contra-
dictions and crisis-tendencies and that the state remained a key factor in class
domination.
The relative autonomy of the state was much debated in the 1970s and 1980s.
Essentially this topic concerned the relative freedom of the state (or, better, state
managers) to pursue policies that conXicted with the immediate interests of the
dominant economic class(es) without becoming so autonomous that they could
undermine their long-term interests too. This was one of the key themes in the
notoriously diYcult Miliband–Poulantzas debate in the 1970s between an alleged
instrumentalist and a purported determinist, respectively. This controversy
generated much heat but little light because it was based as much on diVerent
presentational strategies as it was on real theoretical diVerences. Thus Miliband’s
(1969) work began by analyzing the social origins and current interests of
economic and political elites and then proceeded to analyze more fundamental
features of actually existing states in a capitalist society and the constraints on its
autonomy. Poulantzas (1973) began with the overall institutional framework of
capitalist societies, deWned the ideal-typical capitalist type of state (a constitutional
 state and state-building 117

democratic state based on the rule of law), then explored the typical forms
of political class struggle in bourgeois democracies (concerned with winning
active consent for a national-popular project), and concluded with an analysis
of the relative autonomy of state managers. Whilst not fully abandoning
his earlier approach, Poulantzas later argued that the state is a social relation
(see above).
The best work in this period formulated two key insights with a far wider
relevance. First, some Marxists explored how the typical form of the capitalist
state actually caused problems rather than guaranteed its overall functionality for
capital accumulation and political class domination. For the state’s institutional
separation from the market economy, a separation that was regarded as a necessary
and deWning feature of capitalist societies, results in the dominance of diVerent
(and potentially contradictory) institutional logics and modes of calculation in
state and economy. There is no certainty that political outcomes will serve the
needs of capital—even if (and, indeed, precisely because) the state is operationally
autonomous and subject to politically-mediated constraints and pressures. This
conclusion fuelled work on the structural contradictions, strategic dilemmas, and
historically conditioned development of speciWc state forms. It also prompted
interest in the complex interplay of social struggles and institutions. And, second,
as noted above, Marxist theorists began to analyze state power as a complex social
relation. This involved studies of diVerent states’ structural selectivity and the
factors that shaped their strategic capacities. Attention was paid to the variability
of these capacities, their organization and exercise, and their diVerential impact on
the state power and states’ capacities to project power into social realms well
beyond their own institutional boundaries. As with the Wrst set of insights, this
also led to more complex studies of struggles, institutions, and political capacities
(see Barrow 1993; Jessop 2001).

4 State-centered Theories
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The Xourishing of Marxist state theories in the 1970s prompted a

counter-movement in the 1980s to ‘‘bring the state back in’’ as a critical explanatory
variable in social analysis. This approach was especially popular in the USA and
claimed that the dominant postwar approaches were too ‘‘society-centered’’ be-
cause they explained the state’s form, functions, and impact in terms of factors
rooted in the organization, needs, or interests of society. Marxism was accused of
economic reductionism for its emphasis on base-superstructure relations and class
118 bob jessop

struggle; pluralism was charged with limiting its account of competition for state
power to interest groups and movements rooted in civil society and ignoring the
distinctive role and interests of state managers; and structural-functionalism was
criticized for assuming that the development and operations of the political
system were determined by the functional requirements of society as a whole.
‘‘State-centered’’ theorists claimed this put the cart before the horse. They argued
that state activities and their impact are easily explained in terms of its distinctive
properties as an administrative or repressive organ and/or the equally distinct-
ive properties of the broader political system encompassing the state. Societal
factors, when not irrelevant, were certainly secondary; and their impact on state
aVairs was always Wltered through the political system and the state itself.
The classic statement of this approach is found in Evans, Rueschemeyer, and
Skocpol (1985).
In its more programmatic guise the statist approach advocated a return to
classic theorists such as Machiavelli, Clausewitz, de Tocqueville, Weber, or
Hintze. In practice, statists showed little interest in such thinkers, with the partial
exception of Weber. The real focus of state-centered work is detailed case studies
of state-building, policy-making, and implementation. These emphasize six
themes: (a) the geopolitical position of diVerent states in the interstate system
and its implications for the logic of state action; (b) the dynamic of military
organization and the impact of warfare on the overall development of the state—
reXected in Tilly’s claim that, not only do states make war, but wars make states;
(c) the state’s distinctive administrative powers—especially those rooted in its
capacities to produce and enforce collectively binding decisions within a centrally
organized, territorially bounded society—and its strategic reach in relation to all
other social sub-systems (including the economy), organizations (including
capitalist enterprises), and forces (including classes) within its domain; (d) the
state’s role as a distinctive factor in shaping institutions, group formation,
interest articulation, political capacities, ideas, and demands beyond the state;
(e) the distinctive pathologies of government and the political system—such as
bureaucratism, political corruption, government overload, or state failure; and
(f) the distinctive interests and capacities of ‘‘state managers’’ (career oYcials,
elected politicians, and so on). Although ‘‘state-centered’’ theorists emphasized
diVerent factors or combinations thereof, the main conclusions remain that there
are distinctive political pressures and processes that shape the state’s form and
functions; give it a real and important autonomy when faced with pressures
and forces emerging from the wider society; and thereby endow it with a unique
and irreplaceable centrality both in national life and the international order. In
short, the state is a force in its own right and does not just serve the economy or
civil society (Evans, Rueschemeyer, and Skocpol 1985).
Their approach leads ‘‘state-centered’’ theorists to advance a distinctive inter-
pretation of state autonomy. For most Marxists, the latter is primarily understood
 state and state-building 119

in terms of the state’s capacity to promote the long-term, collective interests of

capital even when faced with opposition—including from particular capitalist
interests. Only in exceptional and typically short-lived circumstances can the state
secure real freedom of action. Neostatists reject such a class- or capital-theoretical
account and suggest that it is usual for the state to exercise autonomy in its
own right and in pursuit of its own, quite distinctive, interests. Accordingly, they
emphasize: (a) state managers’ ability to exercise power independently of (and even
in the face of resistance from) non-state forces—especially where a pluralistic
universe of social forces opens signiWcant scope for maneuver; and (b) the ground-
ing of this ability in the state’s distinctive political resources and its ability to use
these to penetrate, control, supervise, police, and discipline modern societies.
Neostatists also argue that state autonomy is not a Wxed structural feature of
each and every governmental system but diVers across states, by policy area, and
over time. This is due partly to external limits on the scope for autonomous state
action and partly to variations in state managers’ capacity and readiness to pursue
a strategy independent of non-state actors.
The extensive body of statist empirical research has generally proved a fruitful
counterweight to one-sided class- and capital-theoretical work. Nonetheless four
signiWcant lines of criticism have been advanced against neostatism. First, the
rationale for neostatism is based on incomplete and misleading accounts of
society-centered work. Second, neostatism itself focuses one-sidedly on state
and party politics at the expense of political forces outside and beyond the state.
In particular, it substitutes ‘‘politicians for social formations (such as class or
gender or race), elite for mass politics, political conXict for social struggle’’
(Gordon 1990). Third, it allegedly has a hidden political agenda. Some critics
claim that it serves to defend state managers as eVective agents of economic
modernization and social reform rather than highlighting the risks of authoritari-
anism and autocratic rule. Fourth, and most seriously, neostatism involves a
fundamental theoretical fallacy. It posits clear and unambiguous boundaries
between the state apparatus and society, state managers and social forces, and
state power and societal power; the state can therefore be studied in isolation from
society. This renders absolute what are really emergent, partial, unstable, and
variable distinctions. This excludes hybrid logics such as corporatism or policy
networks; divisions among state managers due to ties between state organs and
other social spheres; and many other forms of overlap between state and society.
If this assumption is rejected, however, the distinction between state- and
society-centered approaches dissolves. This in turn invalidates, not merely the
extreme claim that the state apparatus should be treated as the independent
variable in explaining political and social events, but also lesser neostatist claims
such as the heuristic value of bending the stick in the other direction or, alterna-
tively, of combining state-centered and society-centered accounts to produce the
complete picture.
120 bob jessop

5 Foucauldian Approaches
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

If state-centered theorists hoped to bring the state back in as an independent

variable and/or an autonomous actor, Foucault aimed to undermine the analytical
centrality of the state, sovereignty, or law for power relations. He advanced three key
claims in this regard. First, state theory is essentialist: it tries to explain the state and
state power in terms of their own inherent, pre-given properties. Instead it should
try to explain the development and functioning of the state as the contingent
outcome of speciWc practices that are not necessarily (if at all) located within, or
openly oriented to, the state itself. Second, state theory retains medieval notions of a
centralized, monarchical sovereignty and/or a uniWed, juridico-political power. But
there is a tremendous dispersion and multiplicity of the institutions and practices
involved in the exercise of state power and many of these are extra-juridical in
nature. And, third, state theorists were preoccupied with the summits of the state
apparatus, the discourses that legitimated sovereign state power, and the extent of
the sovereign state’s reach into society. In contrast Foucault advocated a bottom-up
approach concerned with the multiple dispersed sites where power is actually
exercised. He proposed a microphysics of power concerned with actual practices
of subjugation rather than with macropolitical strategies. For state power is dis-
persed. It involves the active mobilization of individuals and not just their passive
targeting, and can be colonized and articulated into quite diVerent discourses,
strategies, and institutions. In short, power is not concentrated in the state: it is
ubiquitous, immanent in every social relation (see notably Foucault 1980a,b).
Nonetheless Foucault did not reject all concern with the macrophysics of state
power. He came to see the state as the crucial site of statecraft and ‘‘governmen-
tality’’ (or governmental rationality). What interested him was the art of govern-
ment, a skilled practice in which state capacities were used reXexively to monitor
the population and, with all due prudence, to make it conform to speciWc state
projects. Raison d’état, an autonomous political rationality, set apart from religion
and morality, was the key to the rise of the modern state. This in turn could be
linked to diVerent modes of political calculation or state projects, such as those
coupled to the ‘‘police state’’ (Polizeistaat), social government, or the welfare state.
It was in and through these governmental rationalities or state projects that more
local or regional sites of power were colonized, articulated into ever more general
mechanisms and forms of global domination, and then maintained by the entire
state system. Foucault also insisted on the need to explore the connections between
these forms of micropower and mechanisms for producing knowledge—whether
for surveillance, the formation and accumulation of knowledge about individuals,
or their constitution as speciWc types of subject.
Foucault never codiWed his work and changed his views frequently. Taking his
ideas on the ubiquity of power relations, the coupling of power-knowledge, and
 state and state-building 121

governmentality together, however, he oVers an important theoretical and empir-

ical corrective to the more one-sided and/or essentialist analyses of Marxist state
theory and to the taken-for-grantedness of the state that infuses neostatism. But his
work remains vulnerable to the charge that it tends to reduce power to a set of
universally applicable power technologies (whether panoptic surveillance or
disciplinary normalization) and to ignore how class and patriarchal relations
shape the state’s deployment of these powers as well as the more general exercise
of power in the wider society. It also neglects the continued importance of law,
constitutionalized violence, and bureaucracy for the modern state. Moreover,
whatever the merits of drawing attention to the ubiquity of power, his work
provided little account of the bases of resistance (bar an alleged ‘‘plebeian’’ spirit
of revolt). More recent Foucauldian studies have tried to overcome these
limitations and to address the complex strategic and structural character of the
state apparatus and statecraft and the conditions that enable the state to engage in
eVective action across many social domains.

6 Feminist Approaches
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

While feminists have elaborated distinctive theories of the gendering of social

relations and provide powerful critiques of malestream political philosophy and
political theory, they have generally been less interested in developing a general
feminist theory of the state. In part this reXects their interest in other concepts that
are more appropriate to a feminist theoretical and political agenda and their
concern to break with the phallocratic concerns of malestream theory (Allen
1990; MacKinnon 1989). The main exception in the Wrst wave of postwar state
theorizing was Marxist–feminist analyses of the interaction of class and gender in
structuring states, state intervention, and state power in ways that reproduce both
capitalism and patriarchy. Other currents called for serious analysis of the state
because of its centrality to women’s lives (e.g. Brown 1992). This is reXected in
various theories about diVerent aspects of the state (Knutilla and Kubik 2001
compare feminist with classical and other state theories).
Some radical feminist theories simply argued that, whatever their apparent
diVerences, all states are expressions of patriarchy or phallocracy. Other feminists
tried to derive the necessary form and/or functions of the patriarchal state from the
imperatives of reproduction (rather than production), from the changing forms
of patriarchal domination, from the gendered nature of household labor in the
‘‘domestic’’ mode of production, and so on. Such work denies any autonomy or
122 bob jessop

contingency to the state. Others again try to analyze the contingent articulation of
patriarchal and capitalist forms of domination as crystallized in the state. The best
work in this Weld shows that patriarchal and gender relations make a diVerence to
the state but it also refuses to prejudge the form and eVects of this diVerence.
Thus, ‘‘acknowledging that gender inequality exists does not automatically imply
that every capitalist state is involved in the reproduction of that inequality in the
same ways or to the same extent’’ (Jenson 1986). An extensive literature on the
complex and variable forms of articulation of class, gender, and ethnicity in
particular state structures and policy areas has since revealed the limits of gender
essentialism. This ‘‘intersectional’’ approach has been taken further by third wave
feminists and queer theorists, who emphasize the instability and socially con-
structed arbitrariness of dominant views of sexual and gender identities and
demonstrate the wide variability of masculine as well as feminine identities and
interests. Thus there is growing interest in the constitution of competing, incon-
sistent, and even openly contradictory identities for both males and females, their
grounding in discourses about masculinity and/or femininity, their explicit or
implicit embedding in diVerent institutions and material practices, and their
physico-cultural materialization in human bodies. This has created the theoretical
space for a revival of explicit interest in gender and the state, which has made major
contributions across a broad range of issues—including how speciWc constructions
of masculinity and femininity, their associated gender identities, interests, roles,
and bodily forms, come to be privileged in the state’s own discourses, institutions,
and material practices. This rules out any analysis of the state as a simple expression
of patriarchal domination and questions the very utility of patriarchy as an
analytical category.
The best feminist scholarship challenges key assumptions of ‘‘malestream’’ state
theories. First, whereas the modern state is commonly said to exercise a legitimate
monopoly over the means of coercion, feminists argue that men can get away with
violence against women within the conWnes of the family and, through the reality,
threat, or fear of rape, also oppress women in public spaces. Such arguments have
been taken further in recent work on masculinity and the state. Second, feminists
critique the juridical distinction between ‘‘public’’ and ‘‘private.’’ For, not only does
this distinction obfuscate class relations by distinguishing the public citizen from
the private individual (as Marxists have argued), it also, and more fundamentally,
hides the patriarchal ordering of the state and the family. Whilst Marxists tend to
equate the public sphere with the state and the private sphere with private property,
exchange, and individual rights, feminists tend to equate the former with the state
and civil society, the latter with the domestic sphere and women’s alleged place in
the ‘‘natural’’ order of reproduction. Men and women are diVerentially located in
the public and private spheres: indeed, historically, women have been excluded
from the public sphere and subordinated to men in the private. Yet men’s
independence as citizens and workers rests on women’s role in caring for them at
 state and state-building 123

home. Moreover, even where women win full citizenship rights, their continuing
oppression and subjugation in the private sphere hinders their exercise and enjoy-
ment of these rights. A third area of feminist criticism focuses on the links between
warfare, masculinity, and the state. In general terms, as Connell (1987) notes, ‘‘the
state arms men and disarms women.’’
In short, feminist research reveals basic Xaws in much malestream theorizing.
Thus an adequate account of the state must include the key feminist insights into
the gendered nature of the state’s structural selectivity and capacities for action as
well as its key role in reproducing speciWc patterns of gender relations (for attempts
to develop such an approach, see Jessop 2004).

7 Discourse Analysis and Stateless

State Theory
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Some recent discourse-analytic work suggests that the state does not exist but is,
rather, an illusion—a product of political imaginaries. Thus belief in the existence
of the state depends on the prevalence of state discourses. It appears on the political
scene because political forces orient their actions towards the ‘‘state,’’ acting as if it
existed. Since there is no common discourse of the state (at most there is a
dominant or hegemonic discourse) and diVerent political forces orient their action
at diVerent times to diVerent ideas of the state, the state is at best a polyvalent,
polycontextual phenomenon which changes shape and appearance with the politi-
cal forces acting towards it and the circumstances in which they do so.
This apparently heretical idea has been advanced from various theoretical or
analytical viewpoints. For example, Abrams (1988) recommended abandoning the
idea of the state because the institutional ensemble that comprises government can
be studied without the concept of the state; and the ‘‘idea of the state’’ can be
studied in turn as the distinctive collective misrepresentation of capitalist societies
which serves to mask the true nature of political practice. He argues that the ‘‘state
idea’’ has a key role in disguising political domination. This in turn requires
historical analyses of the ‘‘cultural revolution’’ (or ideological shifts) involved
when state systems are transformed. Similarly, Melossi (1990) called for a ‘‘stateless
theory of the state.’’ This regards the state as a purely juridical concept, an idea that
enables people to do the state, to furnish themselves and others with a convenient
vocabulary of motives for their own (in)actions and to account for the unity of the
state in a divided and unequal civil society. Third, there is an increasing interest in
124 bob jessop

speciWc narrative, rhetorical, or argumentative features of state power. Thus case

studies of policy making suggest that state policies do not objectively represent the
interests located in or beyond the state or objectively reXect ‘‘real’’ problems in the
internal or external environments of the political system. Policies are discursively-
mediated, if not wholly discursively-constituted, products of struggles to deWne
and narrate ‘‘problems’’ which can be dealt with in and through state action. The
impact of policy-making and implementation is therefore closely tied to their
rhetorical and argumentative framing. Indeed, whatever the precise origins of the
diVerent components of the modern state (such as the army, bureaucracy, taxation,
legal system, legislative assemblies), their organization as a relatively coherent
institutional ensemble depends crucially on the emergence of the state idea.
Such discourse-theoretical work clearly diVers from state-centered theorizing
and Foucauldian analyses. On the one hand, it rejects the reiWcation of the state;
and, on the other, it highlights the critical role of narrative and rhetorical practices
in creating belief in the existence of the state. This role is variously deWned as
mystiWcation, self-motivation, pure narrativity, or self-description but, regardless
of standpoint, discourses about the state have a key constitutive role in shaping the
state as a complex ensemble of political relations linked to society as a whole.

8 The ‘‘Strategic-relational
Approach’’
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

An innovative approach to the state and state-building has been developed by Jessop
and others in an attempt to overcome various forms of one-sidedness in the Marxist
and state-centered traditions. His ‘‘strategic-relational approach’’ oVers a general
account of the dialectic of structure and agency and, in the case of the state, elaborates
Poulantzas’s claim that the state is a social relation (see above). Jessop argues that the
exercise and eVectiveness of state power is a contingent product of a changing
balance of political forces located within and beyond the state and that this balance
is conditioned by the speciWc institutional structures and procedures of the state
apparatus as embedded in the wider political system and environing societal rela-
tions. Thus a strategic-relational analysis would examine how a given state apparatus
may privilege some actors, some identities, some strategies, some spatial and tem-
poral horizons, and some actions over others; and the ways, if any, in which political
actors (individual and/or collective) take account of this diVerential privileging by
engaging in ‘‘strategic-context’’ analysis when choosing a course of action. The SRA
 state and state-building 125

also introduces a distinctive evolutionary perspective into the analysis of the state and
state power in order to discover how the generic evolutionary mechanisms of
selection, variation, and retention may operate in speciWc conditions to produce
relatively coherent and durable structures and strategies. This implies that oppor-
tunities for reorganizing speciWc structures and for strategic reorientation are
themselves subject to structurally-inscribed strategic selectivities and therefore
have path-dependent as well as path-shaping aspects. For example, it may be neces-
sary to pursue strategies over several spatial and temporal horizons of action and to
mobilize diVerent sets of social forces in diVerent contexts to eliminate or modify
speciWc constraints and opportunities linked to particular state structures. Moreover,
as such strategies are pursued, political forces will be more or less well-equipped to
learn from their experiences and to adapt their conduct to changing conjunctures.
Over time there is a tendency for reXexively reorganized structures and recursively
selected strategies and tactics to co-evolve to produce a relatively stable order, but this
may still collapse owing to the inherent structural contradictions, strategic dilemmas,
and discursive biases characteristic of complex social formations. Moreover, because
structures are strategically selective rather than absolutely constraining, there is always
scope for actions to overXow or circumvent structural constraints. Likewise, because
subjects are never unitary, never fully aware of the conditions of strategic action,
never fully equipped to realize their preferred strategies, and may always meet oppos-
ition from actors pursuing other strategies or tactics; failure is an ever-present
possibility. This approach is intended as a heuristic and many analyses of the state
can be easily reinterpreted in strategic-relational terms even if they do not explicitly
adopt these or equivalent terms. But the development of a strategic-relational research
programme will also require many detailed comparative historical analyses to work
out the speciWc selectivities that operate in types of state, state forms, political
regimes, and particular conjunctures (for an illustration, see Jessop 2002).

9 New Directions of Research

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Notwithstanding declining interest in the more esoteric and abstract modes of state
theorizing, substantive research on states and state power exploded from the 1990s
onwards. Among the main themes are: the historical variability of statehood (or
stateness); the relative strength or weakness of states; the future of the national state
in an era of globalization and regionalization; the changing forms and functions
of the state; issues of scale, space, territoriality, and the state; and the rise of
governance and its articulation with government.
126 bob jessop

First, interest in stateness arises from growing disquiet about the abstract
nature of much state theory (especially its assumption of a ubiquitous, uniWed,
sovereign state) and increasing interest in the historical variability of actual states.
Thus some theorists focus on the state as a conceptual variable and examine the
varied presence of the idea of the state. Others examine the state’s diVerential
presence as a distinctive political form. Thus Badie and Birnbaum (1983) usefully
distinguish between the political center required in any complex social division of
labor and the state as one possible institutional locus of this center. For them, the
state is deWned by its structural diVerentiation, autonomy, universalism, and
institutional solidity. France is the archetypal state in a centralized society; Britain
has a political center but no state; Germany has a state but no center; and
Switzerland has neither. Such approaches historicize the state idea and stress its
great institutional variety. These issues have been studied on all territorial scales
from the local to the international with considerable concern for meso-level
variation.
Second, there is growing interest in factors that make for state strength. Intern-
ally, this refers to a state’s capacities to command events and exercise authority over
social forces in the wider society; externally, it refers to the state’s power in the
interstate system. This concern is especially marked in recent theoretical and
empirical work on predatory and/or developmental states. The former are essen-
tially parasitic upon their economy and civil society, exercise largely the despotic
power of command, and may eventually undermine the economy, society, and the
state itself. Developmental states also have infrastructural and network power and
deploy it in allegedly market-conforming ways. Unfortunately, the wide variety of
interpretations of strength (and weakness) threatens coherent analysis. States have
been described as strong because they have a large public sector, authoritarian rule,
strong societal support, a weak and gelatinous civil society, cohesive bureaucracies,
an interventionist policy, or the power to limit external interference (Lauridsen
1991). In addition, some studies run the risk of tautology insofar as strength is
deWned purely in terms of outcomes. A possible theoretical solution is to investi-
gate the scope for variability in state capacities by policy area, over time, and in
speciWc conjunctures.
Third, recent work on globalization casts fresh doubt on the future of national
territorial states in general and nation states in particular. This issue is also raised
by scholars interested in the proliferation of scales on which signiWcant state
activities occur, from the local, through the urban and regional, to cross-border
and continental cooperation and a range of supranational entities. Nonetheless
initial predictions of the imminent demise of the national territorial state and/or
the nation state have been proved wrong. This reXects the adaptability of state
managers and state apparatuses, the continued importance of national states in
securing conditions for economic competitiveness, political legitimacy, social
cohesion, and so on, and the role of national states in coordinating the state
 state and state-building 127

activities on other scales from the local to the triad to the international and
global levels.
Fourth, following a temporary decline in Marxist theoretical work, interest has
grown in the speciWc forms and functions of the capitalist type of state. This can be
studied in terms of the state’s role in: (a) securing conditions for private proWt—
the Weld of economic policy; (b) reproducing wage-labor on a daily, lifetime, and
intergenerational basis—the Weld of social policy broadly considered; (c) managing
the scalar division of labor; and (d) compensating for market failure. On this
basis Jessop (2002) characterizes the typical state form of postwar advanced
capitalism as a Keynesian welfare national state. Its distinctive features were an
economic policy oriented to securing the conditions for full employment in a
relatively closed economy, generalizing norms of mass consumption through the
welfare state, the primacy of the national scale of policy-making, and the primacy
of state intervention to compensate for market failure. He also describes the
emerging state form in the 1980s and 1990s as a Schumpeterian workfare postna-
tional regime. Its distinctive features are an economic policy oriented to innovation
and competitiveness in relatively open economies, the subordination of social
policy to economic demands, the relativization of scale with the movement of
state powers downwards, upwards, and sideways, and the increased importance of
various governance mechanisms in compensating for market failure. Other types
of state, including developmental states, have been discussed in the same terms.
Fifth, there is interest in the changing scales of politics. While some theorists are
inclined to see the crisis of the national state as displacing the primary scale of
political organization and action to the global, regional, or local scale, others
suggest that there has been a relativization of scale. For, whereas the national
state provided the primary scale of political organization in the Fordist period of
postwar European and North American boom, the current after-Fordist period is
marked by the dispersion of political and policy issues across diVerent scales of
organization, with none of them clearly primary. This in turn poses problems
about securing the coherence of action across diVerent scales. This has prompted
interest in the novelty of the European Union as a new state form, the re-emergence
of empire as an organizing principle, and the prospects for a global state
(see, for example, Beck and Grande 2005; Shaw 2000).
Finally, ‘‘governance’’ comprises forms of coordination that rely neither on
imperative coordination by government nor on the anarchy of the market. Instead
they involve self-organization. Governance operates on diVerent scales of organi-
zation (ranging from the expansion of international and supranational regimes
through national and regional public–private partnerships to more localized
networks of power and decision-making). Although this trend is often taken to
imply a diminution in state capacities, it could well enhance its power to secure
its interests and, indeed, provide states with a new (or expanded) role in the
meta-governance (or overall coordination) of diVerent governance regimes and
128 bob jessop

mechanisms (Zeitlin and Trubek 2003 on Europe; and Slaughter 2004 on the world
order).
Interest in governance is sometimes linked to the question of ‘‘failed’’ and
‘‘rogue’’ states. All states fail in certain respects and normal politics is an important
mechanism for learning from, and adapting to, failure. In contrast, ‘‘failed states’’
lack the capacity to reinvent or reorient their activities in the face of recurrent state
failure in order to maintain ‘‘normal political service’’ in domestic policies.
The discourse of ‘‘failed states’’ is often used to stigmatize some regimes as part
of interstate as well as domestic politics. Similarly, ‘‘rogue states’’ is used to
denigrate states whose actions are considered by hegemonic or dominant states
in the interstate system to threaten the prevailing international order. According to
some radical critics, however, the USA itself has been the worst rogue state for
many years (e.g. Chomsky 2001).

10 An Emerging Agenda?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

There is a remarkable theoretical convergence concerning the contingency of the

state apparatus and state power. First, most approaches have dethroned the state
from its superordinate position in society and analyze it as one institutional order
among others. Marxists deny it is the ideal collective capitalist; neostatists no
longer treat it as a sovereign legal subject; Foucauldians have deconstructed it;
feminists have stopped interpreting it as the patriarch general; and discourse
analysts see it as constituted through contingent discursive or communicative
practices. In short, the state is seen as an emergent, partial, and unstable system
that is interdependent with other systems in a complex social order. This vast
expansion in the contingency of the state and its operations requires more con-
crete, historically speciWc, institutionally sensitive, and action-oriented studies.
This is reXected in substantive research into stateness and the relative strength
(and weakness) of particular political regimes.
Second, its structural powers and capacities can only be understood by putting
the state into a broader ‘‘strategic-relational’’ context. By virtue of its structural
selectivity and speciWc strategic capacities, its powers are always conditional or
relational. Their realization depends on structural ties between the state and its
encompassing political system, the strategic links among state managers and other
political forces, and the complex web of interdependencies and social networks
linking the state and political system to its broader environment.
 state and state-building 129

Finally, it is increasingly recognized that an adequate theory of the state can only
be produced as part of a wider theory of society. But this is precisely where we Wnd
many of the unresolved problems of state theory. For the state is the site of a
paradox. On the one hand, it is just one institutional ensemble among others
within a social formation; on the other, it is peculiarly charged with overall
responsibility for maintaining the cohesion of the formation of which it is a part.
As both part and whole of society, it is continually asked by diverse social forces to
resolve society’s problems and is equally continually doomed to generate ‘‘state
failure’’ since many problems lie well beyond its control and may even be aggra-
vated by attempted intervention. Many diVerences among state theories are rooted
in contrary approaches to various structural and strategic moments of this para-
dox. Trying to comprehend the overall logic (or, perhaps, ‘‘illogic’’) of this paradox
could provide a productive entry point for resolving some of these diVerences and
providing a more comprehensive analysis of the strategic-relational character of the
state in a polycentric social formation.

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 chapter 8
...................................................................................................................................................

D E V E LO P M E N T O F
CIVIL SOCIETY
...................................................................................................................................................

jose harris

No concept in political theory and political science has had, and continues to have,
a more ambiguous and elusive character than that of civil society. From the last days
of the Roman republic down to the present day, both the term ‘‘civil society’’ and
the practical arrangements that it signiWes have been understood by historians,
theorists, and contemporary actors in a multiplicity of ways. Some of these under-
standings, while diVering in emphasis and detail, have nevertheless recognizably
stemmed from a shared intellectual tradition. Others have been deeply and dia-
metrically opposed to each other, to such an extent that the term sometimes seems
to refer to institutions, values, analytical categories, and visions of civilization, that
are not just very diVerent but mutually exclusive. Thus, one central tradition of
writing about civil society has portrayed it as virtually coterminous with govern-
ment, law-enforcement, and the cluster of institutions that comprise ‘‘the state’’
(Model 1). A very diVerent tradition has identiWed civil society with private prop-
erty rights, commercial capitalism, and the various legal, institutional, and cultural
support-systems that these entail (Model 2). Yet another line of thought has seen
civil society as quintessentially composed of voluntaristic, non-proWt-making, civic
and mutual-help movements, coexisting with but nevertheless quite distinct in
ethos and function from the spheres of both states and markets (Model 3). And in
very recent discourse ‘‘civil society’’ has come to be increasingly identiWed with the
enunciation of universal standards of democracy, fair procedures, the rule of law,
132 jose harris

and respect for human rights (preferably to be imposed by cultural permeation and
persuasion, but nevertheless backed up by economic sanctions, international
courts, and the threat or actuality of physical force) (Model 4).
Such extreme diversity and uncertainty in the meaning of the term might be
thought to render ‘‘civil society’’ of little signiWcance as a way of thinking about
how political institutions actually work. Yet this has been very far from being the
case. Since the 1980s this ancient but long-neglected concept has been rediscovered
and redeployed by political analysts in many parts of the globe. In eastern and
western Europe, in north and south America, and in Africa and Asia, promotion of
the principles of ‘‘civil society’’ has been widely urged as a strategic remedy for
perceived defects in the governance, political cultures, and community structures
of many contemporary states. Unusually, such strategies have won support right
across the political spectrum, in both national and international settings. From
neocommunists through to free-market liberals, from radical activists through to
civic conservatives, and from both proponents and critics of ‘‘globalization,’’ there
has come widespread endorsement of the goals and values deemed to be associated
with ‘‘civil society.’’
This apparent consensus has, nevertheless, largely glossed over the very wide
spectrum of diversity and uncertainty that continues to surround the precise
meaning and wider resonance of the term. Indeed, some commentators who
currently lay claim to the mantle of ‘‘civil society’’ seem quite oblivious of the
fact that, in both the past and the present, the term has been applied to institutions
and strategies often quite diVerent from those which they themselves espouse. The
present article will attempt to trace the historic roots and evolution of the concept
of ‘‘civil society,’’ and will then look at the variety of ways in which it has been
understood in its more recent revival. It will conclude, not by adjudicating on
which account of civil society is the ‘‘correct’’ one, but by attempting to explain why
this resurgence has occurred, and by identifying what (if any) are the underlying
perspectives that theorists and protagonists of the concept have held in common,
across many diVerent epochs, contexts, and cultures.
‘‘Civil society’’ (civitas or societas civilis) Wrst surfaced in the vocabulary
of European politics during the dying years of republican Rome, and was
subsequently to become a standard point of reference in the writings of the classic
Roman jurists. Nevertheless, it is important to recall that the Latin word societas
(not just in Rome, but through many subsequent centuries of post-Roman
European history) did not have the comprehensive macrosociological meaning
that it was to acquire in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. A societas in
Roman law was merely any contract-based ‘‘partnership’’ set up for a particular
purpose. It was an arrangement that might range in size and function from a
marriage partnership between husband and wife, through to a large-scale public or
private enterprise association. The largest and most powerful ‘‘society’’ in Rome or
any other political culture was typically that which existed to manage public aVairs
 development of civil society 133

and to make and enforce the laws; that is, the civitas, societas civilis, or what later
generations would come to refer to as ‘‘the state.’’ Moreover, though state power in
Rome was often notoriously run as the private Wef of individual dynasties, a quite
diVerent conception was hinted at by the very adjective civilis. Societas civilis
indicated a neutral arena of public life whose membership was in principle
determined not by tribe or family, but by common citizenship or status before
the law (even though, in day-to-day Roman practice, family ties and interests often
heavily inXuenced civic ones). It was in this sense that the term had been used by
Cicero and other defenders of ‘‘republican’’ themes; namely, to mean a system of
government that routinely observed rules and procedures applying equally to all
citizens, rather than being dependent on the arbitrary whims of a Pompey or a
Caesar. This was to be the standard usage of the term throughout the Roman
imperial era; but over the course of several centuries the notion of a societas civilis
also came to embrace non-citizens, as continuous expansion of international trade
brought large numbers of people throughout the Mediterranean world into the
universalizing ambit of Roman civil law. Thus while Roman political thought
powerfully shaped a long-lasting conception of civil society as a law-abiding state
(Model 1), Roman jurisprudence and civil law also sowed the seeds of the what,
many centuries later in European history, would become an alternative conception
of civil society, as the characteristic sphere of private property, business, and
commerce (Model 2) (Ehrenberg 1999, 19–27; Justinian 1985).
Both visions of civil society were largely eclipsed (together with any explicit
reference to the term) by the quite diVerent notions of public aVairs and political
authority that prevailed in Europe following the disintegration of Roman rule.
Throughout western Europe exclusive and self-governing ecclesiastical, military,
civic, and vocational corporations (of a kind particularly abhorrent to Roman civil
law) Xourished and came to dominate public, economic, and social life; while for
many centuries the location and character of ultimate civil power was to
be continually contested between warlords, emperors, feudal kingship, and the
Catholic church. But it was no coincidence that, when in the fourteenth century
some theorists began to search for a new notion of political authority that
might transcend or bypass these conXicts, they turned to the earlier model of
‘‘civil society’’ as a neutral sphere of political association, based on free contract
and consent between citizens, rather than on religious identity, ties of feudal fealty, or
mere physical force. At this stage there was no suggestion that organized religion
should withdraw from the public sphere, but simply that there should be a functional
separation between ‘‘religious society’’ and ‘‘civil society,’’ with the former enjoying
political, legal, and physical protection in return for giving moral, cultural, and
spiritual support to the latter (Black 1984; Ehrenberg 1999, 45–57; Figgis 1907, 31–54).
The religious and civil wars that periodically ravaged Europe in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries might seem to suggest that, whatever may have been the
visions of political theorists, the notion of ‘‘civil society’’ as a neutral arena of
134 jose harris

public space that transcended lesser or rival identities remained largely a dead
letter. Nevertheless, the seventeenth century was to see major developments in the
deWnition and crystalization of ‘‘civil society’’ as an abstract political, legal, and
normative idea (and, much more sketchily, as a guide to political practice). Both
the establishment of state churches headed by secular rulers, and the principle
of ‘‘toleration’’ (permitting plurality of religious beliefs) were portrayed by
some contemporaries as promoting and embodying important principles of
‘‘civil society’’ (Figgis 1916, 94–115). The gradual revival of interest in Roman civil
law, and its insemination into contemporary political thought greatly enhanced the
notion of civil authority as an impersonal sphere regulated by law, rather than—or
at least in addition to—a hierarchy of interpersonal allegiances climaxing in the
person of a royal ruler. And in England the writings of the contractarian school—
Richard Hooker, Thomas Hobbes, and John Locke—all powerfully reinforced the
notion of ‘‘civil society’’ as identical with settled political authority and eVective
law-enforcement (Hooker 1977, 95–149; Hobbes 1952, 1983; Locke 1965). For
Thomas Hobbes it was ‘‘civil society’’ (i.e. a civil government able to enforce the
law) that made possible the very existence of mere ‘‘society’’ (the latter implying,
not the all-encompassing category envisaged in present-day discourse, but
‘‘sociability’’ or the coming together of citizens for a multiplicity of purposes in
small groups) (Hobbes 1952, 1983; Locke 1965, 367–8). John Locke, unlike Hobbes,
thought that ‘‘the People’’ (i.e. an aggregate of persons interacting outside politics)
might survive even if ‘‘Civil Society’’ (i.e. the body politic) were to break down. But
even Locke thought that such collective social survival could only be short-lived
unless a new civil society, that is legislative and governing institutions and agencies
of law enforcement, were to be rapidly re-formed (Locke 1965, 476–7). In the works
of all these writers, the terms ‘‘civil society’’ and ‘‘political society’’ were not
contrasted but used interchangeably. The writings of the contractarians also
emphasized that an eVective ‘‘civil society’’ did not have to be a speciWcally
Christian one: the governments of Turkey and China, for example, were perfectly
capable of constituting ‘‘civil societies,’’ provided that they maintained the
peace, acted justly, and obeyed natural laws. By contrast, the regime of Louis XIV
in France (widely deemed the most ‘‘civilized’’ nation in Europe) was classed
by English authors as ‘‘not a civil society,’’ because its citizens could be
arbitrarily imprisoned without trial and because earlier concessions to religious
pluralism had been rescinded under the revocation of the Edict of Nantes (Locke
1965, 454, 459, 476–7).
This model of ‘‘civil society’’—not as voluntary self-help, or community
action, or a ‘‘non-governmental’’ public sphere, but as a cluster of institutions
synonymous with the functioning of a law-making, law-enforcing, and law-abiding
state—was to be a commonplace of much British, and to a lesser extent European,
political thought down to the period of the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth
century. Despite many recent misconceptions to the contrary, this view of civil
 development of civil society 135

society was shared by major theorists of the British liberal tradition, such as Locke,
Adam Smith, Adam Ferguson, J. S. Mill, Lord Acton, and T. H. Green; and it was
likewise what was meant by the notion of a ‘‘societé civile,’’ that stemmed from
Rousseau and was developed in France during the French Revolution and under
the regime of Napoleon (Harris 2003, 23–9). Within this common discourse there
were many diVerences of emphasis and detail. British writers mostly viewed
civil society as a political framework that permitted and encouraged widespread
associational diversity and autonomy, whereas French civil society theorists were
much more inclined to emphasize equality and uniformity beneath the overarch-
ing umbrella of central government and the Napoleonic Code (Acton 1862, 2–25).
Both British and French traditions, however, continued to identify civil society
with the sphere of government and the state; while social life and voluntary
association were nearly always viewed as the beneWcent outcome of civil
society, rather than as its characteristic embodiment.
Nevertheless, from the mid-eighteenth century onwards, there were spasmodic
signs of various substantive and semantic shifts in this long-standing politico-legal
understanding of the term. The most important of these changes took place in
Germany, where some authorities began to portray ‘‘civil society’’ as a much
grander idea, others as something much more Xawed and limited, than in its
classical and ‘‘early modern’’ formulations. A shift in the former direction was
apparent in the writings of Immanuel Kant, who hinted at a conception of ‘‘civil
society’’ as a cluster of common civic, legal, ethical, and visionary norms that
potentially embraced not just the denizens of any particular kingdom or polity but
the whole human race (Reiss 1970, 41–53) (Model 4). And a move in the opposite
direction took the form of an increasing identiWcation of civil society (bürgerlich
Gesellschaft) not with kingly or princely ‘‘government’’ but with the quasi-public,
quasi-private activities of production, commerce, banking, and Wnance: a shift that
may have reXected the resurgence of interest within post-Napoleonic Germany in
the economic doctrines of Roman civil law. It was in this latter context that an
important new conception of ‘‘civil society’’ was to be developed by Hegel and
Marx; a conception that referred—not to the disinterested, impartial, public
sphere conjured up by Cicero and the English contract theorists—but to the self-
interested, competitive, private sphere of the bourgeois commercial economy. In
the writings of Karl Marx the very term ‘‘bürger’’ or ‘‘bourgeois’’ lost its older,
‘‘public’’ connotation of the disinterested citizen, and was transferred instead to
the socioeconomic category of the ‘‘private’’ entrepreneur (Hegel 1991, 220–74;
Marx 1975) (Model 2).
Similar changes were perceptible in other aspects of the language of civil society.
In France the phrase societé civile came to be applied in some circles, not to public
and legal institutions, but to what in English was often referred to as ‘‘polite
society’’ (meaning the world of salons, culture, fashion, and good manners) (Harris
2003, 21–2). Likewise, in English, French, and German narratives, the adjectives
136 jose harris

‘‘political’’ and ‘‘civil’’ (previously identical) began slowly to drift apart. The former
came increasingly to mean ‘‘party-political’’ or ‘‘partisan,’’ while the latter was used
to refer (among other things) to those areas of public life that were deemed to be
‘‘outside’’ or ‘‘above’’ politics. These shifts of meaning took place in a variety of
spheres: in the emergence in Britain and elsewhere of the ideal of a ‘‘civil service’’
that was explicitly apolitical; in the drafting of national ‘‘civil codes’’ of law; and in
Alexis de Tocqueville’s (1966) Democracy in America, where ‘‘political society’’
(meaning the political struggle to control government) was categorically contrasted
with ‘‘civil association’’ (meaning people coming together in voluntary groups).
De Tocqueville’s account signaled the emergence of what was eventually to become
one of the major building blocks of civil-society discourse in the later twentieth
century. This was the identiWcation of civil society as the distinctive sphere of
altruism, communalism, and voluntary cooperation; themes that were often closely
linked to notions of ‘‘disinterested public service,’’ but were nevertheless quite
distinct from the formal structures of government and the state (Tocqueville
1966, 232–40, 671–6) (Model 3).
Whether because of this gradual blurring of the original ‘‘statist’’ meaning of the
term, or for some other reason, ‘‘civil society’’ gradually faded from mainstream
writings on the theory and practice of politics during the later decades of the
nineteenth century. The densely self-governing, mutualist, and voluntarist culture
of late-Victorian Britain has often been identiWed by recent commentators as a
paradigmatic example of a Xourishing ‘‘civil society,’’ but it was never thus
described by the Victorians themselves (and was not what they would have
understood by the term). In Germany the revisionist socialist leader Edouard
Bernstein protested strongly against the Marxist conXation of ‘‘bürgerlich
Gesellschaft’’ with mere ‘‘bourgeois’’ economic self-interest, but Bernstein’s attempt
to retrieve a more ‘‘public’’ conception of civil society (Zivillgesellschaft) met at the
time with very limited success (Tudor and Tudor 1988). Similarly, in liberal and
conservative thought, the language of ‘‘the state’’ came increasingly to dominate
and crowd out much of the conceptual space previously occupied by traditional
legalistic understandings of civil society. Even the great spate of early twentieth-
century Anglo-American writings on ‘‘civics’’ and ‘‘good citizenship’’ rarely if ever
linked these ideas to a civil society framework. And at the same time there was,
throughout Europe and North America, an ever-growing interest in the phenom-
enon of what had become known simply as ‘‘society.’’ This latter word appeared
very similar to, but in fact conveyed a range of meanings very diVerent from, the
older Latin construction of societas. Though always eluding precise deWnition, the
idea of ‘‘society’’ in this newer sense came increasingly to resemble something like
‘‘the sum total of all human aVairs.’’ This was a mysterious entity, seemingly
propelled by its own impersonal societal laws, that appeared quite distinct both
from the private motivations of individuals and from the rationalist and purposive
conception of politics that traditional ‘‘state-centric’’ notions of civil society had
 development of civil society 137

entailed (Durkheim 1938, lvi–viii; Wallas 1914, 3–29, 305–40). Those few theorists
who continued to talk of ‘‘civil society’’ in the early twentieth century (mainly
academic ‘‘pluralists,’’ rooted in classical and legalistic ways of thought, such as
Figgis, Maitland, Laski, and Duguit) did so in a low-key, limited, and largely
negative way. They emphasized that ‘‘civil society’’ was merely one societas
among many, and that its special but circumscribed function of maintaining law
and order should not be allowed to obtrude upon the equally important functions
of other autonomous ‘‘societies,’’ such as churches, trade unions, universities,
professional associations, and similar corporate entities. Unsurprisingly, this subtle
but arcane style of argument was to have a diminishing impact in the era of mass
politics, revolutionary violence, and global war.
What is surprising, however, is that the tradition of debate about civil society
played such a minimal, almost non-existent, role in European democratic and
liberal responses to the rise of totalitarianism. In political writings of the interwar
era occasional reference was made to the idea of a societas civilis as a possible
antidote to fascism. The French Catholic philosopher, Jacques Maritain, for
example, drew upon the model of late medieval corporatist theorists, including
Thomas Aquinas, who had portrayed civil society as a mutually-civilizing
partnership between the Church and the secular state (Maritain 1938, 157–76).
But such references were marginal to mainstream political debate of the period,
where ‘‘civil society’’ more typically appeared (if invoked at all) not as an impartial
public sphere, but as the institutional epitome of competitive bourgeois selWshness.
Indeed for several decades the economic model of civil society appears to have
largely obliterated all trace of the older ‘‘civic’’ model from collective political
memory. From the 1920s through to the 1960s, English language textbooks on
social and political science either ignored ‘‘civil society’’ completely, or simply
assumed that its deWnitive meaning was that which had been employed by Hegel
and Marx (Laski 1938; MacIver and Page 1950).
How and why did the notion of ‘‘civil society‘‘ recover from its mid-twentieth
century eclipse? The 1960s explosion of non-Soviet versions of Marxism helped to
revive familiarity with the concept, and in particular with the ‘‘cultural’’ portrayal
of civil society as a buttress of capitalist ‘‘hegemony’’ advanced by Antonio Gramsci
(1957). A more complex thesis was suggested by Jürgen Habermas, who welded
together the classical and Marxian models of civil society by portraying each as the
corollary of the other, in a world in which premodern demarcations between
‘‘public’’ and ‘‘private,’’ ‘‘political’’ and ‘‘economic,’’ ‘‘objectivity’’ and ‘‘subjecti-
vity’’ no longer applied. Habermas’s interpretation was to be of considerable
importance in the long-term reworking of ideas about civil society (and about
political thought more generally) but it was of limited immediate inXuence, not
least because it was not to be translated into English until 1980 (Habermas 1962).
More accessible was the work of Ralf Dahrendorf, who took over the Marxian
and Gramscian accounts of civil society and used them against the goals of
138 jose harris

revolutionary socialism. In Dahrendorf ’s account it was precisely the growth and

Xourishing of non-state bourgeois economic and cultural institutions in many
parts of Europe (most notably in Britain) that over the previous two centuries had
made liberty, equality, prosperity, and social peace widely attainable; and it was
precisely the absence or under-development of such institutions (most notably in
Germany) that had led to factional violence, state tyranny, and fascist oppression
(Dahrendorf 1968, 128–9, 200–20).
References to civil society gathered momentum in academic writing during the
1970s and early 1980s, most notably in the German Sonderweg controversy among
historians, and in increasing criticism by political and social scientists of the ‘‘big
government’’ solutions to policy problems that had been pursued throughout
Europe after 1945. Not until the late 1980s, however, did ‘‘civil society’’ burst into
the arena of international and mass media debate, as dissidents in eastern Europe,
particularly Poland and Czechoslovakia, began to press for the development of
autonomous public, legal, and social institutions that could act as counterweights
to the overweening powers of totalitarian states (Keane 1988, 261–398). The collapse
of Communism opened the way in eastern European countries to attempts to
revive ‘‘civil society’’ in several of the senses identiWed above: in the establishment
of ‘‘impartial’’ legal and governing institutions (including oppositional ones), in
the removal of prohibitions and limitations on private voluntary associations
(including churches and other religious bodies), and in the re-emergence of private
capitalism (the latter attended by many of the evils deplored by Marx, no less than
the blessings urged by economic liberals).
Although it began as a reaction against Communism, however, this explosion of
interest in civil society soon began unexpectedly to manifest itself in many other
contexts and channels. Indeed, just as many east European politicians were trying
to address the problems of post-Communism by emulating the ‘‘civil society’’
institutions of Western countries, so in Britain, western Europe, the USA, and
elsewhere, political theorists and civic activists began to draw on the discourse of
‘‘civil society’’ to explain and redress certain perceived deWciencies in their
own ‘‘liberal’’ and ‘‘democratic’’ regimes. The decay of urban and inner-city
communities; over-extended and ineYcient welfare states; problems of social,
racial, religious, and sexual exclusion; rising levels of violent crime and delin-
quency; and low levels of electoral turnout and involvement in public life—all
came to be diagnosed in terms of a decline or shortfall in civil society, and of the
need for its urgent restoration and extension. Thus in Britain over the past decade,
civil society has been invoked by politicians of all major political parties, as a
remedy for such diverse ills as family breakdown, welfare fraud, environmental
pollution, sectarian violence in Northern Ireland, and tribal conXict in Iraq and
Afghanistan (Willetts 1994; Hague 1998; Patten 2000; Blunkett 2001; Brown 2001).
In Europe, and particularly in Germany, civil society discourse has more closely
followed the route suggested by Habermas, of pressing for closer democratic
 development of civil society 139

monitoring of public institutions and sharper legal deWnition of rights. In North

America the term has been less prominent in the pronouncements of politicians,
but among academics and intellectuals it has been embraced by Kantian liberals,
communitarian conservatives, and former Marxists (the latter now reinterpreting
civil society as a prerequisite of, rather than a barrier to, goals of distributive justice
and structural change) (Walzer 1995; Etzioni 1995; Cohen and Arato 1992). More-
over, these trends have by no means been conWned to the developed world. In many
Third World contexts ‘‘civil society’’ has been identiWed with the work of numerous
‘‘non-governmental organizations,’’ often partly manned by American and
European expatriates, who aim to create new structures and services that supple-
ment or bypass the activities of corrupt or under-resourced national governments.
And the work of ‘‘NGOs’’ in turn has given rise to many new non-European
formulations of ‘‘civil society,’’ advanced by African, Asian, and Latin American
thinkers, who have identiWed many of its principles and traditions (such as
altruism, mediation, civility, and respect for law) as part of their own indigenous
moral and historic structures (Kaviraj and Khilnani 2001; Rowse 2003, 303–10).
Most ambitious of all have been the aspirations of the movement for ‘‘Global Civil
Society,’’ which since the late 1990s has campaigned on many fronts—through
university research groups, activist pressure groups, NGOs, and international
institutions—for the development of a common agenda for ‘‘civil society’’ in all
conceivable cross-national settings, including conXict resolution and avoidance of
wars. This agenda envisages a future when organizations speaking on behalf
of voluntary, non-proWt-making, and participatory movements will constitute a
powerful ‘‘third sector,’’ on a par with state governments and the international
economy, in every part of the world (Barber 2001–2a,b; Keane 2003; Kaldor in
Kaldor, Anheier and Glasius 2003).
That ‘‘civil society’’ has radically shifted its meaning many times over the course
of 2,000 years in diVerent cultures and contexts is perhaps unsurprising. What is
more surprising is that this idea, dreamt up by a small handful of lawyers and
intellectuals in the dying days of republican Rome, still burns and crackles with a
very long fuse in the early twenty-Wrst century. Nevertheless, the massive resur-
gence of ‘‘civil society’’ in recent years makes it a matter of some importance to
clarify what those who constantly invoke it understand by the term, both as a
reformist strategy and as a model of future civilization. When diVerent versions of
civil society clash, or hurtle past each other like ships in a fog, how is the active
citizen or detached political observer to know what is really on oVer?
The answer to this question is no simple matter. Since the 1980s the outline of
civil society envisaged by its protagonists has taken many forms, ranging over all
four major models suggested above, as well as numerous lesser ones. Thus, in some
quarters civil society has been seen as requiring much more extensive state legisla-
tion, agencies of law enforcement, and monitoring of public services to ensure
greater equality, ‘‘social inclusion,’’ and mediation of conXict. But in other quarters
140 jose harris

it has been seen as pointing in quite the opposite direction, towards a revival of
more microscopic, self-helping, neighborhood-based arrangements, in place of the
infantilizing and regulatory support mechanisms of central government (Green
2000). For some commentators the widespread decline within many ‘‘advanced’’
cultures of citizen involvement in clubs, campaign groups, neighborhood schemes,
and voluntary societies is the prime index of the breakdown of civil society (i.e. the
‘‘bowling-alone syndrome’’ diagnosed by Putnam 2000). But for others the
very opposite is true: The autonomous, free-standing, ethical-choice-making
individual—unencumbered by partisan community ties, and attached only to
the remote even-handedness of the law—is precisely what the enterprise of
twenty-Wrst century civil society is all about (Seligman 1995, 200–19; Harris 2003,
7–9). Likewise, in the eyes of some authorities, ‘‘civil society’’ necessarily entails a
much more comprehensive and ‘‘universalist’’ national culture, whereas to others it
means a much more diverse and pluralistic one. (The contrast here is nicely
captured in the philosophic diVerences between French and British approaches
to questions of ethnic and religious integration.) Religion itself has a similarly
ambivalent standing in many current debates, some participants portraying civil
society as by deWnition ‘‘secular’’ (with religion conWned to an entirely ‘‘private’’
sphere); whilst others stress the close correlation between religious observance of
all kinds (Christian, Jewish, and Islamic) and high levels of public participation in
the voluntarist, philanthropic, ‘‘not-for-proWt’’ sectors (Ireland, Israel, Belgium,
and the Netherlands being outstanding examples of this correlation) (Barber
2002b, 8). Similarly, within the Global Civil Society movement, there have been
many grades of opinion about ways in which ‘‘civil society’’ meshes with diVerent
historic cultures. Are such attributes, for example, as democracy, gender equality,
liberal marriage laws, and the leadership role of an educated middle class, absolute
prerequisites, or are they matters of cultural autonomy that should be treated as
variable and locally negotiable (Barber 2002b, 7–11)? The relation of ‘‘global civil
society’’ to globalization itself—whether of an economic, cultural, linguistic, or
merely ‘‘Internet’’ kind—remains highly contentious, with many ‘‘civil society’’
enthusiasts hating one kind of global interaction while relishing others. And,
echoing the historic origins of the term, there have been some like Habermas
and Skocpol who have strongly questioned the severing of civil society from its
links with the traditional concept of a well-ordered state. This questioning seems
particularly pertinent, in view of a survey of twenty-seven countries in 2001 which
found that more than 42 per cent of the income of NGOs and other ‘‘non-proWt-
making’’ bodies was in fact coming from government and tax-Wnanced sources
(Habermas 1962; Skocpol 1996, 19–25; Barber 2002b, 8, 23).
Civil society therefore remains a curiously obtuse, malleable, and much
contested idea, diYcult to deWne categorically by reference to either what it is or
what it is not. It is widely assumed that (whatever else may be the case) it is not
compatible with fascism, feudalism, patriarchalism, totalitarianism, communal
 development of civil society 141

violence, or rule by a local maWa. But each of the four models mentioned above has
very often incorporated at least one of these supposedly antithetical social arrange-
ments. As one participant in a recent forum put it: ‘‘Where I come from, the Ku
Klux Klan is part of civil society. It’s non-governmental, non-proWt, membership-
based, internally democratic . . . and members work passionately on a voluntary
basis to advance the mission of the organization.’’ It is equally diYcult to locate it
with precision on any of the conceptual axes that stretch from a command
economy through to laissez-faire capitalism, from cultural universalism to cultural
pluralism, from ‘‘human rights’’ to basic resources through to the claims of private
property, or from an ‘‘interventionist’’ through to a ‘‘nightwatchman’’ model of the
state. Because of the gradual build-up of diverse meanings over many centuries, it is
also impossible to treat civil society simply as a Weberian ‘‘ideal type,’’ designed to
advance knowledge through sharply-deWned theoretical insights, rather than with
reference to exact historical facts. Current fashionable uses of the term should
perhaps therefore be seen as a cluster of loosely overlapping ‘‘elective aYnities,’’ of
use in conveying a wide range of moral, cultural, and social aspirations, rather than
as a set of precise analytical concepts in political and social science.

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 chapter 9
...................................................................................................................................................

ECONOMIC
INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

michael moran

1 Economic Institutions and Political

Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Why include a chapter on economic institutions in a handbook of political

institutions? For brevity we can give three answers; all are illuminating about the
way the political and the economic are interconnected.
The Wrst is that the very recognition of an ‘‘economic institution’’ is a political act.
Indeed a constructed distinction between ‘‘market’’ and ‘‘state’’ is a basic operating
principle of the ideology of market capitalism: ‘‘In a perfectly competitive market, as
idealized by neoclassical economists, there is no organization among or between
buyers and sellers’’ (Lazonick 1991, 60). But whatever the policy arguments for
operational separation, analytically the divide makes little sense: the ‘‘economy’’ is
embedded in civil society, and the state is likewise embedded in that wider civil sphere.
This fact of ‘‘construction’’ reXects the second reason for the political scientist’s
interest in economic institutions: How well or badly ‘‘economic’’ institutions per-
form is in part a function of how they are governed. In turn, how they are governed,
we shall see, is in large part shaped by state bodies and by the wider political sphere.

* I am grateful to the editors and to R. E. Goodin for comments on earlier drafts.

 economic institutions 145

The interactions between ‘‘economic’’ and ‘‘political’’ institutions are complex

not only because the political shapes the fate of the economic, but also because
economic institutions are critical to the fate of political institutions—the third
important ground for this chapter. In advanced capitalist democracies the shaping
inXuence is at its most obvious in the link between electoral success and perceived
economic performance. But this is only the most immediately visible—and
possibly transient—connection. There are bigger stakes than simply the fortunes
of particular governments. The fates of whole state constellations may turn on the
nexus between the economic and the political.
Writing about the design of institutions, Goodin argues that diVerent preoccupa-
tions drive inquiry in diVerent disciplines:for instance, choice in economics, and power
in politics (1996: 11, 16). The problem of choice is a driver in this chapter, but it is not the
classic problem of choice in the face of scarcity: It is, rather, choice (or its absence) in
the face of the constraints of history and culture. What agents can—and cannot—
do with economic institutions is thus a recurrent theme of the following pages.

2 Economic Institutions and

Institutionalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

‘‘In the beginning, so to speak, there were markets,’’ says Williamson (1981, 1547).
But this seems either a drastically foreshortened historical vision, or a highly
normative social model. ‘‘In the beginning’’ there were, variously, bandit groups
(Olson 2000) or social arrangements where exchange took the symbolic form of the
gift (Mauss 1970). The ideologies of market liberalism constructed a line of division
between diVerent mechanisms of social allocation: in particular, between ‘‘the
market’’ and the thing called ‘‘the state.’’ This in turn rhetorically separated out
the world of institutions from that of the market, which was ‘‘naturalized’’ as a
supposedly automatic sphere of exchange governed by immutable laws.
This discursive separation was not only strange; it was a vulgarization of the great
tradition of political economy. The founding father of the theory of the market’s
‘‘invisible hand’’ also established a powerful tradition of analysis in classical political
economy where the institutional and cultural settings of exchange were crucial to
economic outcomes (Smith 1790/1976). An ‘‘old institutionalism’’ in economics
overlapped with studies in the sociology of economic life to explore the importance
of the legal framework of economic life, and the importance of the cultures of
economic organizations (see Rutherford 1996). Indeed, in an obvious historical
146 michael moran

sense, states created markets, for the fundamentals of market exchange were only
possible in a juridical framework of commercial law created by states. Polanyi puts it
pithily: ‘‘Regulation and markets, in eVect, grew up together’’ (1944–57, 68).
The ‘‘new institutionalism’’ in economics is associated with the work of North
(North and Thomas 1973; North 1991). It is striking how far this new economic
institutionalism parallels the concerns of the new institutionalism that swept over
political science following the publication of March and Olsen’s landmark works
(1984, 1989). Four similarities merit emphasis.
The Wrst is the extent to which an almost theological debate developed about the
meaning of ‘‘institutions.’’ Indeed North on institutions sounds almost mystical:
‘‘We cannot see, feel, touch, or even measure institutions; they are constructs of the
human mind’’ (1991, 107).
In North, however, this insistence is connected to a second theme which parallels
the political science new institutionalism: The importance of distinguishing insti-
tutions from organizations. The distinction is critical because: ‘‘Institutions . . .
determine the opportunities in a society. Organizations are created to take advan-
tage of those opportunities’’ (1991, 7).
Why do these opportunities exist? Because of a third feature which parallels one of
the key elements of political science institutionalism—perhaps the most
important parallel. These are the linked characteristics of feedback and lock-in.
Feedback is the process by which institutions adapt in the light of messages arising
from their preceding activities, and interaction with their environment. ‘‘Lock-in’’ is
the process by which institutions are constrained into particular patterns of devel-
opment and behavior by the impact of past actions and commitments (North
1991, 7). The idea is plainly central to the wider, and more familiar, notion of ‘‘path
dependency.’’ The emphasis on ‘‘path dependency’’ turns out to have large implica-
tions for understanding change in institutional life, and for making sense of the role
of human agency in change. Of course this is to put things only in terms of the
restriction that path dependency creates. The wider literature on institutionalism
reminds us that the other side of the path dependency coin is beneWcial: It creates
routine, certainty, and trust in economic and other social exchanges (Pierson 2000).
How does institutional choice work? This is the fourth parallel theme uniting the
concerns of economic and ‘‘political science’’ institutionalism, and it can be
illustrated from a recurrent problem—that of understanding the signiWcance of a
peculiarly important organization, the Wrm. As Moe puts it:

The neoclassical theory of the Wrm is not in any meaningful sense a theory of economic
organization. It centers around the entrepreneur, a hypothetical individual who, by assump-
tion, makes all the decisions for the Wrm and is endowed with a range of idealized properties
deWning his knowledge, goals, computational skills, and transaction costs. (Moe 1984, 740)

That problematic quality has been made more acute by the development of the
Wrm in the modern industrial economy—by the extent to which it has become, in
 economic institutions 147

Chandler’s (1977) famous phrase, a ‘‘visible hand,’’ a hierarchical structure organ-

izing the mobilization and allocation of resources. Chandler’s account of this
process is benign, or at least neutral. Hannah reminds us, on the other hand,
that the visible hand has often displaced the market in making brutal decisions:
‘‘The harshnesses of capitalism that remain may still bear down heavily on indivi-
duals . . . [but] . . . more as a result of decisions which emanate from a managerial
hierarchy which has supplemented the market as a means of co-ordinating
economic activities’’ (Hannah 1983, 2).
The giant Wrm is a dominant feature in the landscape of the modern market
economy, and one question takes us to the heart of the political science interest in
economic institutions: How can the Wrm be controlled? An economical way to
explore this is through the study of economic regulation.

3 Economic Institutions and Economic

Regulation
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The study of economic regulation strikingly illustrates our key opening theme: The
inseparability of the life of conventionally labeled ‘‘political’’ and ‘‘economic’’
institutions. The theme emerges clearly in examination of three big questions
about economic regulation. First, how do the institutions of economic regulation
evolve and operate? Second, have the great changes in economic policy and practice
associated with the end of the ‘‘long boom’’ of the middle decades of the twentieth
century created a paradigmatic shift in the relationship between economic and
political institutions—an assertion that lies behind some theories of the emergence
of a ‘‘regulatory state’’ governing economic life. Finally, what has been the impact
of the most argued over structural economic shift of recent decades—the acceler-
ated pace of globalization—on the regulation of economic institutions?
For brevity, we can approach the Wrst of these questions through two contrasting
sets of hypotheses: the ‘‘national styles’’ hypothesis and the ‘‘reXexive regulation’’
hypothesis. The Wrst asserts that the institutions of regulation are likely to be
unique to their national setting; the second that in structure and performance
they are converging on a common model.1

1 There is another important stream in the regulation literature, derived from neoliberalism: it
oVers charging as an alternative to command and control. I do not discuss it here partly for reasons of
space and because some of the ‘‘charging’’ model is accommodated within reXexivity models.
148 michael moran

The Wrst is exempliWed in the work of Vogel (1983, 1986, 1996). Vogel’s key
argument is that in the regulation of economic life there are distinctive national
institutional structures, and distinctive national patterns in the way those structures
function. In particular, the institutions of economic regulation in the most import-
ant capitalist democracy, the United States, are exceptional: in their reliance on a
network of specialized regulatory agencies; in the extent to which those agencies
operate legally enforced rules; in the detail of those rules; and in the degree to which
the practice of regulation involves highly adversarial relationships between the two
key sets of institutions—the agencies that do the regulating and the Wrms in the
regulated industries (see also Kelman 1981). The contrast lies between the United
States and two other kinds of national model: Those that, while relying heavily on
legal institutions, are strongly consensual in operation, a common pattern across
mainland Western Europe; and those that substantially dispense with the law,
relying instead on highly consensual forms of self-regulation, a pattern exempliWed
by the United Kingdom (Jordana and Levi-Faur 2004, part II).
Whence come these national contrasts? The answers take us immediately to
those themes in North that stress the importance of lock-in and path dependency
shaped by the constraints of history. The contrast between the USA and the UK
illustrates. In the United States, on the one hand, the development of formal
democracy, and the rise of populist movements hostile to modern corporate
capitalism, preceded the creation of regulatory institutions. In the UK, by contrast,
regulatory institutions, and regulatory styles, were laid down, notably in the
middle decades of the nineteenth century, before the development of either an
interventionist state or formally democratic institutions. (On this kind of national
peculiarity, see Atiyah 1979; MacDonagh 1961, 1977; Moran 2003). Modes of regu-
latory thinking which stressed the importance of informal cooperation, naturally
strong in a pre-democratic society where politics was dominated by a coalition
of bourgeois and aristocratic elites, were thus well established before the emergence
of formally democratic institutions. Crudely: America Wrst got populism, then
economic regulation; Britain Wrst got economic regulation, then democracy.
Two diYculties with the national styles hypothesis are obvious. The less serious
is that this can never be anything but a thesis about modal institutional patterns,
and we still have to make sense of the distribution around the mode. But a more
serious diYculty takes us directly to the competing alternative posed above,
reXexive regulation. There are many diVerent nuances in reXexive accounts, but
all share this belief: that conditions of high social and economic complexity oblige
the development of common institutional patterns and practices. The measures of
complexity include the technological complexity of many modern industrial
processes; the institutional complexity of modern Wrms and industries; and the
intellectual complexity of modern regulatory operations. Complexity undermines
institutions that rely for compliance on command, including command law. The
search for eVectiveness forces a secular shift to more ‘‘reXexive’’ forms. Practically,
 economic institutions 149

this means increasing reliance on ‘‘soft law’’ (codes over commands); on modes
of self-regulation; and an emphasis precisely on ‘‘reXexivity’’—on malleability,
Xexibility, and a willingness to adapt and learn.2 In short, lock-in and path
dependency arising from national historical experience are not determinate;
paths can change—and converge.
One important consequence of this account is to reinstate agency as an inXuence
on institutional design. The possibilities are well illustrated in Ayres and
Braithwaite’s (1992) inXuential model of enforced self-regulation. This attempts
to develop a theory of institutional choice, departing from a straightforward
universal emphasis on reXexivity: one where both choice in institutional design,
and choice of particular institutional instruments in particular regulatory circum-
stances, once again becomes a possibility. Part of the importance of agency in their
model rests on the notion that choices can be made between command and
reXexivity: in their world, regulatory authorities at the top of the regulatory
pyramid speak the soft language of reXexivity, but carry a big stick.
All these versions of reXexivity root institutional change in common structural
conditions across industrial societies, notably high social and technical complexity.
An alternative account is rooted in more contingent historical and institutional
circumstances. The best-known version is encapsulated in Majone’s theory of the
emergence of a new regulatory state (1991, 1996, 1999). This amounts to both an
empirical and a prescriptive theory of the constitution of economic life. Some of
Majone’s themes echo theorists of high complexity. This is particularly noticeable
in his argument that the regulation of economic life demands a Madisonian
constitution: a system that entrenches expert opinion and interested minorities
in the decision-making process, at the expense of modes of majoritarian constitu-
tions. Some of Majone’s arguments also respond to the political economy of
advanced capitalism after the end of the long boom, notably to the (alleged)
exhaustion of command modes in economic life associated with high Keynesian-
ism. Some respond more immediately to the problem of making sense of the
institutional forms being developed by, and appropriate for, the new system of
economic government developing in the European Union. All converge on
the claim that institutional structures have to display two features in the new
regulatory state: the state has to abstain from anything more ambitious than the
promulgation of broad rules governing the behavior of institutional actors in
economic life; and responsibility for the implementation of rules must be delegated
to the lowest possible institutional level. The latter, in practice, commonly means
institutional actors in markets—trade associations, standard setting institutes,
professional bodies, and individual Wrms.

2 The convergence on reXexivity comes from very diVerent theoretical, and substantive, starting
points: I draw heavily on the theoretical work of Teubner 1987, 1993, and 1994; Collins 1999 on contract;
Gunningham, Grabosky, and Sinclair 1998 on environmental policy; and Gunningham and Johnstone
1999 on health and safety in the enterprise.
150 michael moran

It is obvious from this account of diVerent theoretical positions that there are
powerful tensions between diVerent ways of conceiving how the institutions of
economic regulation are shaped: as an outcome of historical contingency, or as a
response to secular social conditions, such as high complexity. Accounts of the
changing character of regulation, which fall under the third major heading
identiWed at the start of this section—globalization—exemplify this tension. One
inXuential way is to think of globalization as diVusing the power of American (or
Euro-American) institutions. In this account, globalization involves strengthening
the hand of a raft of institutions of global economic management that are
heavily under American inXuence, or under the inXuence of American-led
alliances: Among the most obvious at the macro level are institutions such as the
World Bank and the International Monetary Fund; at the meso level, regulatory
bodies concerned with the regulation of markets and sectors, such as IOSCO, the
main international federation of securities markets regulators; and at the micro
level the carriers of structural power, notably the great transnational corporations.3
On this account, we are seeing indeed a newly conWgured relationship between
political and economic institutions, adapting to the development of an economy
increasingly organized on a global scale, where the characteristic institution of
globalization—the multinational corporation—routinely organizes its aVairs to
evade the control of national regulatory authorities. (Consider, for instance,
Strange 1996; Dicken 1998.) But this new ‘‘global regulatory state’’ is developing
a set of institutions, and economic practices which are heavily mediated by
American structural power. Regulatory practice is in turn shaped by domestic
American regulatory cultures. Regulatory outcomes are the result of hard bargain-
ing governed by the contours of American structural power. The result diVuses
the special institutional practices of the American regulatory state, notably its
pathologies of adversarialism and juridiWcation.
Contrast this with the picture presented in Braithwaite and Drahos’s
(2000) study of global business regulation. Here global change has produced a
‘‘decentered’’ world where state institutions are only one of a wide range of
bodies concerned with economic regulation. Webs of governance join a dizzying
variety of institutions in the regulatory process: bits of states, Wrms, trade
associations, NGOs, and many more. The connections between political and
economic institutions—and indeed between economic institutions—are shifting
and unstable. The borders between the economic and the political, the global, the
regional, the national, and the sub-national, are barely recognizable; and the
conventional language of power used to describe the internal character of those
institutions, and their relations to each other, is of little use. This returns us to
two key general themes. The Wrst is the uncertainty, highlighted at the very start

3 On the evidence and debates surrounding the propositions about these levels see, respectively:
Nye 2002; Lutz 1998; Strange 1996.
 economic institutions 151

of the chapter, about the boundaries between ‘‘economic’’ and ‘‘political’’

institutions. The second is the importance of agency, for this unstable world of
global webs of governance precisely creates spaces for the intervention of human
agency.

4 Economic Institutions and

Capitalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Examining the institutions of economic regulation has reminded us of key themes

in the study of institutions generally: the importance of the comparative method;
the key issue of performance eVectiveness; and the role or otherwise of agency in
institutional life. All these now recur in examining economic institutions and
capitalism.
The history of the comparative study of economic institutions, notably of the
institutions of capitalism, shows that a focus on institutions did not begin with
‘‘institutionalism,’’ old or new. The focus is as old as the political economy of the
market, and is central to the ‘‘classical’’ traditions of political economy, from Smith
to Schumpeter. It is also central to sub-Welds as diverse as the anthropology of
economic life and the study of economic history; indeed the most important
modern institutionalist revivalist, North, began precisely with historical problems.4
The comparative study of economic systems was prolonged in the twentieth
century by the rise of alternatives to capitalism, in the form both of corporatist
fascism and command Communism (Wiles 1977). But the most important form
taken by the modern comparative study of economic institutions lies in the
‘‘varieties of capitalism’’ literature, for the straightforward reason that capitalism
proved the most durable of the great twentieth-century alternatives. The compara-
tive study of capitalist institutions is, we shall see, important for a host of practical,
policy related reasons. But it is also important because it highlights the institu-
tionally contingent character of market organization; because it links to key issues
of performance, economic and political; and because the spread of capitalist
organizational forms has made this comparative diVerentiation the key to our
understanding of modern political economies.

4 For instance North and Thomas 1973; and see North’s discussion of his own work in North
1991, 7V.
152 michael moran

Themes of contingency, performance, and agency are all present in the Wrst
modern landmark study in this tradition, ShonWeld’s Modern Capitalism (1965). He
puts the varying role of a classic political institution—the state—at the center of
diVerentiation; and claims to trace a close link between institutional diVerentiation
and economic performance. In particular, since this was the height of French
economic success, a central role is ascribed to the state as a steerer of economic
institutions and manager of capitalist performance under systems of indicative
planning (especially pp. 151–75).
Though the details of institutional diVerentiation have changed in each suc-
cessive wave of the ‘‘models’’ debates, the basic principles of diVerentiation have
remained similar in the very diVerent work of, for instance, Albert (1993), Coates
(2000), and Hall and Soskice (2001). DiVerent ensembles of states, Wrms, and
unions recur in the various models: Rhineland/Anglo-Saxon capitalisms (Albert);
Liberal Capitalism and Trust-Based Capitalism (Coates); Coordinated Market
Economies and Liberal Market Economies (Hall and Soskice). In ShonWeld, as
we have seen, the state was a key actor, since it ‘‘steered’’ a system of indicative
planning. Others, such as Coates, have put the treatment of labor, and of unions
as a proxy for labor, at the center of model building. Whether unions are so
placed turns critically on estimations of how far unions can be institutionally
integrated in a cooperative fashion into the management of a capitalist economy:
Whether a ‘‘high trust’’ incorporating strategy which suppresses market forces is
the best way to create a labor force that cooperates Xexibly in the hunt for high
productivity.
In part, such diVerences depend on varying views of the place of the state in
managing the core institution of capitalism, the Wrm. In ShonWeld, the French state
guided Wrms through mechanisms of indicative planning. Other models have
oVered diVerent accounts of the state/Wrm nexus, and these diVerences have in
turn depended heavily on the role of diVerent institutions in the organization of
industrial Wnance and the practice of corporate governance. They help deWne one
of the best established classiWcations in the literature: between Anglo-Saxon (which
predominantly means Anglo-American) capitalism, where well organized secur-
ities markets not only dominate capital markets, but also enforce a system of
corporate governance which marginalizes the state and enforces a pattern
of corporate governance privileging the pursuit of shareholder value over the
interests of other potential stakeholders; Rhineland Capitalism, where a history
of bank domination of capital markets, and elaborate systems of corporate cross-
ownership, result in the coordination of Wrm strategies by networks that unite state
and corporate elites; and East Asian capitalism, where a more recent history
of spectacular economic development is attributed in part to the capacity of
public bureaucratic agencies to manage Wrm investment and disinvestment in
the light of strategic state goals. (The explicitly political roots are exposed in Roe
1994, 2003.)
 economic institutions 153

As this discussion shows, model building is closely tied to a concern with the
alleged connection between institutional form and policy performance. But the
way this link has been traced highlights once again the problematic role of agency.
In debates until the beginning of the 1990s diVerences in the roles of the state, and
of key Wnancial institutions, were systematically linked to the capacity to make
strategic investment (and disinvestment) decisions. Perhaps the high point of this
literature was a single case, Johnson’s (1982) study of the role of MITI in Japanese
economic performance. These arguments had a fatalistic tinge, resembling
an elaboration of Gerschenkron’s (1966) thesis of the economic advantages of
historical backwardness. Crudely, the conclusion from the experience of the
‘‘long boom’’ in capitalism in the thirty glorious years after 1945 seemed to be:
Don’t have the bad luck to be Wrst in economic success, or you will be stuck with an
anachronistic institutional order, notably with a state unable to act strategically.
The most sophisticated formulation of this is in the work of Lazonick, in its view
that each successful institutional formation (British Industrial Revolution
‘‘proprietary’’ capitalism, American ‘‘multidivisional’’ and vertically integrated
capitalism) has inscribed within it the conditions of its very historical obsolescence
and decline (Lazonick 1991, 12–19).
The second ‘‘long boom’’ in the United States, and to a lesser extent in other
Anglo-Saxon economies, from the early 1990s, coupled with stagnation in Japan
and poor economic performance across much of what came to be known as the
euro-zone, has forced reappraisals of these accounts. These reappraisals turn us
back to issues of agency and institutional change—though in complicated ways.
The Wrst complication is that it is now clear that a kind of Manichean division of
models of capitalism into bad and good performers is unrealistic. The compara-
tively ‘‘good’’ performance of the Anglo-Saxon models in some areas from the
early 1990s onwards, such as in tackling unemployment, was accompanied by
‘‘bad’’ performance—at least according to some normative stances—in others,
such as securing long-term security of employment or control over levels of
wealth inequality. (For instance, Crouch and Streeck 1997; Coates 2000.) A
simple-minded constraint on agency in institutional redesign thus might be
that there are trade-oVs that have to be endured: for instance, one could so
weaken labor unions and the social forces associated with them that it was
possible to achieve highly Xexible labor markets capable of disciplining workers
in the pursuit of high productivity; but that very weakness would strengthen the
hand of corporate elites and lead to huge increases in inequality. A more complex
version of the argument occurs in Hall and Soskice, where the familiar institu-
tional building blocks—Wrms, states, unions—are held to be organized in com-
plicated, historically shaped ensembles that govern the way they strategically
interact. Intervention to reshape one of the building blocks has eVects on the
other blocks, and success in intervention depends on the contingent character of
institutional patterns in diVerent national systems (Hall and Soskice 2001, 1–21).
154 michael moran

The sharp rise in income inequality in the Anglo-Saxon economies intensiWes a

long established debate about the connection between the economic institutions
of capitalism and democratic government. It was a well established position in
the ‘‘politics and markets’’ literature that one job of democratic government was
precisely to moderate the inequalities generated by markets (Korpi 1983; Esping-
Andersen 1985). But if the price of a dynamic Anglo-Saxon style capitalism is
huge and rising inequality, that gives some support to radical arguments that
more fundamental reform is required in the power structures of capitalist
institutions (for instance Dahl 1985).
Agency and institutional change are also linked in another key issue. One
possible conclusion from experiences since the early 1990s—a conclusion appealing
to many policy elites—is that political leadership can be critical in reshaping
institutional structures and practices. On that view a key diVerence was that the
UK, for instance, was ‘‘lucky’’ enough to produce a Margaret Thatcher at the end of
the 1970s, while Germany was ‘‘unlucky’’ enough to end up with Helmut Kohl three
years later. But even setting aside one obvious objection—that a Thatcher could
only function in the institutional setting oVered by the UK—the links between
agency, institutional change, and policy performance remain complicated by
another powerful set of institutional contingencies. Even the most polemical
supporters of the ‘‘agency’’ view rely on the argument that historical agents were
eVective because they embraced more impersonal structural changes—notably, the
wave of globalization that, originating in a global Wnancial services revolution,
has swept over the economies of the advanced capitalist world since the early 1970s.
On this view, the key role of agency consists in recognizing inevitability, and
in reshaping the traditional institutional ensembles of Rhineland and East
Asian capitalism to accommodate a familiar Anglo Saxon pattern of domination
by highly developed, globally trading securities markets. Here is a revived institu-
tional fatalism smuggled in by the back door of agency. And this fatalism has
in turn produced the argument that pre-existing institutional legacies can be
exploited to combat this fatalism. The best known version is associated with
Garrett (for instance 1998a, 5; 1998b), where it is held that an active state
can build institutional systems, for instance in labor markets, that promote eco-
nomic competitiveness in global markets, and can coordinate those social forces to
resist attacks on the institutions of developed welfare states. In this way, it is
possible to create ‘‘a virtuous circle between activist government and international
openness’’ (1998b, 789). In short, agency may involve more than recognizing
the ‘‘inevitability’’ of globalization; it can involve shaping a social democratic
response to it.
The ‘‘democracy’’ part of social democracy in this argument provides a natural
link to the next section, where we examine the connection between economic
institutions and democratic government.
 economic institutions 155

5 Economic Institutions and

Democratic Government
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The connection between democratic political institutions and capitalist economic

institutions is troubling and complex, and has generated both a huge literature and
complex policy change. In the space available here we can only examine three
issues: how far democratic government can or should try to constrain the
operations of economic institutions; conversely, how far economic institutions
can and should try to constrain democratic politics; and Wnally, how far democratic
government can and should model its operations on business institutions.
The Wrst of these issues is central to something we have already discussed: the
process of economic regulation. But there are wider questions and they go to the
heart of the connection between democracy and the market order. Two very
diVerent sets of problems can illustrate the point: the control of trade unions
and the control of business. The control of trade unions emerged as a policy issue in
the era of full employment of the ‘‘thirty glorious years.’’ But why would unions as
institutions be thought to constitute a problem for democratic government?
A converging stream of work oVered a variety of answers: because their position
in the division of labor allowed them to exploit organized social complexity to
disrupt economic and social processes; because they were institutions of coercion
incompatible with democratic liberties; and/or because they were veto groups
that obstructed the functioning of democratic government (for instance, Brittan
1975). One of the most inXuential syntheses was contained in Olson (1982)
where the institutional power of unions was assimilated to a wider theory of
collective action—one where the incentives for organization favored the
development of sectional groups intent on protecting interests, against policies
that ensured economic eYciency. Long-term democratic stability obstructed
economic eYciency by fostering the spread of these groups, who in turn hobbled
the policy performance of democratic governments. One way out of this impasse
was catastrophe—such as military defeat—which destroyed the institutions of
sectionalism.5
There is an air of fatalism about these accounts, which sits uneasily with the
policy practice, notably in the Anglo-Saxon democracies, where the 1980s and
1990s saw full frontal, and often successful, attacks on the power of sectional groups
like trade unions. Something of the same fatalism attaches to those accounts
which see a sharp contradiction between democratic politics and business
institutions. Alongside the well known Marxist versions of this account can be

5 But though Olson’s was a theory of sectionalism generally his instances are strikingly biased in the
direction of unions: see 1982, 77–9.
156 michael moran

set the views crystallised in Lindblom’s (1977) inXuential argument that

only polyarchy—competitive elitism—was possible given the organization of the
institutions of business in a market economy. Here, the characteristic institutions
of capitalism—legally instantiated private property and its concomitant privil-
eges—are seen as spiriting away from the democratic arena a wide range of key
decisions: for instance, over investment, and via investment over employment and
economic growth. A more immediate version of this, particularly pertinent in an
American setting, is the capacity of the biggest Wrms, with their enormous
resources, simply to use money to shape the democratic process: to buy inXuence
over voters through opinion shaping, and inXuence over parties and legislators by
campaign contributions and other donations (Jacobson 1980; Marchand 1998;
Silverstein 1998).
A crude summary of the view outlined above is that capitalist institutions are the
enemy of democratic government. Almost a mirror image of this is the view
that democratic government is a threat to the eVective working of capitalist
institutions. These hesitations about majoritarian democracy run through, for
instance, the work of Hayek.6 Their full-blooded policy manifestation can be
found in the management of economic policy from the 1990s onwards across the
advanced capitalist world, with the rise of non-majoritarian agencies of economic
management. The most important changes concerned the relations between
democratic government and one key institution—the central bank. Throughout
the decade, there was a consistent tendency to revise institutional/constitutional
arrangements, both to strengthen generally the independence of central banks
against democratic governments, and to give them power over, in particular, the
control of short-term interest rates: ‘‘More countries increased the independence of
their central banks during the 1990s than in any other decade since World War II’’
(McNamara 2002, 47).7 In the same decade a new paradigm of central bank
independence was created for the whole euro-zone, displacing a variety of arrange-
ments within democratic national governments (Moran 2002). These changes
represented the rise of new policy paradigms, and the paradigmatic shift highlights
one of the opening themes of this chapter: that the division between an
‘‘economic’’ and a ‘‘political’’ institution is not settled, but is shaped precisely by
paradigmatic creations. Explaining the sources of the movement to bind the
discretionary power of democratic government by empowering institutions like
central banks raises large and perennial explanatory problems: it could indeed be

6 For instance Hayek 1960, 105–9. I am indebted to Gamble 1996, 91–7 for clariWcation of this
argument. Some of Hayek’s arguments go well beyond endowing central banks with discretionary
power to marketizing the whole central banking process. But I use him as an example here both
because of his rhetorical power and because he dramatizes the key point—the tension with democratic
control of the market economy.
7 The evidence that this had desired policy outcomes is another disputed matter: see Hall and
Franzese 1998.
 economic institutions 157

traced to the rise of distinctive ideas; or it could be seen as the response to

structural changes, notably to the great wave of Wnancial globalization
originating in the 1970s that made democratic governments anxious to conciliate
new footloose Wnancial institutions.
How we think of the connection between ‘‘economic’’ and ‘‘political’’ institutions is
a function of the paradigmatic world we inhabit—a point that is reinforced by the third
aspect of the connection between democratic institutions and economic institutions
examined here, a connection shaped by the rise of the New Public Management:
the modelling of public institutions on business institutions. These eVects can be
summed up under three headings: The rise of contractualism in the public
sector; the rise of executive agencies; and the spread of a consultancy culture.
‘‘Contractualism’’ summarizes a wide range of developments—contracting out
of functions and services, the development of managed ‘‘internal’’ markets which
mimic market exchange, the full-scale privatization of services—but all have a
common thread: The attempt to replace the routines and cultures of public service
bureaucracy with the routines and cultures—or at least the perceived routines and
cultures—of the characteristic institutions of the market place (Pollitt and Talbot
2004).
Agency creation is associated with some of these changes, but has taken a more
exactly institutional form. In the case of central banking we saw that it consisted in
part in a growth in the degree of control exercised by central banks over key
instruments of economic policy. This growth in autonomy can be viewed as a
special case of the more general process of ‘‘hiving oV’’ agencies in a variety of
forms, establishing a range of relationships again based on contract. Institutionally,
this development has had a number of consequences: It has blurred the tradition-
ally constructed separation between ‘‘state’’ and ‘‘market,’’ thus overturning
traditional ‘‘constructions’’ of the political and the economic; and, more
concretely, it has been an important means of introducing ‘‘business’’ cultures
into the public sector (Self 2000; Sahlin-Andersson 2002).
In this sense agency creation has also been a mechanism by which the cultures of
business institutions are diVused to public sector bodies, a process reinforced by
the more formal reliance on management consultancies. ‘‘Consultocracy’’ (Saint-
Martin 1998) is a key political feature of New Public Management. Two forces are
fashioning this, one supply led and one demand led. The supply is created by
aggressive competition in the service sector, especially in the Wnancial services
sector, which has led, notably among the multinational accounting Wrms and
merchant banks, to the development of consultancy arms, hunting for business
across both the public and private sectors. One of the most important areas of
institutional change under the New Public Management lies in the international
privatization movement of the last couple of decades, where the marketing of
expertise in the privatization process has been an important means by which the
phenomenon of privatization itself has been diVused. On the demand side, the
158 michael moran

business of private sector consultancies has been boosted by the search for private
sector exemplars and by the wish to use consultancies as a means of introducing
‘‘businesslike’’ practices into hitherto standardized Weberian bureaucracies. One of
the most striking examples of this is provided by the huge health care sectors that
dominate all the national systems of Western Europe, where a paradigm shift away
from a public service model has led to the widespread creation of systems of
managed markets that attempt to mimic the relations between business institu-
tions in the market system (Saltman and von Otter 1992).

6 Conclusions: Politics, Markets, and

Agents
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

‘‘The subject matter of economics,’’ Schumpeter once wrote, ‘‘is essentially a

unique process in historic time’’ (1954, 12). This uniqueness also lies at the heart
of all institutions, including economic institutions. A conclusion properly looks
back and forward: to sum up what we think we know, and to sketch what we need
to know more of:
. We know that the modern study of economic institutions resurrects many of the
concerns of an older institutionalism, but in very diVerent intellectual and
policy environments: intellectually, it is marked by more self-consciousness
and uncertainty about the meaning of ‘‘institution,’’ and about the processes
of institutional design; in policy, it is now inseparable from the landmark
changes of the last three decades, notably those usually summed up by
‘‘globalization.’’
. We know that these features strikingly parallel the histories of ‘‘old’’ and ‘‘new’’
institutionalism in political science.
. We know that institutions matter: that ensembles of organizations make a
diVerence to political outcomes (such as the viability of democracy) or to
economic outcomes (such as the character of market regulation or even the
wider fate of whole capitalist orders.)
What we do not know is of course limitless, and we are caught in a familiar bind:
the most damaging and important areas of ignorance are those of which we are not
even aware. But the most important areas of ignorance about which we are highly
conscious, or should be highly conscious, are twofold:
. The connections between institutional change, institutional design, and human
agency remain baZingly complex. The history of diVerent varieties of capitalism
 economic institutions 159

since the early 1990s dramatizes the puzzles: models that seemed, path depend-
ency fashion, to be set on the road to decline, notably in the Anglo-Saxon world,
experienced an unexpected revival, and in at least some instances, the
most notable of which is the UK, may have done so through the unexpected
intervention of decisive historical actors.
. That the divide between the ‘‘economic’’ and the ‘‘political’’ in institutional life
is a constructed divide now seems a truism. But the mystery of construction,
how and why it changes, runs through all the substantive areas examined in the
preceding pages. The mystery brings us back to the whiV of mysticism in North:
‘‘We cannot see, feel, touch, or even measure institutions.’’ And we cannot ‘‘see,
feel or touch’’ because at heart an institution is an idea. Understanding eco-
nomic institutions is at heart not about understanding structures, but about
understanding the role of ideas in economic and political life. And as is shown
in Blyth’s (2002) study of ‘‘economic ideas and institutional change in the
twentieth century,’’ we have barely scratched the surface of that problem.
At the root of many of the particular issues examined in the preceding pages lies
a much grander set of issues, too large for the scale of this chapter, but an
important theme of Braithwaite’s accompanying chapter in this volume. They
can be summed up in the familiar language of the principal–agent problem.
Principal–agent problems are endemic in the kinds of societies examined here—
those marked by high levels of organized complexity and by a reWned division of
labor. They are, too, at the heart of problems of accountability under democratic
representative government. Since the pioneering work of Berle and Means (1932/
1968) on the separation of ownership and control they have been central to
understanding power and control in the characteristic economic institution of
modern capitalism—the large corporation. The study of institutions, whether
conventionally ‘‘economic’’ or conventionally ‘‘political,’’ reminds us that there is
no escaping these problems: choosing the ‘‘market’’ over the ‘‘state’’ just involves
deciding to live with one set of principal–agent problems rather than another.

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 chapter 10
...................................................................................................................................................

E XC LU S I O N ,
I N C LU S I O N , A N D
POLITICAL
INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

matthew holden, jr.

1 The Political Order

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Institutions are indispensable. People cannot live together under complete ran-
domness or Hobbesian disorder. ‘‘An institution,’’ March and Olsen (Ch. 1) tell us,
‘‘is a relatively enduring collection of rules and organized practices, embedded in
structures of meaning and resources that are relatively invariant in the face of
turnover of individuals and relatively resilient to the idiosyncratic preferences of
individuals and changing external circumstances.’’
The very meaning of ‘‘institution’’ is that values are settled within it (Selznick
1967). Other values that impose strain are repelled or excluded. ‘‘Inclusion-and-
exclusion’’ is the name we give this problem. As a concept in political science, it is
not well enough known to have a formal name or distinctive literature, although
such a tradition does exist in sociology (Gamson 1969). But the themes of inclusion
and exclusion reference several diVerent literatures in this chapter.
164 matthew holden, jr.

Institutions are excellent at exclusion and poor at inclusion. Vast political

trouble hangs upon that fact. All states are administrative, and the study of
‘‘inclusion’’ and ‘‘exclusion’’ is critically about the choices that are made by persons
exercising some administrative authority or some judicial authority at a ‘‘lower’’ or
operational level. Precisely because institutions embody ‘‘settled values,’’ they must
exclude or greatly disadvantage those who wish to unsettle the status quo.
Because institutions deWne ‘‘a way of life’’ they sometimes are deeply insulated
from stimuli with which they are unfamiliar. More concretely, institutional elites
often fail to accommodate change because they cannot recognize it or when cognizant
of it cannot imagine an alternative state of aVairs than the present one from which all
of their perquisites Xow. Just instrumentally, institutions often contain so many
impediments to receiving and processing information that is either unfamiliar or
which signals events that are accorded very low probability that disaster is unavoid-
able. In the case of bureaucracies, Pearl Harbor (Wohlstetter 1962), 9/11 (US National
Commission 2004), and the collapse of New Orleans are decisive examples.
Institutions, in sum, have tendencies toward closure from their environment and
from new information. That is inherently part of what makes them institutions.
The institutional tendency toward closure is troubling, notably when conXict
concerns social demand. Unless issues of that type can be resolved in civil society,
they will reappear as challenges within institutions. They may be so severe that, like
social hurricanes, they simply overwhelm institutions. They may be incorporated
in institutions in some form. And sometimes institutions may have a momentary
capacity for inclusionary decision, when driven by other intense needs. Such
instances may be reXected in events in the US Congress in 1964 and 1965 when
two landmark pieces of civil rights legislation were passed after seven decades of
extraordinary resistance. But institutions also have the capacity, sometimes, for
exclusionary decisions, to get rid of some who are present (Ranki 1999). The
elimination of African-Americans from the political process in the Southern states
after the reconstruction period following the civil war may serve as an example.
As a matter of time and convenience, this chapter will omit some institutions
that, in principle, are worth analysis, for example, the executive and the courts.

2 Getting to Inclusion: The

Hypothesis of the Counter-attack
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Once inclusion is attained, sequential problems of institutional adaptation follow.

Interesting as these issues are, my main focus is on how groups get to inclusion. For
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 165

any group, the minimal condition of ‘‘inclusion’’ is getting to inclusion, or getting

to the point at which it need not worry about being forced out altogether. I assert,
subject to testing, the hypothesis of the counter-attack; that is, social change driven
by, or on behalf of, groups (interests) from the outside can only be achieved by the
defeat of others that are already incorporated within the institutions.
Attempts at inclusion generate two types of response: the counter-attack and
entrapment. Counter-attack (or counter-mobilization) is to be expected in politics
as it is in military engagement. When an initial defeat occurs, at least some
members of the losing side will continue to assert their position and try to
reverse the outcome. They do not recede merely because of defeat. Nor are they
dissuaded because they are extreme. Some members of the losing side may go into
psychological exile abandoning politics altogether. Some may go into physical
exile, never to return. But others will be galvanized to continue the struggle.
Some, of course, will make pragmatic adaptations, accepting what they cannot
overcome. Others may actually be converted. But there is a hardcore residue. They
may chatter incessantly to the boredom or amusement of others who think them
fanatics. Or they may seethe in silence, expressing their views only within circles where
they are completely comfortable. If opportunity presents itself, they will re-emerge and,
if possible, revert to as much of the status quo ante as they can. Sometimes
they will be more successful than any realist a short time before would have imagined.
Another possible outcome is entrapment. Entrapment is an outcome of minimal
inclusion whereby the premise of a democratic commitment to state and society is
accepted (Dryzek 1996). As Dryzek notes (1996, 475–87): ‘‘Once universal adult citizen-
ship rights have been secured in a society, democratization is mostly a matter of the more
authentic political inclusion of diVerent groups and categories, for which formal
political equality can hide continued exclusion or oppression.’’ Dryzek observes, how-
ever, that symbolic inclusion is easier to achieve than genuine inclusion. Acceptance of
the former means abiding by the terms of commitment to constitutional processes
which in turn means entrapment within a system hostile to a group’s real inclusion.

3 Current Political Science and the

Double Problem of Inclusion and
Exclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Two notable forms of group classiWcation around which struggles about inclusion-
and-exclusion take place are gender and ethnicity, in the broad sense to include
race. In contemporary literature on political institutions, ‘‘inclusion’’ belongs
166 matthew holden, jr.

chieXy to the political science of ‘‘democracy’’(Dahl 1998; 2005, 187–97; Dryzek

1996). Dahl has speciWed the institutions that are essential for large-scale democ-
racy: elected oYcials; free, fair, and frequent elections; freedom of expression;
access to alternative sources of information; and associational autonomy.
In addition to these, he speciWes ‘‘inclusive citizenship’’ by which ‘‘no adult
permanently resident in the country and subject to its laws can be denied the
rights that are available to others’’ (Dahl 2005: 189).

3.1 What is Inclusion?

The problem of inclusion and exclusion can be understood partly in the classical
democratic theoretic issue of ‘‘majorities’’ and ‘‘minorities.’’ That assumes mem-
bership in the polity and is merely about the terms of decision and the terms of
veto. In creating institutions, people who are going to live within them need a
substantial degree of understanding as to who are accepted as members, who are
acceptable aliens (some metics in ancient Athens or green card holders in the
United States), and who are merely there as convenient people. Some people will
have lower status than that, and may have no rights at all.
The category of persons who may potentially become oYceholders (let us call it the
‘‘reservoir’’) must be deWned, along with the recruitment rules for choosing persons
from the reservoir from time to time. There must be some rules or understandings
governing the decision process, if oYceholders are not to be granted full and dicta-
torial powers to do whatever they may think is right. There must be substantive output
rules (policy rules) as to what those holding oYce may do, may not do, and must do.
And there must be some rules for changing the rules. Perfect inclusion is inclusion in
every step of the process. Perfect exclusion is to be present at no step of the process.
In the formal sense, the basic right is the right to vote. But there are other rights
and capacities that are important. The right to speak your piece, and thus gratify
yourself and sometimes inXuence others, is vital. So is the right to earn some
money and keep it, or to use it any legal way, and so is the capacity to participate in
inXuencing the choices that are put before others. In declining order from the
public to private, there is access to the vote, access to political roles beyond the vote,
access to some social beneWts, access to equality of social beneWts as good as anyone
else gets, and even access to treatment for special needs.
Political scientists have discussed electoral mechanisms in their full range and variety
of forms as to how they aVect inclusion and exclusion in terms of conferring advantage
and, conversely, disadvantage. Inclusion begins with enfranchisement. But electoral
mechanisms themselves have known eVects. Those mechanisms that enhance the
likelihood of female and minority representation are critical tools of potential inclu-
sion. But electoral mechanisms equally can be used as tools to exclude as well.
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 167

3.2 Election Rules

As a general matter, the rules governing elections and the modalities of represen-
tation are frequently contentious and in play for ‘‘reform.’’ To an unusual degree,
and perhaps uniquely, politicians in the United States (state legislatures) have the
power to deWne both legislative districts at the state level and those for the US
House of Representatives. It is not surprising that once party politicians have the
power to deWne districts—which because states often have divided government
they do not always do—they will exercise that power to enhance their party’s
position. Sometimes they can do this by stacking the other party’s constituents into
a few districts which may facilitate, ironically, both greater minority representation
and lessened minority inXuence over policy. Computer technology has made the
art of the gerrymander into a science.

3.3 Election Types and Inclusion/Exclusion

3.3.1 Run-off Elections
Run-oV elections force an electoral majority behind a single candidate. This
electoral form typically disadvantages minorities who are seeking inclusion when
that status is contested by the majority. Normally, in a single seat winner-take-all
election, the requirement of a majority may be said to be more representative
of voters’ preferences than a pure Wrst-past-the post plurality requirement inas-
much as it induces a delayed form of agreement voting. However, the requirement
of an electoral majority also diminishes opportunities for minority candidates in
majority-dominant constituencies, at least to the extent that inclusion issues
remain.

3.3.2 At-large Versus Single Member Districts

James Madison, whom some designate ‘‘the Father of the Constitution’’
(Brant 1950), was surely a crucial participant in the initial shaping of American
political institutions. Madison argued, in Federalist 10, that the broader the terri-
torial compass the more that would be likely to engender diverse factions (or in
contemporary language, diverse interests). Actual results depend upon the com-
position of the at-large constituency, but unless the at-large electoral unit also has
proportional representation, it is more likely to represent concentrated minorities
than voting by district, other things being equal.
168 matthew holden, jr.

3.3.3 Descriptive and Substantive Representation

What diVerence does it make if an elected representative is of a given gender or
ethnic-racial background? This has perhaps not been settled in empirical analysis
of the many countries with some kind of multiethnic or multiracial composition.
It is highly contested in political science research in the United States. We should
contrast the work of Carol Swain, who contends that white legislators can represent
black constituents’ interests as well as blacks (Swain 1995), and Kenny Whitby
whose data seem to reveal a distinctiveness in what black representatives of black
constituencies do (Whitby 1997).
Obviously, one answer to that question is that it depends on the characteristics
of the oYceholder’s party and the nature of the electing or selecting constituency.
The nature of the constituency, in turn, depends on the sharpness of the cleavages
separating the interests of the oYceholder’s ethnic group from the interests of other
constituencies. To put it more directly, can someone be elected from a constituency
not dominated by her or his ethnic group?
Gender, in contrast to some racial and ethnic characteristics, has one essential
diVerence. Male and female populations cannot be physically separated on a
continuing basis. Nor does conXict reduce itself to the same kinds or degrees of
violence that racial and ethnic conXict sometimes do. Political scientists do diVer as
to whether gender makes a signiWcant substantive diVerence by itself, even though
some issues clearly aVect women more than men. The question is also posed as to
whether more critical diVerences are intragender; that is, whether women are
married and not in the workforce or single and in the workforce and, especially,
their race. Issues of representation around gender appear to be largely ones of
descriptive representation in that greater female representation can be added to the
reservoir of oYceholders.
Both gender and racial-ethnic representation, broadly speaking, may be diVerent
over time and across societies. In societies based upon large-scale and rapid
incorporation of diVerent population streams, the issues can be very severe.
Whether a candidate for elected oYce is of Italian, Irish, Anglo, or Germanic
descent is these days of little matter. But that was not always so when diVerences
between various European descended populations were much greater. There is,
however, great demand for representation directly by members of ethnic groups
whose inclusion status is still in doubt, mainly people of non-European origin.
However, whether greater direct representation means equivalent substantive
representation is unclear at the very least. As representation in the elite reservoir
increases, it is likely that this increase will require minority ethnic representatives to
represent more heterogeneous constituencies. Assuming the operation of the
‘‘electoral connection’’ in district based elections, minority representatives in
more diverse constituencies are unlikely to aVord to be minority representatives
as substantively as their peers in more minority dense districts.
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 169

Redistricting, which has been mentioned, also plays a role in potentially

increasing the minority elite reservoir while possibly limiting the substantive
representation of minorities. Redistricting allows for stacking and concentrating
minorities into safe districts (almost always the party of the left), but more districts
are likely to be constituted in a way that produces more representatives who are
likely to be less favorably inclined toward minorities’ policy preferences. And, to
some extent, these policy preferences may diVer across minorities. But it is likely
that when one speaks of minorities whose inclusion status is in question, one is also
speaking about class. Not exclusively, of course, but nonetheless signiWcantly. In
any event, it is clear that the relationship between descriptive and substantive
representation remains to be explored, particularly in the context of diVerent
electoral and representational systems.

3.3.4 Proportional Representation Systems

Proportional representation (PR) systems facilitate the representation of minor-
ities because they encourage minorities to create their own parties if they feel
underrepresented in the larger ones. (In Israel, for example, there had been a party
whose constituency was almost exclusively drawn from Russian immigrants.) The
costs of new party entry into the political marketplace are lower than in single
member district systems. To keep groups from straying, larger parties may seek to
place candidates on the party list who reXect minority party constituencies.
Ultimately, though, who becomes an elected oYceholder depends upon position-
ing on the party list. Further, given the party discipline prevalent in PR systems,
representation in parliament is inevitably more descriptive or symbolic than
substantive.

3.3.5 Inclusion and Coalition-building

Some literature on inclusion starts from the unspoken predicate that the newest
ethnic minority will be unable to exert suYcient pressure by itself. Therefore, the
question is whether it can Wnd others with compatible interest. In the United
States, the newest version of this concerns African-Americans and Latinos in
American cities.
Contemporary political science takes for granted that political agreement is
called for. Accordingly, it focuses upon the various means of representation,
especially representation in assemblies (or legislative bodies). Canon concludes:
While the racial divide in the United States is not so severe as racial or ethnic divisions in
South Africa, the former Yugoslavia, India, or many other nations, American political
scientists (and citizens) who are interested in helping bridge the racial divide can learn
from the competitive experience. (Canon 1999, 373)
170 matthew holden, jr.

Karen M. Kaufmann treats the problem of inclusion in the context of Latino entry
into the political arena. Her focus is on mass attitudes and the propensity of blacks
and Latinos to build electoral coalitions. Using recent public opinion data,
Kaufmann’s research explores the levels of perceived commonality between blacks
and Latinos and, in particular, it studies the process by which Latinos come to feel
close to African-Americans. Her Wndings suggest that pan-Latino aYnity is a
robust predictor of Latino/black commonality, but that long-term Latino political
acculturation, in its current form, is unlikely to result in particularly high levels of
closeness to blacks.
The conclusion of the article points to the important role that Latino leader-
ship and political organizations play in promoting strong pan-ethnic identities
and suggests that the prospects for future coalitions between African-Americans
and Latinos rest, in part, on the development of these more inclusive Latino
orientations.
Bickford (1999, 86–108) seeks to merge pluralist theories of unequal groups and
identity politics. The objective is to analyze ‘‘the institutional representation of
disadvantaged groups.’’ Bickford says theorists can neither treat group identity as
Wxed, nor dismiss ‘‘identity politics.’’ She makes reference to Guinier’s (1994) model
as encouraging coalitions between groups, and as having the potential to engender
citizen action beyond the electoral moment. Other approaches pertinent to inclu-
sion, in their use of pluralism, include Bohman (1995), Keller (1988), Olson (1988),
Fraga (1999), Kim and Lee (2001, 631–7), McClure (1990, 361–91), and Levite and
Tarrow (1983).
Laura Scalia (1998, 49–376) oVers a stimulating critique of the ideological basis of
racial exclusion. She does so by examining a sample of state constitutional con-
ventions held during the Wrst half of the nineteenth century. The author focuses on
speeches therein that deal with questions of who should participate in leader
selection. Debates over how far to empower freemen of African descent verify
recent studies which argue that ethnocentric language rationalized political exclu-
sions. In debates over white empowerment, however, those arguing to restrict
citizen privileges unequivocally used the language of liberalism to make their
case. Nineteenth-century liberalism was not just the language of greater empower-
ment and inclusion. It was dynamic enough to serve as the language of exclusion
as well.
Haggard and Kaufman (1997, 263–83) adapt Dankwart A. Rustow’s emphasis on
elite bargaining to oVer a ‘‘theory of democratic transitions [that] focuses on the
way economic performance aVects constitutional rules, political alignments, and
institutions.’’ It can be extended to explain the policy challenges facing new
democratic governments and the prospects for consolidation.
Ranki (1999) is one of the few authors to combine inclusion and exclusion in one
analysis. What is impressive for its clue to deep research is the demonstration that
inclusion is not, in and of itself, inherently irreversible. The conditions may have
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 171

been special. But the phenomenon is that the Jewish population of Hungary
had moved increasingly into a condition of inclusion and acceptance, then to
the reversal and being ground up in the history of a brutal exclusion, near the
end of a war, when it was no longer necessary for Hungary’s rulers to do what
they did.

4 Different Institutions Deal

Differently with Inclusion/Exclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Comparable institutions do not necessarily deal with the problem of inclusion/

exclusion in the same way, although under the logic of institutional analysis there
should be similar outcomes. Parties, for example, do not welcome all voters, but
only those voters whose attachments will not disturb their existing internal balance
(Holden 1966.)
Some institutions are almost inherently exclusionary. The police and the military
are both such, unless what they are to control has no distinction between the
dominant and the subordinate parts of the population. But where ethnic diversity
is a part of domination and subordination, ethnic diVerence is immediately
apparent in the results of administrative practice. (Holden 1996, ch. 8).
There can, of course be institutions that operate at least some of the time on an
inclusive basis. This was true, under one set of circumstances, when the Depart-
ment of Justice began to make the legal argument for the equality of black persons
and white persons under the United States Constitution (McMahon 2004). The
same Department of Justice, in the same period of time, would not take action,
requested by the War Department, against local law oYcials who victimized
African-American soldiers in uniform (Gibson 2005, 200–1; and Novkov, email
communication, October 14, 2005).
The design of the United States executive (the presidency) in theory, is to
represent ‘‘the whole people,’’ but after a vote there is no mechanism by which
any interest that wants even to be ‘‘heard’’ can assure that it is ‘‘heard.’’
We postpone until below a closer analysis of two institutions (legislature and
federalism) and two signiWcant groups with whom the problem of getting to
inclusion has already been faced. The legislature is the vehicle by which, in theory,
everyone has some representative, at least if the design is right. But complete
exclusion is when any group (or potential interest) has no actual standing in any
institution in the legislature.
172 matthew holden, jr.

Congress is the means by which one group shields itself from the demands of the
other that the lesser side can only wallow in discouragement or explode in rage. In
short, the legislative process may become a form of dictatorship by group A over
group B.

5 Dominant Groups and Subordinate

Groups
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The logic of power is that dominant groups respond to diVerent new interests
diVerently. It is logically possible, therefore, for ‘‘inside’’ groups to look at ‘‘out-
side’’ groups from one of the following perspectives:
1. Dominant groups can be in a position where they can decide everything that is
to be decided. The ‘‘others’’ are vassals or slaves over whom they can exercise
prerogatives as they please.
2. They can act as if they were ‘‘Wduciaries’’ and the ‘‘outside’’ groups were
‘‘wards’’ in whose best interest they should act.
3. They could act as very strong allies (or even patrons), in aid of some client.
4. They could adopt something like the same role in relation to an outside weak
ally, from whose presence they need something besides moral veriWcation.
5. They could act as political entrepreneurs in search of new partners.
6. Finally, they could act as trading partners, knowing that the others also have
wide freedom, but with the aim of establishing continuing ‘‘special relation-
ship’’ friendships, and comradeships that are not purely utilitarian. By the time
that happens, inclusion is a fact.
Correlatively, the outside party must also see what role it is to adopt. Inclusion may
also mean, even if one is not an exploitable resource, being a ward or client of
someone more important. There is perhaps no distinction between the ward and
the client except that the former is in a dependent (and protected) status with little
eVort to get there, whereas the client may be the person who has made some eVort.
Depending on the time or place, the individual who was neither a ward nor client,
even in twentieth-century America, could have trouble being accepted.
Historically, there have been at least four major points of inclusion-
and-exclusion. Class/caste divisions have expressed the predicate that some groups
were entitled to rule, and would rule, and that was that. Caste politics is not
irrelevant, but does not preclude some kind of overt political participation in the
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 173

largest democracy in the world, India (Hasan, Sridharan, and Sudarshan 2005; Jain
1997, 198–208, Lijphart 1996, 258–68).
Class, at any rate, is not irrelevant and shows up in bold divisions between those
who own and those who do not (Im 1987, 231–57). Religion has been the second big
identiWer of those who are ‘‘in’’ and those who are ‘‘out.’’ It has been, and obviously
remains, a profound source of social division. But such social division, in
the countries to which political science has paid close attention, is not that of
preemptory exclusion, but of a variety of forms of discrimination. There have been
times, even in such a country as Canada, with its reputation for moderation,
when religion combined with class made representative government inert
(Gunn 1966, 185–6).
The criterion that, in principle, is easy to change, but can be highly exclusionary,
is religion. The question is whether A is a member of a valid religious community is
not made easier by the fact that, under the United States Constitution, Congress
shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion. As of 1787, the principle
did not extend to the states: ‘‘Maryland and Massachusetts required a belief in the
Christian religion.’’ The same source says ‘‘Georgia, New Hampshire, New Jersey,
and North Carolina had Protestant tests.’’ Delaware required ‘‘faith in God the
Father, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, and in the Holy Ghost, One God, blessed
forever more’’(Stokes and PfeVer 1964, 37). It is obvious that such tests would have
been either exclusionary or negated, by non-enforcement. Even if there are no
formal legal tests, it is obvious that a variety of religious tests exist in civil society,
and that Muslim populations especially have become the foci of extraordinarily
intense issues.

6 The Legislative Institution

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

6.1 Two Cases of Inclusion-and-Exclusion and their

Handling in Congress
There are innumerable cases of inclusion-and-exclusion in human history, inclu-
ding a large number in the contemporary world. Wherever there are situations of
high exclusion, political scientists, from their own analytical Wrst principles, must
predict that a change from ‘‘outsider’’ status to some degree of inclusion will only
come after a protracted struggle. But we Wrst present an historically oriented
account of two situations of high exclusion (gender, the status of women, and
‘‘race,’’ or the status of persons of African ancestry in the United States).
174 matthew holden, jr.

The cases, though historically connected, are diVerent in crucial ways. But they
are analytically similar in that the leaders of each deemed it necessary to go well
beyond ordinary boundaries for tactics of public relations and self-abnegation that
elicited the horror and repulsion of other public elites (Clift 2003, 113–54).

6.2 Case 1: Gender—A Case of Delay and Fitful Inclusion

Chowdbury and Nelson say that ‘‘political systems, whatever the ideology, form,
and mobilization capacity, rest on the virtual exclusion of women from formal
politics’’ (Chowdbury and Nelson 1994, 15). This subject appears, in fact, both
simple and at the same time complex. For present purposes, I ground myself in the
review essay by Nancy Burns (2002, 462–87) which, in turn, is crucially grounded in
work by Marianne Githens (1983) almost two decades earlier and by Virginia Sapiro
(1983). ‘‘Gender is a repertoire of mechanisms that provide social interpretations
of sex, that enable sex to structure people’s lives’’ (Burns 2002, 463). It is (in
Burns’s formulation) a ‘‘principle of social organization [or] hierarchy’’ (Burns
2002, 464).
In most places in the world, until about 200 years ago, women as a group
were distinctively subordinate. Moreover, the Wnding that one is obliged to draw
from Chowbury and Nelson (1994), as cited, is that they are still so. Some
anthropological and historical material dealing with gender roles, however, sug-
gests a wider variety of conditions. Political scientists may need to be sure of the
bases on which they are grounding analysis. In traditional Ashanti society, for
example, while no equivalent notion of ‘‘democracy’’ existed, there still were well
deWned customary roles within which people acted. Autocracy was not the norm
(Busia 1951); nor was straightforward female subordination. Among the Ashanti,
there were times when the consent of ‘‘female monarch,’’ translated as ‘‘queen-
mother,’’ was essential for legitimation.
In this matrilineal society, the queen-mother performed the function of deciding
which young men were eligible for chieftaincy. And the queen-mother had the duty
to advise the chief, and to oVer reproof even beyond the advice of the chief ’s
councilors. In the nineteenth century, something changed. What happened and
why deserves study. At present, historical analysis does not appear to be an
important ingredient in the political science scholarship on the status of women,
any more than it is in most other aspects of political science. There is literature on
argument and doctrine, and famous Wgures, as in the case of Mary Wollstonecraft
(Sapiro 1992).
The nineteenth-century women’s suVrage movement began with a commitment
to social and philosophical radicalism. In the USA, Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s overt
rebellion against subordination was against her own subordination to men in
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 175

Abolitionist meetings. Over time, as women suVragists picked up other support,

they also broadened their appeals.
For a time, the right to vote came to be deWned as the crucial women’s issue
(Ostrogorski [1980] 1893). Why does an apparently settled pattern, of long
duration, change? Ostrogorski (1980), writing in 1893, attributes it to the diVusion
of ‘‘natural right’’ ideas from the French Revolution (1980, xii). DiVusion of
ideas, public opinion clamor, and legislation follow: ‘‘In the politics of some
countries the rights of women obtain, for the sake of the party game, something
like a negotiable value on ‘Change, they are quoted, they are speculated upon, some
with hope, by others with dread of their coming before long to rule the market’’
(1980, xiii).
As with other groups, the women’s rights leaders calculated the costs and
beneWts of alliances, especially those with other excluded populations. The lan-
guage of rights for women had come into American speech as early as the late
nineteenth century, as the much cited correspondence between John Quincy
Adams and Abigail Adams serves to show. But women’s suVrage as a social
movement shows the adaptation of excluded groups, in this case women, to the
norms and requirements of dominant groups. The women’s suVrage movement
came directly out of Abolitionism, with a rebellion against women’s exclusion from
meetings to decide what to do about slavery.
In this rebellion, the women suVragists had the symbolic support of Frederick
Douglass. But as time passed, and suVrage came into more open and acceptable
political discussion, suVragists did not further attach to their own cause the
weakening political causes of black citizenship. At the beginning the twentieth
century, Chapman Catt did not hesitate to move away from an anti-racism stance
for example. And other women’s rights leaders during that era cooperated with
racism in the South.
Within twenty-Wve years of the time when Ostrogorski wrote, women’s suVrage
had come to Britain. The United States had the ‘‘Susan B. Anthony Amendment’’
on the national agenda. The political scientist P. Orman Ray could write of the
extension of women’s suVrage in a number of countries in Europe, the white
countries of the British Empire, and the United States.’’ Ray was too cautious to
forecast ‘‘early ratiWcation by the requisite number of States’’ (Ray 1919, 238). The
Nineteenth Amendment was adopted in 1919 and ratiWed in 1920 (Brown 1995,
2175–204; Clift 2003, 155–80).
Thereafter, the logical questions concern other issues that are logically contin-
gent. What happened with customary barriers to oYce holding, even though there
were no formal-legal barriers to voting, once the Nineteenth Amendment was
adopted? What have been the broad changes in social customs and in expanding
the elite reservoir with regard to women? What has happened regarding changes in
policy content on gender speciWc matters, or simply on those matters where
women’s attitudes diVer broadly from those of men?
176 matthew holden, jr.

The Burns (2002) analysis is that political science analysis has oriented itself to
sex diVerences and how they work in institutional settings (2002, 470), and to rules
in institutions and how they aVect what women do. In her view, political science
has, on its agenda of unWnished work, a good deal on sex segregation of institutions
and role diVerentiation, and what this does to constrain opportunities for women.
By Burns’s account the existing literature deals largely with the women’s
movement as a movement grounded in prior networks (2002, 473). That literature
is also oriented to the study of public opinion (2002, 476), and is (in her words)
‘‘consumed’’ by a focus on diVerence in the attitudes of men and women on a
variety of subjects. (Pippa Norris 1997 presents further analysis and commentary
consistent with the same point. Note especially Mills, in that volume, pp. 41–55.)
Burns further reports that existing research has a strong focus on participation and
civic engagement (2002, 479), with a variety of explanations for a lower level of
participation by women, compared to men.
Finally, she sums up a variety of studies of women as policy-makers, which she
distinctly refers to as ‘‘legislators.’’ (For still newer material in twenty cases outside
the United States, see Galligan and Tremblay 2005.) Most research focuses on two
issues: What do women oYceholders seek and change? Do they face discrimination
in their oYce holding roles, compared to men in those roles?
These issues belong in the arena, for the most part, of what Chowdbury and
Nelson (1994) characterize as women’s exclusion from ‘‘formal politics.’’ Their
report is that, ‘‘At the end of 1990, only 6 of the 159 countries represented in the
United Nations had women as chief executives. In nearly 100 countries men held all
the senior and deputy ministerial positions in 1987–88’’ (Chowbury and Nelson
1994, 14).
While the questions can be asked on a worldwide basis, it appears that actual
behavior being studied diVers sharply between the United States and Europe, and
the rest of the world. According to the literature, wide gaps appeared between
women in the USA and Western Europe and women in Central and Eastern
Europe with regard to the importance of a female demographic presence in
government (Montgomery 2003, 1, 3). Moreover, once this is grasped, the new
research, with a great deal of technical study of election systems, is about
European countries, not about Russia or the other countries that emerged
from the former Soviet Union.
Social rules about marriage, divorce, childbearing, childreading, whether to
work for whom and on what terms, and about the inheritance, holding, use, and
transfer of property are quite fundamental. In Lasswellian terms, these encompass
welfare values (well-being, wealth, skill, and enlightenment) and deference values
(being taken into consideration) (Lasswell and Kaplan 1963). On some of these
underlying social rules (other than the abortion controversy) it seems that little
appears frequently in the political science research about the United States or
Europe.
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 177

These issues, however, have a diVerent signiWcance elsewhere. In Nigeria, women

traders have had an independent role, and at least one contemporary writer has
expressed the desire that women not lose the traditional spaces for their trading
roles (Amadiume 2000). Reports on some of the Nigerian peoples (the Igbo)
show female political roles in far more substantive and subtle ways. Whether to
work, for whom, and on what terms has reportedly been demonstrated in the
Nicaraguan revolutionary underground when a woman refused to do her squad
leader’s laundry. He prevailed upon her to do so, as it would embarrass him and
undermine his persuasive authority with peasants if they saw him doing his own
washing. But he never again asked (Luciak 2001, 19).
Mounira Charrad, a sociologist, reports on changes in, or the maintenance of,
traditional family law, not so much as an outgrowth of women’s issues per se, but
for strategies of building state power (Charrad 2001, 237–8).
From the point of view of the politics of inclusion and exclusion, and of the role
of institutions, it is intellectually imperative to seek a model that incorporates a
broader stretch of history. In principle, it would be desirable to incorporate
a broader stretch in the study of gender and politics. The existing literature does
not support such an analysis. Thus, we return to the hypothesis that the counter-
attack is in principle pertinent. It is not possible, on the basis of the existing
literature, fully to accept this hypothesis, and it is surely not possible to disclaim it.

6.3 Case 2: African-Americans—The Hypothesis of the

Counter-attack
It is possible to do a little better on the subject of the African-American population,
to which we turn now. Discussion of the African-American case is warranted for
two reasons. There is no advanced industrial democracy, except perhaps Australia
with the Aborigines, in which inclusion and exclusion has had a more pronounced
form. Yet the experience is also more complex than is generally understood by
scholars or attentive lay persons. Political science, like political journalism, focuses
upon the African-American civil rights movement in a quite concentrated period.
Basically, it has built an image around the ten-year career of Martin Luther King,
Jr., as a public Wgure. That is, from the Montgomery bus boycott of 1958 until his
assassination in 1968. It especially focuses upon the seven years of greatest success,
ending in the adoption of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. ‘‘We Shall Overcome’’ has
become a global hymn.
The United States did not begin with a concept that made the institutionalized
racism of the twentieth century a forgone conclusion. It is doubtful to say that ‘‘not
only did the Declaration of Independence not include slaves but the Constitution
178 matthew holden, jr.

recognized slavery’’ (Ranki 243, n. 1) There is no question that the United States
was a slaveholding society (1789–1861) (Holden 1994, 2). But the same slaveholding
society began with a system in which free African franchise existed and, in fact, was
sometimes used, in which some held the expectation that slavery had been put on
‘‘the course of ultimate extinction,’’ and would in due course come to argue that
it was unconstitutional (Mellen 1973; Henry 1914). Congress reXected these inter-
ests around slaveholding, containing members both in favor of and averse to
slaveholding. The very Wrst Congress, elected in 1788, contained at least twenty
members who had been in the Philadelphia Convention (Franklin 1995). These
twenty equal half the number of the Wnal Convention delegates. This Wrst Congress
‘‘that did so much in setting precedents and patterns for the future and that deWned
who could become a citizen of the United States’’ and ‘‘[n]ot one raised any
objection to barring free blacks from becoming naturalized citizens’’ (Franklin
1995, 12).
Those averse to the African-American interest were able to launch three major
counter-attacks in the span of 200 years. The overall eVect was to move from a
modest possibility of institutional openness, in the very Wrst Congress, to a period
of institutional closure where slavery could not be the subject of a petition.
But the struggle in shifting social demand brought a new openness in Congress
just after the Civil War. That, in turn, was shut down by a tight institu-
tional closure from around 1890 until the New Deal year, when openness
returned.
Counter-attack 1 was a drastic assertion of the desirability of slavery as a form
of organization. Some interests averse to slaveholding adopted the Wduciary
posture. The very Wrst interest group petition to the new Congress was that of
the Quakers against slavery (diGiacomantonio 1995, 169–97). They acted on the
doctrine that Africans, like others in the United States, were presumed entitled
to freedom. Some constitutional ratiWers had deemed slavery an unfortunate
exception to be attenuated by time and law (Elliot’s Debates). Congress came to a
major forum in which these issues were expounded, and a major arena in which
they were fought.
This was the Wrst of a set of petitions for the abolition of slavery and/or the
slave trade. The Congressional committee reported that from the nature of
the matters contained in those memorials (petitions from the Quakers) they
(the committee) were induced to examine the powers vested in Congress, under
the present constitution (H. Doc. #13, Abolition of Slavery, March 5, 1790, 12) to
the abolition of slavery. The report is written as if to an audience that could
plausibly contemplate the abolition of slavery. The report took note that the
Constitution provided that importation of slaves could not be prohibited before
1808. ‘‘Congress, by a fair construction of the constitution, are equally restrained
from interfering in the emancipation of slaves who already are within any of
the . . . States.’’
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 179

Political learning took place at once. The Wduciaries (Quakers) learned that
Congress could only debate restrictions on how the slave trade was conducted.
The Quakers persisted in their interest, some of them some petitioning Congress to
adopt a law ‘‘prohibiting the trade carried on by citizens of the United States, for
the purpose of supplying slaves to foreign nations, and to prevent foreigners from
Wtting out vessels of the slave trade in the ports of the United States’’ (US Congress,
House Document 44, February 11, 1794). The Wduciary interventions were futile,
except in as much as they played a similar role as theatrical shows that might
inXuence, or even generate, public opinion. Weak interests, represented only by
Wduciaries, would fall before strong interests, at least in the near term. The
Wduciaries lost. Their eVort anticipated the struggle over ‘‘the gag rule,’’ which
addressed whether Congress could even receive a petition on the subject of slavery.
The Wght against the gag rule is famous. The leading protagonist of this struggle
was the former president and then member of the House of Representatives John
Quincy Adams (Miller 1996).
After the Civil War, the Union-maintaining and power-seeking Republicans
found it imperative to extend the franchise to the freed Africans. This set the
terms for the second counter-attack.
Counter-attack 2, in the last quarter of the century, was substantially successful in
limiting the eVect of the Civil War. It led to the establishment of white supremacy as
public policy that Congress would accept as fact. In the end, those who wanted to
defend the freed slaves’ franchise, as a means of defending both the Republican
party and the Union, could not win. The Civil War Amendments were accepted as
verbal formalities. Federal armed force was not used to any notable degree. Those
private persons who wished by force to exclude blacks were free to do so. This
implicates federalism.
The experience of these sixty-odd years was the reopening of the question of
white supremacy—and the cognate question of blacks’ rights in the late 1920s and
early 1930s. The concept, but not the actual policy, of acceptance of white suprem-
acy was overthrown in the 1950s. White supremacy as policy was rejected by
Congress in the 1960s.
When African-Americans began to arrive in Congress, the question of their
access to privileges was apparently problematic. There were but two Congresses
(the 46th Congress, convening in 1881, and the 50th Congress, convening in 1889)
between 1869 and 1901 when there were no African-American members at all. The
question of their own access to privilege was also necessarily a question about their
ability to provide eVective representation.
Government was divided for most of the time between the end of the Civil War
and the beginning of the twentieth century. The last notable eVort directly to
protect the franchise was the Federal Elections Bill of 1890, a bill similar in concept
to the Voting Rights Act of 1965. The defeat of this bill should probably be
accounted one of the major events of the decade. Divided government plus an
180 matthew holden, jr.

American violencia resulted in a victory, in Congress and outside, that could be

seen by 1890. It was fully consolidated by the Wrst decade of the twentieth century.
The legislative institution was white supremacy’s stronghold.
A challenge to white supremacy would be forthcoming, but not its overthrow.
This would not happen for more than seventy years until the mid 1960s. Challenges
began after 1934 through the imperatives of another institution, the political party.
1934 was the Wrst year that African-Americans in the North, who could vote, began
to switch to the Democrats. African-Americans in the South could generally still
not vote. In 1935, evidence of these realigning eVects among voting African-
Americans began to be visible. A large number of anti-lynching bills were suddenly
being introduced in the Congress. Northern Democrats, for the Wrst time, spon-
sored bills to protect African-Americans from abuses and from persecution.
Racial exclusion began to be challenged by racial inclusion issues, restated as
‘‘civil rights.’’ The ‘‘civil rights issue’’ was, by 1948, admitted to be vital in Demo-
cratic presidential politics. However, it would be another sixteen years (1964)
before Congress passed the Civil Rights Act.
The absolutely predictable Southern Democratic Wlibuster could never be
broken, except with Republican cooperation. Republican cooperation, within the
convoluted world of political maneuver, was possible. But the principle of the
counter-attack is always in play, unless the issues are subject to resolution in civil
society. The counter-attack will make use of institutional procedures when these
are both available and favorable and seek to circumvent institutions when they are
not. The civil rights movement in the United States made ample use of both
strategies—peaceful but extra-institutional demonstrations and sit-ins when ex-
cluded from institutional possibilities and the use of the judicial system as a way to
break through the political logjam.
Counter-attack 3 emerged as civil rights issues were concerned, those issues
served as a wedge between Northern Democrats who favored legislation and
Southern Democrats to whom it was absolutely unacceptable. The Goldwater
campaign was the vehicle by which active racism in the South expressed itself. A
recent historian, in a rather full biography, refers to Goldwater’s consistent advo-
cacy of conservative principles. ‘‘Ignoring power realities in the South and remain-
ing consistent with his states’ rights stand, Goldwater deemed segregation a
problem best handled at the community level’’ (Goldberg 1995, 140). Goldwater
could not have been so far removed from reality as to know what handling at the
‘‘community level’’ meant in a world of violence against African-Americans and
those supporting their cause.
Goldwater, more than George Wallace, who in old age recanted his earlier
politics, made the Republican Party the party of the self-conscious white voters
in the Deep South. Economic change is a powerful component, but without the
racial struggle, the Republican domination of Southern politics would never have
occurred.
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 181

7 The Institution of Federalism

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Institutional closure may also present itself in the case of federalism. Federalism in
the United States is often discussed as if the preservation of ‘‘the states’’ or the
protection of state authority had some obvious theoretical merit. It is also some-
times discussed as if the preservation of state authority was always among the
principal aims of the writers of the 1787 Constitution. Federalism is often discussed
as if there were some objective and meritorious principle of freedom that justiWes
it. It is also discussed if there were some eYciency principle, under which some
things, inherently ‘‘appropriate’’ to state jurisdiction, are left to state governments.
The historical evidence contradicts this view and does not serve to sustain this
pristine version of principled motivation for the institutions of federalism and state
prerogative.
In 1787 Virginia was the largest state. The Virginia delegation went to the 1787
Constitutional Convention with a plan for a unicameral federal legislature, with
strong authority over the states (Robertson 2005, 243–67; Brant 1950). Viewed from
another angle, this is not a surprise. In reality, federalism is a system of power
typically predicated—as all systems of power are—on serving or accommodating
particular interests—or, in other words, keeping some people in and others out
(Riker 1964, 10).
There can be many results attributable to federal systems. One clear consequence
of federalism in the United States, though, was that blacks were a subject popula-
tion under the rule of the states. Insofar as the African-American experience is
concerned, states were primarily constellations of interests based upon the exploit-
ation of the Africans. African-Americans were always losers under the rules of that
system. Federalism as a constitutional process allowed the groups within state
politics to do to other groups whatever they pleased, with very little limitation.
Federalism was, in practice, an institutional arrangement that made the United
States safe for chattel slavery.
In the contemporary United States, there are large experiential tests to be met.
What is the meaning of the election of L. Douglas Wilder, an African-American
politician, as Governor of Virginia? In what sense is voting still so racially polarized
that most African-American candidates would lose if most of the voters are white?
A social scientist can extend this question with other questions about representa-
tion, namely African-American representation in governors’ cabinets, among
senior civil servants, on courts, and in local government oYces.
By the 1990s African-American representation in local government had grown
substantially. But the capacity of many of those governments had become
problematic and are recurrently so. Where African-American politicians have
risen to top political leadership positions in local politics, they are often in
command of an empty vessel—cities and other local governments that are short
182 matthew holden, jr.

on investment capital, weak in their tax base, and faced with problems of poverty,
poor educational systems, and higher crime rates. Such problems may be local, but
they can rarely be solved locally. The irony is that inclusion of African-Americans
in the elite reservoir grows, especially if they do not have to seek oYce where
constituencies are predominantly white. Persons of color may enter in other ways—
appointive and bureaucratic oYces, for instance—while social marginalization of
African-Americans may be relatively unaVected.

8 Premises About The Process of

Inclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

What kind of claim are those seeking inclusion making? What claims are being
made? One form of claim is the assertion of some legal right. The claim of legal
right may be highly eVective in situations where the norms of ‘‘right,’’ both legal
and moral, are generally accepted. Such claims were staked by African-Americans
through the judicial system by the 1940s. These claims against the segregationist
system played an increasingly large role in the articulation of claims that the civil
rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s could make to white audiences.
The actor seeking inclusion can also be in the position of being a claimant of
rectitude. One may perfectly well perceive that one lacks power, but seek to
inXuence some other audience by asserting oneself as the moral conscience, thus
claiming moral rectitude and embarrassing the other party on the assumption that
he or she also has a public need to display evidence of a moral conscience to which
an appeal is possible. Violence toward, and even murders of, African-American
civil rights activists galvanized support among some whites on the basis of moral
claims, making the civil rights struggle a moral as well as a legal cause.
A third claim is that attention to one’s own need Wts the interest of the other
party, notably its Wnancial interest, although some other political interest is also
plausible. This can be connected to a kind of ‘‘fact of life’’ claim, such as when actor
X seeks to communicate to actor Y that X’s presence is a ‘‘fact of life’’ which it is
inconvenient to ignore. The revolt against ‘‘back of the bus’’ segregated seating (or,
more often, standing) brought the power of the purse to bear in the bus boycott in
Montgomery, Alabama in 1955, an event made famous by Rosa Parks who would
not concede the necessity of her standing in the back of the bus while seats were
available in the front. The purpose of the boycott was to bring Wnancial pressure
against the bus company as was the objective of other commercial boycotts against
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 183

those businesses that maintained patterns of segregation or discriminated in their

workforce. Legality, morality, and mutual self-interest are all strategies in the
struggle for inclusion.

9 Institutions and The Problem

of Exclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

No serious empirical theory of politics can work on the assumption that what
democratic liberals take as normatively desirable is what will always occur. That
recognition is inherent in the hypothesis of the counter-attack. What degree of
exclusion is possible and/or probable? There is prevention of entry, where the elite
can say ‘‘you may not come in.’’ In principle there can be some kind of conditional
admission, with restrictions as to what kind of life can be lived, work be done, and
so forth. Exclusion is, by deWnition, unseemly for political scientists who study
‘‘democracy,’’ ‘‘liberalism,’’ or ‘‘constitutionalism.’’ Nonetheless, students of politi-
cal science cannot escape the question of exclusion as an ever-present possibility.
Expulsion, too, is an ever-present possibility. Extermination is one of the forms
of expulsion, and is so utterly repellent that we have no way of comprehending it.
The ultimate objects may be people who have already been incorporated, and now
are excluded. Extermination has been invoked verbally, and sometimes in actual
practice, in the United States and in Australia, against the Native Americans and
the Aborigines respectively. The folklore that ‘‘the only good Indian is a dead
Indian’’ was not for the movies only, but was sometimes expressed in tactics of
extermination.
Peter J. G. Pulzer makes the case that anti-Semitism reached its most virulent
intensity after a great deal of emancipation had taken place for Jews. German Jews
were a highly cultivated population. In the twentieth century, Jews had come far
from old restrictions, to the point that Walther Rathenau was Foreign Minister at
his assassination in 1922.
Both the Holocaust and the massive killings that took place in eastern Africa in
1994 would Wt the pattern of expulsion via extermination. So would the eVorts at
‘‘ethnic cleansing’’ in the Balkans. In parallel, the savage interethnic slaughter in
Rwanda by some Hutu factions against Tutsis was one of killings amongst groups,
the members of which were intermarried with each other.
In general terms, it is possible to identify the most signiWcant criteria of
exclusion. Those to be excluded from ‘‘the people’’ are those who are considered
184 matthew holden, jr.

repulsive for what they do, have done, or would do, of their own will, which they
could choose to alter if they were perceived to be morally Wt to do so. Sex oVenders
under contemporary American criminal law are so regarded even when they return
to civil society. They are, in essence, branded with a scarlet letter as morally unWt.
Some expulsions and exterminations, however, are also predicated on physical
diVerences about which nothing can be done. Moral deWciencies and other fre-
quently fatal shortcomings are then postulated as derivative qualities of physical
diVerence. Such was, but hardly exclusively, the basis of the virulently racist Nazi
ideology.
When the American Revolutionary War occurred, a substantial share of the
population remained attached to the Crown, for emotional reasons or practical
ones. New York was a center of loyalism, as was South Carolina (Wertenbaker
1948). Overall, 15 per cent of the whole American population at the time refused to
accept the independence movement (Elster 2004, 51). They were thus obliged to
leave for Canada or other parts of the British Empire.

9.1 Looking Forward

If we begin with the Hobbesian problem as stated, and with the core concept that
institutions are inherently exclusionary, our approach to institutions is somewhat
that of oncologists to the human body. Analytically, we are aware of danger and
seek to increase the opportunities of hope. Thus, we identify three big remaining
issues which concern learning enough to improve the making and maintaining of
commonwealths.

9.1.1 Intellectual Problem 1

The disappearance or reduction of exclusion as a general proposition is itself
worthy of serious study. That disappearance or reduction in America is known
by the term ‘‘melting pot.’’ But it is virtually a cliché. It is well known that
identiWcation as a Roman Catholic was a barrier to voters’ acceptance of a
presidential candidate until 1960. It is hard now to make the case of serious
discrimination, and surely not of exclusion, for either Catholics or Jews in the
United States.
What meaning should be attached to the presence of a Jewish leader of the
British Tory party (Michael Howard) is also a matter of interest as is that of a
female Chancellor in Germany, a system in which women are notoriously under-
represented in the elite reservoir. From the point view of theory, how, in fact, does
substantial change take place?
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 185

9.1.2 Intellectual Problem 2

Where do criteria of inclusion and exclusion oVer big challenges to the making and
maintaining of commonwealths in this, the twenty-Wrst, century?
Consider religion. Norris and Inglehart (2004) oVer a worldwide study of
religion and politics Wlled with quantitative data. Their Wndings run contrary to
the Huntington thesis. There were no signiWcant diVerences between the publics
living in the West and in Muslim religious cultures in their approval of how
democracy works in practice, their support of democratic ideals, and their
approval of strong leadership (Norris and Inglehart 2004, 146).
Why then is religion regarded as a centerpiece for inclusion and exclusion? It is
less likely that the type of religion is at issue than the form in which any given one is
practiced, probably one reason why an aggregate measure of religion at the societal
level will not yield much about political cultural diVerences. Religion becomes a
centerpiece when it is linked with other cultural or class attributes, when its
practitioners are stereotyped, when it appears exotic against a host culture, and
when there is theological or quasi-theological rule that does not accept religious
pluralism.
The case of the rapid pace at which the barriers against women seem to be
collapsing is worthy of close study, for it is not obvious why it has happened that
way. At the same time, there are no factors that one can foresee that would reverse
what is occurring. The signiWcant question concerns the future of gender relations
in the world.

9.1.3 Intellectual Problem 3

What should be anticipated, given that growing diversity of populations in the rest
of the world is a most important phenomenon. Immigration in the United States—
as most elsewhere—historically has been good for buyers in labor markets. It has
been less good for populations disproportionately located toward the bottom of
the social stratiWcation system where most of the immigrants compete in the labor
market.
While immigration involves peoples from around the world and penetrates
diVerent sectors of the labor market, a substantial change can occur in the relative
proportion and historical experiences of minorities in the United States. This has
happened before. As a matter of policy, in the late eighteenth century, the desire to
attract European settlers was partly to oVset dependence on the black slave
population.
A similar dynamic was presented in the large post-Civil War European migration
into the United States. It repeats itself in the movement of the Spanish-speaking
people. This Hispanic population is very diverse. It sometimes racially overlapped
with the African-American population. But it is already regarded as the single
largest ethnic group of color.
186 matthew holden, jr.

It may be that these two groups will form alliances. It is also plausible that they may be
in contest with one another, especially in jockeying for positionwithin the elite reservoir
just as earlier European-derived ethnic groups—such as the Irish and Italians—had
been. Under what circumstances will institutions conduce to cooperation or to conXict?
And to what extent will labor markets as well as laws and increasingly norms,
encouraging diversity, allow for positive-sum or zero-sum relations between them?
Students of politics may take note that what is happening in the United States
has its counterparts in other immigrant-receiving countries. Inclusion/exclusion
for any group was seldom to be taken for granted, as derived from social and
cultural habits only. Inclusion/exclusion was also embedded into law, politics, and
institutional practice. In Europe, there appears to be a growing cultural divide
between Europeans and immigrant populations, particularly those from Muslim
countries. To what extent will inclusion be possible and on what terms? To what
extent will exclusion and even expulsion be sought? And, if sought, will it be
selective or non-selective? To what extent will communal autonomy result in the
abrogation of rights, especially women in patriarchal communities, as it did people
of African descent under American federalism? To what extent will homogenizing
secular policies and institutions (French centralism and secularism, for example)
fuel communal resentments or, alternatively, force sectarianism to come to terms
with civil law and the secular state, or even force civil law and the secular state to
come to terms with deviant practice that it has hitherto been able to contain?
There are no certain answers, but instead many challenges. In such a country as
France, for instance, will strategies of forced assimilation or communal accommo-
dation work best? What precisely are the boundaries between social pluralism and
the sovereign authority of the state? The liberal democratic view is that negotiating
civic peace and inclusion in increasingly diverse settings is the fundamental
democratic challenge to which the polity should rise. Karl W. Deutsch (1957)
approached the same analytical problem in a study of the historical experience of
the integration of countries in the North Atlantic. As he looked at the historical
data, Deutsch thought he could analytically reconstruct the conditions for failure.
They included, at least, a combination of greater activity by those who had been
passive, an increase in ethnic and linguistic diVerentiation, a reduction in capacity
for timely governmental action, and closure of the existing elites. Deutsch (1957)
also thought he could see some conditions that were favorable. Among these were:
capabilities that allowed each to do something for the other, compatibility of
expectations, and mutual predictability and reciprocity in respect.
Are institutions part of the solution or part of the problem? If the hints drawn
from Deutsch (which could be restated in Lasswellian deference and welfare terms)
are taken seriously, institutions are not irrelevant. The political scientist, coming
into that tradition, is likely to say ‘‘How we can all get along—whether we wish to
or not—is, as Thomas Hobbes observed in rather diVerent language, the funda-
mental task of political authority, however that authority is imposed.’’
 exclusion, inclusion, and political institutions 187

But no particular form of institution, in and of itself, guarantees reciprocal

adjustment. For students of institutions, this poses the particularly diYcult chal-
lenge of knowing what adaptations may be helpful. Even more, it poses the diYcult
challenge of learning what incentives give conXicting parties the motivation to
make institutions work rather than to pile up future trouble by ignoring the
realities around them. There, Wnally, the point with which one begins. The liberal
democratic motives are not the only ones driving action, and institutions may have
values built up in that call for closure rather than inclusion. It is not intellectually
useful to assume that the normatively-desired conclusion will be the empirically-
attainable result. Ascertaining the greater likelihood is the task of a political science.

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 chapter 11
...................................................................................................................................................

A NA LY Z I N G
CONSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

peter m. shane

Constitutions, written or unwritten, are sets of rules, practices, and customs that
polities regard as their fundamental law (DeSmith and Brazier 1989, 3–4). In modern
form, they typically aspire to constrain government power, assure adherence to the
rule of law, and protect individual rights (Rosenfeld 1994, 3). As such, they Wt
Douglass North’s conception of an institution as a socially imposed constraint or
set of constraints upon human behavior (North 1990, 3). Of course, in their variety
and signiWcance, they pose questions of obvious interest to political scientists,
sociologists, and legal scholars. Some of these questions are comparative in nature:
Why do diVerent constitutions take the diVerent forms they do? What political or
other diVerences do distinctions in constitutional form and substance actually make
(e.g. Sartori 1994)? Other questions can be sensibly asked with regard to constitutions
in general or particular constitutions as they operate in particular societies: What are
the social and political functions of a constitution? Through what social and political
processes are the provisions of a constitution actually translated into meaningful
constraints or authorities? This chapter oVers a perspective on constitutional
analysis that examines these latter questions, largely through an American lens.
Because constitutions, written or unwritten, can be given operational meaning
only through the workings of other political institutions, any analysis of how
constitutions shape and facilitate human interaction must necessarily be complex.
In the United States, it is impossible to speak sensibly of ‘‘what the Constitution
192 peter m. shane

does’’ without reference to its invocation and use by the three branches of federal
and state governments, as well as by local political entities and even by the
organizations of civil society. This fact, however, entails an additional complexity.
The primary human activity through which constitutions are translated into
operational authorizations or constraints is interpretation. Yet, the available
research on constitutional interpretation—most of which focuses on the operation
of constitutional interpretation in the United States Supreme Court—tends to fall
into two very disparate perspectives on the nature of the interpretive enterprise.
The two distinct views may helpfully be referred to ‘‘internal’’ and ‘‘external’’
(Feldman 2005, 89–90). According to the ‘‘internal view,’’ what legal materials
say—that is, the history and wording of constitutions, statutes, prior judicial
opinions, and so on—signiWcantly determines how they are interpreted. Under
this view, when lawyers and judges give operational meaning to constitutions,
statutes, and legal precedents, they are meaningfully limited by what can logically
be deduced from the rules and principles that emanate from such legal materials
(Feldman 2005). Although there is probably no one who thinks that those limits
oVer a complete explanation for all of the behavior of all legal actors, it is a premise
of most modern legal scholarship that the internal view is, to some signiWcant
degree, well-founded.
In contrast, according to the external view, what governs the behavior of legal
actors are stimuli external to the legal materials themselves (Feldman 2005). Chief
among them are the actors’ political orientations, namely, preferences or ideologies
that, depending on the model, may follow from any number of causes—economic
or political self-interest being the most obvious (Segal and Spaeth 1993, 64–9). This
is undoubtedly the predominant view among political scientists (Feldman 2005,
90). One meta-analysis of over eighty papers has found a robust association
between judicial decisions and judicial political attitudes across legal issues, court
systems, and statistical method of analysis (Pinello 1999). Thus, in the external
view, what a judge decides may be rationalized in the language of law, but it is not
the law that produces outcomes, but other sources of judicial attitude.
An accurate picture almost certainly requires a perspective that draws on both
these views. A signiWcant ongoing project among legal researchers is the attempt
to produce an ‘‘internal’’ view that aVords room for legal actors to involve
their personal political and moral values in an appropriately channeled and
therefore legitimate manner in constitutional interpretation (e.g. Feldman
2005; Dworkin 1996). Among political scientists, perhaps the most exciting new
development is the ‘‘new institutionalism,’’ an eVort to show how the attitudes of
legal actors, especially judges, are shaped not only by individual preference, but
also by the institutions through which these actors operate and the relationship of
those institutions to others. Leading writers in this vein include Cornell Clayton,
Howard Gillman, Mark Graber, Rogers Smith, and Keith Whittington (Gillman
1993; Gillman and Clayton 1999; Graber 2002; Smith 1988; Whittington 2000).
 analyzing constitutions 193

These complementary lines of analysis reXect an admirable eVort to get beyond

reductionist models of law that either treat legal interpretation as implausibly
objective and mechanical or reduce law to something merely obfuscatory or
‘‘epiphenomenal’’ (Feldman 2005, 92).

1 The Status and Function of

Constitutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the American public law system, a constitution is invariably fundamental in the

sense that a government act undertaken pursuant to a state or federal constitution
is expected to conform to its requirements and limitations. Since the revolutionary
period, this essential characteristic of American constitutions, both state and
federal, has been regarded as Xowing inexorably from their written character.1
Other systems, most notably that of Great Britain, may feature a constitutional
doctrine of parliamentary supremacy, in which the constitution imposes no more
than theoretical limits on legislative acts (DeSmith and Brazier 1989, 15). Even in
such systems, however, courts may presume an ordinary parliamentary intention
not to depart from the constitution, written or unwritten, and may limit the reach
of legislative measures through judicial interpretation designed to reconcile par-
liamentary acts with judicially inferred constitutional constraints (Krotoszynski
1994, 7–11).
In the American and other systems where a constitution is understood to
constrain legislative action, constitutions will diVer with regard to how easy they
are to change and with respect to the authorities empowered to interpret whether
government conformity to the constitution has been achieved. For example, state
constitutions in the United States are frequently easy to amend by popular refer-
endum (Marks and Cooper 2003, 300–14). Internationally, part of what makes the
United States Constitution distinctive is that it is diYcult to amend formally, and
yet, from near the beginning, it has been interpreted as vesting in ordinary courts of
general jurisdiction the power to determine whether government acts violate the
Constitution and thus may be set aside. The easy availability of judicial review may
seem yet more notable as compared to other legal systems because, at the federal
level, the judges involved are presidential appointees with lifetime tenure and no
direct electoral accountability.
There are at least four ways in which constitutions may be thought to shape
or facilitate the actions of government institutions or of citizens themselves—
1 Marbury vs. Madison, 1 Cranch (5 U.S.) 137, 177 (1803).
194 peter m. shane

implementing the political bargains that make nation-building possible, structur-

ing the exercise of government power, limiting the exercise of government power,
and creating aYrmative obligations of government to the citizenry.

2 Implementing Key Founding Bargains

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Americans tend to pay greatest attention to those constitutional provisions that

articulate deeply-held value commitments, such a free speech or due process, or
implement what we take to be enduring principles of institutional design, such as
the separation of powers. Constitutions, however, typically include at least some
features that do not fall into either category. That is because, when a written
constitution is drafted concurrently with the formation of a new regime or
nation state, it is likely that the document will be formulated, in part, to entrench
particular political bargains, often messy ones, that were essential to regime
formation. In the case of the United States, the subjects of the key bargains are
well known. One was the fear of smaller states, especially states without good ports,
that their interests would be overlooked or subordinated in a union with their
more powerful neighbors. The second was slavery.
Because of the original small-state concerns, the United States Constitution
continues to entrench most forcefully its most deeply anti-democratic provision,
namely, the design of a federal upper legislative House with two members for every
state, regardless of size. Although the United States Constitution is always diYcult
to amend, typically requiring two-thirds of each House of Congress to propose an
amendment and ratiWcation by three-fourths of the states, the small states’ hold on
the Senate is protected by the additional provision in Article V that ‘‘no state,
without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suVrage in the Senate.’’ As a
consequence, the United States seems to be stuck permanently with a Senate in
which a majority of Senators routinely represent a minority of US voters (Shane
2003, 539). Furthermore, under Article I, section 10, states are not allowed, without
consent of Congress, to ‘‘lay any imposts or duties on imports or exports,’’ or to
‘‘enter into any agreement of compact with another state,’’ thus providing small
states yet further protection from predation by their larger neighbors.
Yet more ignominious bargains were struck, however, because of slavery.
Although the words ‘‘slave’’ and ‘‘slavery’’ never appear in the document—a
gesture to the free states’ sensibilities—the Constitution prohibited Congress
from stopping or even taxing the international slave trade prior to 1808 (Art. I, §
9). It credited the slave states, for purposes of legislative apportionment, with a
 analyzing constitutions 195

population that included three-Wfths of their slaves (Art. I, § 2). The Article on
constitutional amendment protected the twenty-year slave trade ‘‘window’’ by
prohibiting any amendments that would shorten it (Art. V). The Constitution
still includes text providing that no state may enact laws purporting to discharge
from ‘‘service or labor’’ any person who escapes to that state from another in which
they are lawfully ‘‘held to service or labor’’ (Art. IV, § 2). Instead, any such escapee
‘‘shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be
due’’ (Art. IV, § 2). Over the long term, these attempts to mediate the interests of
free and slave states through law proved unavailing without war, and yet, it is
certainly true that, without the initial bargains, no national union spanning the full
east coast of the present-day United States would have been possible.
Idiosyncratic constitutional arrangements reXecting merely the political exigen-
cies of a founding era can bedevil the enterprise of constitutional interpretation.
Contemporary constitutional scholars along with numerous civil society groups
often argue, for example, that the United States Constitution ought to be inter-
preted in light of what is taken to be a fundamental commitment in that document
to the value of democracy (e.g. Ely 1980). But, given the entrenched Senate
structure, the exclusion of DC residents from voting representation in Congress,
and the arcane machinery of the presidential election process—each of which is a
constitutional response to some eighteenth-century political anxiety that may no
longer be salient—it may seem diYcult to give the Constitution any coherent
democratic reading. Moreover, political interests that still draw strength from these
provisions are likely to prevent their change.

3 Structuring the Exercise of Power

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

At a more general level, it is, of course, the function of the United States Consti-
tution, and presumably of all constitutions, to create the basic skeleton of oYces
and oYcial processes through which government power shall be exercised, as well
as the processes through which oYceholders shall be selected. In structuring the
allocation of government authority, the United States Constitution is generally
described as embodying two fundamental government design principles, around
which its more particularized provisions are oriented: federalism and the separ-
ation of powers. Federalism describes the allocation of power to both federal
and state authorities, motivated by two general goals: a federal governmental
competence adequate to address national challenges and protection for the
governmental prerogatives of the states, which are regarded as closer and more
196 peter m. shane

accountable to the people. The separation-of-powers principle likewise aims to

implement a balance of virtues: the protection against tyranny deemed to result
from assuring that the power to make, implement, and interpret law is largely
vested in diVerent institutions, and the greater eYciency and eVectiveness thought
to follow from focusing each branch’s attention on tasks especially suited to its
composition and processes (Fisher 1971).
With regard to a number of these key details of organization and process, the
Constitution is suYciently explicit so that few occasions have arisen calling for
further interpretation. Yet, on a host of critical issues, the provisions through which
the founders articulated their designs for federalism and separation of powers have
proved highly ambiguous. These ambiguities have helped to sustain over
two centuries of controversy largely because the purposes underlying the design
principles are themselves notably in tension.
With regard to federalism, for example, the overriding question has been
whether to regard the achievement of national competence or the insulation of
state sovereignty as the primary value.2 Debates have been especially heated with
regard to the scope of the clause that authorizes Congress to regulate ‘‘commerce
with foreign nations, and among the several states’’ (Art. I, § 8). Many Supreme
Court Justices, especially since the New Deal, have regarded the so-called Com-
merce Clause as embodying the framers’ desire that Congress have suYcient
authority to deal with virtually all social and economic problems of national
scope. Such Justices would extend Congress’s commerce power to include the
direct regulation of interstate commercial activity for virtually any purpose, as
well as the regulation of virtually any activity—local or not, commercial or not—
that, taken in the aggregate, could have a signiWcant eVect on interstate commerce.3
Yet other Justices are concerned that, read in this way, Congress’s authority under
the Commerce Clause could be expanded to obliterate what they regard as a
fundamental constitutional commitment to primary state control over issues of
health, safety, and public welfare and morals. For such Justices, Congress may
regulate local or non-commercial activities that substantially aVect interstate

2 A closely related, but analytically distinct debate concerns the role of courts in enforcing whatever
federalism principles are embodied in the Constitution. In a much-noted article, Herbert Wechsler
argued in the 1950s that the drafters of the Constitution intended the constitutional values of
federalism to be protected chieXy through the structure and operation of the federal system itself
and the elected branches of the federal government (Wechsler 1954). SigniWcant entries in the now-
mountainous literature on this subject include: Calabresi 1995; Choper 1980; Kramer 2000; LaPierre
1982; McConnell 1987; Marshall 1998; Rubin and Feeley 1994; Shapiro 1995; Van Alstyne 1985; and Yoo
1997. Interestingly, debates over the substantive values underlying federalism do not fall reliably on a
conservative–liberal axis. For signiWcantly contrasting views on the value of federalism by two
constitutional liberals, see Chemerinsky 1995 and Merritt 1994.
3 For one of many strong judicial statements to this eVect, see Justice Thurgood Marshall’s opinion
for the majority in Hodel vs. Virginia Surface Mining and Reclamation Association, 452 U.S. 254,
276–82 (1981), upholding federal strip mining standards.
 analyzing constitutions 197

commerce only if such activities relate to commerce in a suYciently distinct way

that their regulation would still leave intact the states’ traditional areas of sover-
eignty.4
The search for balance between these views may prove elusive, even for a single
Court. Thus, for example, in 1995, the Supreme Court held, in a 5–4 vote, that
Congress overreached its authority in purporting to criminalize the knowing
possession of a Wrearm in a so-called local ‘‘school zone.’’5 Despite the obvious
linkage between threats of gun violence and the quality of education, and between
the quality of education and the robustness of the interstate economy, the majority
found such reasoning too attenuated to support the regulation of behavior that
had nothing by itself to do with commerce or economic activity.6 By contrast, just
ten years later, a diVerent majority of six Justices held that Congress could regulate
the local growth and possession of marijuana for purely medicinal purposes, on the
ground that such a prohibition was integral to a comprehensive eVort to eliminate
the national market in marijuana.7 A compelling jurisprudential distinction
between the cases is not easy to spot.
A similar sort of debate has bedeviled the development of constitutional juris-
prudence regarding the separation of powers. For proponents of what might be
called a ‘‘pluralist’’ view of this aspect of constitutional design—prominent
examples include Cynthia Farina, Martin Flaherty, Abner Greene, Thomas Sargen-
tich, Peter Shane, and Peter Strauss—the primary goal is to restrain the exercise of
government power by allowing each branch to ‘‘check’’ and ‘‘balance’’ the initia-
tives of the other two branches (Farina 1998; Flaherty 1996; Greene 1994; Sargentich
1993; Shane 1995). By recognizing the overlapping powers of multiple authorities,
this theory emphasizes the framers’ desire for a pluralist consensus in the making of
public policy. The contrasting view suggests that the key to separation of powers is
the right of each branch to maintain its authorities inviolate against the initiatives
of the other two branches. Champions of the latter view, including Steven
Calabresi, Elena Kagan, Lawrence Lessig, GeoVrey Miller, Saikrishna Prakash, and
Cass Sunstein, generally advance an ambitious vision of executive power under the
Constitution, and thus the modern-day version of this stance can accurately
be called ‘‘presidentialist’’ (Calabresi and Prakash 1994; Kagan 2001; Lessig and
Sunstein 1994; Miller 1986).
The United States Constitution generally erects only the most basic scaVolding
for the system by which the government’s public oYcers are chosen. Federal judges,
as noted above, are appointed by the president, pursuant to the advice and consent

4 United States vs. Lopez, 514 U.S. 549, 565 (1995) (invalidating federal statute prohibiting posses-
sion of guns within so-called ‘‘school zones’’).
5 United States vs. Lopez, 514 U.S. 549, 565 (1995)
6 United States vs. Lopez at 564.
7 Gonzales vs. Raich, 125 S. Ct. 2195 (2005).
198 peter m. shane

of the Senate, and hold lifetime tenure, subject only to impeachment (Shane 1993).
Originally, three modes of selection were employed for the elected branches: direct
popular election for members of the House of Representatives, election by state
legislatures for members of the Senate, and presidential selection through an
elaborate scheme of federal electors, who were themselves to be chosen through
processes speciWed by the respective legislatures of every state. It was not until 1913
that the Constitution was amended to provide for the popular election of Senators,
but the torturous process for choosing presidents remains intact, largely because it
favors the smaller states, which are suYcient in number to have defeated, so far, all
attempts to amend the process (Edwards 2004).
The scheme of presidential election is a poignant example of how institutional
responses to founding era anxieties can outlive their salience. The decision to vest
presidential election power in dispersed groups of state electors chosen under a
variety of diVering state rules is sometimes portrayed as a deliberate and principled
attempt to further the American constitutional commitment to federalism (Best
2004). This is not so. The so-called ‘‘electoral college’’ system was a largely undis-
cussed compromise that resulted after the drafters rejected the two options they
quite consciously did not want: direct popular election or selection by Congress
(Rakove 2004). It was anxieties about mass democracy and about subordinating
federal executive authority to federal legislative power that motivated the
adoption of America’s idiosyncratic system. For all the inXuence the United States
Constitution has had on subsequent eVorts, no other country has adopted the
electoral college.

4 Limiting the Exercise of

Government Power
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Beyond its aYrmative allocations of government power and speciWcations of

oYces and processes by which that power shall be exercised, the Constitution
also limits the exercise of government power in the name of individual rights.
Although the original 1787 document included a number of signiWcant provisions
of this kind—disallowing states from discriminating against residents of other
states (Art. IV, § 2), prohibiting the imposition of any ‘‘religious test’’ as a
qualiWcation for federal oYce (Art. VI), proscribing bills of attainder and ex post
facto laws (Art. I, § 9), and guaranteeing the right of habeas corpus except in
certain cases of ‘‘rebellion or invasion’’ (Art. I, §9)—its drafters thought the
 analyzing constitutions 199

Constitution’s primary protections for individual liberty lay in the checking and
balancing structure of the national government (Brown 1991) and in the limitation
of the new national government to a set of enumerated powers. Today, the best
known and most enduringly controversial of the limitations on government
authority are contained in the Bill of Rights and in the post-Civil War Amend-
ments, most notably the Fourteenth.
For at least two reasons, it can hardly be surprising that the content of such
rights remains the subject of heated debate. First, the key beneWciaries of these
provisions may include those whose limited social status or political clout makes it
diYcult for them to protect their interests through electorally accountable insti-
tutions. The claims such citizens make are likely to be unpopular. Second, the
rights articulated are virtually always framed in broad terms that clearly signal a
potential scope of applicability way beyond any speciWc understanding at the time
they were drafted. It has been argued—for example, by former judge Robert Bork
(1989) and by current United States Supreme Court Associate Justice Antonin
Scalia (1997, 47)—that courts should not limit majoritarian governance in the
name of rights that were not clearly anticipated when the relevant constitutional
text was adopted. Such a stance would require, however, that—to the degree that
Americans remain intent on entrenching a robust understanding of individual
rights in their constitution—the Constitution would have to be continually
amended as changes in economic, social, and political circumstances pose un-
anticipated issues. For individual rights, the exercise of which is likely to challenge
majority sentiment, this seems highly problematic.
A profound, but indirect consequence of the Constitution’s role in protecting
individual rights is that the American Constitution, virtually from the founding,
has provided a focus and a shape to a host of movements for social change. These
include movements to amend the Constitution, for example, to guarantee women’s
suVrage or to give statehood to Washington, DC, as well as movements that insist
that the Constitution, properly interpreted, would advance a social cause, such as
abolitionism in the nineteenth century or same-sex marriage now.8 At the
moment, the proposal of new constitutional amendments seems a preferred
political organizing tactic of conservatives—amendments to prohibit same-sex
marriage, forbid abortion, or authorize the criminalization of Xag desecration
are all of this type. There is emerging, however, a debate on the political left
whether equivalent eVorts ought not be mustered on behalf of stronger voting
rights, guarantees of equal educational resources, and protections of such ‘‘safety
net’’ features as publicly Wnanced health care or housing (Jackson 2001).
The persistence of constitutional rhetoric as a leitmotif running through a such a
wide array of political movements suggests the enormous power of a constitution

8 The leading history of the role of the United States Constitution in American culture is Kammen
1986.
200 peter m. shane

to channel political protest into largely peaceful forms and to signiWcantly legit-
imate an existing regime, even as it holds out the promise of revolutionary
challenge to the status quo (Powell 1986). The implicit premises of movements
either to change a constitutional text or to ‘‘improve’’ its interpretation are that
constitutional entrenchment is an appropriate mechanism for protecting social
values and that existing processes for constitutional change are worthy of pursuit.
In the American system, such movements also imply the legitimating impact of
judicial pronouncements concerning the constitutionality of government acts
(Black 1969). Advocates of constitutional change tacitly recognize that, in the
eyes of many Americans, court judgments upholding laws against constitutional
challenge enhance their legitimacy. Thus, judicial interpretation is an essential
target of movements to change what the Constitution says.
Although Americans are presumably inclined to believe that their freedom is
enhanced by the constitutional entrenchment of individual liberties, the precise
contribution of any constitution to the degree or quality of freedom that any
society enjoys is not easy to assess. In the decades after the Civil War, the
Fourteenth Amendment’s guarantee of ‘‘equal protection of the laws’’ accom-
plished little for the African-Americans who were the Amendment’s primary
intended beneWciaries (Bell 1980, 30–8). Constitutional skeptics can cite the failure
of challenges to the suppression of dissident speech and political activity around
the First World War or to the internment of Japanese-Americans during the Second
as evidence of the Constitution’s limited reliability. In an inXuential critique from
the mid-1980s, Owen Fiss bemoaned the Supreme Court’s more recent oblivious-
ness in free speech disputes to the state’s potential role in supporting and enriching
public debate, frequently valuing the autonomy of wealthy or corporate interests
over the access of individual citizens to meaningful, well-informed, politically
robust discourse (Fiss 1986). Yet, it seems completely improbable that America’s
textual commitment to fundamental liberties is irrelevant to its success in main-
taining a comparatively open society.

5 Creating Affirmative Government

Obligations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A fourth function of constitutions is to establish aYrmative public welfare rights,

and the United States Constitution is now among the minority that fails to
acknowledge such rights explicitly. Yet, aYrmative rights litigation is not unknown
 analyzing constitutions 201

in American courts. Although it remains conventional wisdom that the United

States Constitution does not create welfare rights that are enforceable in federal
courts, many state courts have interpreted state constitutional provisions regarding
public education as mandating not only a minimally adequate level of education,
but also equity among school districts in the funding of public schools (Dayton
and Dupree 2004).
There is some historical irony here. Those constitutions around the globe that
protect social and economic rights may reXect the inXuence of the Weimar
Constitution of 1919 or of socialist legal thought. It is also true, however, that
many of the social rights provisions of post-Second World War constitutions draw
their inspiration from the rights discourse of the American New Deal, including
Franklin Roosevelt’s call for ‘‘the four freedoms’’ and ‘‘a second Bill of Rights’’
(Sunstein 2004). More recently, American constitutional theorists, most notably
Frank Michelman (1969) and William Forbath (1999, 2001), have tried to argue that
the United States Constitution, properly interpreted, actually does imply some
minimal set of welfare rights as a precondition to meaningful citizenship. But,
although the Warren Court in the 1960s seemed to be edging towards that view, the
Burger and Rehnquist Courts were notably unsympathetic.
Where constitutions do not articulate social rights expressly, it is likely to be not
just—or even primarily—the absence of authorizing text, but rather anxieties
about judicial enforcement of such rights that impedes their recognition.
As recounted by Forbath (2004, 622–7), judges may regard social rights as too
indeterminate to permit justiciability. They may entertain a related fear that the
articulation and prospective enforcement of social welfare rights would tempt
judges to overstep the appropriate judicial role and to implement personal
policy preferences in the guise of law. Judges may regard courts as lacking the
competence to engage in the sensitive allocational trade-oVs that social rights
remedies could entail. They may regard judicial decision-making about welfare
rights, especially because of the potential budgetary impacts, as posing too great a
set of constraints on the decisional authority of the elected branches of govern-
ment. Relatedly, should unelected judges take too conspicuous a role in the
allocation of social resources, the resulting incursion into the citizenry’s role in
self-governance may be seen by voters as too great a threat to overall democratic
accountability.
Notwithstanding this list of objections, it is still worth noting that a number of
constitutional courts around the globe have been enforcing social rights, as did,
for example, the South African Constitutional Court in mandating that its
government make broadly available a drug called Nevirapine, which inhibits the
transmission of HIV/AIDS from pregnant women to their children (Tushnet 2004,
1906–7). It may be that such courts regard the anti-social rights arguments as
resembling closely those arguments against judicial review that have generally
proved unpersuasive with regard to the enforcement of ‘‘classic’’ or ‘‘negative’’
202 peter m. shane

constitutional rights. In addition, rights-protective courts may believe that the

anxieties about the judicial articulation of social rights can be substantially
addressed by acknowledging only relatively modest powers to enforce those rights
through judicial decree. Mark Tushnet, for example, has noted what may
be, in some systems, a preference for combining strong articulations of social
entitlements with relatively weak judicial enforcement powers (Tushnet 2004).

6 Constitutional Interpretation and

Change
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Constitutions cannot fulWll their functions simply by existing; they must be

implemented. The foundational task in implementing a constitution is interpret-
ation. Researchers have diVered profoundly in their views as to the nature of the
interpretive enterprise, and whether legal actors, most notably judges, are guided
substantially in their constitutional judgments by what the Constitution says or
rather by personal preferences external to the law.
The position that legal actors are wholly unconstrained by what a constitution
says seems implausible; the rules that a constitution formally embodies surely do
matter. For example, if the United States Constitution permitted Congress to oust
presidents on grounds more easily demonstrated than ‘‘high crimes or misde-
meanors,’’ the balance of powers between the elected branches of the federal
government would surely be diVerent than they are today. Likewise, if the text
speciWcally stated, ‘‘Neither Congress, nor any state shall inXict a sentence of death
for any crime,’’ then the United States would have a diVerent system of justice from
the one that has developed under the more general proscription of ‘‘cruel and
unusual punishment.’’ Nonetheless, the relationship between constitutional text
and the actual behavior of governments remains diYcult to specify. Whether, for
example, Britons enjoy materially less communicative liberty than do Americans
because they lack a written Bill of Rights is debatable.9 We may wonder whether
Japanese women enjoy greater equality than do American women, notwithstanding
the provision of the Japanese Constitution that ‘‘there shall be no discrimination in
political, economic or social relations because of . . . sex.’’ Indeed, because of the
likely gaps that exist everywhere between constitutional text and the realities of

9 The absence of a written Bill of Rights in Great Britain may be of especially tenuous signiWcance
since the United Kingdom became a signatory, in 1953, to the European Convention on Human
Rights, which has been ‘‘a fruitful source of rights for the individual’’ (DeSmith and Brazier 1989, 426).
 analyzing constitutions 203

governance, we might wish to prefer using the term ‘‘constitution’’ to mean a

fundamental law as it is actually given life and meaning by the operation of all
relevant institutional actors, or we might allow ‘‘constitution’’ to refer to the formal
rules of the fundamental law, but acknowledge that the institutional impacts of
constitutions cannot be ascertained simply by reading them. In either case—and
they amount to much the same thing—the obvious starting point for appreciating
how a constitution actually plays its role in society is examining interpretation, and
most especially, the role of courts in interpreting constitutions and how that role
relates to other processes of constitutional change.

7 Modes of Argument
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

When a legal dispute under the United States Constitution is properly presented
for resolution to an American court, the process of interpreting the Constitution is
a complex one. Judges face disagreement not only as to what various provisions of
the Constitution mean, but even as to the methods most legitimately employed,
both in general and in speciWc contexts, to discern such meaning. There are at least
six varieties of argument that regularly appear in the written decisions of American
courts interpreting the Constitution: historical arguments, textual arguments,
structural arguments, ethical arguments, doctrinal arguments, and prudential
arguments (Bobbitt 1984). In reviewing each category, the immediate point is not
that any one method is sound, the best, or even appropriate, but rather that it is
indisputably available to American courts. Thus, in facing a constitutional chal-
lenge to any executive or legislative act, an ordinary court of general jurisdiction is
acting in a manner consistent with conventional judicial practice in entertaining
arguments along any of these lines in resolving how the Constitution applies.
Historical arguments generally appeal to what the drafters of particular consti-
tutional provisions had in mind when they added relevant text to the Constitu-
tion—or, with perhaps more justiWcation, what those who ratiWed various
proposals believed they were ratifying. Arguments of this kind—championed
prominently by such scholars as Richard Kay (1988) and Michael Perry (1996)—
are sometimes described as relying on ‘‘original intent.’’ In the American system,
the doctrine of judicial review is itself perhaps the most prominent example of this
approach. Although the text of the Constitution is at best ambiguous on the point,
there is little doubt that those who adopted the Constitution of 1787 expected that
federal courts would have the power to void legislation not in conformity with the
new document. It was not surprising that, in 1803, the Supreme Court formally
204 peter m. shane

claimed the power to set aside federal statutes it deemed to exceed Congress’s
constitutional authorities, even though the Constitution nowhere expressly articu-
lates the judiciary’s power to do so. Moreover, the power of judicial review was
‘‘rapidly accepted’’ following the Supreme Court’s Marbury decision10 (Nowak and
Rotunda 2004, 11).
An important variation of historical argument is one that Lawrence Lessig has
dubbed ‘‘Wdelity as translation’’ (Lessig 1993). The core idea is that the modern
judge should provide the constitutional text whatever contemporary reading will
give the text the same meaning in its current context as it was intended to have in
its original context (Lessig 1997, 1371). To take a fanciful example, consider that Art.
I, section 8 of the Constitution allows Congress to create ‘‘an army’’ and ‘‘a navy.’’
This would seem, linguistically, to exclude the prospect of ‘‘an air force.’’ Imagine
that we now have conclusive evidence that the founding generation had actually
considered the prospect of human Xight and were dead set against it as a breach of
the natural order. Nonetheless, a modern judge should read the words ‘‘army’’ and
‘‘navy’’ to include ‘‘air force’’ because the framers intended the armed services
clauses to allow for an adequate national defense and, once we are aware of their
historic purpose, we should give the text a modern translation that is faithful to
that purpose.
Yet another variation of historical argument may also appeal to long-standing
institutional practice that may settle constitutional meaning even more deWnitely
than any extant evidence of framer design. Thus, for example, it has been under-
stood since the Wrst Washington Administration that the Senate’s power to give
advice with regard to executive-negotiated treaties is to be rendered only after
negotiations are complete, an interpretation that has prevailed chieXy because no
one has since departed from this initial institutional precedent (Shane and BruV
2005, 639).
Textual arguments appeal to the wording of constitutional text, although they
may do so in diVerent ways. An ‘‘originalist’’ textual argument would appeal to a
proVered understanding of how the text would most likely have been understood
at the time of its adoption. Thus, for example, a state might argue that the ban on
‘‘cruel and unusual punishment’’ should not be read in 2005 to proscribe capital
punishment because, during the late eighteenth century, the death penalty would
not have been understood to be ‘‘cruel and unusual.’’ The best known proponent of
this approach, both as a scholar and as a judge, is Associate Justice of the United
States Supreme Court Antonin Scalia (1997).
A textual argument could also appeal, however, to the most reasonable current
understanding of the text. For example, no one in the late eighteenth century could
have envisioned an electronic wiretap, much less considered such a phenomenon
covered by the constitutional use of the word ‘‘search.’’ In 2005, however, anyone

10 Marbury vs. Madison, 1 Cranch (5 U.S.) 137 (1803).

 analyzing constitutions 205

reading the protection against ‘‘unreasonable searches’’ would certainly expect the
words to cover electronic forms of discovery, even without physical trespass on
the subject’s property. One could thus make a contemporary textual argument that
the Constitution ought apply in such cases.11
Textual arguments of the originalist sort may seem the same as historical
arguments based on original intent, but they depart when there is arguably a
disjunction between what the drafters anticipated and the words actually used.
For example, the text of the Constitution’s Eleventh Amendment unambiguously
precludes only federal lawsuits against a state that are ‘‘commenced or prosecuted’’
by citizens of another state or of a foreign state. Yet, the Supreme Court, in a series
of sharply divided decisions, has ruled that the amendment signals a broader
implicit historical understanding that states were not to be suable in state or federal
court, without their consent, whether the plaintiVs are citizens of another state, of a
foreign state, or of the defendant state itself (Mashaw, Merrill, and Shane 2003,
1260–8). In this context, the Court has favored the historical argument over
the textual.12
Structural arguments make appeal to ‘‘inferences from the existence of consti-
tutional structures and the relationships which the Constitution ordains among
those structures’’ (Bobbitt 1984, 74). This method was given modern scholarly
prominence with the work of Charles Black (1969), and is more recently
exempliWed in the writings of Akhil Amar (1999). A good example of the salience
of structural argument arose during the impeachment trial of President Clinton.
President Clinton’s trial had proceeded under the conventional understanding that
the Senate could try him only for ‘‘high crimes or misdemeanors,’’ and that
conviction would necessarily entail removal from oYce. Some of his political
opponents, however, foreseeing that he would not be removed from oYce, argued
that it would be consistent with the constitutional text to recognize Senate author-
ity to convict the president for any oVense, including forms of wrongdoing that
would not amount to ‘‘high crimes or misdemeanors.’’ Conviction of the president
for something less than a ‘‘high crime or misdemeanor’’ would simply entail some
penalty less onerous than removal.
The Senate never appeared to take this possibility seriously. One of the most
telling arguments against it was presumably that the tripartite structure of the
federal government into three co-equal branches intended a kind of equilibrium
that would be unbalanced should one branch, the legislative, have the capacity to

11 This modernist ‘‘take’’ on constitutional text is likely to produce results identical to Lawrence
Lessig’s view of ‘‘Wdelity in translation,’’ discussed above. The key diVerence is that Lessig’s view puts
interpretive emphasis on the framers’ historical purposes, and a modern textualist is emphasizing the
sense of the text to the modern mind. The modern sense of the text, however, is likely to resonate well
with the text’s broad historical purposes.
12 And there is a strong argument that the Supreme Court got the Eleventh Amendment history
wrong (Hovenkamp 1996).
206 peter m. shane

discipline the head of another, the executive, on any grounds of its choosing. This
inference, based on structure, likely settles the matter of proper interpretation.
Ethical argument, an approach most prominently identiWed with Ronald Dwor-
kin (1996), is an argument that seeks to impute to constitutional text its most
morally attractive plausible meaning. Perhaps the most celebrated Supreme Court
decision seemingly based on such an argument occurred in a case called Bolling vs.
Sharpe (347 U.S. 497, 1954), which invalidated mandatory racial segregation in the
public schools in the District of Columbia. On the same day, in a series of cases
consolidated as Brown vs. Board of Education (347 U.S. 483, 1954), the Court had
held that the Fourteenth Amendment guarantee of ‘‘the equal protection of the
laws’’ invalidated mandatory racial segregation in the public schools of states.
Because the District of Columbia is not a state, however, but a federal district,
the Fourteenth Amendment did not apply. The Fifth Amendment, which gives to
the residents of the federal district an equivalent textual guarantee of ‘‘due process
of law,’’ does not mention equal protection. Nonetheless, the Court in Bolling
extended the law of Brown to the District of Columbia. The Court said simply
that there could be no legitimate justiWcation for the legally compelled segregation
of the races—seemingly, a straightforward moral argument. Implicitly, the Court
was also rejecting as illegitimate the prospect that racial segregation should be
legally permitted in the United States only in the national capital, which would
have been a morally repugnant result.
Over the years, of course, judicial decisions based on all the categories of
argument just catalogued will necessarily take on a jurisprudential life of their
own (Strauss 1996). Especially in a common law system, one would thus expect
that, over time, constitutional disputes will begin to be resolved in ways that seek to
adduce decisional principles from decided precedents, rather than from constitu-
tional text alone. This gives rise to a Wfth mode of argument, ‘‘doctrinal.’’ For
example, no United States Supreme Court decision of recent decades has stirred
more heated battle than Roe vs. Wade (410 U.S. 113, 1973), the decision that
invalidated most state laws barring abortion in the Wrst two trimesters of a woman’s
pregnancy. The opinion is written, however, chieXy as a straightforward doctrinal
argument. In earlier decisions, the Court had held both that a constitutionally
implicit right to privacy protects a married couple’s right to acquire contraception
and that the guarantee of equal protection implicitly extends that right to unmar-
ried persons. For the Roe majority, it hardly seemed a stretch to extend the right of
privacy to include the decision whether to terminate pregnancy. The Court likewise
insisted, based also on earlier cases, that states enjoy authority to regulate for the
protection of maternal and child health, as well as for the safe practice of medicine,
even if there would be some resulting burden on a woman’s capacity to choose
abortion.
Professor Bobbitt recognizes a sixth category of argument, which he terms,
‘‘prudential,’’ namely, ‘‘constitutional argument which is actuated by the political
 analyzing constitutions 207

and economic circumstances surrounding the decision’’ (Bobbitt 1982, 61). It is a

form of argument identiWed most strongly with the work of the late Alexander
Bickel (1962). Among the most notable examples of prudential arguments are
those, which may also be a variety of structural argument, that persuade the federal
courts that certain questions are beyond their purview. For example, albeit without
producing a majority opinion, the Supreme Court in Goldwater vs. Carter (444 U.S.
996, 1979) refused to rule whether the president was legally entitled, without either
express statutory authority or Senate advice and consent, to withdraw from the
Mutual Defense Treaty with the Republic of China (Taiwan), a necessary precursor
to awarding diplomatic recognition to the Chinese government in Beijing. Then-
Justice Rehnquist, writing for a plurality, determined that anxieties about the
potential real-world consequences should federal courts interfere with the elected
branches’ control of US foreign policy counseled for a determination that treaty
termination questions are beyond the courts’ jurisdiction.

8 Interpretation and Legitimacy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The anxieties of opponents of judicial review are, of course, only intensiWed by the
rich menu of interpretive possibilities that this analysis exposes. Champions of any
of these forms of argument will Wnd ample precedent for their use in the records of
past constitutional decisions. It hardly requires hindsight to spot the inevitability
that a constitutional law germinated through such a broad spectrum of argu-
ments—especially arguments other than those based on ‘‘original intent’’ and
‘‘original meaning’’—is likely to induce substantial changes in constitutional
meaning over time. Because the United States Constitution, as do presumably all
Constitutions, explicitly speciWes processes for its amendment, the legitimacy of
constitutional change eVected through other means is open to question.
The various responses of constitutional theorists to this legitimacy challenge
have tended to fall within one of three types. First, the legitimacy challenge seems
to posit that the imposition of constitutional constraints are legitimate only if
envisioned by the drafters or ratiWers of the relevent text. Yet, there is also reason to
think that the original drafters or ratiWers imagined that change would occur along
the lines that the country has witnessed. That is, even though earlier generations
might not have speciWcally anticipated the results of particular challenges—for
example, that the ban on cruel and unusual punishments would invalidate the
death penalty for minors or that the equal protection clause would outlaw legally
mandated race segregation—the ways in which these changes have occurred,
208 peter m. shane

through the procedurally acceptable application of conventional techniques of legal

interpretation, would have themselves been acceptable to the framers (Powell 1985).
A second line of argument is pragmatist, positing that the test of legitimacy, to
paraphrase Oliver Wendell Holmes, is experience, not logic. The Constitution of
the United States declares a variety of purposes including the establishment
of justice, the insurance of ‘‘domestic tranquility,’’ the promotion of the ‘‘general
welfare,’’ and the securing for posterity of ‘‘the blessings of liberty.’’ In this light, a
pragmatist would argue that the legitimacy of the judicial function as it has actually
been performed ought to be tested by whether that function has actually aided in
the Constitution’s accomplishment of those purposes. So long as the public
continues to have conWdence in its courts, so long as the United States continues
to enjoy commendable levels of peace, security, justice, and liberty, the making of
constitutional law ought to be viewed as legitimate.
A third line of argument roots the objections to both judge-led constitutional
change and its defense in democratic theory. From a democratic standpoint, the
defect of constitutional change wrought by unelected judges is the implicit depart-
ure from the ideal of popular sovereignty, namely, that ‘‘the people,’’ most often
through their elected representatives, should be the authors of the laws that
bind them.13 Constitutional constraints are legitimately imposed upon current
political authorities only because ‘‘the people’’ ordained the Constitution. To
permit changes to the Constitution through processes other than those ‘‘the
people’’ themselves prescribed through the Constitution is to undermine popular
self-governance.
Responses to this line of argument that are rooted in democratic theory take
diVerent forms. Bruce Ackerman, for example, accepts that some form of popular
ratiWcation is necessary to legitimate constitutional change that occurs other than
through the formally prescribed constitutional amendment process. Retracing US
history, he asserts that constitutional change may legitimately occur when triggered
by the enactment of ‘‘transformative statutes,’’ through which the elected branches
place their imprimatur on a constitutional understanding at odds with contem-
porary constitutional law (Ackerman 1991, 268). Based on such statutes, a court
may choose to alter its understanding of constitutional law if intervening elections
signal that the people, through their civic deliberation, have demonstrated
adequate public support for a de facto amendment of the Constitution. Ackerman’s
paradigm case is the Court’s New Deal decisions greatly expanding the reach of
Congress’s regulatory authorities under the Commerce Clause.
Another line of theory, also resting on the premise that equates democratic
legitimacy with popular sovereignty, argues that the courts nonetheless have a
signiWcant role in reinforcing democratic rule. Pursuant to this line of thought,

13 The history of legal thought regarding this so called ‘‘counter-majoritarian’’ diYculty is exhaust-
ively traced in Friedman 1998, 2000, 2001, 2002a,b.
 analyzing constitutions 209

forcefully argued by the late John Hart Ely (1980), a paradigm example of legitimate
judicial creativity would be the reapportionment cases, in which the Supreme
Court forced state legislatures to redesign electoral districts on a ‘‘one person,
one vote’’ basis. Such a result might be hard to square with an historical reading of
the Constitution, but would be legitimate, in Ely’s view, because the result of the
decisions was to expand the people’s capacity to govern themselves fairly through
their elected representatives.
There is, however, yet a third brand of democratic theory that starts by challen-
ging both the metaphor of popular sovereignty and the practical equation of
democracy with electoral accountability (Shane 2004a). Under this view, what
legitimates democratic governance are really two things: the degree to which
citizens enjoy opportunities to act meaningfully in choosing their political fate
and the degree to which the system fosters the equal consideration of the interests
of all persons in decision-making that aVects the public at large. Elections are an
important part of this equation; they obviously provide the focus for much of what
people experience as autonomous political activity. But they cannot be everything.
A system cannot be legitimate, whatever its electoral rules, if the interests of some
are universally disregarded in favor of the interests of others, regardless of the
equity of their claims. From this point of view, constitutional law-making in
the courts functions, in part, to energize a legitimacy-enforcing dialogue with the
elected branches. The function of this dialogue is to give voice to interests and to
public values that, for structural reasons, the elected branches might be expected in
some systemic way to overlook or underweigh.14 The net result, echoing James
Madison’s theory in the famous Federalist Papers, No. 10, is to help insure that law
is driven by the public interest, rather than by merely private interest or the passion
of the moment.
Closely related to these debates over the legitimacy of judicial review is the
related, but distinct question of judicial supremacy—the degree to which consti-
tutional interpretation uttered by the courts should be deemed the ‘‘Wnal say.’’
There is currently in the United States a signiWcant debate, both empirical and
normative, on the role of ‘‘popular constitutionalism.’’15 The questions are the
degree to which institutions outside the courts are also responsible for constitu-
tional meaning and to what degree they should be so. The debate admits of a host
of positions; some scholars who believe that legislatures and executives share
authority to interpret the Constitution nonetheless embrace judicial review,
while others do not. This is a slippery debate because it is not clear exactly what

14 A great deal has been written arguing that constitutional review by unelected judges can
convincingly be viewed as part of a democracy-reinforcing dialogue with the elected branches of
government. Important writers in this vein include Fisher 1988 and Eisgruber 2001.
15 Major new works in this vein are pouring forth and key examples include: Johnsen 2004; Kramer
2004; Kramer et al. 2005; and Tushnet 1999.
210 peter m. shane

judicial supremacy consists of. When legislatures perceive judicial pronouncements

to be out of step with popular feeling, they frequently respond by enacting new
statutes that can be distinguished only minimally from others already held uncon-
stitutional. That happens with seeming frequency on the subjects of abortion and
church–state relations. Whether or not this is a wise use of legislative time, it would
seem hard to dismiss as illegitimate. A harder question might be whether executive
or legislative authorities should be deemed to act unlawfully or illegitimately if they
persist in precisely those behaviors or enactments that, as to other parties or in
other forms, the courts have already ruled against. It is true enough that such
deWance, at least since the desegregation of America’s public schools, is exceedingly
rare. But this seems less to be the result of any well-understood legal doctrine
of judicial supremacy than a popular expectation that legislatures will not act
deWantly to this degree.
An intriguing question is whether constitutions that are easier to amend through
their formally speciWed processes witness less change through informal interpret-
ation by non-judicial actors. Although there do not appear to be any rigorous
attempts at a quantitative assessment, one political scientist has recently veriWed
that what he calls ‘‘informal political construction’’ of constitutions does occur in
the American states, even though state constitutions are notably easier to amend
than is the federal (Besso 2005). Informal change processes may thus be an
important subject of study with regard to all constitutions.

9 Directions for Future Research

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

It is quite unlikely that the debates of two centuries over a constitution’s roles and
the ways in which legal actors properly implement those roles are going to subside.
Moreover, because of both intellectual trends and the press of historical events, it is
likely that at least the following half dozen avenues of intellectual inquiry will
engage even greater attention in the coming decades’ debates over constitutional
analysis.
One is the subject of comparative constitutional analysis, which is almost
entirely beyond the domain of this chapter. The wave of democratic reform in
the newly constituted states of the former Soviet Union, in Africa, and perhaps in
the Middle East has created a signiWcant cottage industry among legal experts
seeking to identify how various extant constitutions and their various provisions
for the structure of government and protection of individual rights have actually
fared, and why (Horowitz 2002). There is no evidence of that trend subsiding.
 analyzing constitutions 211

Relatedly, there is likely to be exciting research done on the relationship between

constitutions and the mediation of ethnic conXict. On this subject, the American
lens through which this chapter has been written is concededly too narrow. The
group of Americans who drafted, debated, and enjoyed authority to help ratify the
United States Constitution were a relatively homogeneous bunch. Although the
Constitution would prove to have profound consequences for Native Americans
and for African-Americans, there was no thought given in 1787 to ‘‘power sharing’’
with either. By contrast, power sharing in ethnically divided states is perhaps the
paramount challenge facing drafters of new constitutions in the twenty-Wrst
century. There is deep debate over the appeal of what has come to be known as
‘‘consociational democracy,’’ namely, some form of constitutional arrangement in
which diVerent ethnic groups share executive power proportionally, enjoy substan-
tial group autonomy, and rely on consensus for a signiWcant portion of government
decision-making (compare Lijphart 2002 with Horowitz 2002). Such decisions
could be classed, if we follow the list of functions noted above, as ‘‘implementing
key founding bargains,’’ but the relationship of constitutionalism to interethnic
cooperation is so complex a subject that a much more Wne-grained picture of
constitutional elements would be necessary to do justice to it.
A third project, fed by the Wrst two, is likely to be an intensiWcation of interest in
the relationship between constitutionalism and democratic theory. The global
proliferation of new constitutional activity, on both the national and the
supranational level (consider the European Union), coincides with the rapid
growth of interactive information and communications technologies that can
conceivably facilitate wholly novel institutional forms and processes through
which citizens may engage with one another and with the state in relation to public
policy-making (Shane 2004b). Researchers are only beginning to explore the
implications of these new technologies for democratic theory and practice, and it
is easy enough to predict that ongoing developments in democratic theory and
constitutional design will cross-pollinate signiWcantly over the coming decades.
A fourth project of continuing interest is likely to be the eVort, noted at the
outset of this chapter, to synthesize internal and external accounts of constitutional
interpretation to provide a more fully eVective model than either can provide alone
(Feldman 2005). The increasing interest among law faculties in interdisciplinary
inquiry, accompanied by the increasing receptiveness among political scientists to
accounts of judicial behavior more nuanced than the pure attitudinal model,
should help accelerate this development.
Fifth, and related to the growth of interdisciplinary inquiry, we are likely to see a
greater role for cognitive and decision psychology in exploring how legal actors
fulWll their roles. Research on bias, attitudes, and stereotypes is likely to inform
debates about how judges interpret the law and whether there exist structures,
processes, or techniques eVective in limiting the role of individual bias in legal
interpretation (Ferguson, Babcock, and Shane 2005). Similarly, given the signiWcant
212 peter m. shane

prominence of critical legal studies, feminism, and critical race studies in the
United States, there is likely to be continuing interest in possible psychological
mechanisms through which legal interpretation may operate to reinforce social
hierarchies based on wealth, gender, race, or indeed, all of the above.
Finally, and as challenging as any of the other subjects, legal scholarship is paying
increasing attention to the role of actors other than judges in giving meaning to the
Constitution. Far more often than constitutional disputes reach the judiciary, the
elected branches of federal and state governments are required, in the course of
implementing their oYcial responsibilities, to determine what the Constitution
means. In many cases—perhaps most notably, at the federal level, with regard to
the proper allocation of war powers between Congress and the president—the
issues presented are unlikely ever to be addressed, much less resolved in judicial
proceedings. The role of the Constitution in such settings, the relationship, both
normative and empirical, between judicial interpretations and ‘‘extra-judicial’’
interpretations of the Constitution (Shane 1987), and the impacts, if any, of
extra-judicial interpretations on public understanding of constitutional meaning
are all subjects ripe for both empirical and theoretical investigation. These are also
frontiers that, among political scientists, appear to be all but unexplored.

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 chapter 12
...................................................................................................................................................

C O M PA R AT I V E
CONSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

josep m. colomer

1 Introduction
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Constitutions came earlier than democracy (Strong 1963). During the late Middle
Ages and early modern times, constitutions were mainly devices for establishing
rights and limiting powers, functions that are still emphasized in certain academic
literature on constitutions (see, for example, North and Weingast 1989; North 1990;
Buchanan 1990; Weingast 1995). But as the old powers to be limited were auto-
cratic, constitutionalism advanced almost naturally, together with the expansion of
suVrage rights and democratization.
A constitution is usually deWned as ‘‘a set of rules’’ for making collective
decisions (see, for example, Buchanan and Tullock 1962; Elster and Slagstad 1988;
Mueller 1996). Enforceable decisions made by means of rules can solve human
coordination and cooperation dilemmas (as discussed by Brennan and Buchanan
1985; Hardin 1989; Ordeshook 1992). However, diVerent rules may favor diVerent
decisions with diVerently distributed beneWts. Two sets of rules can be distin-
guished: (a) those ‘‘to regulate the allocation of functions, powers and duties
among the various agencies and oYces of government,’’ and (b) those to ‘‘deWne
the relationships between these and the public,’’ which in democracy are based on
elections (Finer 1988).
218 josep m. colomer

2 Origins and Evolution

of Constitutional Models
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

2.1 Division of Powers

The Wrst set of constitutional rules just mentioned regulates the division of powers
among diVerent institutions. Virtually all the political regimes in world history
have been based on a dual formula: a one-person oYce combined with multiple-
person oYces (as remarked by Congleton 2001). The rationale for this dualism is
that, while a one-person institution may be highly eVective at decision-making and
implementation, a multiple-person institution may be more representative of the
diVerent interests and values in the society. In modern times, a few basic consti-
tutional models can be compared in the light of this dualism. They include: the old,
transitional model of constitutional monarchy; the modern democratic models of
parliamentary regime and checks-and-balances regime; and two variants of the
latter usually called presidentialism and semi-presidentialism.
The model of constitutional monarchy reunites a one-person non-elected mon-
arch with executive powers and a multiple-person elected assembly with legislative
powers. This mixed formula was formally shaped by the French constitution of
1791, which, although ephemeral in its implementation, became a reference for
many constitutions in other countries during the nineteenth century, including
Austria, Belgium, Brazil, Germany, Norway, Portugal, Spain, and Sweden; in more
recent times, similar formulas have been adopted in some Arab monarchies,
such as Jordan and Morocco. With broadening suVrage and democratization, the
non-elected monarch’s powers were reduced, while those of the elected assembly
expanded, especially regarding the control of executive ministers, thus moving
towards formulas closer to the parliamentary regime.
The parliamentary regime is one of the two democratic formulas that can result
from the process of enhancing the role of the electing assembly and limiting the
monarch’s executive powers. According to the English or ‘‘Westminster’’ model
developed since the late seventeenth century, the parliament became the sovereign
institution, also assuming the power of appointing and dismissing ministers, while
the monarch remained a ceremonial though non-accountable Wgure. Not until the
creation of the Third French Republic in 1871 did a parliamentary republic exist.
Nowadays, there are parliamentary regimes in approximately half of the demo-
cratic countries in the world, including, with the British-style monarchical variant,
Australia, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Japan, the Netherlands, New Zealand,
Norway, Spain, and Sweden, and with the republican variant, Austria, Czech
Republic, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Greece, Hungary, India, Ireland, Italy, Latvia,
Slovakia, Slovenia, South Africa, and Switzerland.
 comparative constitutions 219

In this framework, the development of political parties was usually interpreted as

a force eroding the central role of the parliament. In old constitutional studies, the
British model was provocatively labeled rather than ‘‘parliamentary,’’ a ‘‘cabinet’’
regime (see, for instance, Loewenstein 1957; Jennings 1959; Crossman 1963; Wheare
1963). However, it has more recently been remarked that the growth of party was
instrumental in reducing the inXuence of the monarch but not necessarily that of
the parliament. With the reduction of the monarch to a Wgurehead, the prime
minister has indeed become the new one-person relevant Wgure, but the position of
the cabinet has weakened. In contrast, the role of parliament has survived, and
even, in a modest way, thrived. Despite long-standing concerns regarding the
balance of power, ‘‘parliament has always remained the primary institution of the
British polity’’ (Flinders 2002; see also Bogdanor 2003; Seaward and Silk 2003).
In the other democratic formula, which originated with the 1787 constitution of
the United States, it is not only the multiple-person legislative assembly that is
popularly elected but also the one-person chief executive. The non-elected mon-
arch was replaced with an elected president with executive powers. This model of
political regime implies, thus, separate elections and divided powers between the
chief executive and the legislative branch. It was widely imitated in Latin American
republics, but with the introduction of strong biases in favor of the presidency, as
will be discussed below; other variants have also been adopted in a number of
Asian countries under American inXuence, including Indonesia, South Korea, the
Philippines, and Taiwan.
In the original US version, this model is a complex system of ‘‘checks and
balances’’ or mutual controls between separately elected or appointed institutions
(presidency, house, senate, court). They include term limits for the president,
limited presidential veto of congressional legislation, senate rules permitting a
qualiWed minority to block decisions, senatorial ratiWcation of presidential
appointments, congressional appointment of oYcers and control of administrative
agencies, congressional impeachment of the president, and judicial revision of
legislation.
Recent analyses have formally shown how these counter-weighting mechanisms
play in favor of power sharing between institutions and as equivalent devices to
supermajority rules for decision-making. The obstacles introduced by the numer-
ous institutional checks may stabilize socially ineYcient status quo policies, but
they also guarantee that most important decisions are made by broad majorities
able to prevent the imposition of a small, or minority, group’s will. With similar
analytical insight but a diVerent evaluation, other analyses have remarked that
separate elections and divided governments create a ‘‘dual legitimacy’’ prone to
‘‘deadlock;’’ that is, legislative paralysis and interinstitutional conXict (Hammond
and Miller 1987; Riggs 1988; Neustadt 1990; Linz 1990a; Cox and Kernell 1991; Riker
1992; Krehbiel 1996, 1998; Brady and Volden 1998; Cameron 2000; Dahl 2002;
Colomer 2005b).
220 josep m. colomer

Another two variants of political regime with separate elections for the presi-
dency and the assembly have developed. The Wrst, usually called ‘‘presidential-
ism,’’ have eventually emerged in almost all twenty republics in Latin America
from the mid- or late nineteenth century, including in particular Argentina,
Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Mexico, Peru, Uruguay, and Venezuela. As
mentioned, some founding constitution makers in these countries claimed to be
imitating the United States Constitution, but, in contrast to the preventions
against one-person’s expedient decisions introduced in the USA, some of them
looked farther back to the absolutist monarchies preceding any division of
powers and mixed regimes and aimed at having ‘‘elected kings with the name
of presidents’’ (in Simón Bolı́var’s words). The distinction between US-style
checks-and-balances, uniWed government in presidential regimes, and ‘‘presiden-
tialism,’’ which can be referred to Madison, JeVerson, and Hamilton, respectively
(according to Burns 1965), was already remarked in old constitutional studies for
Latin America (Garcı́a Calderón 1914; Fitzgibbon 1945; Loewenstein 1949; Stokes
1959; Lambert 1963).
Presidential dominance has been attempted through the president’s veto power
over legislation and his control of the army, which also exist in the USA, supple-
mented with long presidential terms and re-elections, unconstrained powers to
appoint and remove members of the cabinet and other highly-placed oYcers,
legislative initiative, the capacity to dictate legislative decrees, Wscal and adminis-
trative authority, discretionary emergency powers, suspension of constitutional
guarantees, and, in formally federal countries, the right to intervene in state aVairs.
The other side of this same coin is weak congresses, which are not usually given
control over the cabinet and are frequently constrained by short session periods
and a lack of resources (Linz 1990a; Shugart and Carey 1992; Linz and Valenzuela
1994; Aguilar 2000; Cox and Morgenstern 2002; Morgenstern and Nacif 2002).
Proposals for reform have included moves towards all the other regime types,
including semi-parliamentarism (Nino 1992), Westminster features (Mainwairing
and Shugart 1997), US-style checks-and-balances (Ackerman 2000), and multi-
party parliamentarism (Colomer and Negretto 2005).
The second variant, usually called a ‘‘semi-presidential’’ regime, but also ‘‘semi-
parliamentary,’’ ‘‘premier-presidential,’’ or ‘‘dual-executive,’’ had been experimen-
ted with in Finland and Germany after the First World War but was more
consistently shaped with the 1958 constitution of France. Similar constitutional
formulas have been recently adopted in a few countries in Eastern Europe, includ-
ing Lithuania, Poland, Romania, and Russia, as well as a number of others in
Africa. With this formula, the presidency and the assembly are elected separately, as
in a checks-and-balances regime, but it is the assembly that appoints and can
dismiss a prime minister, as in a parliamentary regime. The president and the
prime minister share the executive powers in a ‘‘governmental diarchy’’ (Duverger
1970, 1978, 1980; Duhamel and Parodi 1988).
 comparative constitutions 221

At the beginning of the French experience it was speculated that this constitu-
tional model would produce an alternation between presidential and parliamentary
phases, respectively favoring the president and the prime minister as a one-person
dominant Wgure. The Wrst phase of the alternation was indeed conWrmed with
presidents enjoying a compact party majority in the assembly. In these situations,
‘‘the president can become more powerful than in the classical presidential regimes,’’
as well as more powerful than the British-style prime minister because he accumu-
lates the latter’s powers plus those of the monarch (Duverger 1998). The second,
parliamentary phase was, in contrast, not conWrmed, since, even if the president
faces a prime minister, a cabinet, and an assembly majority with a diVerent political
orientation, he usually retains signiWcant powers, including the dissolution of the
assembly, as well as partial vetoes over legislation and executive appointments,
among others, depending on the speciWc rules in each country. This makes the
president certainly more powerful than any monarch or republican president in a
parliamentary regime. (A gradual acknowledgment that a signiWcant division of
powers exists in the ‘‘cohabitation’’ phase can be followed in more recent works in
French by Duverger 1986, 1996, 1998). There can, thus, indeed be two ‘‘phases,’’
depending on whether the president’s party has a majority in the assembly and can
appoint the prime minister or not; however, the two phases are not properly
presidential and parliamentary, but they rather produce an even higher concentra-
tion of power than in a presidential regime and a dual executive, respectively. (See
also discussion in Bahro, Bayerlein, and Veser 1998; Sartori 1994; Elgie 1999).

2.2 Electoral Rules

The second set of constitutional rules mentioned above regulates the relationships
between citizens and public oYcers by means of elections. A long tradition of
empirical studies, usually focusing on democratic regimes during the second half of
the twentieth century, has assumed that elections and electoral systems could be
taken as an independent variable from which the formation of political parties and
other features of a political system derive (Duverger 1951; Rae 1967; Grofman and
Lijphart 1986; Taagepera and Shugart 1989; Lijphart 1994; Cox 1997; Katz 1997). But
an alternative point of view emphasizes that it is the governments and parties that
choose constitutional rules, including electoral systems, and, thus, the role of the
dependent and the independent variables in the previous analytical framework
could be upside down (Grumm 1958; Lipson 1964; Särlvick 1982; Boix 1999;
Colomer 2004, 2005a).
Most modern electoral rules originated as alternatives to a traditional electoral
system composed of multimember districts, open ballots permitting individual
candidate voting, and plurality or majority rule. This understudied type of
222 josep m. colomer

electoral system was used very widely in local and national assemblies in pre-
democratic or early democratic periods before and during the nineteenth century;
it is still probably the most common procedure in small community, condomin-
ium, school, university, professional organization, corporation board, and union
assemblies and elections; and it has also been adopted in a small number of new
democracies in recent times. It appears indeed as almost ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘spontan-
eous’’ to many communities when they have to choose a procedure for
collective decision-making based on votes, especially because it permits a varied
representation of the community.
But while this set of rules can produce fair representation, at the same time it
creates strong incentives for the formation of ‘‘factional’’ candidacies or voting
coalitions, which are the most primitive form of political parties. In elections in
multimember districts by plurality rule, factions or parties tend to induce ‘‘voting
in bloc’’ for a closed list of candidates, which may provoke a single-party sweep.
Once partisan candidacies, partisan voting in bloc, and partisan ballots emerged
within the framework of traditional assemblies and elections, political leaders,
activists, and politically motivated scholars began to search for alternative electoral
systems able to reduce single-party sweeps and exclusionary victories (Duverger
1951; see also LaPalombara and Weiner 1966; and the survey by Scarrow 2002).
During the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, new electoral procedures
were invented and adopted as innovative variations of the traditional system
mentioned above. They can be classiWed into three groups, depending on
whether they changed the district magnitude, the ballot, or the rule. The Wrst
group implied a change of the district magnitude from multimember to single-
member districts, of course keeping both individual candidate voting and major-
itarian rules. With smaller single-member districts, a candidate that would have
been defeated by a party sweep in a multimember district may be elected. This
system, thus, tends to produce more varied representation than multimember
districts with party closed lists, although less than the old system of multimember
districts with an open, individual candidate ballot. The second group of electoral
rules introduced new forms of ballot favoring individual candidate voting despite
the existence of party candidacies, such as limited and cumulative voting, while
maintaining the other two essential elements of the traditional system: multi-
member districts and majoritarian rules. Finally, the third group of new electoral
rules implied the introduction of proportional representation formulas, which
are compatible with multimember districts and also, in some variants, with
individual candidate voting, and permit the development of multipartism
(Colomer 2006).
DiVerent electoral rules and procedures create diVerent incentives to coordinate
the appropriate number of candidacies (as has been emphasized by Cox 1997).
However, coordination may fail, especially under restrictive formulas based
on plurality rule that may require paramount eVorts to concentrate
 comparative constitutions 223

numerous potential candidates into a few broad, potentially winning candidacies.

By analyzing party systems and elections over long periods and, in some studies,
within each country, it has been shown that electoral systems based on plurality or
majority rules tend to remain in place only to the extent that two large parties are
able to attract broad electoral support and alternate in government. But when
multiple parties develop in spite of and against the incentives provided by the
existing majoritarian system and through coordination failures, they tend to adopt
more permissive electoral rules, especially proportional representation formulas.
Generally, the choice of electoral systems follows what can be called ‘‘Micro-
mega’s rule,’’ by which the large prefer the small and the small prefer the large: a few
large parties tend to prefer small assemblies, small district magnitudes, and rules
based on small quotas of votes for allocating seats, such as plurality rule, while
multiple small parties tend to prefer large assemblies, large district magnitudes,
and large quotas such as those of proportional representation. Nowadays, more
than 80 percent of democratic regimes in countries with more than one million
inhabitants use electoral systems with proportional representation rules (Lijphart
1994; Blais and Massicotte 1997; Colomer 2004, 2005a).
The relevant implication of this discussion for constitutional analysis is that
electoral systems are intertwined with party systems, which in turn shape the
relations between the legislature and the executive. All these elements deWne
diVerent types of political regime.

3 Constitutional Regime Typologies

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Traditional legalistic classiWcations of constitutional regimes focused, in addition

to the distinction between autocracy and democracy, on the diVerence, within the
latter, between ‘‘parliamentary’’ and ‘‘presidential’’ regimes (see, for example,
Duverger 1955; Verney 1959; and the compilation by Lijphart 1992). The introduc-
tion of a second dimension, the electoral system, discussed in the previous section,
makes the classiWcation of democratic regimes more complex. In particular, within
parliamentary regimes one can distinguish between those using majoritarian
electoral rules, which typically imply that a single party is able to win an assembly
majority and appoint the prime minister, and those using proportional represen-
tation, which correspond to multiparty systems and coalition cabinets. Presidential
regimes and their variants, in contrast, are less aVected by the electoral system
dimension since at least one of the systems, the one for the election of the
president, must be majoritarian and produce a single absolute winner.
224 josep m. colomer

What has possibly been the most inXuential political regime typology in recent
comparative studies is based on the two institutional dimensions mentioned and
the corresponding degrees of concentration of constitutional and party powers
(Lijphart 1984, 1999). Lijphart primarily analyzes the ‘‘executives–parties’’ dimen-
sion; that is, the relation between cabinets and parliaments and the set of party and
electoral systems, as well as a number of other highly-correlated variables (while
another dimension not to be discussed here regards the degree of territorial
centralization). By statistical correlations and factor analysis of the empirical
data, he arrives at a dual political regime typology, organized around the ‘‘major-
itarian’’ (or Westminster) and the ‘‘consensus’’ models of democracy, respectively
characterized by high power concentration and broad power sharing.
This simple empirical dichotomy, however, seems to be a contingent result of the
sample of countries considered, since very few have checks-and-balances, presi-
dential, or semi-presidential regimes (1 percent in the Wrst exercise with twenty-one
countries, 17 percent in the second with thirty-six). Therefore, according to this
widely used typology, such a diversity of political regimes as the parliamentary-
majoritarian of the United Kingdom, the checks-and-balances of the United States,
and semi-presidential of France, among others, are included in the ‘‘majoritarian’’
type, while the consensus type refers to parliamentary-proportional regimes,
mostly located in continental Europe. (For methodological critiques and alterna-
tive operational proposals, see Bogaards 2000; Taagepera 2003.)
Other approaches to the way diVerent constitutional regimes work do not focus
on a priori analysis of institutions but give primacy to the role of political parties.
Some authors have promoted broad uses of the categories of ‘‘uniWed’’ and
‘‘divided’’ government. This new dual typology was initially applied to the analysis
of the United States, where a ‘‘uniWed government’’ with the president’s party
having a majority in both houses of Congress has existed for only 59 percent of the
time from 1832 to 2006, while ‘‘divided government,’’ which was very frequent
during the second half of the twentieth century, implies that two diVerent political
party majorities exist in the presidency and Congress. However, US congressional
rules have traditionally included the ability of 40 percent of senators to block any
decision by Wlibustering, which has almost always made the president’s party
unable to impose its decisions on its own. This could explain why no signiWcant
diVerences in legislative performances between periods of ‘‘uniWed’’ and ‘‘divided’’
governments have been observed (as persistently reported by King and Ragsdale
1988; Mayhew 1991; Fiorina 1992; Cox and McCubbins 1993; Peterson and Greene
1993; Edwards, Barrett, and Peake 1997; Epstein and O’Halloran 1999; but see
discussion in Howell, Adler, Caneron, and Riemann 2000; Conley 2003).
Assuming that, in order to prevent deadlock, a situation of divided government
(and, in the United States, almost any real situation) may lead to negotiations
between the president’s and other parties to form a suYcient congressional
majority to make laws, it has been postulated that the absence of a single-party
 comparative constitutions 225

parliamentary majority in a parliamentary regime should also be characterized as

‘‘divided government.’’ The integration into the same category of both the congres-
sional minority president in a regime of separation of powers and the typical
multiparty coalition or minority government in a parliamentary-proportional
regime would make the USA ‘‘not exceptional’’ (Laver and Shepsle 1991; Elgie 2001).
A related approach also integrating institutions and parties in the same count
centers on so-called ‘‘veto-players’’ (Tsebelis 1995, 2002). In this approach, political
regimes can be analyzed for how many veto-players exist, which may have sign-
iWcant consequences on the degree of complexity of policy decision-making. In the
analysis of parliamentary systems, the number of veto-players turns out to be
equivalent to the number of parties in government, thus not taking into account
whether they are pivotal or superXuous to making the coalition a winning one (a
subject largely discussed, in contrast, in the literature on coalition formation, as
well as that on power indices, as revised by Felsenthal and Machover 1998; Leech
2002). In checks-and-balances and similar regimes, the number of veto-players
increases with the number of ‘‘chambers’’ (including the presidency) with diVerent
partisan control. A single veto-player situation would be equivalent to ‘‘uniWed
government’’ as deWned above, thus also making parliamentary and checks-and-
balances and related regimes equivalent when the decision-power is highly con-
centrated.
In contrast to other approaches, this may result in non-dual classiWcations, since
not only one or two, but several numbers of veto-players can exist in a political
system. However, this approach pretends to analyze how political institutions work
in practice, not the a priori characteristics of diVerent constitutional formulas,
which does make it less appealing for constitutional choice, advice, or design. The
exclusion of the electoral stage from the analysis tends even to blur the fundamen-
tal distinction between autocracy and democracy. From the perspective provided
by the veto-player approach, single-party governments would work in the same
way independently of whether they were autocratic or democratic (for methodo-
logical critiques, see Moser 1996; Ganghof 2005).
Taking into account the analyses of both the relations between the executive and
the legislature and the electoral rules previously reviewed, a more complex Wve-fold
typology of democratic constitutional regimes can be derived. The relatively high
number of a priori, polar types here considered does not presume that there are
always signiWcant diVerences in the working and proximate outcomes of all of
them, but it does not preclude potentially interesting empirical Wndings that more
simple or dualistic typologies may make impossible to observe. Empirical analyses
may reduce the number of relevant types when, for the purposes of the problem
under scrutiny, some of them may appear to be collapsed into a single one. But this
may be a result of the analysis rather than an a priori simplifying assumption. From
lower to higher degrees of concentration of power, the types of constitutional
regimes previously discussed are:
226 josep m. colomer

1. parliamentary-proportional (e.g. Germany, the Netherlands);

2. checks and balances (e.g. United States, Indonesia);
3. semi-presidential (e.g. France, Poland);
4. presidentialist (e.g. Argentina, Mexico);
5. parliamentary-majority (e.g. United Kingdom, Canada).
Note that types 1 and 5 correspond to the classical category of ‘‘parliamentary’’
regime, here drastically split for diVerent party systems and electoral systems, while
types 2, 3, and 4 are variants of the classical category of ‘‘presidential’’ regime as
discussed in the previous section. Regarding the other typologies reviewed above,
the ‘‘consensus’’ model would correspond to type 1, while the ‘‘majoritarian’’ model
would include types 2, 3, 4, and 5; type 1 would usually be associated with ‘‘divided
government,’’ while types 2, 3, and 4 would alternate between ‘‘divided’’ and
‘‘uniWed’’ governments, and type 5 would usually be associated with ‘‘uniWed
government;’’ there could be multiple veto-players in types 1, 2, 3, and 4, although
not always, while type 5 would tend to have a single veto-player with higher
frequency. Thus, the diVerent typologies here reviewed only agree on considering
types 1 and 5 as extreme, respectively implying diVuse and concentrated power,
while types 2, 3, and 4 are diVerently classiWed, either together with any of the two
extreme types or as intermediate ones.

4 Constitutional Consequences
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

It has been repeatedly postulated that diVerent constitutional formulas have

diVerent consequences on politics, policy, and the polity. The ‘‘proximate’’ political
consequences of diVerent constitutional arrangements regard mainly the type,
party composition, and degree of stability of governments. The rest of the conse-
quences should be considered relatively ‘‘remote,’’ indirect, and perhaps identiW-
able in terms of constraints, limits, and opportunities, rather than determining
speciWc decisions or outcomes. They may aVect economic and other public policy-
making, as well as the corresponding performance, but only partially. Also, diVer-
ent constitutional formulas may help democracy to endure or facilitate its
shortening. On all of these levels, signiWcant and interesting empirical correlations
between diVerent constitutional formulas and outcomes have been found. But
these correlations do not always go together with the speciWcation of the mechan-
isms by which they may exist; in particular, how diVerent types of governments
may be linked to diVerent policy performances, and how the latter may be related
to the duration of democratic regimes.
 comparative constitutions 227

4.1 Government Formation

In parliamentary regimes with majoritarian electoral rules, a single party, even with
minority electoral support, usually Wnds suYcient institutional levers to form a
government. This tends to make these governments more internally consistent and
more durable than multiparty coalition or minority governments typical of par-
liamentary regimes with proportional representation, which are more vulnerable
to coalition splits, censure, or conWdence-lost motions, and other events and
strategies provoking anticipated elections (Grofman and Roozendaal 1997; Strom
and Swindle 2002; Smith 2004).
However, relatively stable single-party parliamentary governments, as well as
presidential governments with a president’s party majority in the assembly and
Wxed terms, tend to produce more changing and unstable policies than those relying
upon the support of multiple parties or interinstitutional agreements. To under-
stand this, consider that a single-party government is the institutional result of an
election that becomes decisive for all the multiple policy issues that may enter the
government’s agenda. As the ‘‘spatial theory’’ of voting can illuminate, the ‘‘single-
package’’ outcome of political competition in a policy ‘‘space’’ formed by multiple
issues and dimensions can be highly unpredictable. The election may be won on the
basis of a small set of issues that become prominent during the campaign and in
voters’ information driving their vote. But the subsequent single-party government
may have a free hand to approve and implement its preferred policies on many issues,
even if they have not been salient in the previous debate and campaign.
In contrast, in multiparty elections producing coalition cabinets, as well as in
interinstitutional relations involving diVerent political majorities, each party can
focus on a diVerent set of issues, globally enlarging the electoral agenda and the
corresponding debate. In the further institutional process, certain issues (typically
including major domains such as macroeconomic policy, interior, and foreign
aVairs) are dealt with separately on single-issue ‘‘spaces.’’ Each of them can usually
be the subject of a broad multiparty or interinstitutional agreement around a
moderate position, which precludes drastic changes and induces policy stability
in the medium or long term. Other issues can be negotiated in such a way that the
minority with more intense preferences on each issue may see its preferred policy
approved, whether through the distribution of cabinet portfolios to parties focused
on diVerent domains (such as Wnance for liberals, education for Christian-
democrats, social or labor policy for social-democrats, etc.) or through logrolling
among diVerent groups on diVerent issues in congress. This second mechanism
creates diVerent but enduring political supports to the decisions on each issue and
also tends to produce relative policy stability. (Some ideas of this sort can be found
in Blondel and Müller-Rommel 1988, 1993; Budge and Keman 1990; Laver
and SchoWeld 1990; Strom 1990; Laver and Shepsle 1994, 1996; Deheza 1998; Müller
and Strom 2000).
228 josep m. colomer

4.2 Policy Performance

A seminal analysis of the policy eVects of diVerent constitutional regimes and the
type of governments they produce emerged from the study of British politics (see
early discussion in Finer 1975). As seen from this observatory, a parliamentary-
majoritarian regime creating single-party governments on the basis of a minority
of popular votes is the scene of ‘‘adversary politics.’’ This implies two major
consequences: Wrst, electorally minority governments with a social bias are more
prone to be captured by minority interest groups and to implement redistributive
and protectionist policies hurting broad social interests; second, frequent alterna-
tion of socially and electorally minority parties in government produces policy
reversal and instability (including changes in regulations of prices, the labor
market, taxes), which depress investment incentives. The bases for sustained
economic growth seemed, thus, to be damaged by the likely eVects of Westmin-
ster-type constitutional rules on government formation and policy-making.
This kind of argument has been tested in a number of studies basically using the
(Westminster) majoritarian/consensus dual typology reviewed in the previous
section. Most empirical Wndings show no signiWcant diVerences in the performance
of the two types of political regimes regarding economic growth, although some of
them indicate a slightly better record for consensus democracies on inXation and
unemployment. Better results for the consensus model have been found regarding
electoral participation, low levels of politically motivated violence, women’s
representation, and social and environmental policies (Powell 1982; Baylis 1989;
Lijphart 1984, 1999; Crepaz 1996; BirchWeld and Crepaz 1998; Eaton 2000).
Using a diVerent approach, it has also been held that parliamentary regimes with
proportional representation tend to develop broad programs beneWting a majority
of the voters, including redistribution through social security and welfare policies,
in contrast to narrower targets in both parliamentary regimes with majoritarian
elections and presidential regimes. The parliamentary-proportional regimes
appear to be associated with better growth-promoting policies, but they also
have relatively high taxes and public spending, which do not necessarily favor
growth (Persson and Tabellini 2003).
The weakness of empirical relations such as those reported here might reXect a
relative remoteness of the independent variable (constitutional models) from the
dependent one (economic and social performance). Economic growth, in particu-
lar, has indeed many more ‘‘proximate’’ causes than political institutions, such as
capital formation, labor productivity, entrepreneurship, trade, technology
availability, and education. The opposite of ‘‘proximate,’’ which would correspond
to the role of institutions, should be ‘‘remote,’’ since the ‘‘proximate’’ causes just
mentioned may in turn depend on institutions but also on other non-institutional
variables such as climate and natural resources, population, and human capacities.
Regarding institutions, those favoring state eVectiveness and an eVective judiciary,
 comparative constitutions 229

as well as those regulating property rights, contracts, and Wnances, might be more
relevant to explaining economic growth than certain variants in constitutional
formulas and not necessarily closely related to them. (For recent discussions, see
Hammond and Butler 2003; Alesina and Glaeser 2004; Glaeser, La Porta, and
Lopez-de-Silanes 2004; Przeworski 2004; Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson 2005).
A new way to research could be designed by analogy to some recent studies on
the relation between electoral systems and party systems reported above. In both
problems (the relation between electoral systems and party systems, and the
relation between constitutional formulas and economic growth), the main trad-
ition in empirical studies is comparative statics; that is, the comparison of diVerent
supposedly independent variables established in diVerent countries. An alternative
approach would compare diVerent supposedly independent variables within the
same country. In a similar way as changes in party systems have been identiWed
before and after the change of electoral rules in each country, the rates of economic
growth or other interesting variables could be compared for periods with diVerent
constitutional formulas in each country (including democracy or dictatorship).
This may require diYcult collection of data for very long periods. But it
would permit a better identiWcation of the speciWc eVects of changing political-
institutional variables over the background of presumably more constant variables
for each country, such as natural resources and population.

4.3 Democracy Duration

DiVerent constitutional formulas have also been linked to diVerent rates of success
of attempts at democratization and to the duration of democratic regimes. Recent
analyses of political change have emphasized that strategic choices of diVerent
constitutional formulas are driven by actors’ relative bargaining strength, electoral
expectations, and attitudes to risk (Przeworski 1986, 1991; Elster 1996; Elster, OVe,
and Preuss 1998; Colomer 1995, 2000; Geddes 1996; Goodin 1996; Voigt 1999).
A common assumption is that citizens and political leaders tend to support those
formulas producing satisfactory results for themselves and reject those making
them permanently excluded and defeated. As a consequence, those constitutional
formulas producing widely-distributed satisfactory outcomes should be more able
to develop endogenous support and endure. In general, widely representative and
eVective political outcomes should feed social support for the corresponding
institutions, while exclusionary, biased, arbitrary, or ineVective outcomes might
foster citizens’ and leaders’ rejection of the institutions producing such results. In
this approach, support for democracy is not necessarily linked to good economic
performance, as discussed above, but to a broader notion of institutional satisfac-
tion of citizens’ political preferences. This is consistent with a rational notion of
230 josep m. colomer

legitimacy (Rogowski 1974), it can modeled as a positive relation between institu-

tional pluralism and democratic stability (Miller 1983), and it can be reWned with
the concepts of behavioral and institutional equilibrium (Shepsle 1986; Colomer
2001b, 2205a; Diermeier and Krehbiel 2003).
Citizens’ political satisfaction with democratic outcomes has been estimated by
means of measures of congruence between citizens’ preferences and policy-
makers’ positions and through survey polls. From the Wrst approach, it has been
found that cabinets in parliamentary regimes with proportional representation
include the median voter’s preference with higher frequency than those using
majoritarian electoral rules, in both parliamentary and presidential regimes;
proportional representation and multiparties reduce, thus, the aggregate ‘‘dis-
tance’’ between citizens and rulers (Huber and Powell 1994; Powell 2000). Con-
sistent with these Wndings, an analysis of survey polls in Western European
countries show that political satisfaction with the way democracy works is more
widely and evenly distributed in pluralistic regimes than in majoritarian ones
(Anderson and Guillory 1997).
In general, constitutional democracies favoring power sharing and inclusiveness
should be able to obtain higher endogenous support and have greater longevity
than those favoring the concentration of power. Indeed, empirical accounts show
that democratic regimes are the most peaceful ones, while semi-democratic or
transitional regimes are most prone to conXict, even more than exclusionary
dictatorships (basically because the latter increase the costs of rebellion) (Snyder
1996; Hegre, Ellingsen, Gates, and Gleditsch 2001). Among democracies, parlia-
mentary regimes are more resilient to crises and more able to endure than
presidential ones (Linz 1990b; Stepan and Skach 1993; Mainwaring 1993; Linz and
Valenzuela 1994; Przeworski, Alvarez, Cheibub, and Limongi 2000; but see discus-
sion by Power and Gasiorowski 1997; Cheibub and Limogi 2002). But by using a
three-fold typology that, in consistency with the discussion above, also takes
electoral systems into account, parliamentary majoritarian regimes appear to be
associated with a higher frequency of ethnic and civil wars than presidential
regimes, while parliamentary proportional regimes are the most peaceful ones
(Reynal 2002, 2005). Proportional representation systems also experience fewer
transnational terrorist incidents than majoritarian ones (Li 2005).
Actually, almost no new democracy established in the world during the broad
‘‘third wave’’ of democratization starting in 1974 has adopted the British-style
constitutional model of parliamentary regime with a two-party system and major-
itarian electoral rules. This may make comparisons based on the dual typology
parliamentary/presidential less reductive for this period since the former type has
become, in fact, largely identiWed with its variant of proportional representation
elections. But the three-fold typology can illuminate the pitfalls of the British
constitutional model in previous periods, when most new democracies having
adopted this model eventually fell and were replaced with dictatorships.
 comparative constitutions 231

The number of constitutional democracies rose enormously during the last

quarter of the twentieth century, encompassing for the Wrst time a majority of
total world population since 1996. This has been the result of a very long-term
evolution, which started in the so-called Wrst and second ‘‘waves’’ of democratiza-
tion (basically corresponding to the aftermaths of the First and Second World
Wars), and accelerated in recent times with the end of the cold war. Thus,
constitutionalism has been increasingly linked to democratization, as noted at
the beginning of this survey.
Among democratic constitutions, there has been a trend in favor of formulas
permitting relatively high levels of social inclusiveness, political pluralism, policy
stability, and democracy endurance. This reXects the relatively greater capability of
pluralistic formulas to generate endogenous support. Not only may citizens obtain
relatively broad satisfaction of their expectations and demands from democratic
institutional formulas requiring the formation of a broad majority to make
collective decisions. Power-seeking politicians may also ultimately reject or aban-
don institutional formulas producing absolute losers and the total exclusion of
relevant actors from power. Of the democratic countries with more than one
million inhabitants, nowadays only less than one-sixth use parliamentary majority
constitutional formulas, while about half are checks-and-balances regimes or
its presidentialist and semi-presidential variants, and more than one-third are
parliamentary-proportional representation regimes (updated from Colomer
2001a).

5 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A number of questions addressed in the previous pages have become key questions
in the political science literature on constitutions and may guide future research.
There is still some room for discussion over the conceptual and empirical adequacy
of the diVerent political regime typologies. A clear distinction should be made
between a priori institutional characteristics of the diVerent models and the actual
working of the samples of cases observed, which are always unavoidably limited
and can thus induce biased inferences. The important role of party systems and
electoral systems in shaping the relations between parliaments and governments is
nowadays generally accepted, in contrast to narrower legalistic approaches that
were typical of constitutional studies a few years ago. But other questions remain
open to more accurate analysis in a comparative perspective. They include the
diVerences between the US-style ‘‘checks-and-balances’’ model favoring power
232 josep m. colomer

sharing, and the ‘‘presidentialist’’ model, diVused in Latin America and possibly
other parts of the world, favoring the concentration of power and some exclusive-
ness. Also, it is not clear whether the so-called ‘‘semi-presidential’’ model should be
conceived as an alternation between diVerent phases corresponding to alternative
constitutional models rather than as an intermediate type.
The scope of direct political consequences that have been attributed to diVerent
constitutional models also deserves to be revised. Fairly direct consequences may
include diVerent degrees of policy stability and instability, which seem to be
associated, perhaps counter-intuitively, with complex and simple constitutional
frameworks respectively. Regarding economic performance, it would probably be
wise to consider that constitutional formulas may have only an indirect role that
should be put in a broader framework of non-institutional variables. While the
comparative method has been mostly applied to the hypothetical consequences of
diVerent constitutional formulas used in diVerent countries, a temporal dimension
may enhance the analysis. Rates of economic growth or other relevant variables
could be compared not only for diVerent countries with diVerent regimes, but also
for periods with diVerent constitutional formulas in each country, including
democracy and dictatorship.
Finally, theoretical and comparative analyses should help to improve constitu-
tional choice, advice, and design. The present wide spread of democracy in the
world raises new demands for constitutional formulas able to produce eYcient
decision-making and broad social satisfaction with the outcomes of government.

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 chapter 13
...................................................................................................................................................

AMERICAN
FEDERALISM AND
I N T E RG OV E R N M E N TA L
R E L AT I O N S
...................................................................................................................................................

alberta m. sbragia

Although scholars have deWned federalism in multiple ways, federalism as currently

understood in American political and scholarly debate has to do with the role of
subnational governments as both independent decision-makers and as implemen-
tors of federal legislation.1 The use of federalism as a term typically signals a
concern with the independence and political autonomy of subnational govern-
ments in policy-making or with the complex relationships which exist among
levels of government as they carry out policy adopted in Washington.
To what degree should subnational governments be able to act independently?
To what degree are they able to do so? How much power should Washington be
able to exercise? These questions have framed the federalism discussion in the USA
for many decades. Much of the literature argues that the nationalization of the

1 The study of federalism has been multifaceted as it has incorporated works on intergovernmental
relations. Key works in the post-Second World War period include Grodzins 1960; Riker 1964, 1975;
Elazar 1962, 1966; Beer 1973, 1978; Wright 1988; Derthick 1970; Peterson, Rabe, and Wong 1986; Conlan
1998; Weingast 1995; Lowry 1992.
240 alberta m. sbragia

federal system since the 1970s mitigates against subnational governments being able
to bring their discretionary resources to bear on their unique needs. The possibil-
ities of signiWcant policy diversity within the system have therefore been reduced.
In that sense, the ‘‘politics of federalism’’ actually have to do with the politics
of implementation of federally-designed policies and the politics of intergovern-
mental management involved in such implementation rather than with diversity
within the overall federal system.
The complexities of American federalism are such that while some scholars argue
the system has become highly centralized, others focus on the considerable discretion
that state governments still possess. The paradox of American federalism in fact may
lie in that scholars diVer so widely in their analysis of—and conclusions about—the
system.
While Samuel Beer views federalism as having been important only in the area of
representation rather than in the recognition of territorial diversity (Beer 1978),
others (Chhibber and Kollman 2004) argue that it is the centralization of authority
in that system which has led to national parties. Some view the concentration of
authority in Washington as a negation of a federal system while others see it as
simply a change in a system which can vary from decentralization to centralization.
Some view the states as counterweights to Washington while others focus on their
technocratic capabilities. While some view the federal system as ‘‘coercive,’’ others
conclude that it reXects a ‘‘pragmatic’’ set of norms leading the federal government
to be relatively sensitive to state concerns (Glendening and Reeves 1984; Elazar
1990; Kincaid 1990; Gormley 2005). While some analysts—especially those con-
tributing to the theoretical literature on political economy—argue from a norma-
tive perspective rather than show an interest in the actual role of
institutions (Rodden 2006), others carry out detailed analyses of what is actually
going on in Wnancial transfers. The literature on federalism in fact seems as
disparate and confusing as the topic it is trying to analyze.
This chapter analyzes the shape of American federalism and concludes by arguing
that the conXict between territorial and functional politics lies at the heart of the
politics of federalism in the United States. National institutions, Congress in
particular, are organized by functional areas whereas the representation of subna-
tional governments’ interest involves the insertion of territorial criteria into that
functionally dominated process. Given the structural dominance of functional
politics in the American national arena, and the weaknesses in the system by
which states and local governments represent their own interests, it is not surprising
that federalism as a value has become of secondary importance in Washington.
Whereas traditional notions of federalism viewed diversity as an intrinsic strength of
a federal system, the increased nationalization of the system is caused by a desire to
achieve more national uniformity and less diversity. The growth of the national
regulatory state has been a major force in triggering such nationalization, especially
as state and local governments have not been exempted from its reach. ‘‘Cooperative
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 241

federalism,’’2 it is argued, existed when the process of nationalization was much less
advanced; currently the force of mandates and the lack of clout wielded by intergov-
ernmental groups are such that the system is one of ‘‘coercive federalism’’ (Kincaid 1990,
1996). Still other scholars argue that the federalism in the US ‘‘is a continuum in terms of
national-state relations, ranging from nil to cooperative to coercive with the precise
location of a given relationship on the continuum determined by function or com-
ponent of a function concerned’’ (Zimmerman 2001, 28).
Constitutionally, federalism in the USA involves the relationship between
Washington and state capitals. The Tenth Amendment reads, ‘‘The powers not
delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States,
are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.’’ States rather than ‘‘subna-
tional’’ governments are the topic. Governments below the level of state governments
were not included; they do not have constitutional standing. State governments could
not be abolished but those below the state level did not have constitutional protection.
The constitutional protection granted to state governments by the US Consti-
tution does anchor American federalism. Krause and Bowman argue that the
‘‘persistent tension regarding the proper balance of power between the national
government and the states is an enduring feature of American federalism’’ (Krause
and Bowman 2005, 360). Having acknowledged the role of the states, however, it is
also true that federalism in the USA, when expanded beyond its constitutional/
legal dimension, is characterized by the existence of tens of thousands of local
governments which themselves have organized into national associations and form
part of the so-called ‘‘intergovernmental lobby.’’
Contemporary federalism, therefore, focuses on the relationship between
Washington and subnational governments. The fact that federalism in the USA is
not limited to the relationship between Washington and state capitals is extremely
important in understanding the political dynamics of American federalism.
Counties, municipalities, public authorities, and special districts (all categorized
as local governments) are, in legal terms, not only constitutionally unprotected but
are ‘‘creatures of the state.’’
It is true that Krause and Bowman have found intriguing empirical evidence for
the thesis that the partisan color of state governments inXuences whether Congress
is willing to grant authority to state governments. They conclude that ‘‘when
national level Democrats scan state institutions and Wnd Democrats in control,
they are more willing to shift power to the sub national level’’ (Krause and Bowman
2005, 365). The same holds for national-level Republicans when state-level Repub-
licans are in power (Krause and Bowman 2005). Whether intergovernmental

2 ‘‘Cooperative federalism,’’ Daniel Elazar argued, was a more appropriate description of national–
state relations than was ‘‘dual federalism.’’ The latter, in the words of S. Rufus Davis, ‘‘envisaged a dual
world of sovereign, coordinate, coequal, independent, autonomous, demarcated, compartmentalized,
segregated, and distinct constitutional personae, the federal and state governments’’ (Davis 1978, 182–3
cited in Zimmerman 2001, 19; Elazar 1964).
242 alberta m. sbragia

lobbying constitutes the mechanism through which such partisan coupling is

managed is unclear.
We do know that in practice, constitutional standing and partisan identity
notwithstanding, state governments constantly compete with local governments
for their place in the federal system. The role of state governments is far less
privileged politically than it is constitutionally. Mayors and county oYcials as
well as governors and state legislators lobby Congress. Cities and counties as well
as state governments implement federal legislation. Mayors and county oYcials do
not accept the argument that states should have privileged access to Washington.
They do not accept that they should play a secondary role to governors in
intergovernmental politics or in national policy-making. State and local oYcials
are therefore constantly competing with one another for privileged access to
Washington. ‘‘National–state’’ relations should often read ‘‘national–state and
local’’ relations. Thus, the constitutional dimension of federalism diVers very
considerably from the political/policy dimension which has developed.
Access to Washington, however, has become more problematic over time. The
policy-making process in Congress is structured functionally, and the policy
communities which have developed are also functional. That is, they focus on
speciWc policy areas, and the policy debate is cast in programmatic terms. Many of
the major interest groups are also functionally oriented. By contrast, state and local
governments, when presenting their case, necessarily are focusing on jurisdictional
prerogatives. Their claim is based on territorial rather than programmatic or
functional representation. The claims of territory do not Wt easily into a system
which is structured along very diVerent lines.
The conXict between territorial and functional politics lies at the heart of the
politics of federalism in the United States. National institutions, Congress in
particular, are organized by functional areas whereas the representation of subna-
tional governments’ interests involves the insertion of territorial criteria into that
functionally-dominated process. Given the structural dominance of functional
politics in the American national arena, and the weaknesses in the system by
which states and local governments represent their own interests, it is not surpris-
ing that federalism as a value has become of secondary importance in Washington.

1 Territorial Politics
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Debates about federalism are very much debates about the claims of territory. They
involve disagreements about the importance of the spatial dimension in govern-
ance, in public policy, and in representation. To what extent should Washington
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 243

legislate in the arena of domestic policy? To what extent should the federal
government pass laws which do not exempt state and local governments? To
what extent should federal monies destined for state and local governments have
‘‘strings’’ (i.e. conditions) attached? To what extent should the elected oYcials of a
territorial unit be given access to or be given special standing by Congress? Most
fundamentally, to what extent should states be conceptualized as ‘‘polities’’
as opposed to ‘‘managers’’ in an ‘‘administrative chain of command’’ with
Washington at its head (Elazar 1981, 71)? Should Congress treat states as it treats
individuals and companies or should states be given special deference?
Some scholars have valued the autonomous role of state (and local) govern-
ments in legislative decision-making for reasons having to do with a defense
against the abuse of power, as an avenue of democratic participation, or as a way
to provide choice for taxpayers. Daniel Elazar and Thomas Dye both have force-
fully argued that states are not simply administrative units or sub-units of the
federal government. Elazar, deWned states as ‘‘polities’’ and argued that the states
were not ‘‘middle managers’’ (Elazar 1981). Thomas Dye argued that ‘‘state and
local governments are political systems, not administrative units of the national
government. Their primary function remains political, not managerial’’ (Dye 1990,
4). In this latter view, informed by public choice theory, one of the key political
functions of state and local governments was to ‘‘compete for consumer-taxpayers
by oVering diVerent packages of services and cost [so that] the closer each con-
sumer-taxpayer can come to realizing his or her own preferences’’ (Dye 1990, 14).
State and local governments could only compete with one another if they were free
to decide for themselves on the shape of the ‘‘package of services’’ that would be
oVered to the consumer-taxpayer.
In practice, the role of the states, however, is very much shaped by the institu-
tional structure of the federal government. The US Senate, in a comparative
perspective, is extremely unusual in that each state elects two senators, regardless
of the state’s population (Lee and Oppenheimer 1999; Tsebelis and Money 1997).
However it is electorates (constituents) from states rather than state governments
themselves which are represented. Functional (policy) interests sometimes have a
territorial dimension in the American Congress, as some policy interests are
territorially concentrated (Sbragia 2004). Nonetheless, even in those cases, the
representatives who speak for such interests are elected by voters; representatives
are accountable to voters rather than to subnational oYcials. Furthermore, the very
structure of the committee system in both houses of Congress is shaped around
policy areas. ConXict primarily centers around the content of programs as well as
the territorial distribution of programmatic beneWts—and not around the role of
subnational governments. Functional interests trump the interests of subnational
governments.
The role of territorial governments—and the diVerence between functional
and territorial politics—in the political arena becomes clear when examining
244 alberta m. sbragia

intergovernmental lobbying. When state and local oYcials, organized in national

associations, go to Washington to lobby, they are representing the interests of
subnational governments rather than that of constituents (although the two may
of course overlap).
The conXict between territorial and functional interests is key to the politics of
federalism. The ‘‘institutional self-interest’’ of subnational elected oYcials has to
do with maintaining as much authority and control as they possibly can over their
own geographic area. By contrast, the interest of Congress lies in exercising
national control in functionally deWned policy areas.

2 Territorial Governments and

Representation
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

American states, while constitutionally privileged in that they cannot be abolished

by Washington, are not involved in national decision-making. They do not have a
‘‘seat at the decision-making table’’ in Washington. The original notion of ‘‘dual
federalism’’ mandated a separation between the national and the state level—each
would legislate in its own ‘‘spheres of action’’ (Kincaid 1996, 29). Thus, state
oYcials would legislate within their own territory within many policy areas and
the federal institutions would legislate for the entire country in a restricted number
of policy areas. Although originally senators were selected by state legislatures, the
Seventeenth Amendment led to senators being directly elected. The direct election
of senators cut the tie between state-level institutions and national decision-
making.
The Seventeenth Amendment has deeply altered the nature of American feder-
alism. A comparison with the German federal system demonstrates the importance
of direct state representation in the states’ exercise of constitutional prerogatives.
Whereas German federalism allows state governments to be involved in a great deal
of national decision-making, American federalism views state governments as
making decisions which apply only to the residents of their particular state.
While the German state executive branch is represented as an institution in
the national parliament’s second chamber (the Bundesrat), American state
governments are not represented in either the Senate or the House. Governors
are only represented by their national interest groups.
Territorial politics—the representation of territorial interests as expressed
through state governments—is central to the organization of the German federal
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 245

system. Territorial interests can even override partisan diVerences. The German
equivalent of governors sit in the Federal Republic’s upper chamber. In the USA,
by contrast, governors are not national decision-makers. Governors are lobbyists
in Washington rather than decision-makers, a crucial distinction. While they
can and do lobby at the national level, they are not constitutionally-designated
decision-makers at the federal level as are the German Länder (Cammisa 1995;
Sbragia 1992).
The lack of a ‘‘seat’’ for state governments in Washington means that the latter
can ignore territorially-based claims. Thus, states and localities can be refused
if they claim privileges or exemptions based on federal principles. States are
powerless to prevent the national government from asserting its own jurisdiction
in policy arenas traditionally dominated by subnational governments. This fact
became particularly important as a national regulatory state developed in
the postwar period and shapes the contemporary debate about federalism.
Not surprisingly, therefore, the No Child Left Behind Act ‘‘federalized’’ public
education, an area traditionally dominated by subnational governments. Claims
related to federal principles are not typically found to be compelling. Some
programmatic adjustments will be made and Wnancial assistance may be provided,
but the fundamental decision about whether the federal government will assert its
own authority in a policy area will not typically be inXuenced by arguments related
to federalism as such.

3 Territorial Interest and Public

Policy
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The issues tied to federalism in the USA are as old as the republic itself. Those, such
as Alexander Hamilton, who argued for a strong national system which would
allow the US to become a major commercial republic, have debated those, such as
Thomas JeVerson, who feared that a strong central government would endanger
the very roots of democracy and liberty. Those debates, while transformed, have
not disappeared. Those who argue for diversity among the American states and
argue against the imposition of federal rules and laws on states confront those who
view broad national policies as the only way to ensure some kind of uniformity for
all citizens regardless of their place of residence.
The rationale of such arguments has varied. The argument for national policies
has been put forth by those who want to achieve equal civil rights for all citizens as
246 alberta m. sbragia

well as some kind of ‘‘Xoor’’ in both economic opportunity and social protection.
However, it can also be made by those who want a relatively non-interventionist
government, one which is seen as ‘‘market-preserving,’’ and who do not therefore
want interventionist state governments counteracting the impact of national pol-
icies designed to build (rather than correct) markets (Weingast 1995; Sbragia 2000).
As an example of the latter case, the (Republican) Reagan administration, which
stressed its support of states’ rights, supported business Wrms when they came into
conXict with state-level administrative agencies (Gormley 2005). When state regu-
lators came into conXict with businessmen, state regulators lost. Federalism was to
be secondary to market forces.
The Reagan administration’s rhetorical support for states rights, however, has
been the norm for those wishing to limit the role of government generally.
Federalism in the USA typically has been emphasized by those interested in less
rather than more government. The assumption has been that many state govern-
ments, if left to their own devices, would be less interventionist than the federal
government has been since the New Deal. Furthermore, such latitude would
encourage competition among the states, with ‘‘competitive federalism’’ being
favorably viewed as most supportive of those incentives conducive to economic
growth and the expansion of markets (Dye 1990; Lowry 1992).
By contrast, those in favor of greater public intervention have typically argued
for a stronger federal role in the belief that Washington would establish a ‘‘Xoor’’
higher than that found in many states. Such intervention has historically been tied
to the expansion of the welfare and regulatory state, and thus a centralized feder-
alism has become associated with social protection. Those interested in urban
(rather than state) issues have also argued for a strong federal role in redistributive
policy, concluding that only the federal government has the tools to carry out
redistributive policy without harming the prospects for economic development
(Peterson 1981). In this view, states, engaged in competitive federalism, are unable
to redistribute resources as eVectively as can the federal government (Thomas
2000).
More recently, however, those seeking more social protection have begun view-
ing the states rather than the federal government as possible allies (Nathan and
Doolittle 1987, 357). Once conservative Republicans controlled Congress and the
presidency, advocates of the welfare state and environmental protection began
viewing the states as possible counterweights to the conservative policies coming
out of Washington. Governors began being viewed as more pragmatic and less
ideological than their party brethren in Washington, and more willing to consider
policies which were viewed with hostility in Washington. The issue area of climate
change was perhaps the most striking in this respect: while neither President Bush
nor Congress would support legislation restricting carbon dioxide emissions, both
Republican and Democratic governors began experimenting with an emissions
trading scheme (Rabe 2004).
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 247

The view of states as liberal counterweights to Washington is relatively new,

however. More typical has been the view that many state governments, if left to
their own devices, would, in the view of liberals, begin a ‘‘race to the bottom,’’ or in
the view of conservatives, allow market forces to work as they should. The conXict
between a vision based on competitive federalism with its concomitant reliance on
state rather than federal power and one based on centralized federalism with
Washington wielding very considerable power underlies both public policy and
the scholarship—much of it with strong normative overtones—on American
federalism.
Literature interested in the intersection of public authority and markets tends to
make the argument for competitive federalism—the view being that competitive
federalism is ‘‘market-preserving.’’ By contrast, both activists and scholars
interested in either social regulation (such as environmental protection) or social
protection (such as assistance to the needy or rights for the disabled) tend to make
the argument for various degrees of federal preemption of state authority. States
are very engaged in economic development activities—which requires their
competing with one another to keep and attract business Wrms as well as creating
the infrastructure conducive to business activity (Fosler 1988; Thomas 2000). Many
therefore fear that without the intervention of Washington, competitive federalism
forces generous states to become more conservative in order not to frighten—as
well as to attract—mobile capital. In a similar vein, generous states are viewed as
running the risk of becoming ‘‘welfare magnets’’ so that only federal social policy
can eVectively address poverty (Peterson and Rom 1990, 8). Generous states, in fact,
may support federal intervention precisely to avoid being isolated and to insulate
themselves from the forces of competitive federalism.3

3 It should be noted that there is still no scholarly consensus regarding the extent to which
competitive federalism aVects welfare policies. Research on competitive federalism and welfare
revolves around the questions of whether more generous beneWts have an impact on the location
decision of the poor (namely whether generous states become ‘‘welfare magnets’’) and on whether
states compete down with neighboring states, reducing beneWts if their neighbors reduce them (the
‘‘race-to-the-bottom’’ hypothesis).
It should be noted that these questions may not be empirically linked, in that political incentives
may induce state policy-makers to engage in a ‘‘race to the bottom’’ over welfare beneWts even though
more generous beneWts do not aVect, or only marginally aVect, the location decisions of prospective
welfare recipients (Bailey and Rom 2004, 327; Brueckner 2000, 508).
Empirical results on both hypotheses have been mixed. As regards the Wrst hypothesis, some have
found very little evidence of states acting as welfare magnets (Schram, Nitz, and Krueger 1998; Schram
and Soss 1998; Levine and Zimmerman 1999; Allard and Danziger 2000; Berry, Fording, and Hanson
2003) while others do Wnd evidence that supports the welfare magnet hypothesis, although the size of
the eVect of welfare beneWts on location decisions tends to be small (Bailey 2005; Enchautegui 1997).
As regards the race-to-the-bottom hypothesis, most research has found statistically signiWcant
(although in most cases substantively small) eVects, indicating that there is some competition to
reduce welfare beneWts among similar states, even though the extent of the impact of this competition
on actual beneWt levels is low (Figlio, Kolpin, and Reid 1999; Saavedra 2000; Rom, Peterson, and
248 alberta m. sbragia

In the real world of policy-making, however, the scene is murkier. Although

Republicans have traditionally been seen as supporters of both more power to the
states and deregulating market forces, it was a Republican president (George W. Bush)
who engineered the No Child Left Behind Act, a piece of legislation which nationalized
public elementary and secondary education in a way that was new to the United States.
While the Weld of public education had traditionally been viewed as Wrmly under state
and local control, it became nationalized with relatively little opposition and with
support from key Democratic political leaders in Congress. In fact, President
Bush, although a former governor of Texas, has not emphasized federalism as a value.
In a similar vein, President George Herbert Walker Bush managed to renew far-
reaching federal environmental legislation, legislation which in fact had been originally
passed under the Republican President Richard Nixon. Republican presidents,
therefore, have supported federal legislation which signiWcantly erodes the power of
state governments and which constrains market forces. Programmatic preferences
have overridden claims regarding subnational autonomy.
Furthermore, those Republican leaders who have emphasized federalism, while
agreeing that Washington is too powerful, have also diVered very signiWcantly in
their proposals for change. President Nixon did not see ‘‘government as the
problem’’ while President Reagan and Newt Gingrich, the Speaker of the House
of Representatives in 1995–8, wanted to scale back all government at all levels. In
Conlan’s words:
Nixon viewed his federalism strategy as a means of improving and strengthening govern-
ment, especially at the state and local levels. His proposals, unlike those of subsequent
Republican reformers, were intended to improve government, not dismantle it. Reagan, in
contrast, viewed his New Federalism proposals as part of a broader strategy to reduce the
role of government in society at every level. . . . Reagan’s positive vision, though heavily
localistic, lacked a strong role for government of any kind. . . . Gingrich argued . . . [that] the
appropriate solution would be to eliminate the national welfare state, root and branch.
(Conlan 1998, 12–14)

In spite of Nixon’s commitment to decentralization, perhaps best symbolized by

revenue sharing, Conlan concludes that ‘‘Nixon left behind a federal system that
was probably more centralized than the one he inherited. Federal expenditures for
many domestic functions were increased dramatically, and an unprecedented
federal intergovernmental regulatory presence was institutionalized’’ (Conlan
1998, 91). It is precisely that outcome which has led most scholars to argue that
although a form of ‘‘devolution revolution’’ has been promised many times, it has
not materialized (Kincaid 1998; Nathan 1996).

Scheve 1998; Berry, Fording, and Hanson 2003; Bailey and Rom 2004). However, some research has
disputed these Wndings. In particular, Craig Volden has argued that competitive federalism aVects the
choices states make with regard to the beneWt levels they oVer, but not in the sense that they are
engaged in a race to the bottom. Rather, state interaction slows down the increase in beneWts, in that
states increase their beneWt levels only after their neighbors have also raised them (Volden 2002).
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 249

4 Intergovernmental Relations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Although the constitutional deWnition of federalism in the USA privileges only

state governments, scholars such as Thomas Dye (1990) invariably included local
governments as components of the federal system. It was that extension of the
federal system which underpinned the term ‘‘intergovernmental relations,’’ a term
which has come to be used interchangeably with federalism in a great deal of
literature. Yet the replacement of federalism, with its political connotations, with
intergovernmental relations, with its administrative and managerial overtones,
was vehemently opposed by scholars such as Dye. And in fact the implicit
assumptions of those two types of analyses are quite diVerent. Federalism
has tended to remain a normative concept subject to political and scholarly
conXict while ‘‘intergovernmental relations’’ revolves around issues of manage-
ment and administration, with administrative rather than political elites playing
a key role.
Nonetheless, in much scholarly literature, the concept of federalism has become
linked to the complex ways in which the system of public authority actually works
in the USA—a system which includes Washington, state capitals, county govern-
ments, municipalities, and special districts as well as school districts has become
entangled with the study of intergovernmental relations to such an extent that the
two terms are often used together to refer to similar phenomena.4 Federalism refers
to the constitutional division of powers and authority between the federal govern-
ment in Washington and the state governments of the American states. Intergov-
ernmental relations refers to the complex set of relationships which entangle all
levels of government with one another. The fact that the two terms are often used
nearly interchangeably points to the fact both that power in the American system
has become concentrated in Washington over the last decades and that the rela-
tionship between Washington and other governments does not focus exclusively on
state governments.
The relationships between levels of government incorporated in the term ‘‘inter-
governmental relations’’ (IGR) have increasingly involved administrative oYcials
who play key roles in operating the system. As scholars of public administration in
particular have focused on the role of such oYcials, the term intergovernmental
management (IGM) has been introduced into the literature. Federalism, intergov-
ernmental relations, and intergovernmental management therefore coexist uneas-
ily in a disparate literature which is largely segmented and divided between those
who argue from a normative position and those who examine the actual workings

4 In many works, the terms federalism, federal system, and intergovernmental relations are used
interchangeably. See for example Anton 1989; O’Toole 2000; Zimmerman 1992; Camissa 1995; Posner
1998; Wright 1990.
250 alberta m. sbragia

of an intricate system which incorporates both elected oYcials and administrators.

Deil Wright captures well the evolution of the scholarly discussion in the Weld of
‘‘federalism’’ broadly deWned:
The concept of federalism has two centuries of U.S. history, tradition, law, and practice
behind it. The concept of IGR has a comparatively short half century of application to the
American context, and it remains a term that falls somewhat short of either standardized or
universal usage. By way of contrast, IGM appeared as a phrase on the public scene only
recently—during the 1970s. (Wright 1990, 170)

The reason that intergovernmental relations have received a great deal of attention,
however, is precisely because subnational governments have become so entangled
in the implementation of federal programs. Such programs are adopted by Con-
gress and the implementing regulations, which are in fact the key requirements for
subnational governments, are developed by federal agencies. It is that combination
of legislation and regulation which forms the structure within which subnational
governments can exercise discretion and be subject to constraint. And it is that
structure which maximizes the importance of management within a system of
tremendous complexity.

5 Nationalization of Policy
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

It is not surprising that the term intergovernmental relations became popular in

the post-Second World War period. It is in that period that state and federal
functions became entangled in particularly dense ways. The concentration of
power in the American system is tied to both the Sixteenth Amendment, which
allowed Washington to impose a federal income tax, and the New Deal, which
expanded the regulatory and social welfare functions of the federal government.
The income tax gradually allowed the federal government to increase its power
within the federal system because of the amounts of money that Xowed into it as
the economy grew. During the Second World War, Washington was able to
‘‘withhold’’ tax monies from salary checks so that its revenue stream became
more predictable while the tax burden became politically more palatable in that
tax monies were withdrawn weekly or monthly rather than being paid in
lump sums at the year’s end.
State and local governments retained their traditional taxing powers, but their
tax policies became tied to those of Washington in complicated ways. In fact,
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 251

the links became especially noticeable when the second Bush administration
dramatically reduced estate and capital gains taxes, forcing states to decide whether
to ‘‘couple’’ or ‘‘decouple’’ their state tax systems with the federal system.
The question of whether there has been a net centralization of power in the
postwar period is not settled in the scholarly literature. Scholars who focus on
periods in which Washington seems to be moving power back to the states tend to
be more sanguine about the process of ‘‘devolution’’ than are those who examine
the entire postwar period (Donahue 1997). Further, much research focuses on just
one policy sector or examines one institution (the Supreme Court, for example)
(Conlan and Vergniolle de Chantal 2001). DiVerent studies use diVerent time
periods so that it is diYcult to draw general conclusions. Finally, as Walker argues,
‘‘in the regulatory, judicial, program, and Wscal areas, no one tendency is consist-
ently dominant’’ (Walker 2000, 2).
However, the most comprehensive quantitative study on policy centralization in
the period 1947–98 (the data-set consists of public laws and executive orders but
excludes the judicial arena and administrative tools such as waivers) concludes that
‘‘in terms of policymaking authority, the pulls have been far more powerful than
the pushes. Elected federal oYcials have demonstrated less interest in restoring lost
policymaking power to sub national governments than previously presumed’’
(Bowman and Krause 2003, 320). Another, studying the period 1981–2004, exam-
ining three policy sectors, and including legislation, lawsuits, waivers, and part-
nerships in his data, Wnds ‘‘a pattern of growing sensitivity and responsiveness by
federal government to the needs and preferences of the states. Federal funding has
increased, unfunded mandates have declined’’ (Gormley 2005, 2–26). Yet, as
Gormley points out, ‘‘for every waiver that is granted, the federal government
extracts some concessions that require states to make policy adjustments they
would rather not make. . . . Thus what the federal government perceives as Xex-
ibility and responsiveness, state governments perceive as micro-management and
red-tape’’ (Gormley 2005, 27).
The judgment about the relative balance of power between Washington and
subnational governments has to do with the benchmark being used. If the bench-
mark is the period of cooperative federalism in which even regulatory laws
exempted state and local governments in deference to the norms of federalism,
there has clearly been a net centralization of power. If the benchmark, however,
moves to the period when a host of laws dealing with social regulation (such as
environmental policy) were being adopted with inXexible provisions leading to
lawsuits (Kelemen 2004, 68), and which led to the label of ‘‘coercive federalism,’’
Gormley’s Wndings seem rather diVerent. In that case, the kind of responsiveness
found by Gormley seems like ‘‘pragmatic’’ federalism rather than the coercive
federalism symbolized by that initial phase of building the American regulatory
state.
252 alberta m. sbragia

6 Money and Regulation

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The building blocks of intergovernmental relations are federal monies and federal
regulation. Both are highly visible federal interventions. From the point of view of
subnational governments, grants are positive and regulation is much more mixed.
Federal monies became increasingly important to states and localities in the
1960s. Such monies came in diVerent forms depending on the decade and the
programs involved.
Categorical grants in aid were particularly restrictive so that the advent of
revenue sharing and block grants in the Nixon administration were viewed as a
boon to intergovernmental Xexibility. However, as federal deWcits began to balloon,
such monies became increasingly controversial. The Carter administration initially
cut back aid, and the Reagan administration subsequently dramatically limited
Wnancial assistance to subnational governments. Revenue sharing was terminated
in 1986.
The federal government became more generous under the Wrst President Bush,
under President Clinton, and in the second President Bush’s Wrst term. Nonetheless,
in 1980, federal grants were 16 percent of federal outlays, and they did not reach that
level of priority until 1999 (although they were 14 percent or higher between 1993
and 1999). In 2001–3, the Wgure rose to 17 percent and in 2004 federal grants were 18
percent of federal outlays (Gormley 2005, 32). Block grants became more prominent
under both the Reagan and Clinton administrations. Even though the second
President Bush proposed block grants, Congress refused to approve them and
only established four new block grants during his Wrst term (Gormley 2005, 10).
In the period between 1981 and 1995, the federal government became particularly
interventionist as federal mandates became almost routine. Some mandates
involved complete federal preemption while others underfunded the activities
subnational governments were required to take. However, it was the so-called
‘‘unfunded mandates’’ which became particularly visible as governments began
to quantify their cost.
The burden of mandates was not surprising as the 1980s witnessed the creation of
more intergovernmental regulatory programs than did the 1970s. As Posner points
out, ‘‘mandates as a term can potentially apply to a wide range of policy actions . . .
including grant conditions, cross-cutting requirements, cross-over sanctions, partial
preemptions, and total preemption’’ (Posner 1998, 9–11). From the point of view of
state and local governments, they became ever more onerous (Posner 1998, 223;
Conlan 1998, 192). Imposing costs on subnational governments through mandates
was a ‘‘free’’ way for Congress to act without contributing to the federal deWcit.
As Congress in the 1970s began to adopt new legislation in the area of social
regulation (in contrast to the economic regulation imposed by the New Deal),
subnational governments began to feel the ‘‘bite.’’ Prior to that time, state and local
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 253

governments had been exempt from major regulatory statutes adopted by Congress
(Posner 1998, 22–3). However, as the value of federalism as traditionally deWned
gradually waned, state and local oYcials found themselves subject to the same
kinds of constraints and regulations as individuals and companies. The lack of
funds accompanying such restrictions only made the situation worse. In spite of
President Reagan’s view of government, the 99th Congress, for example, passed
environmental legislation which imposed signiWcant new costs on subnational
governments (Conlan 1998, 193).
The decreasing inXuence of state and local government oYcials in Congress was
at least partially due to their fading inXuence in their political parties. As long as
they had been inXuential in the two political parties, they exerted informal inXu-
ence in Congress. (The fact that mayors and county oYcials were important actors
in parties helps to explain why governors were never able to become the ‘‘supreme’’
subnational leaders and had to compete with county and municipal elected
oYcials for inXuence). Once they lost their leverage in the nomination process,
their political clout in Congress declined. In fact, state and local oYcials competed
with congressional candidates for money and visibility. Deference to the norms of
federalism declined (Posner 1998, 79–80).
The Unfunded Mandates Reform Act (UMRA), adopted in 1995, was initially
seen as a major force in restoring the balance between Washington and subnational
governments. State and local governments were to be protected from mandates
which cost them money. Yet in fact, mandates continued to be adopted (Posner
1998, 182, 190). The Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation
Act of 1996 reformed welfare and while providing generous block grants also
imposed numerous new requirements on the states (Posner 1998, 189; Weaver
2000; Winston 2002). Although that reform was a major example of devolution,
it gave states Xexibility while also constraining them.
In the Wrst term of the second Bush administration, waivers from federal require-
ments became particularly important in the area of Medicaid. That program, more
expensive than Medicare, was consuming roughly 20 percent of state budgets by 2003.
The waivers granted by the Bush administration allowed states both to improve the
quality of care and to cut the number of beneWciaries. States did both, and, to critics,
those states who used their waivers to cut the number of beneWciaries in an eVort to
control rising costs symbolized the problems created for vulnerable populations when
the federal government loosened its regulatory grip. However, the need to
obtain waivers is seen by many state oYcials as emblematic of the problems with
federal controls on the states. Jeb Bush, Republican governor of Florida, argued:
States should not need waivers to establish meaningful co-payments, charge fair premiums,
target care for certain populations or geographic areas. States should be able to implement
managed care in its various forms, establish nursing-home diversion programs, or imple-
ment consumer-directed care, without Wrst seeking waivers from Washington. (SeraWni
2003, 1078)
254 alberta m. sbragia

7 Intergovernmental Lobbying:
Functional vs. Territorial Claims
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Given that state governments are not represented in the US Senate, they, along with
their local counterparts, can only make their views known through lobbying. In
that sense, they are similar to other interests. In fact, state and local governments
have organized governmental interest groups who represent governments rather
than voters. The emphasis here is on the plural, for subnational oYcials do not
speak with a unitary voice. County oYcials belong to the National Association of
Counties, municipalities belong to the National League of Cities, mayors of big
cities belong to the US Conference of Mayors, and state legislators belong to the
National Conference of State Legislatures. Collectively, these groups are known as
the ‘‘intergovernmental lobby.’’
Their lobby is often as—if not more—interested in who will control the process
of implementation than it is in the actual programmatic contents of legislation.
Subnational oYcials, when organized into public interest lobbies, represent a
‘‘spatial or geographic interest’’ above all. As Ann Commisa, drawing on work by
Donald Haider, points out:
Government lobbies have a spatial interest (maintaining authority over their own geo-
graphic sphere) as well as a functional (policy) interest. While government lobbies are
interested in particular policies, they . . . are also interested in the spatial dimension of any
policy, that is, who will have the authority in implementation and control over the
funds. . . . Subnational governments are interested in the process of policy (that is, who
implements it) to a greater extent than its outcomes. (Cammisa 1995, 25; Haider 1974)

The intergovernmental lobby faces two key problems. The Wrst is that Congress is
organized by policy area. Committees are organized by functional area, and
functional interest groups and policy communities have grown around each policy
arena. For example, interest groups representing low-income groups were actively
involved with the legislation dealing with welfare reform (Winston 2002). Bene-
Wciaries of programs are critical to lobbying eVorts (Anton 1989), and they are not
interested in the intergovernmental dimensions of legislation unless it aVects
beneWts in some fashion. There is a ‘‘mismatch’’ therefore between the ‘‘program-
matic’’ structure of Congress and of policy communities and the ‘‘spatial’’ concerns
of the intergovernmental lobby.
The dilemma is particularly acute because the lobbies representing governments,
especially those representing elected oYcials such as the National Governors
Association, at times come into conXict with lobbies representing state program
oYcials lobbying for a particular program. In a sense, governors can come into
conXict with the members of their own executive branch who are programmatic-
ally committed and who view mandates as useful in giving them leverage in budget
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 255

battles back home. Lobbyists for the National Governors Association spend a good
deal of time ‘‘Wghting organizations of state bureaucrats’’ (Posner 1998, 83) ‘‘picket
fence federalism’’ presents real problems for elected oYcials Wghting to retain
control over programs.
Secondly, the intergovernmental lobby Wnds it very diYcult to create and sustain
internal cohesion. Levels of government compete with one another. Mayors want a
direct relationship with Washington, whereas governors argue that states are best
equipped to allocate resources to lower levels of government. Counties for their
part argue that they are the critical local units. Given that the federal system
assumes that the federal government will not itself deliver services, the competition
among other governments to be the key service provider in any policy area can be
Werce. Furthermore, partisan divisions can also be important. For example, during
the debate over welfare reform, the Republican Governors Association ‘‘played a
central role with the bipartisan . . . NGA stymied by internal dissension . . . about
funding formulas’’ (Winston 2002, 44).
The problem of cohesion is so serious that intergovernmental lobbies are far less
eVective than one might imagine, especially when they are confronting function-
ally-based interests. Even if they can agree on general positions, they Wnd it diYcult
to agree when it comes to speciWc proposals. Even though competition among
subnational oYcials has been a truism, the partisan splits within those groups are
multiplying the problems they face. The usual divisions based on territorial
diversity are being exacerbated it seems by partisan cleavages which are deeper
than they have been previously.

8 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Contemporary American federalism is unsettled and so is the scholarly literature.

Perhaps that is to be expected for as Anton has argued, the federal system is one ‘‘in
which relationships among goverments are permanently unstable’’ (Anton 1989,
231). The federal system is extraordinarily complex precisely because it is
so intergovernmental, involving all types of local as well as state governments.
These governments compete with one another, with the federal government being
able to choose the winners.
The federal system presents a clear challenge to political scientists interested in
understanding how territorially-based claims, programmatic outcomes, adminis-
trative dynamics, and political parities intersect. The nationalization of policy has
proceeded in spite of attempts to reverse that process, and thus the system is like an
256 alberta m. sbragia

archeological dig with some programs showing the scars of attempted ‘‘devolution’’
coexisting with new programs which impose new requirements on subnational
governments. Identifying systematic patterns across policy areas and programs and
across deWned time periods represents a huge methodological challenge for the
discipline.
The twentieth century has been one of overall policy centralization coexisting
with the fact that state and local governments have taken on new functions
themselves. Federalism as a norm or as a value has in practice been downgraded.
Both Republicans and Democrats, presidents and Congress members, have
typically chosen to impose policy preferences on subnational governments while
making concessions in terms of the conditions attached to implementation.
The strategic decisions about public policy, however, have been taken in Washing-
ton without much consideration of the ‘‘federal dimension.’’
Such centralization has been due to multiple factors, but the diYculty of
maintaining the strength of territorial politics in a system characterized by insti-
tutions dealing with functional issues and the fragmentation of the intergovern-
mental arena itself are two components. The fragmentation of the ‘‘subnational’’
government universe almost guarantees that federalism will be deWned by national
rather than subnational institutions. The lack of a uniWed ‘‘territorial’’ interest
which can be easily mobilized and articulated has led to programmatic policy goals
trumping those of territory. Functional interests consistently outweigh territorial
ones; subnational elected oYcials are unable to defend their jurisdictional
prerogatives.
BeneWciaries of federal programs, organized into coalitions, typically do not give
priority to territorially-based claims unless those claims support programmatic
goals. Given the role that beneWciaries play in the federal system (Anton 1989) and
given the lack of cohesion of the intergovernmental lobby, it is not surprising that
territorial claims often do not Wnd a receptive audience in the United States.
It is important, however, to understand better the conditions under which
territorial claims do matter. Given the current state of the Weld, it will be important
to study systematically the dynamics of intergovernmental relations across mul-
tiple policy areas in order to move beyond the use of case studies. Data-sets need to
be developed so as to allow researchers more easily to build on each other’s work.
Case studies, however, will continue to contribute to our understanding of the
administrative politics intrinsic to making the federal system work. Issues of
research design need to be more explicitly taken into account when using the
case study method to study administrative politics.
Perhaps the most important intellectual step that needs to be taken in the next
phase of scholarly research, however, is to integrate the study of American
federalism into the emerging Weld of comparative federalism. Comparisons with
Australia, Canada, Germany, and the European Union may well provide new
research questions. The emergence of the European Union, with a policy-making
 american federalism and intergovernmental relations 257

system which resembles that of the American in its fragmentation, provides a

particularly useful comparative case (Kelemen 2004; Sbragia forthcoming). Being
able to compare the USA with a another ‘‘separated system’’ (Jones 1994, 2) should
facilitate the development of theoretical frameworks which have heretofore been
lacking.
While the study of American federalism has been viewed by many political
scientists as much less theoretically interesting than the study of federal institutions
such as Congress, integrating the study of such federal institutions into the study of
federalism may lead to both better theory and a better understanding of the
American political system as a whole. The use of comparison, when judiciously
implemented, seems to be the best bet for improving the theoretical sophistication
of the study of American federalism.

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 chapter 14
...................................................................................................................................................

C O M PA R AT I V E
FEDERALISM
...................................................................................................................................................

brian galligan

There is a resurgence of interest in federalism at the beginning of the twenty-Wrst

century, most notably in the institutional reconWguration of Europe (Filippov,
Ordeshook, and Shevtsova 2004) which is at the ‘‘epicenter’’ of a worldwide
‘‘federalizing tendency’’ (Russell 2005, 13). According to Imbeau (2004, 13), ‘‘we
can view federal systems as historical experiments at sharing policy responsibilities
and look at them as working models of a new global order.’’ Federalism is a deWning
feature of many national systems of government and is spreading to others. During
the last half-century, federalism has proved its resilience and Xexibility in the older
established federations of the United States, Switzerland, Canada, and Australia.
Federal constitutions were successfully reestablished in Germany and Austria,
countries with long federal traditions, after the Second World War. While there
were some notable failures of postwar federations that were artiWcially cobbled
together by military victors or retreating colonial powers (Franck 1968), federalism
has taken root in a number of Asian countries, most notably India, but also
Malaysia, as well as Latin America with Argentina, Brazil, Venezuela, and Mexico
becoming, to some extent, federal. Within Europe, some traditionally centralist
countries have become more federal, most notably Spain with autonomous regional
communities, and Great Britain with devolution to Scotland, Wales, and Northern
Ireland. In addition, Belgium has become eVectively a federal country as a way of
accommodating its distinct French- and Dutch-speaking peoples. If federalism has
262 brian galligan

not fared well in Africa, it remains an essential part of the Nigerian constitution,
while South Africa has adopted signiWcant federal features in its new constitution.
The discussion of the chapter moves from consideration of the changing global
environment that favors federalism to the more familiar structures of country-
speciWc federal systems. Subsequent sections examine the robustness and Xexibility
of federalism that result from its particular blend of institutions and depend upon
a highly developed civic and constitutional culture. But Wrst we examine the
changing international environment and historical setting of federalism and its
Wt with the changing global order.

1 Federalism and a Changing World

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Federalism’s resurgence is in part due to its compatibility with the new world order
and the jettisoning of national sovereignty orthodoxy. The world environment has
changed from the twentieth century’s primary focus on national sovereignty and
centralized government to the twenty-Wrst century’s concern with cosmopolitan-
ism and multiple sphere government.
One notable change is the decline of Keynesianism in favor of neoliberal
economics, and the collapse of socialism and centralist planning in favor of market
solutions in most domestic economies. Federalism had been considered an obstacle
to managing a capitalist economy by many twentieth-century commentators. Laski
(1939) pronounced ‘‘the obsolescence of federalism,’’ and inXuenced a generation
of postwar scholars like Gordon Greenwood (1976) from Australia who applied
Laski’s thesis to the supposed needs of postwar reconstruction and managing a
modern economy. Such claims were always exaggerated as the established feder-
ations of the United States, Canada, and Australia Xourished, and successful federal
systems were reestablished in Germany and Austria. In any case, the structural
forces of capitalism have changed with combined economic and technological
developments, especially in communications and commerce, producing a version
of globalization that has reduced the relative signiWcance of nation states. Partly in
reaction, and partly sustained by the same technological advances, local
and regional communities and groupings of people are demanding greater partici-
pation, a phenomenon that Tom Courchene (1995) has called ‘‘glocalization.’’
Federalism is broadly compatible with the post-sovereignty world of the twenty-
Wrst century which is ‘‘characterized by shifting allegiances, new forms of identity
and overlapping tiers of jurisdiction’’ (Camilleri and Falk 1992, 256). As
Andrew Linklater pointed out, ‘‘the subnational revolt, the internationalization
of decision-making and emergent transnational loyalties in Western Europe reveal
 comparative federalism 263

that the processes which created and sustained sovereign states in this region are
being reversed’’ (1998, 113). Hedley Bull (1977) had earlier argued that the world was
moving towards a form of ‘‘neo-medievalism’’ of overlapping structures and cross-
cutting loyalties. ‘‘Complex interdependency’’ (Keohane and Nye 1977) character-
izes much of the modern world of international relations. In contrast, the twenti-
eth-century concern was more with national sovereignty, even though for many
dependent and unstable countries formal sovereignty was often little more than
‘‘organized hypocrisy’’ (Krasner 1999).
For many federal countries, including new world ones like Australia and Canada
as well as old European ones like Germany, the post-sovereignty world of the future
is in some ways a return to the past. The sweep of political history includes long
periods of sprawling empire when nations became states with varying degrees of
autonomy. The British Empire is a case in point, with Australia, along with
Canada, South Africa, India, and many other countries, becoming nations without
sovereignty through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, (Galligan, Roberts,
and TriWletti 2001). Europe and Asia have long histories of complex state arrange-
ments not characterized by sovereign nation states. Great Britain itself, once the
paradigm of a unitary state with a sovereign parliament, has granted devolution to
Scotland and Wales and joined the European Union.
If federalism was at risk in the mid-twentieth century world of nation building
and sovereign nation states, it should thrive in the twenty-Wrst century of complex
interdependency, multiple citizenship allegiances, interdependent and overlapping
jurisdictions, and multiple centers of law and policy-making. As we shall see in the
next sections, federalism is a system of divided sovereignty and multiple govern-
ments with partly separate and partly shared jurisdiction. Adding another inter-
national sphere of governance where some norms and standards are formulated and
collective decisions are made that impinge on a nation’s domestic aVairs complicates
things (Lazar, Telford, and Watts 2003), but in ways that are broadly congenial with
federalism. The ‘‘paradigm shift’’ that Ron Watts identiWes, is ‘‘from a world of
sovereign nation-states to a world of diminished state sovereignty and increased
interstate linkages of a constitutionally federal character’’ (Watts 1999, ix).

2 Federalism’s Interpreters and

National Settings
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Federalism is characterized by two spheres of government, national and state,

operating in the one political entity according to a deWned arrangement for sharing
264 brian galligan

powers so that neither is sovereign over the other. According to William Riker’s
deWnition, ‘‘the activities of government are divided between regional governments
and a central government in such a way that each kind of government has some
activities on which it makes Wnal decisions’’ (Riker 1975, 101). For Daniel Elazar,
‘‘the constituting elements in a federal arrangement share in the processes of
common policy making and administration by right, while the activities of the
common government are conducted in such a way as to maintain their respective
integrities.’’ Elazar summed this up in the neat epigram ‘‘self-rule plus shared rule’’
(Elazar 1987, 12; italics in original)—self-rule in regional communities and shared
rule at the national level. While this has become a cliché about federalism and is
consistent with Elazar’s approach in American Federalism: A View from the States
(1984), it is somewhat misleading as self-rule and shared rule are features of both
spheres of government in a balanced federal system.
The notion of federalism as an association of associations is an old, and partly
misleading one. The old federal form was a league or confederation of member
states that agreed to share in certain matters of collective decision-making, often
for strategic or trade purposes. An early theoretical exposition is found in Johannes
Althusius’ notion of an association of associations (Carney 1965). This was the
institutional form of the earlier American Articles of Confederation that provided
a weak form of national government, unsuited to raising the taxes and armies
necessary to Wght the War of Independence. In 1789, the American constitutional
founders restructured federalism, strengthening central government through mak-
ing its key oYces independent of the member states and directly responsible to the
people (Federalist Papers, Numbers 9 and 10; Diamond 1961). In his observations in
Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville aYrmed that this American innov-
ation in federal design ‘‘rests in truth upon a wholly novel theory, which may be
considered as a great discovery in modern political science’’—namely, making
citizens rather than states or societies, members of the national union (Tocqueville
[1835] 1945, 162).
This grounding of federalism on dual citizenship, that is membership of the new
national union and continuing membership of the older and smaller state unions,
was a major innovation not only in institutional design but also in popular
government. Indeed the two are inextricably linked with the two spheres of
government being independently based in popular sovereignty (Beer 1993). This
helps us answer the question that is sometimes posed as to whether there can be
genuine federalism without democracy. The answer is negative if we are talking
about the modern American or republican form of federalism. Moreover, it is hard
to envisage alternative non-democratic bases to federalism that would be suYcient
to anchor both spheres of government. If this is the case, successful federalism
requires robust democracy in which citizens share membership of two political
communities and participate politically in both. The corollary requirement of such
dual citizenship is real but moderate attachment to both spheres of government.
 comparative federalism 265

Federalism presupposes a sophisticated citizenry with multiple allegiances and a

constitutional culture of limited government.
This is very diVerent from the earlier sociological view that federalism was a
consequence of ethnically diverse societies: as William Livingston put it (1956, 4),
‘‘Federalism was a function not of constitutions but of societies.’’ William Riker’s
earlier reXections on federalism were based on a similar sociological rationale: he
questioned why Australia bothered with federalism when it had no ethnically based
diVerences (1964), and argued federalism was trivial without such diVerences
(1970). Riker, however, was to change his mind about federalism, moving from
sociological to institutional explanations, and from being a New Dealer critic to an
advocate concerned with big government (1975; 1987, xii–xiii). Riker concluded his
federal odyssey on a traditional note that vindicated Madison and the American
founders: ‘‘Taking together all federations in the world at all times, I believe that
federalism has been a signiWcant force for limited government and hence for
personal freedom’’ (1993, 513). This view of federalism as reinforcing a liberal
pluralist system of government in America was shared by Theodore Lowi (1984),
and also by GeoVrey Sawer based upon his reXections on Australian and compara-
tive federalism (1976).
Federalism can provide an institutional basis for ethnically distinct peoples, but
paradoxically that can also facilitate secession, as Donald Horowitz has pointed
out: ‘‘federalism can either exacerbate or mitigate ethnic conXict’’ (Horowitz 1985,
603). In a recent study of federalism and secession in North America, Lawrence
Anderson has a similar warning: ‘‘Federalism may actually whet a given region’s
appetite for secession by creating opportunities for conXict and providing the
region with the opportunity and the institutions needed to mobilize support for
secession’’ (Anderson 2004, 96). Secession of the Southern states of the United
States and Canada’s long-standing national crisis with Quebec separatism are
illustrative cases. Studies of failed federations and attempts to deal with regions
of ethnic conXict provide further evidence of this dangerous aspect of federalism
(DorV 1994). Federalism is in trouble where there is too little national sense among
the people, and too sharp diVerences among regionally based ethnic, religious, and
linguistic groups. The ongoing crisis of Canadian federalism is a consequence of
both: Canadians never properly constituted themselves as a sovereign people,
according to Peter Russell (2004), and there has been an ongoing struggle to
head oV Quebec separatism that periodically threatens the nation (Smiley 1980).
Federalism failed in Yugoslavia because, as Mitja Zagar (2005, 123) explains, ‘‘The
existing constitutional and political system failed to provide for the necessary
cohesion of the multiethnic Yugoslav community.’’
Nevertheless, providing an institutional outlet for subnational distinct peoples
as in Switzerland, Canada, Belgium, and India is one of a number of purposes that
federalism serves. More generally, federalism facilitates government in geograph-
ically large countries such as the United States and Australia as well as Canada and
266 brian galligan

Germany. Federalism in its modern form was designed by the American founders
to provide a system of decentralized and limited government for liberal and
pluralist societies. This has been its main purpose in the United States, Germany,
and Australia, and also a major purpose in Switzerland and Canada (Sharman
1990). Federalism thrives in polities imbued with civil virtues of moderation,
toleration, and support for limited government. Rather than providing a support
structure for ethnically distinct groups concentrated in subnational states, federal-
ism works best in pluralist countries with multiple interests and geographically
scrambled diVerences.

3 Federal Countries
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Federalism is a popular form of government. Watts lists twenty-four countries—

twenty-three after the collapse of Yugoslavia—with about 40 percent of the world’s
population, although the bulk of these live in India (Watts 1999, 8–10). Watts’ list
includes quasi-federations or hybrids that are ‘‘predominantly federations in their
constitutions and operation but which have some overriding federal government
powers more typical of a unitary system.’’ Examples are India, Pakistan, and
Malaysia because of their overriding central emergency powers, and South Africa
that retains some of its pre-1996 unitary features. The new federations since Elazar’s
earlier 1987 list (1987, 43–4) are Belgium, Spain, and South Africa, even though the
latter two countries do not use the term federal in their constitutions, the two tiny
island federations of St. Kitts and Nevis and Micronesia, and Ethiopia.
Federal countries are quite heterogeneous in having diVerent political cultures
and being at such diVerent stages of development that meaningful comparison is
hardly possible. Hence scholars typically group federal countries in manageable
clusters of more similar countries: for example, ‘‘less developed countries’’ (Bahl
and Linn 1994), Latin American countries, which now include Spain (Montero
2001), or more usually well-established Anglo and European federations, Australia,
Austria, Canada, Germany, Switzerland, and the United States (Obinger, Leibfried,
and Castles 2005). Because of its scale and history, India is unique and tends to be
studied individually (Khan 1992; Verney 2003; Rao 2003).
As we might expect, federal counties score highest on Arend Lijphart’s ‘‘Index of
federalism’’ that is based on quantifying variables of federal–unitary dimensions on
a scale of 1 to 5 (Lijphart 1999, appendix A, 312–13). Whereas unitary countries like
Great Britain, New Zealand, and Greece score 1, the Wve well-established feder-
ations, Australia, Canada, Germany, Switzerland, and the United States, all score 5.
 comparative federalism 267

The other federal countries to score highly are Austria and India with 4.5, Venezuela
with 4, Belgium with 3.2, and Spain with 3. Because they are suYciently similar and
have high federal characteristics, the developed European and Anglo federations
are usually chosen for comparative study of federal institutions even though this
narrows the scope of Wndings. Such selectivity underpins both the strength and
limitations of most federalism studies.

4 Institutions of Federalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Federalism has been institutionally embodied in a variety of ways in diVerent

federal countries. Nevertheless there is a set of institutions that are suYciently
common to be identiWed as typical by writers on federalism. These are Wrst, a
written constitution that is diYcult to amend; second a bicameral legislature with a
strong federal chamber to represent the constituent regions; third, a supreme or
constitutional court to protect the constitution though the power of judicial
review; and fourth, intergovernmental institutions and processes to facilitate
collaboration in areas of shared or overlapping jurisdiction (Watts 1999, 7; Lijphart
1999, 4, 187 lists only the former three). It should be noted that none of these
features is exclusively federal, and all can be found in varying forms in non-federal
systems. That is perhaps most obvious for a written constitution, but also applies
to some extent to a system of intergovernmental relations where unitary states have
decentralized arrangements of local government.
The fact that federalism has no uniquely deWning institutional arrangements has
led some like Iva Duchacek (1987) and Rufus Davis (1978) to conclude that
federalism lacks a coherent theory. A contrary view by Filippov, Ordeshook, and
Shevtsova oVers ‘‘a theory of federal design that is universal and complete,’’ based
upon the political party system that channels elites’ behavior to support federalism
(2004, 17, 39–40). Both views are too extreme. The former skeptical view is
premised upon too tight presuppositions of distinctiveness in core institutions
that federalism lacks. The latter claim that political party can provide a universal
and complete theory of federal design is overstated because parties in federal
systems are partly shaped by them and their supporting political culture. Federal-
ism remains a complex and messy system that takes common political institutions
and uses them in federal ways. Moreover, in any particular federal country there
exists a variety of institutions and practices, some federal and others non-federal,
that interact in complex ways. In addition, political institutions worked by human
agents have a reXexive capacity and can be worked in diVerent ways: non-federal
268 brian galligan

ones for federal ends or federal ones for unitary ends. In reviewing the set of four
key ‘‘federal institutions’’ identiWed above, we need to keep these considerations in
mind.

5 Written Constitution
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

While having a written constitution that is diYcult to amend is not exclusive to

federal systems—Japan has one—it does serve a crucial function in underpinning
federalism by anchoring the two levels of government, national and state, and
deWning the division of powers between them. The essence of federalism is two
spheres of government neither of which is sovereign but each of which has deWned
and limited powers. The written constitution is the institutional means of achiev-
ing this. The precise form varies among federal constitutions in ways that reXect
their historical origins and political cultures.
The Anglo constitutions were formed from existing smaller states and provinces
that had been quasi-independent colonies within the British Empire. Hence their
federal constitutions serve the dual functions of creating the national institutions
of government with speciWed powers while guaranteeing the continuing existence
of subnational states or provinces with their powers. Since the latter already existed
with their own establishing acts or constitutions, they receive relatively scant
attention in the US and Australian constitutions that aYrm the states’ continuing
existence and residual powers in so far as these are not modiWed by the constitu-
tion. Although more centralist in its original design, the Canadian constitution
spells out the main powers of the provinces. Germany’s Basic Law adopted in 1949
gives a more comprehensive account of the interdependent roles of federal and
Länder governments (JeVery 1999). The Swiss constitution is the most decentral-
ized in securing the powers of the cantons in order to protect their linguistic
diversity.
A key function of the written constitution is specifying the division of powers or
competencies between the national and state governments. The way this is done is
important in deWning the character of the federal system, although judicial review
and political practice may subsequently vary the way in which a federal system
develops. Legal scholarship has focused on the formal division of powers, and legal
scholars like K. C. Wheare (1963), an Australian professor at Oxford, dominated the
Anglo study of federalism in the post-Second World War decades. A prominent
diVerence in the basic division of powers is that between the US model of
enumerating Congress’ heads of power and guaranteeing the residual to the states,
 comparative federalism 269

that Australia followed, and the Canadian model of enumerating both sets of
powers. In Canada’s case, however, the diVerence has been blurred through judicial
review and federal politics with the Privy Council expanding provincial powers in
sanctioning that country’s evolution from a centralized to a decentralized feder-
ation. In other words, the constitutional division of powers does not necessarily tell
us how a federal system has developed or operates today.
This is acknowledged in recent European scholarship that takes account of
both the distribution of legislative power and practical implementation in distin-
guishing between interstate and intrastate federalism According to Dietmar Braun
(2004, 47), in the interstate model ‘‘jurisdictional authority is separated between
territorial actors and competition and bipolarity predominate,’’ whereas in intras-
tate federalism ‘‘most of the decisions are taken at the federal level where
subgovernments and the federal government have their say’’ and ‘‘implementation
is almost completely in the hands of subgovernments.’’ Canada epitomizes
interstate federalism with Canadian provinces having no direct say in federal
legislation or implementation, but being relatively autonomous in their own
legislative powers. Germany has intrastate federalism with the Länder having a
direct say in national legislation, through representation in the Bundesrat, and also
the main responsibility for its implementation.

6 Difficult to Amend
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The leading federal countries all have constitutions that are hard to amend and
score highly on Lijphart’s (1999, 220–1) most diYcult category, that requiring
‘‘supermajorities’’ greater than two-thirds approval of both houses of the national
legislature. On a scale of 1 to 4, unitary countries such as the United Kingdom and
Sweden score 1, whereas federal countries such as Australia, Canada, Germany,
Switzerland, and the United States score 4. The mean index of constitutional
rigidity for all countries is 2.6 and the median 3. According to Lijphart, Germany’s
score of 3.5 on the index is understated because its amendment procedure requires
a two-thirds majority in both houses of the national legislature and these are
signiWcantly diVerent in composition. The only unitary country to score highly is
Japan, which requires a referendum in addition to two-thirds majorities in both
houses of its legislature.
Among the Wve federal countries with constitutions that are diYcult to amend,
the procedures vary signiWcantly. Australia followed Switzerland in having popular
referendum procedures that are also federally weighted: majorities of voters overall,
270 brian galligan

and majorities in a majority of the states and cantons. Yet the two countries are
quite diVerent in their patterns of usage and success. Switzerland uses referendums
widely for policy as well as constitutional purposes, whereas Australia has a slim
record of passing only eight amendments from forty-four proposals (Galligan
2001). The United States has ratiWcation by three-quarters of the states in addition
to two-thirds majorities in both houses of Congress. Canada has a weighted federal
formula that takes account of both numbers of provinces and population—
two-thirds of the provincial legislatures from provinces containing at least half
the total population—with unanimity required for sections concerning basic
language rights. Germany has the two-thirds rule for majorities in both houses,
with the Bundesrat representing the Länder.
The purpose of having diYcult-to-amend constitutions is to protect the higher
law character of the constitution that controls the other institutions of government.
As Donald Lutz puts it, constitutional amendment should be ‘‘neither too easy nor
too diYcult’’ and successful constitutions should have ‘‘a moderate amendment
rate’’ (Lutz 1994, 357). The amendment rate is aVected by a number of factors, most
notably the length of the constitution and diYculty of the amendment process.
Longer constitutions are more likely to require alteration of their detail; and easy
amendment processes are likely to attract change proposals. The rate of amend-
ment also depends on whether there are alternative avenues for change, such as
judicial review. Australia and the United States with short constitutions, diYcult
amendment procedures, and active judicial review have exceptionally low rates of
change and low counts on Lutz’s amendment rate index (calculated by dividing the
number of amendments by the total years of operation of the constitution): 0.09
and 0.13, respectively. Switzerland is higher at 0.78 and Germany with 2.91 is above
the 2.54 average for thirty-two countries (Lutz 1994, 369). Canada is omitted
because it continued to rely upon Britain’s Westminster parliament until Trudeau’s
patriation of the constitution in the 1980s, replete with complex amendment
procedures and a Charter of Rights. Since then Canada has been engaged in
successive rounds of discussion for ‘‘mega-constitutional’’ change that have been
overly ambitious and fruitless (Russell 2004).

7 Judicial Review
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

While federal constitutions specify in broad terms the division of powers between
national and state governments, judges and courts interpret and apply those
provisions in speciWc cases. Some federations have specialized constitutional courts
 comparative federalism 271

for making such decisions, while others rely upon general courts (Watts 1999, 100).
The United States, Australia, Canada, India, Malaysia, and Austria have general
multipurpose courts, while Germany, Belgium, and Spain have specialized
constitutional courts. Switzerland has a more limited Federal Tribunal to decide
the validity of cantonal laws, but uses popular referendums for federal laws. The
jurisprudence of courts exercising judicial review is aVected by their character and
staYng, with generalist courts often taking a more literalist approach. Whereas
constitutional experts are appointed to constitutional courts, specialists in various
branches of the law or legal generalists are required for general purpose courts
where constitutional adjudication is only part of the workload. The Australian
High Court is a case in point where, typically, leading barristers and judges from
lower courts with only incidental constitutional experience are appointed by the
Commonwealth government after consultation with the states. In contrast, the
German constitutional court has specialists in constitutional law appointed equally
by the Bundesrat and the Länder. Irrespective of the character of the court,
federations with linguistic diversity such as Canada and Switzerland have arrange-
ments for ensuring proportional representation of judges from those linguistic
groups.
Within federations, constitutional adjudication and interpretation are import-
ant because they aVect government powers as well as individual rights and group
interests. In deciding particular cases involving constitutional matters, courts also
determine the way constitutions are to be interpreted. While courts can make bold
and innovative constitutional decisions, they rely upon cases coming to them. That
requires the mobilization of support groups with the dedication and Wnancial
backing to bring test cases (Epp 1998). Courts also have to ensure their decisions
are accepted by the other branches of government, so cannot get too far out of step
with the mainstream political consensus. Through the appointment process, gov-
ernments can shape the direction of courts over the longer term, and can often
work around their decisions in the shorter term.
The signiWcance of courts as arbiters in federal systems varies from time to time
and among federations. In recent decades the expansive interpretation of powers in
federations such as the United States, Canada, and Australia has reduced the role of
their supreme courts as arbiters of their federal systems. As a consequence, the
balance of powers between national and state or provincial governments is deter-
mined mainly by patterns of national politics and the push and pull of intergov-
ernmental relations. National governments have become more prominent since the
Second World War, although in Canada’s case this has been more than oVset by
province building by Quebec and western Canada. Moreover, constitutional adju-
dication in Canada and the United States has shifted mainly to rights protection in
interpreting charters and bills of rights. Lacking a constitutional bill of rights, the
Australian High Court Xirted with implied constitutional rights during the 1990s
but is severely constrained in extending its rights jurisdiction without a bill of rights.
272 brian galligan

8 Legislative Bicameralism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Legislative bicameralism is one of the institutional bastions of federalism and a

standard feature of all signiWcant federations (Watts 1999, 92). Legislative bicam-
eralism is not peculiar to federal systems, however, and traditionally eVected
sectoral and class representation. Within federal systems, bicameralism has become
an important institution for representing subnational governments or groupings of
peoples in the national legislature in a variety of ways.
Historically, bicameralism was a key part of the Connecticut compromise
between large and small states that underpinned the United States constitution.
A bicameral Congress with the Senate based on equal state representation was
necessary to secure small states’ support for the constitution. Through representing
diVerent interests, based on state rather than local constituencies, the Senate would
also be an important check on congressional power. Originally appointed by the
states, the US Senate increased its legitimacy and standing when direct election by
the people of the states was introduced in 1913.
Australia followed the American model with its Senate having virtually co-equal
powers with the House of Representatives. While it cannot propose or amend
money bills, the Australian Senate has the larger power of passing or refusing to
pass them. The Wrst restriction is common to the US constitution, and the second is
to respect the monetary prerogative of the responsible government executive based
in the House of Representatives. The number of senators per state is equal,
originally set at six but now twelve per state plus two for each of the two territories,
with the total number Wxed to half the size of the House of Representatives that has
been increased from time to time. The earlier 1891 draft of the Australian consti-
tution copied the American model of having the senate elected by state legislatures,
but this was changed by the 1897–98 convention to election by the people of the
states. Party discipline dominates the Australian Senate, much more so than the
American, but the adoption of proportional representation in 1948 has opened up
the chamber to minor parties and independents that have usually held the balance
of power.
Germany’s bicameral arrangement has a more directly federal purpose, with the
second chamber or Bundesrat comprised of delegates appointed by Länder gov-
ernments and voting on their instructions. The Länder quota of members is
proportional to relative population size and varies from three to six. The Bundesrat
has veto power over all federal legislation that involves Länder administration,
which in practice is over 50 percent. Germany’s bicameral structure its highly
integrative and underpins its intrastate brand of federalism. Nevertheless, German
bicameralism provides a substantial check on legislative power because of the
representation it gives diVerent national and regional, as well as popular and
party, interests.
 comparative federalism 273

Switzerland has a strong bicameral system in which the second chamber or

Council of States has full legislative powers and hence a veto over all legislation.
Members of the Council are chosen by direct election of the people of the cantons,
with two representatives for each of the twenty larger cantons and one each for the
six smaller ones.
Canada is the exception with an ineVectual bicameral system due to the
appointment of senators by the national government on political and patronage
grounds. This makes the Canadian Senate a tame chamber despite its considerable
formal powers of having to pass, and being in theory able to reject, any bills.
IneVectual bicameralism has exacerbated problems in Canadian governance, espe-
cially the incorporation of the western provinces in national decision-making.
While western reformers advocate a Triple-E Senate—elected, equal, and eVec-
tive—on the Australian model, national governments dominated by the most
populous central provinces, Ontario and Quebec, have been reluctant to address
the issue. Alberta’s attempt to legitimate its senators by selecting candidates
through provincial elections has been stymied by the national government’s refusal
to appoint those elected to the Senate.
Apart from having diVerent institutional structures, bicameral legislatures work
diVerently depending on how they interact with other parts of the political system,
especially political parties. While it is customary to emphasize that federal second
chambers represent state or regional interests (Watts 1999, 95), this is only part of
the story. Because Australian parties are dominant and well integrated across
national and state spheres, senators represent party interests that are national
rather than state focused. Nevertheless, senators bring state issues into parliamen-
tary caucuses and provide disproportionate representation for smaller states.
United States senators have state constituencies, but party and national concerns
are typically more signiWcant. In Germany, party provides a dynamic overlay on
Länder representation through Länder governments’ choosing their delegates to
the Bundesrat (Sturm 1999). Similarly, in Switzerland party is signiWcant in the
regional representation role of Council of States members. Bicameralism increases
the complexity of representation through bringing combinations of party and state
and regional interests into the national legislature.

9 Intergovernmental Relations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Federalism divides powers and allocates them to separate spheres of government,

whereas the making and management of public policy in complex areas often
274 brian galligan

requires close cooperation. Hence, intergovernmental relations are an important

operational part of federal systems, and have proliferated with the expansion of
modern government, especially the roles and responsibilities of national govern-
ments, and the complexity of major policy areas that attract both spheres of
government. As AgranoV points out, ‘‘a steady demand for governmental services
in health, education, housing, income maintenance, employment and training, and
personal social services has forced governments at all levels to become more
interdependent’’ (AgranoV 1986). So much so that in the United States, ‘‘public
administration and the processes of federalism have merged to a nearly indistin-
guishable point’’ (AgranoV and McGuire 2001, 671).
The basic view of federalism underlying most political and policy studies is a
concurrent one—both spheres of government sharing in major policy areas. As one
of the pioneers of this view put it, federalism was more like a marble than a layered
cake (Grodzins 1966), where there was a mixing and blending of federal and
state government activities. Elazar formulated this more technically as a non-
hierarchical policy-matrix—‘‘polycentric by design,’’ like ‘‘a communications net-
work that establishes the linkages that create the whole’’ (1987, 13). Understanding
how such a complex system works entails exploring institutions and processes of
intergovernmental relations. Except among mainly constitutional lawyers, this
view of federalism has largely replaced the older, classic view of federalism as a
coordinate system consisting of two sets of machinery criss-crossing without ever
touching or hampering one another’s functioning, as Bryce put it in describing
American federalism in the nineteenth century (Bryce 1888, vol. 1, 425; also Wheare
1963, 93).
Intergovernmental Wscal relations are a crucial part of federalism and of major
interest to scholars of public Wnance and public choice economics who have
attempted to incorporate political mechanisms into their abstract models (see
classic papers collected in Grewal, Brennan, and Mathews 1980). One key concern
has been with the relationship between federalism and the size of government.
GeoVrey Brennan and James Buchanan (1980, 15) argued that decentralization of
taxes and expenditures produced smaller government because people and corpor-
ations could vote with their feet, and hence governments would have to compete
for mobile sources of revenue. This anti-Leviathan thesis is disputed by Jonathan
Rodden (2003) who argues that expenditure decentralization is associated with
faster growth in overall government spending due to ‘‘over Wshing’’ by competing
governments in the common Wscal pool. Rodden concludes that only when decen-
tralized expenditure is funded by ‘‘own-source’’ taxes is there slower government
growth (2003, 697–8). But this conclusion is not robust, drawing mainly on the
experience of the highly decentralized federations, Canada, Switzerland, and the
United States, whose tax decentralization and smaller government might well be
manifestations of more basic political economy factors. As well, constraining
mechanisms imposed by central government on recipient states can restrain their
 comparative federalism 275

over Wshing. Australia is not included in Rodden’s analysis and is a case in point—
the Australian states rely on central grants for half their revenue but are also
constrained by strong central controls. Thus, whether federalism is associated
with smaller or larger government depends on the mix of political and institutional
factors of particular countries.
Political scientists and policy analysts have been probing other political and
institutional factors that shape processes and outcomes in federal systems. A recent
Wnding is that political-institutional variables—the proximity of elections, the
ideology of incumbent governments, and the severity of formal rules limiting
deWcits—all have a signiWcant eVect on budgetary outcomes (Petry 2004, 222).
This conclusion is based upon pooled evidence over the past couple of decades for
Wve federations. In this and other studies, Canada and Germany stand out as high
deWcit countries, while Australia, Switzerland, and the United States are low deWcit
countries.
DiVerent types of intergovernmental institutions aVect federal Wscal policy-
making in diVerent ways, as Dietmar Braun (2003, 2004) shows using case studies
of Canada, Germany, Belgium, and Switzerland. He identiWes Canada and Ger-
many as opposite federal types—‘‘interstate’’ and ‘‘intrastate,’’ respectively—and
explains how their institutional diVerences are played out in Wscal policy processes
and outcomes. Canada’s national government has extensive scope for Wscal policy-
making but weak implementation because provinces are independent with their
own legislative powers. The federal government can gain leverage through provid-
ing incentives such as contributing to shared cost programs, or it can cut its
expenditure and reign in provincial spending through withdrawing from shared
programs. Whereas Canada has a competitive tax system, albeit with a shared
collection arrangement for income tax, Germany has a cooperation one (Braun
2003, 118). Germany’s intrastate federalism incorporates the Länder in national
Wscal policy via the Bundesrat that ensures consensus but favors the status quo, and
facilitates implementation because everyone has agreed (Braun 2004, 25–8).
One of the main concerns with federalism, that fuelled the opposition of many
left-wing parties and commentators in the mid-twentieth century, was its conser-
vative character in favoring the status quo and making reform and innovation
diYcult. A new study by Obinger, Leibfried, and Castles (2005) shows the com-
plexity of federalism’s interaction on social policy in ‘‘new world,’’ Australia,
Canada, and the United States, and European federations, Austria, Germany, and
Switzerland. Using historical case studies, they Wnd that federalism impeded social
welfare policy early on, but after consolidation in mature systems other
cross-national diVerences explain variations among countries. The ways in which
federalism aVects policy innovation and development are multiple and complex,
variable over time, and contingent on particular institutional conWgurations,
political actors, and pressure groups, as well as broader historical and cultural
contexts. Federalism provides multiple veto-points (Tsebelis 2002) that can check
276 brian galligan

national government initiatives, but of course these can be either progressive or

conservative. In addition, federalism provides multiple entry points for new
initiatives, and multiple sites for policy innovation.

10 Conclusion and Future Directions

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Federalism has proved to be a Xexible and resilient form of government, and federal
countries have generally prospered since the mid-twentieth century. In recent
decades, the government environment has changed in ways that are congenial to
federalism, with increased prominence of market solutions over government
direction and planning that lessens the need for centralized and unitary govern-
ment. The prominence of national independence and sovereignty has decreased
with increased globalization of rule making, standard setting, communications,
and business. How federal systems are aVected by globalization and how particular
federal countries respond require careful study of individual countries as well
as comparative analysis (Lazar, Telford, and Watts 2003). Timeframes, as well as
country speciWc and comparative studies, remain important, as the study of
federalism and the welfare state shows (Obinger, Liebfried, and Castles 2005).
Whether federalism produces larger or smaller government, or whether it impedes
or facilitates policy change, depend on the complex interaction of multiple political
as well as institutional factors at a particular time, and since these factors are
dynamic there can be signiWcant change over time. The serious study of federalism
is not for the faint-hearted, and simple-minded prognostications such as Laski’s
(1939) ‘‘obsolescence of federalism’’ claim are no longer acceptable.
The study of federalism will remain central to understanding the politics of
particular federal countries, so detailed country studies will remain necessary. For
example, as the recent study by Bakvis and Skogstad (2002) shows, federalism is
central to major political and public policy developments and challenges in Can-
ada, quite apart from the ongoing constitutional issues of trying to accommodate
Quebec within Canada’s constitutional federalism. Comparative federal studies are
also necessary to deepen the understanding of the complex working of federalism,
as has been the case particularly in the study of Wscal federalism (Braun 2003).
While some countries might adopt federal systems, as Belgium and Spain and, to
a lesser extent, South Africa, have recently done, the more likely future scenario is
for a proliferation of quasi-federal, asymmetric, and part-federal arrangements
tailored to particular purposes and needs. More typical will be cases like the close
political association between Australia and New Zealand that has a blend of
 comparative federalism 277

inter-national, federal, and asymmetric elements (Galligan and Mulgan 1999).

While federal frameworks are helpful in understanding aspects of non-federal
countries, for example China’s Wscal decentralization (Davis 1999), it is unlikely
that China will evolve into a classic federal system. The challenge for scholars will
be to adapt and develop conceptual models for understanding evolving and new
forms of decentralization, especially in non-Western countries like China.
Federal systems provide working models of power sharing in complex systems of
multiple spheres of government. Whether this is helpful for understanding the
expanding sphere of regional and global governance and the interactions between
these and domestic governments, as Imbeau claims (2004, 13), is to be established.
The suggestion made here is that the two are compatible. A challenge for future
scholarship will be to show whether and in what ways the study of federal systems
assists in the study of larger regional and global spheres of governance. The
blending of international and intergovernmental relations will likely be a rich
Weld that beneWts both international and federal studies.

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 chapter 15
...................................................................................................................................................

T E R R I TO R I A L
INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

jean-claude thoenig

Territorial politics as social and political constructs are major issues for govern-
ment and for policy-making. Studying its properties and its dynamics shapes a
domain of its own in social sciences. The present chapter presents dominant
approaches that structure knowledge about center–periphery relationships. It also
summarizes key Wndings from a comparative perspective.

1 The Territory as a Social and

Political Construct
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

ReXecting a federalist or pluralist perspective, the object of territorial politics is often

called intergovernmental relationships. In centralized nation states inXuenced by
Roman law, it is rather deWned as the study of center–local relationships.
Relating territorial administration and political authority is a fundamental
problem for public institutions and polities. The distribution of governmental
282 jean-claude thoenig

authority by area and by function had already puzzled the founding fathers of
political theory and public administration (Fesler 1949). The question still remains
open today: Is it possible to deWne an acceptable level and size of territory for
administering policies?
Common sense deWnes territory as a geographical factor. Nature and topography
may condition economic activity, social interaction, and political jurisdiction. But
physical features do not constitute the whole meaning of territory as a fundamental
feature in politics, policy-making, and polity.
Social sciences deWne space as a dependent variable (Gottmann 1980). Territory
is associated with the spatial limits within which a governmental institution has
authority and legitimacy, and representation and participation are structured.
Political institutions constitute jurisdictions for public policy and for represen-
tation. But territorial politics should never be restricted to the description of legal
texts and the levels that are formalized—the local or municipal, the regional, the
state or national, the supranational or international. Space and its management are
deWned and redeWned not only by lawyers and administrators but also by social
contest and by changing identities and solidarities.

2 Contemporary Issues
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Territory had been closely associated with the emergence and the triumph of the
nation state throughout Europe. But, at the end of the nineteenth century, it started
to be considered as a legacy of traditional society. Its decline was predicted. The
reason was that massive urbanization, a new social division of labor, and
the expansion of economic markets would require more functional approaches
(Durkheim 1964). DiVerentiated localisms would be merged into a uniWed national
system. Territorial roots and identities would be substituted by functional and
economic cleavages (Paddison 1983).
Territorial politics was considered as belonging to the past. The reason was partly
due to a theoretical confusion. The economy became internationally integrated.
Distance was shortened in terms of time of transportation. Cultural standardiza-
tion and mass markets spread around the globe. Modernization was considered as
incompatible with territory.
Territorial issues, far from declining, have come back on the political agenda.
Subnational levels of government absorb a greater share of governmental growth
than the center (Sharpe 1988). Public monies are in shortage, the exploding costs of
 territorial institutions 283

the welfare state model not being balanced by increasing public revenues. The state,
even in the countries where it is strong and centralized, is unable to manage by
itself the various facets of life (Balme, Garraud, HoVmann-Martinot, and Ritaine
1994).

3 Some Issues Relate to the

Nation States
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Productivity gains and better coordination between various levels induce ration-
alization. Small local jurisdictions are merged. A wide redistribution of functions
and policy domains is undertaken by a strong decentralization of authority,
revenues, and accountability. Quasi-market principles claimed by ‘‘new public
management’’-style reforms relax the command and control approaches of inter-
governmental relationships. They tend to separate the democratic element of
government from the managerial aspects of delivering service.
Democratization and participation initiatives are said to strengthen democracy
and lower civic apathy (Gabriel, HoVmann-Martinot, and Savitch 2000). National
government seems out of reach for ordinary citizens. Elections are considered an
insuYcient voice strategy by inhabitants and representation an unreliable account-
ability process to control decision-makers. To bring the people back at the subna-
tional level without weakening national control, to co-opt stakeholders without
lowering the legitimacy of elected bodies, become key concerns.
Regionalisms keep reemerging in many countries (Rokkan and Urwin 1982).
Top-down regionalism refers to decentralization institutionalized from and by the
national level. National governments share the funding of policy domains with
subnational levels, and transfer speciWc functions to a level considered as more
eYcient (Stoltz 2001). Bottom-up regionalism expresses social mobilization within
civil society around ideological references and identity claims (Keating 1998). It is
less a violent revolt against an oppressive or colonialist center, aiming at setting up
a totally separate nation state, and more a claim for institutional autonomy and
functional devolution. It expresses the will to have ethnic or linguistic identities
recognized (Moreno 1997).
Public problems undergo profound changes. Issues ignore more and more the
limits of territorial jurisdictions. Their treatment may induce externalization
eVects. Solutions cannot be broken down in a set of simple repetitive technical
solutions but imply integrated interdisciplinary approaches. Solutions become
284 jean-claude thoenig

more uncertain while the problem to address becomes more complex. A clear and
stable division of functions between levels is no longer possible. More horizontal
coordination, ad hoc functional Xexibility, and pragmatic interinstitutional
cooperation are required.

4 Other Issues Relate to Beyond the

Nation-states Dynamics
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Supranational political conWgurations tend to cover most continents. A spectacular

change happens with the emergence of the European Union. Neither a full state nor
a mere association of free country members, it provides a fruitful ground for
innovative patterns of intergovernmental relationships. To foster economic devel-
opment in an open economy implies that territorial dimensions play a key role
in keeping jobs located in high salary regions while attracting investments to
underdeveloped areas. With the increasing role played by world public institutions,
nation states lose actual control when not the monopolist of regulatory policies in
many sectors.
These phenomena raise old questions in new terms and new questions in
classic terms: the formation of states and their disintegration, territorial roots
of governmental legitimacy, advantages and disadvantages of decentralization
and recentralization, ethnic identities, spatial territories, and socioeconomic
development.

5 A Domain of its Own

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The international community shares a common standard of scientiWc excellence.

The time is over when distaste for theory, predilection for ideological advocacy,
and social engineering were acceptable. Eclectic methodology and lack of rigor are
discarded, despite the fact that some atheoretical publications have been quite
inXuential depicting in a learned manner territorial politics in the UK (Bulpitt
1983) or in France (Chevallier 1978). The links with prescriptive approaches
 territorial institutions 285

inXuenced by law, such as the French ‘‘science administrative,’’ or with mere

descriptions of formal institutional settings, as in the case of prebehavioral
American public administration theory, have been cut.
Territorial politics borrows massively from disciplines like political science,
sociology, and economics. Streams and domains like local government studies
(Chisholm 1989), community studies (Aiken and Mott 1970), policy analysis
(Pressman and Wildavsky 1973), urban aVairs (Goldsmith 1995), not to mention
electoral and party studies (Gibson 1997), international relations, and economic
sociology, paved the way for the understanding of intergovernmental relationships
as such.
A center–periphery paradigm has been quite inXuential in political science.
Within society, a center has the monopoly of deWning what is sacred, with the
ultimate and irreducible content in the realm of beliefs, values, and symbols (Shils
1975). The periphery is taken to be in itself awkward, narrow-minded, unpolished,
and unimaginative. To avoid impoverished autonomy, it accepts enriching depend-
ence and defers to the center as providing the locus of excellence, vitality, and
creativity. Centrality provides cultural salvation. The center also controls action
tools such as roles and institutions that embody these cultural frameworks and
propagate them. Dependency theories studying underdevelopment (Frank 1967)
and world order (Wallerstein 1974) argue that conXict loaded domination rela-
tionships link core or metropolis to satellites or peripheries. The center imposes a
principle of order, acts as a dominator, and structures a unitary capacity to a
periphery that is fragmented, disorganized, and not cohesive.
Territorial politics has reached the status of a proper domain. It has its own
research agenda. Asymmetries, cultural Xows, and dependencies are considered as
research questions. They no longer should be treated as postulates. It is up to
inquiry to verify how far, in a given empirical context, the center also depends on
the periphery, if the relationships between national, regional, and local levels really
are transitive or linear, in which conditions the role of the center is stable,
increasing, or losing ground, and whether more than one center may exist.

6 Approaches and Debates

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A common domain does not imply uniformity and consensus. Debates are
permanent and diVerentiation exists.
Some forms of national insularities suggest a diversity of emphasis and agendas.
Countries such as the USA, Britain, and France had entered the Weld quite early in
286 jean-claude thoenig

the 1960s and in the 1970s. Britain and France have maintained a persistent stream
of publications. In the 1990s the institutional expansion of the EU has oVered a new
knowledge frontier and has attracted an impressive volume of literature.
The USA had made massive contributions in the 1960s and 1970s. The irony is that
American scholars carried out more in-depth Weld research on European countries
than on their own. During the 1970s political scientists like Douglas Ashford and
Sidney Tarrow made pioneering contributions on France, the UK, Italy, and Sweden
(Tarrow 1977; Ashford 1982). In more recent years they have experienced a decline in
academic attention to the relationships between federal, state, and local levels.
Comprehensive textbooks, that remain today references, had already been published
in the 1980s (Anton 1989). North American research has developed a far greater
interest for policy studies dealing mainly with policy performances and who gets
what, when, and how from governments. In parallel they have kept much interest for
an established tradition like community power studies.
In the late 1960s French territorial politics was studied using extensive Weld
observation and identifying in a systematic way the informal links and practices
that bind local elected oYcials and central government bureaucrats and represen-
tatives (Thoenig 1975; Grémion 1976). Its apparently normative neutral and
empirically rooted perspective, as well as the rather counterintuitive observations
it collected, were a source of inspiration for many scholars in Europe and abroad.
In the UK a publicly-funded initiative was launched at the end of the 1970s on the
speciWc topic of center–local government relationships. British political science has
become a leading contributor to the advancement of agnostic knowledge in the domain
(Rhodes 1981; Goldsmith 1986; Page and Goldsmith 1987; Jones 1988; Sharpe 1989).
Academic debates are still alive. Territorial politics as a domain has attracted
research approaches and interpretations that may lead to opposite conclusions.
The lack of consensus among scholars is reinforced by ideological competition and
partisan conXicts inside civil society about the model of good government to adopt
for the coming years. Several classiWcations of approaches have been suggested
(Rhodes 1991; Stoker 1995; Pierre and Peters 2000). They can be subdivided into
four main classes: political dynamics; state theories; interorganizational theory;
and negotiated governance.

7 Political Dynamics: Polities Matter

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Territorial politics as a domain has marginalized traditional public administration.

It postulates that a rather speciWc world called a polity exists with its own processes
and rationalities. Institutions are a research problem, not a given. Field research
 territorial institutions 287

makes a diVerence. Real practices, and not formal authority, enable an understand-
ing of who matters more and who has less inXuence. Political dynamics are main
causes of a consequence called territorial politics.
Centralization provided the enigma to be solved about territorial politics. All
major countries on both sides of the Atlantic were experiencing a spectacular
concentration of resources, issues to be handled and policy domains covered in
the hands of their national authorities, in federal as well as in unitary states. Many
writers adopted a way of reasoning that implied a kind of zero-sum game. The role
of the center increases at the expense of the role of the periphery. The autonomy
the localities lose is equal to the autonomy the center wins. In Western democracies
a general rule is supposed to exist. The reason why central governments are able to
impose their wills in such an easy way has mainly to do with the fact that local
government is politically weak (Page and Goldsmith 1987).
The interpretation of centralization has fueled intensive debate (King 1993;
Stoker 1995). A dual polity approach pushes political scientists to look not only
at the national level but to consider also the local levels involved, their interests,
cultures, and margins of discretion. But it also postulates that the national level acts
as a unitary and strategic actor. It assumes that the national state is able to get its
decisions implemented. Political science tends to overestimate the ability of polit-
ical leaders, either local or national, to set the rules of the game. Alternative
approaches such as organization theory give recurrent proof of such fallacies. Is
the center a mere set of loosely coupled political fractions? The answer is: it
depends, and strong evidence is needed to prove it (Dupuy and Thoenig 1985).
The link with old institutionalism is cut when social sciences, having observed how
scattered and fragmented the national level polity is when it is not the executive,
adopts words that Wt the complexity of the real world (Hayward and Wright 2002).
Mainstream political science favors bottom-up approaches. The emphasis is
given to local political phenomena. The national level is basically described as a
set of background factors such as legalistic principles and budgetary transfers.
Historical evolution over more than a century is assumed to explain how the
periphery is integrated, the representation models, and the national resources
allocation structure to localities. Interviews with local elected oYcials and
administrators provide a major data source. Their policy brokerage styles, their
administrative activism, and their partisan commitments are compared. Inferences
are made from their experience about political entrepreneurship and political
conXict in central–local relationships (Tarrow 1977; Page 1991).
Money talks (Wright 1988). Financial data have to be questioned as relevant
indicators. For instance, is the percentage of national grants in the revenues of local
authorities a reliable indicator of their subordination to the national polity and
central policy-making? Is money an eVective way for the center actually to call the
tune (Anton, Crawley, and Kraner 1980; Anton 1989)? A Wscal federalism perspec-
tive deals with multilevel government within the same geographical area, and
288 jean-claude thoenig

policy instruments such as intergovernmental grants, Wscal decentralization, and

revenue sharing (Oates 1999). Models are built with respect to the appropriate
assignment of tasks and Wnances, in the case of EU tax harmonization and local
government Wnance in the UK (James 2004) or about the equalizing performance
of central grants to communes in France (Gilbert and Guengant 2002).
Political dynamics should test counter-intuitive hypotheses. Increasing central-
ization does not mechanically imply less autonomy and inXuence for the localities;
quite the reverse. Classic political science approaches tend to assume that political
variables explain most of the variance about territorial politics. Are polities really
in control? To what extent should one consider political dynamics not as causes
but as intended or unintended consequences of subnational aVairs and their
government?

8 State Theories: Global Contexts

Matter
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Most state theories share a paradox. They state that macro-level factors determine
patterns of central–local relations. Broader political, economic, and social contexts
give birth to an unending series of crises and changes preventing territorial public
aVairs from reaching a level of stability. Center–local relationships are considered
as dependent variables, as social constructs. Independent or exogenous variables
explain why and how formal as well as informal links and norms emerge and
evolve.
Early social class conXict approaches assumed that local governments are mere
passive servants of national and international capitalism (Castells and Godard 1974;
Dunleavy 1980). Critical scholars argued that territorial politics does not really
matter as a relevant knowledge domain and action arena. In the 1980s two less
abrupt functional explanations were oVered. The dual state thesis argues that the
state keeps control of social investment policies at the national level. It leaves the
management of social consumption policies in the hands of subnational author-
ities. Local democracy provides remedies to help the poor Wghting the failures of
markets, while national politics allocates, in a closed corporate manner, support,
goods, and services to the proWtable private sector (Saunders 1982). Social
consumption being necessarily subordinate to social investment, local levels are
therefore dominated by central levels.
 territorial institutions 289

Another model argued that the domination of the national state stems from the
fact that major tensions occur between the center and the localities. Societies are
divided and unevenly developed. The local state is caught in a dilemma: It
represents local interests to the center but also is in charge of implementing
national policies within its jurisdictions (Duncan and Goodwin 1988). A more
recent line of reasoning argues that the changing nature of territorial politics at the
end of the twentieth century is less the consequence of some functional imperative
and more the product of social struggles in unstable international economies and
societal orders (Stoker 1990, 1991; Painter 1991). Post-Fordist mass production and
consumption require new regimes to support sustained economic growth. Ruling
political elites may still occasionally shape intergovernmental relations according
to their wills but they have lost part of their control. Established roles of localities,
as set up for a Fordist welfare state, are losing ground. New institutional arrange-
ments are still not stabilized. Local government may not necessarily remain a major
player. New management thinking favors principles such as hyper-Xexibility,
customer-orientation, and enterprise culture.
Such a research stream, active in France and in the UK, has been inXuenced by
neo-Marxism and by political economics such as regulationist theory (Aglietta
1979). Urban renewal, housing, employment, and Wscal-Wnancial issues provide
favorite empirical entry points. Observing local government leads many writers to
interpret in a much broader way reforms of the national state. Changes in the
socioeconomic stratiWcation of the population, formal reform designs, and ideo-
logical struggles between the left and the right have inspired many writers, espe-
cially in the UK (Crouch and Marquand 1989; Rhodes 2000).

9 Interorganizational Analysis:
Systems Matter
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A third research tradition has deep roots in the sociology of organizations. Organ-
izations are considered as pluralist arenas for action. They are structured by and
around power games. To satisfy their speciWc stakes and achieve their respective
tasks, actors are dependent on each other. The central concern for this tradition lies
in unraveling the extent to which asymmetric exchanges occur and power is
distributed. Their actual inner functioning is treated as a central problem for
inquiry. Center–local relations are considered as an independent variable, as a
cause, and not only as a consequence, of policy-making and polities.
290 jean-claude thoenig

This perspective explores the intergovernmental black box: Dependence and

power games. Central–local relationships operate like a quasi-organized system,
as a conWguration of interorganizational relations, and not as a centrifugal set of
partitioned worlds. Despite the fact that in most countries no formal pyramidal
hierarchy integrates the various levels of government, and that in federal countries
states or Länder have a lot of discretionary autonomy, all stakeholders involved in
the process of territorial government are linked by some common action ground.
The national level acts and non-acts have direct or indirect consequences for the
local level, and vice versa, even when each level does not intervene in exactly the
same policy domains.
Michel Crozier and Jean-Claude Thoenig model the central–local relationships
in France as a honeycomb structure linking the smallest village to Paris (Crozier
and Thoenig 1976). It views relationships between subnational elected politicians
such as mayors and national state Weld agents such as prefects as typical and
repetitive mutual dependence games. Each of them takes a decisive advantage
from getting access and support to a partner belonging to the other institutional
side. The reason is that each side controls information, legitimacy, monies, know-
how, and policies that are crucially needed by the other side. Exchanges of
resources are daily practices. The model is structured around a process of cross-
regulation that stabilizes the system beyond electoral hazards and partisan diver-
sity. Its members follow informal but strongly established interaction norms. This
model explains that the national level would be blind and powerless without having
access to the local politicians. Local councils have much more inXuence on the state
than one would expect in a jacobine country such as France.
Rod Rhodes (1981) suggests a similar model about British territorial politics.
It too underscores dependence games between national authorities and local
administrators, participants maneuvering for selWsh reasons such as achieving
their goals, deploying resources to increase their inXuence while avoiding becom-
ing dependent on other players.
Power is deWned as the ability for an actor or a coalition of actors to get from
other actors acts and non-acts the latter would not deliver without being depen-
dent on the former to succeed in their own task or turf. How some form of
compatibility between diVerent logics of action is achieved, by formal coordination
or by informal cooperation, how arrangements are worked out between various
players active at various levels or the same levels, which kinds of de facto rules and
social norms regulate these games between elected legislators and executives,
administrative agencies, interest groups, inhabitants, and even Wrms, allow an
understanding of and an anticipation about why a system operates the way it
does, therefore why it handles issues and policies in the way it does.
Interorganizational analysis relies on case studies. It brings the Weldwork back in.
Information collected by observations of daily behaviors and in-depth
semi-structured interviews plays an important role. It does not rule out that
 territorial institutions 291

those who have legitimate authority at the top, whether inside speciWc institu-
tions—for instance the top elected oYcer such as the mayor in a city—or inside the
intergovernmental system—for instance the national cabinet—are also those who
have real power on issues and policies. But it favors a bottom-up approach and the
study of how decisions, whether small and routinely-based or highly visible and
strategic, are made and actually implemented.
Center–local relationships systems are considered as meso-social orders. Their
properties do not mechanically and passively reXect the interests of some dominant
social class, the wills of the constitutional designers, or national folk culture. They
also are not mere applications of broader institutional patterns, as institutional
theory would predict. Two countries may share a similar federal constitution or
may adopt identical new public management guidelines. The chances are high that,
actually, the way they manage territorial aVairs shall be very diVerent. In a world of
increasing globalization, local variations are kept alive across countries, regions,
and even policy domains. Interorganizational approaches tend to treat intergov-
ernmental systems as independent variables. Local orders impose appropriate
issues, norms, and practices on their members that are out of their individual
control and awareness.
Territorial systems address speciWc content issues. Several interorganizational
oriented scholars add two other facets to their analysis: policy networks and policy
analysis.
Power and dependence approaches take into account the impact of territorial
interorganization systems on and their variation across policy networks. Such
networks draw together the organizations that interact within a particular Weld.
Rod Rhodes (1988) identiWes six types for Britain in which local authorities are
involved and that reXect a series of discrete policy interests. They diVerentiate
according to their level of integration. Some are loosely knit. They are basically
issue networks regrouping a large number of participants with a limited degree of
interdependence such as inner city partnerships (Leach 1985). Others are closely
coupled. Their access is restricted. They regroup extremely dependent and homo-
genous communities belonging to the same regional territory and communities
that share common policy and service delivery responsibility (Ranson, Jones, and
Walsh 1985). Some, called intergovernmental, are moderately integrated such as
national bodies representing local government councils (Rhodes 1986).
Territorial local orders select issues to be part of governmental agendas at various
levels and elaborate solutions or policies (Duran and Thoenig 1996). Their legit-
imacy derives to a large extent from the outcomes they deliver, and not only from
law and elections. Roles, interdependence relationships, and power structure vary a
lot between policy sectors even when the same parties—communes, central state
agencies, regional councils—are involved. At the same time social norms are shared
that allow repetitive games and predictable behaviors to last. The Thoenig model
also comes close to a conclusion made by the Rhodes model. In many cases the
292 jean-claude thoenig

standards deWned in a rigid way by the center are not applicable or even applied,
unless a lot of Xexibility is given to those locally implementing national policies. In
both countries the center faces a fragmentation constraint. Despite the existence of
the prefect, it lacks coordinating capacity among its many own Weld agencies and
cannot command local authorities. To discover that centralized systems such as
France and Great Britain experience similar diYculties imposing a top-down
approach to centrifugal territories and de facto autonomous actors, even when as
in France the state formally controls an impressive web of Weld agencies, is one of
the most valuable contributions of interorganizational approaches.

10 Negotiated Orders: Process

Matters
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Multilevel governance emerged in the 1990s. Governance remains a loose concept,

ranging from another way to name government to an alternative way to govern
(Rhodes 1996). When dealing with intergovernmental relationships, it focuses on
the discrepancy between governance and the constitutional map of political life
(Rhodes 2000). Governance is a particular form of political game. Its baseline
agenda is that territorial relationships should be considered as sets of non-hier-
archical linkages (Pierre and Stoker 2000; Peters and Pierre 2001; Bache and
Flinders 2004). Negotiated order approaches lead their theorists to criticize for
empirical reasons and on ideological grounds the center–periphery paradigm.
State-centrism plays the role of a theoretical straw man.
Schools of thought such as new institutionalism, game theory (Scharpf 1988, 1997,
2001), and policy analysis stimulate multilevel governance perspectives. EU integra-
tion and the evolving relations between subnational, national, and European levels
give birth to numerous publications (Marks, Hooghe, and Blank 1996; Puchala 1999).
Developments propelling multilevel governance also occur within states. Cities in the
USA (Peters 2001) and regions associated with metropolitan areas in EU countries (Le
Galès and Harding 1998) have become laboratories for a reinvention of government.
The national level has less Wnancial incentives to provide to steer subnational
government. Decentralization does not suYce. New inclusive models are developed
in many countries such as those of Scandinavia, Germany, France, the UK, Spain, or
Japan. The studies underscore three major facets.
National states no longer stand as the ‘‘unrivalled kings of the hill’’ (Peters
and Pierre 2001). Transnational forms and levels of government are massively
 territorial institutions 293

embedded in subnational politics. Therefore no more central level exists that has
the monopoly on authority. More than ever central state authorities face a serious
challenge. Their legitimacy to intervene is questioned. They have less money to
allocate. The level of their achievements is under closer evaluation by local stake-
holders and authorities. How is it still for them to remain relevant players in
territorial politics? Another consequence of loosening territorial authority is that
institutional relationships do not operate through intermediaries but take place
directly between the local and the transnational authorities. Bypassing regions and
states becomes ordinary practice and appropriate behavior when no more formal
vertical orders exist.
Parties involved in territorial policy-making and politics are not stable. They
may come and leave according to issues or spatial territories but also as a result of
their own discretionary choice. Who sits around the same table with whom results
from ad hoc opportunistic arrangements. Highly visible programs such as struc-
tural funds co-funded by the EU, national states, and local authorities have been
the major source for regional socioeconomic development in many members
(Smith 1997). Legalistic grant allocation programs by which the center puts incen-
tives to the peripheries lose importance. Local levels in their turn use Wnancial
incentives to fund projects that are part of regional interest or belong under state
jurisdiction. Cross-funding patterns freely bargained between multiple parties are
the main vehicles for political bodies like regional councils or communes to Wnance
their own projects. Quasi-markets for funding projects are present in strong nation
states (Gilbert and Thoenig 1999). Horizontal pooling and multilevel cooperation
also include public–private partnership. Where and when publicness ends or starts
is no longer easy to deWne.
Constitutionally deWned authority or law based procedures matter less than
processes of exchanges and bargaining. Order and action stem from open and
ongoing negotiations. Elected oYcials question the meaningfulness of principles
such as sovereignty and autonomy. Beside governmental authorities, public
problem deWnition and solving also involve private Wrms, lobbies, moral cause
groups, and inhabitants. A series of policy arenas and wide civil society partici-
pation imply that political councils, bureaucracies, and parties lose the monopoly
on agenda building. All major Western countries follow an identical evolution
pattern, from Sweden (Bogason 1998) to Australia (Painter 2001) and Canada
(Simeon and Cameron 2002). The national level allocates less money, controls
less, and decentralizes more. It makes widespread use of constitutive policies to
integrate new partners and negotiate their involvement. Institutionalization of
policy arenas and cooptation of issue communities become ordinary tools of
government.
Called ‘‘action publique’’ in French, public governance is deWned by some
authors as an empirical phenomenon (Thoenig 1998). It refers to the process by
which various stakeholders, public and private, deal with mutual dependency,
294 jean-claude thoenig

exchange resources, coordinate actions, deWne some common stake to handle and
build goals to reach (Rhodes 1997). For other authors, governance means a new
theory about politics, policy-making, and polities.
Multilevel governance approaches often favor top-down only approaches. The
EU framework fascinates analysts by a continuous Xow of institutional innovation
in many policy domains (Marks, Hooghe, and Blank 1996). Various models of
multitiered governance are identiWed from an action perspective. They generate
diVerentiation and transformation across territorial systems (Hooghe 1996). Rely-
ing on North American and European research, Liesbet Hooghe and Gary Marks
claim that the days of central state control are over (Hooghe and Marks 2003). They
conceptualize prescriptive models and discuss their respective virtues. A Wrst type
conceives of Xexible, task speciWc, and intersecting jurisdictions. A second type
disperses authority to non-intersecting, general purpose, and durable jurisdictions.
No alternative exists to liberal democracy about the way collective decisions should
be made. Therefore territorial politics as a domain should focus on jurisdictional
design and architecture. For whom collective decisions can and should be made
matters more.
Debates are numerous about the actual relevance and the scientiWc rigor of
multitiered governance theory. They hardly rely upon evidence about how
jurisdictional designs are implemented and do not evaluate the actual outcomes
they generate (Le Galès 1998). They misconceive institutional path dependencies.
They discard macro- and meso-determinisms from an action as well as an
interpretation angle. They misunderstand the limits of informal, consensual,
and inclusive processes of decision-making. In-depth Weld surveys suggest that
the visible growth of negotiations and governance patterns does not jeopardize
democratic legitimacy and the power of politicians. Massive decentralization has
made multilevel governance a routine process at all levels. Nevertheless a national
political class dominated by a lasting and powerful cross-partisan coalition of
elected oYcials cumulating local and national mandates still calls the tune when
institutional reforms are considered and decided (Thoenig 2005). Decentraliza-
tion, modernization, and negotiation are acceptable as long as the institutional
and legalistic factors that protect their power bases are not jeopardized.
Institutions, but also interorganizational relationships inside the public sector,
are not irrelevant. Therefore multilevel governance theory should escape the
‘‘Faustian bargain’’ model where making a deal leads the parties involved to ignore
the darker eVects of the deal (Peters and Pierre 2004). Do multigovernance
approaches describe spatially ordered relationships or does it refer to networking?
The answer is: It depends. Governance is a confusing term. Consociationalism
provides tools for action taking (Skelcher 2005). They address institutional solu-
tions for polycentric contexts at two levels: Informal norms that pattern behavior
in and round them and formal organizational structures and arrangements.
 territorial institutions 295

11 National and Comparative Contexts

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

DeWning the main characteristics of territorial politics within countries and

classifying national contexts into diVerent types of families are parts of the ambi-
tions many social scientists keep in mind.
Classic political science approaches have initially favored local government
based comparisons. Comparing two states ruled by Roman law grounded central-
ization, Sidney Tarrow Wnds that in the 1970s partisan politics is the fundamental
mechanism of integration between the center and the localities, and that the
peripheries are governed in a scattered and bureaucratic way (Tarrow 1977; Tarrow,
Katzenstein, and Graziano 1979). France is integrated by administrative
interactions. Territorial representation matters more than partisan aYliation, and
localities are well controlled by seasoned active and management oriented mayors.
Studying the Local Government Act of 1972, Douglas Ashford argues that the
British central government handles local government structure with a frontal
attack, suggesting ideological dogmatism and authoritarianism. By contrast
France, the ideal type of a Napoleonic centralized state, favors consensual pragma-
tism and incremental reforms. The reason is that its center is rather weak and
cautious, the local political oYcials having a lot of inXuence on the wills and the
policies of the national state. Britain has a powerful center with a lot of room for
functional erratic and inadequate initiatives, local politicians being extraordinarily
complacent and vulnerable (Ashford 1979, 1982, 1989).
The interpretative value of soft descriptions has been questioned. More theoretic-
ally based patterns should be applied to broader samples of countries. A secondary
analysis of monographs on seven unitary European states—Norway, Sweden, Den-
mark, the UK, France, Italy, and Spain—takes into consideration patterns of localism
and centralism (Page 1991). Legal and political localism is used as a synthetic denom-
inator. Two types are deWned: a northern European family and a southern European
one. They diVer according to two main indicators: legal-constitutional subordin-
ation—measured by the relative percentage of total public expenditures of local and
national budgets; the proportion of local expenditures Wnanced by grants; and by
institutional proxies such as which services in various policy Welds localities are
mandated or just allowed to deliver—and political localism—the availability of
direct and indirect accesses to the national level. A secondary analysis using identical
indicators but adding federal countries suggests a third type, the middle European or
Germanic class—Germany, Switzerland, Austria—as well as unitary countries being
in the process of quasi-federal devolutions such as Belgium and Spain (Goldsmith
1995). Alternative classiWcations also distinguish three families: an Anglo type
(Britain, North America, and Australia), a southern Europe type (France, Italy,
Spain, Belgium, etc.), and a northern Europe type (Austria, Scandinavia, Germany,
Switzerland, plus Japan) (Hesse and Sharpe 1991). US federalism suggests the
296 jean-claude thoenig

existence of several types of intergovernmental phases or models over seven decades

(Wright 1988). Comparisons also assess decentralization policies in Latin American
states and Spain (Montero 2001).
A central control perspective adds a lot to the discussion of intergovernmental
systems. The fact is that during the 1980s and 1990s the ways central governments
formally design and informally handle their relationships with subnational levels
have experienced major changes in many national states. With a few exceptions,
processes of devolution, decentralization, regionalization, and merger of local
jurisdictions have induced less direct control and operational interference, and
more indirect control by regulatory procedures.
A comparative perspective of central control enables a second visit to the
classiWcations set up by approaches relying on the autonomy or discretion of
local government (Goldsmith 2002). Germanic class countries have experienced
the least visible and dramatic changes. The federal level has kept developing forms
of cooperation with large urban communes and intermediary tiers that are based
on negotiation and bargaining. But the Länder in Germany and the cantons in
Switzerland keep playing a very important role in controlling the autonomy of
smaller communes. Many southern-type countries like France, Spain, and Belgium,
have signiWcantly reduced central control on subnational authorities. Intermediary
tiers have increased their role vis-à-vis rural and small size communes that remain
weak players. They control monies and policy domains that matter for them. But
they have not been granted the possibility, as in federal countries, legally to
redesign the limits, the tasks, and the constitution of municipal authorities. In
France territorial administration looks more like a market than a hierarchy. The
various government levels compete with each other to reinforce their local inXu-
ence by the power of the purse and by adding new policy domains to their
portfolios. A wide variety of interinstitutional patterns of cooperation are at
work across the country.
In other unitary countries, no major changes are visible. In Greece and Portugal
the center keeps a strong capacity to command and control. In the Netherlands the
center remains Wnancially strong and quite active in launching all kinds of experi-
ments. The fact is that it also has a long established tradition of co-governance with
local governments. The Nordic countries had made major reforms already before
the 1980s, as Sweden did, or have regionalized but without going as far as France
and Spain. Scandinavia has experienced an increasing fragmentation of local
government. Reforms such as user-governed public management, particularized
state grants, contracting out of services, and neighborhood councils have chal-
lenged territorial democracy, increased governance by negotiation and interorga-
nizational links, and not reduced the inXuence of professionals (Bogason 1996). In
the UK Whitehall has decentralized signiWcant functions to Wales, Scotland, and
Northern Ireland (Keating and Loughlin 2002). Emerging stronger intermediate
ties inside national arrangements may limit, to some extent, the autonomy of
 territorial institutions 297

localities. At the same time they may provide a tool for further decentralization.
While the center has looser control over local authorities, it nevertheless keeps its
hands on a number of tools allowing it to limit the autonomy of the peripheries.
The case of Western Europe suggests that to classify national states in families
requires some prudence. Typologies make national states look more alike than they
really are. They give the impression that the evolution of territorial politics is
identical across countries. Another lesson is that the growth of transnational ar-
rangements or even economic globalization does not imply a convergence between
domestic arrangements. Western Europe is making a transition from local govern-
ment to local governance (John 2001). But the emergence of the EU as an actor in
territorial politics does not make its member states more similar, as reported by a
study on subnational democracy and center-level relations in the Wfteen member
countries (Loughlin 2001). To some extent their institutional fabrics dealing with
territorial politics have even become more diVerentiated. The EU announced that it
would favor regions as partners of some of its policies. In fact, regions remain on the
whole weak tiers in terms of governmental actors and governance networks (Le Galès
and Lequesne 1998). Except in countries like Germany, and in a few cases in Spain
and Italy, they do not really matter as politically autonomous actors. They rather
remain functional frameworks and highly dependent on the national level. Power is
subdivided among numerous levels and networks. A typology of regional govern-
ment models is applied to twelve major Western Europe states (Keating 1998).
Regionalization inside the EU has beneWted less regional authorities, and more
metropolitan areas and big cities. To some extent the latter have become even
stronger in terms of inXuence and resources. Their autonomy has increased. They
may even challenge regional policies.
Reforms tending to separate the democratic element of government from the
managerial aspects of delivering service have dissimilar impacts between national
contexts. In the US they increase the autonomy of state and local government vis-à-
vis the federal authorities (Peters 2001). In Germany they have not had much
impact on such relationships (Wollmann 2001).
The idea that the national states are hollowing out does not make much sense
when considering the facts (Rhodes 1996). Regionalization is an ambivalent pro-
cess. Transferring Wnances and policy domains to subnational levels, far from
weakening the national center, provides a solution to increase its own power and
role in territorial politics (Wright 1998). Transnational levels such as the EU or
NAFTA, and international or world institutions like the World Bank or the United
Nations, have not seized control and command from the central states. In some
countries the national legislative and executive branches, and more generally the
politicians democratically elected by the people, have not really lost control of the
agenda of territorial politics.
Intergovernmental relations call for further research on most of the issues listed
above. At least three aspects may beneWt from closer attention. How is it possible
298 jean-claude thoenig

for public institutions to exert authority and to build legitimacy in increasingly

changing contexts and power based multilevel arrangements? What happens once
new institutional arrangements have been set up? Longitudinal Weld research and
in-depth surveys may provide fruitful answers. Do best models of territorial
organization and organizing really exist, and if so, do they matter? Performance
of public institutions still remains a subject to be studied and debated from a
political perspective.

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Wollmann, H. 2001. Germany’s trajectory of public sector modernisation—continuities
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Wright, D. S. 1988. Understanding Intergovernmental Relations. Belmont, NY: Brooks-Cole.
Wright, V. 1998. Intergovernmental relations and regional government in Europe:
a sceptical view. In Regions in Europe, ed. P. Le Galès and C. Lequesne. London: Routledge.
 chapter 16
...................................................................................................................................................

EXECUTIVES—THE
AMERICAN
PRESIDENCY
...................................................................................................................................................

william g. howell

In the early 1980s, George Edwards took the presidency sub-Weld to task for its failure
to adopt basic norms of social science. While scholars who contributed to the various
other sub-Welds of American politics constructed hard theory that furnished clear
predictions that, in turn, were tested using original data-sets and the latest econo-
metric techniques, too many presidency scholars, it seemed to Edwards, insisted on
wading through a bog of anecdotes and poorly justiWed prescriptions. Unlike their
would-be closest kin, congressional scholars, presidency scholars tended to prefer
complexity to simplicity, nuance to generality, stories to data. Consequentially,
Edwards noted, ‘‘Research on the presidency too often fails to meet the standards
of contemporary political science, including the careful deWnition and measurement
of concepts, the rigorous speciWcation and testing of propositions, the employment
of appropriate quantitative methods, and the use of empirical theory to develop
hypotheses and explain Wndings’’ (Edwards 1983, 100). If the sub-Weld hoped to
rejoin the rest of the discipline and enter the modern era of political science, it would
need to nurture and reward scholars conducting quantitative research.
Edwards did not sit alone with such sentiments. In a damning report to the Ford
Foundation, Hugh Heclo summarized the state of the presidency literature circa
304 william g. howell

1977 as follows: ‘‘Political observers have written excellent interpretations of the

Presidency. Important questions about Presidential power have been raised. But
considering the amount of such writing in relation to the base of original empirical
research behind it, the Weld is as shallow as it is luxuriant. To a great extent,
presidential studies have coasted on the reputations of a few rightfully respected
classics on the presidency and on secondary literature and anecdotes produced by
former participants’’ (Heclo 1977, 30). By recycling over and over again a handful of
old chestnuts and witticisms, Heclo observed, scholars had failed to establish even
the most basic empirical facts about the presidency.
In the years that followed, others delivered similar lamentations. According to
Stephen Wayne, the presidency Weld languished for lack of clearly deWned concepts
and standards of measurement. As he put it, ‘‘By concentrating on personalities, on
dramatic situations, and on controversial decisions and extraordinary events,
students of the presidency have reduced the applicability of social science
techniques’’ (Wayne 1983, 6). A decade later, Gary King bemoaned the fact that
‘‘Presidency research is one of the last bastions of historical, non-quantitative
research in American politics’’ (King 1993, 388). And jumping yet another decade
in time, Matthew Dickinson observed that ‘‘American presidency research is often
described as the political science discipline’s poor stepchild. Compared, for
example, to election or congressional studies, presidency research is frequently
deemed less clearly conceptualized, more qualitative and descriptive, overly
focused on the personal at the expense of the institution, and too prone to
prescribing reforms based on uncertain inferences’’ (Dickson 2004, 99).
Of course, not everyone agreed that more, and better, quantitative research
constituted the solution to this dispiriting state of aVairs. A variety of scholars
made powerful cases for the value of legal analysis (Fisher 2002), carefully
constructed case studies (Thomas 1983), and theoretically informed historical
research (Skowronek 2002). And they plainly had cause to do so. Some of the
best insights and most theoretically informed treatises on the American presidency
come through biographical, historical, and case study research;1 and there are
many questions about the presidency that simply are not amenable to quantitative
research. Hence, no one now, or then, could plausibly argue that quantitative
research should wholly supplant any of the more qualitative modes of research.
Still, Edwards spoke for many when he recommended that presidency scholars
direct greater investments towards more systematic data collection eVorts and the
development of statistical skills needed to conduct quantitative research. For the
presidency sub-Weld to recover its rightful stature in the discipline, a genuine
science of politics would need to take hold among presidency scholars; and to do

1 Many of the most inXuential books ever written on the American presidency do not contain any
quantitative analysis of any sort. Prominent examples include: Corwin 1948; Rossiter 1956; Barber
1972; Schlesinger 1973; Greenstein 1982; Neustadt 1990; Skowronek 1993.
 executives—the american presidency 305

so, clear, falsiWable theory and systematic data collection eVorts would need to
replace the subWeld’s preoccupation with personalities, case studies, reXective
essays, and biographical accounts. Hence, by the early 1980s, one observer would
later reXect, ‘‘observation, data collection, quantiWcation, veriWcation, conceptual
clariWcation, hypothesis testing, and theory building [became] the order of the
day’’ (Hart 1998, 383).
This chapter surveys the state of quantitative research on the presidency a quarter-
century after Edwards issued his original entreaty. After brieXy documenting pub-
lication trends on quantitative research on the presidency in a variety of professional
journals, it reviews the substantive contributions of selected quantitative studies to
long-standing debates about the centralization of presidential authority, public
appeals, and presidential policy-making. Though hardly an exhaustive account of
all the quantitative work being conducted, this chapter pays particular attention to
the ways in which recent scholarship addresses methodological issues that regularly
plague studies of the organization of political institutions, their interactions with
the public, and their inXuence in systems of separated powers.

1 Publication Trends on the American

Presidency
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Though numerous scholars have complained about the arrested state of quantitative
research on the American presidency, none, ironically, has actually assembled the
data needed to answer some basic empirical questions: What proportion of articles
in the Weld journal for presidency scholars is quantitative in nature? Has this
proportion increased or decreased over the past several decades? Are articles pub-
lished in this journal more or less likely to contain a quantitative component than
are articles on the presidency that are published in the top professional journals?
And how does the literature on the presidency compare to that on other political
institutions, notably Congress? This section provides answers to these questions.
In a survey of publication trends during the past several decades, I identiWed
almost 500 articles on the American presidency published in prominent,
mainstream American politics journals, as well as another 800 articles published
in the Xagship sub-Weld journal for presidency scholars.2 Among articles on the

2 I counted all articles with the words ‘‘presidency,’’ ‘‘presidential,’’ or ‘‘president’’ in the title or
abstract and discussing the US president somewhere in its text; articles had to be published between
1980 and 2004 in the Weld journal for presidency scholars, Presidential Studies Quarterly (PSQ), or
306 william g. howell

American presidency, I then identiWed those that were quantitative in nature.3

The diVerences could not be more striking. Whereas the top journals in American
politics published almost exclusively quantitative articles on the American
presidency, the Weld journal for presidency scholars published them only sporad-
ically. In a typical year, the proportion of presidency articles published in main-
stream outlets was nine times as high as the proportion of presidency articles
published in the sub-Weld journal. And though some over-time trends are observed
in these publication rates, in every year the diVerences across these various journals
are both substantively and statistically signiWcant. Nor are such diVerences simply a
function of the publication trends of mainstream and sub-Weld journals. When
writing for their respective sub-Weld journals, congressional scholars were seven
times more likely to write articles with a quantitative component than were
presidency scholars.
Who wrote the presidency articles that appeared in these various journals?
For the most part, contributors came from very diVerent circles. A very small
percentage of scholars who contributed presidency articles to the top, mainstream
journals also wrote for the sub-Weld journal; and an even smaller percentage of
scholars who contributed to the sub-Weld journal also wrote for the mainstream
journals. The following, however, may be the most disturbing fact about recent
publication trends: of the 1,155 scholars who contributed research on the presidency
to one of these journals during the past twenty-Wve years, only 51 published articles
on the presidency in both the sub-Weld journal and the mainstream American
politics journals.
Unavoidably, such comparisons raise all kinds of questions about the appropri-
ate standards of academic excellence, the biases of review processes, and the value
of methodological pluralism. For the moment, though, let us put aside the larger
epistemological issues of whether the top journals in political science are right to

one of the top three professional journals in American politics more generally: American Political
Science Review (APSR), American Journal of Political Science (AJPS), and Journal of Politics (JOP).
Excluded were: articles written by undergraduates, articles that were fewer than Wve manuscript
pages (not including references) or that were submitted to symposia, transcripts of speeches,
rejoinders, responses, research notes, comments, editorials, updates, corrections, and book reviews.
In total, 799 articles meeting these criteria were published in PSQ, 155 in APSR, 165 in AJPS, and 160
in JOP. I gratefully acknowledge the research assistance of Ben Sedrish and Charlie GriYn.
3 To count, an article had to subject actual data to some kind of statistical analysis, however
rudimentary. Articles were identiWed as quantitative if they reported the results of any kind of
regression, Bayesian inference, data reduction technique, natural or laboratory experiment, or even
a simple statistical test of diVerence of means. Hence, an article that reported an occasional public
opinion rating, or even one that tracked trends in public opinion in a Wgure or table, was excluded;
however, an article that analyzed the determinants of public opinion, that tested for structural shifts in
public opinion, or that decomposed measures of public opinion was appropriately counted as
quantitative. Case studies, Wrst-person narratives, and biographies, though certainly drawing upon
empirical evidence, were not counted as quantitative; and neither were game theoretic models or
simulations.
 executives—the american presidency 307

primarily accept quantitative articles on the presidency; whether the sub-Weld

journal for presidency scholars is right to provide a venue for research that does
not follow these methodological orientations; or whether congressional scholars
are right to incorporate these basic norms into the research that Wlls their own sub-
Weld’s journal. I cannot possibly settle such issues here. From the vantage point of a
graduate student or young professor intent on assembling a record that will secure
employment and tenure at a major research university, the more practical
conclusions to draw from these data could not be clearer: if you intend to publish
research on the American presidency in one of the Weld’s top journals, you would
do well to assemble and analyze data. Though purely theoretical essays and case
study research may gain entrée into the presidency sub-Weld’s premier journal, they
appear to oVer substantially fewer rewards in the discipline more generally.
If a sub-Weld’s alienation from the broader discipline is appropriately measured
by the regularity with which its scholars publish in both top mainstream journals
and their chosen sub-Weld journal, then we have obvious cause for concern. For
most of this period, few bridges could be found between the main publication
outlet designated expressly for presidency scholars and the best journals in
American politics. Indeed, if contributing to a sub-Weld’s journal constitutes a
prerequisite for membership, then the vast majority of scholars assembling the
literature on the presidency in the top journals cannot, themselves, be considered
presidency scholars. With some notable exceptions, meanwhile, those who can lay
claim to the title of presidency scholar, at least by this criterion, do not appear to be
contributing very much to the most inXuential journals in American politics.

2 A Literature’s Maturation
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Not all the news is bad. For starters, a slight shift in the methodological underpin-
nings of presidency research can be observed. The proportion of quantitative
work on the American presidency has increased rather notably of late.4 And an
increasingly wide spectrum of scholars is now contributing to the presidency sub-
Weld’s journal.5 In both the mainstream and sub-Weld journals, there exists a

4 Between 1980 and 1984, 30 percent of articles on the presidency published in the four journals
examined in this chapter had a quantitative component; between 2000 and 2004, 46 percent did so.
The percentage of quantitative articles published in PSQ alone since 2000, the Wrst full year that
George Edwards served as the journal’s editor, nearly tripled.
5 Of those scholars who wrote on the presidency in both mainstream and sub-Weld journals
between 1980 and 2004, fully 65 percent contributed an article to PSQ during the Wrst Wve years of
Edwards’ editorship.
308 william g. howell

considerably richer body of quantitative research on the American presidency than

was available as little as a decade ago.
Obviously, disciplinary progress should not be measured only by reference to the
number of articles amassed, no matter what their methodological tendencies might
be. The mere addition of quantitative articles on the American presidency does not
ensure that students today know anything more about the oYce than did their
immediate or more distant predecessors. Fortunately, though, recent developments
in the presidency literature provide additional cause for optimism. By attending to
a host of standard problems of research design and causal inference, problems
endemic to quantitative research throughout the social sciences, scholars have
materially enhanced the quality of research conducted on the American presidency,
just as they have gained fresh insights into the institution itself. This section reviews
some of the ways in which scholars have grappled with a host of methodological
challenges in order to make fresh contributions to ongoing debates about the
political control over the bureaucracy, public appeals, and presidential power.

2.1 Political Control of the Bureaucracy

In a series of highly inXuential articles in the 1980s and early 1990s, Terry Moe
spelled out a political rationale for presidents to politicize the appointment process
and centralize authority within the Executive OYce of the President (Moe 1985,
1987, 1990; Moe and Wilson 1994). Moe observed that in an increasingly volatile
political world, one wherein opportunities to eVect change are Xeeting, power is
always contested, and opposing factions stand mobilized at every turn, presidents
and their immediate advisers have a strong incentive to hunker down, formulate
policy themselves, and Wll administrative agencies with people who can be counted
on to do their bidding faithfully. Neutral competence and bureaucratic independ-
ence, Moe observed, does not always suit the president’s political needs. Rather
than rely upon the expertise of a distant cadre of civil servants, presidents, for
reasons built into the design of a political system of separated powers, have
considerable cause to surround themselves with individuals who are responsive,
loyal, and like-minded.
By focusing explicitly on institutional incentives and resources, and by dispens-
ing with the normative considerations that then pervaded much of the public
administration work on bureaucratic design and oversight, Moe’s research had a
huge impact on the ways in which scholars thought about presidential power. The
theory that Moe postulated, however, lacked the dynamic components needed to
identify when, precisely, presidents would centralize or politicize authority and
when they would not—that is, Moe’s work did not generate any clear comparative
statics. Moreover, Moe’s empirical analysis resembled the existing literature’s at the
 executives—the american presidency 309

time. Evidence of centralization and politicization consisted of selected case studies

of individual agencies and a handful of policies they helped write, and little else.
Fortunately, subsequent scholars picked up where Moe left oV. Consider, for
instance, Andrew Rudalevige’s recent book, Managing the President’s Program
(2002).6 Using the Public Papers of President, Rudalevige tabulated some 2,796
messages from the president to Congress on 6,926 proposals. He then drew a
random sample of 400 proposals and examined their legislative ‘‘pre-histories.’’
SpeciWcally, Rudalevige identiWed whether each presidential proposal was the
product of cabinet departments and/or executive agencies; of mixed White
House/departmental origin, with department taking the lead role; of mixed
White House/departmental origin, with White House taking the lead role; of
centralized staV outside the White House OYce, such as OYce of Management
and Budget or Council of Economic Advisors; or of staVers within the White
House itself. So doing, Rudalevige constructed a unique data-set that allowed him
systematically to investigate the regularity with which presidents centralized the
policy-making process within the EOP.7
Notably, Rudalevige discovered that many of the proposals that presidents
submit to Congress are formulated outside of the conWnes of his immediate
control. Only 13 percent of the proposals Rudalevige examined originated in the
White House itself; and just 11 percent more originated in the EOP. Cabinet
departments and executive agencies drafted almost half of all the president’s
legislative proposals. Moreover, Rudalevige found, the occurrence of ‘‘centraliza-
tion’’ did not appear to be increasing over time. Though the proportion of
proposals that originated within the EOP Xuctuated rather dramatically from year
to year, the overall trend line remained basically Xat for most of the postwar period.
Rudalevige did not Wnd any evidence that presidents were centralizing authority
with rising frequency.
The real contribution of Rudalevige’s book, however, lay in its exploration of the
political forces that encouraged presidents to centralize. Positing a ‘‘contingent
theory of centralization,’’ Rudalevige identiWed the basic trade-oV that all
presidents face when constructing a legislative agenda: by relying upon their closest
advisers and staV, they can be sure that policy will reXect their most important
goals and principles; but when policy is especially complex, the costs of assembling
the needed information to formulate policy can be astronomical. Though Moe
correctly claimed that centralization can aid the president, Rudalevige cautioned
that the strategy will only be employed for certain kinds of policies aimed at certain
kinds of reforms.

6 For other recent quantitative works that examine presidential control over the bureaucracy, see
Wood and Waterman 1991; Waterman and Rouse 1999; Dickinson 2003; Lewis 2003.
7 Testing various dimensions of Moe’s claims about politicization, a growing quantitative literature
also examines presidential appointments. See, for example, Cameron, Cover, et al. 1990; McCarty and
Razaghian 1999; Binder and Maltzmann 2002.
310 william g. howell

To demonstrate as much, Rudalevige estimated a series of statistical models

that predicted where within the executive branch presidents turned to formulate
diVerent policies. His Wndings are fascinating. Policies that involved multiple
issues, that presented new policy innovations, and that required the reorganization
of existing bureaucratic structures were more likely to be centralized; while those
that involved complex issues were less likely to be. For the most part, the partisan
leanings of an agency, divided government, and temporal indicators appeared
unrelated to the location of policy formation. Whether presidents centralized, it
would seem, varied from issue to issue, justifying Rudalevige’s emphasis on
‘‘contingency.’’
Rudalevige’s work makes two important contributions. First, and most
obviously, he extends Moe’s theoretical claims about the organizational structure
of the executive branch. Rudalevige goes beyond recognizing that presidents have
cause to centralize authority in order to explore the precise conditions under which
presidents are most likely to do so. Though the microfoundations of his own
theory need further reWnement, and the statistical tests might better account for
the fact that presidents decide where to formulate policy with a mind to whether
the policy will actually be enacted, Rudalevige deftly shifts the debate onto even
more productive ground from where Moe had left it.
Second, Rudalevige demonstrates how one might go about testing, using
quantitative data, a theory that previously had strictly been the province of archival
research. Before Rudalevige, no one had Wgured out how one might actually
measure centralization, had determined what kinds of policies might be subject
to centralization, or had identiWed and then collected data on the key determinants
of centralization. No one, that is, had done the work needed to assemble an
actual database that could be used to test Moe’s claims. Plainly, future research
on centralization will (and should) continue to rely upon case studies—there
is much about centralization that Rudalevige’s data cannot address. But residing
in the background of Rudalevige’s work is gentle encouragement to expand
not only the number of data-sets assembled on the US presidency, but also
the kind.

2.2 Public Appeals

In another inXuential book, Going Public: New Strategies of Presidential Leadership,
Samuel Kernell (1997) recognized the rising propensity of presidents to bypass
Congress and issue public appeals on behalf of their legislative agendas. To explain
why presidents often abandon the softer, subtler tactics of negotiation and bargain-
ing, the supposed mainstays of presidential inXuence during the modern
 executives—the american presidency 311

era (Neustadt 1990),8 Kernell emphasized the transformation of the nation’s polity,
beginning in the early 1970s, from a system of ‘‘institutionalized’’ to ‘‘individual-
ized’’ pluralism. Under institutional pluralism, Kernell explained, ‘‘political elites,
and for the most part only elites, matter[ed]’’ (Kernell 1997, 12). Insulated from
public opinion, presidents had only to negotiate with a handful of ‘‘protocoalition’’
leaders in Congress. But under the new individualized pluralist system, opportun-
ities for bargaining dwindled. The devolution of power to subcommittees, the
weakening of parties, and the profusion of interest groups greatly expanded
the number of political actors with whom presidents would have to negotiate;
and compounded with the rise of divided government, such developments made
compromise virtually impossible. Facing an increasingly volatile and divisive
political terrain, Kernell argued, presidents have clear incentives to circumvent
formal political channels and speak directly to the people.
But just as Moe did not posit a theory that speciWed when presidents would (and
would not) centralize authority, Kernell did not identify the precise conditions
under which presidents would issue public appeals. Kernell oVered powerful
reasons why presidents in the 1980s and 1990s went public more often than their
predecessors in the 1950s or 1960s. But his book did not generate especially strong
expectations about whether presidents holding oYce during either of these periods
would be more or less likely to issue public appeals on one issue versus another.
Additionally, Kernell did not identify the precise conditions under which such
appeals augment presidential inXuence, and when they do not.
During the last decade a number of scholars, very much including Kernell himself,
have extended the analyses and insights found in Going Public. Two areas of research
have been especially prodigious. The Wrst examines how changes in the media envir-
onment, especially the rise of cable television, have complicated the president’s eVorts
to reach his constituents (Groeling and Kernell 1998; Baum and Kernell 1999).
Whereas presidents once could count on the few existing television networks to
broadcast their public appeals to a broad cross-section of the American public, now
they must navigate a highly competitive and diVuse media environment, one
that caters to the individual interests of an increasingly Wckle citizenry. Hence, while
structural changes to the American polity in the 1970s may have encouraged presidents
to go public with greater frequency, more recent changes to the media environment
have limited the president’s ability to rally the public behind a chosen cause.
It should not come as much of a surprise, then, that public appeals do not always
change the content of public opinion, which constitutes the second body of
quantitative research spawned by Kernell’s work (Cohen 1998; Edwards 2003;
Barrett 2004). Though it may raise the salience of particular issues, presidential

8 With over a million copies sold, Neustadt’s book remains far and away the most inXuential
treatise on presidential power. And as does any classic, Neustadt’s book has attracted a fair measure of
controversy. For selected critiques, see Sperlich 1969; Moe 1993; Howell 2005.
312 william g. howell

speeches typically do not materially alter citizens’ views about particular policies,
especially those that involve domestic issues. Either because an increasingly narrow
portion of the American public actually receives presidential appeals, or because
these appeals are transmitted by an increasingly critical and politicized media, or
both, presidential endorsements of speciWc policies fail to resonate broadly.
Brandice Canes-Wrone has also examined the conditions under which
presidents will issue public appeals; and given its methodological innovations,
her research warrants discussing at some length (Canes-Wrone 2001, 2005;
Canes-Wrone and Shotts 2004). By increasing the salience of policies that already
enjoy broad-based support, Canes-Wrone argues, plebiscitary presidents can pres-
sure members of Congress to respond to the (otherwise latent) preferences of their
constituents. Further recognizing the limited attention spans of average citizens
and the diminishing returns of public appeals, Canes-Wrone argues that presidents
will only go public when there are clear policy rewards associated with doing so.
Then, by building a unique database that links presidential appeals to budgetary
outlays over the past several decades, Canes-Wrone shows how such appeals, under
speciWed conditions, augment presidential inXuence over public policy.
Two methodological features of Canes-Wrone’s work deserve special note, as
they address fundamental problems that scholars regularly confront when con-
ducting quantitative research on the presidency. First, by comparing presidential
budget proposals with Wnal appropriations, Canes-Wrone introduces a novel
metric that deWnes the proximity of Wnal legislation with presidential preferences.
This is no small feat. When conducting quantitative research, scholars often have a
diYcult time discerning presidential preferences, and an even more diYcult time
Wguring out the extent to which diVerent laws reXect these preferences. The
challenge, though, does not negate the need. If scholars are to gauge presidential
inXuence over the legislative process, they need some way of identifying just how
well presidents have fared in a public policy debate.
Prior solutions to the problem—focusing on presidential proposals or account-
ing for what presidents say or do at the end of the legislative process—have clear
limitations. Just because Congress enacts a presidential initiative does not mean
that the Wnal law looks anything like the original proposal made; and just because
another law is enacted over a presidential veto does not mean that every provision
of the bill represents an obvious defeat for the president. Moreover, even when
such ambiguities can be resolved, it often remains unclear how observers would
compare the ‘‘success’’ observed on one policy with the ‘‘success’’ claimed on
another.
By measuring the diVerences between proposed and Wnal appropriations, Canes-
Wrone secures a readily interpreted basis for comparing relative presidential
successes and failures across diVerent policy domains. Now of course, the proposals
that presidents themselves issue may be endogenous—that is, they are constructed
 executives—the american presidency 313

with some mind to how Congress is likely to respond—and hence not perfectly
indicative of their sincere preferences. But for Canes-Wrone’s analyses to yield
biased results, presidents must adjust their proposals in anticipation of Congress’s
responses in diVerent ways depending upon whether or not they issue public
appeals. This is possible, perhaps, but the most likely scenario under which it is
to occur would actually depress the probability that Canes-Wrone would Wnd
signiWcant eVects. If presidents systematically propose more extreme budgetary
allotments when they plan to go public, anticipating a boost in public support from
doing so, then Canes-Wrone may actually underestimate the inXuence garnered
from public appeals.
Budgetary appropriations provide a second beneWt as well. Because presidents
must issue budget proposals every year, Canes-Wrone skirts many of the selection
biases that often arise in quantitative studies of the legislative process. The problem
is this: the sample of bills that presidents introduce and Congress subsequently
votes on, which then become the focus of scholarly inquiry, are a subset of all bills
that presidents might actually like to see enacted. And because presidents are
unlikely to introduce bills that they know Congress will subsequently reject, the
sample of roll calls that scholars analyze invariably constitutes a non-random draw
from the president’s legislative agenda.
Without accounting for those bills that presidents choose not to introduce, two
kinds of biases emerge. First, when tracking congressional votes on presidential
initiatives, scholars tend to overstate presidential success. Hence, because Congress
never voted on the policy centerpiece of Bush’s second term, social security reform,
the president’s failure to rally suYcient support to warrant formal consideration
of the initiative did not count against him in the various success scores that
Congressional Quarterly and other outlets assembled. And second, analyses of
how public opinion, the state of the economy, the partisan composition of
Congress, or any other factor inXuences presidential success may themselves be
biased. Without explicitly modeling the selection process itself, estimates from
regressions that posit presidential success, however measured, against a set
of covariates are likely to be biased.
Unfortunately, no formal record exists of all the policies that presidents might
like to enact, making it virtually impossible to diagnose, much less Wx, the selection
biases that emerge from most analyses of roll call votes. But because presidents
must propose, and Congress must pass, a budget every year, Canes-Wrone avoids
these sample selection problems. In her statistical analyses, Canes-Wrone does not
need to model a selection stage because neither the president nor Congress has the
option of tabling appropriations. Every year, the two branches square oV against
one another to settle the terms of a federal budget; and without the option to
retreat, we, as observers, have a unique opportunity to call winners and losers fairly
in the exchange.
314 william g. howell

2.3 Policy InXuence beyond Legislation

Outside of elections and public opinion, the most common type of quantitative
research conducted on the presidency has concerned the legislative process.
Scholars have examined how diVerent political alignments contributed to
(or detracted from) the enactment of presidential initiatives (Wayne 1978; Edwards
1989; Bond and Fleisher 1990; Peterson 1990; Mayhew 1991; Edwards, Barrett, et al.
1997; Coleman 1999; Bond and Fleisher 2000; Howell, Adler, et al. 2000; Peake
2002). Following on from Aaron Wildavsky’s famous claim that there exist two
presidencies—one foreign, the other domestic—scholars have assembled a wide
range of measures on presidential success in diVerent policy domains (Wildavsky
1966; LeLoup and Shull 1979; Sigelman 1979; Edwards 1986; Fleisher and Bond 1988;
Wildavsky 1989). Scholars have critically examined the president’s capacity to set
Congress’s legislative agenda (Edwards and Wood 1999; Edwards and Barrett 2000).
And a number of scholars have paid renewed attention to presidential vetoes
(Cameron 1999; Gilmour 2002; Conley 2003; Cameron and McCarty 2004).
Given the sheer amount of attention paid to the legislative process, one
might justiWably conclude that policy inXuence depends almost entirely upon the
president’s capacity to inXuence aVairs occurring within Congress, either by
convincing members to vote on his behalf or by establishing roadblocks that halt
the enactment of objectionable bills.
Recently, however, scholars have begun to take systematic account of the powers
that presidents wield outside of the legislative arena. Building on the insights of
legal scholars and political scientists who Wrst recognized and wrote about the
president’s ‘‘unilateral’’ or ‘‘prerogative’’ powers (Cash 1963; Morgan 1970; Hebe
1972; Schlesinger 1973; Fleishman and Aufses 1976; Pious 1991), scholars recently
have built well-deWned theories of unilateral action and then assembled original
data-sets of executive orders, executive agreements, proclamations, and other sorts
of directives to test them. In the past several years, fully Wve books have focused
exclusively on the president’s unilateral powers (Mayer 2001; Cooper 2002; Howell
2003; Warber 2006; Shull forthcoming), complemented by a bevy of quantitative
articles (Krause and Cohen 1997; Deering and Maltzman 1999; Mayer 1999; Krause
and Cohen 2000; Howell and Lewis 2002; Mayer and Price 2002; Howell 2005;
Lewis 2005; Martin 2005).
Collectively, the emerging quantitative literature on unilateral powers makes two
main contributions to our substantive understanding of presidential power. First,
and most obviously, it expands the scope of scholarly inquiry to account for the
broader array of mechanisms that presidents utilize to inXuence the content of
public policy. Rather than struggling to convince individual members of Congress
to endorse publicly a bill and then cast sympathetic votes, presidents often can seize
the initiative, issue new policies by Wat, and leave it to others to revise the new
political landscape. Rather than dally at the margins of the policy-making process,
 executives—the american presidency 315

presidents regularly issue directives that Congress, left to its own devices, would
not enact. So doing, they manage to leave a plain, though too often ignored,
imprint on the corpus of law.
Second, the literature highlights the ways in which adjoining branches of
government eVectively check presidential power. After all, should the president
proceed without statutory or constitutional authority, the courts stand to overturn
his actions, just as Congress can amend them, cut funding for their operations, or
eliminate them outright. And in this regard, the president’s relationship with
Congress and the courts is very diVerent from the one described in the existing
quantitative literature on the legislative process. When unilateral powers are
exercised, legislators, judges, and the president do not work cooperatively to
eVect meaningful policy change. Opportunities for change, in this instance, do
not depend upon the willingness and capacity of diVerent branches of government
to coordinate with one another, as traditional models of bargaining would indicate.
Instead, when presidents issue unilateral directives, they struggle to protect the
integrity of orders given and to undermine the eVorts of adjoining branches of
government to amend or overturn actions already taken. Rather than being a
potential boon to presidential success, Congress and the courts represent genuine
threats. For presidents, the trick is to Wgure out when legislators and judges are
likely to dismantle a unilateral action taken, when they are not, and then to seize
upon those latter occasions to issue public policies that look quite diVerent from
those that would emerge in a purely legislative setting.
Some of the more innovative quantitative work conducted on unilateral powers
highlights the diVerences between policies issued as laws versus executive orders. In
his study of administrative design, for instance, David Lewis shows that modern
agencies created through legislation tend to live longer than those created by
executive decree (Lewis 2003). But what presidents lose in terms of longevity they
tend to gain back in terms of control. By Lewis’s calculations, between 1946 and 1997,
fully 67 percent of administrative agencies created by executive order and 84 percent
created by departmental order were placed either within the Executive OYce of the
President or the cabinet, as compared to only 57 percent of agencies created
legislatively. Independent boards and commissions, which further dilute presiden-
tial control, governed only 13 percent of agencies created unilaterally, as compared
to 44 percent of those created through legislation. And 40 percent of agencies
created through legislation had some form of restrictions on the kinds of appointees
presidents can make, as compared to only 8 percent of agencies created unilaterally.
In another study of the trade-oVs between legislative and unilateral strategies,
I show that the institutional conWgurations that promote the enactment of laws
impede the production of executive orders, and vice versa (Howell 2003). Just as
large and cohesive legislative majorities within Congress facilitate the enactment
of legislation, they create disincentives for presidents to issue executive orders.
Meanwhile, when gridlock prevails in Congress, presidents have strong incentives
316 william g. howell

to deploy their unilateral powers, not least because their chance of building the
coalitions needed to pass laws is relatively small. The trade-oVs observed between
unilateral and legislative policy-making are hardly coincidental, for ultimately, it is
the checks that Congress and the courts place on the president that deWne his
(someday her) capacity to change public policy by Wat.
Quantitative work on the president’s unilateral powers is beginning to take
systematic account for unilateral directives other than executive orders and
departmental reorganizations—most importantly, perhaps, those regarding
military operations conducted abroad. Presidency scholars have already poured
considerable ink on matters involving war. Until recently, however, quantitative
work on the subject resided exclusively in other Welds within the discipline.
Encouragingly, a number of presidency scholars have begun to test theories of
unilateral powers and interbranch relations that have been developed within
American politics using data-sets that were assembled within international
relations (Howell and Pevehouse 2005, forthcoming; Kriner 2006; Shull forth-
coming). Just as previous scholarship examined how diVerent institutional con-
Wgurations (divided government, the partisan composition of Congress) aVected
the number of executive orders issued in any given quarter or year, this research
examines how such factors inXuence the number of military deployments that
presidents initiate, the timing of these deployments, and their duration. Though
still in its infancy, this research challenges presidency scholars to take an even more
expansive view of presidential power, while also bridging long-needed connections
with scholars in other Welds who have much to say about how, and when, heads of
state wield authority.

3 Concluding Thoughts
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

This very brief survey oVers mixed assessments of the quantitative literature on the
US presidency. On the one hand, the publication rates of quantitative presidency
research have been rather dismal. In the last twenty-Wve years, only one in ten
research articles published in the sub-Weld’s premier journal had a quantitative
component. By contrast, in the top American politics journals, almost nine in ten
articles on the presidency did so. Additionally, the scholars who wrote about the
presidency in top mainstream journals almost never contributed to the presidency
sub-Weld’s premier journal, while those who contributed to the sub-Weld’s journal
almost never wrote about the presidency in the top mainstream journals. Of the
1,000 plus authors who wrote about the American presidency in the four journals
 executives—the american presidency 317

surveyed in this chapter, a minuscule 4 percent contributed to both the mainstream

and the sub-Weld outlets.
Signs, however, suggest that change is afoot. In the last several years, the
presidency sub-Weld’s journal has published a greater proportion of quantitative
studies, written by a wider assortment of scholars. And the more recent quantita-
tive work being conducted on the presidency makes a variety of substantive and
methodological contributions to the sub-Weld. The literatures on bureaucratic
control, public appeals, and unilateral policy-making have made considerable
advances in the past several years in large part because of the eVorts of scholars
to assemble original data-sets and to test a variety of competing claims. On each of
the topics considered here, quantitative analyses did considerably more than
merely dress up the extant presidency literature—indeed, they stood at the core
of the enterprise and constituted the key reason that learning occurred.
Moving forward, quantitative research on the US presidency confronts a number
of challenges. Three, in my mind, stand out. First, much quantitative research on the
presidency, as with quantitative research on political institutions generally, lacks
strong theoretical footings. When conducting such research, scholars all too often
proceed through the following three steps: (a) collect data on some outcome of
interest, such as whether a proposal succeeds, a war is waged, an order is issued, or a
public appeal is delivered; (b) haul out the standard list of covariates (public opinion,
divided government, the state of the economy, etc.) that are used to predict the things
that presidents say and do; and (c) estimate a statistical model that shows how well
each covariate inXuences the outcome of interest, oVering a paragraph or two on why
each of the observed relationships does or does not conform to expectations. Though
occasionally a useful exercise, this formulaic approach to quantitative analysis
ultimately is unsustainable. Without theory, we cannot ascertain the covariates’
appropriate functional forms; whether other important covariates have been omit-
ted; whether some of the explanatory variables ought to be interacted with others;
whether endogeneity is a concern, and how it might be addressed. And without
theory to furnish answers to such issues, the reader has little grounds for assessing
whether or not the results can actually be believed. Rote empiricism, moreover, is no
substitute for theory. For when diVerent results emerge from equally defensible
statistical models, theory is ultimately needed to adjudicate the dispute.
Second, greater attention needs to be paid to the ways in which adjoining
branches of government (Congress and the courts), international actors (foreign
states and international governing agencies), and the public shape presidential
calculations, and hence presidential actions. At one level, this claim seems obvious.
Ours, after all, is hardly a system of governance that permits presidents to impose
their will whenever, and however, they choose (Jones 1994). The trouble, though,
lies in the diYculty of discerning institutional constraints—and here, I suggest,
there is room for continued improvement. Too often, when trying to assess the
extent to which Congress constrains the president, scholars take an inventory of the
318 william g. howell

number of times that vetoes are overridden, investigations are mounted, hearings
are held, or bills are killed, either in committee or on the Xoor. Such lists are
helpful, if only because they convey some sense for the variety of ways in which
Congress checks presidential power. The deeper constraints on presidential power,
however, remain hidden, as presidents anticipate the political responses
that diVerent actions are likely to evoke and adjust accordingly.9 To assess
congressional checks on presidential war powers, for instance, it will not do to
simply count the number of times that Congress has invoked the War Powers
Resolution or has demanded the cessation of an ongoing military venture. One
must, instead, develop a theory that identiWes when Congress is especially likely to
limit the presidential use of force, and then assemble data that identify when
presidents delay some actions and forgo others in anticipation of congressional
opposition—opposition, it is worth noting, that we may never observe. The best
quantitative research on the presidency recognizes the logic of anticipated response
and formulates statistical tests that account for it.
Finally, scholars too often rely exclusively on those data that are most easily
acquired, which typically involves samplings of presidential orders, speeches, and
proposals issued during the modern era. But as Stephen Skowronek (1993) rightly
insists, much is to be learned from presidents who held oYce before 1945, the usual
starting point for presidential time series. Early changes in political parties, the
organizational structure of Congress and the courts, media coverage of the federal
government, and public opinion have had huge implications for the develop-
ments of the presidency. And, as Skowronek demonstrates, the similarities
between modern and premodern presidents can be just as striking as the diVerences
between presidents holding oYce since Roosevelt. When searching around
for one’s keys, it makes perfect sense to begin where the proverbial street lamp
shines brightest. Eventually, though, scholars will need to hone their sights on
darker corners; and, in this instance, commit the resources required to build
additional data-sets of presidential activities during the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries.
It remains to be seen whether scholars can build a vibrant and robust body
of quantitative scholarship on the presidency. To be sure, some trends are
encouraging. Important advances have been made. But until the literature is better
integrated into the discipline, and until quantitative research addresses some of
the problems outlined above, there will be continued cause to revisit and reiterate
the simple pleas that George Edwards issued a quarter-century ago.

9 For a survey of the recent game theoretic research that accounts for these interbranch dynamics,
see de Figueiredo, Jacobi, et al. 2006.
 executives—the american presidency 319

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 chapter 17
...................................................................................................................................................

EXECUTIVES IN
PA R L I A M E N TA RY
G OV E R N M E N T
...................................................................................................................................................

r. a. w. rhodes

1 Introduction: Mapping the Field

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The literature on executive government in parliamentary systems can often be more

fun to read because it is not written by political scientists. There are the popular
biographies of individual prime ministers with varying degrees of lurid detail about
their private lives. There are psycho-biographies probing childhood and other forma-
tive experiences. There are the journalists recording the comings and goings of our
leaders, with an eye for a story that is never discomforted by an inconvenient fact.
There are novels. But where are the theories, the models, and the typologies of
executive government in parliamentary systems that distinguish political scientists
from their more racy rivals? In fact, the academic political science literature is
limited—more so than readers might expect or the importance of the subject warrants.
It is limited in part by the continuing need to break free of worn-out debates,
especially in the analysis of Westminster systems. Instead of the tired debate about
the power of the prime minister, the study of executives in parliamentary

* I would like to thank Sarah Binder, Bob Goodin, Bert Rockman, and John Wanna for their advice,
with a special thank you to Robert Elgie for exemplifying the phrase ‘‘constructive criticism.’’
324 r. a. w. rhodes

government would be far more vibrant if it engaged with core debates in the
comparative politics literature. I try to build such bridges in this chapter. Of course,
conceptual ambiguity and contestable assumptions lie at the heart of most current
classiWcations and deWnitions of regimes (Elgie 1998). I adopt Shugart’s (Chapter
18, 348) deWnition. ‘‘Pure’’ parliamentary democracy is deWned by two basic features:
‘‘executive authority, consisting of a prime minister and cabinet, arises out of the
legislative assembly;’’ and ‘‘the executive is at all times subject to potential dismissal
via a vote of ‘no conWdence’ by a majority of the legislative assembly’’.
Mapping the Weld is further complicated because the study of the executive is
both a subset of the study of parliamentary government and related to broader
concepts than parliamentary government (such as democratic eVectiveness,
political leadership, presidentialism, and the comparative analysis of regimes).
This can both diVuse the focus on the executive and oversimplify the analysis of,
for example, democratic eVectiveness (which is shaped by more than the actions of
the executive). I range widely despite these dangers, however, given the importance
of placing the executive in its broader context.
Finally, the topic is also inextricably linked to broader trends in political science
and the way we study politics. It is no coincidence that the shift from the formal-
legalism of the Westminster approach to modernist-empiricism to rational choice
institutionalism parallels trends in political science. My conclusions go with this
Xow. I counterpoise rational choice institutionalism with the interpretive turn
because that is the recurring debate in present-day political science.
The Wrst section of this chapter discusses existing approaches to executive gov-
ernment—Westminster, modernist-empiricism, core executive, and rational choice
institutionalism. Second, I look at core debates and challenges in the study of
parliamentary executives, the main examples of which are Britain, the Common-
wealth, and Western Europe (see Shugart, Chapter 18, Table 18.1). For these countries,
I cover: the presidentialization of prime ministers, executive coordination,
policy advice and policy capacity, and the comparative analysis of parliamentary
government. Finally, I look at the future research agenda, covering rational choice
institutionalism’s redeWnition of the Weld as the analysis of veto-players; and the
interpretive turn and the analysis of court politics and traditions.

2 Approaches to Executive
Government
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

For most of the twentieth century, the Westminster approach was the most common
framework of analysis. The notion of the ‘‘Westminster system’’ is remarkably
 executives in parliamentary government 325

diVuse. It commonly refers to a family of ideas that includes: a unitary state;

parliamentary sovereignty; strong cabinet government; accountability through
elections; majority party control of the executive (that is, prime minister, cabinet,
and the civil service); elaborate conventions for the conduct of parliamentary
business; institutionalized opposition; and the rules of debate (Gamble 1990, 407).
Lists of deWning characteristics invariably include the ‘‘eYcient secret’’ of ‘‘the
closer union, the nearly complete fusion, of the executive and legislative powers’’
(Bagehot 1963, 65). In other words, the party or parties with a majority in parliament
form the executive, deWned by key positions (that is, prime minister and cabinet).
The cabinet is collectively responsible for its decisions, and its members (or minis-
ters) are individually responsible to parliament for the work of their departments.
The Westminster approach also assumes that power lies with speciWc positions and
the people who occupy those positions. The literature is dominated by such topics
as the relative power of prime minister and cabinet (see below, pp. 327–9),
and the relationship between the executive and parliament (see Chapter 18).
The modernist-empiricist or behavioral approach treats political executives as
discrete objects that can be compared, measured, and classiWed. Its core beliefs
are measurement, law-like generalization, and neutral evidence (see Bevir and
Rhodes 2006, ch. 5). Early studies focused on political elites, especially the notion
of political leadership (see Elgie 1995; Mughan and Patterson 1992). There is a
plethora of country studies. The popular topics include, for example: the recruit-
ment, tenure, and careers of prime ministers and ministers; ministerial and prime
ministerial relationships with bureaucracy and other sources of policy advice; their
links with political parties, the media, and the public; and the resources and
personal qualities of ministers and prime ministers (see, for example, Blondel
and Thiébault 1991; Jones 1991). While valuable as compendia, of information,
such studies fall foul of Rudyard Kipling’s (1990, 181) nostrum, ‘‘and what should
they know of England who only England knows’’ (‘‘The English Flag,’’ 1891)?
Others are more ambitious. Blondel and Müller-Rommel’s (1993a, 15) work on
Western Europe studies the ‘‘the interplay of one major independent variable—the
single-party or coalition character of the cabinet—with a number of structural and
customary arrangements in governments, and of the combined eVect of these
factors on decision making processes’’ in twelve West European cabinets. It is ‘‘a
fully comparative analysis’’ with data drawn from a survey of 410 ministers in nine
countries, and an analysis of newspaper reports on cabinet conXicts in eleven
countries.
The core executive approach was developed in the analysis of British government
(Dunleavy and Rhodes 1990), but it has travelled well (Elgie 1997). It deWnes the
executive in functional terms. So, instead of asking which position is important, we
can ask which functions deWne the innermost part or heart of government. For
example, the core functions of the British executive are to pull together and
integrate central government policies and to act as Wnal arbiters of conXicts
326 r. a. w. rhodes

between diVerent elements of the government machine. These functions can be

carried out by institutions other than prime minister and cabinet; for example, the
Treasury and the Cabinet OYce. By deWning the core executive in functional terms,
the key question becomes, ‘‘who does what?’’
But power is contingent and relational; that is, it depends on the relative power of
other actors and events. Ministers depend on the prime minister for support in
getting funds from the Treasury. In turn, the prime minister depends on his ministers
to deliver the party’s electoral promises. Both ministers and prime minister depend
on the health of the American economy for a stable pound and a growing economy to
ensure the needed Wnancial resources are available. This power-dependence
approach focuses on the distribution of such resources as money and authority in
the core executive and explores the shifting patterns of dependence between
the several actors (see for example Elgie 1997; Rhodes 1995; Smith 1999).
The term ‘‘core executive’’ directs our attention, therefore, to two key questions:
‘‘Who does what?’’ and ‘‘Who has what resources?’’ If the answer for several policy
areas and several conXicts is that the prime minister coordinates policy, resolves
conXicts, and controls the main resources, we will indeed have prime ministerial
government.
The rational choice institutionalism approach comes in many guises and increas-
ingly focuses on the analysis of prime ministers and cabinets. One example must
suYce: Strøm and his colleagues’ principal–agent theory of delegation and
accountability in parliamentary democracies (see also Cox 1987; Laver and Shepsle
1996; Tsebelis 2002).
Strøm, Müller, and Bergman (2003, chapters 3 and 23) conceive of parliamentary
democracy as a chain of delegation from principals to agents: from voters to their
elected representatives, from legislators to the chief executive, from the chief
executive to ministerial heads of departments, and from ministers to civil servants.
Principals and agents are in a hierarchic relationship and both act rationally to gain
exogenously given preferences. No agent is perfect. So agency loss occurs because
the actual consequences of delegation diverge from the principal’s ideal outcome.
There are two main causes of agency loss. First, there may be a conXict of interest
between the principal and the agent who may, for example, have diVerent policy
objectives. Second, there may be limited information and resources and, for
example, the principal may not know what the agent is doing. When principals
know less than agents, two problems occur, moral hazard and adverse selection.
Moral hazard arises when an agent takes actions of which a principal disapproves.
Adverse selection occurs when an agent is unwilling or unable to pursue the
principal’s interests. A principal can use ex ante mechanisms, such as screening
of applicants, to control adverse selection problems, and ex post mechanisms, such
as contracts, to deal with moral hazard. This framework is then used to analyse, for
example, the strengths of Westminster parliamentary systems, which are said to be
coordination and eYciency.
 executives in parliamentary government 327

Each of these approaches has its limitations. Westminster’s formal-legal

approach ignores larger debates both in the study of comparative politics and in
political science. It can revel in archaism, taking its stance from Bagehot (Bogdanor
1999, 175). The sheer scale of Blondel’s modernist-empiricism is impressive but it is
the scale that poses problems. Dogan and Pelassy (1990, 116) comment that
such comparative studies disappoint because ‘‘comparability is very low.’’ Citing
Blondel’s (1980) analysis of all ‘‘heads of government in the post-war period,’’ they
ask: ‘‘what sense is there in comparing the ‘regular ministerial career’ in the Middle
East and in the Atlantic and communist worlds? Aren’t we here misled simply by
verbal similarities?’’ Ignoring the general criticisms of rational choice (see Green
and Shapiro 1994; Hay 2004), there are the speciWc limitations of principal–agent
theory when applied to the study of executives. For example, the assumption of
hierarchy does not hold. Ministers are embedded in webs of vertical and horizontal
dependencies and only the former can be conceptualized as principal–agent chains.
Webs or networks are conspicuous by their absence despite their centrality to both
delegation and accountability.

3 Debates and Challenges

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

This section will cover the growth of prime ministerial power, referred to as the
presidentialization thesis; executive coordination; policy advice and policy capacity;
accountability; the eVects of institutional diVerences; and comparative analysis.

3.1 Presidentialization of Prime Ministers

The conventional cliché is that the prime minister is no longer ‘‘Wrst among equals’’
in the government but the elected ‘‘Wrst magistrate’’ (Crossman 1963, 22–3; Mack-
intosh 1968, 627). There is a corresponding decline in cabinet government. It is
diYcult to overstate the scale of this debate in the academic literature. It is the
deWning debate of the Westminster approach and refers to three main claims: there
has been a centralization of coordination, a pluralization of advice, and the
personalization of party leadership and elections.1 The broad argument is common

1 On the several deWnitions of the presidentialization thesis see: Foley 1993, ch. 1; Pryce 1997, 37, 67;
Mughan 2000, 9–10; and Poguntke and Webb 2005a, 5, 8–11. For the key articles on prime ministerial
power see Dunleavy and Rhodes 1995; King 1969, 1985.
328 r. a. w. rhodes

to Westminster systems such as Australia, Britain, and Canada as well as West

European parliamentary systems.2
Foley’s (2000) analysis of ‘‘spatial leadership’’ has proved inXuential. The phrase
refers to ‘‘the way in which political authority is protected and cultivated by the
creation of a sense of distance, and . . . detachment from government.’’ He sees
Margaret Thatcher as the pioneer in Britain. From the start, she was an outsider in
her own party with an unconventional political and policy agenda with populist
appeal. She became distanced from her own government, respected by the public
for her leadership while few supported her policies. Tony Blair dared to be Thatcher
and ‘‘raised the concept and application of spatial leadership to unprecedented
levels of development and sophistication’’ (Foley 2000, 98, 110). The key methods
are ‘‘going public,’’ or building support by appealing to the public over the heads of
government and entrenched interests, and ‘‘getting personal,’’ or using the media in
all its forms to build personal rapport with the public independent of party and
government. They are no longer leaders but ‘‘Xagships’’ (Foley 2000), dominating
the media coverage, waging permanent election campaigns, and exercising a major
inXuence over election results. The party remains under tight control and the
leader often reminds the party not only of their duty to the public but of his special
link with them. Indeed, Foley’s argument seems to be more about the changing role
of parties and party leadership than about prime ministers and cabinets.
Such presidential tales are not told of all prime ministers (see Hennessy 2000,
chapter 19). Of the twelve postwar British prime ministers, only three have
attracted the epithet ‘‘presidential’’—Harold Wilson (1964–70), Margaret Thatcher
(1979–90), and Tony Blair (1997 onwards). And of these three, judgments about
their presidentialism varied while they were in oYce. It helps to distinguish
between the electoral, policy-making, and implementation arenas.
First, personalization is a prominent feature of media management and electio-
neering in Britain. If we must use presidential language, it is here in the electoral
and party arena that it is most apt. Wilson, Thatcher, and Blair were Wgureheads
(see for example Seymour-Ure 2003). Spatial leadership has arrived.
In the policy-making arena, there is some truth to the claim of a centralization of
policy-making on the prime minister’s oYce. However, for Australia, Canada, as well
as Britain, this claim applies to selected policy areas only, with the equally important
proviso that the prime minister’s attention is also selective. Thus, the continuous
reform of the British center speaks of the failure of coordination, not its success.
The prime minister’s inXuence is most constrained in the policy implementation
arena, so it is conspicuous for its absence in most accounts of presidentialism.
Here, other senior government Wgures, ministers and their departments, and other

2 On the comparative analysis of Westminster systems see Campbell 1998; Foley 2000; Hargrove
2001; Savoie 1999; and Weller 1985. On the small Westminster systems of the PaciWc see Pattapan,
Wanna, and Weller 2005. For the equivalent debate in Canada see Punnett 1977, ch. 1; and cf. Savoie
1999 with Bakvis 2000. For Australia, see Aulich and Wettenhall 2005; and Weller 1993.
 executives in parliamentary government 329

agencies are key actors. There is a second story of prime ministerial power that focuses
on the problems of governance and sees the prime minister as constantly involved in
negotiations and diplomacy with a host of other politicians, oYcials, and citizens
(for a summary and critique see Marinetto 2003). Prime ministers are just one actor
among many interdependent ones in the networks that criss-cross Whitehall, West-
minster, and beyond (and there can be no clearer example than the dependence
of Blair on Gordon Brown, Chancellor of the Exchequer; see Seldon 2004).
The decline of cabinet government is the reverse side of the presidentialization
coin, but what exactly has been lost? Pat Weller (2003, 74–8) distinguishes between
the cabinet as the constitutional theory of ministerial and collective responsibility,
as a set of rules and routines, as the forum for policy-making and coordination, as a
political bargaining arena between central actors, and as a component of the core
executive. Those commentators who justify talk of the demise of cabinet by treating
policy-making and coordination as the deWning functions of cabinet have failed to
notice that these functions have been carried out by several central agencies,
including but not limited to the cabinet, for over half a century. This conclusion
also stands for most West European cabinets (see Blondel and Müller-Rommel
1993b). To suggest that any postwar prime minister abandoned the doctrine of
collective responsibility is nonsense. Leaks are abhorred. Unity is essential to
electoral success. Dissenters go. Prime ministers have a pragmatic view of individ-
ual ministerial responsibility; ministers go when the political costs of keeping them
exceed the costs of a resignation.
In sum, the fortunes of ‘‘presidential’’ prime ministers vary markedly between
arenas and during their period of oYce. It is misleading to focus only on the prime
minister and cabinet because political power is not concentrated in them, but more
widely dispersed. It is contested, so the standing of any individual—prime minister
or chancellor—or institution—cabinet or Treasury—is contingent. As Helms
(2005, 259) concludes from his comparison of American, British, and German
core executives, ‘‘there is rather limited evidence of presidentialization,’’ although
Poguntke and Webb (2005b, 347) disagree, arguing the various shifts ‘‘generate a
greater potential for, and likelihood of, this ‘presidential’ working mode’’ irrespective
of regime (emphasis added). Fifty years have elapsed in the UK, so not there yet
then! Fear not, the debate will go on, and on . . .

3.2 Executive Coordination

Problems of coordination loom large and come in two guises—the practical strand
of how do we improve it, and the academic strand of what is it and when and why
does it work.
Pollitt and Bouckaert’s (2000, 79–83, 165–6) review of recent public sector
reforms in ten countries shows that most struggle to balance specialization and
330 r. a. w. rhodes

coordination. The means are many and varied. The outcomes remain uncertain. In
response to the prime minister of Australia’s call for a ‘‘whole of government
approach,’’ the Australian Public Service (APS) produced Connecting Government
(MAC 2004, 1), which deWnes the whole-of-government approach as ‘‘public
service agencies working across portfolio boundaries to achieve a shared goal and
an integrated government response to particular issues.’’ Detailing the speciWc
mechanisms is less important than noting the several problems that quickly
emerged. First, how do you get ministers to buy into interdepartmental coordin-
ation? The short answer is reluctantly because they want to make a name for
themselves, not their colleagues. Second, departments are competing silos. The
rewards of departmentalism are known and obvious. For interdepartmental
coordination, it is the costs that are known and obvious! For most managers,
coordination costs time, money, and staV and is not their main concern. Third,
coordination is for central agencies! It serves their priorities, not those necessarily
of the line departments. Fourth, there is a tension between managerialism, which
seeks to decentralize decision-making, and the call for better coordination,
which seeks to centralize it. Fifth, in countries like Australia and Canada, federal-
ism is a major check of Commonwealth aims. Coordination is for the Common-
wealth, not state governments and other agencies. The Commonwealth does not
control service delivery. It has limited reach, so it has to negotiate. Central
coordination presumes agreement with the priorities of central agencies when it
is the lack of such agreement that creates many of the problems—a Catch-22.
All of these problems are common to executives in parliamentary government. We
know that despite strong pressures for more and proactive coordination throughout
Western Europe, the coordination activities of central governments remain modest.
Such coordination has four characteristics. First, it is ‘‘negative, based on
persistent compartmentalization, mutual avoidance, and friction reduction between
powerful bureaux or ministries.’’ Second, it occurs ‘‘at the lower levels of the state
machine and is organised by speciWc established networks.’’ Third, it is ‘‘rarely
strategic’’ and ‘‘almost all attempts to create proactive strategic capacity for long-
term planning . . . have failed.’’ Finally, it is ‘‘intermittent and selective . . . improvised
late in the policy process, politicised, issue-oriented and reactive’’ (Wright and
Hayward 2000, 33). In sum, coordination is the ‘‘philosopher’s stone’’ of modern
government, ever sought, but always just beyond reach, all too often because it
assumes both agreement on goals and a central coordinator (Seidman 1975, 190).

3.3 Accountability
Mulgan’s (2003, 113) survey of accountability documents how government account-
ability is ‘‘seriously impeded’’ by an executive branch that ‘‘remains over-dominant
and too easily able to escape proper scrutiny.’’ There are three common problems in
 executives in parliamentary government 331

holding the powerful to account in Westminster systems: individual and collective

ministerial responsibility, public sector reform and managerial accountability, and
network accountability or the problem of many hands.

3.4 Ministerial Responsibility

The doctrine of ministerial responsibility resembles ‘‘the procreation of eels’’
(Marshall 1986, 54). Thus, it ‘‘can be suspended or breached except in circumstan-
ces when the Prime Minister, having considered the immediate and long-term
political implications, feels it to be more honoured in the observance’’ (Marshall
1986, 223). Similarly, on collective responsibility, ‘‘Cabinet may have a policy, if it
wishes, of permitting public disagreements between Ministers even on matters of
major policy without endangering constitutional principles’’ (Marshall 1986, 225).
In short, ministers do not resign and cabinets disagree in public. Whether
ministerial responsibility and collective responsibility apply depends on the
political standing of the minister and the judgment of the prime minister
(see also Woodhouse 2003).
This summary errs on the side of dry. It is worth noting that 43 percent of all
resignations between 1945 and 1991 in the UK were for sexual or Wnancial scandals,
not personal or departmental error (Dowding 1995, 165). There is a serious point to
this aside. It suggests that ministerial responsibility is alive and well, but not in its
conventional formulation. It is no longer the prime minister and the political
standing of the minister that decides a resignation—but the media maelstrom (see
also Woodhouse 2004, 17).
The position diVers little in Australia where, ‘‘if individual ministerial respon-
sibility ever meant that ministers were expected to resign for major policy blunders
or for serious errors of maladministration by a government department, it is dead.’’
Nonetheless, collective responsibility is alive and well: ‘‘If ministers cannot publicly
support a cabinet decision or the general direction of government policies, they
resign’’ (Thompson and Tillotsen 1999, 56).

3.5 Civil Service Accountability

Sir Richard Wilson (1999), former head of the British home civil service, ques-
tioned how good top civil servants were at policy advice and how often their advice
had been evaluated. It was a rhetorical question. There were no formal mechanisms
for holding the civil service to account for its policy advice. In Australia, political
332 r. a. w. rhodes

control of the public service became the order of the day in the 1990s. The language
of reform called for ‘‘responsiveness’’ by public servants to the needs and wishes
of ministers and Wve-year contracts for top public servants were instituted to
reinforce the message. Pollitt and Bouckaert (2000, 155) identify similar trends in
Canada, France, and Sweden.
The accountability of public servants for their management work is scarcely any
better. In theory, responsibility (for management) can be delegated to agency chief
executives, while accountability (for policy) remains with the minister. But this
distinction hinges on clear deWnitions of both policy and management and of the
respective roles and responsibilities of ministers, senior civil servants, and chief
executives. As the British Cabinet OYce (1994, 24) observes, ‘‘it is not always
possible to clearly separate policy and management issues.’’ It also comments
that ‘‘some Chief Executives, especially the ones from the private sector, are very
conscious of being in what they consider to be a fairly precarious position.’’ Again,
similar problems occur in Australia and Canada (see Weller 2001 and Aucoin 1995).
Pollitt and Bouckaert (2000, 157) dryly observe that ‘‘politicians have not been
spectacularly willing to relinquish their former habits of detailed intervention.’’
Allied to ministerial intervention, public management reforms have created an
‘‘anarchy of aggressive competitive accountability’’ that undercuts performance
(Behn 2001, 216).

3.6 Holding Networks to Account

To the ambiguity of management reforms, we can also add the institutional
complexity of networks, which obscures who is accountable to whom for what.
For many governments, outside police, defense, and social security, there are
few policy areas where the centre has hands-on control and where a command
operating code might work. Governments work with and through many other
agencies; they manage networks, commonly referred to nowadays as partnerships.
As Mulgan (2003, 211–14) argues, buck-passing is much more likely in networks
because responsibility is divided and the reach of political leaders is much reduced.
Agencies and special purpose bodies have multiple constituencies, each seeking to
hold them to account, and there is no system, just disparate, overlapping demands.
As Peters (1998, 302) argues, ‘‘strong vertical linkages between social groups and
public organizations makes eVective coordination and horizontal linkages within
government more diYcult.’’ Once agreement is reached in the network, ‘‘the
latitude for negotiation by public organizations at the top of the network is
limited.’’ The brute fact is that multiple accountabilities weaken central control
(Mulgan 2003, 225).
 executives in parliamentary government 333

So, if we focus on ministerial responsibility, we have a seriously lopsided view of

accountability in parliamentary government. Rather, we need to think about webs
of accountabilities; about sets of organizations, not the individual minister; and
about legal, professional, and managerial accountability as well as political.

4 Policy Advice and Policy Capacity

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Over the past quarter of a century there has been a major restructuring of the state
in Western Europe. Whether conceptualized as the hollowing out of the state or the
shift from bureaucracy to markets to networks, a recurrent concern in the changes
has been the capacity of the core executive. Some argue the core executive is
‘‘overloaded;’’ that is, the demands on the core executive exceed its capacities.
For others, and especially prime ministers and ministers, the concern has been to
get more and better advice. The public service was found wanting and replaced
with a plurality of advisers. Finally, because of government reform, critics charge
there has been a politicization of advice.

4.1 Government Overload

Although the phrase ‘‘government overload’’ is associated with the neoliberal
critique of big government (see for example Brittan 1975), it also has a speciWc if
related meaning, referring to the excessive workloads of ministers and prime
ministers. Peter Hennessy (1995, 174–5) turns to psychiatry and occupational health
to argue that ‘‘institutional overload’’ and ‘‘personal overstretch’’ undermine both
health and the quality of decision-making. Ministers and prime ministers are all
too keenly aware of the pressures. There are endless suggestions for strengthening
‘‘central capability,’’ as it is known, to combat such pressures (see Lee, Jones, and
Burnham 1988). For example, Hennessy (2000, 539–41) seeks to distance No. 10
from a frenetic everyday life by developing both a plurality of analytical capacities
and a greater capacity to provide risk and strategic assessments. He wants a
‘‘small-but-smart model’’ of No. 10 in which the prime minister is ‘‘the guardian
of the government’s overall strategy’’ backed by a risk assessment unit with a wide
remit: ‘‘all those areas and activities where setbacks, catastrophes or unforeseen
developments can (rightly or wrongly) be laid at a PM’s door.’’
The problem and solutions are not peculiarly British. Peters, Rhodes, and Wright
(2000) cover trends and reforms in the administrative support for core executives
in twelve countries. They identify a battery of shared pressures on core
334 r. a. w. rhodes

executives, including the media and the personalization of executive politics,

international aVairs, especially security and defense post-9/11, and the pressure
for domestic policy coordination. As a result, most countries have developed and
continue to develop support structures so their core executive can cope.

4.2 Plurality of Advice

In Westminster systems, the civil service had a monopoly of advice and this advice
was collated and coordinated by the cabinet through its ministerial and oYcial
committees and the Cabinet OYce. Campbell and Wilson (1995, 59–61, 294–6)
argue for the death of the Westminster approach insisting the civil service monopoly
of advice to ministers has been broken. We now have competing centers of advice
and coordination, with the civil service putting together packages of advice from
many sources, insisting not on their monopoly but on staying ‘‘in the loop.’’ Prime
ministers have their own sources of advice, whether from advisers, management
consultants, or think-tanks. For example, total staV employed by the British prime
minister rose from 71 in 1970 to over 200 under Blair (Kavanagh and Seldon 1999,
300), creating ‘‘the department that-will-not-speak-its-name’’ (Hennessy 2002, 20).
It is important to keep this increase in perspective. For example, in Britain, the total
number of political and policy advisers remains small compared with the 3,429
members of the senior civil service. Most ministers have only one or two advisers.
The growth of advisers has been and remains controversial. For example, in
Australia, there has been much criticism of their role in protecting the minister—
for creating Wrewalls that protect them not only from outside criticism but also
from his or her department, from unpleasant and unwelcome information, and
from parliament (see Marr and Wilkinson 2003). The problems are endemic. In
both Australia and Britain, there has been much debate about their numbers, cost,
expertise, conduct, roles and responsibilities, and relationship to civil servants. The
British government introduced a code of conduct (see Blick 2004). The Australian
government denied there was a problem. Clearly we have plural sources of advice,
ministerial advisers who are here to stay, and problems that will not go away. It is
less clear there will be eVective management of their roles or accountability for
their actions, irrespective of whether there is a code of conduct.

4.3 Politicization
During Margaret Thatcher’s premiership fears were expressed that the civil service
would be politicized. They have not subsided since. The Royal Institute of Public
Administration (1987, 43) concluded, ‘‘the appointment process has become more
personalised’’ but ‘‘we do not believe that these appointments and promotions are
 executives in parliamentary government 335

based on the candidate’s support for or commitment to particular ideologies or

objectives.’’ Some found it more diYcult to hold the sanguine view that it was
‘‘personalisation not politicisation’’ (Plowden 1994, 100–9).
In Australia, since Labor’s 1972–5 term of oYce, fears have been expressed about
a ‘‘creeping politicization’’ (Weller 1989, 369). By the late 1990s, it had escalated to
the point where many charged ministers were no longer receiving ‘‘frank and
fearless’’ advice. Others saw the shift as civil servants becoming more responsive
to their political masters (Weller 2001). There may have been no overt party
politicization of the public service in either country but it has lost its ‘‘institutional
scepticism’’ (Hugo Young cited in Plowden 1994, 104). Rhodes and Weller (2001,
238) conclude from their six-country survey that top civil servants ‘‘are selected and
kept in part because of their style and approach, in part because of their policy
preferences, and in part because ministers are comfortable with them.’’ They also
note that for most changes Australia and New Zealand were the exceptions. For
most of the reforms, they had gone further, faster than any other country.
Peters, Rhodes, and Wright (2000, x) argue that three conclusions stand out from
their country studies of the policy advice and policy capacity of core executives.
First, there are the increasing pressures for centralization as core executives
confront the diVerentiation and pluralization of government. Second, the staVs
of executive leaders have grown in size and have common tasks, but the weight
attached to each task varies from country to country. Finally, despite common
domestic and international pressures, national distinctiveness, rather than conver-
gence, characterizes the institutional response of the several countries. The
interplay of constitutional, political, and institutional factors, and above all
the governmental tradition in which actors construct their own interpretation of
the pressures and trends, shape the core executive’s response.

5 So What? The Consequences of

Institutional Differences
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

If prime ministerial power is the deWning debate in the literature about Westminster
systems, then the debate about the eVects of consensus government typiWes the
literature on West European systems.3 The Westminster approach is not only

3 On the comparative analysis of executives in West European parliamentary systems see: Blondel and
Müller-Rommell 1993b, 1997; Jones 1991; Poguntke and Webb 2005c; Strøm, Müller, and Bergman 2003.
336 r. a. w. rhodes

descriptive but also normative. All too often, it displays both a preference for strong
leadership and a belief that majority party systems deliver more eVective government.
The most wide-ranging attempt to measure, rather than assert, the diVerences
between majoritarian and consensual parliamentary governments is Lijphart (1999
[1984]). Lijphart (1999, chs. 15 and 16) asks whether consensus democracy makes a
diVerence. He challenges the conventional wisdom on the trade-oV between quality
and eVectiveness in which proportional representation and consensus government
provide better representation whereas plurality elections and majority government
provide more eVective policy-making. He concludes that consensus democracies
do outperform majoritarian democracies but, because the statistical results are
‘‘relatively weak and mixed,’’ he phrases his conclusion as a negative: ‘‘majoritarian
democracies are clearly not superior to consensus democracies in managing the
economy and in maintaining civil peace’’ (Lijphart 1999, 274; emphasis in original).
However, consensus democracies combine, on the one hand, better women’s
representation, great political equality, and higher participation in elections, with
‘‘gentler qualities,’’ such as persuasion, consultation, and ‘‘more generous policies’’
on, for example, the environment. So the good news is there is no trade-oV
between eVectiveness and democracy. The bad news is that ‘‘institutional and
cultural traditions may present strong resistance to consensus democracy’’ (Lij-
phart 1999, 305). Also, as Peters (1999, 81–2) argues, the advantage of majoritarian
government is that the executive can act as it wants—a prime minister can shape
policy more eVectively. The fact they are less eVective could well be a function of
poor policy choices not of institutional diVerences—in a phrase, ‘‘leaders do not
know best.’’ In turn, this criticism begs the question of whether policy choices
would be better if they were the product of persuasion and consultation rather than
of adversary politics (on how ‘‘leaders knowing best’’ can lead to policy disaster see
Butler, Adonis, and Travers 1994).
And so it goes on, but the key point is there can be no easy assumption about the
eVects of diVering institutional arrangements. The eVortless superiority enshrined
in the conventional wisdom that attributes decisiveness and eVectiveness to the
Westminster approach Xounders on the sheer variety of political practice within
and between regime types (see also Blondel and Müller-Rommell 1993b; Weaver
and Rockman 1993, 445–6, 454; Strøm, Müller, and Bergman 2003).

6 Comparative Analysis
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In part, the complexity we seek to understand is compounded by confusions about

‘‘what are we comparing?’’ It may seem straightforward to ask this question but the
 executives in parliamentary government 337

answer reveals some odd features in the comparative analysis of cabinets and prime
ministers.
First, much of the published work on Westminster systems is not strictly
speaking comparative, but compilations of country studies (see Weller, Bakviss,
and Rhodes 1997, 7–11 for citations). Nothing wrong with that, but it is not
comparative analysis (cf. Weller 1985). Second, the modernist-empiricist project
can take such labels as ‘‘cabinet’’ at face value and compare apples and oranges.
Switching cabinets for (say) ministers will not solve the problem (see Blondel and
Thiébault 1991). Third, most comparative research is between regime types, not on
variations within one regime type (see Shugart, Chapter 18). Finally, and poten-
tially the most misleading of all, there are the comparisons of American presidents
with UK prime minsters. Rose (2001, 237–44) identiWes one similarity—the impact
of the mass medias in personalizing chief executives and election campaigns—and
many diVerences, including diVerent recruitment and career paths, direct
popular election of the president, Wxed term of oYce, constitutional checks and
balances, and limited control of the legislature and, therefore, domestic policy. It
might seem an overly simple-minded conclusion but the comparative analysis of
prime ministers and cabinets needs to compare like with like. It is simply not
revealing to be told there are big diVerences in the powers of prime ministers, there
are big diVerences in the powers of presidents, and there are big diVerences between
prime ministers and presidents.
There are two fruitful lines of analysis: rational choice institutionalism (see
Strøm, Müller, and Bergman 2003) and core executive models (see Elgie 1997,
1998). I have provided already a brief summary of Strøm’s principal–agent theory
(above, p. 326). Alternatively, Elgie suggests we use the six models of core executive
operations to analyse prime ministerial and semi-presidential systems:
1. Monocratic government—personal leadership by prime minister or president.
2. Collective government—small, face-to-face groups decide with no single mem-
ber controlling.
3. Ministerial government—the political heads of major departments decide
policy.
4. Bureaucratic government—non-elected oYcials in government departments
and agencies decide policy.
5. Shared government—two or three individuals have joint and equal responsi-
bility for policy-making.
6. Segmented government—a sectoral division of labour among executive actors
with little or no cross-sectoral coordination.
The advantage of this formulation is that it gets away from bald assertions about
the Wxed nature of executive politics. While only one model may operate at any one
time, there can still be a Xuid pattern as one model succeeds another. It also
concentrates the mind on the questions of which model of executive politics
338 r. a. w. rhodes

prevails, when, how, and why did it change. Focusing on the power of prime
minister and cabinet is limiting, whereas these questions open the possibility of
explaining similarities and diVerences in executive politics (Elgie 1997, 231 and
citations). Whatever the preferred analytical approach, the key point is that the
comparative analysis of executives must not, as in the case of Westminster systems,
become inward looking and oblivious to developments elsewhere in comparative
politics.

7 Conclusions—Whither the Study of

Executives?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Any commentator who underestimates the longevity of and commitment to

modernist-empiricism does so at his or her peril. There is a lifetime’s work for
any number of political scientists in documenting and comparing trends in
parliamentary government in the Commonwealth and Western Europe. All the
topics covered earlier were and remain challenges.
For those modernist-empiricists with even greater aspirations, rational choice
institutionalism oVers a thoroughgoing redeWnition of the Weld. Tsebelis’s (2002)
analysis of veto-players is the key contribution. His general theory of institutions
posits that governments, in order to change policies, must get individual actors
or veto-players to agree. Institutional veto-players are speciWed by the constitu-
tion and partisan veto-players are speciWed by the party system. Each country has
a set of veto-players, with speciWc ideological distance between them, and a
degree of cohesion. This conWguration is the status quo. When there are many
veto-players, signiWcant change in the status quo is impossible, giving policy
stability. Variations in the institutional framework cease to be signiWcant. Rather,
countries diVer in ‘‘the number, ideological distances, and cohesions of the
corresponding veto-players.’’ So, he reverses the usual meaning of presidential
and parliamentary government: ‘‘agenda control most frequently belongs to
governments in parliamentary systems and parliaments in presidential ones’’
(Tsebelis 2002, 67).
Such propositions are nothing if not challenging, so debate ensues. For example,
Strøm, Müller, and Bergman (2003, chs. 3 and 23) argue veto-players diVer by type
and speciWc authority. They distinguish between a dictator whose consent is both
necessary and suYcient, a veto-player whose consent is necessary, a decisive player
whose consent is suYcient, and a powerful player who can credibly threaten to take
 executives in parliamentary government 339

action. Such disagreements matter not in this context. The key point is, as
Elgie (2004, 327–8) argues, that the veto-players approach makes the study of
speciWc regimes part of the wider debate about how we study political institutions
and renders such notions as ‘‘semi-presidentialism’’ and cabinet government
irrelevant.
That is one agenda. There is another agenda that focuses on the analysis
of traditions, and on a political anthropology of executive politics. A governmental
tradition is a set of inherited beliefs about the institutions and history of
government. For Western Europe it is conventional to distinguish between the
Anglo-Saxon (no state) tradition; the Germanic Rechtsstaat tradition; the French
(Napoleonic) tradition; and the Scandinavian tradition which mixes the Anglo-
Saxon and Germanic. There is already a growing body of work on the impact of
such traditions. Bevir, Rhodes, and Weller (2003, 202) comment that Westminster
systems share a tradition of strong executive government that can force through
reform in response to economic pressures whereas, in the Netherlands, reform
hinged on coalition governments operating in a tradition of consensual corporat-
ism. France provides another contrast. The combination of departmental fragmen-
tation at the centre, coupled with the grand corps tradition and its beliefs about a
strong state, meant that reform rested on the consent of those about to be
reformed, and it was not forthcoming. As Helms (2005, 261) argues convincingly,
that an historical and comparative perspective is the best way to explore core
executives and the variety of political practice within and between regime types:
that is, the analysis of traditions by another name (as is the analysis of path
dependencies in Pierson 2004).
Why does the study of executive government and politics matter? We care
because the decisions of the great and the good aVect all our lives for good or ill.
So, we want to know what prime ministers and ministers do, why, how, and with
what consequences. In other words, we are interested in their reasons, their actions,
and the eVects of both. To understand their reasons we need a political anthropol-
ogy of executive politics. We need to observe prime ministers, ministers, and
cabinets ‘‘in action.’’
The obvious objection is that the secrecy surrounding executive politics limits
the opportunities for such work (but see Shore 2000). The point has force but we
must take care to avoid saying ‘‘no’’ for the powerful. We can learn from biography
and journalism. Biographers probe the reasons. Journalists with their exposé
tradition probe actions to show that ‘‘all is not as it seems.’’ Each has their answer
to the question of why study executive government. Both observe people in action.
If we want to know this world, then we must tell stories that enable listeners to see
executive governance afresh. A political anthropology of executive politics may be a
daunting prospect but it behoves us to try.
Whichever agenda prevails, the study of executives in parliamentary government
must not become yet one more of the multiplying sub-Welds of political science.
340 r. a. w. rhodes

Vim and vigour lies not in microspecialization but in engaging with the bigger
debates in comparative politics and political science. Even that ossiWed variant of
formal-legalism known as the Westminster approach can be reinvented by
engaging with the interpretive turn; by analysing the written constitutional
documents and their associated beliefs and practices; and by drawing on history
and philosophy—the founding constituent disciplines of political science—to
explore the historical evolution of political institutions.

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 chapter 18
...................................................................................................................................................

C O M PA R AT I V E
EXECUTIVE–
L E G I S L AT I V E
R E L AT I O N S
...................................................................................................................................................

matthew słberg shugart

The great expansion of constitution writing, especially after the fall of European
and then Soviet Communism after 1989, has generated a profusion of scholarship
about the eVects of diVerent constitutional systems of executive–legislative rela-
tions. The purpose of this chapter is to consider how the two basic democratic
regime types—parliamentary and presidential—diVer fundamentally through how
they structure the relations of the executive to the legislative branch in either a
hierarchical or a transactional fashion. In a hierarchy, one institution derives its
authority from another institution, whereas in a transaction, two (or more)
institutions derive their authority independently of one another.
The distinction between hierarchies and transactions is critical, because in a
democracy, by deWnition, the legislative power (or at least the most important part
of it) is popularly elected. Where parliamentary and presidential systems diVer is in
how executive power is constituted: Either subordinated to the legislative assembly,

* I acknowledge the research assistance and advice of Royce Carroll and Mónica Pachón-Buitrago.
 comparative executive–legislative relations 345

which may thus terminate its authority (parliamentary democracy), or else

itself elected and thus separated from the authority of the assembly (presidential
democracy). All forms of democratic constitutional design must trade oV these two
competing conceptions of hierarchy vs. transaction in the relations of the executive
to the legislative assembly. As we shall see, there are numerous hybrid forms—semi-
presidential and other. What makes them hybrids is precisely that they combine
some structural elements that emphasize hierarchical subordination of the execu-
tive to the assembly with other elements that emphasize transaction between the
executive and legislative powers.

1 Early Theoretical Considerations

and Their Modern Application
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

An important early justiWcation for the ‘‘separation of powers’’ between executive and
legislative (and judicial) authority is to be found in Montesquieu’s The Spirit of the
Laws, which argued for the importance of separating the various functions of gov-
ernment as a safeguard against tyranny. This notion strongly inXuenced the founders
of the US Constitution, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and John Jay, who
collectively expounded a theory of executive–legislative relations in several chapters of
their Federalist Papers. Written to explain and defend their choices in the then-
proposed US Constitution, the Federalists’ essays provide a blueprint for the trans-
actional executive–legislative relations that typify presidentialism. On the other hand,
modern parliamentary government does not derive from a single set of advocacy
essays. Rather than prescribed, parliamentarism was famously described in Walter
Bagehot’s classic, The English Constitution. Bagehot noted that the cabinet, hierarch-
ically accountable to parliament, had replaced the English monarchy as the ‘‘eYcient’’
portion of government, whereas parliament itself had essentially become an ‘‘electoral
college’’ that chose the government, but did little else. Bagehot explicitly contrasted
the English system of ‘‘Cabinet Government’’ with the American system, where:
. . . the President is elected from the people by one process, and the House of Representa-
tives by another. The independence of the legislative and executive powers is the speciWc
quality of the Presidential Government, just as the fusion and combination is the precise
principle of Cabinet Government. (Bagehot 1867/1963, 14)

With this passage, then, Bagehot captures the essence of the distinction between
parliamentarism and presidentialism. It was indeed the American presidential
model that most caught the eye of early proponents of alternatives to the
346 matthew słberg shugart

British model, especially as South American countries gained independence in the

nineteenth century. Nonetheless, British and continental European contemporaries
of Bagehot were already arguing for elections via proportional representation, a
fundamental political reform that would generate multiparty cabinets (Droop
1869; Mill 1862) and thus transform executive–legislative relations in a more
transactional direction (as explained below) while retaining the parliamentary
framework. As a result of the spread of proportional representation across the
European continent, in the decades after Bagehot, Droop, and Mill, the practice of
most parliamentary systems had diverged from the English model. Yet, as concerns
constitutional structure, even parliamentarism with multiparty cabinets remains
hierarchical because the executive must maintain the ‘‘conWdence’’ of the legislative
majority—in sharp distinction to the presidential model in which the legislature
and executive are separate from and independent of one another.
Although the terminology is somewhat diVerent, the conceptual perspective of
hierarchy versus transaction has its roots in the Federalist Papers, and speciWcally
the essays therein by Madison. The basic theoretical underpinning of the Federal-
ists is that the extent to which government ensures liberty or gives way to tyranny is
directly related to the manner in which it channels political ambition. Like
contemporary rational-choice approaches, Madison took it as axiomatic that
political actors are motivated by personal gain. He accepted selWsh motivation as
inevitable and sought to harness it for the greater good. Doing so, he argued,
entailed establishing a system of institutions that structures and checks that
ambition. Thus, Madison wrote in Federalist 51, the design of government ‘‘consists
in giving to those who administer each department [i.e. branch] the necessary
constitutional means and personal motives to resist encroachments of the others’’
(Hamilton, Madison, Jay, and FairWeld 1787/1937, 337).
Ambition is checked, in Madison’s vision, through the creation of distinct
branches with separate ‘‘agency’’ (i.e. delegated authority) that must compete
with one another, because neither is subordinated in a hierarchy to the other.
Systems of executive–legislative relations may be viewed in this framework as
diVerent means of deWning the hierarchical or transactional relationship of the
executive to the legislature. The two pure types of institutional design—
parliamentary and presidential—are thus almost perfectly opposed to one another.
A parliamentary system makes the executive an agent of the assembly majority,
hierarchically inferior to it because the majority in parliament creates and may
terminate the authority of the executive. A presidential system, on the other hand,
features an assembly and executive that are elected independently for Wxed terms,
and thus have incentives to transact, or bargain, with one another, in order to
produce legislation and to govern.
The most basic and stylized comparison, then, is what is shown in Fig. 18.1. The
political process of the parliamentary system is depicted as having a hierarchical
chain of delegation, and no transactional relations. Voters select (delegate to) a
 comparative executive–legislative relations 347

Parliamentary Presidential

ELECTORATE ELECTORATE

LEGISLATURE EXECUTIVE
LEGISLATURE
(president)

EXECUTIVE
(prime minister
and cabinet)

Figure 18.1. Basic hierarchical and transactional forms of executive–

legislative relations

legislature, and the legislature selects (delegates to) the executive. The political
process of the presidential system is depicted with two delegation links from the
electorate to both the legislature and the popularly elected executive; additionally,
there is a transactional relationship between the executive and the legislature, which
are located at the same level, rather than with one subordinate to the other. They
then engage in a horizontally depicted process of interbranch transactions.
As has been noted frequently in the literature, at least since Bagehot and right up
to recent works (Moe and Caldwell 1994; Palmer 1995), the Westminster democracy
of Great Britain and the presidential system of the United States oVer the closest
approximations to these ideal types. The parliamentary system with a single-party
majority government generates a highly hierarchical form of democratic delega-
tion. By contrast, the public bargaining and institutionalized conXict between the
American presidency and Congress represent a virtually ideal manifestation of
transactional executive–legislative relations.
Pure as examples the British and American models may be, neither system is
typical of experience in the rest of the world. Most parliamentary systems do not
have single-party majorities like Britain. In the absence of such majorities, the key
features of politics in the system are transactional, because the assembly to
which the executive is accountable is not itself controlled by a single hierarchical
organization. Rather, authority is shared by two or more parties. Similarly, most
presidential systems feature less prominently the interbranch policy transactions
that so typify the US. The reasons lie in an often unstated condition for the pitting
348 matthew słberg shugart

of ambition against ambition in the Federalists’ conception: that the assembly be

suYciently organized with its own internal hierarchy that it can bargain as an
independent collective actor vis-à-vis the executive (Cox and McCubbins 1993). As
we shall see below, the literature on presidential systems outside the United States
suggests that the conditions for an internal legislative hierarchy that is independent
of the executive, may not be common. In their absence, presidential systems may
take on aspects of informal hierarchy, or even a relatively anarchic pattern. Thus
the actual behavior of institutions and political actors in the two ‘‘pure’’ types of
systems contains mixes of hierarchical and transactional relations. It is important
to recognize, however, that these mixes are occurring within a constitutional
structure that remains either hierarchical (parliamentary) or transactional (presi-
dential). What leads to the mixing of elements is the nature of the organization of
the assembly itself (principally whether controlled by a single party or not) as well
as informal relations between executives and the parties. Before exploring each
main type further, it will be useful to develop precise deWnitions of the types, as
well as of hybrid forms of constitutional structure.

2 Forms of Constitutional Structure:

Defining Presidential, Parliamentary,
and Hybrid Systems
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In order to put the analysis of constitutional design into practice, we need simple
and mutually exclusive deWnitions of regime types. A ‘‘pure’’ parliamentary dem-
ocracy is deWned by the following two basic features:
1. executive authority, consisting of a prime minister and cabinet, arises out of
the legislative assembly;
2. the executive is at all times subject to potential dismissal via a vote of ‘‘no
conWdence’’ by a majority of the legislative assembly.
These two criteria express the hierarchical relationship of executive to legislative
authority in the way that is depicted in Fig. 18.1: The executive arises from and is
responsible to the assembly majority. Presidential democracy, on the other hand, is
deWned by the following three basic features:
1. the executive is headed by a popularly elected president who serves as the
‘‘chief executive;’’
2. the terms of the chief executive and the legislative assembly are Wxed, and not
subject to mutual conWdence;
 comparative executive–legislative relations 349

3. the president names and directs the cabinet and has some constitutionally
granted law-making authority.
The deWning characteristics of parliamentary and presidential democracy, then,
speak Wrst to the question of the origin and survival of executive and legislative
authority. In a parliamentary system, executive authority originates from the as-
sembly. The precise institutional rules for determining who shall form a cabinet vary
across parliamentary systems, but in all of them the process of forming a government
falls to the majority party, if there is one. If there is not, the government emerges
from bargaining among those politicians who received their mandate at the most
recent assembly elections. Once formed, the government survives in oYce only so
long as it maintains the ‘‘conWdence’’ of the majority in the assembly. Again, the
precise rules for determining when a government has lost this conWdence vary, but
always the executive is subject to the ongoing conWdence of parliament.
In a presidential system, on the other hand, the origin and survival of executive
and legislative authority are separate. The Wrst criterion of the deWnition of
presidentialism contrasts starkly with that for parliamentarism, in that it denotes
the existence of a chief executive whose authority originates with the electorate.
The second criterion speciWes that, unlike in a parliamentary system, the chief
executive is not subject to dismissal by a legislative majority. Furthermore, neither
is the assembly subject to early dissolution by the president. Both branches thus
survive in oYce independent of one another. The addition of the third criterion,
regarding the president’s authority, is important for establishing the independence
of the president not only in terms of origin and survival, but also in the executive
function, for it sets out that the cabinet derives its authority from the president and
not from parliament. It further stipulates that the president has some legislative
authority, and thus is not ‘‘merely’’ the executive. It is the absence of interbranch
hierarchy combined with shared law-making powers that generates the incentive
for interbranch transactions, providing two independent agents of the electorate
that must cooperate in order to accomplish any legislative change.
If we think of parliamentary and presidential government as Weberian ideal
types, we must acknowledge that there are numerous regimes that contain elem-
ents of each, and are thus hybrids. By far the most common hybrid form is semi-
presidential government. Adapted from Duverger’s (1980) original and inXuential
deWnition, semi-presidentialism may be deWned by three features:

1. a president who is popularly elected;

2. the president has considerable constitutional authority;
3. there exists also a prime minister and cabinet, subject to the conWdence of the
assembly majority.

These features deWne a dual executive (Blondel 1984), in that the elected pre-
sident is not merely a head of state who lacks political authority, but also is not
350 matthew słberg shugart

clearly the chief executive, as there is also a prime minister with a relationship to
the assembly that resembles that of a parliamentary democracy. The precise
relationship of the president to the prime minister and cabinet, and of the latter
to the parliament, vary widely across regimes that Wt the basic deWnition of semi-
presidential. It is precisely this variance that has made delimiting regime types
controversial, or at least confusing, in the literature. For the sake of conceptual
continuity and clarity, it would be advisable to reserve the term, semi-presidential,
for only those regimes that Wt the three Duvergerian criteria. Other hybrid forms
are feasible—most notably the Swiss case of an assembly-selected executive that sits
for a Wxed term, and the brief Israeli experience of a directly elected chief executive
who remained subject to parliamentary conWdence. These hybrids are neither
parliamentary nor presidential, but they also are not semi-presidential in the
Duvergerian sense (Shugart 2005).
The geographical distribution of these types can be seen in Table 18.1. At a glance
it is readily apparent that geography is virtually destiny as far as concerns a
country’s constitutional structure. Parliamentary systems dominate Europe,
deWned as EU members (new and old) and the non-EU countries of Western
Europe and the Mediterranean region. To a lesser extent semi-presidential systems
are common in the EU region, and they dominate the post-Communist region. On
the other hand, presidentialism dominates the Americas, aside from the Common-
wealth countries. Indeed, Bagehot (1867, 14) referred to the proliferation of presi-
dential regimes in the then newly independent Latin American countries, decrying
the possibility that parliamentarism might be overtaken by ‘‘its great competitor,
which seems likely, unless care be taken, to outstrip it in the progress of the world.’’
In the remaining regions, however, we Wnd examples of all three main types. It is
noteworthy that almost all of the parliamentary systems outside of Europe are
former British colonies, while the former French and Portuguese colonies in Africa
are generally semi-presidential (as are France and Portugal).
In the most of the remainder of this chapter, I turn to discussing each consti-
tutional format in turn, and how understanding the juxtaposition of hierarchical
and transactional relationships in each can elucidate the incentives and likely
behavior of actors in democracies.

3 Parliamentary Systems
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In a parliamentary system, the extent of hierarchical or transactional relationships

between executive and legislative institutions depends in practice on whether
Table 18.1 Constitutional forms of executive–legislative relations among democracies and semi-democracies, 2006

Region Parliamentary Presidential Semi-presidential Other hybrid

European Union/ Belgium, Czech Republic, Cyprus Austria, France, Switzerland

Western Europe & Denmark, Estonia, Finland,* Lithuania, Poland,
Mediterranean Germany, Greece, Hungary, Portugal, Slovakia
Ireland,* Israel, Italy, Latvia,
Netherlands, Norway, Slovenia,*
Spain, Sweden, Turkey,
United Kingdom
Post-Communist (but not EU) Albania, Armenia, Belarus,
Moldova Bosnia-Hercegovina,** Bulgaria,
Croatia, Georgia, Macedonia,
Mongolia, Romania, Russia,
Serbia and Montenegro,***
Ukraine
Americas Canada, Jamaica, Trinidad Argentina, Brazil, Peru Bolivia, Guyana
and Tobago Chile, Colombia,
Costa Rica, Dominican
Republic, Ecuador, El
Salvador, Guatemala,
Honduras, Mexico,
Nicaragua, Panama,
Paraguay, United
States, Uruguay, Venezuela
East and South Asia/Pacific Australia, Bangladesh, Fiji, Indonesia, Philippines, Sri Lanka, Taiwan
India, Japan, Malaysia, South Korea
Nepal, New Zealand,
Papua New Guinea,
Thailand

(Continued)
Table 18.1 (continued)

Region Parliamentary Presidential Semi-presidential Other hybrid

Africa Botswana, Lesotho, Benin, Ghana, Malawi, Nigeria Burkina Faso, Madagascar,
Mauritius, South Africa Mali, Mozambique, Namibia,
Niger, Senegal

Notes: Includes countries of at least 500,000 population with Freedom House political rights score of 4 or better, averaged throughout the period 1990–1 to
2004, or for each year since 2000. Belarus and Bosnia-Hercegovina do not meet these conditions, but are included so as to cover all Europe. Malaysia is also included for having
consistently held semi-competitive elections.
*Indicates presence of elected president lacking any significant constitutional powers (government formation, dissolution, or veto).
** Collegial (three-person) presidency.
*** Each autonomous republic retains an elected presidency, although the federal presidency is no longer elected.
Source: Author’s coding of constitutions from http://confinder.richmond.edu/, except Niger (http://droit.francophonie.org/doc/html/ne/con/fr/1999/1999dfneco1.html),
and Taiwan (Noble 1999); Freedom House website (http://www.freedomhouse.org) for level of (semi-)democracy.
 comparative executive–legislative relations 353

single-party majorities result or not. Majoritarian systems preserve the hierarchy in

its purest form, whereas multiparty systems tend towards a more transactional
form of parliamentarism.

3.1 Majoritarian Parliamentarism

When a single party obtains a majority of seats, a parliamentary system is every bit
as hierarchical as it is portrayed in Fig. 18.1. The hierarchical accountability of the
cabinet to parliament is what generates the ‘‘fusion of powers’’ described famously
by Bagehot (1867/1963). Post-Bagehot, scholars increasingly recognized that
eVective power is concentrated in the leadership of the majority party, rather
than within parliament (e.g. McKenzie 1912). As party leaders in the cabinet gained
greater autonomy over their own backbench members (Cox 1987), the fusion of
executive and legislative powers was essentially extended to a fusion of party and
executive. Commenting on the greater importance in the British model of relations
between the cabinet and the backbenchers in both government and opposition,
King (1976, 26) went so far as to say that there is hardly such a thing in Britain as
‘‘the relationship between the executive and the legislature.’’ Rehabilitating the
language of executive–legislative relations to describe majoritarianism, Lijphart
(1984, 1999) has noted that the result of Westminster’s concentration of authority is
‘‘executive dominance’’ over the legislature. What this means in practice is that so
long as the majority party remains united, the executive is unassailable, because it
enjoys the conWdence of the parliamentary majority.
Majoritarian parliamentarism thus contains the potential for extreme concen-
tration of power, tempered only by the possibility that internal party disagreements
might come into the open and by the fear of alienating suYcient voters as to lose
the next election. In this system there is no room for transaction; however, the
opposition within parliament provides an indirect check, in the form of being the
electorate’s monitor over the government (Palmer 1995).

3.2 Transactional Parliamentarism

In the absence of a majority party, a parliamentary executive may be held by a
coalition that jointly controls the assembly majority, in which case the cabinet
survives as long as this majority remains together. Alternatively, a minority
government may form, in which case the cabinet remains in place as long as
the opposition does not combine forces against it. These non-majoritarian
variants of parliamentarism remain hierarchical in terms of the formal relation
354 matthew słberg shugart

of the executive to the legislature. However, they are transactional in terms of

the relationship of parties to one another, because a bargain between two or
more parties is necessary for a government to originate and then survive in
oYce.
The transactions between parties and how coalitions form has been the focus of
an extensive literature (reviewed in Laver 1998; Martin and Stevenson 2001), as has
the duration of coalition governments and the causes of their termination
(reviewed in Grofman and Van Roozendaal 1997; Laver 2003). Like King’s (1975)
observation about Britain, this literature also is not concerned primarily with
executive–legislative relations per se. Rather it focuses squarely on the bargaining
that occurs within the shadow of the hierarchical subordination of the cabinet to
the assembly. Some scholars have focused their attention more directly on the law-
making process, noting variations across systems in the agenda power and pro-
cedural advantages enjoyed by the cabinet (Döring 1995a, 1995b; Huber 1996; Heller
2001). The presence of multiple parties to a cabinet transaction, each with an
interest in ongoing monitoring of the government, often results in a legislative
committee system that gives backbenchers a notably greater role in scrutinizing
and amending government bills than their counterparts in majoritarian systems
(King 1975; Strom 1990; Huber and Powell 1994; Mattson and Strom 1995; Haller-
berg 2000). The more inXuence the opposition has over policy-making, the more a
parliamentary system has what Lijphart (1984) referred to as an ‘‘informal separ-
ation of powers,’’ as distinct from the fusion of powers we see in majoritarian
systems, and also in contrast to the formal separation of powers of presidential
systems, to which we now turn.

4 Presidential Systems
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In presidential systems, as was depicted in Fig. 18.1, there are two distinct delega-
tions from voters to political agents: one to the assembly and the other to the chief
executive. Owing to their separate origins in the electorate and their Wxed terms
(separate survival), there is no formal hierarchy between legislative and executive
authority. Interbranch transactions are thus necessary because the independent
branches need each other to accomplish any policy goals that require the passage of
legislation that may be sought by their respective electorates.
The extent of executive–legislative divergence over policy preferences depends
on how constituent interests are translated through the electoral process. In
 comparative executive–legislative relations 355

the unlikely event that the two branches share identical preferences, executive–
legislative relations resemble total presidential dominance, as no disagreements are
observed. In that case, the system would resemble a hierarchy with no interbranch
transactions.1 More typically, given their separate election, the executive and
legislature are likely to disagree, often in public, in a process that informs the
electorate of issues and controversies (Strøm 2000).
In cases of very extreme divergence of preferences between the branches, it is also
possible for the interbranch transactions of the ideal type depicted in Fig. 18.1 to
break down, and for executive–legislative relations to be characterized by near
anarchy, as opposed to either hierarchy or transactions. In such a scenario the
president may govern without much regard for any collective preferences of
the legislative branch, using decree and appointment powers to circumvent the
legislature. These presidents may bargain on an ad hoc basis, perhaps providing
patronage to speciWc legislators or legislative factions, but never forming a stable
relationship—either hierarchical or transactional—with congress as an institution.
This latter scenario approximates the so-called ‘‘perils of presidentialism’’ that Juan
Linz (1994) warned against in a seminal work on the relationship between regime
type and the sustainability of democracy. Linz suggested that presidents in newly
democratizing countries with weakly institutionalized legislatures may be able to
exercise de facto powers well beyond those granted in the constitution, threatening
democracy itself.
Notwithstanding the Linzian concern with concentration of executive authority,
Mainwaring noted that the experience of democratic presidentialism had resulted
in presidents so checked by congress and other actors that ‘‘most Latin American
presidents have had trouble accomplishing their agendas’’ (Mainwaring 1990, 162).
In fact, much of the experience of presidentialism in Latin America has consisted of
presidents’ struggling not to circumvent the legislature, but to Wnd a way to
generate a workable relationship with it. Given that presidents have to bargain
with the legislature to accomplish any agenda, they may be willing to trade oV their
formal control over the composition of their cabinets in order to develop a more
stable interbranch relationship. That is, presidents may have an incentive to bargain
over the formation of cabinets even where they have no formal requirement to do
so (Cheibub, Przeworski, and Saiegh 2004).
The reason for interbranch transactions over cabinets in presidential systems lies
in the need of the president to transact with the legislative branch in order to
implement policy—a deWnitional aspect of presidentialism. Where the assembly is
organized by a majority party (whether that of the president or not) it has the
institutional capacity to bargain with the president over legislation of interest to

1 For example, Mexican presidents, by virtue of being the head of a highly disciplined hegemonic
party, dominated the legislature over many decades (Weldon 1997).
356 matthew słberg shugart

that majority. In such a context, the president may not need a cabinet that is itself
reXective of interbranch transactions. Both institutions may prefer the clarity
of position that comes from their own control over the composition of their
respective institution, given that they are ‘‘bargaining before an audience’’ (Grose-
close and McCarty 2000; see also Strøm 2000). Thus in the USA, presidents do not
bargain with Congress in shaping their cabinet (despite the requirement that
individual cabinet members be conWrmed by the Senate), and opposition partici-
pation in the cabinet is only sporadic even when the opposition party controls
Congress.
On the other hand, where the assembly is highly fragmented and the president
has little partisan support therein, the president may prefer not to have a cabinet
reXective of interbranch transactions, because coming to an agreement would
restrict his ability to use his decree powers (if provided or claimed) and to transact
with individual legislators (oVering patronage for votes, for example). This is the
‘‘anarchic’’ pattern. It is thus in the intermediate contexts of no legislative majority,
but substantial partisan support for the president in congress, that presidents may
both need and want an interbranch cabinet transaction in order to link the two
branches together and facilitate legislative bargaining.
To the extent that interparty bargaining in a presidential system permits the
president to control the agenda of the assembly, a coalition cabinet introduces an
element of interbranch hierarchy. A transactional relationship between the presi-
dent—acting simultaneously as both the elected head of government and the
head of his own party—and other parties in congress may even generate a
‘‘cartel’’ that in turn dominates congress (Amorim Neto, Cox, and McCubbins
2003). Thus, just as the transactional relationship between separate parties in
multiparty parliamentary systems generates an ‘‘informal separation of powers’’
(Lijphart 1984), the transactions of a multiparty presidential system may generate
an ‘‘informal fusion of powers’’ that binds the formally separate executive and
legislative branches together for the duration of the coalition. It is important not
to forget, however, that in presidential systems the chief executive always main-
tains the option of appointing a single-party or non-party cabinet. Presidents
make strategic choices regarding the value for their legislative goals of having a
coalition or not (Amorim Neto 2002; Geddes 1994). It is this heterogeneity
of presidential strategies, resulting from the president’s relative freedom of
maneuver over the cabinet, that presumably generates the observed higher
turnover rates seen in the ministries of presidential systems compared to parlia-
mentary systems (Blondel 1985; Stepan and Skach 1993). Thus, while in most
presidential systems only the process of making laws is formally in the domain of
executive–legislative relations, that process is so central to the entire ediWce
of presidentialism that it may, under some circumstances, induce the president
to bargain over cabinets as well.
 comparative executive–legislative relations 357

5 Semi-presidential Systems
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Recently there has been a proliferation of semi-presidential systems, especially with

democratization in the former Communist bloc and Africa. The juxtaposition of
an elected president with a cabinet responsible to parliament was an innovation
of the German Weimar constitution, designed on the advice of eminent social
scientists Hugo Preuss, Robert Redslob, and Max Weber (Mommsen 1984;
Stirk 2002). Weber (1917/1978, 1452–3) mistrusted parties and believed that the
‘‘plebiscitary’’ selection of the president would force parties ‘‘to submit more or
less unconditionally to leaders who held the conWdence of the masses.’’
Redslob (1918), on the other hand, was an advocate of what he called ‘‘authentic
parliamentarism’’ on the British model, with a parliamentary opposition capable of
assuming the government. Preuss, as summarized by Stirk (2002, 514), justiWed
Weimar’s synthesis as providing for a president and parliament, each with ‘‘an
autonomous source of legitimacy,’’ thus echoing Madison’s separation of powers,
yet retaining government responsibility to parliament. Given the subsequent
collapse of the Weimar Republic, its designers’ justiWcations for what would later
be called semi-presidentialism became discredited. Today semi-presidentialism is
more closely identiWed with France and with Charles de Gaulle’s call, in his Bayeux
Manifesto of 1946, for a ‘‘chief of state, placed above the parties,’’2 yet as I shall
show, the neo-Madisonian logic of Preuss and his colleagues continues in all the
regimes that can be meaningfully classiWed as semi-presidential.
The practice of semi-presidentialism has been quite diverse, as Duverger (1980)
noted, both in formal constitutional powers and in actual behavior. Some presi-
dents that appear quite powerful on paper are actually observed to exercise few
powers (e.g. Austria), while others seemingly have limited formal powers, yet are
dominant political players (e.g. France). Under the rubric of semi-presidentialism,
there is much variation in formal powers, leading Shugart and Carey (1992) to
propose a further subdivision of the concept into premier-presidential and presi-
dent-parliamentary subtypes. Under premier-presidentialism, the prime minister
and cabinet are exclusively accountable to the parliamentary majority, while under
president-parliamentarism, the prime minister and cabinet are dually accountable
to the president and the parliamentary majority. This distinction has not always
been appreciated in the literature, and has been criticized on various terms by
Sartori (1994a) and SiaroV (2003). Nonetheless, structurally, these are potentially
important diVerences that shape the behavior of actors in a system (Shugart 2005).

2 Nonetheless, De Gaulle at the time favored a president ‘‘elected by a body which includes the
parliament but which is much larger’’ (excerpted in Lijphart 1992, 140–1), rather than by universal
suVrage.
358 matthew słberg shugart

In a premier-presidential system, only the assembly majority may dismiss

cabinets, which makes them quite close to being ‘‘parliamentary systems.’’ How-
ever, they have ‘‘presidential’’ characteristics as well, in that the president has
constitutional authority to act independently of the assembly, either in the process
of forming governments or in law-making. Technically speaking, the power to
dissolve parliament, which is common in premier-presidential systems, is not a
‘‘presidential’’ feature, because dissolution breaks the independence of the presi-
dent and assembly that typiWes presidentialism. However, any semi-presidential
system already deviates from presidentialism owing to the possibility that the head
of government (i.e. the prime minister) might be voted out of oYce by
the assembly. In that context, presidential power of dissolution provides a coun-
terweight to this enhanced authority of the assembly. Presidential authority as
a check on the assembly is thus a feature that separates all presidential and
semi-presidential systems from parliamentary systems.
In president-parliamentary systems, the president enjoys stronger constitutional
powers over the composition of cabinets than is the case under premier-
presidentialism. The German Weimar Republic was a prototype with serious
design Xaws, in that both the president and the assembly retained authority to
postpone a resolution of political conXict by exercising unilateral powers. More
recent president-parliamentary systems, including in the successor states to the
former Soviet Union and in Africa, have incorporated several institutional
innovations that promote interbranch cooperation (on Russia see Morgan-Jones
and Schleiter 2004).
In some president-parliamentary systems, the president’s authority over
the process of government formation is limited because the nominee for prime
minister (or the entire government) must be conWrmed by the assembly majority.
Provisions for investiture or conWrmation—found in the contemporary cases of
Armenia, Georgia, Russia, and Ukraine—obviously give the president the incentive
to bargain over government composition. In fact, some cases (e.g. Russia and
Taiwan) require a series of contingencies before either branch may threaten the
survival of the other—even restricting the assembly’s right to bring a no conWdence
vote—and hence generate incentives for the executive and assembly to transact that
resemble pure presidential systems more than the premier-presidential variant of
semi-presidentialism, as well as more than the Weimar model. Despite these
incentives for interbranch transaction, all the president-parliamentary systems
maintain the dual accountability of the prime minister and cabinet to the president
and the assembly, putting the president in a stronger position than is the case in
premier-presidential systems (e.g. France) to upend an existing cabinet transaction
and start the process anew. Thus both variants of semi-presidentialism force the
assembly majority to transact with a president, but the president has fewer
formal tools at his disposal under a premier-presidential design than under
president-parliamentarism.
 comparative executive–legislative relations 359

6 So, What Difference Does it Make?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The subtitle of Linz’s (1994) now-famous essay on presidential vs. parliamentary

government, was ‘‘Does it make a diVerence?’’ This chapter has already identiWed
several ways in which regime type matters for proximate political consequences
such as how executive authority is constituted and how law-making proceeds. Any
system with a politically powerful elected presidency creates an agent of the
electorate with whom legislators must transact. Linz, and many who have followed,
call our attention to more distal eVects of constitutional design, speciWcally, in
Linz’s case, for the survival of democracy itself. Linz argued that political crises in
presidential systems were more likely to be ‘‘crises of regime’’ that could lead to
breakdown, whereas in parliamentary systems they tended to be ‘‘crises of govern-
ment’’ that can be resolved via recourse to a new cabinet transaction or early
elections. Stepan and Skach (1993), and Przeworski, Alvarez, Cheibub, and Limongi
(1996) are among those whose empirical studies generally have concurred with
Linz. Mainwaring (1993) suggested that it was multiparty presidentialism that was
speciWcally prone to breakdown. Yet Power and Gasiorowski (1994) found that
neither presidentialism nor its combination with multipartism had a statistically
signiWcant relationship to democratic breakdown in developing countries. A fun-
damental problem that remains with attempts to settle this question is the absence
of parliamentarism in Latin America or presidentialism in Europe—the two
regions with the greatest experience with democracy, stable or otherwise. The
regional distribution of regime types (see Table 18.1) makes it diYcult to determine
whether constitutional forms are directly related to democratic ‘‘consolidation’’ or
whether they are proxies for other conditions that aVect the prospects for stable
democracy.
Other variables besides formal constitutional design likewise complicate eVorts
to uncover eVects on policy performance. Given the challenges of multivariate
analysis, perhaps it is not surprising that the literature on policy performance
remains inconclusive, with sometimes conXicting conclusions. For instance,
Persson and Tabellini (2003) argue that presidential democracy reduces corruption,
while Gerring and Thacker (2004) Wnd the opposite. Yet, Persson, Roland, and
Tabellini (2000) found more targeted spending in presidential systems in contrast
to greater spending on public goods in parliamentary systems. A greater tendency
for targeted spending could be generalized as a result of party organizational
weakness. In turn, party weakness has been indicated as likely to result from the
absence of formal hierarchy between the executive and legislature (Epstein 1967;
Sartori 1994a, 1994b). The weakening of parties is likewise one of the features
Gerring and Thacker (2004) say results in more corruption.
Most likely, these policy-output variables are related to interactions between the
executive–legislative structure and the party system. In fact, as noted throughout
360 matthew słberg shugart

this review, patterns of party competition are crucial to the extent to which
the formal hierarchy of parliamentary interbranch relations is tempered with
interparty transactions. Similarly, the formal interbranch transactions of presiden-
tialism may give way to elements of informal hierarchy if the president is the head
of a majority party or a coalition that controls the congressional agenda. In other
cases, presidents may eschew coalitions altogether, resulting in a nearly anarchic
pattern of inerbranch relations. The British model of parliamentarism and the US
model of presidentialism are among the few systems that retain in practice the
nearly pure form of, respectively, hierarchical and transactional relations inherent
in the formal constitutional structure. In this context, it may be more meaningful
for cross-national studies to look inside the regime type and consider what the
locus of accountability in a system is, for accountability is closely related to
patterns of policy output and to corruption (Samuels and Shugart 2003; Samuels
2004).
The statistical regression techniques that are most suited to uncovering cross-
national variation in output and performance necessarily require collapsing com-
plex reality into a small number of key values. This exigency makes it all the more
critical that, in generating variables suitable for large-N analysis, the analyst ensures
that the values chosen reXect the theoretically relevant variation across systems. As
this chapter has argued, collapsing the notion of executive–legislative relations into
two categories, presidential vs. parliamentary, possibly with a residual ‘‘hybrid’’
category, assumes away much of what is essential to understanding how the chain
of democratic delegation and accountability is characterized by degrees of hier-
archy and transaction. With the ongoing enterprise of cross-national statistical
analysis of institutional variables, it may one day be possible to identify clusters of
institutional variables that have clear eVects on performance variables.

7 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The study of constitutional structure is by now one of the most active sub-Welds of
comparative politics. Using a framework that has its roots in the Federalist Papers,
we have seen that any system with an elected presidency creates an agent of
the electorate with which the legislative assembly must transact, provided the
constitution or political practice endows the presidency with bargaining leverage.
This is a fundamentally diVerent model of constitutional design from the parlia-
mentary system, in which executive authority rests upon the consent of the
legislative majority. This chapter has been an attempt to synthesize some of what
 comparative executive–legislative relations 361

we know about comparative executive–legislative relations, but before concluding,

we should consider some of the high-priority areas in which we do not know
much. Without attempting to be exhaustive, I would list the following as high-
priority areas for near-term research agendas.

7.1 Origins of Systems of Executive–Legislative Relations

In Table 18.1, above, we saw that there is a marked geographic clustering of
system types, with parliamentarism (and to a lesser extent, semi-presidentialism)
dominating Western Europe, presidentialism the Americas, and semi-
presidentialism the post-Communist countries. Nonetheless, beyond this simple
fact, we know little about why this is the case, or what consequences it might have
for these countries’ policy-making processes and prospects for longer-term stable
democracy. Historical trajectories and cultural aYnities clearly play a role
in constitutional choices, but how? And how do such deeper potential determin-
ants of regime type complicate our ability to understand more precisely the
interrelationships between institutional and performance variables?
Consider the following possibility. Systems of exclusive executive accountability
to the assembly (including premier-presidentialism) may be adopted precisely
where the conditions for well-organized parties of national scope already exist. If
so, then systems that create greater separation of the executive from the legislature
(including president-parliamentarism) may be more likely to be adopted precisely
where those conditions are absent. See Shugart (1999), who further suggests that
parliamentary cabinet accountability may be more conducive to public goods
provision (as Persson, Roland, and Tabellini 2000 found), except where the
party system is underdeveloped. With underdeveloped parties, Shugart (1999)
suggests, the national accountability of presidents may increase public goods
compared to a parliamentary (or premier-presidential) system in a similar context.
These more complex notions of the relations among constitutional design, party
systems, and policy provision remain untested in the cross-national statistical
literature.

7.2 Variants of Semi-presidentialism

Above, I attempted to make the case for maintaining the distinction within the
broader semi-presidential category between premier-presidential and president-
parliamentary systems. Quite apart from the typological exercise, is the distinction
meaningful? Does it capture something fundamental about the way diVerent
362 matthew słberg shugart

systems operate? Or is the broader category, semi-presidential, more useful? Or,

would it make more sense to collapse the premier-presidential systems into the
parliamentary category and the president-parliamentary within the broader
category of presidential systems? These are ultimately empirical questions, but
we need much richer case studies and comparative analyses of how presidents,
prime ministers, and legislators relate to one another under diVerent constitutional
and other contexts before we can settle these questions. With the profusion of
semi-presidential systems and the increasing accumulation of years of democracy
under them, answering such questions is becoming more feasible.

7.3 Bureaucratic Oversight

There is now a vast literature on the American case that takes as its point of
departure the challenges legislators have in attempting to ensure the faithful
application of laws that must be implemented by executive agencies that they
cannot directly control. Hardly any such literature exists for other presidential
and semi-presidential systems. What are the implications of diVerent constitu-
tional authorities for the executive and of diVerent party systems and forms of
internal legislative organization for how (or if) bureaucracies are controlled? This
is a high priority for future research.

The foregoing list of future questions is only a beginning. As reviewed in this

chapter, there is now a vibrant sub-Weld of comparative executive–legislative
relations and a rich empirical laboratory in which it can ply its trade. It is likely
that the twenty-Wrst century will see rapid progress in understanding this import-
ant aspect of democratic institutional design.

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 chapter 19
...................................................................................................................................................

PUBLIC
B U R E AU C R AC I E S
...................................................................................................................................................

donald f. kettl

Although government’s other institutions frame basic public policy, its bureaucra-
cies have always been responsible for carrying it out. In fact, bureaucracy predates
most of the institutions of modern democratic government. When Moses organized
the tribes of Israel for their departure from Pharaoh’s rule, he organized them into a
simple bureaucracy as he sought to build them into a new nation. Millennia later, the
Romans institutionalized a Wghting force that terriWed their enemies. The centurion
commanded eighty men, which gathered into legions, and which led to the conquest
of most of the known world. The locus of government action has long been in public
bureaucracies. It is one thing for government oYcials to make decisions. It is quite
another for them to carry out them out. Stalin famously mocked the Pope, sarcas-
tically asking, ‘‘How many divisions does he have?’’ Government power is bureau-
cratic power, whether the bureaucracy is the military or another agency.
The term ‘‘bureaucracy’’ has deep roots. Its origin lies in the French word,
bureau, at least as far back as the 1300s. The king’s administrators brought their
Wnancial records to a special room, the Chamber of Accounts, and laid them out on
brown woolen cloth, know as la bure. In time, they came to call the room the
‘‘bureau,’’ and ‘‘bureaucracy’’ was born. Since then, bureaucracy has acquired a
wide variety of meanings, some highly negative (‘‘that’s just so bureaucratic!’’).
More generally, however, ‘‘bureaucracy’’ refers to the complex organizations
assigned to perform speciWc tasks. Its historical roots and most common usage
 public bureaucracies 367

apply to public bureaucracies. Bureaucracy, however, is a generic term, and private

companies typically have bureaucracies as well. Understanding the reasons for
bureaucracy’s enduring use, the reasons why it sometimes has an unsavory repu-
tation, and what steps reformers have taken to solve those problems provides a rich
guide to government’s inner workings.
The key lies in understanding three puzzles. First, bureaucratic actions are the
locus of governmental power. What are the characteristics of bureaucracy that have
made it an instrument so widely respected (and sometimes feared)? Second, much
of the work of bureaucracy occurs through the coordination of complex activities.
How does that coordination occur? Third, such power is important for democratic
government, both to protect it from forces that seek to destroy it and to empower it
to do what the people want done. But how can the bureaucracy be strong enough
to do its work without becoming so strong that it threatens the very system it
is supposed to support? Government, let alone modern twenty-Wrst century
government, is impossible without bureaucracies, but its very existence poses a
fundamental dilemma that lies at the very heart of democracy.

1 Power
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The power of the state is only as strong as its ability to translate its ideas into
actions. Most decisions, after all, are not self-executing. God might have said, ‘‘Let
there be light,’’ but no leader since has been able to make anything complicated
happen simply by speaking it. Medieval kings knew they could not rule without
armies to back them up. Without suYcient power, their serfs and vassals could rise
up, their neighbors could invade, and their reigns would end. The Wrst need of a
state is security; security demands, at a minimum, defensive force; and such a force
embodies power.
The power of the state, of course, stretches far beyond the military. Rulers must
pay for the military, which demands that government have a system of taxes.
People who are secure then aspire for more. They demand better roads, improved
transportation, safe water, and protection from threats like crime and Wre. They
want richer lives through education and libraries. They seek a cleaner environment,
good health care, and security in old age. They try to do good things for others, like
providing safe homes for orphans and strategies for helping the poor escape
poverty. Each of these ambitions, in turn, requires its own bureaucracy, from
transportation and police departments to welfare and social security agencies.
And those bureaucracies further increase government’s power.
368 donald f. kettl

‘‘Bureaucracy’’ often conveys a negative connotation; ‘‘bureaucratic’’ is a pejora-

tive condemnation. All too often, the clumsy or unresponsive actions of bureau-
cracies give grounds for just such a negative image. But two things are important.
First, throughout thousands of years, governments have yet to discover any better
instrument that empowers them to do what they need to do. Government without
powerful bureaucracies is no government at all (Goodsell 2004). Second, the
pathologies of bureaucracy, of which there are many, are not solely the province
of public bureaucracies. They apply to private bureaucracies as well, from large
corporations to small-scale operations. They are inherent in the eVort to organize
groups of people to do hard, complex things.
Bureaucratic power is not simply a matter of the power of bureaucracies. It is
also a matter of power within bureaucracies. In any complex job, the leader at the
top cannot possibly prescribe the actions of everyone responsible for carrying it
out. No military commander can possibly hope to dictate the actions of each
Wghting man and, in fact, any eVort to do so would make it impossible for the
commander to command with any sense of strategy. In a large organization,
despite the vast potential of snooping technology like systems that track the
keystrokes workers make on their keyboards, top oYcials can never control the
actions of every worker in every cubicle. In many government organizations, like
schools and police departments, front-line bureaucrats often work alone, without
direct supervision. These ‘‘street-level bureaucrats,’’ as Michael Lipsky (1980) has
called them, exercise enormous power, because they carry the authority of the state
but the state cannot directly oversee how they use that power.
The Xow of power in a bureaucracy involves two related notions. First, because
top decision-makers cannot possibly oversee everything, they must delegate power
to lower-level oYcials. It is a paradox of bureaucratic power that top oYcials can
acquire it only by giving it up, but attacking any complex problem demands that
top-level oYcials trust those at lower-levels with the details. Second, in deciding
how to deal with those details, individual bureaucrats have power because they
have discretion in how they do their jobs. Police oYcers can choose whether or not
to pull over a driver going 62 miles per hour in a 55 mph zone. Teachers can decide
whether or not to send a child to the principal’s oYce. FireWghters can decide
whether they need to break windows or pull down walls to Wght a blaze, and prison
guards can determine if an inmate needs discipline for an oVense behind bars.
A major issue for managing bureaucracies, therefore, is ensuring compliance, with
bureaucrats exercising their discretion in ways that are consistent with the organ-
ization’s mission (Etzioni 1961; Gouldner 1967).
Public bureaucracies have power because they are the instruments of the policies
of the state. Individual bureaucrats have power because they decide how those
instruments are used. Indeed, the real meaning of ‘‘policy’’ comes only through
bureaucratic action. Regardless of what top oYcials decide, their decisions have
meaning only in how bureaucrats administer. Most drivers assume that they can
 public bureaucracies 369

safely violate the oYcially posted speed limit because they know that police oYcers
are highly unlikely to stop them for driving slightly faster than the oYcial limit.
The ‘‘real’’ speed limit is determined by the enforcement decisions of the police.
Thus, to a powerful degree, bureaucratic power depends on decisions. Indeed,
Herbert Simon (1976, 1; compare Barnard 1938) contended that ‘‘a theory of
administration should be concerned with the processes of decision as well as
with the processes of action.’’ Simon argued:
The task of ‘‘deciding’’ pervades the entire administrative organization quite as much as
does the task of ‘‘doing’’—indeed, it is integrally tied up with the latter. A general theory
of organization that will insure correct decision-making must include principles of
organization that will include correct decision-making, just as it must include principles
that will insure eVective action.

Understanding—and controlling—those decisions depends on information. But

that, in turn, helps identify bureaucratic pathologies. Formal theorists from within
economics agreed that information is essential and that information asymmetries
plague relationships within bureaucracies. They imagined bureaucracy as a series
of contracts between principals (the higher-level oYcial charged with responsibil-
ity for a policy) and agents (the lower-level oYcial charged with carrying it out).
Principals hire agents to do the bureaucracy’s job; agents agree to do it in return for
compensation. Such relationships cascade through bureaucracies, from top to
bottom. They tend to produce two pathologies. First, principals need to pick
good agents, but they can never know enough about the agent to make sure they
have made the right choices. Theorists call this ‘‘adverse selection,’’ and poorly
chosen agents might not have the ability—or the inclination—to carry out a policy
as the principal wants. Second, principals can never know enough about what the
agent does to ensure that the agent carries out the terms of the contract. Theorists
call this ‘‘moral hazard,’’ and the problem makes it hard to provide adequate
supervision: to detect and correct problems in getting the bureaucracy’s work
done (Coase 1937; Williamson 1975; Wood and Waterman 1991).
The task of making decisions, however, depends heavily on the bureaucrat’s
position within the bureaucracy.1 As former US federal administrator Rufus Miles
(1978) famously put it, ‘‘Where you stand depends on where you sit.’’ Indeed,
Michel Crozier’s powerful analysis, The Bureaucratic Phenomenon (1964),
concludes that bureaucratic institutions must be understood in terms of the
cultural context within which they work. Within bureaucracies, oYcials at diVerent

1 More generally, there is a rich tradition within political science of treating ‘‘bureaucracy’’ as a
political actor, and as an institution composed of political actors. In addition to Wilson 1989, see
Allison 1969, 1971; Derthick 1972; Halperin 1974; Pressman and Wildavsky 1974; Bardach 1977; and
Hogwood and Peters 1985. There is also an emerging tradition that traces the roots of bureaucratic
behavior to its historical development. See, in particular, Skowronek 1982; Carpenter 2001; and Orren
and Skowronek 2004.
370 donald f. kettl

levels tend to have diVerent cultures: they think diVerently, they process informa-
tion diVerently, they decide diVerently. At top levels, James Q. Wilson found (1989),
operators work at the front lines on the organization’s basic tasks. Managers work
in the middle to organize resources, while executives manage the organization’s
external relations, including political support. The fact that oYcials at diVerent
levels of the organization focus on diVerent kinds of problems also means that some
information gets Wltered out as it moves up the chain of command. Investigators of
the space shuttle Challenger accident in 1986, for example, found that warnings
about the risk of launching the shuttle in cold weather, which prevented rubber
seals from containing the Xow of super-hot gases, were blocked by managers and
never reached the programme’s executives. That information pathology led to the
destruction of the shuttle and a searching examination of the Xaws in NASA’s
culture, which helped lead to the accident (see Vaughn 1997; Khademian 2002).2
Bureaucracies thus need to be understood as collections of individual workers; as
groups of people with shared identity; and as collective actors that, in turn, interact
with other organizations (Blau and Scott 1962).
Thus, public bureaucracies have power because they are the instruments of state
power. Individual bureaucrats have power because they have discretion over how
to exercise those instruments of power. Bureaucracy can therefore be understood as
a system of cascading decisions, plagued by problems of information. Empowering
and controlling bureaucracies is a problem of managing those decisions and the
information about them.

2 Coordination
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Performing complex jobs requires a high degree of coordination—the ability to

link related tasks eYciently and eVectively into concerted action. In the silent Wlm
era, the ‘‘Keystone Cops’’ popularized a vision of what coordination does not look
like—uniformed oYcers dizzily scurrying in all directions, getting in each other’s
way and providing more comedy than action. On the other hand, the work of
WreWghters when they arrive on the scene of a blaze is a carefully choreographed
ballet, with each WreWghter assigned a speciWc task, from searching for possible
victims to coupling hoses. Coordination is a twin-headed task: making sure that
what needs to get done is done (that no problem slips through the cracks) and

2 For a more general and comparative approach to bureaucratic culture, see Hofstede 1997.
 public bureaucracies 371

ensuring that this is done eYciently (that the bureaucracy does not waste resources
in having diVerent people doing the same thing).
There are several approaches to coordination within organizations, as sociologist
Max Weber pointed out (Gerth and Mills 1958; Weber 1964). Charismatic leaders
can inspire their followers to act, but that works only as long as does the
charismatic leader and it works poorly for complex problems. Indeed, the New
Testament records that the disciples of Jesus, soon after he ascended into heaven,
faced the dilemma of how to carry on the work. Without the charismatic leadership of
Jesus, they decided they needed a more formal structure. A second option is tradition,
but tradition works poorly in incorporating new people into the organization (since
new members need to learn the age-old rules of the game) and for new problems
(since old ways often fail to solve new puzzles). A third option is bureaucracy.
Though it has legions of detractors, no better lasting alternative has ever emerged.
Bureaucracies, Weber explains, tend to have basic characteristics, which he calls
the ‘‘ideal types’’ (not in the sense of ‘‘best’’ but, rather, ‘‘typical’’):
. A mission deWned by top oYcials.
. Fixed jurisdictions within the organization, with the scope of work deWned by
rules.
. Authority graded from top to bottom, with higher-level oYcials having more
authority than those at the bottom.
. Management by written documents, which create an institutional record of
work.
. Management by career experts, who embody the organization’s capacity to do
work.
. Management by rules, which govern the discretion exercised by administrators.
At the core, bureaucracies tend to be characterized by layers of workers
structured hierarchically, with supervision through authority. The structure
follows the tasks to be completed. Top oYcials decide how to allocate the work
down the chain of command (hence the term ‘‘command structure’’). Higher-level
oYcials supervise lower-level workers. Work is understood as a contract: the
worker’s agreement to accept the higher-level oYcial’s authority and director
over work in exchange for compensation.
This approach to hierarchical authority promotes coordination. Supervisors can
assess the work to be done. They can organize the bureaucracy according to the
work, Wll each position with individuals best trained for each task, and issue orders
as needed to ensure the work is done. Bureaucracies exist to perform complex
tasks; hierarchical authority makes that possible by providing the mechanism
for coordination. Bureaucracies can be ‘‘tall,’’ with many layers, or ‘‘Xat,’’ with
relatively little distance from top to bottom. OYcials can supervise a relatively large
number of workers (what is called the ‘‘span of control’’) or relatively few. They can
use their authority like an iron Wst or grant subordinates wide discretion. There is
372 donald f. kettl

nothing in the nature of bureaucracy itself that dictates these things. It is, quite
simply, a method that seeks to organize people eYciently, to perform complex
actions in a coordinated way.
Public bureaucracies have these characteristics, plus several others (Seidman 1998).
Indeed, Wallace Sayre (1958, 245) once commented that ‘‘business and public
administration are alike only in all unimportant respects.’’ First, unlike private
bureaucracies, in which top oYcials can deWne their own missions (which cars to
build, for example, or which movies to make), top oYcials in public bureaucracies
have their missions deWned by elected policy-makers. Second, not only must public
administrators do what the law says; they can do only what the law says. For example,
public administrators cannot spend money in any way not speciWed in appropri-
ations or provide any service not authorized in law. That is why the federal govern-
ment faces periodic shutdown crises: if the authority to spend money expires, all but
essential government employees must turn out the lights and go home. Third, public
administrators tend to work under civil service rules, which grew out of an eVort in
the late nineteenth century to eliminate political patronage in the hiring of public
employees. By law, public administrators are supposed to demonstrate neutral
competence: eYcient administration of the law, without regard to political favorit-
ism. Finally, public administrators must pay great attention to the standards by
which they do their work. Laws require equal treatment and forbid discrimination.
There are standards for Wnancial record keeping and due process.
Not all coordination is formal or hierarchical, as Charles E. Lindblom contended
(1959, 1977; Dahl and Lindblom 1953). In his famous argument about increment-
alism, Lindblom contended that partisan mutual adjustment, a bargaining process
among players in a system, can produce eYcient outcomes without subjecting the
system to the high costs and diYculty of trying to align everyone’s behavior
through central direction. Just as pluralism was becoming the dominant model
for understanding how competing political forces bargain out their diVerences,
Lindblom applied the same approach to decision-making within organizations
and, in the process, introduced an important challenge to orthodox bureaucracy.
Instead of an approach in which authority and formal structure dominated,
Lindblom explained how bargaining and informal relationships could edge out
orthodoxy and, he claimed, produce decisions that were both more eYcient and
more responsive to the wishes of the public.
All of these issues, of course, go to the heart of the role of bureaucracy in a
democracy. But they also help reinforce the sometime sense of ‘‘bureaucracy’’ as
a dirty word. The bureaucratic form of organization carries with it several
well-known pathologies. Organizational rules can create powerful incentives to
follow them for their own sake—a phenomenon that became known as ‘‘red tape’’
after the red ribbons once used to tie up the box of oYcial papers presented to the
king (Kaufman 1977). (In the United States, similar red ribbons were used to tie up
the records of Civil War veterans, and ‘‘cutting the red tape’’ was an eVort to
 public bureaucracies 373

shortcut the rules in making required payments to them.) An emphasis

on procedures can limit an organization’s responsiveness to those it is supposed
to serve. The exercise of authority can make it diYcult for workers to use their
professional judgment in dealing with problems that might not Wt the standard
rubric. Once set, organizational structure can be hard to change.
All in all, bureaucratic pathologies are numerous and serious. And they
echo Winston Churchill’s famous comment, ‘‘Democracy is the worst form of govern-
ment except for all those others that have been tried.’’ For thousands of years, people
have chafed under the burdens of ‘‘bureaucracy,’’ and for thousands of years, reformers
have sought alternatives. The bureaucratic form of organization has endured because
society has yet to discover anything that works better in coordinating complex action.
As both the ambitions and the tools of government became more complex,
government came to rely more on networks of service providers, involving
both diVerent levels of government and partners outside government, in non-
governmental organizations and private contractors (Goldsmith and Eggers 2004).
In the United Kingdom, the government embraced the ‘‘joined-up government’’
initiative, focused on improving the coordination of services across government
agencies. Australia adopted a ‘‘whole-of-government’’ approach, while some
American governments pursued a ‘‘no-wrong-door’’ strategy (in which managers
used information technology to help people solve their problems, however they
entered government’s domain, instead of sending them to a series of oYces
by claiming that other agencies were responsible for solving the problem) (see 6,
P. et al. 2002). Coordination rose to a puzzle of far greater importance, as fewer
government agencies could fully control the organizational resources they needed
to meet their mission—and as the search for eVective administration demanded
stronger, more eVective partnerships for service delivery. Indeed, one of the most
important budding challenges of twenty-Wrst-century bureaucracy is adapting
traditional hierarchical bureaucracy to manage such multiorganizational networks.

3 Accountability
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Bureaucracy is a generic form of organization, not one limited to the public sector.
(Public utilities and cellular phone companies are typically private organizations,
and grievances about their bureaucracies rival the worst complaints about public
organizations.) Public bureaucracies must solve an additional problem. Their task
is not only to perform the work for which they were created. In a democracy, they
must do so in a way that is accountable to elected policy-makers and, ultimately, to
374 donald f. kettl

the people who elect them. The challenge is empowering them enough to do their
jobs while restraining their power to prevent abuse (Albrow 1970; Behn 2001).
There are several approaches to accountability. One is based on Weber’s rational-
legal approach to bureaucratic power. Elected oYcials delegate power to bureau-
crats. Bureaucrats have only the power delegated to them, through the chain of
command. Thus, the nature of the law and the structure of the bureaucracy shape
bureaucratic accountability.
A second approach views democracy and eYciency as conXicting values (Okun
1975). Governments often seek broad discussion and debate to frame policy. They
seek streamlined and eYcient administration of that policy. The steps taken to
maximize participation can often hinder eYciency, and vice versa. In this approach,
accountability is a problem of balancing the two important but conXicting goals.
A third approach pursues a market-based strategy, built on the principal–agent
model described above. Administrators have important resources that policy-
makers need, including information about their programs and the capacity to
act. Policy-makers have resources, including authority, money, and support, that
administrators need if they are to do their job. Accountability, in this approach, is
seen as an exchange relationship, in which each side bargains its needs and
resources with the other.
These multiple approaches underline an important feature of accountability.
Everyone wants it, and everyone thinks they know what they want. Getting
agreement on what accountability is and how it ought to work, however, is often
deceptively diYcult. The fragmentation of bureaucracy tends to aggravate this
problem, moreover. ‘‘Bureaucracy,’’ after all, is not just one entity but many, each
with its own and often conXicting jurisdictions and missions. There are multiple
layers within each bureaucracy and external control agencies, including budget and
personnel oYces, exercise leverage over elements of bureaucratic action. The
central imperative of public bureaucracy is that its substantial power must remain
under the control of policy-makers. Determining how best to do so, however, is
fraught with complexity and contradiction.

4 Challenges
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

That frames the fundamental dilemma of public bureaucracies: being powerful

enough to do the job (for who would want to waste money on a bureaucracy that
did not perform?) yet not so powerful as to threaten the sovereignty of elected
oYcials (for who in a democracy would want to surrender their autonomy to
overbearing bureaucrats?). This is certainly not a new problem, of course. Medieval
 public bureaucracies 375

serfs put up with overbearing nobles because they protected them when marauders
raided, and the Roman Emperor Caligula was killed by his own Praetorian guard
because they did not like where he was taking the empire. As government has
grown larger and more complex, keeping powerful bureaucracy at heel has become
even more important—and diYcult.
For modern public bureaucracies, however, new challenges have grown atop the
traditional ones. Bureaucracies tend to be best at routine matters, such as
dispatching emergency workers to accident scenes and processing tax returns.
After all, the building blocks of bureaucracy are building capacity and devising
standard routines to manage complex but predictable problems. They tend to be
far less eVective on problems that fall outside of the normal routine, and modern
society oVers a host of such issues, from homeland security to environmental
management. Bureaucracies remain the core of government action. They are the
repositories of expertise, but equipping them to deal Xexibly with new and rapidly
evolving policy problems is a major issue.
So, too, is the challenge of managing the complex collection of organizations—
public, private, and nonproWt—on which government increasingly relies for imple-
menting public services. Much public administration occurs through contracts
with for-proWt and nonproWt organizations, grants to other governments and
nonproWt organizations, regulations, special tax preferences, loan programs, and
other indirect tools of government action (Salamon with Elliott, 2002). Managing
these tools sometimes is harder than managing directly administered government
programs but, more important, managing them is diVerent. Government cannot
rely on authority and hierarchy to manage programs outside the bureaucracy.
Instead, public administrators must rely on a host of other tools, from negotiated
contracts to incentives. This in turn oVers skills that are often in short supply, as
NASA discovered in managing its space shuttle program and the US Department of
Defense found in many weapons procurement projects. As a result, programs
administered through such indirect tools have often developed serious problems.
These puzzles have, in turn, led to a new approach to bureaucracy, founded on
interorganizational networks instead of hierarchies. It is an approach that focuses
primarily on the relationships between organizations instead of within them.
As Stephen Goldsmith and William D. Eggers (2004, 7) argue:
The traditional hierarchical model of government simply does not meet the demands of this
complex, rapidly changing age. Rigid bureaucratic systems that operate with command-
and-control procedures, narrow work restrictions, and inward-looking cultures and
operational models are particularly ill-suited to addressing problems that often transcend
organizational boundaries.
Instead, as Lester Salamon puts it, ‘‘a dense mosaic’’ of policy approaches, full of
‘‘complex, interdependent relationships with a host of third-party providers,’’
increasingly characterizes much government action (Salamon 2002, 3). In fact,
the federal government spends very little of its money on programs its bureaucrats
376 donald f. kettl

directly administer. Federal administrators manage air traYc control, airline

security, and the national parks, and they pay out entitlements. For most govern-
ment programs that remain, contracts, grants, and other programs account for
most activity. Networked forms of action account for a great deal of state and local
government administration as well. The administration of a substantial part of
government activity therefore requires Wnding leverage over government’s network
of partners instead of directly managing the programs. That, in turn, increasingly
requires the development of new capacity for network management.
At the same time, however, public bureaucracy has keenly felt citizen pressure
for a smaller, more responsive, higher-performing government. As the locus for
much of government’s action, and as the center for most government employment,
the taxpayer revolts that have rolled through government since the late 1970s
have put public bureaucracy under increasing pressure. ‘‘Doing more with less’’
has been the watchword, often with substantially fewer government employees
and fewer rewards (like pay increases) with which to reward good performance.
Indeed, the impulse for government reform has often focused squarely on bureau-
cratic behavior.

5 The Impulse for Reform

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Americans had periodically reformed their bureaucracies for more than a century, in
a series of changes that Paul Light (1997) has called the ‘‘tides of reform.’’ By the 1980s
and 1990s, reform had become a truly global phenomenon. Governments every-
where, of widely diVerent sizes, faced remarkably similar complaints from their
citizens about government’s size and ineVectiveness, and those complaints launched
a global revolution in public management reform (Kettl 2005). The puzzle: how to
make government smaller, more eVective, and more responsive. The diagnosis
centered on the pathologies of bureaucracy. The solutions varied widely.

5.1 The New Public Management

The major initiative was a movement, Wrst launched in New Zealand and quickly
followed in the United Kingdom, called ‘‘the new public management.’’ Reformers
 public bureaucracies 377

complained that the traditional bureaucratic approach rendered public organiza-

tions unresponsive to citizens and wasteful of public money. The problem, they
contended, was that these bureaucracies became locked into their own internal
games and had no incentive to improve. In contrast, markets created strong
incentives for eYciency and responsiveness. Organizations that successfully
competed in the market grew and prospered; those that did not failed and folded.
The reformers drew heavily on the path-breaking article by Ronald Coase (1937),
writings by Oliver Williamson (1975), and the theories developed by the Chicago
School of economics. (Their reliance on that work was clear and direct—public
oYcials in New Zealand’s capital, Wellington, could be heard quoting from the
writings of relatively abstract economists.) That work argued that the relationships
between principals and agents structured the key relationships in public bureau-
cracies, that government bureaucracies tended to stumble into the worst patholo-
gies aVecting the principal–agent relationship, and that by inserting market-like
incentives into that relationship government could vastly improve its performance.
They began by arguing government should shed as many functions as it could
to the private sector. New Zealand and the United Kingdom sold oV large state-
owned enterprises, including telephone, oil, insurance, post oYce, and airline
companies. In New Zealand, the government sold oV more than twenty
state-owned companies. More fundamentally, the government came to view all
activities as market transactions. It owned the service, and its goal was to provide
the maximum return for taxpayers.
To do so, the New Zealanders aggressively pursued several reforms. One was
strategic planning. The government deWned its basic goals and constructed its
budget to Wnance them. In addition, New Zealand was the world’s Wrst nation to
adopt accrual accounting, which required the government to account for the full
cost of a program when it was created. (In the American system—and in the system
of most governments—the budget accounts for the annual cost of the program.
That often creates a strong incentive for making short-term investments now that
carry large long-term—but unbudgeted—costs that cause serious problems in
future budgets.)
Another feature was transparency, based on a separation of the purchase and
production functions. The government set policy by deciding what ought to be
done. It would then rely on whoever could do the job most eVectively and cheaply,
whether within the government or on the outside. Unlike the American privatiza-
tion movement, there was no presumption that private production was better.
The goal was to give the job to whoever could do it best. For government-produced
services, the government hired chief executives with Wxed-term contracts and
performance incentives. They had broad authority and Xexibility in producing
the programs. The government then negotiated production contracts with
the suppliers, including with government agencies and their chief executives.
The contracts speciWed outputs—from the miles of roadway to be built or the
378 donald f. kettl

number of individuals to receive job training—and held the chief executive

responsible for delivering those outputs.
In short, the reformers tried to draw a sharp line between policy-making and
policy administration. Elected oYcials remained responsible for policy-making;
the reformers sought to replace traditional authority-driven government bureau-
cracy with market-driven competition. Their goal was to shrink the size of gov-
ernment and improve the way it worked. The ultimate measure of accountability
became results.
The New Zealand reforms sparked a global revolution that swept through the
United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and other nations to a lesser degree. It
generated an enormous and wide-ranging debate (Aucoin 1996; Barzelay 2001;
Boston, Martin, Pallot, and Walsh 1996; Hood 1984, 1998; Kettl 2005). Reformers
around the world hailed the approach as an imaginative and innovative strategy to
improve the performance of government and to excise the pathologies of govern-
ment bureaucracy. The strategy had dual power, in part because of the
long intellectual tradition from which it grew and in part because it oVered
commonsense solutions to the problems of bureaucracy that nagged many
governments. The reforms predictably did not solve all of bureaucracy’s problems.
Creating and sustaining markets proved diYcult. So was measuring outputs.
Moreover, output measures—the activity surrounding government programs—
did not address the more important political issue—what impact these programs
had. Over time, the reforms moved more toward the assessment of impacts, but the
deeper they got into these issues, the more diYcult the problems became (Schick
1996).
Finally, the reforms could not resolve the core political issues that inevitably
surround the delivery of services. The eVort to separate policy from adminis-
tration could not remove the political implications from administrative acts.
Government bureaucracies inevitably deal with issues that are intricately inter-
connected with the politics of government. Nevertheless, the reforms—especially
their strong emphasis on measuring results—had an enormous impact on
government bureaucracies around the world (Pollitt 1990; Pollitt and Bouckaert
2000).

5.2 American Reform

The United States launched its own government reform movement, but the
movement came Wfteen years later than in New Zealand and it followed a very
diVerent strategy. Americans, of course, had long had a strong instinct for reform.
But in 1993, following Bill Clinton’s narrow victory over the senior George Bush,
 public bureaucracies 379

the Clinton administration launched a broad reform eVort. Clearly worried by

the strong third-party candidacy of H. Ross Perot, who won 19 percent of
the electoral vote by arguing big deWcits and poor performance were plaguing
American government, Clinton decided to launch a broad initiative to address
Perot’s critique—and to reduce the chances Perot’s eVort might grow and under-
mine Clinton’s campaign for a second term. He seized on a strategy outlined
by David Osborne and Ted Gaebler (1992), an author and a city manager, to
‘‘reinvent government.’’ He then put Vice President Al Gore in charge of the project
and Gore, in turn, put hundreds of federal employees to work on a six-month
eVort to develop money-saving ideas throughout government. Their report
listed 384 recommendations, promised $108 billion in savings, and pledged to
shrink the federal workforce by 12 percent within Wve years. Gore promised (1993)
nothing less than ‘‘creating a government that works better and costs less’’ (compare
Kettl 1998).
On the ‘‘works better’’ side, Gore developed tactics for sweeping away barriers
that, he said, prevented government employees from doing their jobs eVectively. He
made the case for eliminating obsolete structures, ancient processes, and poor
leadership, while replacing them with employees empowered with the authority to
do their jobs as their experience told them was the best approach. The plan was to
replace top-down, rule-driven government with a bottom-up, customer-driven
approach to service delivery. On the ‘‘costs less’’ side, Gore proposed to eliminate
obsolete programs, trim extra layers of management and make the bureaucracy
Xatter, and reduce the number of government employees.
The reinventing government eVort, however, quickly ran afoul of the Repub-
licans own eVort, the ‘‘Contract with America,’’ which sought a far smaller and
more privatized government. Gore quickly had to push back the ‘‘works better’’
initiatives to concentrate on the ‘‘costs less’’ side, especially the reduction in
government employment, which the administration ratcheted up to 273,000
employees. There was little strategic thinking behind the downsizing. The reduc-
tions left some agencies with a serious mismatch between the skills of employees
and the requirements of agency missions. But although the downsizing was
haphazard, the administration did indeed hit its target, through an aggressive
program of early retirement bonuses.
Gore became closely identiWed with the eVort, but he got little political credit for
it. He barely mentioned ‘‘reinventing government’’ during his failed 2000 presi-
dential campaign. Nevertheless, the Clinton administration did indeed leave
behind a smaller government, at least when measured by the number of govern-
ment employees, as well as signiWcant improvements in electronic government and
procurement. Despite its political roots, however, the reinvention campaign
produced little political impact.
Soon after he became president, however, George W. Bush launched his own
Wve-point management improvement initiative. He sought to improve the strategic
380 donald f. kettl

management of human capital, the capacity of government employees to do their

jobs; to increase the contracting out of public services; to improve Wnancial
management; to expand electronic government; and to integrate performance
measures for government programs into budget decisions. Like the New Zealand
reforms, the eVort had a heavy results-based Xavor and sought to couple the
measurement of results with budgetary decisions. But Bush pushed the USA past
the New Zealand reforms by focusing squarely on outcomes, the impact that
government programs had. On one level, these were the questions that drove
politics. If teachers teach, do children learn? If job training programs educate
workers, do they acquire useful long-term skills that help them get and keep
good jobs? Of course, measuring outcomes proved extraordinarily diYcult. Getting
policy-makers to pay attention to the measures was a challenge as well. But
introducing the measurement of results into the process proved a signiWcant
accomplishment of the Bush administration. And it underlined the broader
theme of government reform around the world: the central role that measurement
of results has come to play in the eVort to improve the functioning of public
bureaucracies.

6 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Public bureaucracy is thus the focus of enduring paradoxes. ‘‘Bureaucratic’’

suggests behavior everyone hates, yet bureaucracy is an inescapable part of
government. Without it, little of what we value in government would be possible.
Bureaucracy is thus a major center of government power, but critics constantly seek
to restrain that power. Bureaucracy is structured to maximize its ability to perform
routine tasks, yet more of its work occurs through indirect tools and networks that
challenge bureaucracy’s basic function and structure. No part of government
has seen as much fundamental reform over the last generation, yet despite all
the changes the core features of bureaucracy have proved surprisingly enduring.
Some of this is because of bureaucracy’s central position in government. As both
symbol and instrument of government power, the fundamental conXicts over what
government is and what it ought to do become stuck to it. Some of this is because
what citizens expect from government—and how much they are willing to pay to
get it—is in the midst of a fundamental reassessment, and bureaucracy is caught in
the crossWre. Bureaucracy is an enduring part of government because there can be
no eVective government without it. Its place within democratic government is
inevitably full of contradictions because of the way citizens view government.
 public bureaucracies 381

On one hand, bureaucracy is one element of government that, it can be said with
certainty, will endure through the ages, just as it always has. On the other hand,
eVorts to change and reform bureaucracy will endure, just as certainly, because
of the inherent conXicts it embodies. Thus, the paradox of permanence and change
is the deWning reality of public bureaucracy.
The paradox revolves around bureaucracy’s central questions: empowering bur-
eaucracy enough to be eVective without making bureaucracy so powerful as to
threaten democratic rule; using hierarchy to coordinate programs without making
bureaucracy inXexible; and securing accountability of bureaucracy to elected
oYcials (and ultimately to the public) without rendering it incapable of eVective
action. The long tradition of theory about public bureaucracies has sought to
manage these paradoxes by drawing boundaries: boundaries that constrain power,
promote coordination, and seek accountability. But the inescapable reality of
twenty-Wrst-century government is that the very boundaries that have been created
over time to manage the paradoxes have, in turn, often crippled government in
addressing the most important public policy issues. For example, in addressing the
tough puzzles surrounding the 2001 anthrax attacks in the United States, the Centers
for Disease Control’s Julie Gerberding found that her bureaucracy hindered, not
helped her eVort to devise an eVective response. In case after case, from the outbreak
of anthrax to SARS to monkey pox, Gerberding discovered that she needed to devise
new organizational strategies to deal with inescapable problems. Indeed, she found a
‘‘global-to-local and local-to-global connectivity’’ that ‘‘truly exempliWes the
‘small world’,’’ one where the old boundaries often did not Wt (2005, 2).
For both international organizations and developing countries, these issues are
especially sharp. Developing countries are struggling to accelerate their pace of
economic transformation, so they can satisfy the aspirations of their citizens.
Doing so, however, requires the creation of strong private markets and robust
public bureaucracies to regulate and control them. Trying to fuel development
without Wrst building adequate public institutions, or trying to wring out corrup-
tion without creating the preconditions for eVective administrative performance,
can lead to enormous problems, Allen Schick (1998) persuasively argues. For
international organizations like the World Bank and International Monetary
Fund, which are seeking to support the growth of developing nations, the challenge
is doubled. They not only have to Wnd ways of solving this dilemma, but they also
have to reform their own operations to meet the challenges of a rapidly evolving
world economy. Otherwise, they risk increasing the already large gap between the
world’s richer and poorer nations.
The management of public programs increasingly spills beyond public
bureaucracies, a phenomenon that students of bureaucracy have come to call
‘‘governance’’ (Pierre and Peters 2000; Peters 2001; Kettl 2002). As was the case
with Gerberding’s puzzles, many of the most important problems that government
faces—and, indeed, many of the strategies government follows in attacking many
382 donald f. kettl

programs—spill over the boundaries of the government bureaucracies created to

manage them. Where the problems strain the boundaries, they also strain the
theories created to guide the hands of bureaucrats. Network approaches to gov-
ernment have arisen to manage these tough, boundary-spanning problems. But
these approaches have grown faster than the theories to guide them. The theories of
government bureaucracy Wnd themselves challenged to devise new arguments to
guide and control bureaucracy. Problems ranging from terrorism to health care
demand government’s best eVorts. Governments are struggling with empowering
bureaucracies enough to attack these tough problems while avoiding the trap of
making them so powerful as to challenge democratic rule.
Moreover, as the reform movements that have bubbled constantly since the 1980s
have shown, both practitioners and theorists of bureaucracy have struggled to devise
new approaches to governance. Some, like the ‘‘new public management,’’ have been
top-down. Others, like ‘‘reinventing government,’’ have been bottom-up. None have
proven to be fully satisfactory, but that has only fueled the reformers’ inventiveness.
The rich tradition of hierarchical bureaucracy provides a strong foundation for
governance. However, the problems facing governments increasingly strain its
precepts. That leaves practitioners and theorists alike with the twin task of
safeguarding its basic principles while experimenting with new approaches, which
might perhaps better Wt society’s tough problems but which pose new challenges to
the ageless puzzles of bureaucratic power, coordination, and accountability.

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 chapter 20
...................................................................................................................................................

T H E W E L FA R E S TAT E
...................................................................................................................................................

jacob s. hacker

In the last two decades, students of public aVairs have taken an increasingly keen
interest in the welfare state—the complex of policies that, in one form or other, all
rich democracies have adopted to ameliorate destitution and provide valued social
goods and services. Leading scholarly journals are awash with analyses of social
welfare policy, and a number of books and articles on the topic now stand as
modern classics (notably, Cameron 1978; Esping-Andersen 1990; Heclo 1974;
Skocpol 1992). Contemplating this non-stop rush of academic commentary, one
prominent social policy expert (Taylor-Gooby 1991, xi) invoked the lament of
Ecclesiastes: ‘‘Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a
weariness of the Xesh.’’
As natural as this state of aVairs has come to seen, it was not always so. In 1974, in
one of the Wrst political analyses of social policy, Hugh Heclo observed that ‘‘for
anyone interested in the human terms of politics, perhaps the most fundamental
change that is taken for granted is the growth of modern social policy’’ (Heclo 1974, 1).
Indeed, what is striking in retrospect—not to mention, in light of the huge share of the
economy that social spending consumes—is precisely how few scholars concerned
themselves with the welfare state in the years before Heclo’s words were penned.
What happened? The simple answer is that the welfare state leapt into the head-
lines. Once protected by a real, if uneasy, postwar consensus, the welfare state came
under increasing political and economic strain in the post-1970s period, making it a
subject of debate as it had not been for decades. Ironically, while the two to
three decades after the Second World War featured dramatic welfare state expansion,
386 jacob s. hacker

it was only when the welfare state was less ‘‘taken for granted,’’ in Heclo’s words, that
scholars really started wondering what drove its development and evolution.
Still, the growing debate might not have attracted scholarly attention were it not
for changes within the academic world that made the welfare state more attractive
as an object of research. Particularly important was the rise of institutional analysis
within political science. The goal of many institutionalists was to highlight endur-
ing structural features of modern polities, ‘‘bringing the state back in’’ to political
analysis (Evans, Skocpol, and Rueschemeyer 1985). That meant, it turned out,
bringing the welfare state back in as well, for a major share of what modern states
do falls within the bounds of social policy. What is more, the welfare state is
not simply a major institution of the state; it is also, scholars soon discovered,
profoundly shaped by the basic structure of a nation’s political institutions,
providing one of the most concrete examples of how the rules of political
decision-making shape what government does.
The upshot of these two streams of development—political change and scholarly
innovation—was that social scientists woke up to a fact so obvious it had been
frequently overlooked: The welfare state is a central institutional feature of modern
politics. The seminal trigger for this awakening was Gøsta Esping-Andersen’s
landmark 1990 study, The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism. Esping-Andersen
replaced the common unilinear view of welfare state development with a hugely
inXuential threefold typology that contrasted the ‘‘social-democratic’’ welfare states
of Scandinavia with the ‘‘conservative’’ model of Continental Europe and the
‘‘liberal’’ model found in Britain and the United States. Much as John Rawls’
A Theory of Justice revitalized Wrst-order political theory, Esping-Andersen’s Three
Worlds of Welfare Capitalism provided a major impetus for criticism, praise, and
reWnement of arguments about the welfare state both old and new.
And yet a curious thing has happened to the welfare state on its way from the
periphery to the center of scholarly concern. Political analysts are now writing
about the welfare state, but they are not really all that concerned with the welfare
state as such. For most, instead, the welfare state has become a convenient
window into some larger system of power or politics. Nor, indeed, are most
scholars really writing about the welfare state. Some concern themselves with
public assistance for the poor; others with social insurance programs like
unemployment insurance; still others with labor policies, such as rules governing
unions. An increasing number, in fact, are interested in policies well beyond the
typical conception of the welfare state, such as tax policies and workplace
beneWts. In short, the near-perfect silence on the welfare state that once reigned
has given way not to a single or harmonious tune, but to a cacophony of
sometimes discordant notes that occasionally threatens to drown out the very
subject of the melody.
This should not be surprising. The very breadth and complexity of the welfare
state guarantee that scholars will pursue myriad research avenues. The question
 the welfare state 387

is whether these diverse inquiries are also leading to a more general picture, or
simply making more complex and foreboding the topography that has to
be traversed. The premise of this chapter is that while work on the welfare state
has dramatically improved our knowledge and understanding, there is a risk that
the stories that emerge will read like ‘‘one damn thing after another’’—study piled
upon study, fact upon fact, without adequate integration, explanation, or advance-
ment. One way of avoiding this fate, this chapter argues, is for students of the
welfare state to think more seriously of welfare states as distributive institutions
whose socioeconomic eVects and patterns of evolution are both systematic and
systematically interrelated. Three questions should be central: What eVect does the
welfare state have on the lives of citizens, is that eVect changing, and how can we
explain the adaptation (or failure of adaptation) of the welfare state to the shifting
realities around it?
The positive judgment, however, is the one to emphasize up front: Studies of the
welfare state have revolutionized our understanding of comparative politics and
policy—and, indeed, have a good claim to represent the strongest area in institu-
tional analysis more generally. The chapter begins, therefore, with a review of the
rich and fertile avenues of inquiry that students of the welfare state have pursued in
recent years. Collectively as well as individually, these recent works testify to the
tremendous progress that has taken place. Given how much of value has been
written, in fact, any review will of necessity be highly selective. This chapter places
special emphasis on writings on the American welfare state, which has provoked
some of the most lively scholarly debates of the past decade—looking in particular
at Wve areas of recent debate: race and the welfare state, gender and social policy,
the role of business, the interplay of public and private beneWts, and the politics of
welfare state reform.

1 Race and Solidarity

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Students of the welfare state have long recognized that racial and ethnic cleavages
pose distinctive dilemmas for social policy. The welfare state rests on a foundation
of social solidarity (Baldwin 1990), a sense of kinship among those it protects. Deep
cleavages can erode this social glue and, with it, the foundations on which the
welfare state rests.
While this observation is long-standing, recent scholarship has started to map
out exactly how race and ethnicity aVect social policy. We learn that racial and ethnic
stereotypes—and the exclusionary impulses to which they give rise—informed the
388 jacob s. hacker

original design of many social programs and continue to shape public perceptions
of them, particularly in the United States (Brown 1999; Faye Williams 2003; Gilens
1999; Lieberman 1998). Moreover, because racial disadvantage is embedded in the
larger political economy that these programs seek to inXuence, race enters
into social policy even when it is not on the minds of citizens or elites. Not only,
then, do perceptions of racial diVerence undermine the social solidarity that is the
cement of the welfare state; equally important, many features of the world that social
policies seek to change are ‘‘race-laden,’’ in the words of political scientist Robert
Lieberman (1998), and hence ostensibly race-neutral policies may have deeply
racialized eVects.
Recently, this new work has extended into the realm of comparative political
economy. Two recent analyses by respected political economists take up the
question of how the United States’ distinctively conXicted history of race relations
aVects popular support for social programs. Alberto Alesina, Edward Glaeser, and
Bruce Sacerdote (2001, 247) look across nations, arguing that US public social
spending is lower than that of other nations in large part ‘‘because the majority of
Americans believe that redistribution favors racial minorities.’’ Woojin Lee and
John Roemer (2004) instead look at the United States over time, tracing out the
independent eVect of two race-related factors on popular support for redistribu-
tion. The Wrst factor is the now-familiar solidarity eVect, in which perceptions of
group diVerence undermine the sense of kinship that motivates social provision.
The second, and more neglected factor that Lee and Roemer highlight is what they
call the ‘‘policy-bundle’’ eVect. Candidates in their model can choose to appeal to
voters on the basis of their economic self-interest or on the basis of their
racial perceptions. If candidates opposed to broader social provision appeal to
downscale voters on the basis of racism, this further undercuts the constituency for
redistribution.
The new scholarship on race has made major contributions to our under-
standing of social welfare politics. Yet when it comes to placing race in the
context of other forces shaping social policy, it tends to falter. Few scholars, of
course, are so bold as to claim that race is the motor force of welfare state
development. But in their emphases and their arguments, they generally suggest
that citizens inevitably judge social provision through blinders heavily shaped by
racial, ethnic, and religious prejudice. Martin Gilens, in his (1991) account of
Why Americans Hate Welfare, argues, for example, that distrust of antipoverty
relief in the United States reXects the twin beliefs of white Americans that ‘‘most
people who receive welfare are black’’ and that ‘‘blacks are less committed to the
work ethic than are other Americans.’’ While Gilens’s point is restricted to
antipoverty beneWts, the general tenor of the new work on race and social policy
is that such beneWts are the leading case for a basic relationship: the welfare state
and debates about it are explicable Wrst and foremost through the lens of racial
analysis.
 the welfare state 389

In pointing toward this more ambitious claim, the new scholarship on race
risks running aground on two opposed shoals. On the one hand, relatively
straightforward arguments about how racist beliefs inform the formation
and evolution of social programs are clear in their mechanisms and in their
implications about what supportive evidence should look like. Yet they are also
limited in their reach, for many areas of the welfare state do not appear racialized in
the sense of being motivated by explicitly racist intentions. On the other hand, the
claim that social policies are ‘‘race-laden’’ because they intersect with larger features
of society marked by racial hierarchy has considerable—indeed near-total—reach,
but the political mechanisms it highlights are diVuse, and quite problematic as
subjects of empirical inquiry. Ironically, in fact, the broadest of such claims are
quite similar in their observational implications to the arguments of dissenting
scholars who have argued that what is notable about social policy development
is the general absence of explicit attention to race (an argument made with regard
to the debate over US social policies by Davies and Derthick 1997). If race
is everything—hidden, all-encompassing, unchanging—then it risks being
nothing, too.

2 Gender and Social Policy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

While race has long been a central theme in the study of the welfare state, gender
has not. This despite the fact that women represent chief beneWciaries of the major
family assistance programs of the welfare state, and despite the fact that female
reform leaders have played a large role in the development of social policy in many
nations. No doubt a good deal of this neglect can be chalked up to the biases
of traditionally male-dominated and -oriented research. Yet this explanation is
incomplete. Long after gender was a major focus of work in the social sciences, the
welfare state was mostly viewed through the lens of male wage-earners and their
struggle for expanded social protection.
To understand this, it helps to recognize that the major theoretical current
in welfare state scholarship—up to and including today—draws from Marx
in emphasizing class struggle as the root cause of welfare state building. Social
policies, on this view, are primarily a means of ‘‘decommodiWcation’’ (Esping-
Anderson 1990), a way of freeing workers from wage dependence by providing
them with income when they are unable to engage in well-paid labor. Traditionally
if women entered into such analyses at all, they were subsumed within the
larger category of ‘‘worker’’—a move that ignored the extent to which women’s
390 jacob s. hacker

relationship to the labor market diVered from men’s and the degree to which
ostensibly self-supporting male workers were supported by female domestic work.
This blinkered perspective is no longer tenable. In welfare state research,
‘‘feminist’’ scholarship has had a major impact over the last decade or so. As with
research on race, a good deal of this work has concerned the American experience.
Emblematic is Skocpol’s (1992) Protecting Soldiers and Mothers—which, while con-
troversial within feminist circles, details the role played by women’s groups and
reformers at the turn of the last century in promoting what she calls a ‘‘maternalist’’
vision of the welfare state oriented around state protection for women and children.
Against Skocpol’s interpretation, other scholars have emphasized the repressive
elements of the maternalist vision in the United States, while a growing body of
writing has reinterpreted the development of the welfare state in light of the taken-
for-granted subordinate position of women. Recent work has emphasized, for
example, that many social insurance and employment programs initially excluded
female workers, focused on risks and needs distinctive to men, and were built on the
assumption that women would remain home to support male breadwinners.1
In comparative research, in particular, gender has become a central frame of
reference (see especially OrloV 1993; Stetson and Mazur 1995). Welfare states do not
merely ‘‘decommodify,’’ this new comparative work argues. They can also ‘‘defa-
milialize,’’ lessening the extent to which women are required to remain home and
care for children by providing public day care and structuring policies in gender-
neutral ways. Put simply, welfare states not only aVect citizens place and power in
the economy; they also aVect their place and power in the household—and, indeed,
it is at the nexus of these two realms that women’s distinctive role, and dilemmas,
lie.
The success of feminist scholarship in reorienting existing theories and suggest-
ing new historical interpretations cannot be gainsaid. Nonetheless, this work has
also suVered from a number of common weakness, many of which it shares with
recent scholarship on race. The Wrst is that the singular emphasis on gender, like the
singular emphasis on race, tends to occlude other forces that shape policy and
politics, and to limit analysis to certain corners of the social welfare Weld—in this
case, again, overwhelmingly poverty relief. As with work on race, feminist scholars
are also often less than clear whether they are talking about sexist beliefs held by
citizens and elites, or about the impact of ostensibly gender-neutral policies in a
world marked by vast gender inequalities, or both. Indeed, far more than recent
research on race, feminist scholars face the challenge of interpreting absence, for
what is striking in many early social policy debates is precisely how little was said
distinguishing women and men. This contrasts with the clear, repeated, and often
breathtakingly crude references to race in many of the same political debates.

1 Notable works include Gordon 1994; Mink 1995; Mettler 1999; Kessler-Harris 2001; and the essays
in Gordon 1990.
 the welfare state 391

3 Business and the Welfare State

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Work on gender challenges the laborist perspective for its alleged sins of omission.
New writings on the role of business, by contrast, tackle it for its alleged sins of
commission. The essence of these works’ critique is that previous scholarship has
overstated the antinomy of interests between capitalists and labor and, in doing so,
missed the strong capitalist bases of support for domestic social reform (see, in
particular, Gordon 1994, 2003; Jacoby 1997; Mares 2003; Martin 2000; Swenson 2002).
An important spur for much of this work is an emerging literature on ‘‘varieties
of capitalism’’ (Hall and Soskice 2001). This work argues that capitalism comes in
at least two alternative forms. It may be oriented around the short-term, hyper-
competitive, and based on arms-length contracts (the American, or ‘‘liberal market
economy,’’ model). Or it may be long-term, consensual, and based on interlocking
Wnancial and social ties (the continental European, ‘‘coordinated market econ-
omy,’’ model). And while social welfare policies that strengthen workers’ autonomy
and power might interfere with the normal competitive market in the Wrst model,
they may be highly market-enhancing in the latter. For example, in an economy
based on high skills and wages, protecting workers against the risk of occupational
displacement encourages them to invest in skills that are highly speciWc to an
industry or Wrm—skills they would otherwise fear investing in, because of their
lack of transferability from job to job (Iversen and Soskice 2001).
While the ‘‘varieties of capitalism’’ framework suggests strong commonalities of
interests between business and labor, it does not rest on the claim that business is a
prime mover in the development of the welfare state. After all, the fact that some
social policies are economically beneWcial is no guarantee that business will
support them. Many policies that are good for economic growth have no organized
defenders. And even if it can be shown that business supports certain social
policies, that still leaves open the critical question of whether capitalists were
behind their creation. The powerful, distinctive, and controversial claim of the
new literature on business power is that capitalists have a strong preference for key
social programs before they are enacted.
This argument has two main variants, which are not mutually exclusive. One
says that businesses want social programs to impose costs on competitors—for
example, by requiring that all Wrms pay for beneWts they already provide (Swenson
2002). The other says that businesses want social programs to oZoad their costs
onto the public Wsc—for example, by socializing risks to which they are particularly
susceptible (Mares 2003). Both variants argue, however, that some (but, crucially,
not all) businesses want generous social programs. To be sure, organized
labor demands social programs, too. But their success hinges on the emergence
of ‘‘cross-class alliances’’ with capitalists (Swenson 2002). Only when the
bourgeoisie are on board does the proletariat get what it wants.
392 jacob s. hacker

The recent sweeping work of Peter Swenson, Capitalists Against Markets

(2002)—which compares the fate of social reforms in the United States during
the 1930s and in Sweden immediately after the Second World War—exempliWes,
while deepening, the new business power thesis. Swenson argues that in the United
States during the Depression a signiWcant segment of the American business
community (large employers that paid generous wages and beneWts) was at least
latently supportive of new social insurance programs that would cripple their
low-wage, low-price competitors. Meanwhile, in Sweden, according to Swenson,
business support for social programs emerged only after the Second World War,
during a period of acute upward pressure on wages, which Swedish employer
associations hoped to compress by socializing non-wage labor costs. The original
turn in Swenson’s argument is not so much his identiWcation of a capitalist interest
in reform, but his attempt to tease out the bases of capitalist inXuence. Swenson
argues that neither the so-called instrumental power of business (its lobbying
prowess and resources) nor its ‘‘structural’’ power (its control over investment
and jobs, about which politicians care regardless of whether business organizes to
press for policy change) were crucial.2 Rather, it was politicians’ anticipation
of long-term capitalist support for—and fear of long-term capitalist opposition
to—domestic reforms that, Swenson argues, represents the primary means by
which the largely unexpressed pro-reform sentiments of the business community
shaped the making of social policy (Swenson 2002).
As this brief summary indicates, there is more than a whiV of the New Left to
Swenson’s provocative thesis. Yet unlike earlier New Left scholars who argued that
seemingly progressive social reforms were essentially conservative creatures of
business interests (e.g. Kolko 1977), Swenson and those who make related claims
do not believe that the leftist ambitions of social reformers were hijacked by
corporate America. They want to argue instead that underlying business interests
were largely consistent with what reformers wanted. This, of course, raises the issue
of how one demonstrates inXuence. If reformers want what business wants, that
could evidence inXuence, or simply preference congruence. And indeed, in much
of the recent literature, Swenson’s contribution included, surprisingly scant and
circumstantial evidence is oVered that reformers actually responded to actual or
anticipated business power in crafting their proposals.
No less serious, for all the close attention to historical detail that characterizes
recent business power accounts, these works are often, at their core, notably
ahistorical. Swenson, for example, uses large employers’ eventual acceptance of
the US Social Security Act as an important piece of evidence in favor of his thesis
that the Act was initially consistent with their interests. But, of course, the eventual
business response to new social programs is hardly an accurate gauge of initial

2 On the distinction between structural and instrumental power, see Hacker and Pierson 2002;
Lindblom 1982.
 the welfare state 393

interests. Once legislation is in place, after all, employers may simply believe they
cannot realistically overturn it, or the policy may in fact change what employers
want by altering market conditions, reshaping the population of employers, or
encouraging new conceptions of business interests.
Similarly, many works that stress employers’ inXuence tend to begin the story
when reform gets on the agenda, then trace the direct interventions of business on
speciWc policy choices. But this ‘‘snapshot’’ approach makes it nearly impossible to
judge the true power of employers, because it leaves unanswered the profound
question of whether the policy terrain on which business operates at any particular
moment is tilted toward or against it (Hacker and Pierson 2002). Nonetheless,
the renewed emphasis on business’ role does powerfully call into question the
traditional assumption that capitalists are merely recalcitrant stumbling blocks on
the road to social reform.

4 The ‘‘Hidden’’ Welfare State

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In at least one respect, however, new work on business emulates older theories of the
welfare state—and that is in its emphasis on public spending programs like govern-
ment old-age pensions and public health insurance. In this, the business power
literature is of a piece with nearly everything that has been written on the welfare
state. While scholars often note the importance of taxation and policy tools besides
direct social spending, studies of the welfare state are, almost without exception,
studies of social spending, with little attention paid either to tax policy (including the
actual provision of beneWts through the tax code) or to the wide range of ‘‘publicly
subsidized and regulated private social beneWts’’ (Hacker 2002), such as private,
employment-based health insurance, that tax policy usually helps underwrite.
On one level, this conXation of social policy and public spending is understand-
able. Much of what welfare states do, after all, is spend—as much as two-Wfths of
GDP in some Nordic countries. But on another level, it is unexpected, for taxation
and the role of the private sector have probably been the most consistently
explosive issues in welfare state development. It is also surprising because one
of the most inXuential writings on the welfare state—Richard Titmuss’s (1976)
famous Essays on the ‘‘Welfare State’’—placed tax policy (which he termed ‘‘Wscal
welfare’’) and private social beneWts (which he called ‘‘occupational welfare’’) on a
par with spending as a means of achieving social welfare ends. Yet Titmuss’s
insights on this point, unlike many of his other contributions, have produced
relatively little follow-up analysis.
394 jacob s. hacker

That has started to change, but not nearly as quickly or as fully as in the other
areas we have reviewed. Much of the credit for the shift must go to Christopher
Howard’s (1997) The Hidden Welfare State, which examines the use of tax breaks
with social welfare aims, such as the Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC) for the
working poor. Howard argues that US federal social spending is perhaps 150 percent
as large as oYcial spending Wgures indicate when tax breaks with social welfare aims
are included in the tally. In making this crucial claim, Howard stresses a point that
policy-makers know well, but which welfare state scholars have generally
overlooked: Governments have alternative instruments for achieving their ends
(see Hood 1983). The welfare state literature has, not implausibly, identiWed spend-
ing as the key instrument of social policy. Yet in the process, it has missed other
means by which policy-makers could achieve their goals—from regulation to tax
breaks to judicial empowerment to the use of government credit and insurance.
But while Howard and others have examined the tools at policy-makers’
disposal, they have had relatively little to say about the vast private-sector Weld of
social welfare, including employer-sponsored beneWts, that these tools were often
designed to shape. Recent scholarship, however, has started to highlight this even
more ‘‘hidden’’ realm of social policy. Interestingly, much of this work has come
from historians, rather than political scientists (Gordon 2003; Jacoby 1997; Katz
2001; Klein 2003). Political scientists have been slower to move into the Weld,
perhaps because there is so little secondary historical work to build on. But recent
work by political scientists (Brown 1999; Gottschalk 2000; Stevens 1990; Hacker
2002, 2004) indicates a growing interest in incorporating the role of private beneWts
into theories of the welfare state.
In the process, this new scholarship has fundamentally challenged at least one
prevailing verdict in the comparative policy Weld—that the American welfare state
is much smaller that its European counterparts. In fact, properly measured,
American social welfare spending is at or above the average for comparable
advanced industrial democracies (Hacker 2002). ‘‘Properly measured,’’ in this
case, means adjusting for relative tax burdens and including private employer-
provided beneWts that are substantially regulated or subsidized by government.
Because US tax levels are comparatively low and its private social welfare sector is
far and away the largest in the world, these two simple adjustments raise US social
spending from approximately 17 percent of GDP to nearly 25 percent. In short,
‘‘what is distinctive about US social spending is not the level of spending, but the
source’’ (Hacker 2002, 7).
This does not mean, however, that the distribution of social beneWts in the
United States is the same as it is in other advanced industrial democracies.
The United States may spend as much as many European governments when
private social beneWts and tax policy are taken into account, but the distribution
of beneWts up and down the income ladder is almost certainly much less favorable
toward lower-income citizens. Employment-based beneWts are much more
 the welfare state 395

prevalent and generous at higher ends of the wage scale, and tax subsidies, because
they forgive tax that would otherwise be owed, are generally worth the most to
taxpayers in the highest tax brackets. Overall, only about two-thirds of workers
receive health insurance through employment, and fewer than that have a pension
plan, much less contribute to it (Hacker 2002)
All of which raises a deeper questions: By what standard are we to call indirect
policy tools and government-supported private beneWts part of that body of
state activity conveniently, if often imprecisely, termed the ‘‘welfare state?’’ The
scholarship just reviewed makes a strong case for thinking that these tools and
beneWts should, indeed must, be analyzed in studies of social policy. But despite
frequent use of the evocative (and highly contestable) term ‘‘private welfare state’’
to describe workplace beneWts, much of this recent work has surprisingly little to
say about why these beneWts and tax breaks are on a par with the public programs
that students of the welfare state usually study. To the extent, moreover, that it is
simply assumed that the concept of the welfare state can be ‘‘stretched’’ to include
all these diverse instruments and policies, then it is not immediately clear why it
could not or should not stretch even further—to include almost anything that
government does to aVect social welfare. Certainly, once the rubric of the welfare
states opens up, it cannot be assumed that the generalizations about welfare state
development advanced to explain public programs hold equally well in explaining
other realms of social provision. Yet why and how indirect policies and private
beneWts diVer from traditional programs—enough that they require new theories
and histories, but not so much that they fall outside the bounds of social welfare
policy—are questions scholars have only started to explore.

5 Whither the Welfare State?

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The literature on indirect policy tools takes on particular signiWcance in the context
of current struggles over the welfare state. In a number of nations, leaders have
issued impassioned calls for the ‘‘privatization’’ of social duties once handled
primarily by government. Many of the proposals that travel under this controver-
sial label envision shifting from direct state spending toward less direct forms of
social provision, such as the subsidization of private social beneWts. But even in
nations where such reforms have not been on the table, citizens have witnessed
major debates over the restructuring and trimming of social programs that were
once considered politically sacrosanct. Not surprisingly, then, the progress and
consequences of welfare state ‘‘retrenchment’’ have become leading topics in
contemporary scholarship on the welfare state.
396 jacob s. hacker

The beginning of the recent wave of interest in retrenchment can be conveni-

ently dated to Pierson’s groundbreaking book on welfare state retrenchment in
Britain and the United States, Dismantling the Welfare State? (1994). By ‘‘re-
trenchment,’’ Pierson means ‘‘policy changes that either cut social expenditure,
restructure welfare state programs to conform more closely to the residual
welfare state model, or alter the political environment in ways that enhance the
probability of such outcomes in the future’’ (1994, 17). On the basis of this
deWnition, Pierson concludes that ‘‘the fundamental structure of social policy
[in Britain and the United States] remains comparatively stable’’ (1994, 182). The
reasons for this resilience, according to Pierson, are multiple: Cutting programs
entails imposing losses rather than the more electorally attractive activity of
distributing beneWts. The possible beneWts of restructuring in the form of lower
debt-spending or stronger economic growth are diVuse, while the costs are highly
concentrated on speciWc populations. Political institutions that give governments
centralized power to cut popular beneWts also create clear lines of political
accountability that make it diYcult for them to do so without risking electoral
defeat. Above all, social programs are popular, and they have created powerful
constituencies well positioned to Wght retrenchment. In short, the prospects for
retrenchment are—to use a phrase Pierson deploys in more recent writings—
highly ‘‘path dependent’’ (Pierson 2000). Past social policy choices create strong
vested interests and expectations, which are extremely diYcult to undo even in
the present era.
A wave of subsequent research, relying on both large-scale statistical modeling
and detailed historical analysis, has largely ratiWed Pierson’s evaluation (see, e.g.,
Bonoli, George, and Taylor-Gooby 2000; Esping-Andersen 1999; Huber and
Stephens 2001; Pierson 1994, 2001; Weaver 1998). In this now-conventional view,
welfare states are under strain, cuts have occurred, but social policy frameworks
remain secure, anchored by their enduring popularity, their powerful constituen-
cies, and their centrality within the postwar order.
This research has produced major gains in understanding. Yet it has some
signiWcant limits. The Wrst and simplest is its emphasis on authoritative changes
in existing social welfare programs. Although this may seem an obvious focus, it
excludes from consideration a host of ‘‘subterranean’’ (Hacker 2002, 43) means
of policy adjustment that can occur without large-scale policy change: from
‘‘bureaucratic disentitlement’’ (Lipsky 1984) caused by the decisions of front-line
administrators to decentralized cutbacks in social welfare beneWts caused by the
actions of nongovernmental beneWt sponsors and providers. Almost all this schol-
arship, moreover, leaves out of consideration the ‘‘hidden’’ policy tools just
discussed. It thus misses not only the restructuring of employer-provided beneWts
(which, in many nations, has been profound), but also the creation of new
indirect polices that encourage highly individualized private beneWts, such as
401(k) retirement plans in the United States.
 the welfare state 397

Perhaps most important, in emphasizing aYrmative decisions, the retrenchment

literature also excludes from consideration a wide range of agenda-setting and
-blocking activities that may well be quite crucial in shaping the welfare state’s
long-term evolution. Like the pluralists of the 1950s and 1960s (Dahl 1961),
retrenchment scholars have assessed power mainly by tracing observable decisions.
The inXuential critique made against pluralism (Bachrach and Baratz 1970; Lukes
1974) thus carries weight here too: By looking only at aYrmative choices on
predeWned issues, retrenchment analyses tend to downplay the important ways
in which actors may shape and restrict the agenda of debate and prevent some
kinds of collective decisions altogether.
Most critical in this regard are deliberate attempts to prevent the updating of
policies to reXect changing circumstance. In the United States in the early 1990s, for
example, President Bill Clinton embarked on an ambitious campaign to counteract
the declining reach of private health beneWts and provide universal health
insurance—something the United States, almost alone among rich democracies,
lacks (Hacker 1997; Skocpol 1996). His eVorts ultimately fell victim to a concerted
counter-mobilization among aVected interests and political conservatives, who
denied that government should step in to deal with the increasing hardships caused
by skyrocketing costs and dwindling protections. This defeat has enormous impli-
cations for the scope of US social policy, as well as for judgments about the relative
inXuence of pro- and anti-welfare-state forces in American politics. Yet from the
standpoint of the conventional approach to retrenchment, the failure of health
reform in the United States is a non-event.
This example only hints at the broad range of policy processes and outcomes
occluded by a single-minded focus on formal policy change. Historically, welfare
states have been directed not just toward ensuring protection against medical costs,
but also toward providing security against a number of major life risks: unemploy-
ment, death of a spouse, retirement, disability, childbirth, poverty. Yet the
incidence and extent of many of these risks have changed dramatically in recent
decades, leading to potentially signiWcant transformations in the consequences of
policy interventions, even without formal changes in public programs. As Esping-
Andersen (1999, 5) puts it, ‘‘The real ‘crisis’ of contemporary welfare regimes lies in
the disjuncture between the existing institutional conWguration and exogenous
change. Contemporary welfare states . . . have their origins in, and mirror, a society
that no longer obtains.’’
To be sure, we should not assume that the welfare state should naturally adjust to
deal with changing risk proWles, or that gaps between risks and beneWts are always
deliberate. And yet, we cannot ignore these disjunctures either. Welfare states, after
all, constitute institutionalized aims as well as an arsenal of policy means for
achieving them, and their development over time must be assessed in that dual light.
In this respect, the literature on retrenchment runs into a problem that all of the
scholarship we have reviewed so far faces: how at once to do justice to the
398 jacob s. hacker

complexities of social welfare policy and provide relatively simpliWed accounts that
add to our common knowledge. It is fair to say that this is a problem that work on
retrenchment faces acutely. But diYculty advancing general claims that can unify
disparate research agendas is a notable characteristic of nearly all the scholarship
taken up thus far. The closing portion of this chapter discusses two particularly
salient examples of this diYculty: The typically underdeveloped understanding
of the link between politics and policy in welfare state research, and the general
failure of welfare state analysts to develop broader arguments about institutional
change.

6 Risk, Redistribution, and the

Welfare State
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Perhaps the most striking feature of discussions of social policy is the extent to
which, until recently at least, they have proceeded without much hard evidence on
policy outcomes of any kind. Traditionally, work on the welfare state took public
spending as the measure of program generosity (Wilensky 1975). Even after the
conXation of spending levels and program generosity were subject to withering
critique (e.g. Esping-Andersen 1990), many scholars continued to use public
spending as a convenient proxy for program eVects. Government spending was
easy to measure and widely available, and there were few, if any, competing metrics
that scholars could utilize.
As a consequence, well into the 1990s informed works had to piece together
scattered evidence to come to even a preliminary judgment about how welfare
states aVected income and well-being among citizens (e.g. Goodin and Le Grand
1987). As Frances Castles noted in 1993, ‘‘The centrality of the welfare state in the
comparative public policy literature has until now drawn its rationale from plaus-
ible inferences concerning the impact of government intervention on distributional
outcomes. . . . However, in the absence of any independent measure of outcomes,
both aggregate expenditures and types of instruments necessarily became proxies
for distributional consequences, making any serious distinction between means
and ends impossible’’ (Castles and Mitchell 1993).
We now know far more about the income eVects of social policies, thanks in
large part to the development of the Luxembourg Income Study (LIS)—a cross-
national analysis of income and demographics that began in 1983 and now
encompasses twenty-Wve nations, with data in some cases spanning three decades.
 the welfare state 399

The LIS assembles and harmonizes data from cross-sectional surveys of house-
holds, which include fairly comprehensive measures of household and personal
income and expenditures. This allows the LIS data to be used to construct
intuitive measures of the eVect of government taxes and transfers on inequality.
The LIS data show that inequality before taxes and transfers rose sharply in most
nations in the 1980s. What they also show, however, is that taxes and transfers
have done much more to oVset this rise in market income inequality in some
nations than in others, with the United States and the United Kingdom standing
out as distinctly unresponsive.
The LIS data represent a huge advance in the study of the welfare state. For one,
they provide an essential reminder that the formal rules written into social policies
are not always obediently followed by administrators or consistently responded to
by citizens. For another, they allow much Wrmer conclusions about the interaction
of social policies with broader changes in the economy and society. Yet the LIS data
also have notable weaknesses. Perhaps the most glaring is that they rely on cross-
sectional surveys, which provide only point-in-time estimates of the distribution of
income in any given year. In other words, these data can tell us how much of the
population is poor or rich in any given year, but not whether the same people are
poor or rich from year to year. Similarly, they can tell us how much redistribution
transfers and taxes create at a speciWc time, but not how much redistribution
occurs over the life cycle or across risk classes or between those experiencing an
adverse event and those not experiencing it.
Responding to these shortcomings, a handful of scholars have started to turn to
an alternative source of evidence: panel studies of income dynamics. These are
studies that repeatedly interview the same families and individuals over many
years—in the case of the longest such study, the US Panel Study of Income
Dynamics (PSID), over more than thirty years. To date, however, only a small
handful of studies attempt to use panel income data to analyze the eVects of welfare
states. Because most of these studies are cross-national in focus, they are limited by
the availability of panel data comparable to the PSID, the gold standard in the Weld.
Only two other long-term panel studies of comparable scope and consistency exist:
the German and Dutch socioeconomic panel surveys. Because neither is available
before 1984, researchers interested in longer-term patterns have essentially found
themselves forced to focus their cross-national analyses on the period between the
mid-1980s and mid-1990s—all years that postdate the major shocks to the welfare
state and economy of the 1970s and early 1980s.
Nonetheless, these studies have already contributed important insights. The
most basic is that there is, in fact, a great deal of variability in family income
from year to year. For this reason, point-in-time estimates of the redistribution
eVected by public programs almost certainly overstate the extent to which welfare
state policies take from the rich and give to the poor. Over time, the population at
the lower and higher ends of the income scale change considerably. One year’s
400 jacob s. hacker

benefactor may be next year’s beneWciary. Moreover, recent research suggests that
the eVect of the welfare state on these income dynamics diVers signiWcantly across
nations. For example, although per capita GDP is higher in the United States than
in Europe, household income is considerably less stable in the United States than in
Germany and the Netherlands. According to comparative panel research, this is
partly because Americans are subject to greater labor- and family-related income
shocks and partly because the US social insurance system is less extensive (DiPrete
and McManus 2000; Goodin, Headey, MuVels, and Dirven 1999).
Nonetheless, our tools for linking family income dynamics to concrete policy
changes within the welfare state—much less to the political processes that produce
those changes—remain quite blunt. Put simply, our knowledge of policy eVects is
improving, but our ability to link those policy eVects back to theories of the welfare
state has not kept pace. Nothing better illustrates this gap than the general absence
of careful theorizing by welfare state scholars about the ways in which politics and
policy remake each other over long stretches of time.

7 Welfare State Change as

Institutional Change
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Perhaps the most common theme of recent works on the political development of
social policy is that contemporary debates have their roots in the past. Yet why the
past is so important, and its eVects so enduring, is much less clear. In some cases,
the argument appears to be merely that past conXicts created present policies. In
others, it seems deeper: that past policies have given rise to self-reinforcing
dynamics that push the welfare state down highly resilient historical tracks. This
does not, of course, exhaust the possibilities. In some cases, the claim is not about
endurance but fragility—for example, the relative political weakness of antipoverty
programs in many nations since the 1970s. But what is at stake in all these claims is
the place of time, if you will, in studies of social policy. Why must we take the long
view in analyses of the welfare state? Why are some policies resilient, while others
are not? What explains continuity and change within speciWc policies? And how do
policies reshape political life after they are enacted?
The deepest shortcoming of social welfare scholarship to date is its inability or
unwillingness to engage with these critical issues. This shortcoming is all the more
glaring because, in the last decade, mainly because of the pathbreaking scholarship
of political scientists Paul Pierson (1993, 1994, 1997, 2004) and Theda Skocpol
 the welfare state 401

(Pierson and Skocpol 2000; Skocpol 1992), there has emerged a relatively powerful
set of generalizations about the eVect of public policies, once implemented, on
political dynamics going forward. This notion of ‘‘policy feedback’’ has built upon
and furthered a related theoretical enterprise in the social sciences: the exploration
of processes of ‘‘path dependence’’ in which early developments structure later ones
by giving rise to institutions and dynamics that are inherently diYcult to reverse.
For the most part, however, welfare state scholars have not engaged with these
theoretical currents, and in the rare cases when they are invoked, they are usually
treated quite superWcially.
Happily, greater engagement appears to be the direction in which institutionally
minded political scientists are heading. Pierson, for example, has written a new
book, Politics in Time (2004), that lays out his own arguments about how path
dependence creates change as well as continuity. Kathleen Thelen (2003) and Eric
Schickler (2001), in quite diVerent ways, have pushed forward the study of insti-
tutional development by tracing the evolution of German labor-market institu-
tions and the US Congress, respectively. In a recent article (Hacker 2004), I have
built on these authors’ to present a fourfold model of policy change. In this model,
once policies with strong support coalitions are in place, ‘‘big bangs’’ of policy
reform or replacement are rare, requiring as they do a consolidation of political
power that most nations’ political institutions make diYcult. Nonetheless, even
without epochal transformations, social policies may change markedly through
three less studied processes. The Wrst is what Thelen calls ‘‘conversion’’—the
internal transformation of policies without formal change. In programs run by
private organizations or front-line agents, there are numerous opportunities to
reorient programs without going through the legislative process, and many of the
most consequential changes in US social policy over the past two decades—such as
cutbacks in antipoverty beneWts and the decline and restructuring of tax-subsid-
ized workplace beneWts—have occurred through such conversion processes.
The second process of change that occurs without formal transformation of the
existing program is what Schickler terms ‘‘layering,’’ the creation of new policies
that can alter the operation of older policies. ‘‘Layering’’ requires legislative action,
but it does not require dismantling older programs—a far more diYcult prospect.
Thus, for example, conservative critics of social security in the United States have
been consistently rebuVed in their eVort to scale back the program signiWcantly,
but they have succeeded handsomely at capitalizing on periods of conservative
ascendance to enact new policies encouraging highly individualized tax-subsidized
retirement accounts, like 401(k) pension plans.
The third process of change is perhaps the least recognized, and often the most
important—what might be called ‘‘drift’’ within the bounds of formally stable
policies. Drift occurs when changes in the environment of policies make them less
capable of achieving their initial goals, but the policies are not updated, either
because the gap between goals and reality is not recognized or, more interesting
402 jacob s. hacker

still, is recognized but there is active opposition to the updating of policies.3 In the
past three decades, the employment market and structure of families have changed
dramatically. Yet most of the welfare state has not. The result is a growing gulf
between the new social risks that citizens face and the existing framework of social
beneWts on which they depend. This gulf is no accident: Opponents of the welfare
state have faced great diYculties in cutting it back. But they have proved extremely
capable of blocking the updating of social policies to reXect changing
social realities—as they did, for example, when they decisively defeated President
Clinton’s ill-fated 1993 health plan in the United States.
The observation that welfare states may fail to respond to changing social risks
turns on its head the traditional institutionalist argument about welfare state
retrenchment—and in so doing, suggests how important a longer-term historical
perspective can be. Early institutional research on the welfare state showed con-
clusively that political institutions that created a large number of ‘‘veto-points’’ or
‘‘veto-players’’ retarded the creation of large and generous social programs. Based
on this important Wnding, it was often argued that in the era of retrenchment, it
was (ironically) precisely those countries with the most veto-point-ridden political
structures whose welfare states were most secure. Yet, as the foregoing discussion
makes clear, this claim was only half the story. Institutionally induced stalemate
makes direct retrenchment of the welfare state more diYcult, but it also makes it
more diYcult for advocates of welfare state adaptation to reorient welfare states to
accommodate new and newly intensiWed social risks. A longer-term perspective
shows that in the present era institutional obstacles to policy change are a double-
edged sword, blocking full-scale retrenchment but also stymieing necessary
adaptation.
Although issues of institutional development are rightly moving to center of
debate and analysis in political science, it is certainly premature to declare that
robust generalizations about processes of institutional change are destined to shift
into studies of social policy, much less that generating arguments of this sort will
become a primary concern of social welfare scholars. Nonetheless, for analysts of
the welfare state to ignore these emerging issues would be to pass up a tremendous
opportunity for the development of a set of explanatory tools that could create
greater cohesion and clarity in a Weld that, for all its richness and depth, would
beneWt from both.
In all this, however, the ultimate goal should be to understand not merely the
details of social policies, but what they do—to and for citizens and to and for
polities and societies. The welfare state expresses, at root, a sense of solidarity, a
belief in a shared fate. At a moment when the fates of citizens often seem to be

3 Of course, drift can and does run in the opposite direction—that is, toward expansion. The
proliferating use of disability insurance as a means of early retirement in Europe is a powerful
contemporary example.
 the welfare state 403

shared more in fear than in hope, the link between policies and the collective
commitments they reXect and nurture is as vital a subject for political leaders as it
is for political analysts.

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 chapter 21
...................................................................................................................................................

T H E R E G U L ATO RY
S TAT E ?
...................................................................................................................................................

john braithwaite

1 Regulation and Governance

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

States can be thought of as providing, distributing, and regulating. They bake cakes,
slice them, and proVer pieces as inducements to steer events. Regulation is con-
ceived as that large subset of governance that is about steering the Xow of events, as
opposed to providing and distributing. Of course when regulators regulate, they
often steer the providing and distributing that regulated actors supply. Governance
is a wider set of control activities than government. Students of the state noticed that
government has shifted from ‘‘government of a unitary state to governance in and
by networks’’ (Bevir and Rhodes 2003, 1; Rhodes 1997). But because the informal
authority of networks in civil society not only supplements but also supplants the
formal authority of government, Bevir, Rhodes, and others in the networked
governance tradition (notably Castells 1996) see it as important to study networked
governance for its own sake, rather than as simply a supplement to government.
This chapter proceeds from the assumption that there has been a rise of networked
governance and builds on Jacint Jordana and David Levi-Faur’s (2003, 2004)
systematic evidence that, since 1980, states have become rather more

* My thanks to Rod Rhodes, Peter Grabosky, Jennifer Wood, Susanne Karstedt, CliVord Shearing,
Christine Parker, and Peter Drahos for helpful comments on drafts of this chapter.
408 john braithwaite

preoccupied with the regulation part of governance and less with providing. Yet
non-state regulation has grown even more rapidly, so it is not best to conceive of
the era in which we live as one of the regulatory state, but of regulatory capitalism
(Levi-Faur 2005).
The chapter sketches historical forces that have produced regulatory capitalism
as a police economy that evolved from various feudal economies, the supplanting
of police with an unregulable nineteenth-century liberal economy, then the state
provider economy (rather than the ‘‘welfare state’’) that gives way to regulatory
capitalism. In this era, more of the governance that shapes the daily lives of most
citizens is corporate governance than state governance. The corporatization of the
world is both a product of regulation and the key driver of regulatory growth,
indeed of state growth more generally. The major conclusion of the chapter is that
the reciprocal relationship between corporatization and regulation creates a world
in which there is more governance of all kinds. 1984 did arrive. The interesting
normative question then becomes whether this growth in hybrid governance
contracts freedom, or expands positive liberty through an architecture of separated
powers that check and balance state and corporate dominations. While that is the
quandary of our time the chapter sets up, it does not answer it.

2 The Rise of Regulatory Studies

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the 1970s and 1980s the Chicago School could lay claim to an extraordinary swag
of Nobel Prize winners such as Milton Freidman and George Stigler (1988), and
preeminent law and economics scholars such as Richard Posner, who made regu-
lation a central topic in economics. The Keynesian orthodoxies of statist remedies
to market failure were supplanted by what became a Chicago orthodoxy that state
failure meant the cure was worse than the disease of market failure. While from
within a Chicago framework this is an odd thing to say, it is nevertheless accurate
that the Chicago School studied markets as the preeminent regulatory tool. Private
property rights and the price mechanism would solve problems like excessive
exploitation of resources. If something like pollution was a market externality,
then the most eYcient way to regulate it would be to create a market in tradable
pollution rights. While the Chicago intellectual dominance of these decades
crowded out regulation as a topic in political science, notions of regulatory capture
by the regulated industry (Bernstein 1955), carved out by political scientists decades
earlier, became central to the Chicago discourse.
The Chicago School captured the political imaginations of the Carter and
Reagan administrations in the USA, the Thatcher government in the UK, and
 the regulatory state? 409

beyond from the late 1970s. But over time policy-makers became cynical that if
whales were endangered, either the rising price of whale meat, or property rights in
whales, or creating markets in whale killing rights, were smart or dependable
solutions to the problem. By the 1990s, the Chicago School ascendancy had
ended and the domination of regulatory studies by economics with it. Many
political scientists, including Eugene Bardach and Robert Kagan (1982), John
Scholz (1991), Margaret Levi (1988), James Q. Wilson (1980), Joseph Rees (1994),
Michael Moran (2003), Christopher Hood (Hood et al. 1999), Giandomenico
Majone (1994), Jacint Jordana and David Levi-Faur (2004), and Peter Grabosky
(1994) became leading Wgures in an interdisciplinary Weld more or less equally
populated also by sociologists, criminologists, economists, accountants, and law-
yers with also some interest from other disciplines, with interdisciplinary chairs in
regulatory studies becoming popular recently, especially in the UK and Australia.
Regulatory studies grew with the realization that neoliberal politics had not
produced privatization and deregulation, but privatization and regulatory growth.
The most dominant style of research became the study of the politics of particular
state regulators and self-regulators, such as those of the nuclear industry (Rees
1994), in ways that revealed the connections among private and public governance
networks. In Rees’ (1994) case, it is revealed how the players in this governance
network were ‘‘hostages of each other;’’ they feared another Three Mile Island,
another Chernobyl, might bring them all down.

3 The Rise of the Regulatory State?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the Wrst two years of the Reagan presidency there was genuine deregulatory
zealotry. But by the end of the Wrst Reagan term, business regulatory agencies had
resumed the long-run growth in the size of their budgets, the numbers of their
staV, the toughness of their enforcement, and the numbers of pages of regulatory
laws foisted upon business (Ayres and Braithwaite 1992, 7–12). Later in the Reagan
administration Wnancial deregulation came unstuck with a Savings and Loans
debacle that cost American taxpayers over $200 billion (RosoV, Pontell, and
Tillman 2002, 255). In this domain, the Reagan and Thatcher governments actually
reversed direction globally as well as nationally. The Federal Reserve (US) and Bank
of England led the world down to Wnancial deregulation in the early 1980s, then led
global prudential standards back up through the G-10 after the banking crises of
the mid-1980s for fear of the knock-on eVects foreign bank collapses could have on
American business (Braithwaite and Drahos 2000, 4). The current Republican
administration has presided over a 42 percent increase in regulatory staYng levels
410 john braithwaite

since 2001, to 242,473 full-time equivalents by 2005. Admittedly 56,000 of the

increase were airport screening agents in the Transportation Security Agency
(Dudley and Warren 2005, 1).
In Britain, privatization proliferated in a way that created a need for new
regulatory agencies. When British telecommunications was deregulated in 1984,
Oftel was created to regulate it (now Ofcom); Ofgas was born for the regulation of
a privatized gas industry in 1986, OFFER for electricity in 1989 (now combined in
Ofgem), OfWat for water in 1990, and the OYce of the Rail Regulator (mercifully
not Ofrails!) appeared in 1993 (Baldwin, Scott, and Hood 1998, 14–21). Privatization
combined with new regulatory institutions is the classic instantiation of Osborne
and Gaebler’s (1992) prescription for reinventing government to steer rather than
row. Jordana and Levi-Faur (2003, 2004) show that the tendency for state regula-
tion to grow with privatization is a global one. As privatization spreads, they Wnd
new regulatory agencies spread even faster, and they show how the diVusion of
regulatory agencies moved from the West to take oV in Latin America in the 1990s.
I used to describe the key transition as one from the liberal nightwatchman state,
to the Keynesian welfare state, to the new regulatory state (after 1980) and a
regulatory society (see also Majone 1994; Loughlin and Scott 1997; Parker 1999;
Jayasuriya 2001; Midwinter and McGarvey 2001; Muller 2002; Moran 2003). The
nub of the regulatory state idea is that power is deployed ‘‘through a regulatory
framework, rather than through the monopolization of violence or the provision of
welfare’’ (Walby 1999, 123). Now I prefer Levi-Faur’s (2005) adaptation of the
regulatory state idea into regulatory capitalism. According to Levi-Faur, we have
seen since 1980 not only what Vogel (1996) found empirically to be Freer Markets,
More Rules, but also ‘‘more capitalism, more regulation’’. Privatization is part of
Levi-Faur’s characterization of regulatory capitalism. But it sits alongside a prolif-
eration of new technologies of regulation and meta-regulation (Parker 2002), or
control of control (Power 1997), increased delegation to business and professional
self-regulation and to civil society, to intra- and international networks of regula-
tory experts, and increased regulation of the state by the state, much of it regulation
through and for competition (Hood et al. 1999). The regulatory capitalism
framework theorizes the New Public Management post-1980 as a conscious separ-
ation of provider and regulator functions within the state, where sometimes the
provider functions were privatized and regulated, and sometimes they were not
privatized but nevertheless subjugated to the ‘‘audit society’’ and government by
(audited) contract (Power 1997).
The Keynesian welfare state now seems a poor description of the institutional
package that dominated until 1980. One reason is that Keynes is alive and well in his
inXuence on policy processes. Second, it is not really true that states have hollowed
out; they have continued to grow as regulators as they have contracted as providers.
Nor has the welfare state atrophied. Welfare state spending by rich nations has not
declined (Castles 2004). Finally, the state provider economy was not just about
 the regulatory state? 411

providing welfare; it was about states providing transport, industrial infrastructure,

utilities, and much more beyond welfare, a deal of which was privatized in the
transition to regulatory capitalism.
Even the idea of the nightwatchman state of the nineteenth century needs
qualiWcation. The prehistory of the institutional change summarized in this
paper could be described as a transition from various feudalisms to a police econ-
omy. The sequence I will describe is a transition then from that police economy
to the unregulable economy tending to laissez-faire after the collapse of police, to
the ‘‘state provider economy’’ (rather than the ‘‘welfare state’’) to ‘‘regulatory
capitalism’’ (rather than the ‘‘regulatory state’’).

4 The Police Economy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

What does Tomlins (1993, 37–8) mean when he says that writing a history of the
American state without a reference to the genealogy of ‘‘police’’ is ‘‘akin to writing a
history of the American economy without discussing capitalism?’’ In white settler
societies it is easier to see with clarity the police economy because it did not have to
struggle to supplant the old economy of monopolies granted by the king to guilds,
market towns, and trading companies like the Hudson Bay Company (even as the
New World was partly constituted by the latter). That economy of monopoly
domination granted by the king was not only an earlier development in the
transition from feudalism to capitalism that was subsequently (de)regulated by
police, it was also a development largely restricted to cities which were signiWcant
nodes of manufactures and long-distance trade.1 Tiny agricultural communities
that did not have a guild or a chartered corporation had a constable. The early
modern idea of police diVers from the contemporary notion of an organization
devoted to Wghting crime (Garland 2001). Police from the sixteenth to the
nineteenth century in continental Europe meant institutions for the creation of
an orderly environment, especially for trade and commerce. The historical origins
of the term through German back to French is derived from the Greek notion of
‘‘policy’’ or ‘‘politics’’ in Aristotle (Smith 1978, 486; Neocleous 1998). It referred to
all the institutions and processes of ordering that gave rise to prosperity, progress,
and happiness, most notably the constitution of markets. Actually it referred to
that subset of governance herein conceived as regulation.

1 France was an exception that made guilds state organs and spread their regulatory authority out
from towns across the entire countryside (Polanyi 1957, 66).
412 john braithwaite

Police certainly included the regulation of theft and violence, preventive

security, regulation of labor, vagrancy, and the poor, but also of weights and
measures and other forms of consumer protection, liquor licencing, health and
safety, building, Wre safety, road and traYc regulation, and early forms of
environmental regulation. The institution was rather privatized, subject to
considerable local control, relying mostly on volunteer constables and watches
for implementation, heavily oriented to self-regulation, and infrequent (even if
sometimes draconian) in its recourse to punishment. The lieutenant de police (a
post established in Paris in 1667) came to have jurisdiction over the stock
exchange, food supplies and standards, the regulation of prostitutes, and other
markets in vice and virtue. Police and the ‘‘science of police’’ that in eighteenth-
century German universities preWgured contemporary regulatory studies sought
to establish a new source of order to replace the foundation laid by the estates in
the feudal order that had broken down.
English country parishes and small market towns, as on the Continent, had
constables and local watches under a Tudor system that for centuries beyond the
Tudors regulated the post-feudal economic and social order. Yet there was an
English aversion to conceptualizing this as police in the French, German, and
Russian fashion. The oYce of the constable had initially been implanted into
British common law and institutions by the Norman invasion of 1066. The oYce
was in turn transplanted by the British to New England, with some New England
communities then even requiring Native American villages to appoint constables.
Eighteenth-century English, but not American, political instincts were to view
Continental political theory of police as a threat to liberty and to seek a more
conWned role for the constable. Admittedly, Blackstone in his fourth volume
of Commentaries on the Laws of England (1769 [1966]) adopts the Continental
conception of police, and Adam Smith applauds it in his Lectures on Jurisprudence
(1762–4 [1978]). But Neocleous (1998, 444) detects a shift from the Smith of the
Lectures to the Wealth of Nations, both of which discuss police and the pin factory.
The shift is from seeing:
police power contributing to the wealth-producing capacities of a politically constituted
social order to being a site of autonomous social relations—the independent factory
employing independent wage-labourers within a laissez faire economy.

Polanyi (1957, 66) quotes Montesquieu as sharing the early Smithian view of
English police as constitutive of capitalism, when he says in the Spirit of Laws
that ‘‘The English constrain the merchant, but it is in favor of commerce.’’ Even as
institutions of eighteenth-century police are to a considerable degree in place in
the nations that become the cutting edge of capitalism (this is also true of the
extremely eVective policing of the Dutch Republic (Israel 1995, 677–84)), the
leading interpreters of capitalism’s success move from an interpretation of markets
constituted by police to laissez-faire markets.
 the regulatory state? 413

Peel’s creation of the Metropolitan Police in London in 1829 and the subsequent
creation of an even more internationally inXuential colonial model in Dublin were
watersheds.
Uniformed paramilitary police, preoccupied with the punitive regulation of
the poor to the almost total exclusion of any interest in the constitution of
markets and the just regulation of commerce, became one of the most universal
of globalized regulatory models. So what happened to the business regulation?
From the mid-nineteenth century, factories inspectorates, mines inspectorates,
liquor licensing boards, weights and measures inspectorates, health and sanita-
tion, food inspectorates, and countless others were created to begin to Wll the
vacuum left by constables now concentrating only on crime. Business regulation
became variegated into many diVerent specialist regulatory branches. The nine-
teenth-century regulatory growth is more in the number of branches than in
their size and power. Laissez-faire ideology underpinned this regulatory weak-
ness. The regulators’ feeble resourcing compared to the paramilitary police, and
the comparative wealth of those they were regulating, made the early business
regulators even more vulnerable to capture and corruption than the police, as we
see with poorly resourced business regulators in developing economies today.

5 The Unregulable Liberal Economy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Where problems were concentrated in space, nineteenth-century regulation

secured some major successes. Coal mines became much safer workplaces from
the latter years of the nineteenth century, as did large factories in cities (Braithwaite
1985), regulatory transitions that are yet to occur in China that today accounts for
80 percent of the world’s coal mine fatalities. Rail travel was causing thousands of
deaths annually in the USA late in the nineteenth century (McCraw 1984, 26); by
the twentieth century it had become a very safe way to travel (Bradbury 2002).
Regulation rendered ships safer and more humane transporters of exploited labor
(slaves, convicts, indentured labor, refugees from the Irish famine) to corners of the
empire suVering labor shortages (MacDonagh 1961). The paramilitary police were
also successful in assisting cities like London, Stockholm, and Sydney to become
much safer from crimes against persons and property for a century and a half from
1820 (Gurr, Grabosky, and Hula 1977). But it was only problems like these that were
spatially concentrated where nineteenth-century regulation worked. In most
domains it worked rather less eVectively than eighteenth-century police. This was
acceptable to political elites, who were mainly concerned to make protective
414 john braithwaite

regulation work where the dangerous classes might congregate to threaten the
social order—in cities, convict ships, factories.
In addition to the general under-resourcing of nineteenth-century regulatory
inspectorates, the failure to reach beyond large cities, the capture and corruption,
there was the fact that the inspectorates were only beginning to invent their
regulatory technologies for the Wrst time. They were still learning. The Wnal and
largest limitation that made their challenge impossible was that in the nineteenth
century almost all commerce was small business. It is harder for an inspector to
check ten workplaces employing six people than one with sixty workers. This
remains true today. We will see that the regulatory reach of contemporary capit-
alism would be impossible without the lumpiness of a commerce populated by
big businesses that can be enrolled to regulate smaller businesses. Prior to the
nineteenth century, it was possible to lever the self-regulatory capabilities of guilds
in ways not dissimilar to twentieth-century capabilities to enrol industry associ-
ations and big business to regulate small business. But the well-ordered world of
guilds had been one of the very things destroyed by the chaotic emergence of
laissez-faire capitalism outside the control of such premodern institutions. Where
guilds did retain control, capitalism did not Xourish, because the guilds restricted
competition.
While the nineteenth-century state was therefore mostly a laissez-faire state with
limited reach in its capacity to regulate, it was a state learning to regulate. While the
early nineteenth-century tension was between the decentralized police economy
and laissez-faire liberalism, the late-century tension was between laissez-faire and
the growth of an administrative state of oYce blocks in large cities.

6 The Unregulable Liberal Economy

Creates the Provider State
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A simple solution to the problem of private rail companies charging monopoly

prices, bypassing poorer towns, failing to serve strategic national development
objectives, and Xouting safety standards, was to nationalize them. A remedy to
unsanitary private hospitals was a public hospital system that would make it
unnecessary for patients to resort to unsafe private providers. The challenge of
coordinating national regulation of mail services with international regulation
through the Universal Postal Union (established in 1863) rendered a state postal
 the regulatory state? 415

monopoly the simplest solution to the coordination that was otherwise beyond the
unregulable nineteenth-century liberal economy. The spread of socialist ideas
during the nineteenth century gave an ideological impetus to the provider state
solution. Progressively, until the beginning of the second half of the twentieth
century, the provider state model proliferated, especially in Europe, with airlines,
steel, coal, nuclear power, urban public transport, electricity, water, gas, health
insurance, retirement insurance, maternal and child welfare, WreWghting, sewerage,
and countless other things being provided by state monopolies.
Bismarck consciously pursued welfare state provision as a strategy for thwarting
the growing popularity of the idea of a socialist revolution to replace capitalism
entirely with a state that provided everything. Lloyd-George was impressed by
Bismarck’s diagnosis and the British Liberal Party also embraced the development
of the welfare state, only to be supplanted by a Labour Party that outbid the
Liberals with the state provision it was willing to provide to workers who now
had votes and political organization.
While many of these state takeovers also occurred in the United States during the
century and a half that preceded the arrival of regulatory capitalism, the scope of
what was nationalized was narrower there. One reason was that trade unions and
the parties and ideologies they spawned were weaker in the USA during the
twentieth century. There were periods up to the Wrst decade of the twentieth
century when trade unions in the United States were actually numerically and
politically stronger than in Europe. The big businesses that grew earlier in the
United States used their legal and political capabilities to crush American unionism
in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, frequently through the murder
of union oYcials and threats of violence (Braithwaite and Drahos 2000, 229).
American big business could simply organize more eVectively against the growth
of trade unions and the provider state ideologies they sponsored than against the
smaller family Wrms that predominated in Europe.
A paradox of the fact that American business culture moderated the growth of
the provider state was that the regulatory state grew more vigorously in the USA,
especially during the progressive era (1890–1913) (which saw the creation of the
Federal Trade Commission, Food and Drug Administration, and Interstate Com-
merce Commission, among other agencies) and the New Deal (1930s) (which saw
the creation of the Securities and Exchange Commission, the National Recovery
Administration, the Federal Communications Commission, the Civil Aeronautics
Board, among others) (McCraw 1984). Building paradox upon paradox, the growth
in the sophistication of regulatory technologies in the USA showed that there were
credible alternatives to the problems the provider state set out to solve. The New
Deal also supplied an economic management rationale to an expansive state.
Keynes’ general theory was partly about increasing public spending to stimulate
an economy when it was in recession, as it was at the time of the New Deal.
416 john braithwaite

7 Regulation Creates Big Business

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Braithwaite and Drahos (2000) have described the corporatization and securitiza-
tion of the world as among its most fundamental transformations of the last three
centuries. I will summarize here how this was enabled by regulation, but then how
corporatization in turn enabled regulatory capitalism to replace the provider state
economy. Corporations existed for more than a millennium before securities. For
our purposes, a security is a transferable instrument evidencing ownership or
creditorship, as a stock or bond. The legal invention of the security in the
seventeenth century was the most transformative movement in the history
of corporations. It enabled the replacement of family Wrms with very large corpor-
ations based on pooled contributions of capital from thousands of shareholders and
bondholders. These in turn enabled the great technological projects of eighteenth-
and nineteenth-century capitalism—the railroads, the canals, the mines.
When it was Wrst invented, however, the historical importance of the security
had nothing to do with the corporatization of the world. Rather, it transformed
state Wnances through bonds that created long-term national debts. While the idea
of dividing the national debt into bonds was invented in Naples in the seventeenth
century, it was England that managed by the eighteenth century to use the idea in a
Wnancial revolution that helped it gain an upper hand over its principal rival,
France (Dickson 1993). England became an early provider state in a particularly
strategic way by seizing full national control of public Wnance: formerly private tax
and customs collecting were nationalized in the seventeenth century, a Treasury
Board was established in the eighteenth, and Wnally the Bank of England was given
national regulatory functions. The Treasury Board realized that the national debt
could be made, in eVect, self-liquidating and long-term, protecting the realm from
extortionate interest rates at times of war and the kind of vulnerability that had
brought the Spanish empire down when short-term loans had to be fully repaid
after protracted war. Instead of making England hostage to Continental bankers,
the national debt was divided into thousands of bonds, with new bond issues
placed on the market to pay for old bonds that were due to be paid.
Securitization paid for the warships that allowed Britannia to rule the waves, to
trade and colonize—to be a state provider of imperial administration and national
as opposed to feudal security on a scale not imagined before. Today, of course,
national debts can no longer be used to rule the world because they are regulated by
other states through the Paris Club and the IMF (International Monetary Fund).
The key thing here is that the early providers of state control of public Wnance in
the process also induced a private bond market. This created the profession of
stockbroking and the institution of the stock exchange. For most of the period
when Amsterdam and London were the leading stock exchanges in the world, they
were predominantly trading securities in the debts of nations. Gradually this
 the regulatory state? 417

created a market in private stocks and bonds. These enabled the English to create
the Massachusetts Bay Company, the Hudson Bay Company, the British South
Africa Company, the East India Company, and others that conquered the world,
and the Dutch to create an even more powerful East India Company and the
United New Netherland Company that built a New Amsterdam which was to
succeed London as the next capital of the world.
State creation of a London market in the broking of securities fomented other
kinds of securities exchanges as well, the most important of which was Lloyd’s of
London. Britannia’s merchant Xeet ruled the waves once an eYcient market in
spreading the lumpy risk of ships sinking with valuable cargos was created from a
base in Lloyd’s CoVee Shop. Lloyd’s in turn became an important inventor of
regulatory technologies that made regulatory capitalism possible in advance of the
supplanting of the provider state with regulatory capitalism. For example, in
building a global reinsurance market, it invented the plimsoll line that allowed
insurers to check by simple observation at ports whether ships arrived overloaded.
But by far the most important impact of securitization was that it began a
process, that only took oV quite late in the nineteenth century, of replacing a
capitalism of family Wrms with one of professional managers of securities put
in their trust by thousands of shareholders. Even in New York, where the corpor-
atization of the world was most advanced, it was not until the third decade of
the twentieth century that the majority of litigants in appellate courts were
corporations rather than individual persons and the majority of actors described
on the front page of the New York Times were corporate rather than individual
actors (Coleman 1982, 11).

8 Antitrust Globalizes American

Mega-corporate Capitalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the 1880s, predominantly agrarian America became deeply troubled by the new
threat to what they saw as their JeVersonian agrarian republic from concentrations
of corporate power that they called trusts. Farmers were especially concerned about
the ‘‘robber barons’’ of railroads that transported their produce across the contin-
ent. But oil, steel, and other corporate concentrations of power in the northeast
were also of concern. Because JeVersonian republicanism also feared concentra-
tions of state power in the northeast, the American solution was not to nationalize
rail, oil, and steel. It was to break up the trusts. By 1890 at least ten US states had
418 john braithwaite

passed antitrust laws, at which point the Sherman Act was passed by a virtually
unanimous vote of the US Congress.
The eVect of enforcement of the Sherman Act by American courts was not
exactly as intended by the progressive era social movement against the railroad,
oil, steel, and tobacco trusts. Alfred Chandler (1977, 333–4) noted that ‘‘after 1899
lawyers were advising their corporate clients to abandon all agreements or alliances
carried out through cartels or trade associations and to consolidate into single,
legally deWned enterprises.’’ US antitrust laws thus actually encouraged mergers
instead of inhibiting them, because they ‘‘tolerated that path to monopoly power
while they more eVectively outlawed the alternative pathway via cartels and
restrictive practices’’ (Hannah 1991, 8). The Americans found that there were
organizational eYciencies in managerially centralized, big corporations that
made what Chandler (1990, 8) called a ‘‘three-pronged investment:’’ (1) ‘‘an
investment in production facilities large enough to exploit a technology’s potential
economies of scale or scope;’’ (2) ‘‘an investment in a national and international
marketing and distribution network, so that the volume of sales might keep pace
with the new volume of production;’’ and (3) ‘‘to beneWt fully from these two kinds
of investment the entrepreneurs also had to invest in management.’’
According to Freyer’s (1992) study in the Chandler tradition, the turn-
of-the-century merger wave fostered by the Sherman Act thrust US long-term
organization for economic eYciency ahead of Britain’s for the next half-century,
until Britain acquired its Monopolies Act 1948 and Restrictive Trade Practices Act
1956. Until the 1960s, the British economy continued to be dominated by family
companies that did not mobilize Chandler’s three-pronged investment. Non-
existent antitrust enforcement in Britain for the Wrst half of the twentieth century
also left new small business entrepreneurs more at the mercy of the restrictive
business practices of old money than in the USA. British commitment to freedom
of contract was an inferior industrial policy to both the visible hand of American
lawmakers’ rule of reason and the administrative guidance of the German
Cartel Courts. For the era of managerial capitalism, liberal deregulation of state
monopolies formerly granted to Indies Companies and guilds was not enough.
Simple-minded Smithean invocation of laissez-faire missed the point. A special
kind of regulation for the deregulation of restrictive business practices was needed
which tolerated bigness.
Ultimately, Braithwaite and Drahos (2000) show that this American model of
competitive mega-corporate capitalism globalized under four inXuences:

1. Extension of the model throughout Europe after the Second World War under
the leadership of the German anti-cartel authority, the Bundeskartelamt, a
creation of the American occupation.
2. Cycles of Mergers and Acquisitions (M&A) mania in Europe catalyzed in part
by M&A missionaries from American law Wrms.
 the regulatory state? 419

3. Extension of the model to the dynamic Asian economies in the 1980s and
1990s, partly under pressure from bilateral trade negotiations with the USA
and Europe (who demanded breaking the restrictive practices of Korean
chaebol, for example).
4. Extension of the model to developing countries with technical assistance from
organizations such as UNCTAD (United Nations Conference on Trade and
Development), prodded by the IMF good governance agenda.
This history of a regulatory capitalism that promotes competition among large
corporations dates from the 1880s for the US but is very recent for other states.
Most of the world’s competition regulators have been created since 1990. There
were barely twenty in the 1980s; today there are approximately 100.

9 Mega-corporate Capitalism Creates

Regulatory Capitalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The regulatory state creates mega-corporations, but large corporations also enable
regulatory states. We have seen that antitrust regulation is the primary driver of the
Wrst side of this reciprocal relationship. But other forms of regulation also prove
impossible for small business to satisfy. In many industry sectors, regulation drives
small Wrms that cannot meet regulatory demands into bankruptcy, enabling large
corporates to take over their customers (see, for example, Braithwaite’s (1994)
account of how tougher regulation drove the ‘‘mom and pops’’ out of the US
nursing home industry in favor of corporate chains). For this reason, large
corporations often use their political clout to lobby for regulations they know
they will easily satisfy but that small competitors will not be able to manage. They
also lobby for ratcheting up regulation that beneWts them directly (e.g. longer
patent monopolies) but that are mainly a cost for small business (Braithwaite and
Drahos 2000, 56–87).
To understand the second side of this reciprocal relationship more clearly—
mega-corporates create regulatory capitalism—consider the minor example of the
regulation of the prison industry (Harding 1997). It is minor because most coun-
tries have not taken the path of privatizing prisons, though in the USA, where
prisons house more than two million inmates and employ about the same number,
it is not such a minor business. In the 1990s many private prisons were created in
Australia, a number of them owned by the largest American prison corporations. A
question that immediately arose was how was the state to ensure that American
420 john braithwaite

corporations met Australia’s national and international human rights obligations.

When the state was the monopoly provider of prison places, it simply, if
ineVectively, told its civil servants that they would lose their jobs if they did not
fulWll their duty in respect of such standards. This requirement was put into
contracts with the private prisons. But then the state has little choice but to invest
in a new regulatory agency to monitor contract compliance.
As soon as it puts this in place, prisoner rights’ advocates point out that in some
respects the old state-run prisons are more abusive than the new private providers,
so the prison inspectorate should monitor the public prisons. Moreover, it should
make public its reports on the public prisons so that transparency is as real there as
with private prisons (Harding 1997). Of course, the private corporations lobby for
this as well to create a ‘‘level playing Weld’’ in their competition with the state.
Hence, the corporatization of the prison industry creates not only a demand for the
independent, publicly transparent regulation of the corporates, it also creates a
potent political demand for regulation of the state itself. This is central to under-
standing why the regulatory state is not the correct descriptor of contemporary
transformations; regulatory capitalism involves heightened regulation of the state
as well as growth in regulation by the state (Hood et al. 1999). We have seen this in
many other domains including the privatization of British nursing home provision
described earlier which led to the inspection of public nursing homes.
Security generally has been a major domain of privatization. Most developed
economies today have a ratio of more than three private police to one public police
oYcer (Johnston and Shearing 2003). Under provider capitalism it was public
police oYcers who would provide security at football stadiums, shopping
complexes, universities, and airports. But today, as we move from airport to
shops to leisure activity to work, we move from one bubble of private security to
another (Shearing and Wood 2003; Johnston and Shearing 2003). If our purse is
stolen at the shopping mall, it is a private security oYcer who will come to our aid,
or who will detain us if we are caught shoplifting. The public police will only cover
us as we move in the public spaces between bubbles of private security. As with
prisons, public demand for regulation of the private security industry arises when
high proWle incidents occur, such as the recent death of one of Australia’s most
talented cricketers after a bouncer’s punch outside a nightclub.
International security has also been privatized. Some of those allegedly leading
the abuses at Abu-Grahib in Iraq were private security contractors. Many of these
contractors carry automatic weapons, dress like soldiers, and are killed as soldiers
by insurgents. In developing countries, particularly in Africa, military corporations
have been hired to be the strike infantry against adversaries in civil wars. An
estimated 70 per cent of the former KGB found employment in this industry
(Singer 2002). This has led the British government to produce a White Paper on
the need to regulate private military organizations and to the quip that the
regulator be dubbed OfKill!
 the regulatory state? 421

So the accumulation of political power into the hands of large private corpor-
ations creates public demand for regulation. Moreover, we have seen that the
largest corporations often demand this themselves. In addition, the regulatory
processes and (partly resultant) competitive imperatives that increase the scope
and scale of corporations make what was unregulable in the nineteenth century,
regulable in the twentieth. The chemicals/pharmaceuticals industry, for example,
creates a huge public demand for regulation. Incidents like Bhopal with the
manufacture of agricultural chemicals and thalidomide with pharmaceuticals,
that kill thousands, galvanize mass concern. The nineteenth-century regulatory
state could only respond to public outrage by scapegoating someone in the
chemical Wrm and throwing them in prison. It was incapable of putting a regula-
tory regime in place that might prevent a recurrence by addressing the root causes
of disasters. There were too many little chemical producers for state inspectors to
monitor and it was impossible for them to keep up with technological change that
constantly created new risks.
After the Bhopal disaster, which ultimately caused the demise of Union Carbide,
the remaining large chemical producers put in place a global self-regulatory regime
called ‘‘Responsible Care,’’ with the objective of averting another such disaster that
might cause a multinational to go under leaving a stain on the reputation of the
entire industry (MoVet, Bregha, and Middelkoop 2004). That’s all very well, the
regulatory cynic notes, but it still remains the case today that most chemical risks
are posed by small, local Wrms with poor self-regulatory standards, not by the
multinationals. Yet the fact of mega-corporate capitalism that has evolved over the
past century is that almost all small chemical Wrms are linked upstream or
downstream to one multinational or another. They buy or sell chemical ingredients
to or from the large corporates. This fact creates a mass tort risk for the multi-
nationals. The multinationals are the ones with the deep pockets, the high public
proWle, and brand reputation; so they are more vulnerable to the irresponsibility of
small chemical Wrms linked to them than are those Wrms themselves. So Respon-
sible Care requires large Wrms to sustain a chain of stewardship for their chemicals
upsteam and downstream. This has the eVect of making large corporations the
principal regulators of small chemical Wrms, not the state. This is especially so in
developing countries where the temptations of state laissez-faire can make the
headquarters’ risks potentially most catastrophic.
State regulation and private regulation through tort creates larger chemical
corporations. We see this especially in pharmaceuticals where the costs of testing
new drugs now run to hundreds of millions of dollars. Global scandals that lead to
demand for still tougher regulation creates a community of shared fate among
large Wrms in the industry (note Rees’s (1994) study of how the Three Mile Island
disaster created a community of fate in the nuclear industry, a belief that another
Three Mile Island could cripple the entire industry). Big business responds to
Wnding itself in a community of fate in a risk society (Beck 1992) by industry-wide
422 john braithwaite

risk management. This implies managing upstream and downstream risks. Again
we see that regulatory capitalism is not only about the regulatory state, though this
is a big part of the chemicals, pharmaceuticals, and nuclear stories. It is also about
regulation by industry associations of their large members and regulation of small
producers by large producers who share the same chain of stewardship for a risk. At
the end of the day, it is not only states (with technical assistance from international
organizations like the World Health Organization and the OECD (Organization
for Economic Co-operation and Development)) doing the regulating; it is global
and national industry associations and large multinational Wrms. Not only does
this ease some of the logistical burdens upon the regulatory state in monitoring a
galaxy of small Wrms, it also eases some of the information problems that made
chemicals unregulable in the nineteenth century. As partners in regulatory capit-
alism, state regulators can lean on Responsible Care, the OECD, and large multi-
nationals that may know more than them about where new chemical risks are
emerging. Of course there is debate about how well these private–public partner-
ships of regulatory capitalism work (Gunningham and Grabosky 1998).
Braithwaite and Drahos (2000) revealed the importance of yet other actors who
are as important as non-state regulators. Ratings agencies like Moody’s and
Standards and Poors, having witnessed the bankrupting of imprudent chemical
producers, downgrade the credit rating of Wrms with a record of sloppy risk
management. This makes money more expensive for them to borrow. Reinsurers
like Lloyd’s also make their risks more expensive to reinsure. The cost and
availability of lending and insurance also regulates small Wrms. Care homes (in-
cluding nursing homes) frequently go bankrupt in the UK; these bankruptcies are
often connected to the delivery of poor quality care. Reports of British government
care home inspections are on the Internet. When homes approach banks for loans,
it is good banking practice today to do an Internet check to see if the home has any
looming quality of care problems. If it does, banks sometimes refuse loans until
these problems are addressed. Banks have thence become important regulators of
little and large British care home Wrms.

9.1 Corporatization, Tax, and the Constitution of Provider

and Regulatory Capitalism
One eVect of the corporatization of capitalism in the twentieth century was that it
made it easier for the state to collect tax. This revenue made it possible to fund both
the provider state and the regulatory state. State provision of things like welfare and
transport, and state regulation are expensive activities. So taxpaying becoming
regulable was decisive to the subsequent emergence of the provider state and
 the regulatory state? 423

regulatory capitalism. In most developing societies taxpaying remains unregulable

and this has closed the door on credible state provision and state regulation.
Of course it is more cost-eVective to collect tax from one large corporation than
ten small ones and most corporate tax is collected from the largest 1 percent of
corporations in wealthy nations. But this is not the main reason that corporatiza-
tion created a wealthy state. More fundamentally, corporatization assisted the
collectability of other taxes (see Braithwaite and Drahos 2000, ch. 9). As retailing
organizations became larger corporates, as opposed to family-owned corner stores,
the collection of indirect tax became more cost-eVective. When most of the
Australian working class was rural, itinerantly shearing sheep for graziers, cutting
cane, or picking fruit, collecting taxes from them was diYcult and costly. But as the
working class became progressively more urban—in the employ of city-based
corporations—income tax collections from workers became a goldmine, especially
after the innovation of Pay As You Earn (withholding of tax from pay packets by
employers, which started in Australia in 1944). The Wnal contribution of
mega-corporatization was Wnancial institutions becoming more concentrated and
computerized, making withholding on interest and dividends feasible. So tax on
salary income, corporate tax, sales taxes, and tax on income from interest and
dividends all became more collectable. The result was that, contrary to the fairytale
of neoliberalism, the state grew and grew into a regulatory capitalism where the state
both retained many of its provider functions and added many new regulatory ones.
Pay As You Earn was an innovative regulatory technology of wider relevance.
PAYE taxpayers cannot cheat because it is not them, but their employers, who hand
over the money. Theoretically of course the employer can cheat. But they have no
incentive to do so, since only their employee beneWts from the cheating, and the
cheating is visible in the accounts. The regulatory strategy of general import here is
to impose regulatory obligations on keepers of a gate that controls the Xow of the
regulated activity, where the gatekeepers do not beneWt personally from opening
and closing the gate. This not only separates the power from the incentive to cheat,
it also economizes on surveillance. It is not necessary to monitor all the regulated
actors at all times. The regulator must only monitor the gatekeeper at those points
when gates can be unlocked.

10 The Regulated State

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

For 90 percent of the world’s states there are large numbers of corporations with
annual sales that exceed the state’s GDP. The CEOs of the largest corporations
424 john braithwaite

typically are better networked into other fonts of power than the presidents of
medium-sized states. Consequently large corporations do a lot of regulating
of states. There are also some smaller global corporations like Moody’s and
Standard and Poors that have specialized regulatory functions over states—setting
their credit ratings. More generally, Wnance capital holds sway over states. This is
exercised through capital movements, but also through lobbying global institutions
such as the IMF, the Basle Committee, World Trade Organization Panels, and the
World Bank, who might have more direct control over a speciWc sphere of state
activity. The most formidable regulator of debtor states is the IMF, as a result of its
frequently used power to impose regulatory conditions upon debt repayment.
While states have formidable regulatory leverage over airlines, for example,
airlines can enrol the International Civil Aviation Organization to regulate landing
rights to and from states that fail to meet their obligations to the orderly conduct of
international transport. While states regulate telecoms, they must submit to regu-
lation by the ITU (International Telecommunication Union) if they want inter-
connectivity with telecoms in other states, and powerful corporations invest
heavily in lobbying the ITU and in having their executives chair its technical
committees.
Many states simply forfeit domains of regulation to global corporations that
have superior technical capability and greater numbers of technically competent
people on the ground. For example, in many developing nations the Big Four
accounting Wrms eVectively set national accounting standards. States are also
regulated by international organizations (and bilaterally) to comply with legal
obligations under treaties they have signed. Sanctions range from armed force to
air and sea blockades, suspension of voting rights on international organizations,
trade sanctions, and ‘‘smart sanctions’’ such as seizure of foreign assets and denial
of visas to members of the regime and their families. Regional organizations such
as the EU (European Union) and the African Union, of course, also have a degree
of regulatory leverage over member states. Leverage tends to be greatest when states
are applying for membership of an international club such as the World Trade
Organization or EU from which they believe they would beneWt.
One of the deWning features of regulatory capitalism is that parts of states are set
up with independent capacities to regulate other parts of the state. Since 1980 the
globalization of the institution of the Ombudsman and the proliferation of audit
oYces has reached the point where some describe what Levi-Faur calls regulatory
capitalism as The Audit Society (Power 1997). Finally, there is the development
of independent inspectors of privatized industries moving their oversight back to
public provision.
Of course the idea of a separation of powers where one branch of governance
regulates another so that neither executive, judiciary, nor legislature can dominate
governance is an old one, dating at least from the Spartan constitution
and Montesquieu (Braithwaite 1997). But practice has become more variegated,
 the regulatory state? 425

especially in Asian constitutions such as those of Thailand and Taiwan that

conceive of themselves as having more than three branches of governance, with
branches such as the Election Commission, Ombudsman, Human Rights Com-
mission, Counter Corruption Commission, and Audit and Examination OYces
enjoying constitutionally separated powers from the legislative, executive, and
judicial branches. The theory as well as the practice of the doctrine of separation
of powers under regulatory capitalism has also moved forward on how innovative
separations of powers can deter abuse of power (see Braithwaite 1997). To the
extent that there are richer, more plural separations within and between private
and public powers in a polity, there is a prospect of moving toward a polity where
no one power can dominate all the others and each power can exercise its
regulatory functions semi-autonomously even against the most powerful branch
of state or corporate power. As Durkheim began to see, the art of government
‘‘consists largely in coordinating the functions of the various self-regulating bodies
in diVerent spheres of the economy’’ (Schepel 2005, ch. 1; see also Cotterrell 1999;
Durkheim 1930, preface).

11 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The transitions since feudal structures of governance fell to incipient capitalist

institutions have been from a police economy, to an unregulable nineteenth-
century liberal economy that oscillated between laissez-faire, dismantling the de-
centralized police economy, and laying the bricks and mortar of an initially weak
urban administrative state, to the provider state economy, to regulatory capitalism.
Across all of these transitions, markets in Wts and starts have tended to become
progressively more vigorous, as has investment in the regulation of market external-
ities. Not only have markets, states, and state regulation become more formidable,
so has non-state regulation by civil society, business, business associations, profes-
sions, and international organizations. Separations of powers within polities have
become more variegated, with more private–public hybridity. This means political
science conceived narrowly as a discipline specialized in the study of public govern-
ance to the exclusion of corporate governance, NGO governance, and the governance
of transnational networks makes less sense than it once did. If we have entered an era
of regulatory capitalism, regulation may be, in contrast, a fruitful topic around
which to build intellectual communities and social science theory.
Interesting agendas implied by this perspective are empirical studies of how
networked regulators like the Forest and Marine Stewardship Councils, Social
426 john braithwaite

Accountability International, and the Sustainable Agriculture Network (Courville

2003) operate, research on devolved regulatory technologies that harness local
knowledge (Shearing and Wood 2003), Levi Faur’s (2006) agenda of documenting
and comparatively dissecting the Varieties of Regulatory Capitalism, the Hall and
Soskice (2001), Stiglitz (2002), and Rodrik (2004) agendas of diagnosing the
institutional mixes that make capitalism buzz and collapse in the context of speciWc
states, the Dorf and Sabel (1998) agenda of evidence-based ‘‘democratic experi-
mentalism,’’ the Campbell Collaboration, and behavioral economics agendas for
real policy experiments on the impacts of regulatory interventions. Important
among these are experiments on meta-regulation—regulated self-regulation—as
a form of social control that seems paradigmatic of regulatory capitalism (Parker
2002; Braithwaite 2005).
In seeing the separations among the periods posited in this chapter, it is also
important to grasp the posited continuities. Both markets and the state become
stronger, enlarged in scope and transaction density, at every stage. Elements of
eighteenth-century police are retained in the creation of nineteenth-century para-
military police and other specialized regulators. Post-1980 regulatory capitalism
learns from and builds upon the weaknesses (and the strengths) of nineteenth- and
early twentieth-century regulation—from twenty-Wrst-century private security
corporations learning from Peel’s Metropolitan Police and the KGB, to state
shipping regulators and the International Maritime Organization learning from
regulatory technologies crafted in Lloyd’s CoVee Shop. While many problems
solved by state provision prior to 1980 are thence solved by privatization into
contested, regulated markets, most of the state provision of the era of the provider
state persists under regulatory capitalism. Even some renationalization of poorly
conceived privatization has begun.
A contribution of this chapter has been to suggest that regulation, particularly
antitrust and securitization of national debt, enabled the growth of both provider
and regulatory states. Regulation did this through pushing the spread of large
corporations that made Chandler’s (1977, 1990) three-pronged investment. The
corporatization of the world increased the eYcacy of tax enforcement, funding
provider and regulatory state growth. The corporatization of the world drove a
globalization in which transnational networks, industry associations, professions,
international organizations, NGOs, NGO/retailer hybrids like the Forest Steward-
ship Council, and most importantly corporations themselves (especially, but not
limited to, stock exchanges, ratings agencies, the Big Four accounting Wrms,
multinationals that specialize in doing states’ regulation for them like Société
Général de Surveillance,2 and large corporates that regulate small upstream and

2 This is a large Swiss multinational that provides all manner of regulatory services for states from
environmental inspection to collecting nations’ customs duties for them in innovative ways
(Braithwaite and Drahos 2000, 492–3).
 the regulatory state? 427

downstream Wrms in the same industry) became important national, regional, and
global regulators. This was a very diVerent capitalism and a very diVerent world of
governance than existed in the early twentieth-century industrial capitalism
of family Wrms. Hence the power of Levi-Faur’s conceptualization of regulatory
capitalism. While states are ‘‘decentred’’ under regulatory capitalism, the wealth it
generates means that states have more capacity both to provide and to regulate
than ever before.

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 chapter 22
...................................................................................................................................................

L E G I S L AT I V E
O RG A N I Z AT I O N
...................................................................................................................................................

john m. carey

1 Introduction
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Legislatures are, at least according to the formal rules set out by constitutions,
the principle policy-making institutions in modern democracies. The most fun-
damental policy decisions—budgets, treaties and trade agreements, economic,
environmental, and social regulation, elaboration of individual and collective
rights—all must be approved by legislatures. In light of this, what is expected
from legislatures in a democracy? To put it another way, how are legislatures to go
about meeting this formidable array of responsibilities? I suggest that the following
jobs top the list:
. representing diversity;
. deliberation;
. cultivating information and expertise;
. decisiveness;
. checking majority and executive power.
If these are the goals at which democratic legislatures aim, then it is worth asking
what research on comparative legislatures tells us about whether they are realized.
This chapter examines each of the normative goals in turn, beginning with a brief
432 john m. carey

description of each, and then drawing on current research that reXects on how
legislative organization reaches these ideals and the manners in which it frequently
falls short.

1.1 Representation
Legislatures are plural bodies with larger membership than executives, and so oVer
the possibility both to represent more accurately the range of diversity in the polity,
and to foster closer connections between representatives and voters. The diversity
represented in legislatures may be deWned along collective lines; that is, represen-
tation operates through groups of politicians who are selected in ‘‘teams’’ to
represent some set of interests. The rules by which collective representatives are
selected, in turn, must identify some set of principles deWning interests, such as
geographical location, partisanship, race, ethnicity, gender, language, religion, etc.
Alternatively, legislatures may include representatives who simply draw strong
individual-level support from sub-groups of voters who self-identify by their
choice of which candidates to support. Most legislatures have elements of both
sorts of representation, but individualism and collectivism entail trade-oVs and
cannot be maximized simultaneously.

1.2 Deliberation
Legislatures are forums for debate and reasoned consideration of the diverse
viewpoints they embrace. Their internal workings are supposed to be subject to
monitoring from outside actors. By forcing debate into an open setting, legislatures
may limit admissible arguments on behalf of interests or policy positions to those
that can be defended in public. Furthermore, by virtue of their transparency,
legislatures open the possibility that representatives can be held accountable for
their actions by those they represent. In practice, however, the extent to which
legislative deliberation and decision-making is transparent to those outside
the institutions varies considerably, which in turn aVects the extent to which
legislatures can serve as vehicles for transparency and accountability.

1.3 Information
The size of legislatures also allows for specialization and the development of
expertise among members. Legislatures are frequently organized so as to encourage
 legislative organization 433

this information building function, with committee systems that break down
policy-making responsibilities according to distinct jurisdictions. The extent
to which legislatures become repositories of policy expertise, however, varies
enormously.

1.4 Decisiveness
The size and diversity of legislatures also reXects a speciWc challenge. The number
of policy options available in any political environment is generally vast.
Well-known theoretical problems of collective decision-making among multiple
actors over large choice sets include indeterminacy and the potential for cycling
among alternatives. Remedies to these problems can involve distributing proced-
ural rights among legislators, providing some with special authorities to block
proposals, to make privileged proposals, or some combination of these. These
remedies, in turn, can become sources of contentiousness, especially to the extent
that they generate inequalities among legislators in their ability to inXuence
collective decisions. At any rate, legislatures are supposed to boil down the poten-
tially inWnite number of policy options available to a manageable and coherent set
of alternatives, among which a meaningful collective decision can be reached.

1.5 Checks
Notwithstanding the privileged place of majorities in almost all democracies,
unrestrained majority rule is widely mistrusted as subject to excesses and abuse
of minority rights. Opposition groups may use the legislature as a forum to oppose,
and perhaps to obstruct, actions by majority coalitions. Moreover, legislatures
everywhere are embedded in broader institutional environments in which policy-
making decisions depend on multiple actors. Legislatures may challenge the
actions of executives who act, to varying degrees, independently. The capacity for
checking majority action within legislatures depends on the distribution of
procedural rights among members; and the capacity for checking external actors
depends on the distribution of policy-making authorities across branches and
across legislative chambers in bicameral systems. In all cases, however, the desir-
ability of legislative checks rests on much the same foundation as the normative
properties of legislatures discussed previously. Checks should reveal information
about policies and about the motivations of their advocates that might not have
been disclosed otherwise. In doing so, checks should encourage deliberation and
foster accountability. Finally, checks may undermine decisiveness in the short run
434 john m. carey

by delaying agreement, but by making it more diYcult to alter the status quo, they
should encourage policy stability in the long run, and thereby make legislative
decisions stick once they are taken.

2 Representation
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In 2005, as this chapter is being drafted, debate among both policy-makers and
academics is ongoing over how to craft mechanisms to represent diversity in two
particularly challenging legislative environments: Afghanistan and Iraq.1 In both
cases, US-led invasions in 2001 and 2003, respectively, produced governments
commissioned to craft new constitutions, and to hold elections to Wll the political
oYces so founded. In both cases, there is widespread acknowledgment that plural
societies warrant representation of broad diversity within the legislature. The
fundamental stumbling block in both cases is to identify what sort of diversity
ought to be privileged in legislative representation. Various dimensions of repre-
sentation—including geography, ethnicity, religion, and gender—have been prom-
inently on the table in each case. Less-widely noted is that the Afghan and Iraqi
cases, and the associated debates surrounding how best to move toward electoral
democracy, embody the fundamental trade-oV between collective and individual-
istic representation in a context relatively unbounded by existing precedent.

2.1 Iraq and Afghanistan

The Iraqi election of January 2005, which chose a dual-purpose constituent assem-
bly and parliament, embodies the extreme collectivist end of this trade-oV. The
electoral law handed down by the outgoing, US-led Coalition Provisional Author-
ity, the regulatory details of which were Wlled in with UN assistance, stipulated that
the entire country encompassed a single electoral district with 275 seats, the
implications of which were far-reaching, however, for the types of legislative
representation possible in Iraq.2 First, the high district magnitude eVectively

1 The brief discussion that follows here of Iraq and Afghanistan at a particular moment in time—
2005—is not meant to serve as a thorough review of legislative electoral rules, much less as a
comprehensive analysis of the politics of these countries. The former is provided in an impressive
literature on comparative electoral systems (Duverger 1954; Taagepera and Shugart 1989; Lijphart 1994;
Cox 1997; Monroe 2005), and the latter is well beyond my capacity.
2 One compelling motivation for this choice had to do simply with logistics of electoral admin-
istration: Iraq lacked a reliable census by which legislative seats might be apportioned across districts
according to population.
 legislative organization 435

mandated that elections would be based on closed lists, and that voters would
not have the option of casting preference votes for individual candidates. Second,
high magnitude made it possible to award legislative seats to lists that won relatively
small vote shares overall, thus allowing for a high degree of proportionality.
Third, the nationwide list system is technically agnostic among many competing
conceptions of representation—for example geographical, ethnic, religious—
and simply rewards lists that can mobilize the most voters. However, because
the composition of the assembly is determined as much by the selection of
candidates as by the popular vote, closed lists also open up the possibility of
tipping legislative representation toward categories of candidates who might not
survive in a more individualistic electoral marketplace. SpeciWcally, in the Iraqi
case, gender quotas for candidates mandated that every third candidate must be
a woman.
The January 2005 election in Iraq produced an assembly in which twelve
separate lists won representation, with an eVective number of seat-winning
parties of 3.14 (Laakso and Taagepera 1979), a close correspondence between
votes cast and seats awarded to each list, with a Gallagher Index of less than 3
percent (Gallagher 1991) and substantial representation of ethnic groups previ-
ously marginalized in Iraqi politics (Burns and Ives 2005). The guaranteed
placement of women at regular intervals on closed lists translated into an
assembly with 29 percent women overall—about twice the worldwide average
(Inter-Parliamentary Union 2005). In sum, the Iraqi system made it feasible
to realize many of the normative goals associated with the representation of
diversity at the collective level.
The Afghan experience with establishing a national assembly has been substan-
tially diVerent. An indirectly elected assembly drafted a new Afghan Constitution
that was ratiWed in early 2004 and stipulated the popular election of both a
presidency and a bicameral legislature later that year. The presidential election
was carried oV, on close to the original schedule, in October 2004, but legislative
elections have been twice postponed in part due to the logistical challenges
of conducting elections that simultaneously honor the determination of the
Afghan government to:
. guarantee an element of regional representation via geographical districts;
. avoid a winner-take-all system of elections in which only the top party or
candidate in a district wins representation;
. ensure voter choice over individual legislative candidates; and
. guarantee the representation of women.
The electoral system that has remained at the center of debate in Afghanistan
is the single non-transferable vote (SNTV), currently used only in Taiwan,
Jordan, and Vanuatu, and most familiar mainly for its long use in Japanese
elections, from 1958–94. SNTV is plurality rule in multimember districts. Each
436 john m. carey

voter casts a ballot for her or his Wrst-choice candidate, and the candidates with the
most votes are elected in each district, up to the number of seats available. SNTV is
attractive in its simplicity, and for its potential to allow minority groups to secure
representation while simultaneously holding out the promise of a bond of direct
personal accountability between voters and their representatives.
SNTV, however, is subject to at least two severe drawbacks that undermine its
potential to provide viable representation in the Afghan context. First, SNTV
presents any collective political actor—a party, for example—with a formidable
coordination problem in translating electoral support into legislative representa-
tion. The problem is a fundamental conXict of interests between the party and its
individual politicians.3 Parties seek to win as many seats as possible. Individual
politicians may prefer to be members of strong parties, but their Wrst priority is to
win oYce. Under SNTV, candidates who seek to minimize the risk of individual
defeat have incentives to draw votes away from co-partisans, undermining
the collective goal of translating votes to legislative representation eYciently.
By privileging electoral individualism, SNTV presents formidable challenges to
parties’ ability to foster internal cooperation among politicians, and so to provide
collective representation (McCubbins and Rosenbluth 1995; Cox and Thies 1998).
An even more immediate challenge to the feasibility of SNTV in Afghanistan
is the incompatibility between individualistic legislative representation and the
representation of women. The Afghan Constitution requires that at least two lower-
house legislators from each of the country’s thirty-four provinces be female (Article
83). SNTV provides no alternative basis than individual vote totals for awarding
legislative seats, so unless at least two of the top candidates in each province are
women, the Afghan legislature will be confronted with the prospect of bypassing male
candidates with more votes in order to seat female candidates with fewer votes. In a
society where gender-based inequalities in personal resources, as well as gender bias
among voters, may constrain the viability of female candidates, this prospect appears
inevitable, and may undermine public acceptance of the elections generally.

2.2 The Collectivism vs. Individualism Trade-off

The fundamental contrast in the Iraqi and Afghan choices over electoral rules, at
this point, is between privileging collective versus individualistic representation.
For myriad reasons, the system chosen for Iraq’s January 2005 election leans
toward the former. This facilitated the initial, descriptive representation of
various collective identities—most notably by party alliance, ethnicity, religion,
3 The problem is also increasingly severe as district magnitude increases. Magnitudes in Japanese
SNTV elections ranged from three to Wve. In Afghanistan, the average district magnitude for
parliamentary elections would be around seven, and some districts would be considerably larger
(Constitution of Afghanistan, Art. 82).
 legislative organization 437

and gender. Afghan rules—as outlined initially—lean toward privileging

connections between voters and individual candidates, but try simultaneously
to guarantee minority representation and representation according to at least one
prominent form of collective identity: gender. Reconciling individualistic and
collective representation in a set of workable electoral rules has proven diYcult in
the Afghan context.
With respect to legislative representation more generally, these cases suggest that
the individualistic vs. collective representation distinction may be as important
as the principle characteristic by which electoral systems are more frequently
distinguished—whether elections are winner-take-all in single-member districts
(SMD), or proportional (PR). The characteristics and relative merits of SMD vs.
PR are central to a long-standing literature on legislative elections, the predominant
conclusion from which has been that PR is normatively superior to SMD elections
(Sartori 1976; Lijphart 1994; Huber and Powell 1994; Colomer 2001). This conclusion
rests on some key assumptions however: that political parties are fundamental units
of legislative representation, and that a left–right spectrum meaningfully describes
the ideological arena of party competition. In the industrialized, long-
standing democracies, where most studies of legislative representation have been
conducted, there is solid empirical evidence for these assumptions (Powell and
Vanberg 2000). They are open to greater skepticism in other environments, however,
particularly where party systems are more volatile or party reputations less stable.
The point here is that the foundation on which the conventional SMD vs. PR
debate has been conducted is weak in many political environments where the most
critical choices about how to organize legislative representation remain open. The
complete absence of established party systems in the Iraqi and Afghan cases are
extreme examples, but it is worth noting that SMD versus PR was not central to
debate in either context; winner-take-all rules gained traction in neither case.
Rather, the critical distinction in these cases is over whether electoral rules ought
to prioritize collective vs. individualistic representation. This theme has been
central to debates over reforming legislative representation much more widely
during recent decades, particularly with respect to mixed-member electoral
systems that combine SMD with list PR elections within the same legislative
chamber, variants of which were adopted in the 1990s by over twenty countries
(Shugart and Wattenberg 2001; International Institute for Democracy and Electoral
Assistance 1997; Culver and FerruWno 2000; Carey 2003).
To sum up, legislatures oVer the promise of representing the diversity of
the polity, but electoral rules aVect the dimensions along which diversity can
be translated into representation. Although the diVerences between SMD and
PR elections have traditionally been essential to the study of comparative legis-
latures, this distinction is growing less central relative to that between individu-
alistic and collective representation, which is quite a diVerent matter, both
theoretically and empirically (Carey and Shugart 1995). Whereas the literature
438 john m. carey

on comparative legislative representation tends to favor PR over SMD, there is less

academic consensus on the relative merits of individualistic vs. collective represen-
tation (Golden and Chang 2001; Persson and Tabellini 2003). This is an area that
ought to attract substantial attention among scholars of comparative legislatures.

3 Deliberation
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Once representatives, of whatever type, are selected, they must establish procedures
to consider alternative policy proposals. In this instance, legislative process is very
much a part of the product; democratic legislatures are public forums of debate
and deliberation. What is the relevance of public-ness? Adherents of deliberative
democracy contend that public debate is characterized by norms that limit admis-
sible arguments on behalf of proposals in ways that contribute to the public good.

3.1 Elevating the Debate

Imagine there are two types of policy available, those that serve the general public
good, and those that serve the good of some actors at the expense of others. In a
closed decision process I might pursue—via my proposals, my coalition-building
eVorts, my vote, etc.—either type of outcome. The deliberative democracy claim is
that public debate constrains me from pursuing the latter type (Goodin 1986). As
David Miller (1993) puts it, ‘‘To be seen to be engaged in political debate we must
argue in terms that any other participant could potentially accept, and ‘It’s good for
me’ is not such an argument.’’ The central implication is that, by placing decisions
over public policy in a public forum, legislatures elevate the public goods character
of the set of policies that can be supported, thereby improving policy outcomes.
How might this elevation come about? First, per the deliberative democracy
claim, it may be that only public-serving proposals can be defended in public. A less
demanding scenario would divide policy proposals into those that serve only
politicians and those that serve some segment of the general public. Even if
norms of public debate are less constraining than the deliberative democracy
position would have it, fear of electoral or other punishment by citizens may still
make politicians unwilling to support public policies that serve only themselves.
Thus, whether norms of debate or punishment by citizens are the key mechanism,
the public-ness of legislative decision-making would appear to be a public good.
 legislative organization 439

3.2 Accountability through Transparency

In light of this, it is worth considering the extent to which legislatures do, in
practice, serve as public forums of decision-making. That is, to what extent are the
essential components of legislative decisions visible to outside observers? As a
common currency of decisions across legislatures, I suggest Xoor votes. Legislators
may provide actual public justiWcations for their votes in speeches and debates in
committee or on the Xoor, but the amount of attention and energy required to
monitor such activities systematically is well beyond what can be reasonably
expected from citizens. Instead, the bottom line of each legislator’s support for
any policy proposal is her or his Xoor vote. Floor votes are where statutes, budgets,
treaties, veto overrides, and constitutional amendments are ultimately approved or
rejected, and the availability of vote records indicates how much hard information
citizens have about the most consequential actions of their representatives (Smith
1989). The vast bulk of legislative Xoor voting is, technically, public, insofar as votes
cast by secret ballot are rare, but in many legislatures the votes of individual
representatives are, eVectively, not public because no records beyond aggregate
outcomes (e.g. 200 aye, 100 nay) are published.
Table 22.1 presents data on the mean annual number of Xoor votes for which the
position (aye, nay, abstain, non-vote, absent) of each representative is recorded
and published for twenty-four legislative chambers across sixteen presidential
democracies in the Americas during the 1990s and/or early 2000s. The overall
variance in the amount of information about legislative voting available to those
outside the chambers, however, is striking, particularly in contrast to the United
States, where full disclosure of Xoor voting records is an essential part of legislative
politics, of campaign discourse, and of academic studies of Congress and (increas-
ingly) the state legislatures. Although systematic data on recorded votes from parts
of the world beyond the Americas are not yet available, it is clear that availability is
spotty. Variability in transparency exists across parliamentary as well as presidential
systems, and information about votes is plentiful in some environments and absent
in others (Noury 2005; Vote World 2005).
In every case, members may request recorded votes. The procedural barriers to
such requests vary. In Table 22.1, the cases are grouped according to the procedural
barriers to recording—whether recording is the default procedure or must be
requested, and whether an electronic voting system is used. The connection between
the procedural obstacles to recording votes and the amount of such information
available is not surprising, but it is striking nonetheless. The experiences of individ-
ual countries that have adopted electronic voting suggest that once systems are in
place, demands grow to alter rules of procedure to facilitate recorded voting, and
where these demands are successful, the numbers of recorded votes skyrocket (Carey
2005b). The bottom line here is that what time-series information is available
supports the clear pattern in the cross-national data: electronic voting and
440 john m. carey

Table 22.1 Mean number of recorded votes per year across twenty-four
legislatures in the Americas

Procedure:
Record by . . . Technology Votes Legislatures (chamber, if bicameral)

Default Electronic 459 Chile (both), Nicaragua, Peru

Manual 350 US (upper)
Request Electronic 154 Argentina (lower), Brazil (both),
Mexico (both), US (lower), Venezuela
Manual 4 Argentina (upper), Bolivia (both),
Colombia (both), Costa Rica, Ecuador, El Salvador,
Guatemala, Panama, Uruguay (both)

minimizing procedural barriers to recorded voting boost the amount of information

available to those outside the legislature about legislative decision-making.
Party leaders and the members of dominant coalitions sometimes prefer not to
make voting records public even when they are kept, and not to use electronic voting
systems even when they are in place. By virtue of their physical location and resources,
party and coalition leaders are institutionally advantaged in their ability to monitor
voting, even when formal records are not systematically produced and published.
Non-public voting thus produces an asymmetry of information between legislative
insiders and citizens, that insiders can exploit in pressuring legislators on votes.
Public voting, by contrast, empowers citizens to monitor their representatives, and
empowers many legislators themselves to resist pressure to approve policies that
might attract public opprobrium (Brennan and Pettit 1990; Snyder and Ting 2003).
With remarkable frequency, however, the basic conditions necessary for votes to be
public—recording and publication—are not met. Further study of both the causes
and eVects of legislative transparency will help clarify the conditions under which
legislatures realize their potential as public forums of deliberation.

4 Information
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The policy decisions legislators are called upon to make are frequently complex. They
may depend on technical information that can be marshaled and deciphered only
by experts, or entail trade-oVs among competing demands that interact in non-
obvious ways. Where politics is suYciently professionalized that representatives can
 legislative organization 441

make a career out of legislative service alone, as in most national-level assemblies,

representatives are eVectively policy-making specialists in that they devote
their professional energies to this task (or at least whatever energies are left over
from the scramble to attain and maintain oYce, or seek the next). But legislatures
also hold informational potential beyond the sum of the individual eVorts of
their members through the division and specialization of analytical labor.

4.1 Specialization
Legislatures are often set up to encourage division and specialization through a set
of committees with policy-speciWc jurisdictions. These committees are charged
with supporting the development and review of policy proposals in their domains,
and drawing on the expertise of their members and staV to make recommendations
to the full assembly. An organizational diagram of just about any national
legislature would exhibit precisely such a set-up, with committees assigned policy
jurisdictions over economics, foreign aVairs, security, agriculture, labor, and so
forth. There is relatively little variation at the level of Xow charts, but considerably
more in the extent to which legislatures realize their potential as information-
producing institutions.
Londregan (2001) characterizes the expertise produced by well-informed policy-
makers as a public good insofar as it can generate high-valence policies, which
improve the lot of all citizens. Information can also be a political good, however,
insofar as those who can make legislative proposals can secure concessions
from their ideological opponents in exchange for delivering policy valence. In
Londregan’s study of Chilean politics, the president is vested with extensive consti-
tutional powers to control the legislative agenda, and the executive branch is also far
better endowed than the legislature with the institutional resources—primarily
staV—to collect information. Thus the Chilean executive, and the legislative coali-
tion that supports it, are the primary ideological beneWciaries of a combination of
agenda powers and information asymmetry (Londregan 2001).
Londregan’s account captures a key element of executive–legislative relations in
many polities—that executive branches are better endowed with policy expertise
than are legislatures—but raises the questions why this asymmetry exists, and how
stark is it? Chile is unusual in the extent to which the executive is exogenously
endowed with control over the legislative agenda (Baldez and Carey 1999; Siavelis
2000). In environments where legislatures are not similarly constrained, the
question is why some organize themselves to produce information and to be able
to develop high-valence policy proposals whereas others do not? We lack
comparative analyses of legislative staYng levels or other factors that measure
442 john m. carey

systematically how much informational value legislatures produce and provide to

their members (Cox 2006).
Gilligan and Krehbiel (1990) develop the best-known formal model of informa-
tion specialization among legislators. By this account, individual legislators are
motivated to collect information on policies that improve outcomes for all in
exchange for policy concessions on the margin that can be translated into personal
electoral support. Committees serve as the seed beds both of policy expertise and,
via their control over the legislative agenda, of opportunities for their members to
secure advantageous policies on the margin. The informational model provides a
compelling account of the committee system in the US Congress (Krehbiel 1992).
The question for comparative legislative studies is to what extent committees play
this role elsewhere.

4.2 Tenure
The quantity and quality of information are diYcult to measure, but time is a
necessary condition for the development of policy expertise in legislatures. Studies
of the eVects of legislative term limits, for example, suggest that reelection is
necessary for legislators to develop expertise, and that short tenure weakens
legislatures relative to executives in shaping policy outcomes (Carey 1996; Carey,
Niemi, and Powell 2000; Kousser 2005). Comparative politics scholars have begun
to take an interest in reelection rates across legislatures. Reelection rates tend to be
substantially lower than in the United States, although longer legislative terms
(than those of the US House, at any rate) in most other assemblies mean that
diVerences in overall rates of tenure are somewhat less dramatic (Morgenstern and
Nacif 2002).
Samuels (2000) and de Luca, Jones, and Tula (2002) document low reelection
rates in Brazil and Argentina, respectively. Both are federal systems in which parties
and political careers are primarily organized at the sub-national level. Samuels
(2000) shows evidence that state-level oYces attract many of the strongest politi-
cians away from the national congress. De Luca, Jones, and Tula (2002),
meanwhile, argue that state-level party bosses who control candidate nominations
in most Argentine states systematically rotate up-and-coming legislators oV party
lists, and so out of Congress, before they can harness the institutional resources
there to challenge the primacy of state-level machines. In both these cases, explan-
ations for high legislative turnover hang partly on characteristics of federalism—
the lure of state-level oYce in Brazil, and turf guarding by party bosses in
Argentina. The US example demonstrates that long tenure is not impossible
under federalism, of course, but the comparative evidence suggests it may be
 legislative organization 443

worth testing systematically whether institutional factors such as the availability of

sub-national oYces and the decentralization of nomination procedures
systematically aVect legislative reelection rates.
Beyond reelection rates and the overall level of legislative tenure, patterns
of committee appointments should also be indicative of the extent to which
legislatures cultivate information. Again, this terrain is well mapped in the US
case (Shepsle 1978; Smith and Deering 1984; Kiewiet and McCubbins 1991; Cox and
McCubbins 1993), but largely uncharted elsewhere. The studies we have of
committee membership suggest substantial variance in rates of committee tenure.
In Costa Rica, committee membership rotates annually, and most members hold
distinct assignments for each year of their four-year terms (Carey 1996). In Chile,
by contrast, where reelection rates are higher, there is also greater stability in
committee assignments from year to year and from term to term. Moreover,
there is a correlation between the jurisdictional salience of a committee and tenure
rates, with committees that handle higher-proWle policy issues also exhibiting the
most stable membership, as in the US Congress (Carey 2002). In general, however,
our knowledge of committee tenure across legislatures, particularly in new dem-
ocracies, is limited. Excellent studies of legislative institutions in post-Soviet
Russia, for example, provide data on the distribution of committee seats across
parties and factions, but not on the stability of membership at the individual level
(Remington 2001; Smith and Remington 2001).
Finally, although studies of legislative staYng are scarce, committees’ procedural
resources are potential indicators of their centrality to the legislative process and,
indirectly, of their ability to generate information and expertise. The most prom-
inent studies here have been motivated by a desire to understand minority gov-
ernments in parliamentary systems and suggest that the frequency of minority
governments prompts legislators to construct stronger committee systems (Strom
1990; Powell 2000). I return to this topic below, in Section 6.
Legislatures can potentially serve as hothouses of information and expertise
about policy. The extent to which they play this role can aVect both their ability to
bargain over policy on equal footing with executives as well as the overall quality—
or valence—of the policies produced. Prevalent patterns of formal legislative or-
ganization indicate that committees are the most promising mechanism by which
legislatures might cultivate expertise. The conditions that would allow legislative
committee systems to play this role appear to vary widely across national legisla-
tures, but our empirical knowledge in this area is relatively underdeveloped. Legis-
lative tenure and reelection rates vary considerably as, it appears, does the
composition of committees. Committee resources similarly vary, but there is
evidence from parliamentary systems that partisan opposition between the
branches triggers the development of strong, informative committees. Testing this
hypothesis more widely seems a promising avenue for future comparative research.
444 john m. carey

5 Decisiveness
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Collecting information and deliberating over alternatives are merely precursors to

deciding on which policies to adopt. Legislatures are called upon to reach decisions
on policy and to make those decisions stick, and criticisms of legislatures
frequently focus on failures along these lines. In this section, I suggest that the
strength of political parties in organizing legislative agendas is critical to whether,
and what type of decisiveness problems they confront.

5.1 Bottlenecks and Cycling

In his overview of legislative organization, Cox (2006) posits a ‘‘legislative state of
nature’’ in which all members have equal rights to make proposals and plenary
time is unregulated. The latter assumption is taken to imply unlimited Wlibuster
(i.e. that no proposal can be brought to a vote over the objection of any member),
which in turn implies that the decision rule is eVectively unanimity. Such a state of
nature implies a strong egalitarian norm that privileges the ability of members to
block assembly action over the ability to trigger action, and it follows that instabil-
ity of legislative decisions should not be a problem, whereas inaction should be
(Colomer 2001; Tsebelis 1995, 1999). From this point of departure, Cox (2006)
proceeds to note that legislatures everywhere resolve the bottleneck problem with
internal organization that redistributes agenda powers unequally, and that in
modern legislatures, political parties consistently control access to the privileged
agenda-setting positions.
Whether or not one assumes that the legislative state of nature necessarily
implies unlimited Wlibuster, there is reason to believe that parties are critical to
legislative decisiveness. Formally, as least, most assemblies rely on simple majority
rule for most decisions. Well-known theoretical characteristics of majority rule
decisions over multiple alternatives suggest that failures of decisiveness would be
characterized by a general instability of legislative decisions—that is, by cycling,
rather than inaction (Condorcet 1785; McKelvey 1976; Riker 1982). Yet, even
accounts of legislative politics that take the instability problem as a point of
departure frequently point to political parties as the key factors that bring
order to the potential chaos of majority rule (Laver and Shepsle 1996; Cox and
McCubbins 1993).
In either account—bottleneck-based or cycling-based—parties are credited with
providing decisiveness by establishing privileged agenda setters who determine
which proposals are debated and voted on, and in which order, and in doing so
 legislative organization 445

make it possible for legislators to realize gains unrealizable in unorganized, state-

of-nature assemblies. The relative balance of agenda control residing in legislative
committees, directory boards, and presiding oYces varies across legislatures. In
parliamentary systems, these powers are generally vested in cabinet ministries—
technically part of the executive branch, but which themselves are Wlled from
among members of the legislature, and are dependent on its conWdence for
survival. The key point is that, in almost all democratic systems, parties are the
gatekeepers of the formal oYces that control the legislative agenda. Moreover,
Carroll, Cox, and Pachon (2004) demonstrate that, as democracies mature,
parties expand their control over the oYces that determine the legislative agenda,
and the distribution of these oYces among parties grows increasingly regular. In
short, as party systems stabilize, so do the key partisan elements of legislative
organization.

5.2 Parties and the Legislative Agenda

How does partisan agenda control provide decisiveness? Diverse accounts of
legislative politics converge around the idea that parties reduce the potentially
inWnite number of policy options to a limited set, primarily by establishing
platforms or manifestos that advertise party positions to voters, and then by
disciplining legislators to constrain their voting in line with these party positions
(Aldrich 1995). Comparative studies of roll call voting suggest that legislative
agendas are strongly limited in ways consistent with the idea that parties produce
procedural order. Cox, Masuyama, and McCubbins (2000) demonstrate that
the long-dominant LDP in Japan used its control over the parliamentary
agenda to prevent proposals that might divide its governing coalition from coming
to the Xoor. Amorim Neto, Cox, and McCubbins (2003) provide evidence that
multiparty legislative coalitions in Brazil acted similarly, as cartels that limit
legislative proposals to protect the policy interests of member parties. In both
cases, the point is that parties—sometimes as partners in coalitions—both limit the
policy alternatives among which legislatures formally choose, preventing cycling,
and ensure that some alternatives enjoy procedural advantages that prevent
bottlenecks.
Other empirical evidence also highlights the relative orderliness of voting in
legislatures, in contrast to the theoretical prospect of majority rule cycles. The most
widely used method for estimating legislator ideal points suggests that agendas
across a wide range of legislatures show remarkably limited dimensionality (Poole
and Rosenthal 2001; Rosenthal and Voeten 2004). That is, across various legisla-
tures in quite diVerent political systems, and in the US Congress throughout most
of its history, legislators’ voting patterns can be accurately mapped using only a
446 john m. carey

single dimension of a potentially N-dimensional spatial model. Legislators’ esti-

mated ideal points, moreover, tend to be extremely stable over time (Poole 1998).
Because parties so consistently dominate legislative organization, it is diYcult to
test the extent to which they account for the orderliness of voting patterns. In a pair
of ingenious studies, however, Jenkins (1999, 2000) compares voting in the Con-
federate Congress of 1861–5 with that in the US Congress during the same era. The
legislatures were similar in formal structure, in membership (many legislators
served in both chambers), and even in the issues on which they voted, but the
Confederate Congress was not organized along party lines, and the voting patterns
of Confederate legislators were far less stable in important ways. First, spatial
models correctly classify fewer votes in the Confederate than the US Congress
(Jenkins 1999). Second, Confederate legislators, operating in a party-less environ-
ment, are less stable in their ideological positions over time (Jenkins 2000). Overall,
the results suggest that political parties impose order on voting in ways that make
legislative decisions predictable and stable.
Political parties may play this role in general, but even casual observers will
note that not all parties are equivalent. Comparative legislative scholarship has
long made much of the diVerence between strong and weak political parties in
controlling legislative outcomes. Scholarship on the US Congress has been largely
occupied for over a decade with the extent to which the levels of party voting we
observe are due to like-mindedness among co-partisans (cohesiveness) or pressure
from party leaders (discipline) (Krehbiel 1998; Cox and Poole 2004). Much of the rest
of the legislative world, however, has yet to be mapped at all in terms of party unity in
voting. Factors that may account for relative levels of party unity can be divided
between those that operate at the system level, and are constant across all par-
ties within an assembly (e.g. regime type, federalism, electoral system, regime age),
and those that vary across parties within assemblies (e.g. government vs. opposition,
seat share, ideological composition, party age). Hix (2004) takes advantage of
the European Parliament’s multinational structure to gain analytical leverage on
the eVect of the electoral system—normally constant within a given legislature—
showing higher voting unity in parties with centralized control over legislators’
election (and reelection) prospects than in those where legislators cultivate personal
support among voters to secure election. Carey (2005a) draws on voting data
from eighteen legislatures to conWrm the conventional distinction between highly
uniWed parties in parliamentary systems and less uniWed ones in presidential
regimes, and shows that governing parties are more uniWed than opposition parties
in the former regime type, but indistinguishable in terms of unity in the latter. Cross-
national analyses of legislative voting remain relatively rare, and mostly limited in
their scope (Morgenstern 2003; Noury 2005). Recent eVorts by comparative legisla-
tive scholars to archive voting data from across many legislatures in a standard
format will facilitate cross-national research, however, and can be expected to
 legislative organization 447

enhance our understanding of what accounts for the relative strength of legislative
parties (Vote World 2005).4

6 Checks
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The last category of expectations regarding legislatures identiWed at the outset of

this chapter is checks, which include oversight and limitations on the ability of
policy-makers to take action. Demand for a checking function rests in part on a
pervasive distrust of authority, and frequently a speciWc distrust of majority rule, a
term one often sees prefaced with qualiWers such as ‘‘unrestrained,’’ ‘‘plebiscitary,’’
or ‘‘intemperate.’’5 It is also based in part on the expectation that checks contribute
to the other legislative ideals discussed thus far, ensuring balanced public debate so
legislatures may fulWll their deliberative role; and reveal information about
policy options and about the motivations of their champions, enhancing the
informational role. To the extent this is the case, legislative checks may in
turn guarantee that the policies ultimately enshrined in statute are durable, thus
aVecting decisiveness.
Given the weight of expectations placed on legislative checks, it is worth being
quite clear about what mechanisms fall under this label. By checks, I mean the
constitutional requirement for legislative approval before governments may act in
areas such as:
. passing statutes that change policy, authorize spending, levy taxes, etc.;
. amending constitutions, thus altering the structure of government or the
distribution of power among its oYcers;
. ratifying treaties, declarations of war, or states of emergency initiated by
executives;
. approving appointments of high oYcials to executive, judicial, or independent
oYces.
Approval most often takes the form of a majority vote, but may also require a
supermajority in some cases, in which case checks—withholding approval

4 It is worth noting that the search for factors that account for legislative party strength does not
imply a normative judgment that stronger is always better. Indeed, legislative parties that exhibit iron-
clad discipline regularly attract criticism and popular demand for reform (Coppedge 1994; Carey 2003).
5 Madison’s argument in Federalist 63 for the necessity of a Senate to temper the ‘‘passions’’ of House
majorities (which, in Federalist 57, he had just contended would actually be quite judicious) may be the
most famous along these lines, at least to American audiences, but the theme is widespread.
448 john m. carey

for government action—may be exercised by minorities. Closely related to

withholding approval, and sequentially prior to it in practice, is legislative over-
sight—monitoring policy-makers to verify that their actions are consistent with
the intent of current law and do not exceed the reach of their formal authorities.
Oversight is the revelation of information, which is particularly valued to the
extent that those who exercise government authority are inclined to misuse it
(Persson and Tabellini 2003).
We might think of checks as either internal or external, with the former referring
to those exercised within a given assembly, generally by opposition representatives
or parties against the majority; and the latter referring to those exercised either
between chambers, in the case of bicameral systems, or between branches.6
Procedural rights reserved for minorities to stall progress on proposals, and
sometimes even to scuttle them as with Wlibusters in the US Senate, constitute an
internal check, and are frequently defended on the grounds that they guarantee
careful study and consideration of initiatives, contributing to outcomes that
improve the overall quality of legislation. Dion (2001) counters that, in practice,
minority rights are treated less as social welfare enhancing than as resources at stake
in a non-cooperative battle between majorities and legislative opposition. His
historical study of the US Congress, the British Commons, and the Austrian
parliament suggests that rule changes to curtail minority rights are most likely
precisely when majorities are least secure. One implication is that legislative checks
internal to a chamber should be least eVective precisely when the electoral mandate
of the majority coalition is weakest.
In a diVerent vein, Strom (1990) identiWes parliamentary committees as poten-
tial sources of opposition party power, particularly in systems where committee
chairs are distributed proportionally rather than monopolized by government
parties. He notes that procedural rights for minorities in European parliamentary
systems are greater where majorities are least secure, particularly where majority
coalitions cannot form, and minority governments wield executive power. Powell
(2000) reaches a similar conclusion, suggesting that internal legislative checks are,
in fact, strongest when the majority coalition’s claim to authority is most tenuous.
Whether Dion’s non-cooperative story or Strom’s more cooperative one better
accounts for the level of internal checks we observe across legislatures more
generally warrants further research attention.

6 Tsebelis’s (1995) veto-players model disregards this distinction on the grounds that all political
actors, whether a party within a majority coalition, or an opposition-party president, who can block
legislative action by disapproval are equivalent in terms of the stickiness of the status quo. I retain the
distinction, however, on the grounds that legislative coalitions, whether composed of partisan or other
actors, are potentially Xuid, insofar as any recalcitrant actor can be substituted with any other
agreeable actor carrying as many seats; whereas constitutionally-endowed veto-players (e.g. courts,
executives, other chambers) are irreplaceable.
 legislative organization 449

Martin and Vanberg (2005) take an important step in this direction, expanding
into the study of legislative checks on external (executive) actors in their study of
legislative review in Germany and the Netherlands. In multiparty parliamentary
systems, control of any government ministry by a particular party generates the
potential for policy disputes among parties within the governing coalition over
legislative proposals in that policy area. Martin and Vanberg demonstrate that the
greater the scope of policy disagreement between coalition partners, the greater are
the revisions made by parliaments to government proposals. This form of check on
the executive appears to be greatest precisely where alternative legislative coalitions
to the government—for example government parties apart from the one control-
ling the ministry of jurisdiction, plus opposition parties—are most viable. Martin
and Vanberg’s account is consistent with Thies (2001), who documents internal
checks within coalitions in the form of split party control over ministerial and
junior ministerial portfolios.
Finally, there has been a boom in the past decade, fueled largely by transitions to
democracy in presidential and hybrid constitutional systems, in the study of
legislative checks on presidents. Linz (1994) identiWed presidential systems as
problematic in part on the grounds that partisan incompatibility between legisla-
tures and executives could produce intransigence in bargaining, which in turn
could induce executives to pursue non-constitutional means in pursuing their
agendas. Carey and Shugart (1998) examine a speciWc vehicle frequently associated
with abuse of presidential power, executive decree authority, and argue that its
use frequently follows patterns consistent with legislative delegation rather than
executive usurpation. Figuereido and Limongi (2000) argue that the centralization
of authority over the legislative agenda in the Brazilian presidency is potentially
consistent with the interests of legislative majorities in maximizing decisiveness.
There is little in their account to suggest potential for checks on the executive, but
Amorim Neto, Cox, and McCubbins (2003) demonstrate that the conditions
required to centralize agenda control are actually contingent—present when stable
legislative majority coalitions support the president, absent otherwise—thus re-
viving the prospect that even legislatures with relatively high partisan fragmenta-
tion might impose eVective checks on presidents. The extent to which this prospect
is realized, and the speciWc conditions that encourage or discourage it, ought to be
central to academic research on comparative legislatures in presidential systems
(Cox and Morgenstern 2001).
Focusing speciWcally on separation of powers between legislative chambers,
Tsebelis and Money (1997) make the case that bicameralism does more than encour-
age policy stability by making it more diYcult to change the status quo (although it
does this, too). It also focuses policy debate and deliberation on the dimension of
conXict that separates the collective preferences of the two chambers. If this dimen-
sion happens not to reXect an important political cleavage in the electorate—say,
because on the most salient issues the chamber majorities are quite close, whereas
450 john m. carey

they diVer on matters unimportant to most voters—then bicameralism will channel

legislative debate and bargaining toward inessential issues, perhaps marginalizing
the legislature. If, on the other hand, diVerences in preferences across chambers span
a cleavage highly salient to citizens, then legislative bargaining will focus on Wnding
compromise along that dimension of conXict. This insight suggests a qualiWcation
of the claim often advanced by advocates of deliberative democracy that open
debate is, in itself, a public good. It may be, if it is aimed at achieving mutually
acceptable outcomes on salient issues, but otherwise it may trivialize the deliberative
forum. With respect to institutional design, moreover, the nature of incongruence
between chambers in a bicameral system—that is, how diVerences in the
composition of the two chambers map onto conXicts in the electorate—may help
explain whether legislative checks are politically productive, or even relevant.

7 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The purpose of this chapter has been both to outline what we know, and to
organize some ideas about comparative legislative organization so as to direct
attention to speciWc things we do not yet know, or that we do not know with
suYcient certainty and empirical authority, but that would help us understand the
extent to which legislatures fulWll their normative potential within democratic
systems. In identifying Wve broad sets of expectations to which legislatures are
subject, I am suggesting a normative case for strong legislatures. Assemblies
that meet these expectations are heavyweights in their respective policy-making
environments.
The claim that strong legislatures are desirable rests on the potential to exploit
their plural nature in areas where it implies a comparative advantage relative to
other types of institutions—in representing diversity, providing transparent
debate, dividing labor, and proWting from specialization, generating and revealing
information—and to strike a workable balance between deliberateness and
decisiveness. This chapter reviews scholarship that sheds light on the conditions
that aVect whether legislatures realize these expectations, and highlights some
promising avenues for future research. SpeciWcally, I suggest that studies of legis-
lative electoral systems should recognize the trade-oV between collectivist and
individualistic representation as distinct from, and frequently more important
than, that between proportional and single-winner systems. I suggest that in
order to understand legislative accountability, we need to pay closer attention to
the transparency of deliberation—who can monitor legislative actions and who has
 legislative organization 451

the incentive to do so. I encourage cross-national research into the conditions that
allow for legislatures to develop policy expertise, such as tenure and reelection
rates, committee resources, and reassignment rates. I also promote cross-national
analysis of roll call voting to map and model the legislative universe of party and
coalition unity, the essential components of decisiveness. Finally, I encourage
empirical studies of legislative–executive bargaining to determine with greater
precision the conditions under which one branch or the other is better able
to secure the policy outcomes it prefers. This is a large agenda, but the
immense progress in the Weld of comparative legislative studies achieved in
recent years—only a sample of which is reviewed in detail here—suggests it is
well within reach.

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 chapter 23
...................................................................................................................................................

C O M PA R AT I V E
L E G I S L AT I V E B E H AV I O R
...................................................................................................................................................

eric m. uslaner
thomas zittel

Parliamentary legislative systems are orderly. Congressional legislative systems are

disorderly. This claim may seem a bit odd when we think about the loudness,
sometimes even the rowdiness, of debate in parliaments compared to the more
Xowery and civil language on the Xoor of the United States House of Representa-
tive and especially the Senate. The orderliness of parliamentary systems (and the
disorderliness of congressional systems) refers not to language or style, but rather
to how conXict is structured.
Parliamentary procedure is all about the power of political parties. Parliaments
are the embodiment of collective responsibility of the prime minister and his/her
governing party. In congressional systems, political parties play a much more
limited—some would say a subsidiary—role. Individual members answer to
their constituencies, their consciences, and especially their committees more than
they do to their party leaders. Congressional procedure is disorderly because there
is no centralized authority and no sense of collective responsiblity. Woodrow
Wilson, the Wrst modern student of Congress (1967, 59), argued in 1885: ‘‘It is this

* Eric M. Uslaner is grateful to the General Research Board, University of Maryland, College Park, for
support on this and other projects.
456 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

multiplicity of [committee] leaders, this many-headed leadership, which makes the

organization of the House too complex to aVord uninformed people and unskilled
observers any easy clue to its methods of rule . . . .There is no thought of acting in
concert.’’
The standard explanation for these diVerences is institutional. Parliaments are
majoritarian, centralizing power in party leaders who have the power to punish
members who might dare to take an independent course. Congressional systems
have weak parties and strong committees and leaders lack the power to discipline
legislators who respond more to their constituents than to their parties.
These explanations take us far, but in recent years we see growing power for
congressional parties and weaker parties in parliametary systems—even as
institutional structure remains constant. The critical changes seem to be behav-
ioral—as legislators in the United States represent increasingly homogenous
constituencies in polarized parties. Legislators in parliamentary systems have
fought to become more independent of party leaders.
We now speak of increasing polarization and heightened partisanship in the
United States Congress, where party leaders control the agenda with iron Wsts (at
least in the House) and where voters in congressional elections are more likely than
at any time in the past 100 years to divide along party lines. We also speak of greater
attention to constituency demands in parliamentary systems. We focus on the
changing role of political parties in legislative institutions, both parliamentary and
congressional, in this chapter—and examine the structural and behavioral roots of
legislative behavior. We examine the impact of diVerent institutions, varying infor-
mal rules of the game, and the varying relations between legislators and constituents.

1 Institutional Influences on
Partisanship in Legislatures
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A. Lawrence Lowell (1901, 332, 346), who pioneered the study of how legislators vote
(in England and the United States), argued: ‘‘The parliamentary system is . . . the
natural outgrowth and a rational expression of the division of the ruling chamber
into two parties . . . since the ministry may be overturned at any moment, its life
depends upon an unintermittent warfare and it must strive to keep its followers
constantly in hand . . . . In America . . . the machinery of party has . . . been created
outside of the regular organs of government and, hence, it is less eVective and more
irregular in its action.’’ Almost three quarters of a century later, David R. Mayhew
 comparative legislative behavior 457

(1974, 27) wrote: ‘‘no theoretical treatment of the United States Congress that posits
parties as analytic units will go very far.’’ Philip Norton observed that for European
parliamentary systems, ‘‘Political parties have served to . . . constrain the freedom of
individual action by members of legislatures’’ (Norton 1990, 5).
The collective responsiblity of parliamentary systems binds legislators to their
parties. If the government loses on a major bill, it will fall and there will be new
elections. The parliamentary party can deny renomination to members who vote
against the party. Constitutents vote overwhelmingly along party lines—members
of parliament do not establish independent identities to gain ‘‘personal votes’’ as
members of Congress do. Within the legislature, the only path to power is through
the party organization. None of these factors hold within congressional systems.
Members are independent entrepreneurs who serve on legislative committees that
have been independent of party pressure—and often at odds with party goals.
Members run for reelection with no fear that the national party can deny them
renomination—or even cost them another term.
Even though roll calls are not frequent in many European parliaments, party
cohesion in European national parliaments is very high. Beer (1969, 350) remarked
about the British House of Commons by the end of the 1960s, that cohesion was so
close to 100 percent that there was no longer any point in measuring it.
Parties were weaker in the United States. Yet, Lowell (1901, 336) noted at the turn
of the twentieth century: ‘‘The amount of party voting varies much from one
Congress, and even from one session, to another, and does not follow closely any
Wxed law of evolution.’’ Later scholars would invest considerable eVort in Wnding
the patterns that eluded Lowell and in comparing the relative power of parties,
committees, and constituencies across the House and the Senate. The larger House
of Representatives with two-year terms was much more conducive to partisanship
than the smaller Senate, where members served six-year terms and were not
initially publicly elected.
Saalfeld’s studies (1990, 1995) of the German Bundestag between 1949 and 1987
Wnd strong levels of party voting for each of the three major parties. This Wnding is
supported by other single-country studies for other European parliaments (Cowley
and Norton 1999; Müller and Jenny 2000; Norton 1980).
The likelihood of defection is aVected by the nature of an issue and the factor
that moral as well as local issues are most likely to trigger the defection of single
MPs from their party line (Skjaeveland 2001). Particularly in countries with a
strong local tradition, such as Norway and Denmark, party leadership is reportedly
understanding towards members dissenting for matters of local concern
(Damgaard 1997). Other authors suggested that electoral factors such as a ‘‘mixed
member voting system’’ (Burkett 1985) or the marginality of a seat (Norton 2002)
might explain defections form the party line.
Power in parliamentary systems is centralized in the party leadership. In the
German Bundestag party cohesion is the result of lobbying and arm twisting on the
458 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

part of the party leadership (Saalfeld 1995). Similar conclusions have been reached
for other European legislatures such as the Austrian Nationalrat (Müller and Jenny
2000). In the United States Congress, power has been decentralized to committees,
which are often autonomous of the party leadership. Parliamentary parties’ organ-
izational clout can be measured in terms of budget, people, and rules. In most
European legislatures, individual MPs have little staV support and budget resources
to forge a strong link to their constituents and to establish a knowledge and
information basis to participate eVectively in the parliamentary process. In con-
trast to this, parliamentary party groups are well equipped in this respect with their
own budgets and a sizeable staV. Party groups in European parliaments have
developed a multitude of status positions that oversee and manage the decision
process within the group.
The scope of party cohesion in European parliaments has been documented on
the basis of measures that go beyond Xoor voting. Andeweg (1997, 118) found
that 44 percent of Dutch MPs in 1990 reported asking for prior permission for a
written question from the parliamentary party chairperson, even though this is a
constitutional right of individual MPs.
Parliamentary parties also enjoy a preeminent legal status. In the German
Bundestag, standing orders require that only groups comprising 5 percent of the
whole—also the threshhold for a formal caucus—may introduce legislation. Indi-
vidual members of parliament have few rights to participate such as introducing
amendments on the Xoor or asking questions on the Xoor. In congressional
systems, the individual has far more power.
In Europe and elsewhere, parliament possesses the power to make and break
governments. These functions integrate particular groups of members of parlia-
ment (MPs) in the process of government formation and government breakdown.
It deWnes MPs in the voters’ perception and thus establishes collective responsibil-
ity. Parliamentary systems provide executives with resources such as ministerial
appointments that can be used by party leaderships to induce MPs to go along with
the policies of the government (Depauw 1999).
Beyond the simple dichtomy of parliamentary versus congressional systems
other institutional features of the US Congress should lead to weaker partisanship
as well. The president and members of each house of Congress run for election at
diVerent times and may not share a common fate, whereas a prime minister comes
from parliament and is responsible to it. There is the possibility of divided control of
the legislative and executive branches in the United States—and this makes assign-
ing responsibility for legislation problematic. Senators serve six-year terms to
insulate them from the whims of public opinion. Senators were initially appointed
by state legislatures rather than elected. The upper chamber was designed, in
George Washington’s words, to ‘‘cool’’ the passions of the lower house. The
House has long had procedures similar to those in parliamentary systems, where
the majority, if it willed, could work its will.
 comparative legislative behavior 459

The Senate’s procedures have always been less majoritarian: In 1806, Senators
eliminated a rule that allowed a majority to proceed to a vote and it was not until
1917 that the Senate had any procedure for calling the question. Unlimited debate,
the Wlibuster, is a cherished tradition—now it takes sixty Senators to cut oV debate.
And most of the time, neither major party has sixty seats (or even when it does,
sixty reliable votes). Krehbiel (1998) has argued that the potential for a Wlibuster
means that legislative productivity in Congress does not simply reXect a ‘‘median
voter’’ model. Instead, the capacity for enacting legislation depends upon where
the ‘‘Wlibuster pivot’’ is—the positions of the member whose vote can break a
Wlibuster in the Senate. The potential for gridlock (stalemate) is large and ordin-
arily it takes large majorities to enact major policy changes in the Senate (Krehbiel
1998, 47)—even more so under divided government. The existence of larger
districts (states) of the Senate means that constituencies are more heteroge-
neous—so that it is more diYcult for Senators to please their electorates than it
is for members of the House. It also means that Senators’ own ideologies will be
more diverse, with more liberal Republicans and conservative Democrats than we
Wnd in the House. Party is not the common bond for ideology in the Senate as it is
in the House—Senators from the same party and the same state are rivals for
leadership and often try to distinguish themselves from each other ideologically to
bolster claims to power (Schiller 2000). Finally, the Senate has a long tradition of
strong bonds among members (what White 1956 called the ‘‘Inner Club’’), which
puts a premium on getting along rather than emphasizing party diVerences.
Parties have not always been weak in the USA: under Czar rule in 1890–1911,
party leaders had extraordinary power: Speaker Thomas Reed (R, ME) chaired the
powerful House Rules Committee, made all committee assignments himself, and
had complete control over the House Xoor and the right of recognition. Members
were regularly reassigned from one committee to another when they fell out of
favor with the Speaker. A division within the Republican party—as Progressives
became a more important force—led to the fall of Reed’s successor, Clarence
Cannon, on an obscure procedural vote in 1911 (when Progressives aligned with
Democrats)—and to a decline in the role of parties in the US Congress.
The constitutional structure of the United States clearly shapes the lesser power
of parties compared to parliamentary systems, especially in Europe. Yet students of
Congress, from Woodrow Wilson to contemporary formal theorists, have focused
more on an institutional feature of Congress that is extra-constitutional: the
congressional committee system. The end of Czar rule led to the growth of a
committee system that was independent of party pressures and that gave positions
of authority to members based upon seniority (longevity on the committee) rather
than party loyalty. Legislators seek committee assignments based upon the
interests of their constituents and upon their own expertise. Once appointed to a
committee, membership becomes a ‘‘property right’’ that cannot be abrogated
(a reform enacted following the downfall of Czar rule).
460 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

Fenno (1973) stressed committee autonomy from the 1950s to the 1970s and
emphasized how committees responded diVerently to their clienteles and their
environments, rather than to a single master such as party leadership. Since conser-
vative Southern Democrats were the most electorally secure, they dominated com-
mittee chair positions in both the House and the Senate and often blocked the
agenda of the liberals who dominated the party’s legislative contingent through the
1970s.
The new institutionalist perspective of Shepsle and Weingast (1994) focuses on
committees as ‘‘preference outliers’’ from others in the chamber and argue that
distributive policy-making stems from implicit logrolling among outlier commit-
tees (see also Wilson 1967, 121). These logrolls can occur because committees are
monopoly agenda setters—they operate under closed rules that prohibit others in the
legislature from oVering amendments. Committees, then, have an extraordinary
degree of power in these models.
An alternative institutionalist perspective focuses on committees as information
providers (Krehbiel 1991). This informational power gives committees even greater
power over legislation. They may not have monopoly agenda-setting power, but
their greater knowledge of policy consequences implies that they can generally get
their way within the legislature. Committees are not autonomous in this model—
they must respond to the majority position within the legislature (regardless of
party). But committees themselves are representative of the full chambers, not
preference outliers. While these ‘‘new institutionalist’’ perspectives are at direct
variance with each other, both downplay the role of parties in Congress.
Strong committees, under any account, lead to a policy-making arena that is
very diVerent from the party-dominated legislative process found in parliamentary
systems. Parties in parliamentary systems promote policies in order to get them
adopted. In European parliaments, parties control committee assignments and
procedures (Damgaard 1995). In the United States, committees are designed to
protect constituency interests and this often means blocking rather than passing
legislation. The committee system is often seen as a ‘‘legislative graveyard’’ since
only about 6 percent of bills introduced by members become law.
The institutional structure of the congressional system is thus insuYcient to
explain why bills get passed. Legislators rely upon informal institutions (or norms)
to build cross-party coalitions. These norms—courtesy, reciprocity, legislative
work, specialization, apprenticeship (members traditionally worked their way up
from minor committees to more important ones), and institutional patriotism
(respecting the rules and prerogatives of each chamber)—were key factors in
securing bipartisan majorities for legislation (Matthews 1960). The norms
waned during the period of heightened partisanship that took hold in the
1980s (Uslaner 1993). Since parliamentary systems do not depend upon the
cooperation of the majority with the minority, a strong set of norms of collegiality
never took hold.
 comparative legislative behavior 461

2 The Behavioral Foundations of

Partisanship
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The institutional structure of Congress laid the foundation for strong ties between
legislators and their constituents. Members of the House faced election frequently
and both House and Senate elections occurred in years when the president was not
on the ballot. The weak parties meant that legislators were free to pay attention to
the people who elected them—and committees were devoted to protection of
constituency interests, even at the expense of party programs. Speaker of the
House Thomas P. O’Neill (1977–1986) had a famous line that he told to junior
members contemplating whether to support their party or their constituency: ‘‘All
politics is local.’’
A large literature, developed mostly during the period of weak parties, posited
that members of Congress were torn between serving two masters: their parties and
their constituents. In the eighteenth century, British MP (and political philoso-
pher) Edmund Burke told his electors in his Bristol constituency that he did not
feel bound to abide by their views—that he would follow his own conscience and
would accept the verdict of the voters as to whether they believed he was correct
(they turned him out of oYce).
Burke’s speech became the basis for role theory in the study of legislatures where
legislators chose between the roles of delegates, who followed constituency opinion,
or trustees, who followed their own conscience or their parties. Wahlke, Eulau,
Buchanan, and Ferguson (1962) found, perhaps surprisingly, that most American
state legislators in the Wve states they examined in the 1950s considered themselves
trustees—with Wgures ranging from 55 percent in California to 81 percent in
Tennessee. Only between 6 and 20 percent took on the pure ‘‘delegate’’ role, with
the rest in between as ‘‘politicos.’’ A decade later Davidson (1969) found similar
results for members of the US Congress.
The Burkean distinction has been used in the European context as well (Barnes
1977; Converse and Pierce 1986; Searing 1994). Only a small minority of European
MPs would consider themselves delegates. In the late 1970s only 3 percent of the
members of the German Bundestag regarded themselves as instructed delegates
(Farah 1980, 238). Compared to their American colleagues, many European MPs
spend less time communicating with constituents. An analysis of the time budget
of members of the German Bundestag found that about one quarter of an average
member’s time is devoted to ‘‘information and contact activities,’’ a summary
category which also includes time spent with constituency communication
(Herzog et al. 1990, 83–92).
Searing (1994) interviewed 521 British MPs to distinguish between four
preference roles (policy advocate, ministerial aspirant, constituency member,
462 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

parliament man) and four position roles (parliamentary private secretary, whip,
junior minister, minister). Searing found many policy advocates and few
parliament men among the backbenchers he interviewed. While parliament men
resemble the classical concept of an amateur who enjoys being a Member of
Parliament and who is absorbed by the conduct of parliamentary business, policy
advocates aim at inXuencing government policy and develop carrying degrees
of issue familiarity and expertise.
Patzelt’s (1997) interviews with German MPs from 1989 to 1992 demonstrated
that MPs aim to reconcile and to synthesize the roles of trustee and delegate.
European MPs are characterized by complex role sets that cannot be reduced to any
single role type and that, at the same time, incorporate the notion of a partisan as a
strong and predominant element within this role set (Müller and Saalfeld 1997).
In Europe, constituency has always taken a back seat to party. For the United
States from the 1890s until 1911, partisanship reigned supreme and there was no
conXict between party and constituency for legislators. Czar rule came to an end
because of growing factionalism within the Republican Party, leading the Progres-
sives in the House to side with the minority party (the Democrats) to defeat a
routine procedural motion—marking the end of the strong Speaker. With the
downfall of strong party leadership, members of Congress established committees
with tenure not touchable by party leaders, and legislative authority of their own.
Members looked more and more to their constituencies rather than to parties.
Legislators were torn between which to support on the Xoor, as we saw as early as
the 1920s, as shown by Julius Turner (later revised by Edward Schneier in Turner
and Schneier 1970).
The parliamentary model of solidarity with one’s party fell by the wayside in the
United States: Some issues (states rights, legislative–executive relations, patronage)
showing high levels of party conXict and others (foreign policy, business, agricul-
ture, social welfare) dividing the parties less frequently. Clausen showed for the
House (and Sinclair 1982 for both houses) that levels of voting along party lines
depended heavily on the nature of the issue. Economic issues were the most heavily
partisan and foreign policy and social issues were the least partisan.
Many of the least loyal Democrats were from the South and the least loyal
Republicans were from the East. Southern Democrats often voted more frequently
with Republicans than with Northern Democrats, forming an informal ‘‘conserva-
tive coalition.’’ Yet, the very diversity of the Democratic Party may have been the
key to the party’s long-term electoral dominance.
Mayhew (1966) argued that House Democrats were the party of ‘‘inclusive
compromise.’’ The Republicans, with a much narrower ideological base, were the
party of ‘‘exclusive compromise,’’ destined to maintain minority status.
Miller and Stokes (1963) earlier showed that the connections between legislators’
votes and constituency attitudes were frequently weak because members of
Congress often misperceived public opinion. Most studies reported at best
 comparative legislative behavior 463

moderate correlations between legislators’ votes and public opinion. Achen (1975)
corrected the Miller–Stokes constituency opinions for measurement error and
found much stronger correlations with legislators’ votes.
Fenno (1978) argued that legislators focus not on just one constituency (the
entire district), but have multiple masters. Of particular importance is the reelec-
tion constituency—mostly comprised of fellow partisans. Using data on public
opinion derived from statewide exit polls in the states (Erikson, Wright, and
McIver 1993) for both the full constituency (the state) and the reelection constitu-
ency (fellow state partisans), Uslaner (1999) showed that Senators respond primar-
ily to their fellow partisans—and that there is generally a close correspondence
between their own ideology and that of their reelection constituencies. His Wndings
mirror Kingdon’s (1973) analysis of House members’ explanations for their voting
behavior: the ‘‘Weld of forces’’ members face on roll calls—constituency opinion,
interest group pressure, leadership mobilization, the administration, fellow mem-
bers, their staV, and their own values—mostly have the bare minimum of conXict.
This strikes a key blow at both the notion that legislators ‘‘shirk’’ their constituents
in favor of their party or their own ideology—or that members must adopt either a
delegate or a trustee role.
Yet, there remains tension between party and constituency demands. Members
of Congress expanded their electoral base beyond their own partisans in the 1960s
and 1970s by developing a strong ‘‘personal vote’’ apart from party identiWcation.
They attracted support across party lines through a combination of bringing back
projects to the district, personal attention to constituents and their problems, and
the ability to raise large amounts of money for their campaigns (Fiorina 1977;
Jacobson and Kernell 1983). During the period of weak partisanship, the two major
parties’ constituencies were not ideologically polarized. However, even as the party
coalitions began to diverge more sharply in presidential politics in the 1970s, the
rise in candidate-centered (as opposed to party-centered) campaigns shielded
congressional incumbents from national tides favoring one party or another
(Brady and Hahn 2004).
Members of Congress focused on developing ‘‘home styles’’ to convince con-
stituents that they were ‘‘one of them.’’ Members use these ‘‘home styles’’ to
broaden their bases of support—and they generally treat issues gingerly because
ideological appeals may repel some constituents. Legislators do claim that they
have power in Washington, but they are hardly above tearing down the institution
to make themselves look good (Fenno 1978, 245–6). Much as Wilson feared a
century earlier, ‘‘running for Congress by running against Congress’’ leads to a
lack of concern for the collective good of the institution.
Members care more about their own electoral fates than about how well their
party does—the reelection rates for the House now approach 100 percent while
Senators fare less well but still prevail in about 85 percent of their races. Even in the
Democratic debacle of 1994, when the party lost control of both houses (losing the
464 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

House for the Wrst time since 1954), 84 percent of Democratic Representatives
seeking an additional term won (Jacobson 2004, 23). By developing home styles
that focus on members’ character and service to the district, incumbents have
largely insulated themselves against national political tides—and even congres-
sional performance. The level of gridlock (or stalemate) in Congress, Binder (2003,
110) reports, has little eVect on the reelection prospects of incumbents.

3 The Rise and Fall in Partisanship:

Institutional and Behavioral
Explanations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Cox and McCubbins (1993) argue that other ‘‘new institutionalists’’ have under-
estimated the impact of parties in Congress. Even during periods of strong
committees, parties played a key role in shaping committee membership—and
party leaders rarely lost votes on the Xoor when pitted against recalcitrant
committee leaders. Poole and Rosenthal (1997) also argue that legislative voting
has always been unidimensional. This single dimension encompasses both ideology
and partisanship (Poole and Rosenthal 1997, 6)—so models focusing on ideology
and models focusing on party are actually examining the same thing using diVerent
terms.
Most analysts still stand by the argument that American legislative parties were
weak for much of the twentieth century, even as Brady and Hahn (2004) argue that
American political life has normally been highly partisan and that the weak party
era was exceptional rather than the norm. There is also general agreement that
partisanship in the 1960s and especially the 1970s was much lower than normal.
Beginning in 1981 with the inauguration of the Reagan administration, partisanship
increased more dramatically and has continued to grow almost unabated (Rohde
1991, 51). Partisanship has now reached levels not seen in the Congress since the era
of Czar rule (marked by an all-powerful Speaker) in the House at the turn of the
century.
The major institutional explanations focus on structural reforms in the House of
Representatives in the 1970s. The ‘‘Subcommittee Bill of Rights’’ transferred power
from full committees to subcommittees. The initiation of electronic voting
increased amending activity sharply. Party leaders also gained power at the expense
of committees: the Speaker was given greater control over assigning members to
committees and over referring bills to committees. There was also an expanded
 comparative legislative behavior 465

leadership system in the House that gave the Speaker and his aides more informa-
tion. These reforms weakened most norms, especially courtesy, reciprocity,
and institutional patriotism (Sinclair 1989; Smith 1989)—and placed greater
power in the hands of both the party leaders and junior members. Three Southern
committee chairs were removed from their positions in 1975 by the House Demo-
cratic caucus, one of the Wrst steps in the move toward stronger parties. An even
bigger boost in partisanship occcured in 1995, when the Republicans took control
of Congress. Committees became much less independent of party leadership—the
Speaker and his allies now control the committee appointment process, committee
chairs are limited to three terms, and party renegades have found themselves
relegated to minor committees and unable to advance within the party (Evans
and Oleszek 1997). Recalcitrant committees faced the prospect that the leadership
would take favored legislation out of their jurisdictions to be handled by special
‘‘task forces’’ appointed by the Speaker.
Strong party institutions and weaker committees, these institutional accounts
argue, provide the foundation for greater partisanship on the part of the rank and
Wle. Members of Congress will be more likely to toe the party line when parties are
stronger. Demonstrating the eVects of strong leadership on legislative voting is not
so simple. Krehbiel (1993) argues that party inXuence in legislative voting is a
mirage. Partisanship in legislative voting is simply a proxy for members’ own
ideologies—Democrats are more liberal, Republicans are more conservative.
As each party becomes more homogenous, partisan polarization in the legislature
increases. Finding an independent eVect for leadership mobilization is elusive. On
precisely those issues that are most important to the parties, the leaders make the
greatest eVorts to mobilize their bases. What appears to be strong mobilization by
leaders is really little more than homogenous preferences among followers—real
party pressure would involve voting for a bill favored by the leadership even when
the member does not agree with it. Without information about members’ ‘‘true
preferences,’’ there is no way to verify this claim.
There have been a few studies that attempt to get past this conondrum: Sinclair
(2001) examines the selection of procedural rules in the House of Representatives
from 1987 to 1996. She Wnds that majority party members are more likely to vote for
the rule than for the bill—especially when the rule restricts the freedom of the
minority. Ansolabehere, Snyder, and Stewart (2001) use surveys of candidate
attitudes to obtain independent measures of policy preferences and show that the
legislators’ party shapes voting on roll calls even beyond the eVect of member
attitudes. Neither of these studies, however, measure leadership eVects directly.
Perhaps the only studies that get directly at leadership eVects are Kingdon (1973)
and Burden and Frisby (2004). Kingdon asked members of the House what factors
shaped their roll call voting right after the legislators cast their ballots.
He conducted his study in the weak party era (1969), so it is no surprise that
he reported (Kingdon 1973, 121): ‘‘the sanctions [of party leaders] are not very
466 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

eVective, simply because many congressmen care more about voting as they see Wt,
either for ideological or political reasons, than about the risk of negative party
sanctions. Members repeatedly voiced perfect willingness to defy the leadership
and take whaetever consequences might come.’’ Burden and Frisby examine
previously private Democratic whip counts in 1971–2 (also the weak party era) to
see if party pressure can switch votes. These data have preferences before party
eVorts and on the votes on the House Xoor. Only a small share of votes were
changed. Consistent with Krehbiel’s (1993) argument, there was general agreement
within the Democratic Party (even during this period of relatively low cohesion) on
the sixteen bills analyzed.
One key problem with these institutional approaches beyond the diYculty in
establishing party leader eVects is that the structural reforms that many posit as key
to the rise in partisanship and polarization were restricted to the House of
Representatives. Polarization increased in both the House and the Senate (Binder
2003; Brady and Hahn 2004; Poole and Rosenthal 1997; Uslaner 1993). The Senate
was not the subject for widespread structural change at any point during the past
fifty years—yet the trends in party polarization almost exactly mirror those of the
House. This should not be so surprising: About 120 years ago Wilson (1967, 152–3)
wrote (even as the Senate was still not directly elected): ‘‘there is a ‘latent unity’
between the Senate and the House, which makes continued antagonism between
them next to impossible. . . . The Senate and the House are of diVerent origins, but
virtually of the same nature.’’
A more behavioral approach focuses on changes outside the legislature—mostly
in the electorate. Cohesive Xoor voting as well as party driven role conceptions and
institutional choices are seen as the result of common ideologies and shared values
that become manifest in strong party structures at the social level. This, in turn, is
seen as the result of historical and antecedent cultural factors such as the strength
of localism in society or the pattern of cleavages underlying the party system.
Cooper and Brady (1981) argue that partisanship in the United States varies over
time in a cylical fashion. When partisan and constituency ties overlap (as under
Czar rule and from the 1980s to the present), parties will be strong. When they do
not (as in the 1940s through the 1960s), parties will be weak. Rohde (1991) argues
that the Voting Rights Act (VRA) of 1965 was the turning point leading to stronger
parties in the United States. By enfranchising African-Americans in the South, the
VRA pushed white Southern conservatives into the Republican Party (where they
now predominate) and made the Southern Democratic Party largely African-
American (and liberal). As the Republican Party moved right, the Democrats
became dominant in formerly Republican areas such as the northeast and the
parties polarized. Rohde’s (1991, 35–6) argument, following upon Cooper and
Brady, is called ‘‘conditional party government:’’ ‘‘instead of strong party leaders
being the cause of high party cohesion, cohesive parties are the main precondition
for strong leadership.’’
 comparative legislative behavior 467

While American congressmen seem to move toward the European pattern of

legislative behavior, there are signs that their European colleagues are focusing less
on parties and more on individual member initiative. European legislatures have
reallocated resources to the beneWt of individual MPs. Personal staV has increased
in many legislatures since the late 1960s. In 1969, the German Bundestag bestowed
German members of parliament with a moderate budget that can be used to
employ staV or to pay for oYce expenses. Since then the Wgure has increased
substantially. When the number of districts in Germany was reduced from 328 to
298 prior to the 2002 election, parts of the savings were used to increase the budget
of individual MPs (Saalfeld 2002, 59). Similar reallocations of resources have also
been reported regarding other European legislatures (Gladdish 1990).
European MPs take constituency communication and constituency services
more seriously. Cain, Ferejohn, and Fiorina (1984) showed over two decades ago
that paying attention to constituencies through weekly surgeries (among other
things) did have a payoV in a ‘‘personal vote’’ for British MPs. Norton reports more
recently that newly elected British MPs increasingly took up residence in their
constituencies and spent more time there compared to their older colleagues
(Norton 2002, 25).
Carey and Shugart (1995) and Norris (2004, ch. 10), pinpoint the ballot structure
as the most important incentive to cultivate a personal vote and to stress constitu-
ency rather than party. Some European countries such as the Netherlands and
Sweden apply Xexible list systems which provide incentives to forge a closer link
between constituents and MPs. This ballot form allows voters to move candidates
up the list and to ignore the rank order as determined by party elites. However,
factors such as a large district size counter-balance the initial eVect of the ballot
structure towards personalization.
The UK has a single member district with plurality elections system that is
similar to the one in the United States. It should act as an incentive to cultivate a
direct bond between MPs and constituents, since there is greater accountability
than in a multimember proportional representation system. This works regarding
service responsiveness to some respect but it obviously does not aVect party
discipline in the House of Commons and the predominance of party structures
in this parliament. One might assume that the British parliamentary system as well
as the social environment counter-balances the eVects of the electoral system.
Bogdanor (1985, 193) sees this districting system as an empty vessel because it
does not allow voters choices between diVerent party candidates like in Xexible list
systems. An extra device is needed, such as the primary, if they are to provide for
the choice of a candidate.
There are other signs of greater independence for legislators in parliamentary
systems as well: European national parliaments have experienced increases in
individual member initiatives such as questions to the government (Gladdish
1990). Patzelt (1997) argues that European MPs are no longer simply torn between
468 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

party and constituency. Instead, they are increasingly using their new resources
to assert their own inXuence within the party—and with independent policy
networks. Legislators are now increasingly becoming policy specialists (Searing
1994).

4 Consequences of Changes in
Partisanship
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

We see two trends moving in opposite directions: stronger partisanship with a

closer linkage between party and constituency in the United States; and declining
partisanship and a weakening of historically strong bonds between parties and their
followers in many other places, especially in Europe.
The polarization of constituents along partisan lines in the United States,
together with the decline in competitive congressional districts, has heightened
the level of partisan conXict in Congress. Even though voters began to sort
themselves out ideologically (and by party) as early as the 1960s, it was not until
the 1980s that voters’ partisanship and ideological identiWcation began to correlate
strongly with their votes for Congress (Jacobson 2004, 248–52; Brady and Hahn
2004). As older members who were out of step with their constituents (especially
Southern Democrats) retired, their replacements were much more ideologically in
tune—and relied less on a ‘‘personal’’ than an ideological (party) vote to get
reelected.
Wilson argued that the weakness of the American party system, especially
in comparison to stronger parties in Europe, meant less governmental responsi-
bility and a reduced capacity for informed policy-making. The stronger partisan-
ship, measured by both roll call voting and the strength of congressional party
leadership (especially at the expense of committee leaders), would have led a
‘‘resuscitated’’ Wilson to rejoice. He would see a political system that has a stronger
capacity for policy-making.
Yet, there remain institutional obstacles to legislative productivity, even as
congressional parties behave in the manner of their majoritarian counterparts in
congressional systems. An institutional factor that observers from Wilson onward
have long believed to hinder the enactment of legislation is divided government.
Even as the electorate has become more polarized since the 1980s, it has also shown
a tendency to give both parties at least some share of the legislative and executive
branches. From 1981 to 2006, there has been divided control of government 77
 comparative legislative behavior 469

percent of the time. With high levels of polarization, this should be a recipe for
legislative stalemate. Yet, Mayhew (1991) argues that divided government does not
aVect the number of major laws passed in Congress. Binder (2003, ch. 4), however,
argues that Mayhew’s simple count of major laws does not take into account the
size of the congressional agenda—and her measure of gridlock, which is the share
of legislation on the nation’s agenda (as determined by daily editorials in the
New York Times) that does not pass, is strongly shaped by divided control of
the legislative and executive branches. Conley (2003) provides a more nuanced
view of structural factors: In the era of weak parties, divided government had no
signiWcant eVect on the president’s success in getting his agenda enacted by
Congress. Only since party polarization has increased does divided government
matter. As the level of partisanship has increased, the capacity for policy-making
has decreased. Legislative stalemate became more frequent as party polarization
rose (Binder 2003, 80). This polarization, among both elites and the public, has led
to the waning of the norms that helped promote legislative policy-making in
Congress (Uslaner 1993).
In European parliamentary systems, party voting remains as high as ever. The
European Parliament is a diVerent story: Members of the European Parliament
(MEPs) overwhelmingly stick with their national parties, but are more likely to
defect from their European party group. Even though this defection level is not
high (about 13 percent from July 1999 to June 2000), voting contrary to one’s
European party was greatest when: (1) the electoral system for an MEP is candi-
date-centered and decentralized; and (2) there is policy conXict between European
and the national party (Hix 2004).
Increased citizen demands for more responsiveness stimulated MPs to provide
more opportunities for direct communication and interaction (Saalfeld 2002;
Norton 2002, 180). Changes in technological opportunity structures decrease the
costs of constituency communication and also remove practical obstacles in linking
MPs and their constituents, bypassing political parties (Zittel 2003). Last but not
least, the weakness of political parties themselves, their loss of membership, and the
erosion of their social roots raises serious questions regarding the future of party
government in European democracies.
Ironically, even though norms of cooperation have not been a major focus of
parliamentary systems, there is at least anecdotal evidence (from British Labour
MP Tony Colman to the senior author) that incivility has become a problem. In a
chamber where booing and hissing have long been part of the legislative show, it is
ironic that Europe and the United States are both experiencing more hostile
legislative chambers, even as one becomes more partisan and the other less ruled
by parties.
We know much about what American legislators do outside of Congress and
what members in parliamentary systems (especially in Europe) do inside the
legislature. Future research should help us understand what we don’t know. In
470 eric m. uslaner & thomas zittel

parliamentary systems, we should shift our emphasis away from roll calls toward
behavior such as campaign strategies, constituency service, and constituency com-
munication, or the use of parliamentary privileges such as asking questions to
ministers. These are less visible and less consequential activities that will help us
understand the weakening of parliamentary parties. In the United States, the key
puzzle is over the ‘‘real’’ power of party leaders. Can leaders change members’ votes
in more than a handful of cases? These questions, mixing quantitative research with
the more intensive qualitative designs of Fenno (1973) and Kingdon (1973)—and
perhaps also a greater focus on state legislatures—will help us understand
why congressional parties are growing stronger and parliamentary parties are
becoming weaker.

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 chapter 24
...................................................................................................................................................

BICAMERALISM
...................................................................................................................................................

john uhr

The term ‘‘bicameralism’’ refers to legislative institutions with two chambers

sharing legislative powers. In bicameral assemblies, both Wrst and second (or
lower and upper) chambers play a role in consenting to proposed laws, although
not necessarily equally. First chambers in parliamentary systems tend to have
primary legislative responsibility, particularly for taxation and government budget-
ing, but also in relation to votes of conWdence in the political executive (Diermeier
and Feddersen 1998). Of course, there are interesting exceptions; for every rule of
bicameral relationships, there are important qualiWcations, and plenty of debates
over the qualities of bicameral institutions. Bicameralism has a very long history,
leading many commentators to treat it not simply as predemocratic but as anti-
democratic—on the evidence that upper houses have traditionally represented
‘‘upper classes’’ of privileged minority interests. Interestingly, many modern
upper houses have taken their name from the anti-democratic Roman Senate
(Patterson and Mughan 1999). Yet many political institutions with origins in the
distant past can be adapted to take on new tasks. Bicameralism provides interesting
examples of such institutional makeovers.
There is no one model of bicameralism in political practice and so there is
unlikely to be one political theory of bicameralism. As a topic in contemporary
political science, bicameralism is surprisingly under-researched and is quite
under-theorized. Bicameralism has rightly been called ‘‘a concept in search of a

* My thanks to the editors for helpful criticism of earlier drafts and also to Stanley Bach, Mike
Pepperday, Kevin TuYn, and John Wanna.
 bicameralism 475

theory’’ (Smith 2003, 3). A useful preliminary step is to recognize the two families
of bicameralism exempliWed in the existing literature by the contrasting models of
the British Westminster system and the US congressional system (Lijphart 1999,
200–15). Bicameralism is about more than the presence or absence of upper houses.
Bicameralism is about power-sharing relationships within political assemblies and
the various balances of political representation in parliamentary and presidential
regimes.
In this chapter, I review current research on bicameralism, arguing that there is
no one model of bicameralism and no one explanatory theory. Instead, contem-
porary bicameral systems blend ‘‘inheritance’’ and ‘‘innovation’’ to form distinctive
legislative arrangements of political representation. Inheritance here refers to the
continuity of past institutional arrangements, such as the traditional representa-
tion of hereditary peers in the British House of Lords. Innovation here refers to the
design of new institutional arrangements, such as the 1999 reforms under the Blair
government drastically to reduce the representation of hereditary peers by allowing
peers themselves to elect ninety-two of their own representatives to be retained in
the House of Lords. As this example suggests, the nature of upper house represen-
tation in a bicameral system can change in quite fundamental ways, preserving
elements of inherited practices blended in with new elements that alter the overall
mix with untested and in many cases unpredictable consequences. This example
also suggests that even the most enduring of bicameral systems are subject to
change, as for example the Belgian system in 1995 when moving towards federalism,
just as new unicameral systems, such as Indonesia today, can begin transformation
towards a bicameral system. Hence, one should be wary of sweeping generaliza-
tions about the current state of bicameralism given that the powers and practices of
bicameral legislatures are often under review and renovation.
Although bicameralism is often overlooked in scholarly literature, it is of consid-
erable policy importance with recent critics arguing that ‘‘bicameralism is an
eVective institution to strengthen liberal market forces’’ (Vatter 2005, 209;
cf. Castles and Uhr 2005). My analysis begins with some deWning issues, clarifying
the two main types of bicameralism as they appear in parliamentary and presidential
political systems. I then locate the common theoretical justiWcation for both forms
of bicameralism by reference to ‘‘redundancy theory.’’ The bulk of the chapter then
investigates the consequences for political systems of the presence of bicameralism,
investigating three contrasting accounts of ‘‘balance’’ attributed to bicameralism.
First, a brief mention of the historical account of ‘‘balance’’ derived from
premodern theories of the mixed regime which capture some of the institutional
dynamics of non-elective representation found in many older upper houses. Second,
a review of liberal constitutional accounts of bicameralism illustrating two comple-
mentary tendencies or institutional norms. The Wrst tendency has bicameralism
play negative roles by restraining the vices of majoritarianism (‘‘tyranny of the
majority’’) and restraining political activists (‘‘factions’’) threatening vulnerable
476 john uhr

interests. The second tendency has bicameralism promote more robust democratic
public deliberation through political participation by interested groups in civil
society. Most contemporary systems of bicameralism display both tendencies or
norms, resulting in degrees of institutional uncertainty about the ongoing balance of
negative and positive expectations. Third, examination of political science accounts
of strong and weak bicameralism, using contemporary data to help identify the
institutional characteristics of both of these ideal types of bicameralism. Once again,
many contemporary systems of bicameralism exist comfortably within these
notional extremes and are strong in some limited respects and weak in other limited
respects. My aim is not to provide an organizational chart of contemporary
bicameral assemblies but to help explain reasons for the remarkable diversity of
achievements across the family of bicameral systems.

1 The Rise and Fall of Bicameralism

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

As Philip Norton reports, there are more bicameral legislatures than we might
believe (Norton 2004). Around a third of the world’s legislatures are bicameral, and
around two-thirds of the world’s advanced democracies have bicameral
legislatures. The larger the democratic state, the greater the chance of bicameral-
ism; and the more federal the polity, the greater the likelihood of bicameralism.
Eighteen of the world’s twenty-two federal countries (all except the very smallest)
have bicameral legislatures where the second house represents regions, provinces,
or states, and the Wrst house represents overall population. Non-federal or unitary
countries are fairly evenly divided between bicameral and single chamber (or
unicameral) legislatures (Lijphart 1999, 202–3). In addition to unicameral and
bicameral legislatures, there are rare additional types with more than two
chambers. Historically, three or four chambers are not unknown, each representing
a distinct class or social ‘‘estate.’’ There are also examples of parliaments, such as
that of Norway, which are elected as one body (the Storting) but subsequently
reconvene as two chambers (the smaller Lagting and the larger Odelsting) when
conducting legislative business.
But bicameralism is far from universal. Whatever its theoretical virtues, many
nations have turned their backs on it as a practical guide to everyday politics; and
many policy analysts have argued that bicameralism is an obstacle to social
democracy and ‘‘a signiWcant brake on government intervention and on the
expansion of the welfare state’’ (Vatter 2005, 209). Examples of nations which
have rejected bicameral systems in favour of unicameral systems include:
New Zealand in 1950, Denmark in 1953, Sweden in 1970, Iceland in 1991, Peru in
 bicameralism 477

1993, and Scotland in 1999. Many of these are examples of ‘‘two into one’’ stories,
where the discarded upper houses were typically less democratic than their lower
houses: often with restricted franchises and narrower qualiWcations for member-
ship, usually with considerable powers over legislation, and sometimes selected by
appointment rather than election (Longley and Olson 1991). Much like the trad-
itional House of Lords in the UK, many European upper houses survived, in J. S.
Mill’s words, simply to provide those with ‘‘conventional rank and individual
riches’’ the opportunity to ‘‘overawe the democracy’’ arising below them (Mill
1984, 356). In the famous language of French revolutionary activist Abbe Sieyes,
where upper houses agree they are superXuous and where they disagree they are
mischievous—primarily because they paralyze the will of the people as represented
in the more democratic lower house (quoted in Russell 2000, 79).
Also relevant is the slow but steady rejection of bicameralism at the sub-national
level in such advanced liberal democracies as Canada, which saw its last provincial
upper house abolished in 1968, and whose national senate is formally very powerful
but of uncertain public legitimacy because members are appointed rather than
elected (Marriott 1910, 131–52; Smith 2003, 3). Democratic constitutions, like the
revised Belgium constitution of 1995, typically restrict the powers of upper houses
over Wnancial bills, and this widespread restriction reXects the primacy of lower
houses as ‘‘the people’s chamber’’ and the preferred site of government and home of
the political executive (Wheare 1968, 140–1; Lijphart 1999, 205–6). There are very few
examples over the last fifty years of nations with unicameral systems adopting
bicameralism (Lijphart 1999, 201–3). Unicameralism deserves its own distinctive
theory of the model legislature. Nebraska is the only US state to have rejected
bicameralism and it did so because ‘‘experience has shown that the check exerted
by a second chamber is often only nominal, seldom results in good, and is occa-
sionally detrimental to the public welfare’’ (Johnson 1938, 93; cf. Binder 2003, 127).
Yet despite this history, bicameral legislatures remain a prominent feature of the
international political scene. Although approximately one-third of the legislatures
of the world are bicameral, around two-thirds of democratic national legislatures
are bicameral. Federalism suggests one reason: the second chamber acting as a
states house or representative of the regions. But even half of the unitary demo-
cratic states have bicameral legislatures, and further, many sub-national democratic
legislatures are bicameral (Lijphart 1999, 201–3). Although it is notable that many
small nations have unicameral legislatures, the adoption of bicameralism cannot be
explained solely by reference to federalism: only around a third of bicameral
assemblies are located in federal systems (Patterson and Mughan 1999, 10).
No special representative function such as regional representation is necessarily
required: instead, bicameralism ‘‘can be justiWed as a protection against electoral
excesses,’’ with the upper house serving a ‘‘protective role’’ much like ‘‘all genuine
insurance facilities’’ (Brennan and Lomasky 1993, 214–15; Patterson and Mughan
1999, 3).
478 john uhr

2 Defining Issues
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Studies of bicameralism typically focus on the role of second or upper chambers

and on institutional relationships between the two chambers. The convention in
parliamentary studies is to regard the upper chamber as ‘‘secondary’’ compared to
the Wrst or lower chamber, on the basis that the Wrst chamber is ‘‘lower’’ in the sense
of closer to the people, with a scheme of representation credited with being more
democratic because it reXects the population at large rather than geographical
regions or social minorities. Within particular national settings, two houses might
have similar legislative powers but, even in these rare situations of similar legal
powers, the two houses will rarely have similar schemes of representation. Italy is
one important exception, with both parliamentary houses arranged to represent
similar interests and even sharing similar powers—this unusual duplication of
interests and powers helps explain the comparative weakness of what on paper
appears a very strong upper house (Lijphart 1999, 205–11; Russell 2000, 29, 50, 82).
The practical power of an upper house depends less on the forms of legislative
power available to it and more on the substance of public support for its role in the
national legislative system, reXecting the wider political and public legitimacy
attached to its distinctive scheme of representation. Even unelected or indirectly
elected second chambers with limited legislative powers can exercise great policy
power. This situation has been termed ‘‘Cicero’s puzzle,’’ referring to the power able
to be deployed by upper houses in the face of constitutional pre-eminence of lower
houses (Tsebelis and Money 1995, 126).
The convention about the ‘‘secondary-ness’’ of second houses does not hold
for legislative studies across the board: many upper houses in non-parliamentary
or presidential systems (e.g. the US Senate and upper houses in the US states) are
rarely if ever regarded as secondary. This goes well beyond the sphere of US
politics because the US provides ‘‘the model on which Latin American constitu-
tions have been based’’ (Llanos and Nolte 2003, 55). Upper houses in presidential
systems share many of the attributes of upper houses in parliamentary systems—
typically smaller than lower houses (the House of Lords is a rare exception), with
constitutional restrictions on powers over public Wnance, but with longer terms
than lower house members, often arranged through a staggered election cycle.
These diVerences in schemes of representation do not necessarily render non-
parliamentary (or congressional) upper houses ‘‘secondary.’’ Thus, not all forms
of bicameralism are alike; indeed, not even all forms of parliamentary or
congressional bicameralism are alike. Bicameralism is a term of convenience
covering a great variety of types of legislatures comprising two chambers, with
the powers of upper chambers and their relationships to lower chambers varying
across and within parliamentary and presidential systems. Then there are the
crossovers: the so-called ‘‘semi-presidential’’ systems (Lijphart 1999, 121–4).
 bicameralism 479

French bicameralism, for example, combines elements of both parliamentary and

presidential systems, with the upper house representing the regions and poten-
tially a third force under circumstances of ‘‘cohabitation’’ when the presidency
and the lower house are under opposing political parties—and very powerful
when, for instance in the late 1970s, supporting president Giscard against
mutual opponents in the lower house (Tsebelis and Money 1995, 124–5; Russell
2000, 87–9).
Most of the early political science studies of bicameralism focused solely on the
formal constitutional role served by upper houses (e.g. Marriott 1910; Bryce 1921).
The most important theme of this early wave of research is the recognition that the
public value claimed for bicameralism derives from diVerences between the two
houses’ schemes of political representation. At the foundation of modern studies of
bicameralism is the claim that bicameralism implies that the two legislative bodies
embody diversity rather than duplication of political representation.
Germany provides one example, with the lower house elected by the people and
the upper house appointed by state governments (Konig 2001). An older example is
the diVerence in rules over representation for members of the two houses of the US
legislature. Federalism explains some of these diVerences in the architecture of
representation (e.g. equality of state representation regardless of population size),
but many other diVerences reXect a deeper commitment to structural diversity in
the logics of representation embodied by each house: for example, the US Consti-
tution provides that the Senate will be considerably smaller than the House of
Representatives, stipulates a higher minimum age for senators (followed in
diVerent ways by Canada, India, Mexico, France, Italy, among others), grants
senators longer terms (three times that of House members), and puts them on a
staggered election cycle, with a third being elected each House election. Structural
diVerences in representation between two houses are a common feature of the
institutional logic of bicameralism (Russell 2000, 25–33).
By contrast, recent studies of bicameralism tend to take a diVerent perspective,
turning away from the public law dimension of constitutional norms to examine
public decision-making dimensions of constitutional practice. Although this new
perspective is not conWned to rational choice analysis, many of the most inXuential
contributions have used techniques of formal modeling drawn from
game-theoretic analysis and mathematical models of politics (see generally Tsebelis
1995; Tsebelis and Money 1997; Diermeier and Feddersen 1998; Tsebelis 2002).
Skimming over many subtle variations in emphasis in this new generation of
bicameral studies, I want to note one important common element—which is the
inclusion of the institutional interests of the political executive in the current
analysis of bicameralism. Analysts of bicameralism frequently chart the many
ways that bicameralism can aVect the strategy of policy choice open to political
executives. This is a fresh contribution to an old story about the institutional
design of the separation of powers in modern representative government. Where
480 john uhr

many traditional studies conWned themselves to examinations of two institutions

managing legislative power, contemporary studies of bicameralism reach out to
include the institutional management of legislative–executive relationships. The
turn to formal modeling in bicameral studies is not necessarily an alternative to
more traditional public law approaches. But instead of sorting through the many
variations in bicameralism in order to identify desirable constitutional norms of
intercameral comity, a game-theoretic analysis subjects bicameralism to a consid-
erably more demanding examination of institutional logic framing the political
executive’s political management of those wielding legislative power. Formal mod-
eling brings the promise of greater political realism by dealing-in the single political
actor with the greatest public power: the chief political executive (Bottom, Eavey,
Miller, and Victor 2000; Ansolabehere, Snyder, and Ting 2003).
What does bicameralism begin to look like when the analysis turns from a
preoccupation with constitutional norms to a focus on executive management of
legislative power? To anticipate: bicameralism emerges as a cluster of veto points
allowing political representatives to restructure the legislative process and to
reframe the options open to political executives. This systematic analysis of execu-
tive–legislative relations can reveal many of the very practical consequences posed
by bicameralism, including many unintended consequences (Binder 2003, 12–33).
Formal modeling of bicameralism drew initially on case studies from presidential
(or congressional) systems of government (see e.g. Hammond and Miller 1987;
Miller, Hammond, and Kile 1996; but see also Tsebelis and Rasch 1995; Konig 2001).
Although many presidential systems have bicameral legislatures, one promising
way to explain bicameral relationships within the legislature is to begin with the
fact that executive power is separated from the legislature. Executive power is held
by a president supported by a public mandate independent of the legislature. By
comparison, many parliamentary systems with bicameral legislatures place execu-
tive power in the hands of the leader of the political party or grouping able to
command the political support and formal conWdence of parliament—or at least of
its lower house, given that the ‘‘Wrst chamber is always the most important one’’
(Lijphart 1999, 201). The division of legislatures according to two broad types of
political regime (parliamentary and presidential) means that bicameralism divides
into two broad types, illustrating two diVerent families of relationships between
bicameral legislatures and political executives. Parliamentary systems display tugs
of war between the chamber housing the political executive (the lower house) and
the upper house. Presidential systems display a diVerent set of institutional dy-
namics. There is still a struggle between the two legislative houses but it tends to
deal more openly with disputes over the use and abuse of legislative powers—rather
than disputes over the use and abuse of executive powers as displayed in parlia-
mentary systems. Both systems display bicameral policy bickering, but in presi-
dential systems the legislative bickering is over each chamber’s policy priorities,
whereas in parliamentary systems the legislative bickering is over each chamber’s
 bicameralism 481

view of the appropriateness of the policy priorities of the political executive,

which initiates the vast bulk of parliamentary legislation (Diermeier and Feddersen
1998).
With some exceptions (e.g. Tsebelis and Rasch 1995; Tsebelis and Money 1995),
studies of parliamentary bicameralism have been less forthright about the place of
the political executive in deWning the scope of bicameralism. This is not surprising
given the prevailing if polite Wction that these political systems are examples of
parliamentary rather than prime-ministerial government. Unlike presidential
systems, parliamentary systems are traditionally ruled by a shared or collegial
political executive under a system known as ‘‘cabinet government’’ (Lijphart
1999, 118). But in the wake of the steady rise of executive power concentrated in
chief ministers, a debate has arisen about the ‘‘presidentialization’’ of the role of
parliamentary heads of government. This debate is covered in Chapter 17 in this
volume and its relevance here is limited to the changing terms in debates
over parliamentary forms of bicameralism. Before the rise of debates over parlia-
mentary presidencies, political debates over parliamentary bicameralism were
about intercameral roles and responsibilities in sharing legislative power. But
increasingly, with the growth of prime-ministerial control over executive powers,
public debate over bicameralism has changed in important ways from one primar-
ily about the roles of upper houses in managing legislative power to include debate
about the role of upper houses in managing executive power. This change reXects
increasing awareness of the political executive as the driving force in the parliament-
ary process. As chief political executives take greater control over the parliament-
ary process, public debates over the value of upper houses turn from traditional
preoccupations about their legislative capacities to new preoccupations about their
capacities to balance growing executive power with new forms of parliamentary
and public accountability.
Finally, in this review of basic deWning issues in the study of bicameralism, I
note that concepts of tricameralism and even multicameralism have emerged as
ways of explaining the inXuence of the political executive over legislatures (see,
e.g., Levmore 1992; Tsebilis 2002, 141–5). An example of de facto tricameralism
arises from the legislative power exercised by the US president authorized by the
constitutional veto over bills passed by Congress: Legislation thus requires the
consent of three potential ‘‘veto-players,’’ if we include in this deWnition of
tricameralism the House, the Senate, and the president. Analysts of tricameralism
are advocates of realism: in the context of presidential studies, they are widening
the focus to include all holders of legislative power, including presidents with
constitutional power to veto legislation emerging from the institutional struggle
between the two houses of the legislature. The realist call for a tricameral
approach has also begun to arise in studies of parliamentary bicameralism,
acknowledging the institutional struggle between those wielding executive and
legislative power. But again we see interesting diVerences between parliamentary
482 john uhr

and presidential studies. Analysts of presidential systems note the power of the
executive to negate legislative outcomes, whereas analysts of parliamentary sys-
tems note the power of the executive to initiate and control parliamentary
outcomes—and the power of upper houses to use their legislative power to try
to negate or modify executive schemes. An example of the acknowledgment of
tricameralism in a parliamentary context is Reid and Forrest’s ‘‘trinitarian’’
framework (political executive, lower house, upper house) for investigating the
institutional relationships embedded in the Australian constitutional setting
(Reid and Forrest 1989). Reid’s analysis makes good sense of Australia’s famous
1975 constitutional crisis when the opposition-controlled Senate refused to pass
the budget of the Whitlam Labor government, provoking the governor-general to
dismiss the government (despite its majority in the lower house) and install the
opposition as caretaker government, pending a general election for all members
of both houses (a so-called ‘‘double dissolution’’ election), which the opposition
comfortably won (Bach 2003, 83–119).

3 Bicameralism as Redundancy
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Before we examine the consequences of bicameralism for democratic politics, we

should pay some attention to the causes or drivers of bicameralism. The intellectual
and institutional history of bicameralism has generated ‘‘one of the classic debates
in the history of political theory’’ (Vatter 2005, 194; see also Shell 2001). My focus
here is on the currents of political theory that have kept bicameralism alive, as a
matter for constitutional reXection as well as a political institution, and not on the
historical sources that brought it life in the Wrst place. The favorite model for
contemporary thinking about bicameralism is ‘‘redundancy theory’’ which helps
identify the institutional design considerations appropriate to the various forms of
bicameralism (Riker 1955; Landau 1969; Patterson and Mughan 1999). In theories of
institutional design, as in many parts of engineering, redundancy is highly valued
as a reinforcement mechanism, or safeguard, in the event that systems fail to
operate as planned. For example, automobiles have front and rear brakes and
hand as well as foot-operated brake levers. While not all are strictly necessary for
ordinary motoring, the duplication and overlap can be positively beneWcial when,
as can happen, there is a system failure in one set of brakes or one set of brake
operators.
The beneWts of redundancy only come into play when the braking system is
designed as two or more parallel subsystems, allowing the second or apparently
 bicameralism 483

superXuous subsystem to perform independently of any malfunction in other

subsystems. What might at Wrst sight appear as over-engineering can then appear
as a prudent design because of the security it provides against malfunction in one
of two or more parallel systems. Federalism is a case in point where two or more
levels of government either duplicate services or, more likely, duplicate demand
for services and thereby strengthen the political accountability facing those
responsible for providing public services. Of course, there are many limits to
constructive redundancy. As federalism so often shows, accountability can go
missing when each level of government blames the other for preventing success-
ful delivery of public services. So too in bicameralism: the parties
dominating each chamber can also play the blame game, trying to avoid
public accountability for their decisions or even their non-decisions.
Landau’s challenge still stands: ‘‘the task remains to learn to distinguish between
ineYcient redundancies and those that are constructive and reinforcing’’
(Landau 1969, 356).
Over recent years, rational choice analysts have taken up the cause of bicam-
eralism (see, e.g., Hammond and Miller 1987; Brennan and Hamlin 2000, 234–54).
One valuable contribution that this school provides to redundancy theory is a
richer explanation of how bicameral diversity of political representation diVers
from situations with duplicated representation. Bicameral diversity can overcome
the policy instability associated with the cycling of alternative preferences often
found in systems of majority rule, with no stable core of majority preferences.
Bicameralism provides considerable evidence of the relevance of ‘‘the core’’ as ‘‘a
basic concept in social science theory and cooperative game theory’’ (Tsebelis and
Rasch 1995, 379). Thus, one of the primary consequences of bicameralism is said to
be relatively greater stability in legislative decision-making, with Wnal decisions
hard to arrive at, but also very hard to overturn. The eVects are held to be
important to democratic government: In the language of Buchanan and Tulloch,
bicameralism is an important ‘‘stopping mechanism’’ able to diminish ‘‘external
costs’’ imposed by well-organized factions (Levmore 1992, 145–7). In this view,
minorities are less capable of hijacking government decisions when governments
are forced to muster majorities across two sites of legislative decision-making,
provided that the two sites are diVerently constituted and that each site of
law-making power can exercise a veto power over proposals initiated by
those controlling the other house or the initiating government. By examining the
nature of ‘‘the bargaining game’’ between two houses, analysts can reveal the
public beneWts of dispersed political power with, in eVect, requirements for
supramajority voting in order to mobilize political support across the two
houses or sites.
The most detailed case studies of legislative redundancy tend to come from
presidential rather than parliamentary systems, and they identify many of
the ways that redundancy diVers from duplication. Redundancy in political
484 john uhr

representation can involve two complementary systems of representation, with

each legislative house drawing on a particular range of representative interests.
‘‘In general, the diVerent chambers represent diVerent ‘principals’ or ‘legitima-
cies,’ that is, diVerent parts of the electorate or ways to represent the electorate’’
(Tsebelis 1995, 310). An example comes from Binder’s study of ‘‘stalemate’’ in the
US Congress, often wrongly attributed to episodes of ‘‘divided government’’—
referring to the division of policy priorities that occurs when the political
executive is of one party and the legislature is dominated by another party
(Binder 2003, 34–56). Institutional stalemate within Congress occurs even when
the legislative and executive branches are in the hands of the same political party.
The root cause is in the institutional design of the bicameral legislature as it has
developed historically, revealing its potential for persistent discord arising from
structural division in forms, even styles, of political representation between the
House and the Senate. The public policy preferences of each house reXect or at
least grow out of the diVerently-structured routines of representation, as exem-
pliWed by the House’s short election cycle dominating the careers of all members
in the one large chamber, and the Senate’s longer and staggered election cycle
reinforcing a less frenzied culture of electoral responsiveness in the smaller
chamber.
The fundamental point arising from Binder’s analysis of US ‘‘stalemate’’ is that
the formal constitutional provisions for bicameralism have given rise to contrast-
ing sets of rules of the game of institutional politics. Whatever the original
intentions, the eVect is that bicameralism has encouraged two sets of procedural
rules promoting two contrasting types of legislative processes, resulting more often
than not in deep-seated policy disagreements between the two houses. Even
political executives with party majorities in both legislative houses have to recon-
cile themselves to this burden of bicameralism (Binder 2003, 97–105). We can see
that one likely consequence of bicameralism is policy stability: Although the policy
process includes a complicated legislative procedure, once policy has been trans-
lated into law opponents of that policy face formidable obstacles when
they attempt to bring in alternative policies (Bottom, Eavey, Miller, and Victor
2000; Konig 2001; Tsebelis 2002, 143–9). In the language of formal political
analysis, bicameralism has ‘‘stability-inducing properties’’ which protect ‘‘the
core’’ of majority rule (i.e. ‘‘the set of un-dominated alternatives’’) from the
many instabilities found in unqualiWed forms of majority rule (Hammond
and Miller 1987; Miller, Hammond, and Kile 1996). But another possible
consequence is higher government debts, because governments have to include
beneWts for a wider range of political interests when negotiating under bicameral
circumstances and, consistent with the previous point about stability, beneWts once
given can rarely be retracted, even by incoming governments from opposed parties
(Heller 1997).
 bicameralism 485

4 Bicameralism as Balance
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Historically, the standard model for the stability attributed to bicameralism was
balanced government, implying that two chambers could bring desirable balance to
legislative decision-making. But what does ‘‘balance’’ mean in this context? This
question gets us into the heart of many of the most hotly contested disputes in the
theory and practice of bicameralism. Bicameral studies include many debates over
the claims of particular systems to meet tests of ‘‘balance,’’ but remarkably few
accounts of the benchmarks appropriate to sound judgments of balance in legis-
lative institutions. A traditional model of this approach to bicameral balance
emerged in classical theories of the mixed regime, with its idea of mixing or
blending diVerent classes and interests through distinct political institutions,
each with a role in policy-making and legislation. Bicameralism originally emerged
from this traditional interest in the balance of competing claims to rule exercised
by antagonistic groups. Aristotle’s ‘‘polity’’ provides students of bicameralism with
an inXuential model of a mixed regime with an institutional design blending
democracy and oligarchy in an arrangement of ‘‘dual deliberation’’ (Tsebelis and
Money 1997, 17–21). This classical model of bicameralism lacks liberalism’s consti-
tutional norms of popular sovereignty and limited government. The ancient model
resembles modern bicameralism in bringing together diverse political interests, but
it diVers by not testing the legitimacy of each legislative house by reference to the
one source of sovereignty in ‘‘the people.’’ Referring to ideal types, classical
bicameralism mixed competing sources of political authority; modern bicameral-
ism blends diVerent but complementary expressions of popular sovereignty: for
example, the people as ‘‘one people’’ and the people as state residents.
The distinctive character of ‘‘balance’’ arising out of liberal or modern bicam-
eralism can be seen in the constitutional doctrine justiWed in the Federalist Papers.
I will highlight two contrasting tendencies within the liberal doctrine of bicameral-
ism: one designed to restrain government and another designed to energize
government. Even the most systematic of game-theoretic approaches examine the
institutional design of liberal constitutionalists like the authors of the Federalist
Papers (see, e.g., Riker 1955, 452–5; Hammond and Miller 1987, 1157–8, 1169–70;
Miller, Hammond, and Kile 1996, 98; Tsebelis 2002, 140–1). This broad doctrine
defends bicameralism in two often contrasting ways: negatively, in terms of weak-
ening the tendency to abuse of power by political executives; and positively, in terms
of energizing and strengthening the deliberative process within the political assem-
bly. At their broadest, liberal doctrines of bicameralism deal with both tendencies as
a pair of supplementary measures for eVective representative government.
Of course, the practice of most bicameral assemblies tends to show the greater
inXuence of one or other of these two approaches. It is not uncommon for
486 john uhr

bicameral systems to remain in the negative mode of clamping down on executive

abuse of power, usually by using the second chamber as an accountability
mechanism to curb executive excesses, including excessive executive control over
the independence of the lower chamber. But there are examples of bicameral
systems moving over, at least from time to time, to the positive mode to promote
strengthened deliberative processes in the legislative assembly. Just as most
practical bicameral systems combine elements from both negative and positive
modes, so too liberal theories of bicameralism also combine both justiWcations.
The balance of justiWcation varies across theorists, but for present purposes
I can round out the negative mode as exempliWed in the inXuential eighteenth-
century constitutional doctrine of the Federalist Papers, and the positive mode
in the equally inXuential nineteenth-century liberal theory of John Stuart
Mill. Both articulations converge in favor of bicameralism and my present contrast
is not completely faithful to the rich detail both versions contain. Suitably warned
then about the provisional nature of this contrast, we can begin with the negative
mode so characteristic of eighteenth-century liberal constitutionalism (Mahoney
1986).
It is notable that the phrase ‘‘legislative balances and checks’’ appears early in the
Federalist Papers as an example of the modern science of politics unknown to ‘‘the
ancients’’ who, as we have seen, pursued a diVerent concept of institutional balance
(Fed 9; Tsebelis and Money 1997, 27–9). For Madison, the legislature is the delib-
erative assembly and the Senate, as the controversial second chamber in the
proposed US legislature, is justiWed in terms of the balance it brings to political
deliberation. Madison explains the merits of this second chamber by reference to
the limited deliberative capacity of the Wrst chamber. In Federalist 51, Madison
argues that in modern political regimes, legislative authority will tend to overpower
the authority of the other two branches of government (the political executive and
the judiciary). This overpowering tendency meant that the legislature itself should
be divided further into two sub-branches based on ‘‘diVerent modes of election and
diVerent principles of action,’’ with each sub-branch ‘‘as little connected with each
other’’ as possible in one branch of government. Madison’s liberal convictions are
apparent in Federalist 62 where he notes that this bicameral structure is a useful
precaution against ‘‘the facility and excess of law-making’’ which are ‘‘the diseases
to which our governments are most liable.’’ For Madison, the problem was that too
much concentrated power in one political assembly would generate too much law
making and too much government. This liberal model of representative govern-
ment is one of limited government: government limited in scope to liberal causes
of civil liberty and limited in process to the rule of law. The attraction of bicameral
solutions is that they allow constitutional designers to graft complementary models
of political representation on to the core stock of popular representation. In the US
case, this meant that Madison and his fellow framers could accept the legitimacy of
a system of relatively popular representation with larger numbers of locally elected
 bicameralism 487

members in the lower house, in the knowledge that this popular model would in
practice be modiWed by the presence of another model of representation in the
upper house.
Using contemporary language, we can say that this early version of bicameral-
ism was designed to modify the potential for populism through two contrasting
versions of democratic legitimacy in the two chambers of Congress. This is not
the only approach to modern bicameralism, but it is a very inXuential one
reXecting a commitment to federalism, where the polity arises through a feder-
ation of states with equal representation in the second house. There are many
variations of federally-organized legislative chambers, and it is useful at the
outset to note that the US framers did not expect their federal chamber to
restrict itself to act solely as a ‘‘states house,’’ protecting only state interests.
Federalism helps explain the composition of a second chamber but it alone does
not explain the construction or purpose of the second chamber. One only has to
see the near-universal existence of bicameralism at state-level legislatures in the
USA to begin to appreciate the wider policy purposes associated with US
bicameralism. The distinctive competence of the second house of the national
legislature goes far beyond its federalist composition, illustrating the broader
institutional logic of bicameralism. Describing the Senate as ‘‘a second branch of
the legislative assembly distinct from and dividing the power of the Wrst,’’
Madison defends this as a ‘‘salutary check on government.’’ Factious rulers will
require ‘‘the concurrence of two distinct bodies in schemes of usurpation or
perWdy:’’ the concurrence of ‘‘separate and dissimilar bodies’’ (Fed. 63). Of
importance here is Madison’s emphasis in Federalist 62 on ‘‘the dissimilarity
in the genius of the two bodies,’’ with the Senate having considerably fewer
members, each with a considerably longer tenure than members in the
House of Representatives, arranged to promote ‘‘stability’’ through a rotation
re-election system where a third of its members face re-election every two years.
The intended policy goal is a greater sense of public responsibility in the Senate
when compared to the necessary but insuYcient public responsiveness expected of
the more openly democratic House of Representatives.
A step from Madison to British philosopher J. S. Mill and his account of second
chambers in his Considerations of Representative Government brings us closer to the
second strain of liberal bicameralism (Mill 1984, 352–9). Mill accepted the value of
the negative mode of bicameralism with its anti-corruption potential, but his
version reaches beyond that to promote the positive values of public deliberation.
Acknowledging ‘‘the corrupting inXuence of undivided power,’’ Mill clearly
defends the negative dimension of bicameralism. But his deeper justiWcation is in
terms of the positive mode of wider public deliberation. Democracy requires
important political virtues, of which none is more necessary than what he calls
‘‘conciliation: a readiness to compromise; a willingness to concede something to
opponents, and to shape good measures so as to be as little oVensive as possible
488 john uhr

to persons of opposite views’’ (Mill 1984, 353). The context for Mill’s analysis of
conciliatory conduct is bicameralism which, in his view, lent itself to structured
public discussion of antagonistic political viewpoints.
A critical friend of democracy, Mill feared the tyranny of the majority over liberal
minorities. His ideal preference was for unicameralism, with a fully representative
single chamber using proportional representation to promote the parliamentary
representation of neglected ‘‘minoritites.’’ But in the absence of that idealized single
chamber, Mill saw merit in a second chamber representing interests not adequately
represented in the Wrst chamber able to ‘‘oppose itself to the class interests of the
majority’’ and protest ‘‘their errors and weaknesses.’’ Such a ‘‘wisely conservative
body’’ might even be modeled on the Roman Senate, comprising persons of
‘‘special training and skill’’ brought together ‘‘to moderate and regulate democratic
ascendancy.’’ This mode of positive support for more representative public
deliberation carries through to later British defences of bicameralism. James
Bryce is perhaps the most inXuential of this school. Bryce pioneered the compara-
tive science of modern democracy. His Modern Democracies is the Wrst classic
investigation of democratic institutions in empirical political science (Bryce 1921,
II, 437–57). The chapter on upper houses is a core part of Bryce’s anatomy of
bicameralism, which reXected his personal political activism in the cause of House
of Lords reform and his political inXuence on many subsequent Westminster
institutional developments in modernizing upper houses. Bryce thus provides
the most inXuential twentieth-century account of the positive mode of bicameral-
ism as a device for sounder public deliberation (Patterson and Mughan 1999,
11, 13, 204).

5 Contrasting Strong and Weak

Bicameralism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

If bicameralism is about balance, what happens when one of the two houses
outbalances the other? If the weight is overwhelmingly in favor of the lower
house, the result is unicameralism in substance, if not in form. But what if the
weight is in favor of the upper house: is this too a form of unicameralism? This
issue is not simply academic. It is politically alive in the Westminster democracies:
for example the United Kingdom, Canada, and also Australia—a country that
has had ‘‘more experience with bicameralism than any other parliamentary
 bicameralism 489

democracy’’ (Smith 2003, 6, 22–30). Some Australian state upper houses still reXect
traditional class interests or at least attract reform movements proclaiming the
need to ‘‘democratize’’ them (Stone 2002, 2005). This call for reform demands that
traditional restrictions on upper house franchise, membership qualiWcations, and
electorate weightings be repealed. But is the model of a democratic upper house
one with identical qualiWcations for franchise and membership with the lower
house, and with the same tolerance for minimal variation in electorate enroll-
ments? Tempted as we might be to reply ‘‘yes,’’ we might be even more demanding
of democratic standards and explore other options that allow upper houses to get
ahead of their lower house institutions, and achieve even fairer forms of demo-
cratic representation. To stay with an Australian example: The Australian Senate
was overhauled in 1948 when proportional representation was Wrst adopted, with
each state acting as one large multimember electorate. Nothing was done to the
formal legislative powers of the Senate but this one electoral change brought about
a signiWcant lift in the public legitimacy of the Senate, which many analysts began
to describe as ‘‘more democratic’’ than the lower house with its conventional
single-member system biased against the return of minor party candidates
(Uhr 1998, 113–15; Russell 2000, 55–6, 82–4).
This example of change to the rules of representation for upper houses shows
how existing bicameral systems can be strengthened with minimal alteration of the
formal constitutional powers of either house. More generally, we can see that
the institutional strength of a bicameral system is closely related to its scheme of
representation: Those systems with institutions capable of widening the scope
of parties represented are more likely to develop capacities for what analysts
term ‘‘cleavage management.’’ In this context, ‘‘cleavage’’ means political division
based on entrenched social identities, such as class, religion, ethnicity, or even
regional geography. EVective political management occurs where groups separated
by such entrenched divisions are brought together, or their preferred party
representatives are brought together, in institutional circumstances conducive
to intergroup agreement on ‘‘a way ahead.’’ Thus, for these purposes, strong
bicameralism describes an institutional environment for multiparty political de-
liberation capable of generating negotiated policy outcomes acceptable to the
representatives involved.
This is only one version of the strong bicameralism literature. A simpler version
equates ‘‘strong’’ with two houses sharing equal institutional power, whether or not
this results in eVective cleavage management. This simpler version really measures
the strength of the upper house’s resistance to initiatives derived from the lower
house—measured in terms of everyday institutional conventions rather than the
often misleading legal provisions when divorced from prevailing political conven-
tions, such as those associated with the norms of Westminster responsible parlia-
mentary government. Thus, evaluating the strength of any particular bicameral
490 john uhr

system is no easy matter, given that we must approach each national political
assembly as comprising ‘‘at least outwardly, unique aggregations, each with its own
history, its special traditions and customs, its time-honoured norms and practices,
its constitutional status, and its impact on the laws of the land’’ (Patterson and
Mughan 1999, 9). While it is diYcult to rate or measure the operational dynamics
of each and every bicameral system, there is agreement that we can identify some of
the institutional qualities found in the two extreme ends of the range of strong–
weak possibilities. With suitable cautions, I draw on Lijphart’s inXuential frame-
work of contrasts between ideals of a strong and weak bicameral system (Lijphart
1999, 201–11; cf. Bryce 1921, 441; Druckman and Thies 2002, 767–9; Llanos and Nolte
2003, 57–60).
Strong bicameral systems comprise what Lijphart terms an arrangement of
symmetrical but incongruent chambers: With both chambers converging through
a symmetry of fairly evenly balanced legal powers but diverging through their
incongruent cultures of representation. As noted earlier, the impact of bicam-
eralism depends greatly on the presence of ‘‘two diVerently constituted cham-
bers:’’ If bicameralism is to act as a ‘‘truly strong and meaningful institution,’’
then it needs to combine two chambers equal or nearly equal in formal powers
but diVerent in the political and policy viewpoints represented. One other quality
is required: public legitimacy, which tends to attach to elected rather than
appointed legislative houses (Lijphart 1999, 200, 205). When push comes to
shove, none of the alignments of symmetry or congruence will make much
diVerence to the real institutional strength of a bicameral system if the system
lacks public legitimacy. That is, strength is a measure of public conWdence in the
value of the constitutional system. Of course, it is doubtful that strong public
conWdence in a bicameral system would arise in the absence of Lijphart’s other
two qualities: a convergence of power and a divergence of representation (Russell
2000, 250–4).
Which national systems display strong bicameralism? Lijphart locates Britain
down the rankings, somewhere between medium and weak; other analysts put
Britain into the weak category, some even calling the UK and Italy eVectively
unicameral (Lijphart 1999, 212; see also Tsebelis 1995, 316). This nicely indicates
the degree of diYculty of rating and ranking bicameral systems, and the great value
of Lijphart’s two tests of bicameral strength. Some of Lijphart’s ‘‘medium-strength’’
systems meet the symmetry test but fail the congruence test: for example Italy,
Colombia, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Japan. Other ‘‘medium-strength’’ sys-
tems meet the congruence test but fail the symmetry test: for example, Canada,
France, and Spain. Many systems meet the tests of ‘‘weak bicameralism,’’ with
asymmetry of powers and congruence of representation: for example Austria and
Ireland. Only a few bicameral systems meet both tests of ‘‘strong bicameralism:’’ for
example the USA, Germany, Switzerland, and Australia (Lijphart 1999, 205–13; see
also Konig 2001; Llanos and Nolte 2003, 64–75).
 bicameralism 491

6 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Caution is advisable when speaking of the weaker forms of bicameralism. As

Lijphart records, there is no such institutional creature as ‘‘insigniWcant bicam-
eralism:’’ Where bicameralism exists, it always matters—even if only as an institu-
tion to be domesticated by political executives whenever they can render it weak
(Lijphart 1999, 211). The existing literature on bicameralism has done much to
deepen our understanding of the political signiWcance of bicameralism. The main
focus of this literature has been on the resolution of conXict arising from diVerent
forms of political representation in two legislative houses. My argument in this
chapter has been that the range of functions performed by contemporary bicam-
eralism are best explained in terms of changing blends of inheritance and innov-
ation in political representation. Even stable democratic constitutions permit
remarkable institutional change in the workings of legislative institutions. How
can theoretical research keep up with such fascinating practical changes in the
workings of bicameralism? I suggest a focus on three priority research areas. A Wrst
priority is a richer analytical history of bicameralism. The intellectual history of
bicameralism has received some recent attention (see, e.g., Shell 2001) but there are
very few institutional histories of the many diVerent examples of bicameralism
explaining distinctive national blends of inheritance and innovation. Even within
national settings, bicameralism evolves, often in unintended but signiWcant ways
(Binder 2003). We know relatively little about the institutional histories of the
leading models of bicameralism. Further, we know very little about the process of
policy transfer across the families of bicameralism, just as we know very little about
the history of cross-adaptation between parliamentary and presidential forms of
bicameralism. These histories of inheritance and innovation await their analysts.
A second priority is more detailed mapping of the constitutional settings for the
many varieties of contemporary bicameralism. Parliamentary and presidential
regimes each come in many varieties, with important diVerences in the institutional
design of legislative powers. We need to know more about how those legislative
powers have been aVected by the architecture and deployment of executive and
judicial powers, and about how bicameralism evolves in diVerent constitutional
settings—as a product but also as an agent of change. Bicameralism can contain
threatened change or it can preserve past changes; and over time, any one bicameral
system can perform both functions under diVerent political circumstances (Vatter
2005; Castles and Uhr 2005). The possibilities for institutional variation among
democracies are increasing as democracy spreads across cultures. Frameworks of
strong and weak systems highlight the main poles of performance, but there
remains much to do to revise and update conventional accounts of the many
constitutional forms that bicameralism has begun to take, and to explain how
some blends of inheritance and innovation work better than others.
492 john uhr

A third priority deals with the elusive concept of ‘‘balance’’ in bicameral

relationships. We now know quite a lot about the institutional battles over balances
of power internal to bicameral legislatures; but we know much less about the
external balances between bicameral legislatures and the wider political commu-
nity. We know something about how political parties manage bicameral legislatures
but we know less about how bicameral processes contribute, if at all, to public
debate and participation in the democratic public sphere. Public opinion data
would help, but there are many larger issues about relationships and balances
between democratic legislatures and democratic public deliberation that are shap-
ing up as research priorities. We also need better explanations of the balance of
deliberative capacities within bicameral legislatures. Traditional studies of bicam-
eralism often restricted themselves to the investigation of ‘‘the second chamber
problem,’’ documenting the procedural proWles of diVerent houses of review.
The priority now is to explain the distinctive institutional behaviors noted, and
sometimes grudgingly admired, by many analysts of second chambers in both
parliamentary and presidential systems. Contrary to the skeptics, empirical
researchers like Russell note the ‘‘independence of mind, stability of character,
and a capacity for high quality and detailed legislative work’’ she Wnds character-
istic of second chambers at their best, as well as their ‘‘reputation for more detailed
scrutiny,’’ their ‘‘higher degree of consensus,’’ and their ‘‘less adversarial atmos-
phere’’ (Russell 2000, 102, 131–2; cf. Vatter 2005). Lijphart also notes the ‘‘more
informal and relaxed manner’’ typical of the procedural life of second chambers
(Lijphart 1999, 205). Of course, the study of bicameralism is about systemic
relationships between two legislative houses, and not simply the virtues or vices
of either house. Each of these three research priorities highlights systemic issues of
bicameralism which, when properly investigated, can help to explain better many
other institutional dynamics of democratic governance.

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 chapter 25
...................................................................................................................................................

C O M PA R AT I V E LO C A L
G OV E R NA N C E
...................................................................................................................................................

gerry stoker

The study of comparative local governance is an area that cannot be accused of

following the path of mainstream political science. As a result, the study of local
governance is regarded by many as a rather disappointing backwater, outshone and
left behind by the more dynamic areas of investigation. On the other hand,
comparative local governance never made the mistake addressed throughout this
volume of overlooking the importance of institutions. Both old and new institu-
tionalism are alive and well in the Weld of study, although considerable scope for
further development exists. This chapter will argue that the main diYculties are
created by the challenge of comparative analysis and that lesser problems surround
the understanding of institutional factors and forces.
Institutions in the ‘‘old’’ sense of formal organizations that set the rules and
create the context for collective decision-making have been and remain central to
the comparative study of local governance. The chapter opens by examining the
literature in the Weld that oVers a more traditional institutional perspective. The
development of that literature can be divided into three phases. A group of studies
that looked to establish some of the basic diVerences between local government
systems across the world; a second phase where more emphasis was placed on
explaining the diVerences between local government systems; and a third phase
that has focused on shared trends in reform that has led to a focus on complex
systems of governance rather than formal institutions of government. Each of these
496 gerry stoker

literatures oVers some valuable insights but all struggle to meet the challenge of a
comparative politics where the number of democracies has increased dramatically
in the last quarter of the twentieth century. The formal study of the institutions of
local governance needs to become more global in its reach and less focused on
Europe and North America.
The second half of the chapter shows how the study of comparative local
governance has taken on the ‘‘new’’ institutional slant and examines how systems
of governance are constructed through a complex interplay between formal and
informal institutional forces. The key area of investigation in comparative local
governance has been the study of regimes—ways of organizing power in complex
societies in order to ensure outcomes in tune with particular interests.
The institutions of local governance from this perspective are seen as less
handed down by history, legislation, or constitutional framing and more made by
actors creating informal networks through which direction over formal institutions,
resources, and capacities are then exercised. The informal networks are institutions
in the sense that they are sustained over time and are driven by a set of rules. The
second half of the chapter explores work on urban regimes as an exemplar of a more
‘‘new’’ institutionalist understanding of comparative local governance.
Again the main diYculties surround comparative rather than institutional under-
standing.
The concluding section explores the idea that comparative institutional analysis
may be prone to a particular set of problems. Our understanding of formal
institutions is dogged by the complexity of institutional arrangements and a focus
on more informal arrangements is constrained by their embeddedness in particular
settings. Both these factors make the establishment of frameworks for eVective
comparison very problematic. Future directions for the institutional investigation
of comparative local governance are identiWed.

1 The Challenge of Classification

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A starting point for exploring comparative local government is to describe the

variety of diVerent arrangements adequately. This section of the chapter looks
Wrst at the challenge of classiWcation before moving on to what have been the
substantive questions addressed by the institutional analysis of comparative local
governance, namely why systems are diVerent and whether any shared reform
trends can be identiWed.
 comparative local governance 497

The comparative study of local governance institutions is dominated by a

concern to comprehend the range of local government systems and as a result we
certainly know more now than Wfty years ago about how the position of
local government varies between states. Lidstrom (1999, 98) refers to Samuel
Humes and Eileen Martin as the ‘‘post-war giants in the Weld’’ which might be
somewhat of an exaggeration but their book (Humes and Martin 1969), which
oVers a comparative study of local government in eighty-one countries, does
show an impressive range of knowledge of systems. Other work that has not
quite got the encyclopedic quality of Humes and Martin, but nevertheless has
added to the richness of our descriptive understanding of local government in
various parts of the world, includes the very impressive overviews provided
by Hesse (1991) and Norton (1994). Further insights can be gleaned from the
work of Bennett (1989, 1993), Chandler (1993), and Batley and Stoker (1991), all
of which track practices in several countries and make a number of comparative
observations.
These overviews have commonly been criticized on two grounds (Lidstrom
1999). The descriptions contained within them can inevitably lack a certain
depth and any capacity to examine the underlying more informal practices
going on beneath the surface. Second, because they are mainly descriptive
studies, they often oVer little in the way of explanatory theory. When they do
attempt to explain why diVerences might exist they do so in a relatively unsystem-
atic way, with references to history or some dramatic event in the countries under
comparison.
Both these criticisms are accurate but they reXect in many respects the sheer
challenge of the study of comparative local governance. Even within one country it
is possible to spend a lot of time and eVort in describing internal diVerences in
institutional form and practice. Nation-state comparison is tough enough
but at least in terms of democracies there are only 121 of them (Diamond 2003).
Within any one country there might be several diVerent tiers or levels of local
government and the form of each might vary according to local choice or local
circumstances.
To illustrate the challenge just think of the case of France (Borraz and Le Galès
2005). There are 36,565 municipalities, almost 98 percent of which have popula-
tions of less than 10,000. The diVerences between local government in the big cities
and the surrounding rural areas in terms of access to technical capacity and style of
politics are considerable. And so too is the layered institutional complexity.
Because of the need to develop cooperation between many small municipalities,
there are a little over 20,000 ad hoc associations of municipalities. In addition there
are several meso level institutions with 100 departments and twenty-two regions
plus four overseas regions. The complexity is further compounded by a range of
other organizations that operate in a vast world of quasi-autonomous governance.
There are publicly owned associations of service providers. There are the mixed
498 gerry stoker

sector agencies that are privately owned but with a majority of public sector
shareholders. Some organizations managing public housing are public and some
running planning, transport, and other services are private. The result is ‘‘a
diversity of organisations, many of which do not have genuine public status
(even though they may well operate on public funding) and whose integration is
highly problematic’’ (Borraz and Le Galès 2005, 14).
The truth is that the complexity of local governance institutional arrangements
often belies understanding within countries and makes the task of comparative
study very taxing. The French case may be an extreme one but there is a substantial
element of institutional complexity built into virtually every system in the world.
In order to begin to address the issue of explaining diVerences the literature has had
to engage in some simpliWcations and has tended to focus on the formal elected
institutions of local government rather than the vast array of quasi-governmental
institutions that tend to surround it. While such a procedure makes sense, it does
leave you wondering if important elements of an understanding of the way systems
work are being left aside.
If you discount these concerns about capturing the complexity of diVerent
systems, the next problem is that there is clearly no consensus in the literature
on the basis for any institutional demarcations. In an overview of the main
classiWcation options that have been tried, Lidstrom (1999, 100–6) identiWes a
range of criteria that have been applied.
The Wrst choice is whether to focus on historical or present-day criteria.
Historical heritage might lead in one direction in terms of the distinctions
drawn, while a concern with present-day realities might lead in another. The
former option could lead to the overlooking of recent developments. So again,
taking the example of France once more, since the decentralization legislation of
the early 1980s, a system that before might have been described as having the
classic Napoleonic heritage of centralized control and strong oversight has given
way to a much more autonomous system with far more political clout and
technical capacity being held at the level of local municipalities. As Borraz and
Le Galès (2005, 12) exclaim, ‘‘France is no longer the Jacobin centralist state it
used to be.’’
On the other hand, if you take a current position as the basis of your classiWca-
tion, much depends on what you choose to focus on. If you take the overall scale
and capacity of a local government system, the size, budgets, and staV available to
municipalities, then the UK along with Ireland, Sweden, the Netherlands, and
Denmark emerge as the strongest local authorities (Bours 1993). Using a criteria
of formal local government autonomy and freedom from central control, however,
neither Ireland, the UK, nor the Netherlands would reach the top table of European
local government. Indeed a standard lament of British commentators is that the
UK has the weakest local government system among Western democracies (see
Chandler 1993). Buried in this diVerence in categorization is a distinction between
 comparative local governance 499

positive and negative freedom. UK local government may have only limited
freedom from central control but it has, because of its capacity and size, consid-
erable freedom to do things and undertake initiatives. Indeed one of the great
conundrums of local governance comparison is that you get some local authorities
that have seized an agenda and run with it and done much to transform their
locality and others who have failed to make any impact. Looking at formal
structural diVerences only reveals part of the picture; there has also to be a focus
on how practices are put into place.
Given a concern with informal practice as well as formal structure, the most
fruitful search for a criterion to distinguish systems of local government would
appear to involve a focus on present-day characteristics rather than historical
legacies. The next issue that needs to be confronted is whether to focus on a single
factor or multiple factors in drawing up divisions. Single criteria do not seem
completely convincing and are more prone to shifts in patterns of behavior; that is,
to deterioration over time as eVective criteria. Thus, for example, some studies
have looked at how local governments in diVerent countries responded to Wscal
crises (Pickvance and Pretceceille 1991) and produced useful insights, but, as time
and Wnancial circumstances have changed, the distinctions are not sustainable.
Goldsmith (1990, 1992) suggests that you could focus on the underlying ethos of
local government systems. Thus it could be that local government is understood as
part of a clientelistic or patronage system in which local leaders are seen as
defenders of their localities. Such a model might apply to southern Europe.
Alternatively local government might see itself as a promoter of economic devel-
opment and such an ethos is strongest in the United States, Canada, and Australia.
Finally local government might see itself as a welfare provider, and the British,
German, and Nordic systems would all follow that ethos. The trouble is that,
although there is some value in such a classiWcation, it is diYcult to sustain
given the breakdown of the more clientelistic model in southern Europe and the
mixing of welfare and economic development foci in other countries.
The most dominant form of classiWcation in comparative local governance looks
at local government systems as a whole and links together a range of factors.
According to Lidstrom (1999, 103), ‘‘the most widely accepted and frequently
cited’’ is that provided by Hesse and Sharpe (1991). There are three main groups
according to this categorization: A Franco group that would include many of the
countries of southern Europe, an Anglo group based around the UK and Ireland
and to some extent the United States and New Zealand, and Wnally a north
and middle European variant including the Nordic countries, Germany, and the
Netherlands. But it is diYcult to be entirely convinced by this classiWcation since
there are such big diVerences within each of the groups.
Page and Goldsmith (1987) and John (2001), where the focus is more narrowly
on Europe, adopt a similar classiWcation with a strong division between northern
and southern countries. Denters and Rose (2005, 10–11), with a wider world focus,
500 gerry stoker

adapt the Hesse and Sharpe model but distinguish between local governments
embedded in unitary and federal systems. Norton (1994, 13–14), in what is claimed
to be a classiWcation of ‘‘world systems of local government,’’ does add a Japan
group and splits the United States and Canada away to a separate North America
group.
The major problem with all of these classiWcations is their narrow, Western
focus. They are concerned almost entirely with mature rather than new wave
democracies. In the 1970s less than a third of the countries in the world could be
classiWed as democratic. But a drive to democracy dominated the last quarter of the
twentieth century and, as a result, by the start of the twenty-Wrst century nearly
two-thirds of all countries were democratic (Diamond 2003).
All of the countries identiWed above have the minimum requirement that
they hold regular, free, fair, and competitive elections to Wll positions in their
governments. These democracies all have a secret ballot, fair access to a range of
media, and basic rights to organize, campaign, and solicit votes. Not all would
count as full liberal democracies and many still suVer from signiWcant human
rights abuses, corruption, and a weak rule of law. But crucially, from the
perspective of this chapter, local democratic governance has become a more
signiWcant part of their systems. For the new wave of democracies, having a
strong system of local government has often been one of the main reform
options promoted by international organizations and consultants. As the
twenty-Wrst century unfolds, the new challenge for the classiWcation is to provide
for coverage of both mature and new democracies. Comparative local governance
needs to be more global.
There are some pioneering studies that provide a number of useful insights.
McCarney and Stern (2003), for example, oVer some valuable reXections on the
development of local governance in cities across the south of the globe (from the
Philippines, through South Africa, to Mexico). In addition to the scale and rapid
progress of urbanization, they note that reform measures have generally seen
local governments in these countries gain substantially more power. A study
sponsored by the United Nations looks at local government in Asia and the
PaciWc (Sproats 2002). This study focuses a lot of attention on the problems
confronted by newly established local government systems in having the capacity
in Wnances, human resources, and political sophistication to manage complex
and substantial social and economic challenges. Coulson (1995) looks at progress
in Eastern Europe in countries in the initial phases of reform. Swianiewicz’s
(2005) interesting case study of Poland shows there has been a signiWcant
Xowering of local government since the fall of the Communist regime at the
end of 1980s. These studies hint at a need for a more far-reaching and cross-
cutting analysis in order to classify and better understand world systems of
local governance. The task is beyond this chapter, but it urgently needs to be
addressed.
 comparative local governance 501

2 Explaining Difference and

Identifying Reform Trends
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Beyond classiWcation, the focus in the institutional analysis of comparative local

governance has been on trying to explain diVerences and identifying new trends.
The former approach tends to draw on the continuity and historical embeddedness
of institutional arrangements. The latter looks at the other side of coin and is
focused on how organizations are changing, and changing in similar directions. In
the previous section it emerged that we are in the foothills when it comes to
classiWcation. The conclusion in this section is that we are only just about walking
on the level when it comes to two of the central issues of comparative institutional
analysis: why institutions are set up as they are and how they are changing.
Page (1991) and Page and Goldsmith (1987) oVer a systematic explanation of
diVerences in local government systems even if it is within the more contained
framework of European local government. Broadly, there is a distinction drawn
between the functions or responsibilities taken up by local government systems, the
extent of discretion that is provided to them in decision-making, and Wnally their
access to central government. Some systems such as those of northern Europe score
high on the Wrst set of criteria but low on the last one. Other systems—primarily
those of southern Europe—score low on the Wrst two criteria but higher on the last
one. As to why the systems evolved in this way, the institutional starting point for
Page’s analysis is, as Lidstrom (1999) points out, a focus on path dependency and
institutional inertia. History entrenched a certain response in diVerent countries.
Northern European systems developed more formal and extensive welfare-based
local government, while southern European systems were more community fo-
cused, with limited responsibilities but a fruitful clientelistic relationship with
central authorities.
The problem is that it appears that systems are not so path dependent as the
analysis would imply. The French (Borraz and Le Galès 2005) and Italian systems
(Bobbio 2005) over the last two decades have undoubtedly gained considerably in
terms of formal responsibilities, technical capacity, and autonomy from central
government. Northern systems, such as that of Britain, have slipped back in terms
of responsibilities and formal autonomy although perhaps gained increased access to
central government, especially under New Labour since 1997, without positive
beneWt. In short the broad framework provided by Page and Goldsmith is insightful
and helpful in providing a focus on key deWning factors in judging the state of
comparative local government systems. It is less advantageous because of its focus on
issues of path dependency and institutional continuity rather than the issue of
institutional change.
When it comes to the forces of institutional change, the work of Peter John
(2001) has blazed a trail, although again the focus is speciWc to Western Europe.
502 gerry stoker

The topic of his main study is the shift from local government to local governance.
Across public administration much of the new focus in governance is on forms of
politics and managements that go beyond top-down, hierarchical options through
the greater use of contracts or partnerships (see Stoker 1998).
With respect to local government John (2001) argues that formal, enclosed styles of
decision-making are changing across Europe in response to the internationalization
of economies, the Europeanization of decision-making, new policy challenges,
and the move to more Xexible, less bureaucratic forms of delivery. In a broad sense
John concludes that there has been a shift from government to governance:
Across Western Europe there have been many changes in institutional structures, attempts
at coalition formation, stronger leadership styles, a more visible executive structures, new
management ideas and more of a focus on European liaison. (2001, 168)

In short, in response to new governing conditions, diVerent country systems have

tried to develop a similar mix of institutional changes and options. The commit-
ment to a similar range of reforms is far from even with some countries in the lead
on innovation and others lagging behind. But the pattern of change does not follow
the north–south divide identiWed in earlier institutional studies of comparative
local governance. Spain, the UK, Germany, and the Netherlands led the reform
charge in the 1990s according to John (2001, 174).
Other studies have been broadly supportive of the argument that the pattern of
change in local politics has been one from government to governance. Le Galès
(2002) is the most skeptical and emphasizes diVerences in the trajectory of
European cities as well some similarities. In particular he argues that the
neoliberal turn in UK local government that started under the Thatcher govern-
ments of the 1980s has taken it closer to the US model and that other parts of Europe
are not signed up to that model. He views the UK and Ireland as special cases in
Europe but nevertheless concedes that reforms favoring business partnerships and
new public management can be observed in many European cities. Moreover he
notes that reform trends ‘‘are rather tending to blur’’ the north–south divide favored
in the comparative local government literature on Europe (Le Galès 2001, 262).
Denters and Rose (2005), taking in a wider sweep of Western democracies than
those in Europe alone, conWrm that a broad shift towards governance has occurred.
They note that three major changes can be observed. The Wrst is the widespread use
of New Public management techniques and public–private partnerships. There is
much more use of performance targets, internal and external contracting, and the
involvement of the private sector in the development and management of public
service programs and services. The second change is the bringing in of a wider
network of local associations, business groups, and private actors into the local
decision-making process. The third is the introduction of new forms of citizen
involvement. The Wrst trend is virtually universal across Western democracies,
although in some cases the adoption of changes appears more symbolic than
 comparative local governance 503

substantial. The second and third trends are less universally observable but again,
in the judgment of Denters and Rose (2005, 261), the diVerences that do emerge do
not follow any clear north–south divide, in Europe at least. Studies of
local leadership in particular conWrm a pattern of enhanced focus on political
leadership and an increased emphasis on using the oYce of leadership to bolster
the democratic legitimacy and eVectiveness of local government (Borraz and John
2004; Mouritizen and Svara 2002).
The central questions addressed in the formal study of comparative local
governance institutions can be related to those identiWed by Bo Rothstein (1996,
134) in the study of political institutions in general: What explains the variety of
institutional arrangements? What diVerence do diVerent institutional arrange-
ments make to the behavior and practice of local politics? Finally, and explicitly
from a normative perspective, what arrangements are best for good governance or
eVective local democracy? The greatest (but still modest) progress has been made in
answering the Wrst question. The second question has received some considerable
attention in a few speciWc areas of institutional reform. The third question remains
the most problematic and an area where it would be diYcult to highlight much,
if any, progress. It remains uncertain whether the drift from government to
governance is an enhancement of local democracy, or whether greater eVectiveness
in governing has been achieved, and if so whether it has been at the cost of a loss of
meaningful accountability. What is clear is that many systems are now so complex
and opaque in the way they make decisions that insiders Wnd it diYcult enough
to fathom what is going on let alone the relatively disengaged voting citizen.
Comparativists are not alone in being tripped up by the complexity of the systems
of local governance that we are in the process of creating.

3 Local Governance as Institutional

Regime Building
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The formal institutional literature has tended to conclude that local governance
over the last two decades has become more complex and at the same time more
informal. This understanding has opened the door to more ‘‘new’’ institutionalist
understandings that are concerned to address the informal construction and
maintenance of institutions. These newer ways of working are not assembled in
some ad hoc manner; they follow patterns and can in their construction have a
determining inXuence on access to power. The ‘‘new’’ institutional concern with
504 gerry stoker

the ways in which institutions are made and the way that those institutions in
turn inXuence actors and their decision-making has, as a result, become a major
focus for the literature on comparative local governance. Most debate has been
around the concept of urban regime, a framework for analysis developed in the
United States (Stone 1989; Stoker 1995) but then applied in a considerable range
of studies outside North America (Mossberger and Stoker 2001). This part of
the chapter lays out the basic ideas of regime analysis before exploring the com-
parative material related to it. The world of urban political theory is much broader
than regime analysis (see Judge, Stoker, and Wolman 1995) but it is the regime
concept that is the most widely travelled from a comparative local governance
perspective.
According to Stone, regimes are ‘‘the informal arrangements by which public
bodies and private interests function together in order to be able to make and carry
out governing decisions’’ (Stone 1989, 6). EVective urban governance is achieved
through building civic cooperation across institutional boundaries.1 The making
and sustaining of interorganizational relationships are central to Stone’s under-
standing of local politics. A regime constitutes ‘‘a relatively stable group with access
to institutional resources that enable it to have a sustained role in making governing
decisions’’ (emphasis in original) (Stone 1989, 4). Informal modes of coordination
are explained using what is called the social production model of power. The
previous more formal understanding of power as the exercise of detailed inXuence
or control over decision-making gives way to a more informal understanding that
power is about giving direction and then mobilizing the resources necessary to
ensure that the vision is fulWlled:
If the conventional model of urban politics is one of social control . . . then the one proposed
here might be called ‘‘the social-production model’’. It is based on the question of how, in a
world of limited and dispersed authority, actors work together across institutional
lines to produce a capacity to govern and to bring about publicly signiWcant results. (Stone
1989, 8–9)

In a complex, fragmented urban world, the paradigmatic form of power is that

which enables certain interests to blend their capacities to achieve common
purposes. The power sought by regimes is the ‘‘power to’’ or the capacity to act,
rather than ‘‘power over’’ others or social control (Stone 1989, 229). Regime analysis
directs attention to the conditions under which such eVective long-term coalitions
emerge in order to accomplish public purposes (Stoker 1995).
The social production model is about the exercise of pre-emptive power and
the spreading of inXuence. There are two diVerent types of relationship between
actors. The Wrst is the relationship between the organizations at the core of a

1 The discussion in this section draws on joint work with Graham Smith, of Southampton
University.
 comparative local governance 505

regime. These actors with access to institutional resources in their own right blend
their capacities in order to establish a hegemonic control over the policy agenda in
a locality. In the US literature it is typically the local municipality and key private
corporations who blend their capacities and resources to occupy such a strategic
position.
The second important relationship in understanding regimes is between the
core of the regime and other actors it draws into the governing coalition. Having
created the conditions to exercise pre-emptive power, regimes are then able to
secure the participation of other actors through the distribution of selective
incentives, such as contracts, jobs, community facilities, and other small-scale
beneWts. Thus an eVective regime requires a core set of actors to occupy
the strategic position in a city and have the capacity to exercise pre-emptive
power through a combination of blending their own resources and oVering
selective incentives to ensure the cooperation and participation of more peripheral
actors.
A regime then emerges as a bridging institutional construct that draws
together actors, with those who have access to institutional resources at its core.
Having access to institutional resources is vital because actors in that position
can enter the game in terms of setting the vision for a locality and combining
their resources with others to ensure that the vision is delivered. Control
over institutional resources is also necessary in order to bargain for the support
of more peripheral interests so that they are encouraged to stay as part of the
partnership.

4 Regimes in Comparative Perspective

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The North American literature on regimes is substantial (for a review see

Mossberger and Stoker 2001; Davies 2001). The key starting point remains,
however, Clarence Stone’s study of Atlanta. That study focuses on a development
regime that dominated Atlanta for much of the postwar period. Stone shows, with
careful historical analysis, how the regime maintained a steady focus on the
regeneration and expansion of the city. He shows how the business community
came to an accommodation with the African-American political leadership of the
city and how, through various selective incentives and deals, key community
leaders were also bought into the project. Against the odds in many ways, and
506 gerry stoker

certainly in a manner not achieved to the same degree elsewhere, Atlanta was able
to build for itself a growth dynamic that culminated after the conclusion of Stone’s
study in the staging of the Olympics in 1996.
A number of other studies of regimes in American cities have been undertaken
(see, e.g., DeLeon 1992; Whelan, Young, and Lauria 1994). In most American
studies business is a key participant in governing coalitions because of the re-
sources it controls. However, the relative strength of business, the composition of
particular businesses engaged in the coalition, and the presence of other interests,
such as neighborhood groups or environmental groups, will vary from place to
place, and may change over time (Mossberger and Stoker 2001).
Outside of the USA, the regime concept has been picked up, especially in studies
of the urban regeneration practices of European cites in the 1980s and 1990s (for a
review see John 2001, ch. 3). What these studies found (see Mossberger and Stoker
2001) is that economic development partnerships in Europe are more likely to be
led by the public sector, with less participation from local businesses, and with less
policy autonomy from national government. Some European scholars have also
pointed out that the economic development partnerships they have observed do
not have the pre-emptive capacity that Stone’s work suggests is characteristic of an
urban regime. Consumption and service issues are still predominant in local
politics, in comparison to economic development (Harding 1997). In short, while
coalitions of business and city leaders were found in European cites, no business-
dominated regimes similar to those established in some US cities have operated.
The regime literature oVers a way of studying the institutional capacity to set an
agenda and get things done. It has provided an opportunity for researchers on both
sides of the Atlantic to break from a narrow focus on formal institutions to a
broader concern about how actors from various sectors and organizations can use
their access to institutional resources to build a capacity to act. But the discussion
of regimes has at times been confused. The problems relate to general challenges
faced in making comparisons. As Mossberger and Stoker (2001) argue, regime
studies have fallen into each of the four traps identiWed by Sartori (1991):
parochialism, misclassiWcation, degreeism, and concept stretching.
Parochialism refers to the tendency for comparativists continually to invent new
terms or to use existing ones in an unintended way. The case that is under
investigation by the researcher is considered so unique or diVerent that it deserves
a new or additional label, all of its own. Many regime studies seek to qualify the
term regime by putting a descriptive label in front of it. Dowding et al. (1999)
approach the issue of business participation by making this an optional criterion
for regimes. They deWne eight criteria for what they call ‘‘policy regimes’’ or ‘‘urban
policy regimes’’ (1999, 516). Why these regimes are called policy regimes is not
really explained. The exclusion of business as a necessary element from a regime
 comparative local governance 507

undermines a crucial factor in the original regime concept. As Mossberger and

Stoker comment:
If regimes are simply coalitions that bring together actors in a complex policy environment,
but where the division between market and state is not a factor, then how do urban regimes
diVer from networks? This alternative concept is Xexible, and has many forms, without
specifying that it bridges the divide between popular control of government and private
control of the economy. (Mossberger and Stoker 2001, 824)

What is lost by this adaptation of the regime term is its political economy focus.
Network is an excellent generic term for partnerships between sectors, but urban
regime is driven by an understanding of what operating in a capitalist society
implies for governing as well as an appreciation of the institutional dynamic that
can also condition and direct that process of governing. It may be true that in
London, and in Europe more generally, business participation in regimes is less
central than in the United States but partnerships that exclude business cannot be
accurately included within the original concept of urban regime. Putting a new
label such as policy in front of the term in the end hampers the eVort to aggregate
research and to test and reWne existing theories.
MisclassiWcation consists of ignoring important diVerences and clustering to-
gether unlike phenomena. The problem stems from a misunderstanding of regime
theory and in particular the mistaken view that all cities must have regimes. But as
a careful reading of Stone’s work makes clear, the establishment and maintenance
of a regime over an extended period of time is an unusual occurrence.
As Mossberger and Stoker argue:
The privileged position of business fosters the conditions for the development of regimes at
the local level in all capitalist countries, although local job creation may be more of a
concern in some countries, and local tax revenues in others. Despite this, it is clear . . . urban
regimes are intentional partnerships, and are diYcult to maintain because participants have
divergent as well as overlapping interests. Regimes, with their varied agendas, represent
political choice. Whether or not a regime exists in a particular place is an empirical
question, and it entails a speciWc set of relationships, including the ability to build
public–private cooperation around a chosen agenda. (Mossberger and Stoker 2001, 815)

The problem comes when all coalitions are claimed to be regimes. Kantor, Savitch,
and Haddock (1997) in their cross-national comparative study, for example, char-
acterize Liverpool during the 1980s as a ‘‘radical regime’’ (1997, 358), although it
clearly lacked the prerequisites of public–private cooperation in pursuit of a
common agenda. In Liverpool, the Militant Tendency of the Labour Party was
more interested in resisting central government and business interests than in
building collaboration with local business. Indeed it did not develop partnership
with voluntary and community sector organizations either. It had a rather narrow
focus on power held within the local state. Whatever else the Militant Tendency was
doing, they were not building an urban regime. The problem lies in the typology
508 gerry stoker

presented by Kantor, Savitch, and Haddock (1997) that approaches comparison by

describing a number of factors that inXuence the economic, intergovernmental,
and political contexts of cities, and uses these in various combinations to generate
eight regime types as a starting point. Their framework as a descriptive device may
be useful and the empirical material is certainly valuable but it is not about regimes
as cross-sectoral institutional pacts for the making of governance capacity, as
presented in Stone’s regime theory.
Degreeism refers to abuse of continua to represent all diVerences as merely
quantitative rather than qualitative—a matter of degree (see, for discussion,
Mossberger and Stoker 2001). The potential for this problem to arise in urban
regime theory is considerable because there is no clear demarcation within the
theory for operationalizing a ‘‘suYcient’’ degree of cooperation, stability, or
coherence. It could be asked whether descriptions of ‘‘emerging’’ regimes in the
cross-national literature (DiGaetano and Klemanski 1999; Bassett 1996; DiGaetano
and Lawless 1999; John and Cole 1998) constitute degreeism. The authors cited here
described certain European cities as having coalitions that were more limited or
fragile. They were, however, careful to depict some ability to cooperate as a
condition for regimes. The ambiguity about when a regime has ‘‘enough’’ to be a
regime is problematic in the American literature as well, because consensus is
achieved over time, and certain regimes, like progressive regimes, are assumed to be
less stable, with more potential for conXict. The problem here is the inadequate
formulation of the original concept. It emerged out of a case study in one setting
and has struggled to identify or specify a full-blown theoretical statement stripped
of that baggage.
Concept stretching consists of removing aspects of the original meaning of the
concept so that it can accommodate more cases. As with the other mistakes
in comparative conceptualization, the problem is that if we never know when
something ceases to apply, the variation that may help to explain and predict it is
therefore obscured by deWnitional sloppiness. The diVerence between concept
stretching and misclassiWcation is that in concept stretching there is some recog-
nition of diVerences in the phenomena being observed, and that some of the
properties of the original concept do not apply. But rather than ‘‘rising on a ladder
of abstraction’’ (Sartori 1991, 254), and developing a more general, umbrella
concept (for example, mammals to describe cats and dogs), concept stretching
simply states that not all cats have the same properties in order to include dogs. The
better strategy in this case is to rise to a higher level of abstraction, to stay within
the parameters of the regime concept but to Wnd a way of being more systematic
about the diVerences that do exist between regime types.
Drawing on the United States context, Stone has deWned four diVerent regime
types: maintenance or caretaker regimes, which focus on routine service delivery
and low taxes; development regimes that are concerned with changing land use to
promote growth; middle-class progressive regimes which include aims such as
 comparative local governance 509

environmental protection, historic preservation, aVordable housing, and linkage

funds; and lower-class opportunity expansion regimes that emphasize human
investment policy and widened access to employment and ownership. The latter
two are the most diYcult to achieve, in part because they entail a measure of
coercion or regulation of businesses rather than voluntary cooperation, but Stone’s
discussion makes it clear that the participation of businesses is still an ingredient in
the regime (see Stone 1993, 19–22).
The Stoker and Mossberger (1994) typology constructed for purposes of cross-
national comparison adapts the typology of maintenance, development, and
progressive regimes by including them in the broader categories of organic, instru-
mental, and symbolic regimes. For example, the more speciWc case of
‘‘caretaker regimes’’ becomes a subtype of a more general ‘‘organic regime’’ that is
based on tradition and local cohesion, and maintenance of the status quo. The
maintenance of the status quo may not be maintenance of low tax rates, as found in
the prototypical caretaker regimes, but could include maintenance of traditional
elites or racial or class exclusion. The instrumental regime is similar to Stone’s
development regime (i.e. Atlanta) and reXects the importance of selective incentives
and tangible results in coalition maintenance. Symbolic regimes include Stone’s
progressive regimes and also revitalizing cities bent on changing their image. The
main purpose of the regime is redirection of the ideology or image. Selective
incentives are less important in symbolic regimes or organic regimes. These regimes
are more tenuous, and may be transitional, especially in the case of revitalizing
regimes.
Does this revised typology constitute an example of concept stretching? The case
for the prosecution is strongest when it comes to the discussion of symbolic
regimes since the ephemeral and non-dominant nature of that regime type may
make it impossible for it to claim pre-emptive power over the agenda of a city, a key
quality of a regime. The case for the defence is that all the regimes identiWed are
cross-sectoral, although the partners and the incentives used to bind them together
vary. In short the analysis seeks to ‘‘cleanse regime theory of its ethnocentric
preoccupations and to apply a set of criteria that enables scholars to identify
diVerent sorts of governance’’ (John 2001, 49).
The idea of a regime aimed at expanding the opportunities for lower-class
citizens—the fourth element in Stone’s original typology—has not been entirely
neglected and has become central to Stone’s work with colleagues on education
reform in the United States. In the Civic Capacity and Urban Education Project
(Henig, Mula, Orr, and Pedescleaux 1999; Stone 1998a) the insights of urban regime
theory have been used to investigate a speciWc policy other than economic devel-
opment. Although human capital issues have been discussed in the context of
urban regimes before (Orr and Stoker 1994), this newer work represents a focus on
a speciWc policy area with a diVerent array of actors. The concept of ‘‘civic capacity,’’
or ‘‘the mobilization of various stakeholders in support of a community-wide
510 gerry stoker

cause’’ (Stone 1998b, 15), is used to explain coalition building in urban education.
The conclusions drawn by Stone are in some respects depressing but consistent
with his earlier analysis. Coalitions had been assembled crossing sectors. Several
cities had seen some small-scale successes in school improvement but there
remained a problem in getting these neighborhood initiatives to play out more
successfully on a wider stage. And even in those cites where regimes had in the past
strongly delivered on an economic agenda, capacity in the education Weld has
eluded them. As complex institutional constructions, regimes that give a real
capacity to deliver policy change are not easy to construct.
In both North America and Europe the regime concept has helped to encourage
the shift away from a narrow focus on the formal institutions of elected govern-
ment to to concern with how cross-sectoral institutional capacity is built
in localities in order to get things done. Given the shift from government to
governance noted in the earlier section, this literature has opened up a way
of exploring the way in which the capacity for governance is established and
maintained.

5 Conclusions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

From an institutional perspective the big positive in the study of comparative local
governance is that institutions remain central to the Weld. There has been a lot of
valuable research conducted, and through that work we know more about the
operation of local institutions both formally and informally. There is now at least a
base for comparative analysis from which to build.
The Weld provides scope for a more traditional institutionalism focused on the
study of local government systems. So far it has produced some powerful insights
into the diVerences that exist in mature democracies and their shared trends of
reform. What the Weld lacks and has yet to deliver is a genuine global take on
comparative local governance. The arrival of a new wave of democracies and
developments in the mature democracies make a compelling case for a sustained
intellectual eVort in this area. The scope of the task is considerable given the
complex institutional structure of local government in each country. Because
local government is about delivering certain services and programs as well as
about deliberating and deciding over policy issues, the challenge of understanding
the institutional architecture in any one country often requires extensive know-
ledge of the diVerent forms of government and also of a myriad of surrounding
delivery institutions and agencies. However, with appropriate conceptualization,
 comparative local governance 511

the task has been undertaken within several countries, but the challenge remains to
provide a global comparative framework in which these studies can be Wtted.
What might that more global take reveal? The Wrst thing it would do is complete
the orientation away from formal focus on the powers of diVerent local govern-
ment systems to a more substantive focus on their capacity to get things done.
Studying local government in developmental states such as South Korea, newly
developed states such as India, and developing states in Africa, Asia, and Latin
America brings strongly into focus the Wnancial and human resources as well as the
blending regime power that is available to local government rather than what
is written in the constitution. These considerations also apply to the former
Communist regimes. The second area that is brought into focus is the quality of
the democracy that is established at a local level and the nature of the relationship
between local politicians and citizens. Too often in the cosy world of Western local
government it is assumed that local government is good government and one that
automatically engages the citizen. That assumption is invalid in mature Western
democracies and certainly does not apply in the new democracies.
Comparative local governance faces further diYculties when trying to address
the more new institutionalist concern with the way in which rules of the game and
bridging institutional frameworks are established in order to move formal institu-
tional resources into direction and practice on the ground. The interest in regime
literature signals the concern of scholars in a variety of settings with these issues
and again valuable insights and understandings have emerged, especially in
the analysis of more mature democracies. There are some problems with the
conceptualization of regimes. We need a better understanding of what constitutes
a regime (how solid and how long living does it need to be?). We require a better
framework for identifying regime types. We need to understand what binds
regimes together and what might lead them to break up. But the greatest diYculties
lie, thus far, in the inadequate way in which comparative studies in the Weld have
developed. A range of faults common to comparative analysis have certainly been
in evidence in some of the comparative debate about regimes. These faults can be
corrected and with improved conceptualization there is hope for development in
this new institutionalist element of the Weld as well.

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 chapter 26
...................................................................................................................................................

JUDICIAL
INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

james l. gibson

Legal institutions throughout the world have become increasingly powerful.

Tate and Vallinder (1995) refer to this as the ‘‘judicialization of politics’’ while
also recognizing and acknowledging the ‘‘politicization of judiciaries.’’—by judi-
cialization they mean the transfer of political disputes from the political arena to
courts and legal institutions. Because courts in every corner of the world are being
asked to decide explosive issues of politics and law, these institutions have achieved
a prominence—and a level of controversy—perhaps never before seen.
The stunning role of the judiciary in the 2004 Ukrainian presidential election is
just one example of the inXuence of courts in politics. On Friday, December 3,
2004, the Ukrainian Supreme Court nulliWed the second presidential election of
November 21 which had resulted in an apparent victory for Viktor Vanukovych.
Calling for a new presidential vote, the Court concluded that the November
election violated a number of articles of the constitution governing the electoral
process. To the surprise of almost everyone, Ukrainian politicians accepted the
Supreme Court decision and new elections were launched. As a result Vicktor
Yushenko now governs as the president of Ukraine. That a court in a Xedgling
democracy would succeed with this level of political stakes, in a country not noted
for its obdurate commitment to the rule of law, is a breathtaking development.

* I gratefully acknowledge the useful research assistance of Marc Hendershot and Briana Morgan on
this chapter.
 judicial institutions 515

Other examples are easy to Wnd: Gibson, Caldeira, and Baird (1998) observed
that in 1996, the Irish Supreme Court accepted an appeal challenging the recent
referendum approving a constitutional amendment to permit divorce. Prior to the
appeal, the Court had ordered the government to stop spending money to run
advertisements in favor of the referendum (Parkin 1996). Both actions had the
eVect of delaying a majority intent on liberalizing divorce.
The Supreme Court of the Russian Federation found in 1996 in favor of Green-
peace and overturned President Yeltsin’s decree permitting the importation of
nuclear waste into Russia. Yeltsin’s government had hoped to use funds earned
from the processing of imported nuclear waste to Wnance the completion of a
plant in Krasnoyarsk (Gurushina 1996). The Supreme Court of Poland upheld the
presidential election of November 1995 and declared Kwasniewski the winner, despite
his having violated electoral law by giving false information about his educational
background. The justices unanimously agreed on the violation, but disagreed on
whether it had made any diVerence to the outcome of the elections (Karpinski 1995).
And of course no list of politically signiWcant court rulings could ignore Bush vs.
Gore, the decision by the US Supreme Court in 2001 that eVectively awarded the
presidency to George W. Bush.
In sum, then, the decisions of high courts throughout the world have made a
diVerence for both the leaders and the led in society, aVecting matters of high policy,
the details of everyday life, as well as the ‘‘leadership of the free world.’’ As Alexis de
Tocqueville (1945, vol. 1, 280) said long ago, ‘‘Scarcely any political question arises in
the United States that is not resolved, sooner or later, into a judicial question.’’ How
right he has become, not just in the USA, but throughout the world!
The purpose of this chapter is therefore to consider the state of the literature on
courts and the judicial process. With the massive proliferation of research on judi-
ciaries throughout the world, I cannot hope to provide an exhaustive consideration of
all interesting and relevant research. The scholarship (like the discipline of political
science itself) is diverse, and therefore diYcult to organize. One cannot ignore,
however, the vast research on the processes by which judges make decisions; nor the
impressive scholarship on the essential and distinctive political capital of courts—
institutional legitimacy. In addition, the emerging literature on judicial independence
and accountability is highlighted in this review. Throughout, I will attempt to identify
important research questions to which the Weld must attend.

1 Judicial Decision-making
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The heart of research on courts has been and continues to be the study of judicial
decision-making. In 1983, I asserted, ‘‘In a nutshell, judges decisions are a function
516 james l. gibson

of what they prefer to do, tempered by what they think they ought to do, but
constrained by what they perceive is feasible to do’’ (Gibson 1983, 9). This pithy
summary still provides a useful means of organizing the literature on judicial
decision-making. What judges prefer to do is the central focus of the Attitudinal
Model, most closely associated with the research of JeVrey Segal and Harold
Spaeth. What judges ought to do is a concern of the Legal Model, and especially
of role theorists, while feasibility lies within the province of Strategic Models
(where I also locate the interactions between courts and their various constituents).
I begin my consideration of judicial decision-making with the Attitudinal Model.

2 Attitudes as Determinants of
Judges’ Decisions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Without any doubt whatsoever, the most important theory of judicial decision-
making is that of Segal and Spaeth, and it is not hyperbole to assert that this work
has an extremely strong claim to being the most important contribution to our
understanding of courts and judges in the last two to three decades.1 The Attitudinal
Model begins with the hypothesis that Supreme Court justices decide ‘‘disputes in light
of the facts of the case vis-à-vis [their] ideological attitudes and values’’ (Segal and
Spaeth 2002, 86). Thus, the model is fairly simple: liberals decide cases liberally;
conservatives, conservatively. The model is slightly complicated by the reference to
case facts, but is still fairly simple: liberal judges see and weight facts in particular ways,
and their perceptions of facts cause them to make liberal decisions. Judges’ decisions,
according to this theory, reXect their ideological preferences, tempered by case facts.
In some respects, the Attitudinal Model is not a general model of judicial
decision-making; instead, it is closely tailored to the circumstances of the United
States Supreme Court. ‘‘Attitudinalists argue that because legal rules governing
decision-making (e.g. precedent, plain meaning) in the cases that come to the
Court do not limit discretion; because the justices need not respond to public
opinion, Congress, or the President; and because the Supreme Court is the court
of last resort, the justices, unlike their lower court colleagues, may freely
implement personal policy preferences’’ in their rulings (Segal and Spaeth 2002,
111). Presumably, in courts in which these characteristics do not apply, the

1 Although Segal and Spaeth have published widely in academic journals, their two books (1993,
2002) include most of the theory and much of the data on which the Attitudinal Model is based.
 judicial institutions 517

Attitudinal Model is of lesser importance. In general, however, little progress has

been made in determining the relative importance of the various institutional
attributes characterizing decision-making on the United States Supreme Court.
The Attitudinal Model relies heavily on the ability to measure the attitudes of
judges apart from their decisions. In a highly original approach to this problem,
Segal and Cover (1989) used newspaper editorials to derive a measure of the
justices’ values at the time of their appointment (see also Segal and Spaeth 2002,
322, for an updated set of attitude scores for the justices). Since 1953, the most
conservative justice to serve on the United States Supreme Court is Justice Scalia
(followed closely by Justice Rehnquist); the most liberal are Justices Brennan,
Fortas, and Marshall (all tied).
The Attitudinal Model has been used to predict the decisions of the justices of the
US Supreme Court. In an interesting investigation of the model, two political
scientists pitted their predictive skills against legal experts. The experts were relying
upon their knowledge of law, cases, and justices, whereas the political scientists used
a simple predictive algorithm grounded in the Attitudinal Model. The objective was
to predict each individual vote cast in the 2002–3 term of the United States Supreme
Court. As it turns out, the political scientists were able to predict 75 percent of the
case outcomes; the legal experts did somewhat worse at 59.1 percent (Martin, Quinn,
Ruger, and Kim 2004). In terms of predicting the individual votes of the justices,
both approaches did equally well (67.9 percent vs. 66.7 percent, for the experts and
political scientists, respectively). What is perhaps most interesting is that the statis-
tical model is so simple, and that by relying on such non-legal factors as the circuit of
origin, the type of the petitioner and respondent, etc., the model produced such a
high level of predictive success. This is likely a function of unexplored correlations
between the factual elements of the cases and the attitudinal predispositions of
the justices (just as the expert predictions undoubtedly built in implicit judgments
about the ideologies of the justices). That three-fourths of the decisions of
the Court can be predicted without knowing anything at all about legal
doctrine, precedents, and constitutional law is impressive indeed.
Thus, it seems highly probable that judges rely upon their own ideological
predilections in making their decisions. This is undoubtedly true of the rariWed
atmosphere of decision-making by the Supreme Court (e.g. no accountability, no
review of decisions), but may also be true of lower court judges who often work
with laws delegating enormous discretion (e.g. sentencing laws) and without fear
of review by a higher court (because appeals are so rare).2 And few judges
would disavow the intention to do justice by their decisions. What is less well

2 For an example of research based at least in part on the Attitudinal Model in Courts of Appeal see
Klein 2002. At the level of the federal district courts, the Attitudinal Model plays an extremely prominent
role (e.g. Rowland and Carp 1996), even if attitudes are typically inferred, rather than directly measured,
from attributes such as the party of the president who appointed the judge. On the Attitudinal Model
and state supreme courts see Langer 2002; Brace and Hall 1997; and Brace, Langer, and Hall 2000.
518 james l. gibson

acknowledged is the intimate connection between one’s sense of justice in an

instant case and one’s general ideological predispositions.
An attitude is a predisposition, and a relatively Wxed one at that (but see Martin
and Quinn 2002). Behavior, on the other hand, is characterized by a distribution of
discrete decisions. Attitudes, if they are useful, should predict the central tendency
in such distributions, and they do. However, it would be unreasonable to expect
attitudes to predict every single individual decision. It may be, for instance, that the
votes of voters with Democratic attitudes are well predicted by the attitudes in
general, even if a speciWc voting decision may deviate from the attitudes
(e.g. ‘‘Reagan Democrats’’). We know that in general attitudes are moderate to
strong predictors of behavior (e.g. Kraus 1995), but also that attitudes never
provide a complete explanation of actual behaviors. What must be added to our
analyses is an understanding of the factors that might deXect a decision away from
the predisposition of the decision-maker. Thus, our models of decision-making
require an additional layer of complexity.

3 Normative Constraints on
Decision-making: What Judges Think
They Ought to Do
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Attitudinalists are often challenged by those who assert that judges are frequently
strongly constrained by stare decisis and precedent. The argument has more
plausibility at the trial court level, where judges are often faced with routine
decisions requiring the application of existing law to instant disputes. At the
appellate court level it appears that law rarely dictates outcomes. Segal and Spaeth
(1996), for instance, show that most justices of the US Supreme Court do not put
aside their policy preferences in order to defer to existing precedents. Others
disagree, however (e.g. Knight and Epstein 1996; Spriggs and Hansford 2001), so
this is an issue requiring further inquiry.
Undoubtedly, the answer is that laws (constitutions, statutes, and precedents)
vary in the degree to which discretion is aVorded to judges. And since fact patterns
rarely reproduce themselves precisely, some discretion is virtually always available
to judges to determine what body of law is relevant to an instant case.3 Perhaps all

3 When a new policy is set, it changes the relative weights assigned to the fact-based aspects of the
cases. For example, Richards and Kritzer (2002) show that the factors related to decisions in free
 judicial institutions 519

judges believe that similar cases ought to be treated similarly, but determining to
which body of law an individual case belongs is no easy or mechanical task
(especially at the appellant level, where one side of the case has already prevailed
with the court below, and the other side of the case believes its argument suY-
ciently strong to risk the high cost of appeal). To the extent that judges are free to
pick which precedents they ‘‘follow,’’ then it is diYcult to assign much causal
inXuence to the prior court decisions. Moreover, many of the decisions of judges
are in areas where vast discretion is granted by law and precedent is of little
guidance or meaning (e.g. sentencing decisions).
In discussing the role of precedent in judicial decision-making, Epstein and
Knight (2004, 186) assert: ‘‘judges have a preferred rule that they would like
to establish in the case before them, but they strategically modify their position
to take account of a normative constraint—a norm favoring precedent—in order
to produce a decision as close as is possible to their preferred outcome.’’ What
Epstein and Knight are acknowledging is that judges are subject to expectations
about how they ought to behave. Not all decisional options can be exercised by
judges without repercussions. Moreover, judges hold their own views about how
they ought to behave. Many judges take, for instance, an oath to obey the law, and
obeying the law to many means following precedent whenever possible. And even if
judges do not themselves accept a particular model of good judging, they may be
subject to norms and expectations that constrain their behavior. Perhaps the most
important conclusion here is that judging is diVerent from other forms of decision-
making by public oYcials. Courts are not simply mini-legislatures. Because judg-
ing is diVerent, and speciWcally because impartiality is an expected behavior of all
judges, normative models of decision-making have uncommon inXuence. More-
over, the legitimacy of judicial decisions is to some degree inXuenced by the
procedures judges use in making decisions (Tyler and Mitchell 1994), and, import-
antly, judges know that.
Judges diVer in whether they believe their primary obligation is to justice or to
strict legality. Some judges value the orderliness and predictability of law more
highly than justice in individual cases. Other judges are more strongly committed
to achieving justice in their decisions than maintaining strict legal consistency.
These judges cite as part of the obligation of a judge in a Common Law System the
need to ensure that law keeps up with changing social values and norms, and they
attribute the legitimacy of courts to their ability to make decisions commonly
regarded as just.
Gibson (1978) has shown that judges’ perceptions of what they ought to do as
judges do in fact inXuence their decision-making behavior. This is not simply a
matter of ‘‘activist’’ judges making liberal decisions, and ‘‘restraintist’’ judges

expression cases change as a result of a new ‘‘jurisprudential regime’’ announced and implemented in
Chicago Police Department vs. Mosley and Grayned vs. Rockford.
520 james l. gibson

making conservative decisions. Instead, these orientations inXuence styles of

decision-making. ‘‘Activist’’ judges, for instance, are more likely to be concerned
with the social consequences of their decisions, since activists are seeking to
maximize ‘‘justice’’ (be it a conservative or liberal version of justice). Restraintists
seek to maximize ‘‘legality’’ (and the law is sometimes liberal, just as it is sometimes
conservative), to the extent possible. Thus, judicial activism is not correlated with
the ideological thrust of decisions, but instead is a description of the types of
variables upon which judges are likely to base their decisions.
Although role theory is rarely referenced in contemporary research on judicial
decision-making, one can readily Wnd instances in which the theory is implicitly
implicated. For instance, consider again the competition between political
scientists and legal experts in predicting Supreme Court decisions. One commen-
tator on the contest observed that, ‘‘The more conservative the justice, the larger the
role played by ideology and the more accurate the model’s attitudinalist prediction.’’
However, ‘‘Legalism, not attitudinalism, is a better way to predict the votes of the
four liberals because they place more emphasis on law than politics’’ (Sherry 2004,
771). In essence, Sherry is making the observation Gibson (1977) made long ago:
Judicial activists need not be (nor are they usually) liberals; conservative activism is
quite common; and role orientations determine styles of decision-making.
Norms inXuence many aspects of judicial behavior, as, for instance, the import-
ant inXuence of the norm of consensus (a further example of implicit role theory).
This norm—which grants or denies legitimacy to the public expression of dissent
by judges—has changed over time in the US Supreme Court (Caldeira and Zorn
1998), and these norms have clearly shaped the behavior of judges. Strong norms
against dissent still seem to govern in many state supreme courts (Brace and Hall
2005), and these norms directly inXuence the behavior of judges. Judges are not free
to adopt with impunity any particular decision-making style; instead, they are
constrained by normative expectations.
There is a rich but unWnished empirical literature on judges’ beliefs about what
constitutes proper judicial behavior, and there are some important lessons from
that research. First, judges vary. Any analyst who treats judges as a homogeneous
group when it comes to conceptions of judging is making a serious mistake.
Thus, micro-level analysis of individual diVerences is essential. Second, what one
believes one should do is not always what one can do. A judge who believes
strongly in strictly following precedent will inevitably be confronted with cases
for which no precedent exists. Perhaps more important, the feasibility of follow-
ing precedent may be undermined by other conXicting objectives (e.g. maintain-
ing the legitimacy of the court itself), forcing judges to choose between
competing cherished values. Finally, simplistic and symbolic (and politically
valuable) descriptions of methods of decision-making often obscure very real
diVerences among judges. When judges are asked for instance whether judges
should follow precedent, they overwhelmingly reply, yes. But when asked whether
 judicial institutions 521

they agree or disagree with the statement that ‘‘it is just as legitimate to make a
decision and then Wnd the precedent as it is to Wnd the precedent and then make
the decision,’’ then substantial dissensus emerges. Now if a judge can choose
which precedents to follow, or if a decision legitimately precedes the precedent,
what sort of logic compels us to understand the precedent as having caused the
decision? Finally, the empirical question of how these beliefs about proper
behavior inXuence actual decision-making can only be resolved through careful
empirical analysis, based mainly on positivist methods.
Many debates exist among scholars of judicial behavior in part because judges
and others are often disingenuous in describing how they go about making
decisions, and in part due to concerns about judicial legitimacy. This then raises
the more general issue of whether strategic factors play a role in judicial
processes.

4 Strategic Considerations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Epstein and Knight (2000, 625) have documented well the rise of rational choice
approaches to judicial decision-making, and in particular models of strategic
choices by judges. They deWne the strategic model as: ‘‘(1) social actors make
choices in order to achieve certain goals; (2) social actors act strategically in the
sense that their choices depend on their expectations about the choices of other
actors; and (3) these choices are structured by the institutional setting in which they
are made’’ (2000, 626). Of course, at this level of abstraction, no one could disagree
with the application of this model to judicial decision-making. Judges have policy
preferences they try to implement, but they cannot act as entirely free agents.
Instead, they must take into account the preferences of their constituents (broadly
deWned), as well as formal and informal institutional rules, prescriptions, and
proscriptions.
Theories of constrained choice often fall within the Separation of Powers (SoP)
approach (e.g. Segal 1999). This is a body of research examining the degree to which
judges factor into their decision-making their beliefs and perceptions about the
reactions of the other branches of government to their policies. As such, it has
much in common with theories of legitimacy (see below) that argue that judicial
institutions are dependent upon others for the successful implementation of their
decisions.
Assuming that judges are single-minded, with policy goals entirely dominant,
few would argue with the view that no institution can be eVective without acting
522 james l. gibson

strategically in this sense. Neustadt long ago taught us that even the US president is
severely constrained by others when he documented that the power of the president
is the power to persuade, not to command. Undoubtedly, judges do not judge in a
vacuum.
But it is likely that judges, like all humans, attempt to maximize many diVerent
objectives by their actions on the bench, and there is no clear evidence that
aVecting the implementation of their policies is the overriding goal of most
justices. For instance, the single-minded pursuit of policy goals may on occasion
threaten the legitimacy of a court, and therefore judges will act to protect the
institution rather than maximize policy preferences. Consequently, it is not sur-
prising that evidence in support of the strategic hypothesis is decidedly mixed.
Even though Epstein and Knight (2000, 640) provide a list of twenty-nine citations
that provide ‘‘empirical support for the plausibility of the assumption of strategic
interaction,’’ it is unlikely that this body of research actually tests the strategic
hypothesis within a fully speciWed model—that is, in the context of controlling for
plausible rival hypotheses. Moreover, the strategic hypothesis seems to be nothing
more than that judges consider more than their own policy preferences in making
decisions. Consequently, research on the eVect of elections on court decision-
making, a voluminous and long-standing concern of judicial scholars, scores as
support for the strategic hypothesis. From this perspective, strategic behavior
seems to be any behavior taking into account anything other than one’s own
personal policy preferences. Moreover, it seems likely that some justices consider
it improper to engage in anything but sincere decision-making, that others view
the reactions of others to be too unpredictable to warrant much consideration, that
some justices simply mispredict the reactions of others, and that which goal comes
to dominate any particular decision depends mightily upon a series of contextual
variables. Thus, it is probably not surprising that the empirical evidence for this
form of strategic behavior is so contested.
It is also unclear how strategic behavior Wts within normative theories of how
judges ought to behave. One factor the strategic literature rarely considers is that
many judge strategic behavior as normatively inappropriate. A synonym for
‘‘strategic’’ is ‘‘insincere.’’ Many expect judges to act sincerely, directly and only
considering matters of legality, justice, and right and wrong. Strategic action makes
good sense for consumers in economic marketplaces; one buying a home from
another often acts insincerely and in a manipulative fashion without a great deal of
ethical opprobrium. But law and judging are not economics. It is easy to imagine
that the colleagues and constituents of strategic judges come to disapprove of such
behavior, and ultimately to distrust and dismiss such judges. In its inattention to
most normative considerations, rational choice models of human behavior are
typically incomplete accounts of how decision-makers in public political roles
make decisions.
 judicial institutions 523

4.1 Neoinstitutionalism
Strategic theories are certainly correct that judges are often constrained by the
institutions within which they work, and ‘‘neoinstitutionalism’’ has become quite
fashionable among students of judicial behavior (see Clayton and Gillman 1999
for a Wne collection of essays on neoinstitutionalism). The neoinstitutional
hypothesis is simple: Institutions matter. As collections of formal and informal
norms, institutions prescribe and proscribe behaviors. Institutions are certainly
human creations, and far from invariant, but few would argue with the basic
contention that Robinson Crusoe used a decision-making process quite unlike
that employed by actors within institutional settings.
But it is unlikely that institutions have uniform eVects on all institutional
decision-makers. ‘‘Mavericks’’ obviously exist—is it possible to be more ‘‘maverick’’
than William O. Douglas? More generally, individuals vary in the degree to which
they respond to institutional incentives, in the degree to which they internalize
institutional norms. To treat unthinkingly the institution as the most useful unit
of analysis seems unwise. Courts do not make decisions; judges do, even if they
are much inXuenced by their courts. Developing useful cross-level theories
of individuals in institutions has received insuYcient attention in contemporary
studies of courts.
A crucial and obvious attribute of many judicial institutions is the requirement
of popular accountability: The occupant of the judicial role must seek reelection.
It seems certain, therefore, that the goal of re-election or reappointment is inXuen-
tial for many judicial actors. For example, Hall (1995) discovered that state supreme
court judges are more inclined to uphold challenges to the death penalty when they
are approaching the time for their re-election. Huber and Gordon (2004) produce
similar evidence on the sentencing behavior of trial judges, claiming to be able to
‘‘attribute more than two thousand years of additional incarceration to this
dynamic’’ among Pennsylvania trial judges (2004, 261). That judges are rarely
voted out of oYce seems to be of little consequence (just as it is inconsequential
that members of Congress are rarely voted out; see Hall 2001).
Furthermore, the inXuence of interest groups in shaping the agenda of the US
Supreme Court should be counted as a constraint on justices’ decisions. Research
in this area has become increasingly sophisticated, as in studies that actually
survey organizations, rather than just tending to formally Wled amicus briefs
(e.g. Hansford 2004). Undoubtedly, some sort of interaction exists between the
decisions of courts and the political calculus of interest groups.
Perhaps the most outstanding investigation of the strategic hypothesis can
be found in Langer’s (2002) study of state supreme courts. What I Wnd most
compelling about her research is that it investigates multiple causes of judges’
decisions, and argues that the degree to which judges engage in strategic behavior
524 james l. gibson

varies across contexts. SpeciWcally, her research ‘‘demonstrates that the likelihood
of strategic behavior by judges varies by preference distributions, divided party
control of state governments, constitutional amendment procedures, judicial re-
tention practices, length of judicial terms, and the degree of saliency associated
with the area of law’’ (2002, 123). Put more simply: ‘‘these analyses demonstrate
that state supreme court justices vote sincerely when [they] feel they can and
strategically when they feel they must.’’ The Wnding of conditionality is surely
correct, and should not be lost on future research.
In the Wnal analysis, the strategic hypothesis has certainly contributed to our
understanding of the factors inXuencing judicial decision-making, and the adher-
ents of the theory are quite correct to criticize those who adopt simple (and
simplistic) models of decision-making that ignore the institutional, political, and
social contexts of judging. Whether this contribution is revolutionary is doubtful,
for two reasons. First, the strategic hypothesis is closely connected to long-standing
thinking about the dependence of courts on their environments, and second, with
few exceptions, the hypothesis has only been stated and tested in its most crude
form, ignoring, for instance, a host of conditional variables, ranging from individ-
ual psychology to institutional structure. Most important, the assumption of
single-mindedness ignores the vast complexity that arises when decision-makers
seek to maximize many desiderata simultaneously. Finally, it is entirely unclear at
this point that the rational choice approach is the only framework within which the
strategic hypothesis can be tested.
An important element of the strategic hypothesis is that courts are dependent
upon their environments. As Epstein and Knight (2004, 186) note, ‘‘To the extent
that judges are concerned with establishing rules that will engender the compliance
of the community, they will take account of the fact that they must establish rules
that are legitimate in the eyes of that community.’’ Thus, an important and obvious
connection exists between strategic considerations and theories of institutional
legitimacy.

5 The Legitimacy of Judicial

Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

All institutions need political capital in order to be eVective, to get their decisions
accepted by others and be successfully implemented. Since courts are typically
thought to be weak institutions—having neither the power of the ‘‘purse’’ (control
 judicial institutions 525

of the treasury) nor the ‘‘sword’’ (control over agents of state coercion)—their
political capital must be found in resources other than Wnances and force. For
courts, their principal political capital is institutional legitimacy.
Legitimacy Theory is one of the most important frameworks we have for under-
standing the eVectiveness of courts in democratic societies (e.g. Gibson 2004a).
Fortunately, considerable agreement exists among social scientists and legal scholars
on the major contours of the theory. For instance, most agree that legitimacy is a
normative concept, having something to do with the right (moral and legal) to
make decisions. ‘‘Authority’’ is sometimes used as a synonym for legitimacy. Insti-
tutions perceived to be legitimate are those with a widely accepted mandate to
render judgments for a political community. ‘‘Basically, when people say that laws
are ‘legitimate,’ they mean that there is something rightful about the way the laws
came about . . . the legitimacy of law rests on the way it comes to be: if that is
legitimate, then so are the results, at least most of the time’’ (Friedman 1998, 256).
In the scholarly literature, legitimacy is most often equated with ‘‘diVuse
support.’’ DiVuse support refers to ‘‘a reservoir of favorable attitudes or good will
that helps members to accept or tolerate outputs to which they are opposed or the
eVects of which they see as damaging to their wants’’ (Easton 1965, 273). DiVuse
support is loyalty to an institution; it is support that is not contingent upon
satisfaction with the immediate outputs of the institution. Easton’s apt phrase
‘‘a reservoir of good will’’ captures well the idea that people have conWdence in
institutions to make, in the long-run, desirable public policy. Institutions without a
reservoir of goodwill may be limited in their ability to go against the preferences of
the majority.4
Legitimacy becomes vital when people disagree about public policy. When a
court, for instance, makes a decision pleasing to all, discussions of legitimacy are
rarely heard. When there is conXict over policy, then some may ask whether the
institution has the authority, the ‘‘right,’’ to make the decision. Legitimate institu-
tions are those recognized as appropriate decision-making bodies even when one
disagrees with the outputs of the institution.5 Thus, legitimacy takes on its primary
importance in the presence of an objection precondition. Institutions such as courts
need the leeway to be able to go against public opinion (as for instance in
protecting unpopular political minorities). Scholars sometimes refer to this leeway
in the context of the Rule of Law. Legitimacy provides the political capital enabling
courts to rule according to the dictates of legal principles, rather than according to

4 Comparativists (e.g. Tsebelis 2000) often focus on courts as ‘‘veto-players’’ and have acknow-
ledged that legitimacy is a necessary resource if courts are to play this role.
5 No better example of this can be found than in the reactions to Bush vs. Gore (e.g. Gibson,
Caldeira, and Spence 2003; Yates and Whitford 2002; and Kritzer 2001). Legitimacy may be thought of
as an element of the ‘‘informal institutions’’ that are so important to the functioning of courts (see
Helmke and Levitsky 2004).
526 james l. gibson

the demands of their constituents (for an elaboration of this idea, see Gibson
2004b). Thus, a crucial attribute of political institutions is the degree to which they
enjoy the loyalty of their constituents; when courts enjoy legitimacy, they can count
on compliance with (or at least acquiescence to) decisions running contrary to the
preferences of their constituents.
According to the research of Gibson, Caldeira, and Baird (1998), the United
States Supreme Court is an extremely legitimate institution, even if other consti-
tutional courts (e.g. the German Federal Constitutional Court—see Baird 2001)
have vast stores of goodwill as well. Indeed, because the Court’s legitimacy is so
widespread, it had the political capital necessary for having its decision in Bush vs.
Gore respected. The Court worries about its legitimacy (e.g. Planned Parenthood of
Southeastern Pennsylvania vs. Casey) but at present no issues (with the possible
exception of abortion) seem poised to threaten it.
Legitimacy Theory asserts that courts are especially dependent upon legitimacy
for their eVectiveness. But legitimacy is fragile, and its origins are poorly under-
stood; to date, no comprehensive theory of how legitimacy for law and courts
emerges has been produced. There are, however, several extremely fecund facts
arising from the literature that can serve as the building blocks of such theory:
1. Long ago, Casey (1974) demonstrated that the more one knows about law and
courts, the less realistic are perceptions of judicial decision (i.e. the more one is
likely to believe in the theory of mechanical jurisprudence). Something about
being exposed to information about courts contributes to people embracing
this traditional mythology of judicial decision-making (see also Scheb and
Lyons 2000, who refer to this as the ‘‘myth of legality’’).
2. More recently, Hibbing and Theiss-Morse (1995) have shown that greater
awareness of the Supreme Court leads to more support for it, whereas greater
awareness of Congress is associated with less support for that institution.
Kritzer and Voelker (1998) make a similar argument. Again, something about
being exposed to the institution increases support for it, and there is appar-
ently something unique about exposure to judicial institutions.
3. Caldeira and Gibson (1995) have shown in several contexts that greater
awareness of judicial institutions is related to a greater willingness to extend
legitimacy to courts. Gibson, Caldeira, and Baird (1998) have conWrmed this
Wnding in research in roughly twenty countries.
4. Caldeira and Gibson (1995) have suggested that the legitimacy of courts is not
undermined by the disagreeable opinions issued by the institution. This is in
part related to the ability to shirk responsibility for decisions by reference to
the dictates of precedent and stare decisis. If more knowledgeable people are
more likely to be predisposed toward the theory of mechanical jurisprudence,
just as they are more likely to be attentive to courts, then it follows that they are
 judicial institutions 527

also more likely to be persuaded by the justices’ denial of responsibility for the
decision.
5. Gibson, Caldeira, and Spence (2003) have posited a mechanism by which these
Wndings can be integrated. They suggest a ‘‘positivity bias,’’ which means that
exposure to courts is typically associated with exposure to the legitimizing
symbols of courts (robes, decorum, media deference, etc.), thereby contribut-
ing to legitimacy. Even when the initial stimulus for paying attention to courts
is negative (as Bush vs. Gore was for many), judicial symbols enhance legitim-
acy, which shields the institution from attack based on disagreement with its
decision. The 2000 US presidential election provides a powerful and compel-
ling example of this process (see also Yates and Whitford 2002; Kritzer 2001).
Thus, ironically, even disagreement with court decisions may increase expos-
ure to legitimizing judicial symbols, which in turn enhances the perceived
legitimacy of the court.
6. At this point, more speculation is required about how this process evolves.
I begin by positing that citizens do not naturally diVerentiate between the
judiciary and the other branches of government. That courts are special and
diVerent is something that must be learned. Thus, those most ignorant about
politics are likely to hold views of courts and other political institutions that
are quite similar—courts are not seen as special and unique.6
Exposure to legitimizing judicial symbols reinforces the process of distinguishing
courts from other political institutions. The message of these powerful symbols is
that ‘‘courts are diVerent,’’ and owing to these diVerences, courts are worthy of
more respect, deference, and obedience—in short, legitimacy.
Three important developments in contemporary American politics may very
well undermine the degree to which attention to courts is associated with exposure
to legitimizing symbols. First, in 2002, the United States Supreme Court ruled that,
owing to the First Amendment to the Constitution, judges could no longer
be prohibited from expressing policy positions during electoral campaigns for state
judicial oYces (Republican Party of Minnesota vs. White 536 U.S. 765 (2002)). The
majority based its opinion in part on the view that speech about the qualiWcations
of candidates for public oYce is essential to electoral processes in democratic
politics. Although such candidates are not now permitted every type of speech
(promises about how one would judge speciWc cases are legitimately proscribed,
at least at the moment), this Supreme Court decision has opened the door for
freewheeling discussions of legal policy issues by both incumbents and challengers
for judicial oYces. As a consequence, judicial elections now focus on judges’
ideologies and judicial policy-making far more than in the past.

6 This conjecture is certainly true of many countries other than the United States, as in the former
East Germany, for instance (see Markovits 1995).
528 james l. gibson

At the same time, interest groups and legal activists have become increasingly
desirous of inXuencing the outcomes of state judicial elections. This stems partly
from the relative inactivity of the US Supreme Court (which now issues fewer than
100 full opinions per year), and partly from the realization that state judicial policies can
have enormous economic, political, and social consequences (as in so-called tort
reform; see for example Baum 2003). As a consequence, the USA has witnessed in the
last few years an unprecedented injection of money into state judicial elections (e.g. the
activism of the US Chamber of Commerce and the Trial Lawyers Associations; see for
example Echeverria 2001), with campaign spending reaching all-time highs.7 The
conXuence of broadened freedom for judges to speak out on issues, the increasing
importance of state judicial policies, and the infusion of money into judicial campaigns
has produced what may be described as the ‘‘Perfect Storm’’ of judicial elections. This
storm has fundamentally reshaped the atmosphere of state judicial elections.
Undoubtedly one of the most important research questions for future inquiry has
to do with the consequences of this intense politicization of the American state
courts (and federal court as well, for that matter). To the extent that campaigning
takes on the characteristics of ‘‘normal’’ political elections, courts will be seen as not
special and diVerent, with the consequence that their legitimacy may be undermined.

6 Judicial Independence vs.

Democratic Accountability
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Controversies over how to select and retain judges inevitably implicate theories of
judicial independence and accountability. Unfortunately, independence and ac-
countability are locked in zero-sum tension with each other (e.g. Hall 2001; Baum
2003); the American people, however, seem to want both independence and
accountability from their courts.
Baum (2003, 14) deWnes judicial independence as ‘‘a condition in which judges are
entirely free from negative consequences for their decisions on the bench. The degree
of judicial independence is the degree of such freedom.’’ Conventional wisdom holds

7 No better illustration of this phenomenon can be found than in the judicial elections of 2004.
According to the Brennan Center at NYU Law School, an all-time high of $21 million dollars was spent
on advertising in state supreme court elections in 2004, an increase of almost 20% as compared to
2000 (Brennan Center, Press Release 2004). A total of 181 ads was produced, with 42,096 airings in
fifteen states. Over 10,000 airings were shown in each of four states: Ohio, Alabama, West Virginia, and
Illinois.
 judicial institutions 529

that judicial independence is among the most valuable institutional resources of

courts. For courts to fulWll their role as impartial arbiters of disputes—and as veto-
players—they must be insulated to some degree from ordinary political pressures.
When judiciaries lose their independence, they may lose their eVectiveness.8
A brittle tension exists between judicial independence and democratic
accountability. In democratic societies, policy-making institutions are typically
held accountable through the political process.9 To the extent that courts are
recognized as policy-makers, then expectations of accountability naturally emerge.
Where few mechanisms exist to hold judges accountable (as in the federal courts in
the United States, where all judges hold lifetime appointments), courts are vulner-
able to the loss of legitimacy when their opinions clash with those of the majority.
One diYculty of assessing accountability and independence is that formal
institutional structures (i.e. formal selection systems) often do not perform as
they are intended. On the basis of systematic empirical inquiry, Hall (2001, 326), for
instance, asserts: ‘‘Court reformers underestimate the extent to which partisan
elections have a tangible substantive component and overestimate the extent to
which nonpartisan and retention races are insulated from partisan politics
and other contextual forces.’’ And clearly nonpartisan and retention elections are
unsuccessful at removing politics from the selection of state judges.
Many crucial unanswered problems in research on judicial selection systems
require additional investigation. For instance (as already mentioned above), what is
the eVect of the new-style of judicial elections on judges and courts? In addition, we
know too little about how lawyers decide to become judges (which often
entails signiWcant Wnancial sacriWce) and how institutions establish incentives to
recruit systematically certain types of individuals. To what degree are courts
drawing on a pool of talent similar or dissimilar to that relied upon by other
political institutions? How and why do judges decide to leave the bench; are
strategic considerations at play; to what degree do judges work in concert with
executives (e.g. governors) to time and coordinate their departure from the bench?
Institutional change is also quite interesting: How do interest groups mobilize to
attempt to change judicial selection systems; what groups are involved and with
what degree of coordination; and how successful are they? We know that citizens
rarely want to give up their role in selecting judges; by what means are they
persuaded to rate independence more highly than accountability?

8 An interesting example of the obverse of this statement (as courts become more independent,
they become more eVective) is the Wnding of Giles and Lancaster (1989) that willingness to use the
courts in Spain (litigiousness) increased rather dramatically after the fall of the Franco regime.
Lancaster and Giles attribute this to the growing legitimacy of the courts which emerged from the
perception that the courts are independent and impartial.
9 For an excellent account of the eVorts of constitutional courts in Central and Eastern Europe to
achieve judicial independence, see Schwartz 2000.
530 james l. gibson

Finally, we know very little about voters in judicial elections. The conventional
view is that law and courts are practically invisible to ordinary people, most of
whom are uninformed about judicial contests (e.g. GriVen and Horan 1979; Baum
1988–89, 2003). As Morin (1989) notes, more Americans can name the judge on the
television show The People’s Court (Judge Wapner) than can name a member of the
US Supreme Court (an oft-cited Wnding that has become part of the conventional
wisdom about courts and their publics).10 Are voters uninformed dolts? Can
judicial elections capture the attention of voters, and, if so, with what conse-
quences? Some evidence exists to the eVect that knowledge of law and courts is
remarkably high in the United States, if the correct questions are asked on surveys.
For instance, Gibson, Caldeira, and Spence (2001) report that fully 73 percent of a
representative sample of the American people know that US Supreme Court
justices are appointed to their position. Two-thirds realize that Supreme
Court justices serve for a life term, and 61 percent are aware that the Court has
the ‘‘last say’’ on the Constitution. Furthermore, roughly two-thirds of the Ameri-
can people know that the Court has made rulings on the right to have abortions
and on the rights of black Americans. Nearly 80 percent know that there is an
African-American on the Court, and 88 percent of those can identify Clarence
Thomas as the justice. Similar numbers know that the Court has a woman on the
bench, with 77 percent of those respondents able to identify Sandra Day O’Connor
as a female Supreme Court justice. It is certainly true that most Americans cannot
name a single member of the US Supreme Court when asked to do so in an open-
ended question (i.e. the respondent is entirely responsible for generating the name,
as in the American National Election Study), but diYcult questions such as these
vastly underestimate the level of information people hold about their legal system.
Americans apparently know far more about their courts than most scholars realize
(and this may be in part due to the advent of descriptive representation on the
courts). The old saw that the constituents of courts know nothing about judging
needs to be subjected to much more comprehensive investigation.

7 Concluding Comments
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Perhaps few areas of research in political science are as vibrant as the sub-Weld
of law and courts. While this chapter has focused on institutions, a vast amount of
10 Kritzer and Voelker note that court systems in a number of states have commissioned public
opinion polls ‘‘with an eye toward Wnding ways to improve the quality of service delivery and public
support’’ (1998, 59). So obviously the court systems themselves believe that the views of their
constituents are important and not entirely void of content.
 judicial institutions 531

interesting research is being conducted in the sub-Weld on culture (legal and

otherwise), justice (distributive, procedural, retributive, and restorative), and insti-
tutions other than courts (e.g. juries, interest groups), to name just a few. Research
in the sub-Weld is as narrow as studies of opinion-assignment behavior on the
United States Supreme Court and as broad as trying to understand the conditions
under which law can bring about social change. Methodological eclecticism char-
acterizes the Weld, although there is a growing recognition among most scholars that
theory without data is of limited value, just as are data (and databases) without
theory. Although the United States Supreme Court continues to be (and will always
be) the focus of a great deal of research eVort, comparative research on law and
courts is becoming commonplace. And one of the most exciting opportunities can
be found in the reinvigorated research on state law and courts. The states do indeed
provide a laboratory for research of this sort, in particular through their enormous
institutional variability (both in structure and in function).
And Wnally, theoretical innovation in the sub-Weld, though perhaps not keeping
up completely with available data, is impressive. The growth of rational choice is
noteworthy, as is the growing tendency to subject such models to rigorous empir-
ical investigation. Noteworthy as well is the tendency to adopt larger perspectives
on the processes we study, as in research investigating the inXuence of interest
groups on courts, from the interest group, not the court, perspective. All of these
trends and tendencies speak to the vibrancy of the Weld. Law and courts are not
marginal to politics; they are central, and this is increasingly being understood by
the entire discipline of political science.
Nonetheless, important lacunae and unanswered questions exist for the sub-
Weld. Perhaps the most glaring is that research on US courts continues to dominate
the study of courts. With the exception of studies of judicial legitimacy—where
research on a couple of dozen national high courts has been reported, as well
research on the European Court of Justice—little is known about non-US courts.
Fortunately, scholars have recognized this and a variety of new research is currently
being conducted on courts throughout the world (e.g. Haynie 2003). Perhaps the
next time a review such as this is written, it will be clear that the study of courts is a
truly international enterprise.

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Cases Cited
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 chapter 27
...................................................................................................................................................

T H E J U D I C I A L P RO C E S S
AND PUBLIC POLICY
...................................................................................................................................................

kevin t. mcguire

Courts are curious institutions. Unlike elected bodies that regard governing as their
explicit responsibility, members of the judiciary are often less certain about their
function within the polity. To be sure, legislative and executive oYcials frequently
disagree about the types of policies that should be enacted. Questions such as ‘‘To
what degree should the state regulate economic and social aVairs?’’ and ‘‘What
should be the government’s priorities in foreign aVairs?’’ are some of the basic
issues with which representatives must come to terms. Regardless of the role they
believe that government should play, however, elected representatives scarcely
doubt that it is their obligation to establish the rules that order relations in society.
Judges, by contrast, must ask themselves not only what policies are appropriate
but also whether they should be making them in the Wrst place. For some, courts
are major decision-makers that function as principals on a par with legislators
and executives in developing, monitoring, and adapting public policies. Others
take quite the opposite view, envisioning courts as more modest institutions
whose functions involve arbitrating public and private disputes by doing little
more than faithfully interpreting existing law. And it is not merely judges who have
this ambivalence. These divisions about the role of courts exist among other
policy-makers as well as businesses, organizations, and the mass public.
Such disagreements about whether judges should lead or follow in the process of
governing presuppose that courts actually have the capacity to eVect policy
536 kevin t. mcguire

change—the ability to bring about meaningful reform—and that the work that
courts do has major consequences for the various constituencies that are touched
by the decisions of judges. It is not at all clear, though, that courts possess the
policy-making capacity necessary to bring about such change. Nor is it obvious
that the policies of courts bring about the reforms that are intended.
Just how well suited are courts to making policy? Are judges capable of actually
producing changes within society? In this chapter, I consider a number of issues
related to the judicial process with an eye towards illuminating the policy capacities
that courts possess and the impact of their decisions. SpeciWcally, I discuss the
conditions that must be met in order for courts to make eVective policy and then
describe how several of the basic features of the judicial process undermine
realizing those conditions. To illustrate, I will draw on several diVerent strands of
research that underscore various problems that are endemic to judges serving as
policy-makers. Since the bulk of scholarly research on judicial policy-making
examines the United States, most of my illustrations involve American courts.
Still, political scientists are increasingly interested in courts outside the USA, and
I rely upon this growing body of research as well. My purpose is not to suggest that
courts in the USA or elsewhere are ineVective policy-makers. Rather, I try to
temper the expectations about what courts can do by describing how judges, like
any set of governmental actors, face certain institutional constraints that limit their
policy ambitions.

1 Conditions for Effective

Policy-making
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

For quite some time, lawyers, judges, and scholars took it on faith that the policies
handed down by courts were just as signiWcant as the enactments of legislatures,
indeed in some cases even more so. After all, beginning in the 1950s, the Supreme
Court of the United States entered the fray over some of the most visible issues
within society, crafting major legal reforms in such policy areas as the freedoms of
speech, press, and religion, the rights of the criminally accused, and racial discrim-
ination. As a result, the American courts now address such issues as abortion, the
right to die, the death penalty, gender discrimination, aYrmative action, regulation
of the Internet, legislative apportionment, and property rights, as well as questions
of legislative, executive, and state power. The Court’s decisions in these areas are
regarded as particularly consequential; since many involve interpretation of
the US Constitution, there is eVectively no recourse—save the unlikely route of
 the judicial process and public policy 537

amending the Constitution—for elected oYcials who might seek to modify or

undo judicial policies that they Wnd disagreeable.
Over the past Wfteen years, however, researchers have begun to look closely at the
actual consequences of judicial policy-making and have found the results to be far
more variable than had been assumed. In light of these Wndings, scholars have
reassessed the subject of judicial capacity, thinking with greater care about the
conditions that must be met in order for the decisions of judges to produce sign-
iWcant policy change. That courts announce signiWcant policies does not necessarily
mean that those policies are followed or have pronounced eVects for society.
One of the most important assessments of the impact of courts can be found
in Gerald Rosenberg’s (1991) analysis of several of the Supreme Court’s most
prominent policy domains. His work delineates both the institutional constraints
that courts face and the several ‘‘conditions for eYcacy,’’ that is, the circumstances
that must obtain if courts are to be truly eVective policy-makers (1991, 10–36). In
particular, he argues that the legal system requires courts to operate within the
traditions and language of the law; thus, judges who are inclined to create major
policy innovations must still be able to trace those policies to a widely shared
understanding of the Constitution and its laws. Moreover, whatever the policy
ambitions of judges, they are inevitably constrained by the courts’ lack of an
enforcement power and consequently their reliance upon popular support for
their decisions.
In light of these considerations, courts must lay the legal groundwork for change
by institutionalizing a series of precedents upon which to build their policies. Once
those policies are established, there must be a reasonable amount of acceptance by
both the public and elected oYcials. To the extent that there is resistance to judicial
policy, government oYcials must be willing to oVer rewards or punishments to
bring about implementation.
In short, because courts lack the ability to put their rulings into eVect, they must
depend upon the goodwill of others to act on their behalf. The greater care courts
take in establishing the legitimacy of their rulings, the more likely they are to be
supported by those who can create the conditions necessary for implementors to
carry out the courts’ will.

2 Characteristics of Courts
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Are courts well situated to meet these conditions? Judges have both formal and
informal characteristics that facilitate their policy-making; they possess the
538 kevin t. mcguire

authoritative power to resolve legal disputes, and in doing so they are generally
accepted as legitimate, enjoying the esteem of both the public and other govern-
ment oYcials. At the same time, there are a number of distinctive characteristics of
the judicial process that complicate the ability of courts to bring about eVective
policy change.

2.1 Judicial Selection

Both across and within countries, judges vary a good deal in the mechanisms by
which they are chosen, and diVerent methods of selection create various incentives
for judges, which do not necessarily enhance independent policy-making. In
England, for example, lower court judges are selected by the Lord Chancellor, in
consultation with local advisory boards, while appellate judges are chosen (at least
nominally) by the prime minister, who receives advice from the Lord Chancellor
and a committee for judicial appointments (Kritzer 1996). For quite some time,
selection was largely a function of political patronage, thus making it attractive for
judges to bring political considerations to bear in their decisions (Drewry 1993). In
its modern manifestation, however, it is a system that tends to place greater
emphasis on the qualiWcations of judges (GriYth 1991; Kritzer 1996).
In the United States, by contrast, the vast majority of the judiciary is elected. Most
American judges are creatures of state government, and most states opt for some form
of election for their judicial oYcials. As a result, there is little guarantee that the people
most competent to serve as judges will be selected. Indeed, voters know precious little
about candidates for judicial oYce (Klein and Baum 2001). Much has been made of
this apparent weakness, and since judging requires Wdelity to the law, not politics,
reformers often argue that members of the bench should be selected by some form of
independent commission that can evaluate the objective qualiWcations of potential
jurists. This, it turns out, is not as serious a limitation as critics charge, since the same
types of individuals who are disposed to be judges have fairly consistent professional
backgrounds; thus, the same sorts of people end up being chosen, regardless of the
method of selection (Glick and Emmert 1987). In terms of their qualiWcations, those
who are elected resemble very closely those who are appointed.
The same cannot be said, however, about their voting behavior. For those judges
who are elected, the very incentives that guide the actions of popular policy-makers
often end up motivating their decisions as well. Thus, for example, judges who are
about to stand for re-election engage in strategic behavior, frequently voting in
ways that will not alienate the electorate (Hall 1992). Judges are (theoretically, at
least) obligated to make decisions in light of what the rule of law dictates, and in
practice, of course, they may not be able to realize that goal. But, when elected
judges are guided by a desire to satisfy constituents, they forgo the pursuit of it.
 the judicial process and public policy 539

Under such conditions, it will be diYcult for judges to take the lead as policy-
makers. Inasmuch as they are tethered to public opinion, elected judges will be
inhibited from innovating and looking for ways to produce legal change.
Appointed judges are no less prone to be attentive to the public. Political
scientists have long recognized that even life-tenured judges may be constrained
by the law-making majority. They too evince a reluctance to challenge sitting
elected oYcials (Dahl 1957; Murphy 1964), and a good deal of scholarship shows
that, despite life tenure and no supervising authority, the members of the Supreme
Court are often mindful of the preferences of their coordinate branches and the
public as well (see, e.g., McGuire and Stimson 2004; Mishler and Sheehan 1996;
Segal 1988).
For appointed judges whose goals may be to craft policies that have genuine
eYcacy, the lack of enforcement power requires a reliance upon an acceptance of
their decisions. Those who stray too far from the tolerance limits of the political
system do so at the risk of their legitimacy. Thus, the institutions that govern how
judicial pronouncements are translated into public policies provide some obvious
limits on the judiciary. If judges seek to chart new ground with their legal policies,
they must consider the extent to which their policies will be accepted.

2.2 The Process of Decision-making

Perhaps more signiWcant for an understanding of judicial policy-making is an
appreciation of the mechanics of the judicial process. At Wrst glance, one might
be inclined to overlook the actual procedures by which judges render their de-
cisions and focus on the substance of those decisions. Judging strictly by the broad
array of topics to which courts address themselves—medical malpractice, employ-
ment discrimination, rights of the handicapped, labor disputes, voting rights,
privacy, commercial regulation, punitive damages, just to name a few—courts
are surely taking a leading role in the development of social and economic policies.
Given that courts touch virtually all aspects of public and private life, it is easy to
imagine that their policy purview is on a par with the elected branches. Neverthe-
less, courts face a number of important limitations that are endemic to the judicial
process. The very nature of adjudication—the set of institutions that govern how
courts make decisions—serves as a serious limitation on the extent to which courts
can generate meaningful legal change. These constraints are not immediately
obvious, but they consistently conspire to moderate the impact of judicial
outcomes.1

1 The following is adapted from Horowtiz (1977, 33–56).

540 kevin t. mcguire

One characteristic of the judicial process that is distinctive from the work done
by legislative and executive oYcials is that adjudication tends to focus on a limited
range of policy alternatives. In any given case, two litigants are pitted against one
another, each asking for some speciWc remedy. All else being equal, judges regard it
as their responsibility to decide cases as narrowly as possible and develop limited,
not expansive rulings.
As Justice Louis Brandeis famously explained in Ashwander vs. Tennessee Valley
Authority (1936), courts should not actively seek to challenge the decisions of their
coordinate branches but rather must wait until such a question has been presented
by the litigants. Moreover, when litigants do call into question the constitutionality
of a legislative act, judges must Wrst look for some alternative grounds for resolving
the case and, barring that, attempt to construe the statute in such a way as to avoid
having to strike it down. Of course, judges can and do violate these guidelines. Even
so, judges take these admonitions seriously and generally do not actively seek to
strike down laws unless asked to do so (Howard and Segal 2004).
As a result of this orientation, judges often look for the most limited ways of
solving legal problems and consider only such solutions as are channeled to them
through the litigants. By contrast, legislators are not bound by such norms and are
free to consider what policies they regard as most sensible, even if those policies
constitute major departures from the status quo.
Perhaps not surprisingly, courts tend to make policies only on a step-by-step
basis. By limiting themselves to the speciWc contours of a case, judges select
solutions that are short-term in nature. Rulings are established to Wt individual
cases, and whatever uncertainty remains must be clariWed by later litigation. To
take one example, the warnings that police are obligated to convey to criminal
suspects were articulated quite clearly in Miranda vs. Arizona (1966). Among other
things, those warnings specify that individuals do not have to respond to police
questioning once they are taken into custody.
Despite the clarity of that ruling, however, the Supreme Court left undeWned
what constituted ‘‘questioning’’ and ‘‘custody’’ for the purposes of the Miranda
decision. Because the Miranda Court limited itself purely to the warnings required
by the Fifth Amendment, not addressing the deWnition of their terms, those issues
had to be resolved in subsequent cases. Of course, the deWnition of such terms is a
common legislative practice; it reduces ambiguity and allows for a common
understanding of the meaning of policy enactments. Surely, judges can foresee
the need for clarifying the meaning of a ruling, but the judicial process dictates that
those questions be addressed on an individual basis in later cases.
The reason courts tend not to act preemptively is that policy-making through
adjudication requires that judges be presented with a genuine legal controversy that
plainly presents the issues that judges wish to address. Stated diVerently, courts do
not speak until spoken to. Thus, judges who might have particular policy goals
must await an appropriate case in which to craft their policies. A judge who has
 the judicial process and public policy 541

designs in the area of, say, commercial law or environmental protection, will be
unable to advance his or her goals if the cases that judge must decide involve
primarily child custody or criminal prosecutions.
Appellate courts can oVer greater opportunities in this regard, especially those
that have the ability to set their own agenda. Even among judges who can pick and
choose their cases, however, some members may be disposed to allow lower courts
the chance to Wnd sensible solutions before intervening (Perry 1991). Elected
oYcials, by contrast, need nothing beyond their own initiative to stimulate policy
change. They may promote reform whenever they see Wt.
Even when a court is presented with a speciWc case, there is no guarantee that the
court will be able to act. Whether a court is capable of providing genuinely
meaningful relief in a case—the requirement that a case be ‘‘justiciable’’—is a
serious limit on the actions of courts. A number of diVerent legal threads weave
together to make a case justiciable. Concepts such as adverseness, mootness, and
standing may sound esoteric to the outsider, but they are critical constraints on
what courts can do.
To take one example, in the spring of 2004 many Americans anxiously awaited
the Supreme Court’s decision as to whether the words ‘‘under God’’ in the Pledge
of Allegiance when recited by public schoolchildren constituted a violation of the
First Amendment’s prohibition against government establishing religion. When
the Court’s decision was announced, observers learned that the Court did not
address this issue at all. Rather, the justices declined to address the merits of this
salient legal question. They concluded that, since the father of the girl involved in
the legal challenge did not have legal custody of his daughter—her parents had
been divorced, and her mother had received custody—the father did not have the
legal standing to challenge the Pledge on her behalf.2 Thus, even when asked, courts
cannot be counted upon to answer.
To many, this limitation seems perverse; shouldn’t the Court simply go ahead
and issue a ruling on the Pledge, especially after having gone to the trouble of
having the case argued? To others, it is an important feature of the adjudicatory
process that serves to ensure that policy-making is primarily in the hands of elected
oYcials. However it is conceived, a requirement that a court refrain from making a
decision until a case is properly presented surely inhibits the capacity of courts to
promote policy innovations.
Quite apart from the passive nature of courts, adjudication tends to generate
only limited amounts of information upon which to base decisions. When
Congress seeks to develop new policies in telecommunications or agriculture or
foreign policy, it gathers information, conducts committee hearings, and considers
testimony for various aVected interests. In fact, this informing function is

2 See Elkgrove UniWed School District vs. Newdow [2004] 542 U.S. 1.
542 kevin t. mcguire

considered to be an implicit part of the legislative power. Judges, though, resolve

cases with an eye towards crafting legal solutions that are consistent with their
notions of what the law permits or requires. Courts are not supposed to assess the
wisdom of policy, only its validity.
Nevertheless, judges are inevitably drawn into considering how their interpret-
ations of the law will aVect diVerent segments of society, whether their resolution of
a dispute will make sense as a matter of public policy for those who are consumers
of their decisions. Although cases are ostensibly disputes between two individual
litigants, those litigants, as often as not, are drawn from larger populations that
stand to win or lose by a case’s outcome. Thus, a decision in a case in which a single
corporation is a party may aVect an entire industry. A case in which a state is a
party may be one which many other states watch with interest, since they are apt to
feel the eVects of the decision. And so on.
Unlike legislators, however, courts have little capacity to summon additional
information to inform their decisions. They must rely instead upon the abstract
arguments of law presented by the parties to a case. In some courts, aVected
interests have the opportunity to inform judges through their participation as
amici curiae (that is, as ‘‘friends of the court’’). Again, however, judges have little
control over the source or quality of this information. In this respect, they are at a
distinct disadvantage relative to elected oYcials who, as a routine matter, seek to
gather as much information and analysis as they deem useful on the impact of
various policy alternatives.
Finally, courts diVer from other decision-makers in that the judicial process does
not provide for regular monitoring and oversight of the policies crafted by judges.
Naturally, judges can adjust policies through subsequent litigation, but there is no
formal mechanism by which judges can examine the ongoing impact of their
policies. That adjudication does not provide such mechanisms means that courts
will not learn in a timely way—if indeed they learn at all—that the policies they
have put into place may be failing to realize their objectives.
These limitations notwithstanding, judges on both trial and appellate courts are
generally quite competent in discharging their responsibilities, and many of their
policies clearly produce important, substantive change for various segments of
society. A great deal of scholarly work, in fact, demonstrates that courts can
be the source of signiWcant innovations in the policy priorities of government
(see, e.g., Glick 1991; Rowland and Carp 1996).
For their part, legislative and executive oYcials are by no means immune from
suVering the fate of ineVective or ill-considered policy. Any governmental institu-
tion is limited by various handicaps that hamper what they may achieve. As a
comparative matter, there are a number of important factors that diVerentiate legal
from political policy-makers, and these factors serve to place somewhat greater
limits on the members of the judiciary than they do oYcials who are popularly
chosen.
 the judicial process and public policy 543

3 Actors in the Judicial Process

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Judges are the central players in the business of judicial policy-making. They weigh
alternatives and craft authoritative rules that aVected constituencies are obliged to
respect. Because the development of those rules is so contingent upon decisions
made by others (decisions about when to go to court, what arguments to present,
and the like) any attempt to understand the links between the judicial process and
judicial policy-making requires that one consider with special care the role of other
actors in the legal system.
Foremost among those are the litigants themselves. Courts, as I have noted, are
passive institutions that require genuine legal controversies within which to
develop policies. For that reason, the decision to go to court is crucial for creating
the opportunities necessary for judges to advance their legal policy goals.
On the one hand, the sheer size of court caseloads at both the federal and state
levels suggest that judges are not lacking for legal vehicles in which to develop
policy. On the other hand, the evidence also suggests that most potential conXicts
tend not to make it before judges. Instead, cases are either settled or never initiated
in the Wrst place. In criminal cases, prosecutors and defense attorneys frequently
opt to plea bargain (Heumann 1978; Mather 1979), and consequently many of the
cases that might otherwise be brought before a judge are resolved by a defendant
agreeing to accept a guilty plea in exchange for some form of consideration from
the prosecutor.
In the case of civil disputes, much has been made of the tendency for individuals
to avail themselves of courts at the slightest provocation. Objective assessments of
the Xow of litigation, though, suggest that the notion of a litigation crisis is vastly
oversold (Galanter 1983; Miller and Sarat 1980–81). The media are largely culpable
for stimulating such perceptions; by placing unwarranted reliance upon sensational
and unrepresentative cases, the media present a largely perverted picture of the
legal system and the courts’ policy role in resolving private disputes (Haltom and
McCann 2004).
Such perceptions have implications for the policy-making capacity of courts.
One of the conditions for eVective legal change is that courts enjoy support and
acceptance from the public and other governmental oYcials. So, to the extent that
the legal system is perceived as irrational or ineYcient, this will impede the
implementation of judicial rulings (Canon and Johnson 1999, 33–43; Edwards
1980).
Such distortions aside, many citizens do regard litigation as a kind of right, and
as a result they often turn to the courts as a forum for solving their interpersonal
conXicts, even as judges are reluctant to consider them (Merry 1990). For the most
part, though, the vast majority of individuals who suVer some form of wrong opt
not to go to court. Many simply capitulate and accept their losses; far fewer actually
544 kevin t. mcguire

complain. Among those who do complain, only a limited number take steps to
consult a lawyer, and increasingly there are non-lawyers who work as representa-
tives in some alternative form of dispute resolution (Kritzer 1998). For those who
do seek legal counsel, relief is often secured without proceeding to actual litigation.
When lawyers (or their functional equivalents) are unable to secure a settlement, it
is only then that individuals actually turn to the courts (Miller and Sarat 1980–81).
Thus, however large the number of individuals who go to court may be, it
is inevitably only a small fraction of the number that could turn to the
judicial system.
Knowing which litigants ultimately enter the process of litigation is important,
because it is their substantive claims which, taken together, constitute the range of
possible policies to which courts can address themselves. As passive policy-makers,
judges can speak only to those concerns that are brought to the courthouse door.
If a representative sample of potential legal claims makes its way onto the courts’
dockets, then judges will have as broad a set of issues as possible within which to
articulate policy. If, on the other hand, there are systematic diVerences between
those who could go to court and those who, in fact, do go to court, then those
diVerences necessarily limit the available policy options.
Do actual litigants diVer from potential litigants? In fact, scholars have known
for some time that those who choose to go to court are quite diVerent from those
who do not. The universe of would-be litigants consists principally of two groups:
large, aggregated interests, such as corporations and governments, that have greater
resources, expertise, and access to legal representation, and smaller, more particu-
larized interests, such as individuals and small businesses, that possess fewer
resources and less sophistication and experience with the judicial system (Galanter
1974). Because the former are regular participants in the judicial process, they are
commonly known as ‘‘repeat players.’’ The latter group—the ‘‘one-shotters’’—are
distinctive for their more limited use of litigation.
Although there is obviously variation across courts, the use of the judicial system
is favored by larger, wealthier interests. Because of their resources and expertise, the
repeat players litigate more often—and win more often—than the one-shotters.
This Wnding seems to hold at diVerent levels of the judicial system (Farole 1999;
Songer, Sheehan, and Haire 1999) as well as across diVerent countries. (Dotan 1999;
Flemming 2005). To some extent, however, the bias in favor of the repeat player is
mediated by the participation of interest groups in the judicial process. Because
organized interests constitute one variety of repeat player, the sheer diversity of
interests that use litigation ensures that voices from across the socioeconomic
spectrum will enjoy the beneWts of sophisticated and experienced representation
in the courts (Caldeira and Wright 1990). Across a range of countries, organized
interests provide these advantages (Brodie 2002; Epp 1998).
This diVerentiation among litigants is vital to an understanding of judicial
policy-making, since lawyers and organized interests provide an important framing
 the judicial process and public policy 545

function for the disputes that judges consider. Courts serve as a venue for
transforming various social, economic, and political problems into broader ques-
tions of public policy. This transformation of disputes from limited and bifurcated
conXicts into general questions of public policy is a basic function of the courts
(Mather and Yngvesson 1981). ‘‘Thus, when litigants and lawyers Wle legal claims
and present arguments, they are deWning problems and formulating policy
alternatives’’ (Mather 1991, 148).
Given that lawyers and organized interests have a major hand in deWning the
terms of legal contention, their decisions to go to court mean that legal policy is
guided to a substantial degree by larger sets of interests, such as governments, big
business, trade and professional associations, and the like. It is these types of
litigants who choose to go to court, who lay the foundation for the policies they
seek, and trade on their expertise and experience to help shift judicial policy in
their direction.

4 Legal Foundations for Policy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

One of the essential conditions for courts to succeed in eVecting legal reform is that
judges construct an intellectual infrastructure upon which to rest their policy goals,
a kind of a network of supporting precedents that will support their ultimate aims.
The idea that judge-made law be derived from established principles is a venerated
tradition (Cardozo 1921; Levi 1948). If the policy innovations of judges are to
succeed, they must be seen as legitimate. Establishing a legal basis in advance
of those innovations serves to smooth the way to acceptance and reduce the
likelihood of those policies being rejected.
Legal decision-making often relies heavily upon the tradition of the common
law, where judges derive legal principles in the absence of promulgated law and
apply those principles in later cases. This approach is a critical component for a
great deal of judicial policy. To take one example, the supreme courts of the
individual American states are under no obligation to follow one another’s de-
cisions, at least as far as issues of state law are concerned. Nevertheless, it is clear
that appellate judges look to other state supreme courts, especially those that carry
the highest reputations for professionalism, for precedents that can be employed to
underwrite their own opinions (Caldeira 1985). Likewise, appellate courts at the
national level take considerable pains to rely upon the decisions of the US Supreme
Court (Songer, Segal, and Cameron 1994). Transnationally, courts likewise look
outside their own borders for the guidance and experience of other tribunals.
546 kevin t. mcguire

There seems little doubt that judges use these established principles to help gain
acceptance of their policy designs. For that reason, for example, the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored People’s legal Wght against state-
imposed segregation took place through a series of small steps over several decades,
rather than an all-or-nothing proposition that would have almost certainly failed
to produce legal reform (Tushnet 2005). Inevitably, when judges seek to innovate
without Wrst laying the intellectual cornerstones for their decisions, their policies
will be met with resistance. There are ample illustrations of courts provoking
resistance by exceeding their respective legal traditions. In the United States, the
Supreme Court accelerated the outbreak of the Civil War by declaring in Dred Scott
vs. Sandford (1857) that slave-ownership was a right over which Congress exercised
no authority (Fehrenbacher 2001). In the early twentieth century, rulings that
developed and upheld a constitutional liberty of contract, such as Lochner vs.
New York (1905), were considered an aVront by many states that had enacted
various commercial regulations to protect the health, safety, and welfare of their
citizens (Kens 1998). Likewise, the modern conXict over abortion rights is, at least
in part, attributable to the Supreme Court making policy in an area (i.e. privacy)
whose legal foundations were not well established at the time of the decision in Roe
vs. Wade (1973) (Hull and HoVer 2001).3

5 Systemic Support
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

As should be evident by now, courts require considerable cooperation and support

from other actors as a condition for eVective policy-making. Without enforcement
power, judges must rely upon actors outside the judicial arena to give force to the
edicts emanating from the bench. When courts cultivate the support of outsiders,
those who control resources and opportunities can, in turn, oVer rewards or
impose punishments as a means of bringing about the courts’ expected changes.
This is a basic condition for eVective judicial policy (Rosenberg 1991).
A strong test of this assumption would be to examine the extent of implemen-
tation of any salient policy decision on an issue in which the courts are seen as
having assumed a major leadership role. No doubt one of the best cases to Wt this

3 Time also seems to be a necessary correlate in this process. Taken by itself, simply having a
pretense of legal justiWcation can scarcely be suYcient. Indeed, citation to precedent is the most
frequently employed method of legal reasoning, regardless of which side of a case an opinion writer
happens to support (see, e.g., Gates and Phelps 1996).
 the judicial process and public policy 547

category is the elimination of racially segregated public schools in the United

States. In 1954, the Supreme Court decided that separating schoolchildren on the
basis of race violated the constitutional guarantee of equal protection of the laws.
The decision in Brown vs. Board of Education ought to have produced major shifts
in educational practices, especially in the South, where segregation of African-
American children was so widely used.
This decision proved to be enormously unpopular among those most aVected by
it, producing vocal protests and, in the extreme, calls for the removal of Earl
Warren, the chief justice under whom the decision was issued. Local oYcials in
these areas were generally unsupportive and resisted, quite strenuously, any sug-
gestion that their public schools should be integrated. Especially aVected were the
federal judges in the South—judges who lived and worked in close proximity to
the longstanding practice of segregation—who were charged with overseeing the
process of desegregation; those whose courts were located in the school districts
they supervised were quite lax in bringing about implementation (Giles and Walker
1975).
The resistance from these oYcials was emblematic of a more general opposition.
With little support—and no means by which to compel compliance—the Supreme
Court faced widespread and sustained refusal to put its policy into eVect. Segre-
gation simply continued. ‘‘Statistics from the Southern states are truly amazing,’’
writes Gerald Rosenberg. ‘‘For ten years, 1954–64, virtually nothing happened. Ten
years after Brown only 1.2 percent of black schoolchildren in the South attended
school with whites’’ (Rosenberg 1991, 52).
Beginning in 1964, however, compliance with the Court suddenly began to take
place at a stunning rate. What had to be satisWed was one of the conditions for
judicial eYcacy; Congress, opting for the stick rather than the carrot, enacted the
Civil Rights Act of 1964, which withdrew federal educational funds from school
districts that discriminated on the basis of race. Faced with the loss of substantial
moneys, public schools in the South quickly fell into line. Thus, the Court required
the coordinated eVorts of both Congress and the president to provide the support
necessary to produce the policy changes that the Court demanded.
In the absence of the sword or the purse—that is, the absence of support
from elsewhere within the political system—change will likely not occur if that
change generates widely shared opposition. Research on reactions to the Supreme
Court’s early rulings outlawing devotional activities and Bible readings in public
schools were widely disobeyed in the American South (Dolbeare and Hammond
1971; Way 1968). More recent analysis shows that a variety of outlawed religious
practices still remain within Southern schools, often at surprisingly high levels
(McGuire 2005).
Just as legislative bodies can oppose judicially-mandated change, so too can
executive oYcials. Law enforcement in the United States has long sought to
circumvent the Supreme Court’s Miranda decision, which requires police to
548 kevin t. mcguire

inform suspects who are in custody that they do not have to incriminate them-
selves. While adhering to the letter of the Court’s ruling, police have found creative
mechanisms for convincing suspects to disregard their Fifth Amendment privilege,
and judges sympathetic to the goals of law enforcement have, for their part,
likewise sought to undercut the policy’s eVectiveness (White 2003). In the absence
of other institutions to give force to the warnings requirement, police have been
successful in muting the inXuence of judicial policy.
Of course, when judicial policy is directed at those institutions to whom courts
must typically turn for support, it is not surprising that they encounter resistance.
Coordinate branches of government have interests of their own, and when
adjudication arises over the extent of their powers, the political branches can
balk at the prospect of judicial encroachment on their authority.
Under such conditions, one option for the political branches is simply to refuse
to recognize that they are bound by judicial policy. For example, the decision of the
US Supreme Court to invalidate the legislative veto demonstrates how such policy
can fail to be eVective. The case of Immigration and Naturalization Service vs.
Chadha (1983)—a seemingly innocuous issue of deportation of an alien whose visa
had expired—tested the ability of Congress to monitor and override the imple-
mentation of the law by the executive branch. The Supreme Court held that
this mechanism violated the separation of powers by permitting Congress to
make policy (i.e. to legislate) without presenting that policy to the president for
approval.
The decision was regarded as sweeping in its scope, inasmuch as it called into
question more federal laws than the combined total of all previously invalidated
congressional enactments. Because the legislative veto was so useful a tool by which
Congress could monitor the implementation of its policies, however, it was greeted
largely with indiVerence by legislators. Indeed, Congress continued to incorporate
this device into a great deal of subsequent legislation (Korn 1996). Any challenge to
the prerogatives of those upon whom judges rely for implementation support is
prone to be ineVective.
Of course, judges no doubt anticipate such reactions and often trim their sails
accordingly. Some of this strategic behavior is conditioned by institutional factors;
in England, to take one illustration, the tradition of parliamentary supremacy has
limited the independence of British judges (Stevens 2001). Other institutional
factors relate to the substantive powers with which diVerent branches are
entrusted. In the area of foreign aVairs, for example, courts are typically loathe to
question the decisions of elected oYcials, even when those actions might be
constitutionally questionable (see, e.g., Fisher 2004). In other instances, courts
recognize that their policies will likely be challenged—at the extreme, reversed by
new legislation—and they opt strategically for preserving their legitimacy over
imposing ineVective policy (Ferejohn and Weingast 1992). High national courts in
various countries, such as Germany and Argentina, are also forward-looking and
 the judicial process and public policy 549

thus will often opt for something other than their preferred policies as a means of
preserving or strengthening their authority over the long term (Helmke 2002;
Vanberg 2001).
Similarly, judges in young Asian democracies have also had to come to terms
with elected oYcials. One interesting case occurred in Malaysia in the mid-1980s,
where, after a series of decisions that questioned various powers of elected
oYcials, the government sought to remove a number of judges who were regarded
as threats to its authority. Knowing that challenging the actions of elected repre-
sentatives might result in removal from oYce, ‘‘the Malaysian judiciary is a more
cautious institution’’ (Ginsburg 2003, 80).
In the United States, as well, decisions that conXict with the preferences of
lawmakers and outside interests will generate eVorts to undo the rulings of the
Supreme Court (Meernik and Ignagni 1997). Accordingly, the justices have sought
to avoid congressional overrides of their interpretations of statutes by taking such
considerations into account when formulating their policies (Eskridge 1991). Al-
ternatively, when the Court concludes that it is constrained by existing law to make
decisions that will provoke public displeasure, it will often openly invite lawmakers
to overturn their policies (Hausegger and Baum 1999).
Examples such as these illustrate the courts’ acute awareness of the need for
systemic support. Knowing that their policies demand acceptance and support,
judges will strive to produce policy that will, in the long run, help to guarantee
their eVectiveness by sacriWcing short-term gains. Stated diVerently, courts trade
what they expect will be largely symbolic policies for a sustained level of eYcacy.

6 Conclusions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Like any set of institutions, courts have a limited degree of policy-making capacity.
The political system provides a variety of restrictions that circumscribe their
authority. As agents of the legal system, however, courts encounter unique forces
that intervene to curb their inXuence. Among other things, bifurcated disputes
tend to limit the terms of policy debate as well as the range of options that judges
may consider. Moreover, these options are typically not presented by a represen-
tative sample of interests but rather are skewed in favor of advantaged social,
economic, and political interests. In addition, because judges make policy within
the context of legal conXicts, the various technical criteria that govern how cases
may be brought, when, and by whom insert an additional layer of complexity into
the process of judicial policy-making.
550 kevin t. mcguire

All this makes judges highly dependent upon other institutions to put their
decisions into eVect. The various conditions for policy eYcacy combine with the
absence of enforcement power to require judges to rely in a special way upon other
governmental actors to carry out their wishes. In order to cultivate their support,
judges must take care to develop a solid legal foundation for any serious form of
legal change, lest they lose the valuable political capital upon which they rely for
their legitimacy.
There seems little doubt that these constraints genuinely operate on the courts.
The limited eVectiveness of legal reform that is frequently seen can be traced, in one
way or another, to a failure to meet the problematic conditions for eYcacy. Across
diVerent courts, diVerent countries, and diVerent policy domains, judges discover
that they frequently face disregard for their judgments.
It is tempting to interpret such resistance as a sign of judicial impotence. One
must bear in mind, however, that to a great degree interinstitutional resistance is
endemic to any system of divided authority. Governments that adhere more
strongly to notions of separation of powers, however, are more likely to generate
friction between the branches. Courts may, perhaps, enjoy less eVectiveness in their
policy-making, but this is really a diVerence of degree rather than kind. After all,
presidents, prime ministers, and other executives are unable to guarantee consist-
ent support for their agendas. Likewise, legislative decision-makers routinely
demonstrate greater attentiveness to the needs of advantaged interests whose
resources have always helped to ensure greater access. The limitations of policy-
making are scarcely unique to the judiciary.
In addition, the limitations that judges face as they make decisions should not be
overstated. Despite their constraints, courts can still monitor the development of
the law over a series of cases; they often have access to a good deal of policy
information; and even policies that produce discord inside and outside of govern-
ment can enjoy a high degree of respect. Indeed, recent evidence suggest that the
role of courts around the world is actually expanding, with judges assuming an ever
increasing scope of inXuence (see, e.g., Stone Sweet 2000; Tate and Vallinder 1995).
The future holds remarkable promise for our understanding of judges and
judicial policy-making. As courts continue to expand their inXuence in individual
countries, scholars will need to focus more attention on law and courts. Moreover,
the increased importance of the expanding European Union will necessarily mean
that transnational courts, such as the European Court of Justice and the European
Court of Human Rights, will become increasingly involved in managing the
domestic and foreign policies of member nations. At the same time, students of
the courts will need to think with particular care about the best methods for
studying judicial policy-making. For courts that have only recently begun to
take on greater visibility, quantitatively-oriented scholars may be hampered by a
relatively small number of observations. More traditional scholars will face
diYculties in deWning important concepts, such as judicial independence, that
 the judicial process and public policy 551

will make sense across a range of countries with diVerent institutional arrange-
ments. Where courts are relatively recent political players, it will also take some
time before we can speak with conWdence about the long-term impact of courts.
Whatever their level of eVectiveness, courts will always bear careful scrutiny
because they are both political and legal institutions. The substance of their
policies—which so often resemble the issues taken up by elected oYcials—may
shade this fact. Still, understanding the rules and norms that uniquely govern the
judicial process is essential if one is to make sense of what courts can and cannot
reasonably accomplish.

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 chapter 28
...................................................................................................................................................

P O L I T I C A L PA RT I E S I N
AND OUT OF
L E G I S L AT U R E S
...................................................................................................................................................

john h. aldrich

Richard Fenno explained his career-long devotion to the study of the US Congress
by saying that Congress is where democracy happens (pers. comm.). It is, meta-
phorically, the crossroads of democracy, where the public and politician, the
lobbyist and petitioner meet. If legislatures are where democracy most visibly
happens, political parties are the institutions that let us see how it happens. It
may not be true that parties are literally necessary conditions for democracy to exist
as Schattschneider (1942) famously wrote, but their ubiquity suggests that they are
virtually, if not actually, a necessity for a democracy to be viable.
Political parties—in and out of legislatures—are the subjects of this chapter. As
the chapter title suggests, we are to look at parties speciWcally here, but we cannot
fully decouple parties from electoral systems (nor from other aspects of political
institutions), and in particular from the virtually co-companion of electoral
systems, party systems, nor can we decouple that from the study of parties as
institutions. But we shall cover those extraordinarily rich literatures only to aid our
focus on the speciWc questions considered here: how political parties mediate and
integrate the goals and aspirations of the citizens with the often quite diVerent
556 john h. aldrich

goals and aspirations of politicians, and how these together shape policies adopted
by government.

1 Political Parties as Institutions

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The greatest scholar of twentieth-century American politics, V. O. Key Jr. (1964),

led us to understand the American political party as organized around its three
core activities. The party-in-the-electorate was the party of the campaign, the
creation of the party’s image and reputation in the public’s mind, and the way
the public used those sources as informational short-cuts and decision-making
devices or aides. One of these ‘‘informational shortcuts’’ stands out as particularly
important, creating a special role for political parties. Durable political parties
develop long-term reputations that the personalities of particular politicians or
variable agendas of policy concerns are generally unable to provide. While many
things can go into these long-term reputations, the most important are the policy-
based performances that create a partisan reputation and ideology. The party-
in-government is the party that organizes the legislature and coordinates actions
across the various institutions of national government, horizontally, and, for
systems with vertical divisions of power, across the federal structures (Hofstadter
1969; Cox and McCubbins 1993; Haggard and McCubbins 2000). The party-
as-organization is the party of its activists, resources, and campaign specialists;
that is, those who negotiate between the public and government, sometimes
rather invisibly, sometimes quite visibly, sometimes autonomously from the
party-in-government, but often times as its external extension (Cotter,
Gibson, Bibby, and Huckshorn 1984; Herrnnson 1988; Kitschelt 1989, 1999). This
three-part structure applies to and certainly helps structure our thinking about
political parties in all democracies, even if Key primarily writes about American
politics.
Second, political parties diVer from many other political institutions covered in
this volume by virtue of being created, most often, external to the constitutional
and, in some cases, developed largely external even to the legal order, per se. It is,
for example, commonplace to note that the Wrst parties, those in late eighteenth-
century America (Hofstadter 1969; or early nineteenth-century America, depend-
ing upon one’s point of view (e.g. Formisano 1981)), arose in spite of the wishes
of their very founders and were unanticipated in writing the Constitution and early
laws. Instead, political parties are organizations that are created by political
actors themselves, whether emanating from the public (as, for instance in social
 political parties in and out of legislatures 557

movements that turn to electoral politics, such as social democratic parties: Lipset
and Rokkan 1987; Przeworksi and Spraque 1986; and green parties, e.g. Kitschelt
1989) or, quite commonly, from the actions of current or hopeful political elites.
The key point here is that, relative to most political institutions, political parties are
shaped as institutions by political actors, often in the same timeframe and by the
actions of the same Wgures who are shaping legislation or other political outcomes.
They are, that is, unusually ‘‘endogenous’’ institutions, and we therefore must keep
in mind that the party institutions (or at least organizations) can be changed with
greater rapidity and ease than virtually any other political organization (Riker 1980;
Aldrich 1995). To pick one simple example of the power of thinking about
endogenous parties, consider the case of third parties in America. To be sure,
there are the Duvergerian forces at work (1954; Cox 1997). But that explanation is
only why two parties persist, not why the Democrat and Republican parties persist.
The answer to the latter question is that they act in duopoly fashion so as to write
rules that make entry and persistence by any contender to replace one or the other
as a major party all but untenable (e.g. Rosenstone, Behr, and Lazarus 1996). Thus,
the makeup of the party system is endogenously determined by the actors already
in it. Indeed, the creation of the majority electoral system itself was the conse-
quence of endogenous choice by partisan politicians in the USA (see Aldrich 1995).

2 Party Systems
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Most of this chapter looks at the makeup of and/or actions taken in the name of the
political party. It is, in that sense, a microscopic look inside the typical party. No
democracy, however, has only one party. When there are two or more parties in
competition over the same things—control over oYces, over legislation, or over
whatever—we should expect that each party will be shaped in part by its relation-
ship to the other parties. How these parties form a system will not be assessed here,
but we cannot look at the party in and out of the legislature without at least
addressing two points.
The Wrst is that a political system is not truly democratic unless its elections are
genuinely competitive. Competition, in turn, does not exist without at least two
parties with reasonable chances of electoral success. It is often thought that a
Xedgling democracy has not completed its transformation until there has been a
free and competitive election that has peacefully replaced the incumbent party with
one (or more) other parties. This happened, for example, in both Mexico and
Taiwan in 2000, when erstwhile authoritarian one-party states transformed
558 john h. aldrich

themselves into competitive democracies, and, in their respective elections, the

erstwhile authoritarian party was voted out of oYce and peacefully surrendered
power. Note that in Mexico, the long-reigning PRI had allowed the PAN to
compete earlier, but did not allow free and open elections by virtue of restricting
opposition-party access to the media before the 2000 election. This changed in
2000 and the PAN candidate, Vicente Fox, was elected president, marking the full
democratic transition (see Aldrich, Magaloni, and Zechmeister 2005; Magaloni
2006).
Second, it could fairly be said that the central means of political representation is
the political party. To be sure, individuals can be agents of representation as well,
whether the chief executive or the individual legislator. But it is the political party
that most systematically and durably represents the public in government. But
representation is a relative thing, and as such it is a property of the party system,
even more than it is a property of an individual or a single party. Thus, the question
voters ask is not ‘‘how well does this party represent me, absolutely?’’ It is only
relative both to the agenda that comes before the assembly and relative to the
alternative or alternatives oVered. Thus, it is rather more helpful to think of
whether a member of party A voted (acted, spoke, etc.) more like any given
constituent than did a member of party B, C, and so on.
The US Congress is often seen as exceptional. It is special by virtue of the nearly
unique concatenation of having a two-party system with single-member districts
and no formal party discipline. A two-party system exaggerates the limited range
of feasible representation, compared to the more numerous choices faced in
multiparty systems. Of all the myriad combinations of policy choices (let alone
other matters of representation), the voters really have but two in front of them,
and they grow accustomed to trying to decide which is the better choice—or, often,
which is the ‘‘lesser of two evils.’’ This is shared with most other Anglo-American
democracies, among others (Lijphart 1984, 1999; Chhibber and Kollman 2004).
Still, the range of choices is limited even in a multiparty system, and voters must
decide which of this range is the best available, rather than search for the absolute
best imaginable choice. The lack of formal party discipline means, on the one hand,
that a party chosen to be representative may be suYciently ineVective as to be able
to enact its platform. On the other hand, the individual representative is often best
understood, in the words of Gary Jacobson (2004), as responsive to the wishes of
their constituents, but not responsible for outcomes. Limited choice and limited
accountability tends to weaken if not undermine representation, perhaps uniquely
in the USA.
Two-party parliaments with high party discipline can be more accountable. They
are, however, just as limited to two eVective options to present to the public. In
some senses, the ability of the individual member of Congress to diVerentiate
herself from her party provides the voters with a stronger sense of the range of
feasible options in the USA than tends to be articulated in, say, England. But even
 political parties in and out of legislatures 559

there, there is growing attenuation of party discipline, and to that limited

degree, two-party parliaments are at least slightly more like the USA—showing a
marginal increase in the range of policy options coupled with a marginal decline in
accountability.
Multiparty parliaments are often seen as much more representative bodies,
especially so as the electoral rules are increasingly close approximations to purely
proportional, and the resulting relatively high number of eVective parties provides
a closer approximation to representation of the various interests in society. That is,
these systems are better at re-presenting the voices and preferences of the public
inside the legislature. But this contrast between the two- and multiparty system
should not be pushed too far, for two reasons.
First, while there may be many parties, their distribution of seats is often quite
asymmetric (Laver and Budge 1992). Take Israel, for example (see, e.g., Aldrich,
Blais, Indridiason, and Levine 2005; Blais, Aldrich, Indridiasan, and Levine
forthcoming). As one of the more nearly proportional party systems (a single,
nationwide district with low threshold for representation of 1.5 percent of the vote,
soon to increase to 2 percent), it generally oVers many choices to its voters, with a
good fraction of them holding seats after the election. Thus, they are particularly
strong in representing a relatively large fraction of the electoral views within the
Knesset. Still, until Prime Minister Sharon broke with Likud while actually in
office, Labor and Likud were invariably the two largest parties. One or both still
is invariably in the government, meeting that their voice is heard where policy is
really made (for theoretical views, see Laver and Shepsle 1996; Laver and Schofield
1990). And, of course, the strongest voice of all, the prime minister, always
comes only from a major party, which in Israel’s case was one of these two until
very recently. Thus, ‘‘voice’’ and inXuence/power are quite diVerently distributed.
Israel is far from unique in this regard. Governments are very far from random
samples of members of the legislature, and prime ministers are not drawn as a
simple random sample from the names of all legislators. This asymmetry in voice is
in some sense parallel to the asymmetry in majoritarian electoral systems that
results from the disproportionate translation of votes into seats in the
two-party cases.
If there is asymmetry of one kind or another in both types of electoral systems,
there is also a sort of accountability problem in multiparty systems, perhaps a
stronger accountability problem than found in two-party systems. Take the case of
Israel, again. In their election of 2003, everyone knew who would ‘‘win’’ the election
(and where everyone understands that ‘‘winning the election’’ is quite diVerent
from merely winning a seat and thus a voice even in a multiparty parliament). It
was clear from the outset that Likud would win and that their leader, Ariel Sharon,
would become the prime minister. What was a mystery was what sort of govern-
ment he would be able to form. Public discussion of alternative governments was
commonplace in that campaign. Voters could—and some did—have preferences
560 john h. aldrich

among the various coalitions that might form, and could—and some did—even
condition their vote on those preferences over coalition governments rather than
parties (Blais, Aldrich, Indridiason, and Levine forthcoming). But, the break in
accountability is that there is little Sharon could do to bind himself to any promise
about what sort of government would form and thus the range of policies he would
make as prime minister. Therefore, voters could not really hold Likud or anyone
else accountable on those grounds. In the event, the most popular coalition in the
public view was rejected by Labor, and Sharon successfully formed a governing
coalition consisting of an entirely diVerent coalition than the ones considered in
the campaign. There are no data about public preferences on this coalition, because
no survey researcher imagined including it as a possible coalition, but it is
reasonable to assume that it probably would have proved unpopular had it been
considered in and by the public. The central lesson of this example is that
accountability suVers dramatically. Post-election circumstances might, at least on
occasion, force the selection of someone to be prime minister who deviates sharply
from public opinion and perhaps even from the basis of voters’ decisions. Even
more commonly, negotiations over coalition governments might well force the
outcome to be a government—and consequent set of policies—that diVers sharply
from the choices and preferences of the public.
In sum, both two- and multiparty systems generate problems over represen-
tation. This is true in terms of representation in two senses. It is true in interest
articulation. That is, even the purest PR systems fail to create legislatures that
mirror the preferences of the public, and this bias is systematic rather than
random. It is also true in terms of accountability. Voters who wanted a Labor–
Likud coalition in national unity could hardly hold Sharon and Likud, as
winners of the election, accountable for Labor’s refusal (announced during the
campaign) to agree to enter any such coalition. And as it happens, they could
not easily hold them accountable for the failure of his Wrst coalition government,
since it was replaced early in the electoral cycle. If there is going to be any voting
on the basis of accountability (a.k.a. retrospective voting), it presumably will be
based in the next election on the second, the lasting, and the more recent
coalition.
In both two-party and multiparty coalition cases, then, the question is who or
what can be held responsible? In the extreme US case, voters can basically hold
their representatives accountable for failures to be responsive to their wishes, but
not for failure to be responsible for the outcomes. In other two-party systems,
voters can hold the majority party accountable, but typically only for failure to
achieve a set of policies that the voters might have thought was not very close to
their views in the Wrst place. In the general multiparty case, one might hold a
Sharon and Likud responsible (and if so, perhaps realistically, could turn to Labor
as, in this case, the only responsible alternative), but who or what else? The party
you voted for? The parties in the government?
 political parties in and out of legislatures 561

In sum, the study of political parties necessarily entails two central aspects of the
national party system, regardless of how focused one may be on the internal
workings of a particular political party. First, the famous Schattschneiderian
position on partisan necessity for democracy does not mean that it is this or that
party that is necessary. Rather, it means that there must be a system of parties, and
that every party forming or being in the government has to be at reasonable risk of
electoral defeat in the next election. And for that to be true, there has to be a system
of two or more parties. Second, it is equally true that representation requires not
just a desirable option in the election for any particular citizen to choose. Rather,
representation requires comparison between or among options, and thus also
requires there to be a party system. Further, representation entails not only choices
for the citizens as to how best to articulate their desires in government; it also
requires the ability of the citizenry to hold the successful parties accountable for
their actions in the government. The argument here is that both aspects of
representation, Wrst, require a party system, and, second, are not as diVerent across
the various types of party systems, two- or multiparty systems with greater or lesser
degrees of party discipline, as often assumed. Indeed, in some ways, the account-
ability problem—how the public can try to ensure that their preferred choices
really do represent them in government and in policy-making and not just on the
campaign trail and in the manner needed to win votes—is greater in multiparty
than in two-party systems.

3 The Party Outside the Legislature

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In this and the following section, we consider the two major arenas of action for the
political party. In this section, we look at the party as it is perceived by the public
and as it thus helps the public negotiate the political process, make electorally
relevant assessments, and take actions, particularly with respect to the turnout and
vote decisions. In the next section, we examine the party as it operates in the
legislative arena.
As was true above, so it is true here that a good place to start is with V. O. Key,
Jr. In his magisterial account of Southern Politics in State and Nation (1949), he made
the relevant comparison. Imagine the workings of a democracy with an established
party system in comparison to the workings of a democracy without such a system.
In this he was aided by the unique ‘‘natural experiment’’ of the embedding of a
putative democracy in the American South, but one that had no party system
throughout the sixty years of the ‘‘Jim Crow’’ system that Key was studying (that is
562 john h. aldrich

the laws and practices that excluded blacks and poor whites from politics). The Jim
Crow South was, however, also set within a functioning democracy with an
established, durable two-party system at the national level. While this ‘‘natural
experiment’’ happened to be found in the USA, he oVers no reason, nor can I think
of one Wfty years later (Aldrich 2000), that makes his contrast less than fully general.
The result of the experiment was clear, clean, and simple to convey. Politics was a
perfectly reasonable real-world approximation of democracy as imagined in
theory when found within an established and durable party system. Politics was
extraordinarily undemocratic in the South, that is, it was undemocratic when not
embedded in a competitive and durable party system, and Key was scathing in his
description of the choices, such as they were, confronting voters.
The question of this section, then, is what role does the party play in furthering
electoral democracy? Of the myriad aspects of parties-in-the-electorate, the core
questions are ‘‘What does the party mean to potential and actual voters?’’ and
‘‘How does that meaning help shape their political decisions?’’ Here, I therefore
address that core pair of questions.
The Wrst question opens an apparent case of American exceptionalism, in that
the theoretical understandings of party identiWcation developed in the context of
American survey research, are distinct and possibly theoretically unique to the
USA. I suggest here that such a conclusion may be premature. The claim is that, if
we can parse out the contemporaneous context of voting for, rather than assessing
of, political parties, we may Wnd beliefs akin to American party identiWcation.
Campbell, Converse, Miller, and Stokes’ classic accounts (1960, 1966) conceived
party identiWcation as an early-formed, durable, aVectively-based loyalty to a
political party. Their data showed that this conception was consistent with the
beliefs and attitudes of a substantial majority in the American electorate, both in
the 1950s and 1960s as they developed their theory, and again in recent years, as the
(actually rather modest) attenuation of partisanship in the 1970s resurged to
roughly the earlier levels (Bartels 2000). The key point was that this notion of
partisan identiWcation was relevant for understanding how ordinary citizens, with
typically marginal interest in politics, were able to negotiate the complicated
political world. This aVect-centered view held that most people began with a bias
in favor of their favored party (childhood socialization), they tend to hear things in
a way biased toward their party (selective perception), and they are likely to further
that bias even more by consuming information from sources that are themselves in
favor of the citizen’s preferred party (selective attention). Thus reinforced, partisan
loyalty means that it is hard to change the minds of supporters of the opposing
party, more so than it is to win over independents and apolitical citizens. In turn, it
is harder to woo the uncommitted than to cement those already predisposed in
one’s favor.
An alternative view is due to Downs (1957), Key (1966), and Fiorina (1981). This
view is of a more cognitively-based assessment. It assumes that voting and the
 political parties in and out of legislatures 563

partisanship that underlies those vote choices are based on assessments of

outcomes, looking at past performance by partisan oYce holders to understand
choices between partisan leaders for oYces in the current election. The cognitive
component to partisanship assesses how well or poorly politically induced
outcomes—especially over economic and foreign aVairs—have been under the
management of one party compared to the other(s). Thus, unlike the aVective
account, partisanship is responsive to political events.
One might expect that these two contrasting views would be relatively easily
distinguishable. Fiorina (1981) and Achen (1992) demonstrate, however, that both
produce very similar empirical predictions. As a result, debate over these two
understandings remains an active part of the contemporaneous research agenda
within American politics (see especially Erikson, MacKuen, and Stimson 2002;
Green, Palmquist, and Schickler 2002).
And, while the above two theories are often characterized as social-psychological
vs. economic-rational views of politics, there is a third stream of research that looks
at one large class of the uses to which partisanship (of whichever stripe) is put.
While implicit in Campbell, Converse, Miller, and Stokes’ (1960) account, it was
Key (1966) again who Wrst developed the notion of partisanship as a ‘‘standing
decision.’’ More recently, drawing from the ‘‘cognitive miser’’ approach in social
psychology, scholars argued for the ability of extant partisanship to function as an
aid in decision-making, reducing the costs of information processing and making
of assessments in a complex world, and thus to serve variously as a schema,
heuristic, or other decision-making short-cut. In the more economic and rational
choice camps, scholars argued for, well, what is essentially the same thing. Popkin
(1994) popularized this view for rationally negotiating the political world in general
in what he called ‘‘gut-level rationality’’ (see Lupia and McCubbins 1998, for more
formal development). Hinich and Munger (1994) put the idea of partisanship on
ideological grounds, especially by looking at ideology as an informational short-
cut, and developing scaling and related technologies to measure how partisan
stances on ideology can operate much like the heuristics of the social-cognitive
psychologist. In this, they were developing the ideas presented by Downs (1957) in
which he argued that the political party was important by virtue of being consistent
over time and therefore in aiding voters who are motivated to acquire information
only incidentally. As a result, parties had incentives induced by voters to be
consistent and moderately divergent on major dimensions of choice. Hinich and
Munger (1994) developed the technology to make all of that estimable and to
incorporate ideology into the account as the dimensions of divisions between
parties and as the basis of choice by voters.
The important characteristic of all three of these conceptions is that partisanship
is a property of the voters. That is, all view the political parties as they are perceived
and employed by the voters, seeing parties as external objects to the electorate and
as helping them negotiate the political process, especially the electoral system.
564 john h. aldrich

Parties are objects about which beliefs and loyalties, preferences and assessments,
are formed and used. They help lead the voters in making choices rather than being
the objects of choice themselves. And, all of these are particularly American
conceptions.
The authors of the Michigan model, to be sure, sought to develop the compara-
tive extension of their ideas from the beginning. Perhaps the most extensive
example is by Butler and Stokes (1974), in which they sought to use the ideas of
The American Voter (Campbell, Converse, Miller, and Stokes 1960), including
partisanship, to understand British politics. This was, of course, the obvious
natural extension, given its similar continuity of an essentially two-party system
with comparable continuity in stances of the major parties. Of course, the problem
was that Britain diVered from America in being a unitary parliamentary govern-
ment with strict party loyalty, so that voters decided which party to vote for, rather
than which nominee of a major party to support in their riding. To put it
otherwise, voters typically said they voted for the party and not the person, the
exact reverse of the claims of the American voter.
The great theorist of partisanship, Phil Converse, made a strong case for the
general, comparative utility of partisanship, perhaps especially in his classic article,
‘‘Of Time and Partisan Stability’’ (1969). There, he demonstrated that the concep-
tion of partisanship was helpful for understanding major properties of party
systems, and one might infer back that partisanship in the electorate is a function
of the party system and not ‘‘just’’ of the properties of the parties themselves. He
and Dupeux (1962) saw a surrogate identiWcation to partisanship, what they called
an ideologically based ‘‘tendence’’ in the then current French system with its diverse
and highly variable cast of political parties contending for votes (see Converse and
Pierce 1986 for a more modern view of French partisanship and voting). This
‘‘stand in’’ for partisanship suggested that voters thrived when they could Wnd
ways to hold matters suYciently constant to provide structure to their conception
of politics. Retrospective voting, for its part, is one of the most migratory of
American-originated conceptions for understanding electoral politics. Fiorina’s
notion of party identiWcation as a running tally has been applied metaphorically,
although rarely in precise ways. The result, often, is a use of the term party
identiWcation or partisanship in comparative contexts, which lack precise and
theoretical speciWcation. Finally, it seems evident that if voters in stable two-party
systems need heuristics to guide them through electoral decision-making, voters in
less stable and/or in multiparty systems would be in far greater need of such
informational short-cuts.
And yet, the concept of party identiWcation did not travel particularly well as,
say, retrospective voting did. The question for here is why? The answer I propose is
not that there is no general value in these ideas. Rather, it is that the American
electoral landscape has a unique conWguration of attributes that highlights
‘‘parties-as-assessments,’’ while in virtually all other systems, political parties are
 political parties in and out of legislatures 565

objects of actual choices, not just the basis for making assessments. Thus,
the continuity of parties combined with a lack of rigorous party discipline in the
legislature means that choices are and must be over candidates and not over parties.
This is narrowly so, as in many systems votes are cast for political parties and not
individual candidates, but it is also true more metaphorically. In Britain or other
Anglo-American two-party systems, votes can (often must) be cast for individual
candidates, but high party discipline dilutes the personal name-brand value any
candidate may have, something of high value in the USA, and accentuates the value
of the name brand of the party. As a result, vote decisions made in the name of a
party naturally trump assessments of individual candidates, and that is reXected in
responses to party-identiWcation-like questions on an election survey. It does not
follow from a concept being hard to measure that the concept is not relevant in
those systems. It only follows that the concept is obscured—explaining, perhaps,
why Converse could Wnd the very abstract patterns so striking in the very same
political systems where the micro-measures were diYcult to observe.
The above is inferential. Historical evidence in America seems consistent with
this set of claims. Voting in eighteenth century America was highly partisan, indeed
as strongly so as in contemporary parliamentary systems. Historians of American
elections naturally and correctly point to the form of ballot—non-secret voting,
ballots made by the separate parties, etc.—and their interaction with institutions,
notably partisan machines, to explain highly partisan elections (e.g. Hays 1980).
While the move from open to secret balloting and other technical features of the
voting process are important parts of the explanation of the decline of partisan
elections in the USA, it is by now well understood that intervening between ballot
reform and candidate-centered elections was the development of the individual
oYce seeking motivation that these reforms and others made possible (Katz and
Sala 1996; Price 1975). Thus, it was the increasingly candidate-centered campaigns
of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that generated the Wrst level of
decline in partisan elections, followed by the new technology of mid- to late-
twentieth century politics that Wnalized the candidate-centered campaign as all
but fully replacing the party-centered contests of the earlier era (Aldrich 1995). In
short, the voters were responding to the possibilities of the electoral setting and
especially to the nature of the campaigns they observed in generating Wrst
highly partisan and then highly candidate centered voting. Perhaps were party
identiWcation questions asked in nineteenth-century America, they would
have been understood as asking vote intention.
In a comparative context, the above argument is also inferential. Several empir-
ical observations might test the notion. For example, as party discipline is tending
to erode in many nations’ parliaments, those with single-member districts com-
bined with durable parties dominating the system, or other systems (e.g. Japan)
where candidate names have some value, the importance of party-as-assessment
should be increasing, while as party discipline increases in the USA,
566 john h. aldrich

party-as-choice should be more commonplace. Other convergences may be

exploitable to examine whether party-as-assessment is, in fact, valuable for citizens
in many nations as they seek to negotiate a complex political world. Indeed the
Comparative Study of Electoral Systems (CSES) are making such explorations and
convergences increasingly possible. Note, interestingly, that the question wording
for ‘‘party identiWcation’’ questions in the CSES (and, of course, that means as
generated from comparative scholars from their own research traditions) are about
how close one feels toward the various parties. Such a format leaves open the
question of whether respondents mean they feel close to a party in the sense of
identifying with it, or being close to what they stand for, and thus having a higher
ideological proximity.
Partisanship, however deWned and understood in the literature, focuses on the
individual citizen. But the questions as to meaning have turned out to depend
upon how they observe politicians and the parties they belong to. Thus, as Key
taught us long ago, we can spend a good deal of time looking at, say, the
party-in-the-electorate, but we cannot, in the Wnal analysis, really understand it
in isolation from the party-in-government or the party-as-organization. Our
questions about what the party means to the voter have taken us to the party-
in-government.

4 The Party Inside the Legislature

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In this section we again ask two core questions, the two that emerged above. It
should not be surprising that the core questions about the value of the political
party for citizens and for politicians are closely related. That was Key’s point. The
questions are when and why do politicians support their party in the legislature—
how united are parties—and when and why do parties align with, or oppose, one
another? These questions have tended to be the focus of the literature on American
parties and Congress, on the one hand, and on comparative parties and legisla-
tures, on the other hand, and it is fair to say that the two party-and-legislature
literatures are often close to dominated by their respective questions. Increasingly,
new questions and new data are emerging especially within comparative politics,
but we will only brieXy touch on them. The core questions form the end points of a
continuum, with the US two-party system candidate-centered elections at one end
to a multiparty system with party-centered elections at the other.
Let us begin at the American exemplar end of the continuum. What forces shape
the roll call vote? There has been considerable variation in the level of support the
 political parties in and out of legislatures 567

members gives their party. The post-Second World War era was particularly low,
and the contemporary period (as in the nineteenth century) is considerably higher.
Even at lowest ebb, however, party had by far the largest eVect on the casting of the
roll call vote (Weisberg 1978). He put the scholarly challenge to be to take party
voting as the base line, with the theory tested by seeing how much it improved on
party-line voting. This was at a point when the Democratic majority was divided,
with nearly as many votes being cast with a ‘‘conservative coalition’’ (a majority of
northern Democrats opposed by a majority of Southern Democrats and a majority
of Republicans) as were being cast along party lines. To be sure, claiming a vote is a
‘‘party vote,’’ when a simple majority of one opposes a simple majority of the other
party, set a modest standard, even though the eVect of party on the individual vote
was stronger than that aggregate pattern suggested. Still, if congressional voting
was primarily ‘‘party plus,’’ it was nonetheless the case that party was much less
consequential in shaping legislative choice than in virtually all other legislatures.
The above reXect, in eVect, a parallelism between citizens’ and legislators’ voting
choices. In both cases, party served as a strong base line, but there was more. In
both cases, the role of party reached a low point at about 1970, climbing back to a
more historically precedented high level more recently.
Congressional theory sought to explain the variation in levels of party voting
and, at least indirectly, answering the question of why the US Congress lagged its
European counterpart, even at its contemporary higher levels of party voting. The
theoretical literature poses three explanations (for reviews see, e.g., Aldrich and
Rohde 2000; Cox and McCubbins 2005). One is that the observed levels of party
voting revealed very little to do with the role of party in Congress. Championed
most vigorously by Krehbiel (1991, 1993), his argument is that the pattern of party
voting in Congress mirroring that of party voting in the public is no coincidence.
Legislators’ votes reXect the wishes of the public as Wltered through the goal of
reelection. To be sure, legislators do not simply vote the views of their constituency,
but the role of the party organization and leadership in Congress is, at best,
marginal. And this makes a sharp contrast with their European brethren.
Cox and McCubbins take a diVerent view (1993, 2005). In their view, party is the
primary organizing device of Congress. Congress is thus organized to fulWll the
collective interests of the majority party, and one important aspect of that is to
ensure that the majority party structures Congress so that it does not put the
reelection chances of the duly elected members of the majority at risk. The party
thus shapes the agenda so that members can vote for what the majority party’s
members want without voting against their constituents’ wishes often or on
important matters. Thus, the majority party is pleased to have its members on
committees that serve their constituents’ concerns and can reward their constitu-
ents with distributive beneWts. But while it provides room for its members to serve
their constituents, it also provides room for its members to act on their collectively
shared interests, all in the name of assisting their members’ reelection chances.
568 john h. aldrich

Circumstances dictate the kinds of power the majority will wield. When there were
fewer collective interests to serve, the party was consequently less important to
citizens, and it was better to be discrete in its use of power, typically by the use of
negative agenda control. As polarization has led to more common interests and the
party has thus become more important to the public, then it is increasingly
satisfactory to exert more positive control over the agenda, to pass majority-
preferred policies.
The third view is what Aldrich and Rohde call ‘‘conditional party government’’
(1997–98, 2000). If, they assert, there is variation in the inXuence of party in
Congress, then we should investigate conditions under which it is at a higher and
at a lower level. They argue that it is at a higher level when the electorate has
selected members of the majority party with more homogenous preferences than at
other times, and with preferences that are more clearly diVerentiated from the
(typically also more homogenously distributed) preferences of the minority party.
There is more for the majority party to win by acting together. And, when party
preferences are more homogenous, there is less risk for the individual member of
ceding authority to the party leadership than when their party is more heteroge-
neous. This view diVers from that of, say, Krehbiel by virtue of its conditionality.
That is, they agree that the electorate is the driving force. They diVer in the role of
the party in Congress. According to Krehbiel, it is epiphenomenal. In conditional
party government, it magniWes the eVect of the constituency at high levels, but not
at low levels. It diVers from the ‘‘party cartel’’ argument of Cox and McCubbins, if
at all, by virtue of the latter’s emphasis on the importance of negative agenda
control (that is, blocking legislation from coming to a vote) when the majority
party is heterogeneous, and emphasis on positive agenda control (that is seeking to
pass legislation favored by the majority) otherwise. The conditional party govern-
ment argument is simply that, instead of negative agenda control, a divided
majority party exerts little control at all.
All three accounts argue that the driving force for explaining the observation of
variation in levels of party voting in Congress are due to changes in the preferences of
the electorate. Missing from all three accounts is an explanation of how and why
those preferences change. Erikson, MacKuen, and Stimson (2002) argue that there is
a thermostatic relationship or feedback between what the government does and how
the electorate’s partisan preferences and voting choices react. In particular, they Wnd
that the majority party tends to overshoot what the public wants, the Democratic
Party acts too liberally, and a Republican Party too conservatively when in the
majority. As a result, the public shifts back in the direction favored by the minority
party, helping them work toward achieving majority status. Like a pendulum, parties
in Congress sweep left and right farther than voters prefer and the public serves as
counterweight, pulling the overly extreme policy choices back toward what the
public as a whole desires. These propositions are new and still only lightly tested
but seem both plausibly descriptive and enticing. The question then is why reelection
 political parties in and out of legislatures 569

minded oYceholders would overshoot in this ‘‘macro polity.’’ Two likely possibilities
are that the politicians are personally more extreme in their policy beliefs than the
public or that these politicians need resources from relative extreme partisan and
interests groups for renomination and reelection. Of course, since many politicians
were themselves once policy activists, both might be true. Further the public, in the
aggregate, is generally moderate (indeed may literally be the deWnition of moderate)
and so these activists may be only modestly ‘‘extreme.’’ But, to answer the question of
why party resources come from relative extremists is to ask a question about the
party organization, a subject we will touch on in the conclusion. For now, note that
Wndings that party activists are more extreme than the partisan identiWers in the
electorate is not unique to the USA. It holds in many nations, and is one basis to
begin to develop that general account that places the USA at one end and multiparty
parliaments at the other end of the same continuum.
Whereas the traditional question asked of American legislative parties is whether
they are ever united, the archetypical multiparty parliament Wnds the political
party almost invariably united. Indeed, parties are often the unit of analysis, in
virtual atom-as-billiard-ball fashion, rather than the American counterpart of
party as atom-as-mostly-empty-space. In this tradition, the primary question is
how parties form, maintain, or disband coalition governments, with the govern-
ment and its ministers choosing policies for the parliament to ratify with strict
party line voting. As Diermeier and Feddersen demonstrate (1998), the power of
the no-conWdence vote forces at least the parties in government into unity. It is
only recently that the atom has been broken open, as it were, and non-lock-step
unanimous behavior of party politicians considered.
The multiparty parliament inserts the extra step of government formation in the
democratic crossroads of going from citizen preferences to policy (even when one
party, majority or minority, see Strom, 1990, ends up forming the government).
Technically, this is true in the US House, too, as its Wrst action is to select from its
own internal government by choosing a Speaker and a committee structure. All but
invariably, that vote is also a strictly party-line vote, just as in, say, Britain. Perhaps
the lack of a no-conWdence vote in the Speaker undermines primarily party-line
voting.
A substantial literature has sought to understand coalition formation in
multiparty parliaments based on policy preferences. Thus, one beginning point
would be with applications of Riker’s (1962) minimal winning coalition hypothesis,
with quite mixed empirical results. Axelrod (1970) added policy considerations
per se by modifying minimal winning to ‘‘minimal winning connected coalition,’’
and by ‘‘connected’’ he meant stand close or adjacent to each other on policy/
ideology. The empirical Wndings were improved but still mixed. Then, Laver and
SchoWeld (1990; see also Laver and Budge 1992) and Laver and Shepsle (1994, 1996)
applied insights from social choice theory. In the Wrst, SchoWeld developed a multi-
dimensional analogue to the centrality of policy in the one-dimensional, median
570 john h. aldrich

voter, and he and Laver applied this notion successfully in a number of empirical
cases. Laver and Shepsle took a model that Shepsle (1979) had originally developed
for the US Congress to describe how particular parties would form speciWc
coalitions based on policy positions, even when there was no dominant majority
outcome. Essentially, the coalition process strikes bargains in which party A is given
control over policy x, party B over policy y, etc. It would be a diVerent coalition
with diVerent policy outcome if party A controlled policy y and B policy x. They
and others applied their model extensively to explain governments that formed
(Laver and Shepsle 1994).
If the Wrst question was which government formed, the second was how long
would it last. Again, this literature moved toward alignment between theory and
substance, but in this case, the literature unfolded in close dialogue between the two.
A short version of this is that Browne, Frerdreis, and Gleiber (1986) developed a
sophisticated statistical model of government duration that essentially showed how
governments could handle exogenous shocks (or collapse in the face of them). King,
Alt, Laver, and Burns (1990) developed this approach further. Lupia and Strom
(1995) then began to develop a theoretical model that endogenized these events,
followed by an increasingly sophisticated series of game theoretic models by
Diermeier and associates (Diermeier and van Roozendaal 1998; Diermeier and
Stevenson 1999) that moved toward testable implications to pit against and
eventually extend the original statistical modeling of Browne, Frendreis, and Gleiber.
All of this increasingly precise, sophisticated, and empirically extensive research
treats the parliamentary party as the unit of analysis. Two developments have
moved towards treating the member of parliament as the unit of analysis. One
thrust was due to the study of new democracies and therefore the study of
the formation of parliaments and their practices, especially in Latin American
(Morganstern and Nacif 2001) and former Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact
nations. Smyth (2006), for example, examines early Russian Duma elections to
study conditions under which candidates in their mixed system would choose to
ally with a political party and when to run as an individual. Remington (2001) and
Remington and Smith (2001) examine the formation of the Duma in the new era,
looking at many of these same questions, while Andrews (2002) examines the
policy formation process (or its failure!) in the early years of the post-Soviet Duma,
Wnding precisely the kind of theoretical instability and policy chaos that underlies
much of the theoretical work noted above. This study shows that the apparent
stability of policy choices of most established legislatures, including the US
Congress and the archetypal European multiparty parliament, needs to be
derived—apparently from an established party system—rather than be assumed.
Party instability occurs even in established parliaments, however. Heller and
Mershon (2005) have examined the Xuidity in MP partisan attachments after the
reforms of the Italian parliamentary system. Here, unlike the Russian case, there
seems to be reasonable policy stability within a great deal of partisan instability.
 political parties in and out of legislatures 571

The second line of research inside the ‘‘black box’’ of the parliamentary party is
to examine behavior in addition to roll call voting by which MPs can exert
inXuence within and some degree of autonomy from their party. Martin and
Vanberg (2004, 2005), for instance, examine means by which parliamentary
committees and other devices can provide non-governing legislatures with
inXuence over policy choices. As can be seen, ‘‘opening up’’ the black box of
parliamentary parties is in its infancy, but these results imply that there is a good
deal more legislative party politics of the kind ordinarily associated with American
parties in their Congress to be found in multiparty parliaments. It may prove to be
simply that the vote of conWdence and electoral mechanisms that create party and
government discipline have made it diYcult to observe what Americans have
thrust in front of them in much more public fashion.

5 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

There are a vast number of important themes that could direct a study of political
parties in the legislature, out of the legislature, or both. This has focused on a small
number of them. They were chosen because they have a common thread. That
thread is one-half of the democratic process, looking at the role of political parties
in shaping the beliefs and values of citizens and shaping their electoral decisions.
Their choices, in turn, determined which parties and their candidates won legisla-
tive oYce. In some cases, a single party formed a majority, in others it required
multiple parties to do so. In either case, the Wnal step was how that majority
governed, in terms of realizing (or deXecting) the wishes of the public who elected
them.
This is but half the story, because the policies thus enacted shape the preferences
and concerns of citizens going into the next election, repeating the process. This
lacuna in coverage reXects the lacuna in analysis. However, ambitious politicians
hoping to remain in oYce pick policies at least in part with an eye towards their
best guess about public reaction, and so we, like they, anticipate voting for the next
election, imperfectly embedding that anticipation into the policies chosen. As
I hope this chapter made clear, there has been a great deal of scholarly progress
on this Schattschneiderian role of the political party in shaping democratic politics
in recent years, in the theoretical literature, in the substantive literature, and even
more in their combination.
Examining how government actions might shape public preferences is one way
to approach the problem of endogenous parties. A second is to consider seriously
572 john h. aldrich

the relationship between the party system and the set of parties that make up that
system. One theme has been the importance of a party system for the eVective
functioning of democracy. In general we deWne ‘‘party system’’ practically by the
(eVective) number of parties. The eVective number tells us something about
the case such as Israel, but perhaps better is to add to the eVective number
consideration of parties that serve as generators of prime ministerial candidates,
or candidates for the major portfolios. In either case, the example above implies a
sort of path dependency on the particular parties that make up the party system
and on the height of barriers to entry to new parties and perhaps to achieving
major party status.
Key’s party-in-three-parts organized this chapter, but the reader may note that
the third part, the party-as-organization, appeared on stage only brieXy. Here it is
appropriate to observe that one of the major components of the party organiza-
tion, the activists and the resources in time, money, and eVort that they control, is a
critical component for synchronizing the party in the public’s mind and the party
in the legislature (see especially Aldrich 1995; Kitschelt 1989, 1999). There is an
important regularity about party activists that cuts across the various types of party
systems. In majoritarian and proportional, in two- and multiparty systems, in the
US and European archetypical cases of this chapter, activists have turned out to be
more extreme than the electoral members of their parties. Recently, Kedar (2005)
has developed and tested a theory of this process, arguing that voters support
parties with activists more extreme than they are, so that actual policy will be able
to be moved in the direction of the activists, but, through the inertia created by the
rest of the political system, almost assuredly less far than the activists would desire.
The result is a change in policy much like the more-moderate voter actually desires.
Aldrich and McGinnis (1989) oVer a diVerent but complementary story based on
the US parties. Party activists can induce candidates and oYceholders to move
policy in their direction, but not as far in their direction (in this instance balancing
their need for extremity to gather resources from activists to win votes and their
need for moderation to retain support in the electorate). In either case, relatively
more extreme activists are motivated to connect public and politician, pushing
both to aVect policy changes more to the activists’ liking. Whatever the details, the
activists are central party organization members for aggregating and articulating
public desires and tying politicians to policy outcome. And, if Erikson, MacKuen,
and Stimson (2002) have the dynamics right, they are the source of the swing of the
policy pendulum.
Let me close with a fourth area which appears ripe for research breakthroughs.
This chapter pointed towards a fully comparative political parties project. Instead
of distinguishing between American political parties and the political parties of
other (advanced, industrial, and postindustrial) democracies, we are beginning to
see more clearly that political parties are common to all democracies, and they are
so because democracy is, indeed, unthinkable save through the agency of the
 political parties in and out of legislatures 573

party. And it is through the theoretical uniWcation of the party in and out of the
legislature (perhaps accomplished through the party organization) that we can
understand just how parties are necessary components of democracies. In this,
American parties are not diVerent, theoretically, from their European counter-
parts. We can explain apparent American exceptionalism as simply based on an
unusual combination of empirical conditions, explainable through a common set
of factors, and thus there is closer to a singular set of explanations of the party in
and out of the legislature across at least the established democratic world.

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 chapter 29
...................................................................................................................................................

E L E C TO R A L S YS T E M S
...................................................................................................................................................

shaun bowler

This chapter looks at electoral systems and electoral system change from an institu-
tional perspective. As we will see, it is a perspective that lends itself to a rational actor
framework that emphasizes the strategic choices made by voters and political elites. A
central organizing theme of this chapter is the way in which Duverger’s Law can be
taken to be the canonical statement of what electoral systems as institutions do and
why the choice of electoral institutions matters so much. Discussions of electoral
system eVects and consequences can be seen as a generalization of Duverger’s insight
as it applied to single member simple plurality (SMSP) electoral systems. In subse-
quent sections we discuss changes in electoral systems or, more accurately, the
remarkable lack of changes in electoral systems worldwide. Despite many opportun-
ities for change, and a theoretical expectation which suggests parties and candidates
are constantly seeking to change the rules to their advantage, electoral systems rarely,
if ever, change. In some ways, explaining the absence of change is harder than
explaining change itself. We begin, however, by placing electoral systems in the
broader theoretical context of political institutions.

1 Electoral Systems as Political

Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

‘‘At the most basic level, electoral systems translate the votes cast in [an election]
into seats won by parties and candidates [in the legislature]’’ (IDEA 2002, 7).
578 shaun bowler

Duverger’s Law remains the canonical statement of the political consequence of

electoral systems, and one that informs the topic of electoral system change in
general.
Duverger’s Law notes that single-member simple plurality electoral systems are
associated with far fewer parties than are systems such as list PR (list proportional
representation) and oVers a causal explanation of why this is the case (see Cox 1999
for details and also Riker 1982). This statement of the relationship between electoral
system and number of parties has meant that an important agenda for electoral
systems research has been identifying who wins and who loses under the huge
variety of electoral rules (see, e.g., Rae 1971; Farrell 2001). Duverger is credited with
identifying one of the more prominent, if not the most prominent, eVects and
subsequent scholarship has searched for and established other such eVects in other
countries or with other systems, and with greater precision and detail. The electoral
systems literature is one of the more advanced within political science and a large
part of that advance has been due to ever better elaboration and generalization of
the kinds of eVects noted by Duverger.
In a practical political sense, because electoral systems make winners and losers,
the question of which electoral system is chosen to be used is an important one. It
did not take Duverger to realize that point. Electoral changes in Victorian Britain
make it plain that at least some politicians of the time understood the point. But
Duverger’s Law is an especially clear and focal statement of the argument.
Taken together, these two points mean that the study of electoral systems is one
that is closely allied to the study of institutions more generally and, in some sense,
represent an idealized type of what Tsebelis calls ‘‘distributional’’ institutions.
Tsebelis categorizes institutions as either ‘‘distributional’’ or ‘‘eYcient’’ (Tsebelis
1990, 104–15). EYcient institutions are ones in which all or almost all people are
made better oV. Examples of these kinds of institutions might be the rules of the
road in which the rule is to stop at red traYc lights and go on green, or the decision
to drive on one side of the road rather than other. Others might range from the
adoption of a standardized system of weights and measures through (more
arguably) to a rule of law. This kind of institutional arrangement beneWts all or
most people. Distributional institutions, however, divide people into winners and
losers. Knight argues that all institutions have, at their base, some distributional
element. Even seemingly innocuous ones (say whether to use imperial or metric
systems of measurement) that make almost everyone better oV may make some
people better oV still, in which case there is scope for conXict among those many
who get better over who gets best oV (Knight 1997). It may be more accurate then to
talk of a continuum of institutions whose end points are deWned by idealized types
that are never fully realized in the real world.
But even with a more nuanced categorization of institutions, electoral systems
remain one of the clearest examples of distributional institutions. Not only do
electoral systems make winners and losers, this fact is common knowledge among
 electoral systems 579

all actors involved. In the ‘‘real world,’’ political Wghts and disagreements ensue
and, in the academic world, analysis of electoral systems establishes who wins and
who loses under various systems. In a general sense the winners from any electoral
system are political parties as organizations. As Schattschneider wrote, ‘‘the polit-
ical parties created democracy and modern democracy is unthinkable save in terms
of the political parties’’ (Schattschneider 1942, 1). What helps makes parties so
prominent is that they have to Wght elections. The functionality of parties and
party-like organizations as vehicles for Wghting elections means that, in general,
political parties are encouraged by elections and voting. Even non-partisan
elections in US local governments see party-like organizations devoted to getting
out the vote and endorsing candidates. Of course the more pointed question
becomes which parties win and which lose under various electoral systems. Over
and above that, electoral systems shape the internal cohesion and discipline of
parties. Some systems—such as the single transferable vote (STV)—encourage
factionalism and intraparty competition, while others—list PR—reinforce party
discipline. Electoral systems, too, shape the relationship between voters and
representatives: some systems, especially those that allow voters to cast a ballot
for individual candidates, encourage constituency service and the cultivation of a
‘‘personal’’ vote. Other systems do not encourage such a relationship and so shift
the incentives of candidates to focus more upon party than upon individual voter
concerns (Bowler and Farrell 1993; Carey and Shugart 1995).
But the main focus of electoral systems research has been upon which kinds of
parties win and which lose under various schemes. Studies of electoral systems
show repeatedly that diVerent electoral arrangements privilege or discriminate
against diVerent kinds of parties or candidates (Lakeman 1954; Rae 1971; Grofman
and Lijphart 1986; Taagepera and Shugart 1989; Lijphart 1990, 1994; Farrell 2001).1
With few exceptions, discussion of electoral system eVects have considered the
question of which parties beneWt largely without reference to the ideological or
programmatic component of parties and the discussion within this literature has
tended to consider how many parties are produced under various systems.

2 Duverger’s Law
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Duverger’s Law occupies pride of place in this series of studies as one of the major
statements in electoral studies research and the canonical statement of the role of

1 Farrell 2001 is an excellent and accessible overview of the electoral systems literature.
580 shaun bowler

electoral systems in general. The major insight remains that electoral systems are
not merely neutral systems for totting up votes and producing an outcome but
instead systematically privilege some parties over others: speciWcally, single mem-
ber simple plurality (SMSP) pushes party systems towards having two big parties,
more proportional electoral systems produce greater numbers of smaller parties.
There are a series of amendments, elaborations, and caveats made in relation to
that statement. Some proportional systems, for example, are more proportional
than others (Gallagher 1991). In addition there are a number of empirical studies on
the failure of Duverger (‘‘non-Duvergerian equilibria’’). Duverger’s Law may work
well enough within particular districts to produce two parties but that is not
necessarily the same as working nationwide to produce the same two parties. In
varying degrees Canada, India, and the UK do not conform neatly to the model
and explanations for this have been advanced that relate to social diversity and
federalism (see Chhibber and Kollman 2004; Riker 1982). But the basic argument of
Duverger remains. Cox (1997) provides the seminal discussion of a precise
statement of Duverger’s Law and the number of expected parties, anchoring his
interpretation in the kinds of coordination problems elections bring to the fore:
parties have to coordinate on which candidate(s) to put forward while voters have
to coordinate on which candidate(s) to vote for.
One reading of Duverger is that it remains a fairly simple statement about the
number of parties in a political system and the role of the electoral system in
shaping that number. But it is possible to give Duverger a broader reading by
noting the wider consequences of the number and ideological range of parties for
several features of politics. Some of those consequences concern governability or,
more accurately, the ungovernability that may be associated with multipartyism
while others relate to underlying normative ideas of representation and
accountability.
The examples of Weimar Germany, the French Fourth Republic, (most of)
postwar Italy, and Israel are often held to have pathologies of ungovernability
and the consequent encouragement of extremism that stem directly from multi-
partyism. In that sense, the tendency of electoral systems to reduce the number of
parties helps simplify coalition building which in turn helps put in place govern-
ments that last longer (see Laver and SchoWeld 1998). There are, it can be argued,
further payoVs in accountability for reducing the number of choices at election
time. The multiparty governments that tend to result from proportional systems
do not make for the easiest system of accountability since voters may be confused
over which governmental party to reward or blame. Coalitions may also be formed
in a way that can thwart voter attempts at reward and punishment if parties which
lose votes end up gaining a place in government (Anderson 1995; Powell 2000).
Accountability, then, is tied to the number of parties in government which is in
turn tied back to the number of parties successful at election time and, in its turn,
tied back to the operation of Duverger’s Law.
 electoral systems 581

Other implications of the consequences of Duverger focus on the issues associ-

ated with proportionality and representation. To the extent that proportionality
provides more parties then this provides both more choice to voters and, in
principle, a party voice for a wider range of interests than may be expressed by
just two parties. The wider range of views is especially important to those who are
concerned with minority rights and descriptive representation (see Amy 2000 and
Birch 1971 for general discussion). The concern is not simply a concern for opinion
minorities but for demographic—and most especially racial and ethnic—
minorities. The empirical example here is that of South Africa’s choice of PR in a
racially divided society. A less successful example might be the use of a single
transferable vote system of proportional representation (STV-PR) in Northern
Ireland in the face of sectarianism there. Others, especially those who favor systems
that allow voters to choose individual candidates, stress ‘‘substantive’’ representa-
tion and the activities of the representative on behalf of his/her voters regardless of
whether voter and representative share demographic traits. These kinds of
concerns tend to focus on giving voters the ability to reward and punish represen-
tatives but also to allow voters not just to act ex post but also to select candidates
ex ante on some desirable behavioral attribute. Just how realistic it is to expect
voters to perform these functions is a matter of some concern (see Fearon 1999 for
theoretical discussion; Cain, Ferejohn, and Fiorina 1987 for empirical evidence).
Nevertheless, diVerent electoral systems imply diVerent mixes of the normative
components of representation. One implication buried within Duverger’s Law is
that representation of interests between diVerent interests or groups in society will
be conducted and brokered within a small number of large parties rather than
between parties who must form coalitions in order to govern.
The implications in terms both of governability and also of representation are
related to the bias of the electoral system in favor of or against particular parties. For
the cases of SMSP, especially when compared to list proportional representation,
the bias towards bigger parties and against smaller ones seems especially
pronounced.
Within the class of proportional systems we can see similar, though much more
muted aVects, depending on the particular counting rule involved. Exact propor-
tionality is hard to achieve. It is arithmetically easier to achieve with larger district
magnitudes and large elected assemblies but even with a district magnitude (the
number of seats to be elected) of 100 it is hard to achieve exact proportionality.
There are always fractions of vote shares that cumulate to remainders. How these
fractions and leftovers are distributed can shade the outcome towards larger or
smaller parties, too. In the end the eVects are much less pronounced than those
implied by Duverger’s Law but at the margin the choice of ‘‘largest remainder’’ or
‘‘highest average’’ may well change the results by one or two seats (see Farrell 2001,
71–9 for an especially clear discussion). This may sound small potatoes but it does
shift who wins and who loses.
582 shaun bowler

A more obvious method than this, having electoral thresholds—such as

Germany’s 5 percent threshold—places hurdles in front of smaller parties that
they may Wnd hard to overcome. In fact it is, in part, the intent of these thresholds
to stiXe smaller (and often more extreme) political parties, parties that can make
coalition bargaining even more diYcult.
In general terms, then, the electoral system shapes the number of parties but, like a
pebble thrown into a pond, the eVects of the number of parties ripples through the
political system. Often these eVects are of great consequence to our normative
understanding of representation, of accountability, and of governability. Changing
an electoral system is not something to be done lightly. However, when either analysts
or politicians consider changes to the electoral system it seems that the main topics of
debate really focus on the distributional eVects of the system. That is, even though
changing the electoral system does involve many changes on ideas of representation or
accountability, a lot of the discussion focuses on who wins and who loses (see, e.g.,
Benoit 2004 and Bawn 1993 for discussion of postwar Germany).
In eVect, this means that many of the studies of change in electoral systems focus
on the central point of who is doing the choosing. Colomer has an especially
thorough statement of the way in which parties themselves may or may not choose
to invoke the eVects of Duverger’s Law. His insight is to note that parties choose
electoral systems and not—as a mechanical reading of Duverger suggests—vice
versa (Colomer 2005; Blais, Dodrzynska, and Indridasan 2005). Electoral system
choice is, as Colomer notes, made by parties and so, to a large extent, Duverger’s
eVects are endogenous to the initial choice of institutions, a fact that actors in early
post-cold war Eastern Europe knew well. The choice of electoral systems in the newly
democratic Europe was neither easy, straightforward, nor without controversy
precisely because actors recognized that electoral systems do have eVects on political
parties (Colomer 2005; Birch, Millard, and Williams 2003). So for these authors
Duverger may have it the wrong way round to some extent: a party system with a few
big parties will choose an electoral system that favors keeping a few big parties and
not want to change that. Similarly, a party system with lots of small parties is likely to
want to keep a system such as list PR that favors small parties.

3 Changing Electoral Systems?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Clear-cut points of choice of electoral systems are fairly rare, although in principle
countries can consider reforming their current system at any time. Electoral
institutions change relatively infrequently and the major changes of recent
 electoral systems 583

years—in Italy, New Zealand, and Japan—attracted a great deal of attention as

special cases. Colomer (2004) presents an encyclopedic study of electoral system
change. In general there are not many examples of change. Colomer gives a total of
eighty-two changes from the nineteenth century. Of these, just fourteen are
considered to have taken place in the present democratic period (Colomer 2004,
57). Given the (increasing) number of democracies and the number of years
involved, examples of change are few and far between. It is hard to come up with
satisfactory priors of how often we might reasonably expect to see electoral systems
change or how often the opportunity for change would come up. With, say, twenty
to thirty democracies over a thirty- to Wfty-year time period this would seem to
give somewhere between 60 and 150 opportunities to change electoral systems if we
are willing to assume that each country has a chance to change its electoral system
every decade (i.e. every two electoral cycles). If a more reasonable timeframe is
once every generation (thirty years) then the Wgures drop to between twenty and
Wfty opportunities to change. But the Wgures presented above are lower by far than
these numbers or, at the least, suggest that most attempts at change fail.
One of the main patterns to explain, then, is the striking absence of change in
electoral systems. Andrews and Jackman (2005) note the importance of uncertainty
as a deterrent to change (Colomer 2004, 6; Shvetsova 2003). They identify three
kinds of uncertainty at work in electoral reforms.

3.1 Uncertainty over the Number of Political Parties

At moments of constitutional choice—in the wave of democratizations in Eastern
Europe in the 1990s—it was far from clear who the players were going to be. Parties
other than the Communist party typically did not exist in any recognizable or
organized form and so the identity, party programme, and size of successor parties
was not known to electoral engineers. Instability in party systems and blocs in the
early post-Wall years did little to help this uncertainty settle down and so allow
accurate gaming. Explanations of electoral choice in early stages of democratization
can easily assume that parties and players are more uniWed and cohesive than might
actually be the case. In fact, the early electoral arrangements pretty much determine
which parties exist to play the game of institutional choice in the next round. But
even in established democracies it may not be entirely clear what the impact of a shift
in electoral system will bring about by way of new entrants into the system. New
Zealand’s change from single-member simple plurality to a mixed-member propor-
tional system (MMP) provides a good and remarkably well-documented ‘‘real
world’’ example of this point and the following one (Vowles 1995; Vowles et al.
2002; Boston, Levine, Mcheay, and Roberts 1997; Remington and Smith 1996 for a
Russian example; Bawn 1993 for a German example).
584 shaun bowler

3.2 Uncertainty over the Preferences of Voters

A decision to change electoral systems can involve decision-makers trying to
predict how voters will respond both to the system and to the party alternatives
on oVer. It is not always clear how voters will jump under diVerent electoral rules.
Again this was especially true for Eastern Europe in the 1990s. At an extreme, when
an electoral regime is put in place as a country moves from dictatorship to
democracy, decision-makers may have little idea what voters want and the kinds
of parties that are going to develop to cater to those wants. But even in established
democracies it may be the case that, say, a move to proportionality may well
produce some uncertain shifts among voters towards, say, more extreme or single
interest parties.

3.3 Uncertainty over the Impact of Electoral Systems

While the general principle of electoral systems shaping winners and losers is well
known and also the broader lesson of Duverger’s Law is quite quickly learned, more
speciWc eVects are often unknown. Again, this is more likely to be the case at times of
innovation of new electoral institutions. As Birch, Millard, and Williams note in their
discussion of changes in Eastern Europe, ‘‘actors had some understanding of the
general consequences of electoral systems vis-à-vis party development. Yet they were
often mistaken when it came to the speciWcs of how laws would aVect individual
political groups and this hampered their ability to craft electoral institutions to suit
their immediate political ends’’ (Birch, Millard, and Williams 2003, 170; emphasis in
original). Indeed electoral architects were often surprised by events such as the
success of the ultranationalists in Russia (Birch, Millard, and Williams 2003, 170).
Even players within established electoral regimes may experience uncertainty.
As Andrews and Jackman (2005) argue, uncertainty about the consequences of
electoral system change were important in Britain when it considered a move to
proportional representation around the end of the First World War. It is important
to underscore that when we move away from the well-established electoral systems
such as single-member simple plurality (SMSP)2 and list proportional representa-
tion (list PR)3 uncertainty increases. The eVects of systems such as the single
transferable vote (STV)4 are much less studied and understood than the ‘‘bigger’’

2 The system used in Britain, the USA, Canada, and India.

3 List PR is widely used in Scandinavia but there are important variations in this system in terms of
how many seats are to be elected (district magnitude) and whether voters have the chance or not to
vote for individual candidates (open vs. closed list).
4 The system used in Ireland and Malta to elect their parliaments. It is also used to elect the
Australian Senate and has been used in local elections in the USA and UK (Barber 1995).
 electoral systems 585

or at least more common systems, in part because their eVects much more
contingent (Bowler 1996; Bowler, Donovan, and Brockington 2004).
Cox argues that coordination problems lie at the heart of any electoral
system—even SMSP. Some electoral systems tend to raise more problems of
coordination than others and so demand more of both voters and parties.
Outcomes under such systems are therefore much more highly contingent under
some systems than others and are especially chronic under multicandidate
systems that allow voters to choose over candidates. For example, under both
SMSP and also list PR some thought may go into what kinds of candidates to
nominate but little thought has to go into the number of candidates to nominate.
Some disagreement may take place (and hence some coordination be required)
over which candidates to nominate—which local notables or party stalwarts—but
almost none over the number. Under systems such as STV or cumulative voting
(CV)5 the eventual outcome depends in part on the number of candidates each
party nominates. These systems have multiseat districts (district magnitude > 1)
and also allow voters to express an intensity of preference over several candidates.
Under STV, voters are allowed to rank order candidates; under CV, voters are
allowed to cast as many votes as there are seats and either give one vote to each
preferred candidate or cumulate those votes on one or two candidates. These
features permit a much greater deal of strategic leeway on the part of both voters
and candidates and so outcomes under these systems are contingent on the abilities
of the players to play the game as well as upon the rules themselves. Under STV and
CV, for example, parties can do either better or worse than a purely proportional
outcome depending on their ability to strategize and be disciplined (Bowler 1996;
Bowler, Donovan, and Brockington 2004).
Some systems, then, would seem to produce outcomes that are less dependent
on how players play the game than others: perhaps because, following Cox’s
interpretation, they simply require fewer coordination problems to be solved.
The fact that commonly used electoral systems such as list PR and SMSP produce
clear outcomes in addition to our well-developed understanding of proportionality
(Gallagher 1991; Lijphart 1985; Blais 1988; Farrell 2001) can lead to a false sense of
conWdence in our ability to engage in electoral engineering. While we can say small
or large parties will beneWt under various regimes, we cannot predict with any
precision the question of interest to most politicians: which large party and which
small party?
Uncertainty about electoral system eVects seemed especially prevalent in ‘‘big
bang’’ changes where democracy is introduced. After a while this uncertainty—at
least the Wrst two forms of uncertainty—may well be reduced but electoral systems
nevertheless seem to remain relatively stable, despite the seemingly ever-present
incentive to jockey for or shore up an advantage, through the electoral process. The

5 Used in local elections in the modern USA and Victorian Britain and many corporate settings
(Bowler, Donovan, and Brockington 2004).
586 shaun bowler

third kind of uncertainty—over the speciWcs of electoral system eVects—may well

deter change but it may not be the only factor at work in shaping the decision to
change system or not in established democracies.
One of the biggest roadblocks to change is surely that it requires winners under
the current system to consider altering a system under which they have won. Benoit
(2003) argues that we can expect to see electoral system change when the people
who have the power to do so see a way to improve their seat share under alternative
electoral arrangements. The obvious point is that change in an electoral system—
especially if its eVects are uncertain—essentially asks current winners to run the
risk of losing. Parties and candidates are typically reluctant to do that to themselves
and so uncertainty will impact whether or not players think they can win more
seats. In the meantime, the current incumbents are doing just Wne out of the
current system.
Self-interest, then, provides a major obstacle to change not least because reform-
ers may be tempted to renege. Reform promises, for example, were long a part of
the platform of the Parti Quebecois (PQ) in Quebec. After winning only a handful
seats in the provincial legislature, despite winning 24 and 30 percent of the vote in
the 1970 and 1973 elections respectively, the PQ promised to incorporate PR into
Quebec’s electoral system. When the PQ won power in 1976, premier Levesque set
up a Ministry for Parliamentary and Electoral Reform whose mandate included
consideration of alternate voting systems for Quebec, but proposals were shelved.
Milner’s explanation for this failure of reform refers in part to the uncertainty of
members of the PQ over the eVects of any change and also the belief of many PQ
parliamentarians that they, themselves, were safe from electoral loss because of the
strength of their standing within their own districts even though the party itself was
low in the polls (Milner 1994). Similarly, while the UK Labour Party’s commitment
to electoral reform was put into practice for European elections, city elections, and
elections to the assemblies in Wales and Scotland, they were not put in place for
general elections to the national parliament—the elections that matter.
In addition to demonstrating the infrequency of electoral change, Colomer’s
Wgures also show a trend towards ‘‘increasingly inclusive, less risk formulas . . .
[from majority systems to] mixed systems and to proportional representation’’
(Colomer 2005, 4). Proportionality should make change even less likely by giving
more parties a stake in the current system. Under majoritarian systems losing is
both deWnitive (‘‘winner takes all’’ after all) and likely to aVect relatively large
numbers of candidates and parties—the main actors—in the system. Under
proportional systems, however, not only are more players likely to be included in
government but also a wider variety of opinions and parties are much more likely
to be elected to some role in the system to begin with (Powell 2000). That is,
proportionality may well create a broad enough group of winners or stakeholders
to make subsequent change harder. Once systems drift towards proportionality it
may be hard to move back away from it.
 electoral systems 587

4 Reasons for Change

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Still, change does occur and explanations may be grouped into several kinds
of categories: the role of values, the role of popular pressure, and the working of
self-interest.
As noted above, elections carry with them implications for governability, repre-
sentation, and accountability. Since elections do not just involve winners and losers
but also have symbolic and even ritual importance, discussions of electoral reform
can easily invoke those underlying values. Discussion of elections is often cast in
terms of their contribution to a normative deWnition of a way a good society
should be governed. Electoral reform may therefore also realize certain normative
objectives as well as practical political ones. Britain’s Liberal Democrats justify their
support for a shift towards proportional representation as a process concern:
Governments likely to result from the introduction of proportional representation would
be more reliant on persuasion and debate, rather than sheer weight of numbers, to guide
through legislation. (Liberal Democrats 2000, 16)

Or consider the California Green Party’s justiWcation:

Our goal is direct, participatory, grassroots democracy centered around deeply democratic
community assemblies and bioregional confederations. To accomplish this goal, our
current focus is on proportional representation. It will give voters more choice, allow
more voters to vote for winners, and break up the two-party monopoly, which discourages
participation. (GPCA Platform 2004)

In both these cases prized normative democratic virtues (deliberation and partici-
pation) are to be accomplished through proportional representation. As a happy
coincidence this shift not only helps realize democratic virtue; it would also likely
give more seats to the Liberal Democrats and California Greens. Such happy
coincidences muddy the waters when we try to distinguish between self-interested
motivations and other kinds of concerns in electoral system reform. However,
rather than see this as a rhetorical device disguising true intentions we could,
equally, see the comments of California’s Greens and Britain’s Liberal Democrats as
sincere statements of principle. Birch, Millard, and Williams’ (2003, 185) discussion
of reform in Eastern Europe, for example, notes the relevance of such factors as a
concern for legitimacy or, where voters were involved, the reduction of corruption
and an increase in the responsiveness of politicians (Sakamoto 1999).
DiVerent electoral systems emphasize diVerent aspects of the normative
conception of representation. Descriptive representation in both the legislature
and government is typically best fostered by proportional or semi-proportional
systems (Powell 2000). These systems are also associated with higher levels of
voter turnout (Blais and Dobryznska 1998). On the other hand, responsiveness
may well be better achieved under majoritarian systems (Powell 2000). The
588 shaun bowler

choice of electoral system is not simply a choice over who wins and who loses
but is also a choice between diVerent—and possibly contradictory—normative
values.
Appeals to the underlying values of democracy may well resonate especially
strongly when voters are involved. Popular pressure may help change and may
come through voters in established democracies. Voter discontent at key aspects
of political performance—the corruption of the system and the lack of respon-
siveness of politicians—was instrumental in pushing changes in Italy and New
Zealand (Sakamoto 1999; Vowles 1995). Similarly, debates over Canadian reform
involved heavy citizen engagement. At the local level in the USA considerable
experimentation with electoral systems takes place. Individual cities may well
decide to experiment with electoral reform as a consequence of grass roots
lobbying, an important example being San Francisco’s move to Instant
RunoV voting.6
As Sakamoto notes, however, it is easy to overstate the importance of popular
pressure in electoral reform. In part this is because there are examples of reform
eVorts—such as Japan’s but also many of the Eastern European changes—that
simply do not involve a popular voice. In part, too, it is because most political
systems just do not allow for voter choice over electoral institutions. Devices such
as the initiative process are simply too rare to give voters a direct say in many
places. Even the much more limited Italian version of direct democracy, while
central to the story of reform in that country, is hardly more common. But even
when political systems are listening or a least being exposed to popular discontent,
it is far from clear that the solution to popular disaVection is to change the electoral
system. There are other, less dramatic and possibly more consequential, changes
that could be put in place. Electoral reform may well present a temporary Wx but it
is not clear that—even after an electoral reform—voters become re-enamored with
the political system.
Nevertheless many electoral reform eVorts are anchored in terms of the narrow
self-interest of political parties. During 2004–5 Canada began a series of debates
about electoral reform closely involving popular participation and opinion, most
notably in British Columbia’s ‘‘Citizens Assembly.’’ This reform process began in
Premier Campbell’s 2001 election promise to change the system. This promise had
its roots in the previous election (1996) when the New Democratic Party won a
majority government, even though Campbell’s Liberals polled more votes. Not
surprisingly, the NDP did not feel the need to legislate any kind of electoral
reform—until it was reduced to a two-member caucus in the 2001 election.
Sakamoto’s account of reform in Japan, for example, refers to the self-interest of
factions within the LDP as a motor for change. A subtler version of self-interest and

6 Instant RunoV (or, as the Australians call it, the Alternative Vote) is a single-member district in
which voters rank order the candidates.
 electoral systems 589

electoral change is found in Boix (1999) who sees electoral change by ruling parties
being introduced in part to fend oV worse results under majoritarian systems.
A modern recent example may well be the French decision to abandon districts in
favor of PR for the 1986 elections because the socialists worried about seat loss.
Boix’s interpretation has come under criticism from scholars who tend to see
electoral change driven more by straightforward concerns over seat maximization
of the kind outlined by Benoit in his model of electoral system change (Andrews
and Jackman 2005; Blais, Dobrzynska, and Indridason 2005). But this disagreement
turns more on a diVerence in the kind and deWnition of self-interest at stake rather
than the self-interested motivations. Perhaps as exempliWed in the decision of the
French socialists to move back to districted systems after the 1986 election.7
As Colomer notes, there are persistent patterns in the demand for change,
smaller parties tend to push towards proportionality, larger parties are much
more reluctant:
In general it can be postulated that the large will prefer the small and the small will prefer the
large. A few large parties will prefer small assemblies, small district magnitudes (the smallest
being one) and small quotas of votes for allocating seats (the smallest being simple
plurality, which does not require any speciWc threshold), in order to exclude others from
competition. Likewise, multiple small parties will prefer large assemblies, large district
magnitudes and large quotas (like those of proportional representation) able to include
them within. (Colomer 2005, 2)

The story of wholesale change in an electoral system is a complex one. The

default is that no change takes place and it is easy to see why. It seems we need a
more fully speciWed model of self-interest than the ones we have to date: self-
interest seems to provide ample motive for winners to keep the system as is. But
something must happen—either exogenous shocks or new calculations—to
make the system change and we do not, yet, have a good sense of what
those factors are.

5 Other Things Do Change . . . a Little

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

One way of approaching the question of change is to look not so much at the
system but at the supporting body of electoral laws. Most scholarly attention has
focused—quite rightly—on the relationship between seats and votes and the

7 Benoit himself uses the example of the Wrst switch, not the switch back.
590 shaun bowler

question of proportionality and ‘‘fairness’’ of a system. These are the main building
blocks of an electoral system. But electoral laws have many more components than
the system itself. Rules on ballot access, political advertising, or the Wnancing of
parties all aVect, or at least we think they may aVect, the performance of parties in
elections. And the list of laws and rules governing features of elections is much
longer than these three examples (Massicotte, Blais, and Yoshinaka 2004). The
kinds of eVects pointed out by Duverger may well explain what happens within a
district but these broader kinds of supporting laws may regulate both the kinds of
coordination that may occur across districts or, more simply, shape the playing
Weld for parties in diVerent ways. Laws on elections, then, may have similar, albeit
milder, eVects as electoral systems.
More importantly perhaps, they may be easier to change than electoral systems.
A fairly simple model of electoral system change in which self-interested politicians
jockey for advantage would—absent uncertainty and any costs to change at least—
have us suppose that electoral systems are in a constant state of Xux. This is, as the
evidence of Colomer shows, most deWnitely not the case. Models of institutional
change driven by rational actor models would probably need to build in compon-
ents of uncertainty and costliness as a means of slowing down the changes. On the
other hand, changes in electoral laws may well be easier to change and confer the
same kinds of advantages as electoral manipulation, if on a smaller and more
modest scale.
Some evidence of changes in laws does seem to support that pattern, as Birch
shows for the Eastern European cases: the gradual inching up of some thresholds,
some tightening of nomination procedures, and/or the introduction of a ‘‘deposit’’
for candidates tended to beneWt bigger parties (with more resources) but, more
importantly, raised the barriers to entry for newcomers (Birch, Millard, and
Williams 2003, 189–91). But these tendencies were not seen everywhere. Some
countries did not increase the vote threshold and in some places nomination
requirements were relaxed.
One question is whether we see evidence of this attempt to keep out new
entrants and protect current players in more established democracies as would
be consistent with models grounded in rational self-interest. The available evidence
on that is decidedly mixed. If anything, changes in some of the supporting electoral
laws have seen a relaxation of barriers that could favour new entrants or at least
smaller parties (Bowler, Carter, and Farrell 2001).
Even these kinds of changes have their own uncertainties and their own costs. It
may not be worth changing entire electoral systems or even laws for the sake of one
or two seats, notwithstanding the fact that politicians are motivated by seat
maximization. Furthermore, too blatant a manipulation of electoral rules of any
kind could well discredit the result from any new set of laws or rules in the eyes of
voters or even some politicians. The choice of electoral rules may thus not be
entirely unconstrained.
 electoral systems 591

6 Conclusion: Summary and Future

Directions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The study of electoral systems is one of the best developed in political science. It is a
literature that has allowed us to arrive at a clear understanding both of the general
properties of electoral systems and some speciWc features. In some ways, however,
and despite the very real progress in our understanding of electoral systems, much
remains to be done. After all, there seems to be far more stability, and far less scope
for relatively simple rational self-interested explanations of electoral system
change, than might be Wrst thought. Given that our understanding of electoral
systems is driven by the insight that systems shape outcomes and will, therefore, be
subject to repeated attempts at manipulation for short-term gain, the appearance
of stability is a little surprising. There seems to be lot less manipulation than we
expect to see and would seem to require models of change that pay more attention
to questions of uncertainty and cost.
One implication of this surprising pattern of stability is that we may, perhaps, be
a little too conWdent of our understanding of elections. Scholars of electoral
systems tend to be quite close to debates over electoral system reform and are
often involved as expert witnesses (Jenkins Commission 1998). The Xourishing of
democracy over the past generation has been paralleled by attempts at electoral
engineering with academic experts often acting as engineer or assistant engineer.
Within the literature on electoral systems, scholars such as Taagepera (1998) are not
hesitant to make recommendations and believe there is a role for electoral engin-
eering. Farrell notes that scholars such as Taagepera are not alone and that the
‘‘bulk’’ of political scientists advocate for speciWc systems (Farrell 2001, 181). But
some scholars are more circumspect. Katz in Democracy and Elections is among the
most cautious in thinking that the best system for a country depends ‘‘who you are,
where you are, and where you want to go’’ (Katz 1997, 208). None of these questions
necessarily have straightforward answers. And outside the well-traveled path of
proportionality and the broader brush strokes of Duverger’s Law, the consequences
of electoral laws are not entirely clear. Like the politicians in post-cold war Eastern
Europe, the academic literature may have a general understanding of electoral
systems but, despite the richness of the literature, we still need to know more.
Future directions of electoral studies research will move beyond the question of
proportionality—which is by now pretty much settled—and into newer areas. One
area is in the eVects of the electoral system on governance. Electoral systems
typically involve trade-oVs among diVerent properties and Lijphart and Powell
have begun to move the literature forward in examining the trade-oVs that are, or are
not, possible. For Powell, for example, there are distinct trade-oVs between policy
responsiveness on the one hand and representation on the other (Powell 2000).
592 shaun bowler

For some this means that mixed systems—systems that combine elements of both
plurality and proportionality—are the answer (Shugart and Wattenberg 2003).8
However, our understanding of the working of these systems seems to be both more
restricted and also more dependent on speciWc cases than our understanding of
other systems. But we also need more work examining the trade-oVs implied by
diVerent electoral systems, an area that has received relatively little attention to date.
Finally, democracy has spread to a new range of countries. We have already seen
work re-examining the old Wndings in new contexts to see, for example, if what
held for Germany will hold, say, for Poland or Hungary. But the countries of
Eastern Europe neighbor rich and democratic Western Europe and, in many cases,
had brief experiences of democracy prior to Communist rule. Their—largely
successful—experience with elections may not be so readily copied in countries
such as Afghanistan and Iraq. Perhaps one of the bigger trends in electoral studies,
then, will follow one of the bigger trends in world politics: The spread of elections
to the Middle East and Asia. One of the biggest possibilities of this move of
elections to ‘‘the East’’ is not so much what these regions will learn but what the
rest of us will learn about electoral systems from those regions.

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 chapter 30
...................................................................................................................................................

D I R E C T D E M O C R AC Y
...................................................................................................................................................

ian budge

1 Democracy and Direct Democracy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Most scholars agree broadly with the deWnition of democracy (Saward 1998, 51) as a
‘‘necessary correspondence between acts of governance and the equally weighted felt
interests of citizens with respect to these acts.’’ A key element is necessary corres-
pondence. It is included to answer a stock criticism: Would not a benevolent despot
do as well for citizens’ felt interests as a democracy?—or, in terms of our discussion
below: Would not autonomous and benevolent representatives serve citizens’ inter-
ests as well as or better than direct majoritarian democracy? The answer, in either
form of the question, holds that a simple correspondence of interests and policy is
not enough. What distinguishes democracy is an institutional mechanism for
ensuring the correspondence. This mechanism is the democratic election. The
centrality of elections to democracy stems from the fact that they provide a
recurring opportunity for citizens to express and empower their interests.1

1 The literature on direct democracy is highly fragmented, straddling normative and empirical
aspects, comparative analyses and single country case studies, technical studies of the eVects of
new technology on direct debate, and discussion and mathematical analyses of voting procedures.
The most comprehensive synthesis remains Budge 1996. The equivalent for the actual practices
of direct democracy is Le Duc 2003—the most up-to-date general review of this Weld. Indispensable
earlier compilations were Butler and Ranney 1994, now however a little dated by the explosion of
new research, and Gallagher and Uleri 1996. The most recent and relevant is Mendelsohn and Parkin
2001.
596 ian budge

From this point of view, there is also a scholarly consensus that direct voting by all
citizens on individual policies is the most direct way of ensuring that their preferences
are necessarily reXected in policy (e.g. Mill 1861/1910, 217–18). This has led to measures
for extending direct democracy being placed among the key demands of most radical
and progressive groups, and accounts for its growing popularity and use in the late
twentieth century (Budge 1996; Mendelsohn and Parkin 2001; Le Duc 2003).
At this point, however, the scholarly consensus veers the other way, seeing
long-term disadvantages and many short-term threats to democratic stability
and order associated with direct democracy. The major criticisms can be summar-
ized as follows:
1. General elections already let citizens choose between alternative governments
and programs.
2. It is impossible to have direct debate and voting on policies in modern democracies
owing to the impossibility of getting all citizens together for the requisite time.
3. Ordinary citizens do not have the education, interest, time, expertise, and
other qualities required to make good political decisions.
4. Good decisions are most likely to be produced where popular participation is
balanced by expert judgment.
5. Those who vote against a particular decision do not give their consent to it,
particularly if the same people are always in the minority.
6. No procedure for democratic collective decision-making can be guaranteed
not to produce arbitrary and unwanted outcomes (cf. Arrow 1951).
7. Without intermediary institutions (parties, legislatures, governments) no
coherent, stable, or informed policies will be made. Direct democracy
undermines intermediary institutions including parties and opens the way to
the tyranny of a shifting majority.
With few exceptions, classical political theorists from the eighteenth to the twen-
tieth centuries have viewed direct democracy in these critical terms, the most
inXuential perhaps being the authors of the Federalist Papers (Madison 1787–8/
1911) with their distrust of popular majorities and emphasis on representation,
balance of powers, and institutional constraints. The great exception has been
Rousseau (1762/1973) with his focus on untrammeled popular sovereignty. Most
critics have taken this as the only form in which direct democracy could express
itself. But there are others described below.
Modern empirical research (Butler and Ranney 1994; Gallagher and Uleri 1996;
Mendelsohn and Parkin 2001; Le Duc 2003; Kriesi 2005) has set out to investigate
these claims with evidence from actual policy votes (referendums and initiatives)
which are now held in a surprising number of countries. It is fair to say that their
conclusions tell against the more extreme criticisms of popular involvement in
decision-making. In particular, recent research provides quite positive responses to
many of the criticisms listed above:
 direct democracy 597

1. Many issues are not discussed at general elections so, if the people are to
decide, they need to vote on them directly
2. Even postal ballots and the print media let alone two-way communication
devices allow interactive debate and voting among physically separated citizens.
3. Politicians do not necessarily show expertise and interest. Participation
expands citizen capacities. Citizens currently spend a lot of time informing
themselves about politics through TV and radio.
4. Expertise is important but not infallible. In any case it can inform popular
decisions. Modern representative (party) democracies are heavily imbalanced
against popular participation.
5. Those who vote against decisions do not consent to them. But this problem is
general and not conWned to direct democracy. Voting on issues one by one
gives minorities more voice.
6. Arbitrary decisions may emerge from cyclic voting. But such problems are
generic to all democratic voting procedures. Voting on dichotomous
questions one by one (the usual procedure in popular policy consultations)
eliminates cyclical voting and guarantees a majority.
7. Direct democracy does not have to be unmediated. Parties and governments
could play the same role as in representative (party) democracies today.
The last point, of those listed above, is perhaps the most relevant today since
modern democracy is largely party democracy. Curiously, the debate on the merits
of direct vs. representative democracy has generally ignored the major political
innovation of the last century, the development of the mass political party. Direct
policy voting by all citizens through referendums and initiatives has been con-
trasted with classic early nineteenth-century election of individual representatives
on their own merits, rather than on the basis of common party programs. It is
assumed that representatives will use their own judgment in deciding on policy,
exposing themselves to popular opinion only when they come up for re-election.
However, parties now mainly compete by oVering ideologically diVerentiated
policy programs to the electorate. ‘‘Representative democracy’’ in its modern form
thus adds up to direct policy voting. But in contrast to ‘‘direct democracy,’’ as
classically and currently conceived, this is voting on a package of policies rather
than on each individual policy within the package. This could make a diVerence.
Voting on policies individually, one by one, cannot be absolutely guaranteed to
produce the same outcome as voting on a policy package as a whole—though of
course it generally may (Budge 1996, 143, for an illustration).
However, one thing is clear—all democracies these days and all forms of
democracy, involve elections based on policy choices. Any idea that parties
or elected individuals can proceed exclusively, or even largely, on their own
judgment simply ignores reality. The real debate is whether package voting
of policy under ‘‘representative’’ democracy is more or less democratic than
individual votes on policy, or vice versa.
598 ian budge

The similarities between all modern forms of democracy are further reinforced by
the presence of parties in all of them. Direct policy voting and particularly initiatives
(where voting can be initiated by any group of citizens with suYcient support) are
often advocated as a way of avoiding, or even undermining, parties. In practice
however parties Wnd their way back in—using these devices to publicize and organize
themselves, bargain to their own advantage, force through proposals blocked in
parliament, or avoid internal splits by ‘‘agreeing to disagree’’ on potentially damaging
issues (Mendelsohn and Parkin 2001). It has been convincingly argued that parties
are just as essential for organizing the vote and informing citizens of the real issues
involved in individual policy votes as in general elections (Lupia 1994)2.
If modern ‘‘representative democracy’’ and ‘‘direct democracy’’ are only diVerent
forms of ‘‘party democracy,’’ many of the contrasts traditionally drawn between
them dramatically disappear. A telling criticism of direct democracy which
increasingly appears in modern discussions is, therefore, that it dispenses with or
undermines intermediary institutions like parties, legislatures, and governments.
This certainly seems a valid criticism of the unmediated direct democracy many
radicals yearn for—a direct and undiluted expression of the popular will uncon-
taminated by wheeling-and-dealing and party Wxes. To assess the force of the
criticism we have to ask if this unmediated form is the only one direct individual/
policy voting can take? In practice parties often intervene in referendums or
sponsor initiatives for their own ideological or oYce seeking purposes. In the next
section we ask whether this is a valid expression of direct democracy or a perversion
of it, and whether therefore the criticism of unanchored majority tyranny applies
to direct democracy as such or simply to particular manifestations of it.

2 Varieties of Direct Democracy

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Many criticisms of direct policy voting are based on the idea that it dispenses with
mediating institutions such as parties and with the rules and procedures which, for
example, guide legislative debate. This removes the constraints which produce
2 Political systems which have incorporated direct democracy into their processes for a long time
have been much studied for its long-term eVects. Switzerland is the obvious case, with excellent books
by Linder 1994 and Kriesi 2005. Italy has a special chapter in most compilations, particularly Gallagher
and Uleri 1996. The US states are the subject of two thorough and excellent studies by Magleby 1984
and Cronin 1989—the latter quoting conclusions to the eVect that there is little discernable diVerence
in policy outcomes between states with direct legislation and those without. The post-Communist
countries of Central and Eastern Europe mostly incorporate provisions for popular legislation into
their constitutions, so it is interesting to see how and how often they were used in their Wrst decade
(Auer and Bützer 2001).
 direct democracy 599

compromise and stability and overstrains the capacity of citizens to make good
decisions by eVectively placing them in a vacuum. In turn this promotes instability
by favoring the emergence of a new majority concerned to correct the mistakes or
counter the imbalances produced by the previous one.
Certainly the idea of unmediated voting which ‘‘lets the people speak’’ is one that
has inspired many supporters of direct democracy. Equally clearly their ideal opens
itself to many of the criticisms made above. In most countries and popular
consultations, however, voting is not unmediated: parties and other groups
participate and courts, governments, and legislatures may all decide the wording
of questions, lay down rules for the conduct of the campaign, and even take sides.
All this underlines the point that direct democracy is as synonymous with party
and other mediation as with a lack of it. Rules and procedural constraints may be
more or less present in referendums and initiatives but are never entirely absent.
Insofar, therefore, as criticisms are focused on unmediated direct democracy they
are possibly valid—but for that form only, not for direct democracy as such.
Conceptually the same point may be made by considering the base deWnition of
direct democracy—which has surely to be the electorate voting on questions
which, in traditional representative democracy, parliament votes on. How the
vote is held clearly aVects the concrete form which direct democracy takes. But it
is clear that both mediated and unmediated forms fall under the deWnition. The
only requirement of direct democracy is that the people vote on individual policies.
How they organize themselves to vote does not aVect the fact that this is direct
democracy.
Looking at the extent of party mediation under various forms of direct democ-
racy cautions us against identifying it exclusively with an unmediated form. Even
in ancient Athens, crude party organizations were present in the form of political
clubs (Bonner 1967, 45, 61): they were the most eVective way for statesmen like
Pericles and Demosthenes to ensure their majority in the Assembly and thus
maintain stability and continuity in public policy—the functions of the political
party in all ages.
This contrasts with the idealized Rousseauesque account (Rousseau 1762/1973)
where the popular will has to be unmediated to be pure. California is the modern
example which approaches closest to unmediated direct policy voting but even
there, parties and party-aYliated groups intervene. Lupia and Johnson (2001,
191–210) argue that this is necessary for ‘‘competent voting’’ and point out that
even in California voters are pretty adept at spotting which groups support
which side and making inferences from this about the political import of
proposals. Other American states see greater party intervention on important
proposals (Magleby 1994, 88, 94), a tendency which becomes the norm in countries
like Italy and Switzerland.
All this is to make the obvious point that procedural rules are necessary for
votes, even popular votes, to be held. We would not expect a representative
600 ian budge

democracy to function without a constitution (written or unwritten), presiding

oYcers, rules of procedure, and debate. No more should we expect a direct
democracy to do so. Just as representative democracies may have more or less
regulation of these matters, so may direct democracies. To California we can
contrast Quebec with a whole branch of law devoted to the few referendums that
have been held.
Most of the criticisms made in Section 1 apply particularly or exclusively to
unmediated and relatively unregulated forms of popular policy voting. As such
they may have a high degree of validity. However, the solution under direct
democracy as under representative democracy is not to abandon it but to
strengthen procedures in order to deal with these dangers, and to encourage
mediation rather than discourage it. This may put oV many advocates of
participatory or discursive democracy who wish to let the people speak unmedi-
ated. But if direct democracy consists in deciding individual policy through
popular votes, mediation is quite consistent with it (Budge 2000).

3 Does Direct Democracy Weaken

Political Parties?
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In popular votes in the contemporary world many bodies play an important

mediating role: courts, governments, and legislatures may all decide on the exact
question to be put to voters, when the vote will be held, what the consequences will
be—as well even as advocating what option to vote for. As we have argued above,
this does not disqualify such voting as expressions of direct democracy. Mediated
forms are as valid within this context as unmediated.
Of the groups intervening in votes, by far the most important are political
parties, for the reasons already given. They formulate the questions to be put,
inform electors what is at stake, and put the issue in a broader context. They
generally Wnance and organize the campaign.
One objection to direct democracy, however, is that it may itself undermine and
subvert political parties, by corroding their organizations, electoral loyalty, control
of government, agenda setting, internal discipline, and ideological coherence.
Clearly if that did happen it would mean that direct democracy necessarily weakens
mediation and thus give renewed force to the criticisms summarized above.
No conclusive case has been put forward for such eVects existing however
(Budge 1996, 105–32; Mendelsohn and Parkin 2001, 7–8). The United States is
 direct democracy 601

often cited as a country where parties weakened considerably in the last third of the
twentieth century (e.g. Wattenburg 1990). As organizations they have often been
seen as ‘‘hollowed out’’ by candidates like Carter and Kerry who fought their way
through primary elections with their own personal organization and Wnances,
using the formal party apparatus only as an adjunct in the later campaign.
The growing impact of third party candidates like Wallace, Perot, and Nader also
seemed to testify to the eclipse of traditional parties. California, with its plethora of
largely unmediated policy votes and weak parties, was at the forefront of all these
developments. Accordingly the weakening of parties was associated with the
growth of initiatives and primaries which took decisions out of the traditional
smoke-Wlled rooms and into the hands of untutored electors. In the light of these
trends, American scholars saw popular voting weakening parties elsewhere
(Kobach 1994, 132), ignoring their 150-year survival or even Xourishing coexistence
with referendums and initiatives (Switzerland) or long history of institutionalized
factionalism before popular policy voting (Italy).
These critiques overlook the possibility that parties can change without
necessarily weakening or declining. The resurgence of intense party competition
in the 2004 presidential election, the massive organizational eVorts of both parties,
and unprecedented turnout of that year indicate that the preceding thirty years may
only have been a phase in the USA. In any case this was the period when the
Republicans built themselves up for their takeover of power at federal and state
level—partly by exploiting referendums and initiatives where they were available.
The point is that the same trends occurred in states with and without popular policy
voting so can hardly be attributed to it in any causal sense (Budge 2001, 81–2).
An emphasis on the ability of autonomous legislators to produce compromise
also reXects an idealized picture of US politics before they became ideological.
Where is the room for compromise in the confrontational clashes of government
and opposition under the ‘‘elective dictatorship’’ of the Westminster model? The
immobilisme of the French and Italian legislatures was only made tolerable by social
and constitutional reforms passed in referendums.
As for control of the political agenda passing out of the hands of political parties,
this simply ignores the ability of parties to pursue their objectives by other than
parliamentary means when they are blocked at that level. The eVorts of Australian
parties to promote constitutional reforms in their own interest (Mendelsohn
and Parkin 2001, 114–19) have mostly been blocked by lack of support. But they
keep on trying. In Italy the new and excluded parties (radicals, greens, and
communists) saw in the peculiar constitutional form of the ‘‘referendum abroga-
tivo,’’3 the opportunity to promote popular initiatives by collecting signatures and
organizing a nationwide vote on policy. This unblocked the parliamentary process
3 Constitutionally in Italy popular votes can only repeal a particular piece of legislation which
parliament can then decide to replace. In practice the alternative law to be enacted forms part of the
popular campaign and parliament has almost always voted in line with popular opinion.
602 ian budge

and thus kept the existing system in being until the 1990s. It also strengthened the
position of these parties in both organizational and popular terms.
This use of referendums and initiatives by new and opposition parties to publicize
themselves and sometimes to threaten governments was historically used in
Switzerland, Wrst by the Catholic party at the end of the nineteenth century and then
by the socialists in the interwar period to force themselves into the governing coalition
(Linder 1994, 19–21, 29–31). From the 1970s onwards the Republicans have used this
technique to transform themselves from the subordinate to the dominant party in
southern and western US states, and are now starting to do the same in California. One
should avoid equating the decline of previously dominant parties like the Democrats as
evidence for aweakening of parties as such. All these cases demonstrate that as one party
goes down the others go up. It could even be argued that direct democracy strengthens
‘‘the forces restoring party competition’’ (Stokes and Iverson 1962).
In a careful comparative analysis based on both case studies and statistical
evidence, Mendelsohn and Parkin (2001, 7–8 and passim) conclude there is simply
no evidence for direct democracy weakening parties. On the contrary, as argued
above, it adds to their repertoire—while of course allowing for more interventions
by other groups and by electors themselves. We turn in the next section to an
examination of how the concrete forms and procedures of direct democracy give
relative advantages to the various participants—again with a primary focus on
political parties, given that modern direct democracy like modern representative
democracy is above all party democracy.

4 Procedures of Direct Democracy—

Referendum and Initiative
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The two forms which individual policy voting takes in the modern world are the
referendum and the initiative. In general the referendum is called by some political
body, most often the (party-controlled) government, while the initiative is
instituted by petition from a suYcient number of citizens. The rules governing
initiation of the process obviously give greater or lesser scope to various political
actors to inXuence voting. If voting is at the government’s discretion they can call a
referendum only when they hope to win (or ‘‘agree to disagree’’ to avoid damaging
internal splits). This gives them considerable tactical advantages as well as dimin-
ishing the eYcacy of the popular vote. On the other hand, where initiatives can be
organized independently of government wishes, greater scope exists for excluded
 direct democracy 603

and new parties to achieve some policy objectives, as well as publicizing themselves.
This procedure also allows other groups and indeed spontaneous organizations of
electors themselves to exert inXuence4.
However, we should avoid making too sharp a contrast between referendums and
initiatives, since there are important distinctions to be made within both categories
(cf. Bowler and Donovan 2001, 128–9). Referendums mandated by the constitu-
tion—especially when this provision is interpreted by the courts—fall outwith the
control of government and may occur at very inconvenient times from their point of
view. Some initiatives on the other hand are not conclusive—like the Italian
‘‘referendum abrogativo’’ (see footnote 3)—and the Wnal decision has to be made
by parliament (even if it broadly conforms to majority preferences).
There is thus considerable variation in terms of government control over voting.
The ability to set the date of a referendum favors governing parties. Usually this
implies also that they have full control of the wording of the question to be put to
the vote and may also slant this to favor their side, as well as campaigning
vociferously for it. Referendums of this nature are most common under the
‘‘Westminster model’’ where constitutions commonly do not have any provision
for popular consultations other than general elections, so that the referendum takes
the form of a special dispensation by the government to allow a popular vote.
Where the constitution makes explicit reference to the need for a referendum on
certain policy matters (often constitutional change itself) the process can be
initiated by the government—in which case it is still largely in its discretion
whether it wants to pursue the question or not. Where however the process is
triggered automatically by constitutional provisions (usually in this case supervised
by courts) voting may occur at an awkward time for government parties and their
control is diminished. Again this is particularly true in Switzerland where practic-
ally all matters of foreign policy have to be put to a vote: Swiss cantons and certain
US states also have wide provisions forcing votes on Wscal or revenue matters.
Such eVects are of course intensiWed where popular votes can be prompted by
popular petition. While this is inconvenient for governing parties in whatever form
it exists, it may be particularly so where by convention or rule the process can be
started by parties. Opposition parties generally use this opportunity to embarrass
governments while new parties use it to promote their own causes and themselves.
In any case the issues are likely either to be oV the government agenda or to call
into question established policy.
4 Most empirical research is spurred by a general concern to Wnd out whether the postulated
negative eVects of direct democracy actually appear when it is practiced. Generally they do not seem
to, though researchers have hedged this conclusion around with qualiWcations about what might
occur in the long term. They have also discerned some problematic eVects for established political
parties. The theoretical consequences of destructured forms of voting are covered in Arrow 1951,
McKelvey 1979, McLean 1989, and—from the opposed point of view that structure is rarely absent—in
Niemi 1969. Grofman and Feld 1988 provide a fascinating account of a mathematical theorem which
might lead us to the belief that unstructured popular majority voting on policy produces the best
results.
604 ian budge

This is also true where the process of organizing an initiative is outside the
control of any party, established or opposition (even though new parties, as yet
barely distinguishable from interest groups or social movements, may still beneWt
from a free-for-all). In the long run, however, such a situation approaches
unmediated direct democracy and can be expected to have some of the negative
eVects on all parties, particularly in terms of agenda setting, as spelled out above.
The form in which electors are asked to vote in both referendums and initiatives
is generally to approve or disapprove a speciWc proposal such as joining the EU
(e.g. in many of the Eastern European candidate members in 2004). Majority
disapproval means that the situation remains unchanged. In other words, the
alternative to the proposed change is usually the status quo. Voters tend to favor
no change as a safe alternative when they are confused or unclear about the eVects
a new proposal will have. This happens quite often. Insofar as popular voting
undermines the agenda of established parties, this tendency favors them.
The status quo, and the government position, are also reinforced in federal
systems such as Switzerland and Australia where not only is a national majority
required for a measure to pass, but also majorities in a majority of states (e.g. in
Australia in four out of six). This puts considerable blocking power in the hands of
states with small populations which may even form the majority of federal units.
Federal as well as democratic values are being protected here and territorial
minorities may be eVectively safeguarded from a steamrolling popular majority if
they predominate within some of the units. Similar eVects Xow from provisions
that a popular vote is valid only if total voting passes a stipulated threshold
(commonly, 50 percent of electors or voters in the previous general election). In
several recent Italian votes, opponents have urged abstention. This eVectively lines
up the apathetic and uninterested on your side under a stipulated turnout rule and
has been very successful in defeating new proposals.
Phrasing the policy question as a yes or no choice—an almost universal
practice—helps to simplify decisions for voters and avoids the kind of Condorcet
voting cycles which might arise from rank-ordering a set of alternatives (Arrow
1951). Where the maneuver is permitted, opponents of the measure may, however,
also seek to dilute its eVects by putting a series of modiWed alternative proposals on
the same ballot (often involving little change to the existing situation). Even if the
original proposal also gets a majority, the composite policy which emerges as the
Wnal outcome will dilute the eVects of change fairly eVectively. Tactics of this kind
are common in the unregulated situations typical of California, and have been used
in Switzerland. In more regulated situations, such tactics are prohibited and courts
stipulate that only one proposal may be put in each policy area (Mendelsohn and
Parkin 2001; Le Duc 2003).
All this reinforces the general point that parties are better served by extensive
regulation of direct policy votes than by an absence of them. Quebec, where a
whole codiWcation of the process has been passed into law, can be contrasted with
 direct democracy 605

California, where very few regulations exist about the actual conduct of campaigns.
Thus, in Quebec, groups on each side of the debate must register the nature of
their interest with an umbrella ‘‘No’’ or ‘‘Yes’’ committee, spending is minutely
regulated for each group, and broadcasting is allocated proportionately. Advertis-
ing is also regulated. Contrast this with California where groups can campaign as
Democrats for Life even though the party itself supports abortion.
Extensive regulation of referendums and initiatives is likely to favor established
parties, at least insofar as it imposes barriers to the uninhibited tactics of new
parties. But even the latter are favored by some regulation: spending limits
for example mean that opponents cannot simply drown out competition with
their spending and advertising. Lack of regulation leaves the Weld open for all sorts
of organizations to campaign, often Wnanced covertly by those who beneWt directly
(going back to earlier points made about unmediated direct democracy).

5 Policy Areas Covered by Popular

Voting
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Popular policy votes tend to be held disproportionately in Wve areas of policy:

changes in the constitution; territorial questions covering secessions or extensions
of the national territory, devolution, and autonomy; foreign policy; moral matters
such as divorce, abortion, and homosexuality; and ecology and environment
(including local campaigns for protection of particular features, or in opposition
to the siting of a power plant). In Swiss cantons and American states, Wscal matters
are increasingly voted on, usually involving tax limitation and restrictions on the
size of government. (For up to date surveys of content-matter see Le Duc 2003.)
It can be seen from this that policy voting tends to take place either on issues of
a certain level of generality—constitutions or foreign policy measures like trade
liberalization that will have a long-term eVect—or in areas which Wt uneasily into
the left–right division of party politics and which might indeed provoke internal
splits, like moral and ecological matters. The closest policy votes come to inXuen-
cing the current political agenda is on Wscal matters. Even tax limitation has a long-
term rather than an immediate eVect however. Almost never is a vote held to
‘‘prioritize unemployment now,’’ ‘‘stop inXation,’’ ‘‘end the war,’’ ‘‘reduce prison
population,’’ and so on.
Several factors contribute to this pattern of policy consultation. First, and
perhaps most importantly, governments do not want to put their central policies
606 ian budge

to referendum. So where they have control, voting will not cover issues central to
left–right conXicts—only to oV-issues which might split the party. New and
opposition parties have generally also mobilized to put such issues on the agenda
and not to reWght continuing party battles.
A party-based explanation is only one part of the answer, however, since the
same pattern occurs also in fairly unregulated initiatives where parties have less
control. It is probable that electors themselves and even self-interested groups see
no point in taking up matters that have already been part of the general election
debate, putting into oYce parties which are pursuing them as part of a mandate.
As we stressed at the outset, so called representative elections are heavily focused
around medium-term policy plans, so it is natural that they should be left to get on
with them at least in their Wrst years in oYce (and it often takes time to organize a
referendum or initiative).
In this way a certain division of labor seems to be emerging spontaneously
between general, programmatic, elections and direct policy voting on individual
issues. Where issues are linked together and form an integral part of the activity of
governments, usually within the traditional left–right framework, the parties in
power are left to get on with them. Where individual issues have long-term
implications and do not Wt so easily into a unifying framework, they tend
disproportionately to be the subject of special popular votes. This overall mix
does not seem to be a bad way of trying to translate popular preferences into public
policy and in fact approaches that advocated by Budge (1996, 183–6) as a way in
which contemporary democracies could evolve into (mediated) direct ones.

6 Setting Parameters for a Realistic

Debate about Direct Democracy
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

A Wnal conclusion about individual issue voting is that it is on the increase. In the
latest, survey Le Duc (2003, 21–2, 152) estimates that its use increased from around
250 times in the period 1961–80 to nearly 350 in the period 1981–2000 over the
countries of the world, excluding Switzerland. In both the American states and
Switzerland policy votes doubled in the last twenty years compared to the preced-
ing period. In many jurisdictions such as the German Länder, the UK, and New
Zealand individual policy votes have now been introduced for the Wrst time.
There is probably little to surprise us in this trend. In a world where the majority
of citizens are better-educated, better oV, and increasingly self-conWdent, it is
 direct democracy 607

natural that they should take the promise of democracy seriously and seek to get
their preferences directly enacted into public policy. The ability of democracy to
make a ‘‘necessary connection’’ between the two through elections is as we have
seen its core characteristic. This is what gives direct democracy its driving force
and wide appeal in the modern world: there is no better way of enforcing the link
than by voting directly on each policy.
Of course, the groups pressing for direct voting often have other motivations
too. They feel their causes—whether to reduce taxes or protect the environment—
are so obviously correct that they will get majority support if they can only get
them on the ballot and sweep self-serving parties away. So far analysts have failed
to Wnd any clear evidence that direct policy voting favors particular outcomes, in
terms of either direct votes or indirect inXuence on legislatures from the threat of
an initiative. There is some evidence, however, that its presence does bring policy
closer to median (majority) voter preferences—which vary of course over time and
between jurisdictions (Gerber and Hug 2001, 106). This is a matter which clearly
merits further research.
As critics have pointed out, sweeping away parties and other mediating
institutions brings many undesirable consequences which may lead in the end to
popular majorities voting against their own preferences and interests. This may
result from a lack of the essential if minimal information about wider implications
which party endorsements provide, or from shifting majorities voting against taxes
in one consultation and for public services in another.
Despite the aspirations of many of its advocates, however, direct democracy does
not generally take on an anti-party or non-partisan form. It can be argued that even
in the US states established parties fought back successfully against policy proposals
which threatened their central interests, as with tax cuts (Cronin 1989, 205–6). The
minority Republicans also built up to their present dominance by exploiting
popular initiatives, among other tactics. Elsewhere established parties dominate
referendums, and opposition and emergent parties exploit policy votes to embar-
rass the government and force their own recognition. Of course, the best way to Wght
parties is to form an anti-party party, which many proponents of extended partici-
pation and popular voting do (e.g. the German Greens and Danish Progress Party).
In terms of actual practice, therefore, direct democracy tends towards either
strongly mediated or moderately mediated rather than unmediated forms. This is
hardly surprising as it tends to take place in party-run representative democracies
with a plethora of institutions—governments, parliaments, bureaucracy, and
courts—overseeing its processes and codifying them along the lines of fair play
embodied in general elections. The American experience should not be allowed to
dominate discussion, especially since weak regulation of representative as well as
direct elections is the norm there.
Convergence between speciWc policy consultations and general election practice
should not be surprising since they are both about policy. An essential starting
608 ian budge

point for informed debate should be that so-called representative democracy is

actually about putting policy packages to electors and following through on them
in government. By making the party supported by the median voter the median
party in parliament, its program is empowered even under coalition governments
(McDonald and Budge 2005).
Our choice between direct democracy and representative democracy should not
therefore continue to base itself on outdated contrasts between popular policy
decision and representative deliberation. Rather it should characterize itself as
being between individual policy voting and package policy voting. Put this way it
seems much less apocalyptic than it has been portrayed. The two procedures
cannot be 100 percent guaranteed against producing diVerent outcomes but this
is far from saying that they will generally do so.
In any case, decisions on the issues involved are probably best arrived at using
the diVerent procedures. Where issues are linked to each other, generally through
forming part of left–right divisions, decisions on one may well have consequences
for the others and so are best voted on as a package to be eVected over four or five
years. Where issues are more discrete and have less mutual interactive eVects they
are probably best voted on separately, especially when they do not ‘‘Wt’’ in left–right
terms and get ignored or totally excluded in a general election debate.
Happily this division of labor seems to be evolving in actual democratic practice.
In this sense the modern extension of individual policy voting enhances and
extends the ‘‘necessary democratic connection’’ between popular preferences and
public policy, much rather than threatening and undermining it.

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Referendum Democracy: Citizens, Elites and Deliberation, ed. M. Mendelsohn and A.
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and A. Ranney. London: Macmillan.
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and Wessels, B. 1999. Policy Representation in Western Democracies. Oxford: Oxford
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610 ian budge

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 chapter 31
...................................................................................................................................................

I N T E R NAT I O NA L
POLITICAL
INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

richard higgott

1 Introduction
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The study of international organization in international relations now has a strong

intellectual tradition (see Katzenstein, Keohane, and Krasner 1998; Simmons and
Martin 2002; Kratochwil and MansWeld 2005). When we talk about organizations
in international relations we are invariably talking about institutions. As Robert
Keohane (1989, 3) notes, institutions deWne limits and set choices on actor behavior
in both formal and informal ways. They do so in economic, political, and social
settings. Thus one way to think of organizations is as bodies that advance certain
norms and rules. All organizations are institutions, but not all institutions are
organizations. Institutions can lack organizational form, while some organizations
may have multiple institutional roles. This chapter, therefore, sees ‘‘institutions’’
and ‘‘organizations’’ in international relations as two inseparable sides of one coin.
In this Handbook, the editors have chosen to make the distinction between
international economic, political, and security organizations, with the provision
of separate chapters on each. This might make organizational sense, but for
analytical-cum-theoretical purposes in the study of international organization(s)
this distinction is diYcult to apply. The major international organizations do not
lend themselves to discrete issue-area segmentation. International organizations
612 richard higgott

can exhibit behavior driven by all three issue-areas and some international
organizations see themselves as operating in all three domains. Under conditions
of globalization, economics, security, and politics become increasingly blurred
analytical categories.
Thus, this chapter uses theoretical lenses that span all three issue-areas. But, it
eschews empirical discussion of the international economic institutions (IEIs) even
though the WTO, IMF, and WBG are political organizations in terms of their
agendas and in the manner of their decision-making. The relationship between
economics and security or economic growth and political stability and economics
and democracy promotion are, for example, inextricably interlinked (especially in
the new global security environment post-9/11). Similarly, this chapter eschews
discussions of security treaties and alliances such as NATO. More useful is to have a
general conceptual understanding of the concept of an international organization
and international institutional behavior as part of a wider process of global
governance.
Contemporary understandings of global governance extend beyond the role of
governments, and intergovernmental organizations and the late twentieth century
saw the role of private international regimes and non-state actors from within the
wider reaches of the corporate world and civil society grow dramatically (see Cutler,
HauXeur, and Porter, 1999; Higgott, Underhill, and Bieler 2000). Yet it is inter-
national institutions such as the UN and the EU—notwithstanding that their role
in world politics is at a crossroads greater than at any time since 1945—that remain
the major sites of global governance.
The discussion is in three sections. Section 2 oVers some historical and theor-
etical insights into the understanding of international organization. Section 3 looks
at the UN, the EU, and several other regional actors as exemplars of contemporary
international organization noting that regional organizations are becoming
increasingly important. It is in both international and regional settings that we
Wnd modern international organizations. Section 4 looks at the diVerent ways in
which international organizations have been studied by scholars of international
relations.
There are two seemingly contradictory threads running throughout this chapter.
On the one hand it demonstrates the manner in which states, all states, use inter-
national organizations as vehicles for cooperation. At the same time, however, the
relationship between states and international organization is shown to be one of
tension. States often exhibit distrust in their relations with international organiza-
tions. At the very least states grow weary of the cost of formal organization and
suspicious of international bureaucracies. Thus Section 3 and the conclusion suggest
that we are at an important theoretical juncture in not only the practice of inter-
national organization in the early years of the twenty-first century but by extension
how we study them. As we shall see when we look at the UN and the EU, theoretical
analysis and practical institutional reform are two sides of the same coin.
 international political institutions 613

2 International Organization: Some

Historical and Theoretical Insights
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

2.1 Historical Context

International organization is about rules agreed amongst independent political
communities. To a greater or lesser extent these rules help determine the shape of
world order. Historically they were developed to overcome the limits of bilateral
state-to-state diplomacy. Technical institutions, limited in scope and aspiration,
emerged prior to organizations with more sweeping economic and sociopolitical
agendas, especially during the ‘‘Wrst wave of globalization’’ at the end of the
nineteenth century (Hirst and Thompson 1999). The International Telegraph
Union (founded in 1865) is often thought of as the Wrst intergovernmental organ-
ization. Between 1900 and 2000 the number of IGOs grew from 37 to well over 400
(Krieger 1993, 451; Schiavone 2001). Key institutions that developed in the second
half of the nineteenth century included the Universal Postal Union and the Concert
of Europe.
The Concert of Europe, while acknowledged as an IO geared to consultation
between the European Great Powers as a way of pre-empting the use of force, was
never imbued with the substantive executive capabilities that we now assume of
international organizations. But, it gave birth to a number of norms concerning
the conduct and status of states and the development of international conference
diplomacy as an important stage in the evolution of international organizations
as actors in international politics (Armstrong 2004, 4). The period between the
Congress of Vienna (1815) and the outbreak of the First World War was the ‘‘era of
preparation for international organization’’ (Claude 1971, 41). The Hague confer-
ences of 1899 and 1907 through to the Paris Peace Conference, that saw the creation of
the League of Nations, experimented with the tools of collective intergovernmental
conXict resolution (mediation, arbitration, commissions of inquiry, and the like.)
Notwithstanding the failure of the League, the growth of international organ-
ization, especially since the end of the Second World War, has been the quintes-
sential characteristic of the international politics (and economics) of the twentieth
century, especially through the birth of the Bretton Woods system (1944) and the
creation of the United Nations in 1945 and its ancillary organizations (such as the
Food and Agricultural Organization, International Atomic Energy Agency,
the World Health Organization, UNESCO, and the Economic Commissions for
Africa, Latin America, and Asia PaciWc, between 1947 and 1974. This organizational
growth reXected the attempt to manage respect for the principle of sovereignty while
at the same time recognizing the growing practical need for states to engage in
collective action problem solving in a range of complex issue-areas. Even
614 richard higgott

as international organization, as both principle and practice, has come under

increasing challenge in the late twentieth and early twenty-Wrst century, this has
been no deterrent to the transformation of existing organizations or the emergence
of new ones (especially at the regional level).
Examples of transformation are the birth of the WTO out of GATT in 1995 and
the African Union from the OAU in 2002. Dramatic developments at a regional
level are to be found in East Asia in the early years of the twenty-Wrst century. Even
older organizations that, to all intents and purposes, have outlived their remits
continue to exist. Notable here are the (former British) Commonwealth and its
weaker facsimile la Francophonie. In addition, NATO still functions vigorously in a
range of areas long after its initial rationale of resisting Soviet expansion in Europe
has passed. Such organizations survive by a process of reinvention. NATO has
moved to a broader deWnition of security in keeping with the evolution of the
twenty-Wrst-century war on global terrorism. The Commonwealth reaYrmed its
value in the 1991 Harare declaration by adopting a stronger ‘‘development’’
oriented mission enhancing best practice in the pursuit of good governance.

2.2 ClassiWcation
Organizations can be transnational and/or cross-regional; they can be explicitly
built around the provisions to be found in Chapters VI, VII, and IX of the UN
charter; some are simply sui generis.1 Many international organizations have
overlapping agendas and competencies. Scholarly analysis has tended to make
general judgments based on membership and the degree of integration of an
organization, functional purpose and policy area, and by structure and legal status.

2.2.1 Scope of Membership and Degree of Integration

Here we can identify: (a) global multilateral organizations—with three or more
members—notably the UN but also the major IEIs and (b) regional multilateral
organizations—again with three or more members but within speciWc geographical
containers: bodies such as the EU, Association of Southeast Asian Nations
(ASEAN), the African Union (AU), and Mercosur. A diVerence between these
groupings is the degree of integration they have achieved. The EU, in contrast to
others, has the ability to take decisions and make policy that can be binding
not only on its member states and but also directly on sub-state public and

1 This chapter is not a catalog of international organizations. A comprehensive survey is to be

found in the Yearbook of International Organisations published annually by the Union of International
Associations found at www.uia.org. See also Archer 2001 and Schiavone 2001.
 international political institutions 615

private enterprises and persons within states. The other, less integrated organiza-
tions only have jurisdiction over such sub-state actors through the member
states themselves.

2.2.2 Function or Policy Area

The function or policy area are where IOs become agents for a particular course of
action. Some—like the UN and the EU—are multifunctional in nature. Others—
for example the World Health Organisation or the ILO—are purpose speciWc. Yet
others—the ILO, WHO, and UNCTAD—exercise promotional functions. Some,
such as the Bretton Woods institutions, are agents for the delivery of public goods
although, along with the WTO, they also play regulatory roles.
Some organizations are purely consultative and/or conWdence building in
nature, for example the Non Aligned Movement (NAM) that attempted to secure
a common developing world position on a range of foreign policy issues during the
cold war era or, more recently, the ASEAN Regional Forum that advances a
conWdence building cooperative dialogue on regional security issues between the
states of Southeast Asia and the major Asia-PaciWc powers. The largely ritualistic
and aspirational nature of such bodies does not mean that they are without the
potential to engender meaning and identity as important precursors of deeper
organizational cooperation, as seen in Europe (Rosamond 2000) and even, some
argue, in Southeast Asia (Acharya 2000.)

2.2.3 By Structure and Formal Legal Powers

Two ways to distinguish international organizations from the more general notion
of international institutions is by their legal standing and by the degree of central-
ization and independence they possess. International organizations, reXecting the
notional sovereign equality of states, are institutionalized by treaties. But, in
practice, many IOs have little more than discursive power with no facility for
legal, as opposed to moral, sanction. The evolution of international law invites only
limited comparison with the development of national legal systems. The develop-
ment of international organization is a reXection of the practical limitations on the
emergence of a pattern of systematized rules at the international level.
But it is the presence of formal structures of administration (a bureaucracy and
all that is implied by its presence) that distinguishes an international organization
from the general understanding of an institution. Established organizations usually
have a degree of managerial autonomy from their constituent membership; even if
only of a technical nature pertaining to policy implementation. Notwithstanding
that member states zealously guard their dominion over policy-making and policy
ratiWcation, the powers possessed by IOs are not as insigniWcant as might
be assumed. To a greater or lesser extent, the power to mold understandings,
616 richard higgott

articulate organizational norms, and act as mediators in disputes between mem-

bers can give organizations considerable operational autonomy (see Abbot and
Snidal 2001, 15–23).
Notable among those bodies that do have instruments of formal legal suasion
over (some) member states in the ‘‘political domain,’’ is the UN with the provisions
for taking collective security action under Chapter VII of the Charter. The WTO,
with its dispute settlement mechanism, also falls into this category. To date, only
the EU has supranational legal power over citizens of member states. The impact of
organizations, however, is determined less by formal legal rules than the internal
politics of a given organization and especially the role of the major actors within it.
In this regard, the theory of international organization is important to understand-
ing their role in practice.

2.3 Theorizing International Organization

By way of initial clariWcation we should note that for scholars of ‘‘international
politics,’’ ‘‘international’’ usually means interstate relations while ‘‘global politics’’
embraces the activities of all international actors be they states, or non-state actors.
Similarly, ‘‘global governance’’ has become a hosting metaphor for all political and
economic actors, including international organizations that practice politics
and administration beyond the boundaries of the modern state. By way of further
complication, ‘‘international’’ is also often transposed with ‘‘multilateral,’’ as in the
way bodies such as the UN or the IMF are called either international institutions or
multilateral institutions.
It is, therefore, worth recalling the standard deWnition of multilalteralism as
the management of transnational problems with three or more parties making
policy on the basis of a series of acceptable ‘‘generalized principles of conduct’’
(Ruggie 1993, 11). The key principles identiWed by Ruggie are indivisibility, non-
discrimination, and diVuse reciprocity. It was expected that over time, decision-
making underwritten by these principles would lead to collective trust amongst
players within an institution. A key element in the development of trust would
come from the willingness of the institutional hegemon—that is, the strongest
member of the institution—to agree to be bound by these principles. That is, to
accept the principle of ‘‘self-binding’’ (Martin 2003).
Within this context, the principal way of thinking about the theory and practice
of international organization in the last quarter of the twentieth century was
through institutionalist and regime theory literature. The lesson drawn from this
literature is a recognition of the importance of IOs as vehicles for maximizing
information sharing, generating transparency in decision-making and advancing
the institutional ability to generate credible collective action problem solving in a
 international political institutions 617

given issue area, eventually (in some if not all instances) leading to the develop-
ment of enforcement/compliance mechanisms and dispute resolution procedures.
International organizations/institutions are transaction cost reducers (see Keohane
1984, 1989).
But it is not suYcient simply to describe organizational processes. We must also
understand the degree to which these processes deliver outcomes; the prominence
of an international organization does not always correlate with a high rate of
success in problem solving in a given area of international relations. Ambitious
organizations might try to structure rules and behavior in some of the key policy
areas of contemporary global politics but often to little avail.
Unlike the role of IEIs in economic transactions, many of the world’s political
transactions are not conducted through international organizations. They remain
primarily the aVairs of states. In its search for generalization, the hallmark of
scientiWc theorizing, this distinction between the economic and the political was
often unaddressed in the theoretical literature, leading to the conXation of insti-
tutions, regimes, and international organizations with a generic deWnition as
‘‘principles, norms and decision-making processes around which the expectations
of actors converge’’ (Krasner 1983) and with the implication that informal actions,
underwritten by these principles, could be as, if not more, important than the role
of formal organizations. Indeed, Simmons and Martin (2002) argue that it was the
decreasing salience of IOs in the late 1970s to the early 1980s that led a focus on
regimes, rules, and norms.
There was an important insight here; but the regime approach on its own failed
to illuminate the internal dynamics and interstate political contests that take place
within IOs (see Strange 1983). Theoretical lenses, other than those of rationalist and
neoliberal institutionalist theories of cooperation, through which to observe IOs,
especially the EU and smaller regional bodies, emerged. Scholarly insight moved
beyond institutionalist regime literature to take more account of history, culture,
and identity. In addition, explanations of the intersubjective sociolegal context for
interstate behavior were extended to the study of international organization (see
Kratochwil and Ruggie 1986; Hurrell 1993).
These approaches, Wnding fullest expression in the constructivist theorizing of
the late twentieth century (see Wendt 1992, 2000) focused less on the role of IOs as
actors and more on the role of institutions as norm brokers (see Finnemore
1996). States not only use international organizations to reduce uncertainty and
transaction costs. They also use them ‘‘to create information, ideas, norms
and expectations . . . [and] . . . to legitimate or delegitimate particular ideas and
practices’’ (Abbott and Snidal 2001, 15; emphasis added). IOs are thus more than
arbiters, and trustees, they are also norm brokers and ‘‘enforcers.’’
Other approaches to international organization, drawing on the empirical
experience of the EU, focus instead on questions pertaining to the ‘‘degree’’ of
integration. In the theory and practice of international organization the EU is an
618 richard higgott

interesting case. The EU, throughout the closing decades of the twentieth century,
has become increasingly diYcult to categorize simply as an IO. A stronger tendency
has been to see it rather as a more complex system of multilevel governance (see
inter alia: Wallace and Wallace 1996, 3–37; Rosamond 2000; Hooghe and Marks
2001). Notwithstanding the failure of some states to ratify the constitution in 2005,
the EU has undergone a greater process of sovereignty pooling than any other actor
that started life as an IO.
Straddling, or perhaps mediating, institutionalist and integrationist approaches is
what we might call the intergovernmentalist insight into enhanced and eYcient
interstate bargaining (Moravcsik 1994, 1998). Again, notwithstanding setbacks, or
more speciWcally what we might describe as a two steps forward one step back
approach to closer integration, the EU conWrms (in part at least) the normative
aspirations of idealist integration theorists in ways that qualify narrower realist
certainties about the limited utility of enhanced institutional cooperation over time.
One Wnal take on the changing role of international organizations should be noted.
During the closing years of the twentieth century it became increasingly fashionable to
look at international organizations through theoretical perspectives on ‘‘global gov-
ernance,’’ seeing institutions as players in a growing regulatory network of actors in
global politics that also diminishes the traditional realist understanding of the more
or less exclusive role of states in the global decision-making process.
Thus IOs are seen as increasingly important actors in the provision of global
public goods (see Kaul, Grunberg, and Stern 1999). Through these lenses, the key
issue for international organizations is the degree to which they can combine the
eVective and eYcient provision of public goods through collective action problem
solving on the one hand at the same time as they satisfy the increasing global
demand for representation and accountability under conditions of globalization on
the other. The tension between these two understandings of governance remains
unresolved. It is addressed in the Conclusion.

3 Contemporary International
Organization: The UN, the EU, and the
Regional Regulatory Framework
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The early twenty-Wrst century sees feverish discussion of the continued salience of
the UN after the Iraq war on the one hand and the future prospects of the EU in the
wake of the crisis in the ratiWcation of the constitution on the other. It is also a time
 international political institutions 619

when other regions of the world are experimenting with international organization
at the regional level. In assessing contemporary events, it is all too easy to get caught
up in the immediate. This section locates these principle institutions in a longer-
term context at the same time that it takes account of the very real challenges facing
IOs in the contemporary era.

3.1 The United Nations

A detailed history of the UN is not possible here. Rather, we need to tease out the
salience of its evolution, contemporary standing, and prospects for a more gener-
alized understanding of the role of international organizations in global politics.
Perhaps the key element in its origins is the degree to which it claimed not to repeat
the structure of the failed League of Nations, but to which, with hindsight, it has a
greater resemblance and salience for the future of the organization than the
founders might care to admit.
Although established in a much more professional manner than the League, the
UN as a collective security system, with its Secretariat, General Assembly, and
Security Council and underwritten by the principle of the sovereign equality
of states, resembled the earlier failed institution (see Armstrong, Lloyd, and
Redmand 2004: 37V). The key diVerence was, of course, the veto of the permanent
members (P5) in the Security Council. But there was more to the UN system than
that. There was also the creation of UN agencies dealing with issues ranging from
atomic energy (IAEA), children (UNICEF), civil aviation (ICAO), development
(UNDP and UNCTAD), education, science, culture, research and training
(UNESCO, UNITAR, and UNU), food and agriculture (FAO), human rights,
narcotics, and drugs (ECOSOC), through to intellectual property (WIPO), and
this list is by no means exhaustive.
While these agencies have never worked other than sub-optimally, the end of the
cold war saw a renewed optimism that the UN might at long last fulWl those roles
which many had originally conceived for it—as the only ‘‘universal, general pur-
pose’’ IO (Diehl 2001, 6) charged with generating global public goods to mitigate
conXict and guarantee peace, security, and well-being. In order to understand why
this has not happened to date it is important to note that the world in 2005 is not the
world into which the UN was born sixty years previously and that reform poses
major diYculties given changes in world order. The key inhibitor of the UN’s core
business is, as UN Secretary General KoW Annan (2000, 6) has frequently noted,
‘‘globalization’’ or more precisely the inability of the UN to mitigate the negative
elements of globalization such as global poverty or enhance global security in the
face of the major change in war-Wghting—the shift from interstate war to non-state
(terrorist) war-Wghting.
620 richard higgott

If accession to the UN was for many states the sine qua non of sovereignty, then
the spread of economic globalization on the one hand and non-state violence on
the other are perhaps the major challenges to that sovereignty in the early twenty-
Wrst century. The challenges faced by the UN in the early twenty-Wrst century are in
many ways a product of its historical privileging of an insistence on sovereign
equality; or more precisely, the challenges posed by the practical denial of this
theoretical state as international politics, lead by the USA and it principle allies,
drifts into an era of non-UN sanctioned humanitarian intervention in places like
Bosnia and pre-emptive security in Iraq.
The attitude of the vast majority of members of the UN to these proactive
policies in the security domain is deeply conditioned by what they see as the failure
on the other hand of the global community, and the UN as the principle IO, to deal
with the exacerbating issue of poverty and global inequality. These twin trials for
the UN, and especially the attitude of the USA towards it and its goals, seem to be
undoing the earlier progress that the organization had made by the identiWcation of
the importance of providing collective action problem solving in socioeconomic,
developmental, and ecological policy areas. The UN’s historical progress as a
vehicle for peace building and generating socioeconomic well-being has not
been trivial, but the fundamental contemporary problem is that UN’s potential
remains inhibited by ‘‘the pretence of state governments that they have ‘sover-
eignty’ over a multitude of problems in public policy that now Xow across borders’’
(Alger 2001, 493).
This chapter cannot review the ‘‘UN reform industry’’ that has been in full swing
since the turn of the century (but see Heinbecker and GoV 2005). But even under
optimistic scenarios it will be a problematic endeavor. It in part explains the
concerns of states in international relations to preserve their sovereignty yet at
the same time enhance collective action decision-making in ‘‘trans-sovereign’’
policy areas (see Cusimano 2000). It also sees states make greater recourse to
regional organization. The Wnal problem facing the UN is one that faces many
IOs, namely a legitimacy deWcit in the relationship between the dominant actors
and the weaker players in the organization on the one hand and in the relationship
between the institution and the people it purports to serve on the other. Both
issues, as real world policy issues and as key factors for scholarly analysis, receive
consideration in the Conclusion.

3.2 Regional Organization as International Organization

It is at the regional level that the growth in international organization has been most
dramatic. This does not occur in isolation from wider traditions and concerns.
Indeed, the UN spells out the possible mandates that ‘‘regional arrangements,’’ and
 international political institutions 621

‘‘regional and other inter-governmental agencies’’ under the UN Charter (chapters

VI, VII, VIII, and IX) might have, and the operational partnerships of the United
Nations with its regional agencies.
Early scholarly debates about regionalism emerged from two sources: (a)
normative questions about the sustainability of the nation state as a vehicle for
eVective and peaceful human governance and an interest in functional and
technocratic imperatives for new forms of authority beyond the state; and (b)
the appearance of actual regional integration schemes in Western Europe from the
late 1950s (the European Coal and Steel Community, the abortive European
Defence Community, and the eventual European Economic Community) that
became the intellectual laboratory for the study of regional organizations. Early
neofunctionalists (cf. Haas 1958; Schmitter 1971) used the European experience to
generalize about the prospects for regional integration elsewhere but this optimism
proved short-lived as analogous projects such as the Latin American Free Trade
Area and the East African Common Market failed.
This earlier work often saw regionalism as a defensive mechanism to reduce
dependence on the international economy. But more recently, scholars of the new
regionalism (see Gamble and Payne 1996) see it in a more proactive manner as a
means of greater access to global markets under conditions of globalization. It is no
longer about securing regional autarchy. States now engage in any number of
overlapping regional endeavors without sensing that there may be contradictions
in such a process. It is also a more inclusive process of regionalization than the UN
had in mind in its relations with its various regional agencies. The new regionalism
is a sociopolitical project as well as an economic one. The process of regionalization
also has structural consequences beyond the particular region in which it takes
place. Transregionalism is an increasingly important dimension of international
relations as institutions and organizations play larger mediating roles between
regions (see Hettne 1999).
It is at the meso regional level, between globalization and the nation state,
that increasing eVort has been applied to the management of transterritorial or
multiterritorial collective action problem solving. To date, moves toward regionally
integrated problem solving have been more active in Europe than in other parts of
the world. But this is not only a European project. Elsewhere, the growing linkages
between diVerent regional integration schemes are evident.

3.2.1 The European Union

The EU is the most developed example of a hybrid, multiperspectival, multi-issue
international organization to date. Its evolution was analysed largely through the
lens of neoclassical trade theory as it developed—from a free trade area, to a
common market, to an economic union—in classic terms (see Belassa 1961). But in
so doing, it made the separation of economics from the politics impossible. The EU
622 richard higgott

is an economic actor (especially in world trade), a political actor in global politics

(even when members cannot agree amongst themselves), and a security actor (even
without as eVective a military capability as its major transatlantic partner would wish
it to possess). This is its unique characteristic.
While regionalization processes can be observed throughout the world, there is
no single model of regionalization. But there is a desire for collective action by
societies, through forms of regional cooperation to counter the adverse eVects of
globalization on the one hand, and to maximize the beneWts to be gained from
globalization on the other. But, global governance structures are not monolithic
and regional governance systems display great diVerences in both scope and
capacity to maintain order as countries make choices that reXect their own needs
and political commitments.
The EU has developed sophisticated regulatory frameworks through its institu-
tional architecture and the crystallization of common policies in areas such as
trade and investment. Other regions are developing diVerent regulatory and govern-
ance frameworks. While all, in their own ways, are aiming towards regional
governance systems that can be considered not only eVective but also democratic,
legitimate, and inclusive, the EU remains the major exercise in intergovernmental
decision-making to date. We can say this for several reasons:

. Although contested, Europe does have an integrated governance system, linking

institutional structures, policies, and legal instruments that bring together the
national and supranational levels of decision-making and policy implementation.
. European approaches to governance have developed Xexible and multidimen-
sional concepts of sovereignty in the international system. These ideas of
sovereignty contrast with the bounded, state-based/intergovernmental charac-
terizations of sovereignty and international relations to be found in most
non-European practice and analysis.
. In individual policy areas (for example, trade) Europe has a regulatory
framework unequaled at the global level. Only Europe, of all regional actors,
negotiates within the WTO as a single actor.
. Europe is already engaged in a web of transregional and interregional coopera-
tive relations with other groupings, based upon either formal, institutional
dialogue or more informal agreements. Interinstitutional cooperation has in-
creased. Although often misunderstood, the Asia–Europe (ASEM) process,
EU–Mexico, EU–Mercosur, and the Cotonou Agreements with the African,
Caribbean, and PaciWc States reXect aspirations of regional groups to build
a density of relations and foster trust fundamental to a global governance
framework.
. The EU governance model relies heavily on the rule of law. The role of the
European Court of Justice (ECJ) is crucial in ensuring a system that is both
eVective and fair. The ECJ is thus a political actor, as much as a legal one. It is
 international political institutions 623

accessibility to the legal system that makes the EU distinctive from other
international governance models. Contrast it with the WTO, where only states
can make a complaint to the Dispute Settlement Body.
In short, the EU, for all its shortcomings, is a community of sovereign states that
has proved that cooperation can be learned and that cooperation need not be a
zero-sum game. In essence, cooperation within the context of an international
governance system produces results where the participants can in many, if not all,
circumstances perceive cooperative action as a public good. But cooperation
among sovereign states or between states and non-state actors in the establishment
of a governance system is neither automatic nor easy. Successful cooperation to
date has depended on a public sector push, an emerging supranational structure
and the willingness of the member states to pool sovereignty in key areas, to
delegate decision-making and to accept authority in matters over which they
would otherwise have national autonomy. The EU has proceeded further than
any other regional grouping in the establishment of a governance system based
upon the principle of pooled sovereignty.
But the EU’s major problem, a problem for most international organizations, is that
it has only achieved a limited degree of democratic legitimacy. While the proposed
European Constitution may have reXected a desire to ensure democratic governance,
there was a clear imbalance between the supranational and the national democratic
structures. Finding legitimacy among its citizens and in public discourse within the
EU on the one hand, and among the actors and institutions of global governance on
the other, has proved diYcult. There is a ‘‘sovereignty trap’’ in the European
project. While states have done much to develop democracy and social justice in
the advanced economies, the limits of national governance, and of the concepts
on which it is based, appear less clear in regional and global integration processes.
This has implications for the role of international organizations as vehicles for
global governance. There are examples from EU experience, including the intro-
duction of the single currency, which provide us with a practical example of the
‘‘division’’ of sovereignty. But for international organizations to deliver better
global governance, it is necessary to escape from a bounded notion of sovereignty
and narrow deWnitions of security and state interest in international relations.
Central to overcoming these limitations, as normative scholarship suggests, must
be the recognition that sovereignty can be disaggregated and redistributed across
institutional levels from the local to the global (Held 2004).

3.2.2 International Organization and the Rise of Regulatory Regionalism

in the Developing World
While it clearly diVers from the ‘‘European project,’’ international organization in
the developing world has proliferated from the last quarter of the twentieth
624 richard higgott

century. Noting the major initiatives only, we can identify organizations such as the
Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the Southern
African Development Co-ordination Conference (SADCC) in Africa; the Organ-
isation of Black Sea Economic Cooperation (BSEC) in Central and Eastern Europe;
Mercosur in Latin America; and a range of initiatives in East Asia commencing with
the development of ASEAN in the 1970s, the growth of APEC from the early 1990s,
and initiatives to establish an East Asian Community (initially via the ‘‘ASEAN Plus
3’’ format) in the early twenty-Wrst century.
But the approach to international organization in the developing world is
diVerent to what (too) many scholars think of as the ‘‘European template’’ (Breslin
and Higgott 2000). What has been important in parts of the world such as Latin
America and East Asia is the recognition of the importance of ‘‘the region’’ as a
meso level at which to make policy under conditions of globalization. This chapter
can only provide a sample illustration of this emerging non-EU template. It does so
using the most advanced case—the growth of regional organizational initiatives in
East Asia, especially since the Wnancial crises of the second half of the 1990s.
ASEAN may have started out as a security organization in the context of the cold
war but it, like most regional organizations in the South, has taken on a diVerent
character since then.2 The search for state competitiveness in an era of economic
globalization is now as salient as was the search for state security in the context of
the cold war. The essence of the new institutional regionalism is an endeavor to
create organizational structures that advance regional competitiveness in the global
economy and provide a venue for policy discourse on key regional issues whilst at
the same time preserving state sovereignty. It is this process that has come to be
known as ‘‘regulatory regionalism’’ since the East Asian Wnancial crises of the late
twentieth century (Jayasuriya 2004).
What the Asian crises told regional policy elites was that there was no consensus
on how to manage international capitalism in the closing stages of the twentieth
century. But the economic crises also provided a positive learning experience at
the multilateral organizational level. The crises demonstrated that for economic
globalization to continue to develop in an orderly manner requires necessary
institutional capability to provide for prudential economic regulation.
While most regional policy analysts continue to recognize that such institutional
regulation is best pursued at the global level, regional level organizational initia-
tives have become increasingly important. Thus, strong structural impediments to
integration notwithstanding, East Asia has become more interdependent and even
more formally institutionalized (see Higgott 2005).
But this is not the kind of regional cooperation that has its antecedents in
Europe. Rather it is a regulatory regionalism that links national and global under-
standings of regulation via intermediary regional level organizations. EVectively,

2 A history of regional organization in East Asia is not possible here. See Acharya 2000.
 international political institutions 625

regional organizations become transmission belts for global disciplines to the

national level through the depoliticizing and softening process of the region in
which regional policy coordination has become the ‘‘meso’’ link between the
national and the global. Regulatory regionalism sees regional organizations acting
as vehicles for regional policy coordination to mitigate risk while not undermining
national sovereignty. Indeed, there is a strong relationship between state form, the
global economic and political orders, and the nature of regional organization
emerging at the meso level in many regions of the world.
This institutional compromise is inevitable if the continuing tension between
nationalism and regionalism in East Asia (and other regions) is not to jeopardize
cooperation. The meshing of multilevel processes of regulation to reinforce the
connections between the international institutions (e.g. IMF and World Bank)
and regional institutions—for example between the Asian Development Bank and
the emerging instruments of regional monetary regulation in East Asia—have
developed strongly in the early twenty-Wrst century. Similarly, regional organiza-
tions pass down internationally agreed global market standards. In discursive
terms, ‘‘regional regulation’’ carries fewer negative connotations for sovereignty
and regime autonomy than ‘‘regional institution building’’ which, throughout the
pre-crisis days in East Asia, carried with it negative, European style, implications of
sovereignty pooling.

4 International Organization and the

Limits to Global Governance
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

International organizations exhibit a characteristic shared by many other kinds of

organizational structures. They tend to be extremely durable over time even to the
extent of having outlived their usefulness in some instances. There are reasons
for durability speciWc to each individual organization. But there are also more
generalized explanations. In addition to the obvious eVects of inertia, the devel-
opment of an internal bureaucratic dynamic and an organizational instinct for self-
preservation are worth noting. Notably, in an era of globalization, problem solving
becomes increasingly complex and less amenable to state-based resolution.
Policy problems are increasingly deWned as global, or trans-sovereign, problems,
especially in the domains of trade, Wnance, environment, and also security given
the changing nature of threat, human rights, and development. Governments,
especially in the second half of the twentieth century, developed a habit of seeking
626 richard higgott

international organizational responses to problems not amenable to state level

resolution. This is at one level the same for all states, including the USA, although
international organizations are usually more important to smaller than larger
players, even though it is larger players rather than the smaller players that get to
set and steer the agenda of the organizations.
The principal question about the role of international organizations as vehicles
of global governance (economic and political) pertains to the quantity and quality
of this governance in an era where we have an overdeveloped global economy and
an underdeveloped global polity. There is a strong disconnect between governance
seen as eVective and eYcient collective action problem solving in a given issue area
on the one hand and governance as a system of accountability and representation
within international organization on the other. It is this that leads to the debate
about the ‘‘legitimacy deWcits’’ in major international organizations.
The UN and EU, and international organizations in general, share this problem.
The UN has problems of eVectiveness and eYciency in the delivery of global public
policy and of legitimacy. The EU has less of a problem with delivery but it also has a
major legitimacy problem within European civil society (Bellamy 2005). The
disjuncture between securing legitimation from the bottom up and eVective and
eYcient administration from the top down in international organizations is
captured in the distinction between input legitimacy and output legitimacy (Keo-
hane 2004; Grant and Keohane 2005). This challenges the all too easy assumption
that multilateral international organizations will inevitably remain key actors in
global governance in the twenty-Wrst century. We tend to forget that multilateral-
ism as a foreign policy tool was always a modest endeavor and, as Keohane notes,
‘‘a social construction of the twentieth century’’ that holds less sway at the
beginning of the twenty-Wrst. This is a key issue for international organization.
Without this balance the rational, stable, and harmonious development of an
accountable and acceptable system of regulation at the global level will not be
possible.

5 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

So where do we stand? In the early twenty-Wrst century the theory and practice of
international organization is subsumed within wider scholarship on international
institutions and regimes seen as sets of international rules and norms principally,
but not exclusively, for states. An intellectual contest exists between those who see
international cooperation as rationalist and rational, but limited, and those who
 international political institutions 627

have a more sociological, constitutive understanding of international institution-

alism. Esoteric as this might seem, it casts long policy shadows.
If, within a sociological context, we see international organization as institu-
tionalized international relations, then we might conclude by saying that there
appears not to be a strong correlation between the volume of international
organizational activity and its ability to deal eVectively and eYciently with the
large issues in international relations. The strong still operate outside the borders of
organizational norms when it suits them. This is especially the case with regards to
war and military conXict (such as the US-led invasion of Iraq). To this extent, if
realist theory is principally about the interests of the powerful it seems diYcult to
brook its assertions about the irrelevance of international institutions (Mearshei-
mer 1994–5). But as Simmons and Martin ask (2002, 195), if realism was the
sole form of reasoning in international relations then it would not explain
why the United States spent so much of the second half of the twentieth
century underwriting the principles of international organization. Even for
realists—policy-makers more than theorists it needs to be added—IOs still fulWll
important functions. Even realists cooperate.
We do not have to accept the ‘‘end of globalism’’ literature (Ralston Saul 2005) to
recognize the manner in which a range of events have curtailed enthusiasm for
international organization in major quarters. It is not an axiomatic assumption at
the beginning of the twenty-Wrst century that an expanded role for international
organization in this era is assured. The crisis in the role of the UN Security Council
in the wake of the invasion of Iraq, the failure of the USA to ratify the Kyoto
Protocol and to sign on to the International Criminal Court, are testament to the
need to be context speciWc and time speciWc in our judgments of the salience of
IOs. Constraints on the further development of the EU in the wake of the abortive
constitution also bear witness to the limitations of regional projects to advance
beyond certain stages. These judgments give rise to the question, ‘‘where now in the
theory and practice of international organization?’’
Research on international organization in the early twenty-Wrst century will
axiomatically be embedded within the wider study of global governance and
particularly the degree to which international organizations can bridge the
gap between their abilities to provide eVective and eYcient decision-making
underwritten by the best technical expertise on the one hand and the ability of
international organizations to legitimate their actions on the other. The key issues
in any future research agenda therefore will revolve around issues of institutional
reform, great power commitment, and questions of organizational/institutional
legitimacy. Empirically, the focus of research will stay on the major organizations—
the UN, the EU, and important emerging regional actors.
It is diYcult to disaggregate theory from practice in any future research agenda.
In the UN context, for example, no one denies the need for reform nor the key
elements of an institutional reform agenda—from adjusting the Security Council
628 richard higgott

to Wt the contemporary global realities of power rather than those of 1945 through
to securing the Millennium Development Goals. The interesting question, for
scholar and practitioner alike, is less ‘‘what reform?’’ than ‘‘how to get there?’’
(Maxwell 2005, 1). The ‘‘what’’ questions are set out in the 2005 report of the
Secretary General (http://www.un.org/largerfreedom). For the scholar of inter-
national organization the ‘‘how’’ question is a ‘‘cooperation’’ and ‘‘collective
action’’ question that requires theoretical tools such as game theory but used in a
manner sensitive to the political dynamics of the organization and international
politics.
At this early stage in the twenty-Wrst century, the principal political dynamic in
practical terms revolves around how the rest of the members of the UN deal with
the United States. How do you keep the hegemonic actor wedded to multilateral-
ism and the international organizations through which it functions when the
hegemon is convinced that other states see international organization as a way to
constrain it (Beeson and Higgott 2005)? This has created an atmosphere of mutual
distrust that is not only inhibiting the institutional reform process but also the
ability to embed important new international norms such as the ‘‘Responsibility to
Protect’’ (see CIGI 2005, 1–12).
Like the UN, the EU too exhibits serious contemporary problems. But scholars
of the EU tackle these problems in a diVerent way to researchers working on UN
reform. If enhancing institutional performance is the independent reform variable
and greater representation is the dependent variable when looking at the UN, then
this situation is reversed in current research on the EU. Because the EU is at an
advanced legal and institutionalized state of development (see Stone Sweet 2004) it
is the politics of the legitimacy deWcit rather than the institutional performance
deWcit to which scholars turn their attention. Performance and legitimacy are
related, but they can work against each other (see Bellamy 2005).
Scholars of political theory are battling to identify a balance in the relationship
that allows for eYcient decision-making that is both legitimate and accountable. To
date, there is no deWnitive answer how this might be achieved given the deWciencies
in institutional arrangements on the one hand and the absence of a European
demos on the other. This debate currently turns on diVerent readings of the degree
to which eYciency in the provision of public goods is enhanced or inhibited by too
little (or too much) democratic input. As this chapter shows, transparency and
information sharing, central to the eYcient operation of international organiza-
tion, is not the same as democratic accountability (see Keohane 2004; Eriksen and
Fossum 2004; Moravcsik 2004).
In sum, multilateralism as a principal (and principled) element of global
governance in both the economic and the security domains in the early years
of the twenty-Wrst century—and with it, the standing of many international
organizations—is strained at the global level and at a crossroads at the regional
level. Public goods for a ‘‘just’’ global era—economic regulation, environmental
 international political institutions 629

security, the containment of organized crime and terrorism, the enhancement of

welfare—cannot be provided by states alone. They must be provided collectively,
be it at global or at regional levels. Notwithstanding the increasing importance of
non-state actors, interstate cooperation, primarily via international organiza-
tions, is still at the heart of successful global policy-making and it is still driven
by the domestic actor preferences of powerful countries (Milner 1997) whether it
be the US in the international organizations or major state actors at critical
junctures in regional projects. Despite persuasive normative arguments in favor
of collective action problem solving, prospects for enhanced successful multilat-
eral cooperation, via international organizations, should not be exaggerated. For
multilateralism to work, and major international organizations to function, rules
must (self-)bind the hegemon, as well as the smaller players. ‘‘Without the
self-binding of the hegemon, multilateral organizations become empty shells’’
(Martin 2003, 14).

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 chapter 32
...................................................................................................................................................

I N T E R NAT I O NA L
SECURITY
I N S T I T U T I O N S : RU L E S ,
TO O L S , S C H O O L S , O R
FOOLS?
...................................................................................................................................................

john s. duffield

1 Introduction
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Just as international security is one of the central sub-Welds of international

politics, international security institutions (ISIs) constitute an important subset
of international institutions and political institutions more generally. Both despite
and because of that fact, however, any attempt to write a chapter on ISIs must
overcome two signiWcant hurdles. First, scholars have written very little about ISIs
per se. A thriving academic literature exists on the more general topic of inter-
national institutions. But with only a few exceptions (Jervis 1983; Müller 1993;
DuYeld 1994; Wallander 1999; Haftendorn, Keohane, and Wallander 1999), theor-
etical writings on the subject either draw their examples primarily from other
realms, such as the international political economy (e.g. Keohane 1984) and
international environmental cooperation (e.g. Young 1999), or make no eVort to
distinguish among international institutions in diVerent issue areas.
One reason for this relative neglect may be that, as discussed more fully below,
security aVairs is the arena in which international institutions have been expected, on
634 john s. duffield

theoretical grounds, to be least consequential. Of course, this expectation, however

well grounded, is at variance with the large numbers of ISIs that have in fact existed.
Indeed, the ubiquity and diversity of ISIs is the source of the second obstacle. Scholars
have produced numerous works on speciWc types of ISIs, such as laws of war, alliances,
arms control agreements, and collective security systems, and countless analyses of
particular institutions, such as the United Nations (UN), the North Atlantic
Treaty Organization (NATO), the nuclear non-proliferation regime, and others.
Arguably, the relevant literatures are too vast to summarize in a single chapter.
Thus the dual challenge is to say something distinct about ISIs as a whole that
nevertheless does justice to them in all their variety. With that goal in mind, this
chapter will focus on two issues. The Wrst concerns those features that distinguish
ISIs from international institutions in other issue areas. I argue that ISIs may be
usefully diVerentiated on the basis of two fundamental analytical distinctions that
are especially relevant, if not unique, to security aVairs. The second focus is on the
signiWcance of ISIs. The chapter examines four leading theoretical perspectives
that oVer varying, and often conXicting, assessments of the degree to—and ways
in—which international institutions matter.

2 Definitions: What Are ISIs?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Like many other topics in international politics, the terms ‘‘international security’’
and ‘‘international institutions’’ have multiple meanings. Security has long been a
contested concept. Not only the nature of the sources of insecurity (e.g. military,
economic, social, environmental, etc.) but also the appropriate units of concern
(e.g. individuals, national groups, states, global society, etc.) have been the subjects
of considerable debate (e.g. Wolfers 1962; Buzan 1983; Ullman 1983). And with the
end of the cold war and the existential threat of mutual assured destruction, the
question of what should be the proper ambit of ‘‘security studies’’ assumed even
greater prominence (e.g. Haftendorn 1991; Walt 1991; Kolodziej 1992).
In hopes of placing some reasonable limits on the discussion, however, this
chapter will employ a relatively narrow and traditional deWnition of security. For
our purposes, international security concerns intentional, politically-motivated
acts of physical violence directed by one political actor against another,
typically—but not exclusively—states, that cross international boundaries. Thus
ISIs are those that seek to address or regulate:
1. the threat and use for political purposes of instruments (weapons) designed to
cause injury or death to humans and damage or destruction to physical
objects, and responses to such threats and uses by other actors;
 international security institutions 635

2. the production, possession, exchange, and transfer of weapons of various

types; and
3. the peacetime deployment and activities of military forces armed with such
weapons.
It should nevertheless be noted that many ISIs also address concerns that extend
beyond these issues.
Unfortunately, the task of deWning international institutions is no less problem-
atic. Over the years, scholars have employed multiple conceptions and deWnitions.
One important distinction is that between institutions that are consciously
constructed by states and other actors, such as speciWc treaties and agreements,
and those that evolve in a more spontaneous and less intentional fashion, such as
sovereignty and many laws of war (Young 1989). A closely related distinction is that
between institutions made up of formal rules and procedures and those that consist
largely of intersubjective norms. Again, in order to bound the problem, this
chapter will focus on relatively formal and consciously constructed ‘‘sets of
rules meant to govern international behavior’’ (Simmons and Martin 2002, 194),
especially those that are negotiated and endorsed by states.
This conception raises in turn the question of the relationship between
international institutions and international organizations. Prominent inter-
national relations scholars have oVered opposing views on the issue. Robert
Keohane includes formal organizations in his inXuential deWnition of international
institutions (1989, 3–4), while Oran Young explicitly distinguishes between
institutions and organizations, which he deWnes as ‘‘material entities possessing
physical locations (or seats), oYces, personnel, equipment, and budgets’’ (1989,
32). Certainly, it is important to recognize the material and agentic qualities of
international organizations, which can become important international actors in
their own right (e.g. Barnett and Finnemore 2004). Nevertheless, most
international organizations have a strong basis in rules that deWne their roles,
functions, authority, and capabilities. For example, the UN Security Council and
its procedures are established in the UN Charter. Whether it is more fruitful to
regard an international organization as an institution or as an actor will depend
upon the precise question that one seeks to answer. But as a practical matter, it may
be diYcult to distinguish between their agentic and institutional characteristics.

3 Forms of ISIs
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Now that ISIs have been deWned, we may begin to diVerentiate among basic types.
As suggested above, ISIs can assume a perhaps bewildering array of forms:
636 john s. duffield

international laws, treaties, agreements, organizations, regimes, and perhaps

others. How can we make sense out of—and impose meaningful order on—this
diversity?

3.1 Inclusive vs. Exclusive ISIs

As a Wrst cut, we might seek to categorize them according to their spatial
or functional scope (e.g. Young 1989, 13; Buzan 2004). Alternatively, we might
distinguish between diVerent degrees of formality or explicitness (e.g. Keohane
1989, 3–4). Despite the usefulness of these and other conceptualizations, however,
they oVer no unique insights with regard to ISIs.
Nevertheless, ISIs can be diVerentiated on the basis of two other fundamental
analytical distinctions that are particularly relevant, and perhaps even unique, to
security aVairs. The Wrst and more familiar distinction is that between inclusive
and exclusive ISIs, which reXect fundamentally diVerent goal orientations (e.g.
DuYeld 1994; Wallander and Keohane 1999). Inclusive or internally-oriented ISIs
are primarily intended to enhance the security of their participants with respect to
one another by reducing the likelihood of military conXict among them. They
include collective security systems, prohibitions on the use of force, arms control
agreements, and other possible arrangements between actual or potential adver-
saries. In contrast, exclusive or externally-oriented ISIs serve principally to provide
security to their participants with respect to non-members that are regarded as
posing actual or potential physical threats. Their ultimate objective is to inXuence
the behavior, intentions, and/or capabilities of such non-members, although the
achievement of this goal often requires inXuencing the behavior, intentions, and/or
capabilities of participants as well. Into this category fall alliances and arrange-
ments for restricting the export of armaments or goods and technologies with
military applications to third parties.

3.2 Operative vs. Contingent Rules

A second and much less noted distinction applies to the types of substantive rules
that lie at the core of an ISI. These may be grouped into two basic categories:
operative rules and contingent rules. Operative rules concern the ongoing activities
of states. In principle, a state can be said to be in compliance or not with an operative
rule at any given time. Most ISIs based on operative rules can be subsumed in three
categories: arms control agreements, prohibitions on the use of force, and export
control arrangements. The Wrst two are inclusive while the latter are exclusive.
Arms control agreements are perhaps the most common form of operative
rule-based ISIs. Some actively restrict the numbers, types, or deployment of the
military forces that adherents may acquire and maintain, as have the ABM, SALT,
 international security institutions 637

INF, and CFE treaties. Others place limits on peacetime military activities, such as
training, military exercises, and other measures intended to prepare forces for
combat and to enhance their readiness, as have the Stockholm and Vienna agree-
ments on conWdence-building measures (CBMs) and the US–Soviet Incidents at
Sea Agreement.
Other familiar ISIs based on operative rules are those that proscribe the use of force.
The UN Charter, for example, prohibits the initiation of all military hostilities. Others
ban the use of certain types of weapons, such as chemical weapons, or restrict the
purposes for which weapons can be employed, such as attacks upon civilians, in conXict.
Finally, export control arrangements place constraints on their participants’
assistance to or cooperation with third parties that are regarded as actual or
potential military threats. Prominent examples are the Coordinating Committee
for Multilateral Export Controls (COCOM), the Australia Group, and the Missile
Technology Control Regime (MTCR), which have restricted the transfer of arma-
ments and technologies with military applications to certain non-members. Their
purpose is to limit the military capabilities of potential adversaries, thereby min-
imizing or even preventing the emergence of external threats and thus enhancing
the security of their participants.
Contingent rules, in contrast, concern the activities of states in hypothetical
circumstances that may never obtain. They are generally prescriptive, indicating
what actions participants should take if the triggering conditions were to materi-
alize. In fact, the purpose of contingent rules is typically to prevent the indicated
circumstances from arising in the Wrst place. Put diVerently, the principal issue
involved is not whether states will comply with the rules when called upon to do so
but whether the behavior of other states will be suYciently altered by the prospect
of compliance with the rules so as to obviate the need to invoke them.
ISIs based on contingent rules come in two basic varieties: inclusive collective
security systems (CSS) and exclusive alliances (Claude 1962, 144–9; Wolfers 1962).
The institutional character of alliances has often been overlooked in studies of the
subject, yet it can be quite pronounced. At the core of an alliance is the positive
injunction to provide assistance to a member if it is attacked by a non-member.
This rule is often formalized in a treaty of alliance, although it need not be. It is the
existence of such a rule, however, that distinguishes alliances from uninstitutiona-
lized alignments between states based on common or complementary interests
(Snyder 1997). Nevertheless, alliances may also contain numerous operative rules
concerning the peacetime military activities and preparations of their members,
but such rules are derivative and supportive of the contingent rules regarding
wartime assistance on which an alliance is based.
The characterization of CSSs as contingent-rule based ISIs may be disputed.
CSSs contain core rules prescribing the actions that participants should take in the
event that aggression occurs (Claude 1962; Kupchan and Kupchan 1991). At the
same time, they are typically predicated on the existence of more or less explicit
operative rules proscribing the use of force or other harmful actions by participants
638 john s. duffield

against one another. Thus it may be tempting to view CSSs simply as auxiliary
sanctions regimes. Nevertheless, the operative rules prohibiting aggressive acts and
the contingent rules prescribing responses to them need not be formally related
and may in practice develop independently. For example, a regional CSS could be
based on universal principles of international law.
The distinctions between inclusive and exclusive ISIs, on the one hand, and
operative and contingent rules, on the other, suggest a fourfold typology of ISIs,
which can be represented by a two-by-two matrix (see Table 32.1)
It should be stressed that each of these categories is an ideal type. Actual ISIs may
fall into two or more of them. For example, nominal alliances may simultaneously
be CSSs if they also require their members to defend one another against attacks by
other members. Alternately, alliances and CSSs may be accompanied by export
control arrangements or arms control agreements.

4 The Significance of ISIs

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The most important question to be asked of ISIs is whether they make any
diVerence in international politics. After all, if an aYrmative answer cannot
be oVered, there would seem to be little point in discussing the nature and
determinants of ISIs, let alone the mechanisms through which they may work
their eVects.
To be sure, the large numbers of ISIs that have existed as well as the demon-
strated willingness of states to invest considerable time, energy, and resources in
them constitute prima facie evidence of the important of ISIs. Yet the presence of

Table 32.1 A typology of ISIs

Inclusive ISIs Exclusive ISIs

Operative rules Arms control agreements (e.g. Export controls arrangements

ABM, SALT, NPT, CBMs) (e.g. COCOM, Nuclear Suppliers Group)
Use of force prohibitions (e.g.
UN Charter)
Contingent rules Collective security systems Alliances (e.g. NATO, WEU)
(e.g. League of Nations, UN)
 international security institutions 639

these phenomena is usually not regarded as suYcient even by those who believe
that ISIs are consequential. Instead, we must look at the theoretical arguments—
pro and con—that have been advanced regarding the inXuence of ISIs and the
empirical evidence that has been oVered in support of those arguments.
Unfortunately, there is as yet no distinct body of theory regarding the eVects
of ISIs. Rather, we must turn to the more general theoretical literature on the
signiWcance of international institutions, identifying where possible the distinct
ways in which ISIs might (or might not) make a diVerence. That said, international
security may provide an especially valuable arena for adjudicating among the
competing claims of diVerent theories insofar as it is the area where theorists of
all stripes have expected international institutions to be least consequential (e.g.
Lipson 1984; Keohane 1984, 6–7; Grieco 1988, 504; 1990, 11–14; Mearsheimer 1994–5).
This chapter will review and evaluate four of the most inXuential theoretical
approaches, laying out their principal arguments and providing empirical illustra-
tions from the universe of ISIs.
Of course, institutions can have eVects only where they exist. Yet potentially
inXuential ISIs have not always been created in situations where they could in
theory have mattered. In this regard, there may be a close connection between the
causes and consequences of international institutions. Given space constraints,
however, this chapter will not be able to address the important issues of whether
and when ISIs are actually created and the forms they may take.

4.1 The Neorealist Baseline: Institutions (or Institutionalists)

as Fools
The principal theoretical source of the null hypothesis that ISIs do not matter is
neorealism. This approach emphasizes the potential for conXict inherent in the
ability of states to use force against one another, the anarchic nature of the
international system, and the presence of a substantial degree of uncertainty
about other states’ intentions, capabilities, and actions. Neorealist scholars hold a
highly skeptical view about the signiWcance of international institutions in general
and ISIs in particular. In short, institutions, or at least those who believe in their
importance, are fools.
Neorealists argue that international institutions exert minimal inXuence over
state behavior and international outcomes on several grounds (e.g. Grieco 1988;
Mearsheimer 1994–5). First, they maintain that states will be reluctant both to
create institutions in the Wrst place and to observe the rules of any institutions that
they do establish. One reason is the fear that other states will cheat on their
obligations, leaving any states that do comply at a disadvantage. Given uncertainty
640 john s. duffield

about others’ intentions, states can never be sure that their partners will abide by
agreements and not seek to exploit them.
A more fundamental concern is that even when fears of cheating are absent and
all states enjoy absolute beneWts, some states may gain more than others and thus
be able to increase their relative capabilities. Concerns about the distribution of
gains are likely to be especially acute in security aVairs, since states may be able to
use any advantage they obtain in military power to coerce or conquer their
adversaries (Grieco 1988; Wallander 1999, 15). As evidence of the salience of relative
gains concerns, scholars have oVered examples of unwillingness even among allies
to strike deals on economic issues that would make all better oV (Grieco 1990;
Mastanduno 1991). In the security realm, one might also point to the hard
bargaining that typically proceeds—and sometimes prevents—the achievement
of mutually beneWcial arms control accords.
Another leading neorealist argument is that international institutions are epi-
phenomena. Even if states do choose to create international institutions, the latter
merely reXect the calculations of self-interest of the most powerful states (Krasner
1983b; Strange 1983; Krasner 1991; Mearsheimer 1994–5). Thus powerful states are
free to disregard institutional obligations whenever compliance is no longer viewed
as convenient, and institutions are subject to restructuring or abandonment with
each shift in the distribution of state power and interests. As examples of this
dynamic, one might cite NATO’s continuing dependence on US suVerance, the
unilateral abrogation of the ABM Treaty by the United States, and the latter’s highly
controversial decision to invade Iraq without the explicit authorization of the UN
Security Council.
A related rational-choice argument is that international institutions typically
require states to make at most marginal changes of behavior. Deeper cooperation
involving greater departures from the status quo is avoided because the utility of
cheating rises faster than the utility of compliance and participating states are
unwilling or unable to pay the higher costs of enforcement. Thus US–Soviet arms
control treaties rarely required either side to alter its planned military programs
substantially, and perhaps the most ambitious arms control agreement ever
formulated, the 1923 Washington Naval Treaty, was marked by a high degree of
non-compliance (Downs, Rocke, and Barsoom 1996).
Other scholars, however, have cast doubt on each of these claims, thereby
creating theoretical space within which ISIs might exert independent eVects.
Most easily dispensed with is the argument about fears of cheating. Uncertainty
about the behavior of other states as well as their capabilities and intentions is a
variable, not a constant (Wallander 1999, 24). Thus rather than simply assume
the worst, states have an incentive to reduce uncertainty by obtaining more
information. To this end, they may take unilateral measures, such as spy satellites,
but they can also make use of international institutions.
 international security institutions 641

Likewise, neorealists have exaggerated both the prevalence and the magnitude
of relative gains concerns. Such worries are not always present in security aVairs,
and when they are present, they may not be suYcient to inhibit cooperation.
Consequently, the potential of ISIs to shape state behavior and international
outcomes is much greater than neorealists have acknowledged. First, as the
distinction between inclusive and exclusive ISIs suggests, concerns about relative
gains are likely to be less prominent in relations among allies than in
relations between adversaries. Notwithstanding the truism that today’s ally may
be tomorrow’s enemy, alignments may be highly stable under some conWgurations
of power and interest. In those cases, states will not fear that their partners might
soon turn on them. And even where relative gains concerns are not insigniWcant,
they may be overridden by the imperative to work together in the face of a hostile
common enemy.
In relations among adversaries, moreover, concerns about relative gains may not
exist because institutions have no distributional consequences. Some ISIs may
increase the security of all participants without aVecting their relative power. For
example, conWdence-building measures that place constraints on peacetime
military activities can lower the risk of an unintended conXict due to mistrust or
misperception without aVecting military capabilities.
And even where institutions do have distributional consequences, a state may
have little or no opportunity to exploit relative gains. Thus in relations among
nuclear-armed states, an agreement that enables one party to gain or maintain a
numerical advantage in nuclear weapons will do little to diminish the security of
other parties if they already possess invulnerable second-strike capabilities (Weber
1991). Likewise, in a world of conventionally-armed states, the distribution of gains
will have little impact if defense is easy and oVense is diYcult (Glaser 1994–5, 79).
As for the argument that institutions are epiphenomena of power and interests,
even the most powerful states may have incentives to comply with the rules of
established institutions when doing so is inconvenient, and sometimes these
incentives will outweigh those favoring non-compliance. Certainly, it is rational
for no less a country than the United States to weigh the beneWts to be gained from
circumventing the UN Security Council against the possible costs before choosing
a course of action. In addition, even if institutions exhibit little autonomy and
robustness, they may still be ‘‘essential mediators’’ between the distribution of state
power and interests, on the one hand, and the precise forms that behavior may
take, on the other (Hasenclever, Mayer, and Rittberger 1997, 108). The importance
of this fact is reinforced by the indeterminacy of structural factors. A range of
particular institutional forms may be compatible with a given constellation of
power and interests.
Going further, international institutions may in fact exhibit considerable
resilience in the face of structural changes (Krasner 1983a; Keohane 1984, 100–3;
DuYeld 1992; Wallander 2000). One reason is uncertainty about whether the
642 john s. duffield

institution will be required—or at least of use—in the future, especially if states are
risk averse. Another is the fact that institutions embody sunk costs and are thus
usually easier to maintain than to construct anew. A third may be that an existing
institution’s ‘‘assets’’ can be adapted for new purposes (Wallander 2000). Indeed,
the existence of fungible institutional capabilities may lead states to discover new
applications to which they might be put (March and Olson 1998, 966–8), as
illustrated by the development of UN peacekeeping and NATO’s post-cold war
interventions in the Balkans. A fourth reason is what March and Olson (1998) term
the ‘‘competency trap:’’ actors will tend to buy into a particular institution by
virtue of developing familiarity with the rules and capabilities for using them.
Whatever the reasons, as March and Olson observe, ‘‘institutions are relatively
robust against environmental change or deliberate reform . . . the character of
current institutions depends not only on current conditions but also on the
historical path of institutional development’’ (1998, 959). Certainly, one can
point to a number of examples of ISIs—the UN Security Council, the Nuclear
Non-proliferation Treaty, the Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty, and NATO, to
name but a few—that have outlived their original circumstances and endured in
the face of major structural changes.

4.2 Neoinstitutionalism: Institutions as Rules

In sum, strong theoretical grounds exist for concluding that ISIs may have im-
portant independent consequences. Through what mechanisms, then, can they
work their inXuence?
The most well-developed school of thought on the impact of international
institutions is neoliberal institutionalism or, more simply, neoinstitutionalism.
This approach shares many assumptions with neorealism: that states are the
primary actors in international politics, that they are rational egoists concerned
only about their own interests, and that they interact in an anarchic setting with no
higher authority to protect them from each other and enforce agreements. Despite
these commonalities, neoinstitutionalists nevertheless employ a functionalist logic
to argue that states will create sets of more or less formal rules where they expect
such rules to serve their interests. These institutions can do so by increasing the
options available to states and by altering the incentives to select one course of
action or another, thereby producing diVerent behaviors and outcomes than would
have obtained in their absence.
Neoinstitutionalists have identiWed at least four speciWc mechanisms through
which institutional rule sets can make a diVerence (Keohane 1984; Martin 1992b).
First, and most simply, they can provide or serve as focal points that help states
solve coordination problems. In many situations, more than one potentially
 international security institutions 643

beneWcial and stable cooperative outcome (equilibrium) exists. Although diVerent

states may prefer diVerent outcomes, once a particular solution is chosen, they all
have an interest in complying with it. Any departure, such as choosing to drive on
the left-hand side of the road (in North America, anyway), is likely to make the
violator worse oV, at least in the short term. Examples from security aVairs include
cold war spheres of inXuence (DuYeld 1994), the US–Soviet Incidents at Sea
Agreement (Lynn-Jones 1985), and common NATO standards for military forces
and doctrines.
In other situations, such as those represented by the Prisoner’s Dilemma, states
may beneWt from mutual adjustments in their behavior but still have incentives to
return to the status quo. Adversaries may attempt to gain a temporary military
advantage in peacetime or war, and allies may seek to free-ride on the eVorts of
their partners. In these so-called collaboration problems with unstable equilibria,
institutional rules may serve as well-deWned standards of behavior that reinforce
the incentives to cooperate. Not only does one state’s non-compliance risk the loss
of the beneWts generated by other states’ cooperation and perhaps even the
immediate imposition of additional sanctions, but it may also have signiWcant
reputational costs. Other states may be less inclined to cooperate with a recognized
rule violator on other potentially beneWcial issues (Hasenclever, Mayer, and Ritt-
berger 1997, 35).
Such standards of behavior lie at the heart of many ISIs based on operative rules.
These include arms control agreements that place limits on the numbers and types
of weapons states may Weld, NATO conventional force goals during the cold war
(DuYeld 1992), and laws of war that prohibit certain military practices. ISIs based
on contingent rules of behavior may perform a similar function. By entering into
an alliance or a collective security system, a state can signal or clarify its intentions
to both potential adversaries and allies that it will resist aggression against and
provide assistance to those attacked. Although subsequent non-compliance may be
subject to fewer immediate costs and cannot be ruled out, it may still have
important reputational consequences. Thus by signing the North Atlantic Treaty,
the United States engaged its reputation and raised the stakes associated with
possible future choices.
A third important way in which institutions can have an impact is by reducing
uncertainty (Keohane 1984; Martin 1992b). Where states have agreed to clear
standards of behavior, they may be unsure that others are observing their
commitments and thus experience additional incentives not to comply themselves.
And even in situations where no party can improve its situation by defecting,
so-called assurance problems, states may nevertheless be uncertain of others’
intentions and thus fear that others may seek to exploit them. In both cases,
institutions can promote cooperation by helping fearful states obtain greater
certainty about others’ behavior, capabilities, and interests and, conversely, by
allowing states to reassure others that they are in compliance or have only benign
644 john s. duffield

intentions. To achieve these goals, international institutions may include rules

requiring states to provide each other with certain forms of information or
allowing others to carry out various types of inspections.
Such transparency provisions sometimes form the central elements of ISIs, as in
the case of conWdence building measures. At other times, such as the increasingly
elaborate monitoring provisions of arms control agreements like the INF Treaty,
they supplement more fundamental behavioral standards. A third example is
NATO’s force planning process, which involves the sharing of detailed information
about each member’s military capabilities and plans and has played a central role in
allaying concerns about free riding as well as of potential intra-alliance threats
(TuschhoV 1999)
Finally, international institutions can provide negotiating opportunities for their
participants (Keohane 1984; Hasenclever, Mayer, and Rittberger 1997, 34). By
reducing transaction costs, standing decision-making procedures make it easier
for states to resolve disputes over existing rules and distributional conXicts, to
devise new rules as needed, and to react in an eVective manner to whatever
instances of non-compliance that may occur. This is a central function of the UN
Security Council, which interprets and organizes responses to violations of rules
contained in the UN Charter. It has also been prominently on display over the years
in NATO, whose members have made repeated decisions about peacetime military
preparations and activities and, more recently, foreign deployments and military
interventions.

4.3 Institutions as Organizational Tools

As the examples suggest, decision-making procedures are typically associated with
international organizations, although they need not be (Young 1989). Thus a third
theoretical approach emphasizes the organizational characteristics of many inter-
national institutions. From this perspective, international institutions become
tools with a physical or material dimension that states can use to pursue their
individual or collective interests. It is useful nevertheless to distinguish here
between two general organizational forms: as collective actors and as autonomous
actors.
Many international organizations take the form of rule-bound structures in
which the representatives of member states interact and make collective choices.
In the security realm, these include the UN Security Council, the North
Atlantic Council, the US–Soviet Standing Consultative Commission, the Board
of Governors of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), and others. As
such, international organizations can perform several functions—beyond simply
reducing transaction costs—more eVectively than ad hoc groupings of states.
 international security institutions 645

First, they allow the members to speak, should they choose to do so, with a single
voice. In particular, they are able to dispense politically signiWcant approval and
disapproval of the claims, policies, and actions of states (Claude 1966). This
collective legitimation function in turn facilitates the mobilization of international
support on behalf of or in opposition to particular behaviors. Traditionally, it has
been the prerogative of the Security Council, as exempliWed by its response to Iraq’s
invasion of Kuwait in 1990. But when the Council has been deadlocked, other
organizations have occasionally been employed, such as the General Assembly
under the 1950 Uniting for Peace Resolution and NATO during the 1999 Kosovo
crisis.
A second important function of international organizations as collective actors
is the centralization of members’ activities and resources (Abbott and Snidal 1998).
At a minimum, such pooling may result in greater eYciencies, as when it allows—
or requires—participants to specialize in particular activities. It may provide less
capable members with resources that they could not obtain on their own. And it
may even result in the generation of capabilities on a scale that no single member
alone could produce.
Perhaps the best example in the security realm has been NATO’s force planning
process and integrated military planning and command structure. These organ-
izational structures have discouraged the unnecessary duplication of military
capabilities. They have provided the smaller members with access to intelligence
about potential external threats and other assets that they would otherwise have
lacked. And as a side beneWt, they have placed constraints on the ability of many
members to use their forces for purely national purposes (DuYeld 1994; TuschhoV
1999).
Third, international organizations of this type facilitate the use of issue linkage,
especially where their mandates comprehend multiple issue areas. States can
attempt to link issues outside of formal organizational frameworks. But
the inXuence that organizational decision rules confer upon members can be a
powerful source of leverage. Thus Britain was able to use its position in the
European Community to obtain continued support for economic sanctions on
Argentina by its reluctant partners during the 1982 Falklands Islands conXict
(Martin 1992a).
Whether international institutions take the form of sets of rules or collective
organizational actors, even some leading neoinstitutionalists have questioned just
how signiWcant their independent eVects actually are (Keohane and Martin 2003).
If states form institutions in response to the structural conditions they face, is it not
those conditions that best explain the outcomes associated with the institutions?
One further response to this ‘‘endogeneity’’ problem is to recognize that
international organizations can also assume the form of autonomous actors. States
often create bodies to perform various executive functions, such as the UN
Secretariat, the NATO International StaV, and others (Abbott and Snidal 1998).
646 john s. duffield

These supranational bodies are typically endowed with responsibilities, resources,

such as technical expertise and information, and a certain degree of discretion
that enable them to act independently to an important extent, or what has been
termed ‘‘agency slack’’ (Keohane and Martin 2003, 102–3; Barnett and Finnemore
2004).
Although such organizations are not typically able to act in ways that directly
contravene the interests of the states that create them, especially the more powerful
ones, their autonomy allows them to perform certain functions more eVectively
than individual or even groups of states. As relatively neutral actors, international
organizations may be able to serve as monitors or arbiters in politically charged
situations where others may be refused access. Even if they are working on behalf of
member states, their seemingly non-partisan nature will often make their activities
more acceptable (Abbott and Snidal 1998).
In the security realm, the secretaries general of both the UN and NATO or their
representatives have often been called upon to serve as mediators. Within NATO,
the perceived impartiality of its high-level military commanders has enabled them
to resolve conXicts and gain national concessions on disputed issues (TuschhoV
1999). IAEA inspectors are more likely to gain access to the nuclear facilities of the
organization’s members than would representatives of some individual countries.
Perhaps the most prominent example is the practice of UN peacekeeping, which
has allowed powerful states to support conXict resolution without becoming
directly involved (Abbott and Snidal 1998, 19).

4.4 Social Constructivism: Institutions as Schools

A second escape from the endogeneity trap lies in the recognition that inter-
national institutions can sometimes alter the basic structural variables that give
rise to them in the Wrst place through a variety of feedback mechanisms (Krasner
1983a). Such a process is implicit in the problem of relative gains, whereby
states’ compliance with international institutions can result in shifts in the
distribution of power. Of particular interest here, however, are situations in
which a state’s participation in international institutions can alter its eVective
policy preferences.
Preference change can come about in several general ways. One approach focuses
on the internal distributional consequences of international institutions, which can
promote the formation and strengthening of domestic and transnational actors
with an interest in compliance and weaken those that are opposed (Milner 1988;
Haas 1990). Another approach emphasizes the internalization of institutional rules,
which can be translated into domestic legislation, organizational routines, and
standard operating procedures (Müller 1993; Young 1999).
 international security institutions 647

Perhaps the most developed and inXuential approach is social constructivism,

which starts from the premise that (international) actors and social structures are
mutually constituted. In contrast to rationalist approaches, social constructivism
holds that the nature of actors is malleable and subject to modiWcation through
processes of interaction (e.g. Adler 1997; Ruggie 1998; Wendt 1999). In particular,
for the purposes of this discussion, a state’s involvement with or participation in an
ISI can bring about changes in its interests and even its very identity, which in
turn can have long-term behavior implications. From this perspective, then,
international institutions are eVectively schools in which actors learn or are taught
new understandings and meanings.
Beyond these broad shared parameters, social constructivist work varies on a
number of dimensions. One is the unit of analysis. Social constructivists have
focused on individuals, elites, central decision-makers, governmental organiza-
tions, social groups, and society as a whole. With few exceptions, however, they
agree that meaningful analysis requires abandoning the state-centric ontology of
neorealism and neoinstitutionalism and considering various domestic actors.
Another source of variation is the particular ideational change that is of interest.
Although social constructivism is usually framed in terms of interests/goals and
identities/loyalties, it can also comprehend world-views or deWnitions of the
situation, including images of other actors; beliefs about how most eVectively to
achieve one’s goals; and values.
In addition, social constructivists have identiWed and explored several mechan-
isms through which ideational change might occur in international institutional
contexts. One is learning. Here, exposure via direct experience, such as personal
contacts and interaction, or more goal-directed study may lead to emulation or
imitation (Nye 1987; Checkel 1997). A second mechanism is teaching, whereby an
organizational actor actively seeks to instruct state members via conferences,
training programs, on-site consulting, and other means (Finnemore 1993).
Teaching models typically presuppose some asymmetry in authority or technical
expertise. Finally, actors may seek to persuade one another, using international
institutions and especially organizations as discourse arenas that facilitate
argumentative processes (Risse 2000; Checkel 2001; Johnston 2001).
Whether and how much ideational change will occur within ISIs as a result of
such processes may depend on a number of institutional characteristics, not to
mention other factors. One is the extent of exposure or density of interactions,
which would seem to favor ISIs with well-developed organizational components.
A second is the informality of intrainstitutional interactions, which may facilitate
argumentative processes. A third is the degree of hierarchy inherent in the
institutional setting, which can both facilitate and hinder the transfer of ideas
depending on the other characteristics of the actors involved.
Thus far, related empirical work has not focused particularly on the eVects of
ISIs. Nevertheless, a number of relevant examples of social constructivist dynamics
648 john s. duffield

at work in the security realm can be found. Perhaps the Wrst to be noted concerned
US–Soviet security relations, where interactions in a variety of institutional forums
were seen as contributing to changing Soviet elite views about nuclear weapons and
of the United States (Nye 1987; Müller 1993). Within NATO, scholars have also
found evidence of institutionally-driven ideational change. Individuals working
within the organization have developed more complex loyalties (TuschhoV 1999),
and the alliance allegedly played a role in reshaping post-uniWcation German
attitudes about the legitimacy of outside military interventions (Harnisch and
Maull 2001). More recently, Chinese participation in the dialogue process of the
ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF) has changed the beliefs of Chinese oYcials in
charge of ARF policy about their country’s interests with regard to regional security
institutions and issues (Johnston 1999, 291).

5 By Way of Conclusion:
The Importance of ISIs in a
Neohegemonic Era
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

What can we conclude about the signiWcance of ISIs? The empirical record indi-
cates that they have had noteworthy eVects of diVerent types through a variety of
causal mechanisms. These eVects range from modiWcations of state behavior
induced by the presence of institutional rules to the autonomous activities of
international organizations to changes in the internal characteristics of states
through their involvement in ISIs.
Although one can oVer a number of illustrations of such eVects, however,
existing scholarship leaves a number of important questions unanswered. It is
not yet possible to say much about (a) when or how often particular eVects will
occur; (b) how signiWcant particular eVects are with regard to the overall nature,
behavior, and security of aVected states; (c) how the diVerent types of eVects and
the mechanisms through which they occur may vary across the basic types of ISIs;
and (d) how they may or may not diVer between ISIs and international institutions
in other issue areas. Clearly, there is room for much more theory-guided,
comparative empirical research on the subject.
Another important area for future research concerns ISIs as dependent variables.
Again, one can Wnd a substantial number of theoretical works on the determinants
of international institutions more generally and the forms they may take
(e.g. Krasner 1983b; Snidal 1985; Martin 1992b; Richards 1999; Gruber 2000;
 international security institutions 649

Koremenos, Lipson, and Snidal 2001). Indeed, this literature is better developed
than that on institutional eVects (Martin and Simmons 1998). But it has not paid
particular attention to ISIs and the ways in which they may diVer both among
themselves and from international institutions in other issue areas. Perhaps the
choice between inclusive and exclusive ISIs and between operative and contingent
rules might best be understood in terms of the basic security challenges faced by
states. But few actual ISIs fall neatly into just one of these categories, and consid-
erable additional variation in their formation, persistence, and characteristics
would remain to be explained.
Even as scholars continue to develop new theories and to examine the historical
record, it is also important for them to draw on the insights so far obtained in order
to shed light on current problems and to inform policy choices. Indeed, the present
era would seem to pose a particularly useful test for theories bearing on the
signiWcance of ISIs. On the one hand, the international system is characterized by
the presence of a number of well-developed ISIs. On the other hand, with the end
of the cold war and the disintegration of the Soviet Union, the structural condi-
tions that gave rise to many of these ISIs have been profoundly altered. In
particular, the United States has emerged as an unrivaled and unprecedented
superpower (Ikenberry 2003). And in more recent years, the international security
agenda has come to be dominated, at least for some important states, by
a concern—international terrorism—that was not foreseen when most of the
existing ISIs were founded. Consequently, it is well worth asking just how useful
these ISIs can and will prove to be and how much inXuence they may be expected
to exert. Scholars associated with the various approaches discussed above are
unlikely to be of one mind on the issue, but it is nevertheless instructive to explore
the implications of their theoretical arguments.
Current conditions would seem to be especially propitious for the realization of
neorealist expectations. A hegemonic power should be uniquely free to disregard its
pre-existing institutional obligations and even to reshape them to suit its interests.
This dynamic should be particularly pronounced in the novel circumstances
attending the war on terrorism. ISIs should signiWcantly aVect the behavior of only
relatively weak states, which the hegemon may alternatively force or induce to comply.
Recent years have oVered a wealth of evidence that can be interpreted as
supporting this perspective. Even before the terrorist attacks of September 2001,
the United States had rejected several recently negotiated security arrangements
that enjoyed broad international support, including the International Criminal
Court, and it was moving to withdraw from the long-standing ABM Treaty. The
immediate US response to the attacks in Afghanistan took place largely outside
existing institutional frameworks such as the UN and NATO, and it subsequently
invaded Iraq without the endorsement of the Security Council. More generally, the
United States under the Bush administration has attempted to loosen traditional
international restrictions regarding the use of force.
650 john s. duffield

At the same time, however, other perspectives suggest reasons not to expect the
postwar institutional security architecture to be abandoned and, beyond that, for
existing ISIs to continue to enjoy signiWcant inXuence, even with the United States.
One is the enduring relevance of more traditional security concerns, such as
interstate conXict and nuclear non-proliferation, for which the institutions were
devised.
Another reason is the practical limits on the ability of the United States to
address by itself the full range of threats, both new and traditional, that it faces. As
the war in Iraq has shown, the United States may be able single-handedly to
overthrow an unfriendly regime, but not to provide security and stability in the
aftermath. Likewise, without the cooperation of other states, the United States is
less likely to be able to prevent the further proliferation of technologies and
materials useful for the construction of nuclear weapons. More generally, even
hegemonic powers have incentives to build and maintain rule-based international
orders that place some constraints on their behavior as a means of preserving their
power and securing the acquiescence of others (Ikenberry 2003).
Third, only institutions can provide one resource that even powerful states Wnd
helpful—and sometimes essential—for achieving their goals: international
legitimacy. With institutionally-conferred legitimacy comes the possibility of
greater cooperation and less opposition by other states (Ikenberry 2003). Just
how important this is has been evidenced by the diYculties experienced by the
United States in obtaining international support for post-conXict operations in
Iraq. It is also suggested by the lengths to which the Bush administration went to
work through the UN Security Council before ultimately deciding to invade
without authorization.
Finally, some existing ISIs are characterized by a considerable degree of
adaptability, which renders them potentially useful under a wide range of circum-
stances. One important example is the development and continued broadening of
UN-sponsored peacekeeping operations. Another is the post-cold war use of
NATO to intervene militarily and mount post-conXict peace operations in the
Balkans and even distant Afghanistan. Just how adaptable any particular ISI might
be will depend on the fungibility of its assets (Wallander 2000), but it would seem
to be far too early to write oV many as irrelevant to today’s security challenges.

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 chapter 33
...................................................................................................................................................

I N T E R NAT I O NA L
ECONOMIC
INSTITUTIONS
...................................................................................................................................................

lisa l. martin

Many of the world’s international economic transactions today are organized by

international economic institutions (IEIs). The international political economic en-
vironment is highly institutionalized, and international economic organizations play
an important role in the international distribution of wealth. As such, these organiza-
tions have become subject to intense public scrutiny, some supportive and some
hostile.1 IEIs have also increasingly been the subject of rigorous scholarly study.
These political institutions are particularly studied by political scientists, using the
same intellectual frameworks used to study international organizations more generally.
This chapter considers the frameworks used to study IEIs and highlights issues
that should prompt future research agendas on this topic. I focus on the following
themes: First, an understanding of the causes and consequences of IEIs requires
that we begin by specifying the fundamental strategic problems that IEIs address.

1 There is a valid distinction between institutions and organizations, as other chapters in this
Handbook make clear. In the international relations literature, the term ‘‘institutions’’ is used to refer
more generally to sets of rules and norms. ‘‘Organizations’’ embody these norms and are empowered
to take actions. However, in this case, the distinction does not hold any great analytical consequences.
Most institutions also have substantial organizational structure. One exception, perhaps, is the GATT.
The GATT began as a series of bargained agreements, and had barely any organizational structure, not
even a mailing address. However, the GATT gained such structure over time, and now as the WTO its
organizational status is Wrmly established.
 international economic institutions 655

In the realm of international trade, states face large potential gains from reducing
barriers to exchange, but also constant political pressures to renege on liberalizing
agreements. Thus, IEIs confront dilemmas at the bargaining, monitoring, and
enforcement stages. In the international Wnancial institutions (IFIs), the basic
problem is to encourage beneWcial Xows of capital while avoiding moral hazard
problems that would result from unfettered access to external resources. As a result,
these organizations constantly balance political and economic interests, and much
research has treated the IFIs as principals of their state agents. A second major
theme, running through all of the above issues, is the balance between rule-based
interaction and the unconstrained exercise of economic and political power.
As the number of IEIs is vast, I have to be selective about the organizations on
which I concentrate. Generally, I will focus on institutions that structure trade and
Wnancial relationships. In particular, I will consider the GATT/WTO (the General
Agreement on TariVs and Trade, now called the World Trade Organization) and
regional trade organizations, and the Bretton Woods institutions in the Wnancial
area (the World Bank and International Monetary Fund (IMF)). This is not to say
that other organizations are unimportant. The Organization for Economic
Cooperation and Development (OECD) is a vital grouping of developed
economies that collects and exchanges substantial economic information, for
example. A wide range of organizations facilitates more speciWc forms of economic
exchange, such as tourism or trade in particular commodities. Regional develop-
ment banks play an increasingly important role in development, and regulatory
accords (such as the Basle Accord) have at times had profound eVects. Neverthe-
less, concentrating on the major trade and Wnancial institutions has advantages.
The scholarly work on these organizations is richer and deeper than that on other
IEIs. In addition, the general analytical questions addressed in studies of these
organizations should provide substantial insight into other types of IEIs.
I begin by providing some background on the study of institutions generally in
international relations (IR). This discussion shows how the study of institutions
moved from being purely descriptive or normative to developing strong analytical
foundations. The modern study of IEIs is Wrmly grounded in this more general IR
tradition. Then I turn to focus on trade organizations, then the IFIs. I conclude by
summarizing where the study of IEIs now stands, and what the most promising
directions for future research might be.

1 Intellectual Background
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Our understanding of the functioning and eVects of IEIs has its roots in the modern
scholarly study of international institutions and international organizations (IOs)
656 lisa l. martin

generally, which began in the early 1980s. Prior to this time, the study of IOs was
quite policy-oriented and descriptive, lacking an overarching analytical framework
(Martin and Simmons 1998). This lack of a theoretical foundation meant that,
although individual studies generated strong insights, they did not cumulate to
create a coherent picture of or debate about the role of IOs in the world economy.
This situation changed with the publication of an edited volume called Inter-
national Regimes (Krasner 1983) and of Robert Keohane’s book After Hegemony
(Keohane 1984). These books cast international institutions in a new light and
suggested a novel explanatory framework for studying them. The puzzle that
motivated this research began with two observations: That international economic
cooperation in the 1970s was stable in spite of substantial shifts in the distribution
of international economic power, and that organizations such as the Bretton
Woods institutions and the GATT were prominent features of the economic
landscape. Keohane and others argued that these two observations were connected
to one another, and that the existence of institutions and IOs explained the
persistence of economic cooperation.
The fundamental logic of this line of work is summarized in Keohane (1982).
In order for states to cooperate, they must overcome a range of collective-action
problems. No external enforcement exists in the international economy, so any
agreements must be self-enforcing. This means that states must Wnd ways to
avoid temptations to cheat, for example by reneging on agreements to encourage
trade by erecting protectionist barriers. Avoiding such temptations requires high-
quality information about the actions and preferences of other states, and about
the likely consequences of cheating on agreements. In addition, states must
coordinate their actions, for example agreeing on common technological and
public-health standards. IOs provide forums in which states can mitigate collect-
ive-action problems that threaten stable patterns of cooperation. IOs can per-
form monitoring functions, providing assurance that others are living up to the
terms of their commitments. They are forums for negotiating to resolve coord-
ination problems, and to learn about the preferences and constraints facing other
governments. They create structures for enforcement and dispute resolution,
although actual enforcement powers typically remain in the hands of member
states.
Through these functions, IOs become a valuable foundation for cooperation and
for the global economy. Thus patterns of cooperation can be more resilient in the
face of underlying shifts in economic power and interests. The initial work
applying this ‘‘contractual’’ view of institutions concentrated on international
regimes, deWned as sets of principles, norms, rules, and decision-making proced-
ures (Krasner 1982). One advantage of examining regimes, as compared to the
earlier focus on individual IOs, is that this shift allowed researchers to consider
informal institutions as well as formalized bodies. While in more recent years much
attention has shifted back to formal IOs, the understanding that informal bodies of
 international economic institutions 657

norms sustain cooperation in the global economy underlies even work on individ-
ual organizations today.
While research on international regimes represented a major step forward in the
analysis of international institutions, it was subject to criticism from a number
of perspectives. Friedrich Kratochwil and John Ruggie (1986) recognized the
contributions of regime analysis, but worried that it was moving too far from
the analysis of speciWc IOs, thus missing some important internal organizational
dynamics. Stephan Haggard and Beth Simmons (1987) surveyed a number of
weaknesses of regime analysis from the perspective of those undertaking positive
empirical research on regimes. Because the concept of regimes was broadly deWned
and regimes diYcult to observe independent of their eVects, much eVort went into
determining whether or not regimes actually existed in various issue-areas, and
whether changes in patterns of behavior reXected changes within regimes or of
regimes. It is not clear that these descriptive debates added a great deal to our
understanding of the causes and consequences of institutions in the international
environment.
Other major weaknesses of the literature included its state-centric focus and
neglect of domestic politics. Giulio Gallarotti (1991) argued that IOs systematically
failed in their attempts to manage diYcult problems in international relations. The
inability of IOs to resolve serious conXict, in his analysis, reXected not just random
mistakes, but a systematic pattern of failure. IOs could even have perverse eVects,
exacerbating conXict rather than mitigating it. For these reasons, Gallarotti argued
against relying too heavily on formal IOs to manage international relations. Oran
Young (1991) criticized the regimes literature for neglecting the role of political
leadership. Many of these criticisms have been echoed in recent years in the analysis
of IEIs.
One of the most telling critiques of the regimes literature came, perhaps para-
doxically, from the editor of the Regimes volume, Stephen Krasner (1991).
He charged that the work on regimes was too focused on market failures: Instances
where all could potentially beneWt from mutual cooperation, but where collective-
action problems such as high transaction costs prohibited states from reaching
the ‘‘Pareto frontier.’’ In his survey of eVorts to cooperate in the Weld of commu-
nication, he found that states had little trouble reaching the Pareto frontier. It was
relatively easy for them to identify the set of bargains from which it would be
impossible to make all better oV. Instead, they found themselves trapped by
distributional conXict, having to choose among bargains that beneWted some
while harming others. Thus the most signiWcant problem plaguing eVorts at
international cooperation was not providing a good contractual environment to
overcome transaction-costs problems such as informational limitations, but
a coordination problem in which states disagreed over which of multiple
Pareto-eYcient equilibria they preferred. Krasner’s insight has led to a revision of
early work on regimes, which claimed that coordination problems would be
658 lisa l. martin

relatively easy to solve (Stein 1982). A new focus on how institutions might aid in
resolving coordination problems has added depth to our understanding of IOs’
functions (Morrow 1994; Oatley and Nabors 1998).
In the 1990s, the theory of international institutions became deeper and richer.
Ruggie and Keohane brought the concept of multilateralism back into the study of
institutions. Keohane (1990) deWned multilateralism simply, as cooperation among
three or more states, while Ruggie (1992) conceptualized multilateralism as a set of
norms that prescribed certain patterns of behavior, such as non-discrimination.
Both served to redirect attention to variation among types of institutions, a highly
productive move for the Weld. Another debate arose regarding the problem
of compliance with the rules of IOs and with international agreements more
generally. A managerial school, representing primarily the views of legal scholars,
argued that states generally wanted to comply with international rules, and that
variation in compliance was therefore not a compelling puzzle (Chayes and Chayes
1993). Political scientists responded by noting that the managerial argument was
plagued by selection bias: if states almost always complied with the rules, it was
likely because they would only accept rules that demanded minimal changes in
their patterns of behavior. The appropriate question, therefore, was not so much
compliance as how diVerent structures of rules would promote far-reaching
changes in behavior that left states open to exploitation, or ‘‘deep cooperation’’
(Downs, Rocke, and Barsoom 1996). Interestingly, both the managerial and
contractual schools agreed on the conclusion that variation in patterns of compli-
ance was not a terribly important or interesting question, although they came to
this conclusion by diVerent paths. The managerial school argued that little
variation in compliance could be observed because states are obliged to comply.
The formal analysis of compliance argued that minimal observed variation in
compliance simply reXected the fact that states are unlikely to make commitments
on which they intend to renege. Nevertheless, empirical research on variation in
compliance has continued, leading to some intriguing Wndings (Brown Weiss and
Jacobson 1998; Simmons 2000).
Other theoretical developments focus on the form and design of IOs. One body of
work asks why IOs are becoming more ‘‘legalized:’’ They more often incorporate
legalistic features such as third-party dispute settlement (Goldstein, Kahler, Keohane,
and Slaughter 2000). Researchers have begun to explore the advantages and possible
disadvantages of legalization for promoting international cooperation. Another
body of work focuses on design principles for IOs. Starting from the assumption
that IOs are designed to resolve collective-action problems, analysts have derived a
number of hypotheses about the form of IOs (Koremenos, Lipson, and Snidal 2001).
For example, if states design an IO to reduce the transaction costs of monitoring
members’ behavior, we would expect the organization to have relatively centralized
monitoring capacities. Using logic like this, dimensions of IOs such as their central-
ization and autonomy from member states can be explained. David Lake (1996)
 international economic institutions 659

broadens our theoretical perspective on institutions by noting that the typical IO

constitutes only one point on a wide spectrum of forms of international organiza-
tion, ranging from complete anarchy to hierarchical organization, as in empires.
Kenneth Abbott and Duncan Snidal (1998) returned to one of the initial questions
posed by the regimes literature, about why sometimes states cooperate informally,
while at other times they choose to create formal IOs. Coming from a contractual
perspective, Abbott and Snidal argue that transaction costs and trade-oVs between
autonomy and the beneWts of commitment explain patterns of formalization.
Overall, these developments in the study of international institutions provide a
Wrm foundation for more specialized studies of IEIs. They suggest that one of the
Wrst questions to be asked when studying a particular organization is to ask about
the problems it was designed to address. An understanding of these issues then
leads to predictions about the form and functioning of the organization, and about
its eVects on economic Xows and conditions. Two areas where this style of analysis
has been applied most extensively are trade institutions and the IFIs. I turn Wrst to
analysis of the GATT/WTO and regional trade agreements, then to the Bretton
Woods institutions.

2 Trade Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Much recent work in IEIs has turned to rigorous empirical analysis, applying the
kinds of models and analytical frameworks described above. Most international
trade is now regulated by structures of rules and formal organizations, most
notably the GATT/WTO on the global level. In addition, a number of powerful
regional trade agreements such as the North American Free Trade Agreement
(NAFTA) have developed. Understanding the functioning of these global and
regional organizations, their form and eVects, is crucial for an understanding of
international trade more generally, and has implications for the broader analysis of
international political institutions. In general terms, the story of the institutional-
ization of international trade can be described as a continuing struggle between
attempts to negotiate and enforce consistent norms and rules, and the desire of
powerful states to exert their inXuence over outcomes. Whether we consider the
process of bargaining, of dispute resolution, or the use of institutional loopholes,
we see this struggle deWning the terms of political and scholarly debate. As the
works discussed in this section suggest, while there are large potential beneWts
to be gained from consistently enforced rules, the evidence suggests that most
international trade outcomes continue to be heavily inXuenced by power politics.
660 lisa l. martin

As the general framework described above suggests, the Wrst step in analyzing a
trade organization is to identify the fundamental problems it needs to address.
International trade presents a classic strategic problem, often modeled as a
Prisoners’ Dilemma. Impediments to trade are costly, decreasing the aggregate
welfare of states by increasing costs to consumers, depriving exporters of markets,
and generally distorting the allocation of economic resources. Thus, decreasing
impediments to trade oVers aggregate welfare beneWts for states. Jointly moving
away from a situation of high levels of protection for domestic producers is a
Pareto-improving move for states as aggregate entities. However, this does not
mean that every individual within these states will beneWt from freer trade. In
particular, domestic producers who will be forced into increased competition from
imports will not beneWt from trade liberalization, and will lobby the government
for continued protection (Grossman and Helpman 1994). Thus, governments face
continual pressure to renege on the terms of trade agreements, providing protec-
tion for injured domestic actors.
International trade institutions thus have to face two fundamental problems.
First is to structure and facilitate international bargaining to move toward
reduction of trade barriers. While small states—those who cannot inXuence
world prices because of the small size of their economies—exercise little bargaining
power and can do best by unilaterally removing trade barriers, large states bargain
hard to gain advantages for their exporters in exchange for reducing their own
levels of protection. In fact, ‘‘empowered’’ exporters are typically the most import-
ant force driving negotiation of reduced levels of protection (Gilligan 1997). By
creating a framework in which negotiators can agree on which trade barriers to
reduce and by how much, trade institutions can do much to enhance international
Xows of goods and services. The second major problem, however, is to set up
mechanisms to encourage states to live up to the terms of these agreements.
Because of the constant political pressure to deviate from the terms of liberalized
trade, governments are tempted to impose new barriers or simply fail fully to
implement the liberalization measures agreed on. As the framework described
above suggests, we are unlikely to see trade institutions directly empowered to
enforce agreements in order to overcome these temptations. However, they can
nevertheless play a substantial role in facilitating decentralized enforcement.
We see trade institutions developing strong monitoring and dispute-resolution
mechanisms, and standards for punishment of those who defect from agreements,
in response to these challenges.
Consider Wrst the bargaining problems associated with international trade. Kyle
Bagwell and Robert Staiger (1999) oVer a general economic theory of the structure
of the GATT/WTO based on an analysis of the bargaining problem. They begin
from the observation that the only feasible and self-enforcing bargains on inter-
national trade are those that preserve the existing terms of trade: if deals change the
terms of trade, at least one of the parties to the bargain will refuse to live up to its
 international economic institutions 661

terms.2 The structure of GATT/WTO is thus designed to promote liberalization—

reduction in barriers to exchange—while maintaining existing terms of trade. This
principle explains why norms such as non-discrimination and reciprocity are so
important in trade institutions, and why they go hand-in-hand. Reciprocity assures
that any agreements reached will maintain existing terms of trade, as reduced
protection in one state must be matched by similar ‘‘concessions’’ by others.
Non-discrimination means that any liberalizing measures need to be extended to
all trading partners, most famously through the ‘‘most-favored-nation’’ principle.
Reciprocity without non-discrimination would lead to an extremely complex set of
bilateral deals and allow opportunities to undermine agreements’ intent through
shifting the location of production and other mechanisms. The GATT/WTO also
structures bargaining so that the major producers and consumers for various goods
are given a primary role in reaching deals. While this somewhat exclusionary
process is often protested by smaller states, without it the necessary deals that
preserve terms of trade could never be reached.
Another aspect of the bargaining process is how it can be structured so as to
encourage liberalization. One element of this process is to assure that the process
encourages exporters—the most immediate beneWciaries of liberal trade—to mo-
bilize and exert pressure on governments to reach deals. The GATT/WTO structure
assures that exporters have incentives to mobilize, by making clear the beneWts that
will accrue to them; again, the norm of reciprocity plays a large role here (Gilligan
1997). In addition, the fact that negotiators reach complex ‘‘package deals’’ that are
subject to an up-or-down vote back home allows them to put together sets of
measures that will meet with political approval. One important question is how
transparent negotiations should be. They are often carried out behind closed doors,
although with suYcient information available that aVected exporters recognize the
potential beneWts on the table. However, Goldstein and Martin (2000) point out
that too much transparency in the bargaining process could be detrimental to
the process of liberalization, as it could increase the certainty that particular
import-competitors would lose from deals, leading them to mobilize more
extensively.
From an institutional perspective, a major question about bargaining is whether
the institutional structure itself inXuences the outcomes. Compared to unstruc-
tured, ad hoc bargaining, does the GATT/WTO structure lead to outcomes that
protect the interests of smaller states, for example? Does it encourage greater
liberalization? Both could well be true. Although the ‘‘principal suppliers’’ norm

2 The terms of trade are the relative price of imports to exports. A country improves its terms of
trade by increasing the price it gets for its exports, or by paying less for its imports. Obviously, a shift
in these terms will beneWt one side while hurting the other. Thus, as long as trade agreements must be
approved by all parties, they must hold the terms of trade constant, otherwise one side will veto the
agreement.
662 lisa l. martin

means that interests of large states, those that can aVect world prices, continue to
be powerful in bargaining within the GATT/WTO, the fact that small states are
engaged in various ways in each negotiating round, and have to approve the Wnal
agreement, could give rise to more respect for their interests. On the question of
liberalization, one advantage of multilateral, structured negotiations is that they
enhance the scope for mutually-beneWcial deals, compared to bilateral bargaining.
These institutionalist hypotheses have been subjected to empirical investigation.
On the outcomes of bargaining, Richard Steinberg (2002) Wnds that the GATT/
WTO structure has not demonstrably promoted the interests of developing
countries. He argues that each bargaining round begins with a law-based process
designed to give account to all participants’ interests. However, the conclusion of a
round involves tough deal-cutting, and has generally been dominated by powerful
states. Thus, the United States and European Union (EU) have dominated the
agenda, in spite of the attempt to use rules to craft a more equitable consensus. In
contrast, Christina Davis (2003) Wnds substantial support for the proposition that
multilateral bargaining leads to greater liberalization than a bilateral setting.
Concentrating on one of the toughest trade issues, agriculture, she demonstrates
that trade conXict between the United States and EU or Japan is resolved in a
manner that promotes liberalization when bargaining takes place in a multilateral
setting. Davis attributes this outcome to the potential for issue-linkage as well as
legal framing and reputation.
The other major problem to be resolved by a global trade organization is to
assure that states will uphold the agreements they reach. On the one hand,
information must be widely available about whether states are living up to the
terms of their commitments. Here, institutions face a relatively easy challenge,
because many private (and public) actors are highly motivated to monitor what
other governments are doing. If an exporter is Wnding it more diYcult than
expected to sell to a particular country or is losing market share, this actor
has high incentives to discover any violations of international agreements by
competitors. In addition, the structure of punishment procedures creates incen-
tives for producers for the domestic market to uncover violations as well. If another
country is found to have violated a commitment, the type of punishment approved
by the WTO is to impose some kind of countervailing duty; that is, to increase
tariVs on imports from that country in retaliation. Since domestic producers will
beneWt from such retaliation, they have an interest in monitoring other states’
compliance with trade accords. Thus, the rather ingenious but simple punishment
scheme typically used in trade agreements facilitates ‘‘Wre-alarm’’ monitoring
mechanisms; little direct oversight by the organization itself would appear neces-
sary (McCubbins and Schwartz 1984). However, governments have become adept
at non-obvious forms of protection, such as obscure product-standard regulations.
Not surprisingly, we see that as the GATT/WTO has developed over time, it
has gained enhanced monitoring capacities, now undertaking regular systematic
 international economic institutions 663

reviews of members’ practices. Nevertheless, nearly all enforcement cases at the

WTO come from interested parties, not from the WTO’s own eVorts.
Both economists and political scientists have focused on the WTO’s dispute
resolution mechanism. Economists, like lawyers, typically ask whether it is optimal
from the perspective of promoting trade (Bütler and Hauser 2000; Hudec 1993;
Jackson 1998). They also ask whether, as structured, it is eVective in reaching this
goal. These studies generally Wnd that, while the WTO mechanisms are not fully
optimal, over time the development of these mechanisms has been moving in the
right direction. Rules that allowed the blatant exercise of state power, such as the
ability to veto panel decisions, have been phased out. It has become easier for states
without extensive legal and administrative capacities to initiate the dispute process.
Overall, as the system has become more institutionalized and legalized, in norma-
tive terms it has come closer to meeting the demands of economic eYciency.
However, the evidence on whether these new rules are in fact operating as intended
remains quite mixed.
Political scientists, in contrast to the normative focus of economists, tend to
focus on the distributional eVects of the dispute settlement mechanism, for
example whether it tends to favor larger or smaller states. This leads them to
consider questions such as which states bring complaints more often and against
whom. They also focus on the patterns of settlement, asking which cases are
resolved early and which go through the full process, and attempt to make
judgments about which states most often prevail in these disputes. Marc Busch
(2000) has focused on the formation of dispute settlement panels, asking which
cases actually escalate to the panel stage as opposed to being settled at an earlier
stage. This question is fundamental, because the evidence shows that the threat of
future legal proceedings tends to generate larger levels of concessions if disputes are
settled early; states are threatened as much by the process itself as by the actual
decision (Reinhardt 2001). However, Busch Wnds that changes in procedures have
not substantially altered paneling outcomes. Busch and Reinhardt (2003) similarly
Wnd that improved WTO procedures have not, in fact, allowed poor countries to
achieve better outcomes. Instead, wealthier countries have tended to do better,
suggesting that the capacity to litigate is an important component of success.
Overall, the theoretical and empirical studies of the GATT/WTO suggest that the
demands of politics and power continue strongly to inXuence international trade
outcomes, in spite of higher levels of institutionalization over time.
Beyond the WTO, another notable development in the institutionalization of
trade has been the proliferation and strengthening of regional trade organizations.
Dispute settlement is a prominent feature of regional trade organizations, as it is of
the WTO. James McCall Smith (2000) asks about variation in the legalization of
dispute resolution mechanisms, and Wnds that it is largely explained by asymmetry
in the powers of states that belong to the organizations. Small states prefer legalized
mechanisms that bind powerful ones, while powerful states prefer to avoid legal
664 lisa l. martin

constraints so that they can exercise their bargaining power. Frederick Abbott (2000)
also examines a regional organization, NAFTA, from the perspective of legalization.
While Abbott Wnds legalization an important strategy in the Americas, in Asia it has
gained little foothold for a variety of reasons surveyed by Miles Kahler (2000).
A number of hypotheses exist for explaining variation in legalization and formaliza-
tion across regions and issue-areas, but systematic empirical exploration of
these hypotheses is one of the signiWcant remaining challenges for scholars of IEIs.
The impact of domestic economic interests on regional trading arrangements,
and the relationship between the WTO and such arrangements, have also received
rigorous empirical scrutiny. Again, the balance between rule-based constraints and
the exercise of bargaining power informs these studies. MansWeld and Reinhardt
(2003) argue that the growth of regional preferential trading arrangements (PTAs)
has in fact been driven by the dynamics of bargaining within the WTO. As each
round of WTO bargaining commences, states look to enhance their bargaining
power. Entering or establishing PTAs, which improve the ‘‘exit options’’ for their
members should WTO bargaining fail, is a mechanism by which states enhance
their leverage within the WTO. Kerry Chase (2003), focusing more on the domestic
level, instead Wnds that the primary forces driving the creation of a major PTA,
NAFTA, were the demands of Wrms with large economies of scale. These were the
Wrms that would beneWt the most from the creation of a PTA, and drove US policy
toward NAFTA through intense lobbying. Of course, this argument requires that
the economies of scale these Wrms face exist on a regional rather than global level;
otherwise, the same dynamic would lead these Wrms to push for more intense
WTO lobbying instead.
Issues of institutional design and its eVects have dominated studies of bargaining
and dispute resolution in international trade. One speciWc issue of institutional
design, across both global and regional institutions, is the conditions under which
states can ‘‘legally’’ evade trade rules, at least on a temporary basis. Downs, Rocke,
and Barsoom (1996) developed a general model of international cooperation in the
face of domestic political uncertainty that provides great insight into this problem.
When governments negotiate trade agreements, they know that they will face
political pressure to renege on these agreements. However, they do not know
with certainty how intense these pressures will be or from which sectors they will
come, because these pressures are subject to exogenous economic shocks and
shifting patterns of political mobilization. If unexpectedly intense demands to
renege emerge, governments may Wnd that they are better oV acceding to these
demands and withdrawing entirely from trade deals. However, if they were instead
allowed the option of temporarily backing out of their commitments in the face of
unusually high political pressures, the trade regime could survive and make all
better oV than if these ‘‘pressure valves’’ did not exist. Thus, the authors argue that
a certain level of ‘‘optimal imperfection’’ should be observed in agreements that
have this political structure, including trade agreements.
 international economic institutions 665

From an institutional perspective, this analysis suggests that the design of escape
clauses and related loopholes in trade institutions is of vital importance to the
success of these organizations. Scholars have picked up on this idea and developed
fairly precise arguments about the appropriate design of such loopholes. Rosen-
dorV and Milner (2001) show that escape clauses enhance the durability and
stability of trade institutions in the face of domestic political uncertainty. However,
to prevent the abuse of these clauses, states must bear a cost for using them. This
‘‘self-enforcing penalty’’ appears to be reXected in various dimensions of the WTO,
for example, requiring oVsetting concessions for the use of escape clauses. Barbara
Koremenos (2001) considers the Xexibility built into agreements in more general
terms. She sees the fundamental problem as one of assuring a certain distribution
of gains across states, rather than a response to unexpected domestic pressures.
This sort of uncertainty explains the incidence of renegotiation provisions in many
agreements.
Of course, all of this discussion of institutional bargaining, dispute resolution,
and design begs the question of the overall eVect of trade institutions on patterns
of international trade. Have trade Xows responded to the creation of global and
regional institutions? This is a complex issue, involving many counterfactuals,
that has barely begun to be explored. However, one inXuential study of the
GATT/WTO argues that it has, in fact, made little diVerence in patterns of
trade (Rose 2004). Controlling for other factors that determine trade Xows,
there is little evidence that GATT membership per se has increased observed
levels of trade. However, Rose does Wnd that developing countries that partici-
pated in the Generalized System of Preferences under the GATT (a major
deviation from the general norm of non-discrimination) did experience
increased trade. It is also possible that the great powers, which were able to
dominate the terms of debate, derived the greatest beneWts. Clearly, further work
on this issue is required. For example, to determine accurately the eVects of trade
institutions studies will have to deal adequately with the challenge of selection
bias: Controlling for the factors that determine which states join liberalizing
institutions in the Wrst place.
Overall, research on global and regional trade institutions nicely bears out the
major themes of this chapter. In many ways, the design and functioning of these
institutions reXects the basic strategic dilemmas of international trade. Promoting
beneWcial exchanges requires that institutions structure bargaining, monitor com-
pliance with commitments, and provide enforcement mechanisms. We also see that
the ongoing struggle between rule-based interaction and the exercise of power
plays out continually in these trade regimes. While rules attempt to constrain
the processes of bargaining and dispute resolution, the best empirical studies
conWrm that the actual functioning of these institutions reXect continuing realities
of power politics. I next turn from trade to Wnance, to consider the functioning of
the IFIs.
666 lisa l. martin

3 International Financial Institutions

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The other type of economic IO that has drawn extensive attention from political
scientists is the IFI. IFIs such as the IMF and the World Bank play a major role in the
world of international Wnance and money, and we are just beginning to understand
how the interaction of politics and economics works in these institutions. In order to
understand what IFIs do, we need to begin with some insight into the fundamental
strategic problems that they confront. These problems have led many analysts to use
a principal–agent framework to study the IFIs, asking about the relative freedom of
maneuver available to these organizations, given patterns of state interests. As in the
case of trade, this problem is played out in an ongoing battle between rules that
attempt to constrain state behavior and the continual exercise of state power.
And, again as in the case of trade, the empirical evidence shows both that
rules matter and that they have not succeeded in fully defeating power
politics. While the theoretically-informed study of IFIs is newer, and therefore
not as deep, as that of trade institutions, some intriguing insights are emerging.
The IMF and World Bank are known as the Bretton Woods institutions, as they
were created at the end of the Second World War at the Bretton Woods conference.
Initially, the main purpose of the IMF was to oversee the functioning of a Wxed
exchange rate regime. In order to make this regime work, the IMF was to organize
short-term support for members that were facing balance-of-payments crises. Over
time, the exchange rate regime fell apart. However, by then the IMF had proven
itself valuable at providing relief for states facing Wnancial crises, and has continued
to play the central role in these situations. The World Bank was initially intended to
provide funding for development eVorts, particularly for states too poor reliably to
access the private international capital market. Thus, the Bank funded longer-term
development projects, such as the construction of dams and roads. Over time the
speciWc types of programs funded by the IMF and Bank have tended to converge,
but some distinction remains.
In any Wnancial transaction, institutions need to walk a Wne line between
encouraging the provision of funding that will be beneWcial for both the borrower
and the lender and encouraging moral hazard. Moral hazard is a serious concern in
these transactions. Consider the typical case addressed by the IMF. A country has
fallen into a Wnancial crisis, either through poor policy or exogenous shocks. The
government Wnds itself unable to make good on its commitments to make pay-
ments on its outstanding debt, and the value of its currency is collapsing. If the
roots of the crisis will pass, the provision of temporary Wnancing will beneWt both
the country that receives the Wnancing and lenders, who will be likely to recover
more of their assets once the crisis has passed. However, a government that knows
that it will be bailed out of such crises is likely to behave more recklessly, adopting
inappropriate policies and overborrowing. This is the moral hazard dilemma.
 international economic institutions 667

The IMF has addressed the moral hazard problem by imposing conditions on
the lending programs that it oVers, attempting to force states to adopt more
responsible Wscal policies. While initially some IMF members opposed the use of
such conditionality, arguing that the organization’s role was to provide funding as
needed, the major creditors (especially the United States) have insisted on impos-
ing conditions. The number and types of conditions has expanded substantially
over the years. Governments wishing to conclude a program with the IMF must
typically commit to reduce public spending, increase collection of taxes, liberalize
their international economic relations, and even improve other areas of govern-
ance. Of course, such conditions are not popular for the governments that must
accept them. Even if they are economically justiWed (a point that some would
dispute), there are occasions on which the major creditor states would prefer looser
conditions for purely political reasons. For example, it is widely understood that
the United States opposed the imposition of tough conditions on Russia in the
early 1990s, wishing to assure Russia’s political stability. In addition, states that are
home to private creditors with substantial exposure in the crisis country are likely
to prefer looser conditions and Xows of capital.
This basic strategic problem—potential beneWts from capital Xows, but a moral
hazard problem—has led many scholars to use a principal–agent framework to
study the IMF and, less extensively, the World Bank. In this framework, the
members of the IFIs, especially the major creditors, are treated as the principals
that use the IFI to implement their preferred policies. IFIs, as agents, have their own
interests, usually understood as technocratic economic interests. The question is
then the extent to which the IFIs can pursue their own agenda vs. responding to the
speciWc demands of their principals. As such, the ongoing tug-of-war between rules
and power describes the dynamics of the IFIs.
Some analysts, such as Strom Thacker, demonstrate that the IMF’s patterns of
lending respond to the geopolitical interests of the United States, its dominant
member (Thacker 1999). The ‘‘public choice’’ school has studied the IMF as a self-
interested organization attempting to assert itself in the face of constant political
demands from its powerful member states. This work, like Thacker’s, illustrates that
these states are often able to exert substantial inXuence over the IMF’s activities.
Thus, while the IMF is an agent with some autonomy, it has a hard time escaping its
political conWnes. Dreher and Vaubel (2004) apply this analysis to examine the
evolution of conditionality over time, asking about the content and number of
conditions imposed. They demonstrate that the IMF can usefully be studied as a
bureaucracy with its own internal rules and interests. In this sense, they posit that it
has more autonomy than others have recognized. They reason that an autonomous
IMF should impose stringent conditionality on states that have a poor record of
living up to past commitments, and Wnd evidence to support this argument. Overall,
the evidence suggests that the IMF is an agent constrained by the political interests of
its principals, but one that is able to exert autonomy under certain conditions.
668 lisa l. martin

Others scholars, working within the same general principal–agent framework,

focus on the delegation of authority to IFIs. They ask why states would choose to
allow them what appears to be a substantial degree of autonomy. Some analysts
Wnd that delegation has not undermined the interests of the most powerful
member states, as delegation is itself a strategy for promoting these interests. For
example, Daniel Nielson and Michael Tierney (2003) demonstrate that the World
Bank’s environmental policies correlate highly with measures of the environmental
interests of the United States. Ngaire Woods (1998) has also argued that the United
States exerts very a substantial impact on World Bank and IMF programs. On the
other hand, Erica Gould (2003) is more skeptical about the ability of member states
to maintain control over IFI actions once they delegate authority. She argues that
the IMF, in its use of conditionality, often responds to private Wnancial actors
rather than state interests.
Thus, the institutionalist perspective has given rise to insights about the design
of the IFIs, particularly focusing on issues of delegation and inXuence. Some have
begun to critique this view of the IFIs, arguing that it underestimates the autonomy
of the staV of IFIs. Through the exercise of authority that is perceived as legitimate,
especially because it has the veneer of science, the IFIs may in fact be able to pursue
agendas that have little relationship to the interests of either major donors or
borrowers (Barnett and Finnemore 2004). This line of analysis presents a poten-
tially strong threat to the entire contractual framework, as it conceives of a very
diVerent relationship between states and institutions. For example, it suggests that
we should spend much more time analyzing processes of socialization within
institutions (see Johnston 2001). Another perspective suggests that we need to
draw on alternative theories of accountability to make sense of the role of IEIs
(Grant and Keohane 2005). While this perspective does not directly challenge the
contractual one, it does suggest that the contractual approach and its emphasis on
principal–agent relationships is too narrow a prism through which to study IEIs.
Issues of accountability have long been a concern both within the World Bank and
among those who study it, leading for example to the creation of an Inspection
Panel in 1993 to investigate complaints about the Bank’s activities (Bradlow 1996;
Shihata 1994; see also Pauly 1997).
The other major set of questions, of course, regards the impact of the IFIs on the
economies of the states where they are active. A literature is emerging around this
topic, and space prevents me from doing justice to it here. However, it is safe to say
that the evidence on the IMF, in particular, suggests that it has not been terribly
eVective in bringing countries high levels of growth (Easterly 2001). Countries that
enter IMF programs, rather than relying on them temporarily and then resuming a
‘‘normal’’ growth pattern, tend to remain under IMF tutelage for long periods of
time. IMF programs may increase income inequality even while failing to promote
aggregate growth (Vreeland 2003). Scholars have debated the causes of this
apparent lack of eYcacy. Some argue that it is precisely the autonomy of the
 international economic institutions 669

IMF, which wishes to loan large amounts of money, that causes conditions not to
be enforced and undermines programs (Vaubel 1986). Randall Stone (2004),
however, has recently presented persuasive evidence that the fundamental problem
is the reverse: that the Fund’s principals frequently intervene to promote leniency
toward favored states. This persistent inXuence of political pressures means that the
conditions the IMF so painstakingly negotiates are rarely imposed with any
consistency or credibility. Thus, the problem with IMF programs is not that they
are poorly designed or based on an inappropriate economic ideology. It is that even
well-designed programs are not enforced. Thus, just as in the case of trade, we Wnd
that the struggle between political inXuence and rule-based behavior deWnes the
impact of the IFIs on the world economy.

4 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

The new global economy is highly institutionalized. Understanding this phenom-

enon has led to the development of a vibrant Weld of political science centered on
the study of international institutions and IOs. This Weld continues to hold to a
primarily contractual view that sees institutions as solutions to collective action
problems. Thus, the study of IEIs begins by identifying the underlying strategic
problems that IEIs address. In the case of trade institutions, these problems involve
overcoming obstacles to bargaining, monitoring compliance with commitments,
and enforcing agreements. In the IFIs, the fundamental problem is to provide Xows
of needed capital while avoiding moral hazard problems. This tension sets up the
IFIs as agents of their state principals who frequently have conXicting interests.
Thus, the contractual approach with its emphasis on principals and agents has been
a powerful tool for studying IEIs. New perspectives are beginning to emerge, as
noted in this chapter, with a focus on socialization, legitimacy, and accountability.
However, they are not yet developed to the degree that they present a fundamental
challenge to the contractual approach.
The study of the IEIs consistently shows that their dynamics, design, and eVects
reXect an ongoing struggle between the exercise of power and the rule of law. While
some authors Wnd more evidence for the weight of one side in this battle than the
other, careful empirical research reveals that neither side triumphs. The IEIs will
continue to have a major inXuence on the global creation and distribution of wealth.
Those studying them need to push further to understand the sources of their speciWc
design features and to move toward more conditional, precise statements of their
eVects. However, the analytical frameworks so far developed have proven insightful
and appear to provide a strong foundation for this research agenda.
670 lisa l. martin

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 chapter 34
...................................................................................................................................................

I N T E R NAT I O NA L N G O S
...................................................................................................................................................

ann florini

1 Introduction
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

From tanks in the streets of Seattle in 1999 to untold millions of anti-war protestors
thronging cities throughout the world in 2003, a new type of political institution has
captured widespread attention, both popular and scholarly. After the 2003 protests,
the New York Times referred to the rise of a ‘‘second superpower’’ in world aVairs in the
form of mobilized citizens able and willing to work together across borders in a
common cause. A growing literature has examined in detail many such cases, from
the international campaign to ban landmines to the misnamed ‘‘anti-globalization’’
movement to such visible organizations as Greenpeace and Amnesty International.
But this new type of political institution is hard to deWne and to describe.
Governments are legally constituted entities, and their natures, mandates, and
sources of legitimacy are the subject of a rich theoretical literature. The parts of
the private sector that are politically inXuential tend to be legally deWned businesses,
whose management and rights and responsibilities are likewise covered in a sub-
stantial literature. Social movements, non-governmental organizations (NGOs),
and other citizens’ groups constitute a much more amorphous set of politically
inXuential institutions, identiWed more by what they are not—governments or
proWt-seeking entities—than by what they are.
As this amorphous ‘‘third sector’’ and its thickening web of cross-border ties rose
to international prominence in the 1990s and thereafter, a scholarly literature began
674 ann florini

to tackle theoretical and empirical questions entailed by these growing roles. This
chapter provides a broad overview of that literature. Section 2 gives a historical
overview of the rise of INGOs and other non-governmental cross-border ties.
Section 3 reviews the deWnitional debates. Section 4 discusses the research on
whether, when, and why these non-governmental bodies increasingly matter to
the conduct of global aVairs, in what ways, and under what conditions. The chapter
concludes with a discussion of possible research agendas.

2 Historical Overview
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Although much of the literature dates from the 1990s, INGOs and other border-
crossing elements of civil society have played a role in global aVairs for much
longer than scholars have written about them (Florini 2000). Rudolph (1997)
points out that ‘‘Religious communities are among the oldest of the transnational:
SuW orders, Catholic missionaries, Buddhist monks carried work and praxis across
vast spaces before those places became nation states or even states.’’ Religious
organizations provided the impetus behind some of the Wrst formal cross-border
ties among NGOs in the nineteenth-century campaign to end slavery. NGOs
dedicated to ending the slave trade date to 1775, with the establishment of the
Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery, followed a decade
later by the British Society for EVecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade and
the French Société des Amis des Noirs (Charnovitz 1997). The links among the
movements solidiWed in 1839 with the establishment of the British and Foreign
Anti-Slavery Society, ‘‘the Wrst transnational moral entrepreneur—religious move-
ments aside—to play a signiWcant role in world politics.’’1
Civil society has existed in something approaching its current form since the rise
of the nation-state system more than three centuries ago. The term was used during
the Scottish Enlightenment, conceived as ‘‘a realm of solidarity held together by the
force of moral sentiments and natural aVections’’ strong enough to root individuals
in a community of natural sympathy and collective action (Seligman 1992, 33).
Over time, the focus of political philosophy shifted from ‘‘civil society’’ to
‘‘citizenship,’’ and the term ‘‘civil society’’ faded away.
But while the term fell out of use, the reality continued to grow. As states grew
stronger, they required an industrial base, a legal infrastructure, and a citizenry

1 Betty Fladeland, Men and Brothers: Anglo-American Antislavery Cooperation (1972), p. 258, cited in
Charnovitz 1997, 192.
 international ngos 675

‘‘with the skills necessary to staV the armies, pay the taxes, and turn the wheels
of industry’’ (Tarrow 1994, 66). The communications and transportation
infrastructure created by the emerging states made it easier for geographically
separated individuals and groups to recognize common interests and join together
to carry out collective action independently of the state. And increasing
state penetration of society gave groups something to mobilize against. Much
state-building consisted of raising taxes and conscripting soldiers, both unpopular
extensions of state authority.

2.1 The Rediscovery of ‘‘Civil Society’’

Over the course of the twentieth century, in some cases the state became so
dominant and coercive that no political space was left within which alternative
societal groups could persist. Such was the case in the Soviet Union and, to a lesser
extent, some of its satellites. When the Soviet bloc began to disintegrate in the late
1980s, the citizens and new governments of the former Warsaw Pact countries were
forced to rethink how modern democratic countries deal with the plethora of
collective action problems that face all modern societies. Thanks in part to the
urgings of Western, and particularly American, funding agencies, the creation of a
vigorous civil society was assumed to be a large part of the answer. Substantial
international aid soon Xowed to new NGOs throughout the region in an eVort to
create rapidly a new non-governmental sector (Ottaway and Carothers 2000), and
the term ‘‘civil society’’ returned to the limelight.
At the same time, non-governmental actors in disparate parts of the world began
to develop increasingly strong ties with their counterparts elsewhere. Some litera-
ture has attempted to explain how and why those ties developed. Florini (2000), for
example, argues that global economic integration gave groups in disparate parts of
the world a common stake in common issues, at the same time that the sharply
dropping costs of transportation and communication made it possible for groups to
meet and work together, ties that often originated or were cemented at the enor-
mous global conferences organized by the United Nations in the 1980s and 1990s.
Just as a great deal of economic activity takes place in the ‘‘grey’’ informal sector,
much important citizen sector activity takes place outside of formal NGO and INGO
auspices. But while grey economic activity tends to remain local, the non-formal
citizen sector sometimes cumulates into transnational movements. INGOs are just a
piece of a larger phenomenon: the cross-border ties among groups that are neither
governmental bodies nor primarily proWt-seeking businesses. Some are amorphous
networks, able to mobilize thousands or millions of citizens to take to the streets in
various ‘‘mobilizations,’’ as in the various ‘‘anti-globalization’’ protests or the massive
anti-war demonstrations of early 2003. Some, like the various ‘‘social forums’’
676 ann florini

including the annual World Social Forum that began in Brazil in 2001, explicitly have
no purpose beyond dialogue (Kaldor, Anheier, and Glasius 2003a).

3 Definitions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

‘‘ ‘NGOs: They’re everywhere, but what are they?’ ’’ Thus begins one of the many
edited volumes on the subject to appear in the 1990s, citing a question posed by a
reporter in a public forum (Smith, ChatWeld, and Pagnucco 1997, xiii). One of the
harder tasks facing scholars in this area is deWning the subject. Another edited
volume lists a litany of terms in current usage, with overlapping and competing
deWnitions: ‘‘ ‘nongovernmental organization’. . . independent sector, volunteer
sector, civic society, grassroots organizations, private voluntary organizations,
transnational society movement organizations, grassroots social change organiza-
tions, and non-state actors’’ (Gordenker and Weiss 1996, 18). To this list could be
added civil society organization, third sector, citizen sector, transnational civil
society, and an ever-growing list of alternatives.
One important distinction among the various terms and meanings is the one
between formal organizations and informal associations. Although the terms tend to
be used interchangeably, NGOs and civil society are not the same thing. NGOs are
the formally constituted, legally recognized entities that pursue public purposes.
International NGOs, or INGOs, are NGOs with members in more than one country.
Civil society is a much broader term that includes NGOs but can also include a
wide array of other types of associations. Its deWnition is much contested. Ameri-
can usage tends to deWne ‘‘civil society’’ as a ‘‘third sector,’’ the large and amorph-
ous realm of non-governmental associations among people beyond the level of the
family that are not primarily motivated by proWt-seeking; and that is the deWnition
adopted in this chapter. It is important to know, however, that elsewhere in the
world, particularly in continental Europe, ‘‘civil society’’ can refer to all non-
governmental associations, including for-proWt enterprises. This chapter uses the
American deWnition, focusing on the literature that addresses the unique charac-
teristics and roles of politically active entities motivated by goals other than
Wnancial proWt.
In a book that makes a major contribution to untangling the very confused
debate over the meaning and therefore the roles of civil society, Michael Edwards
(2004) laid out three diVerent ways the term ‘‘civil society’’ is used:
1. Analytically, with ‘‘civil society’’ constituting the world of voluntary associ-
ations à la Toqueville. This deWnition of civil society looks at voluntary
 international ngos 677

associations as the gene carriers of the good society, within which citizens
develop democratic skills and norms. Edwards argues that this perspective is
not empirically valid—democratic skills and norms are also shaped in
families, schools, and other institutions. And many voluntary associations do
not foster democratic attitudes and values. Moreover, voluntary associations
can rarely if ever enforce or develop a broad societal consensus.
2. Normatively, with ‘‘civil society’’ constituting the ideal society citizens strive to
create, à la Aristotle to Hobbes. This deWnition largely disappeared after the
Enlightenment, but has the advantage that it mitigates against the tendency to
privilege one sector over another.
3. Most recently, ‘‘civil society’’ as the public sphere in which citizens argue and
debate with one another. When politics are polarized, polities cannot resolve
problems. Thus there is a need to create new publics across the usual lines of
division.

Edwards argued that the three meanings of ‘‘civil society’’ are all relevant and need
to be integrated into a coherent whole. The second is the ultimate goal that all
citizens should strive for—the good society—with the Wrst and third providing
important mechanisms to achieve that goal. Some works have developed detailed
scenarios of how this could happen at the global level in practice (Florini 2003;
Hammond 1998).
As Edwards noted, however, the Wrst deWnition makes clear that those mechan-
isms do not necessarily lead humanity toward anything that most people would
accept as an ideal society. Other authors similarly have stressed the importance of
recognizing the ‘‘dark side’’ of these largely self-constituted, often unregulated, and
in some ways unaccountable political institutions. Precisely because of their
amorphous nature, they can serve a wide variety of purposes. Although the people
who come together in civil society organizations are ostensibly motivated by some
notion of collective good, that ‘‘collective’’ may be a self-serving group interest or a
very warped notion of what is good for humanity as a whole. Al Qaeda can serve as
an example of a civil society organization from the dark side: It is a collectivity that
is not primarily motivated by proWts, is not a government, and seems to think it is
working to achieve a version of the public good. The literature on NGOs in
particular has developed a lexicon of terms, often unXattering, for various types
of NGOs. There is the ever-popular term QUANGOs—quasi-NGOs—which is
used to refer broadly to NGOs whose independence is questionable, including
NGOs that are service providers rather than advocacy organizations and that
sometimes are little more than government subcontractors. Another term is
DONGOs, or donor-organized NGOs, referring to groups that arise in response
to the availability of funding and that may serve the goals of funders over those
of the communities where the NGOs operate. Similarly, GONGOs are
government-organized NGOs, that serve as fronts for governments to carry out
678 ann florini

activities for which governments are unwilling to accept direct responsibility

(Weiss and Gordenker 1996, 21). BONGOs are business-organized NGOs that
may appear similar to public-interest advocacy groups but in reality are funded
by and advance the interests of speciWc businesses. Moreover, civil society groups
are made up of individuals, whose interests may diVer from those of the group and
who may use group structures to advance individual rather than group goals.
Kaldor (2003) parsed the deWnitional landscape diVerently, identifying two
traditional and three contemporary usages of the terms. The two traditional
meanings are:
1. the societas civilis, the oldest of the meanings, referring to a society character-
ized by rule of law, where legitimate violence has become the monopoly of the
state;
2. the bourgeois society as deWned by Hegel and Marx, the arena of ethical life
between the state and the family, produced by capitalism which created
individuals who came together in arenas outside the state.
Kaldor’s three contemporary meanings overlapped with Edwards’, but with the
crucial distinction that she explicitly considered how those meanings would apply
at the international level. At the national level, the voluntary associations covered
in Edwards’ Wrst deWnition can serve as essential intermediaries between citizens
and the state. At the global level, that intermediation role is much murkier, as there
is neither a global state nor a recognized, well-deWned global citizenry. Kaldor
(2003, 7) argues that the emerging framework of international law, notable in the
development of human rights and humanitarian law, the establishment of the
International Criminal Court and other international tribunals, and the expansion
of international peacekeeping, constitute a framework for global governance that
may Wll in to some extent for the absence of a global state.
1. The activist version: referring to active citizenship and self-organization.
Kaldor argued that what occurred in the latter twentieth century was the
development of a global public sphere: ‘‘inhabited by transnational advocacy
networks like Greenpeace or Amnesty International, global social movements
like the protestors in Seattle, Prague and Genoa, international media through
which their campaign can be brought to global attention, new global ‘civil
religions’ like human rights or environmentalism’’ (Kaldor 2003, 8).
2. The neoliberal version: similar to Edwards’ Wrst deWnition, civil society as
associational life via a non-proWt, voluntary ‘‘third sector.’’
3. The postmodern version: civil society as an arena of pluralism and contest-
ation, including nationalists and fundamentalists.
The deWnitional problems give rise to data problems as well. It is very diYcult
to measure something whose parameters are not agreed on. Nonetheless,
several sources attempt to give a sense of the size of the sector and trends in its
 international ngos 679

development. One such source is the Union of International Associations, which

since 1950 has published an annual Yearbook providing data on the number of
formally constituted INGOs whose members, funding, and oYcers comes from at
least three countries. For lack of alternatives, UIA numbers are widely used by
authors tracking the development of ‘‘transnational civil society,’’ ‘‘global civil
society,’’ ‘‘transnational society movements,’’ and other variants. But as Sikkink
and Smith (2002) point out, there are signiWcant problems with using the UIA data
as the basis for analyzing transnational civil society as a political institution. The
data omit the informal but politically signiWcant connections that tie groups and
individuals together across borders, meaning that at best the data capture a subset
of the sector. Second, the UIA does not distinguish among the many types and
purposes of INGOs, conXating advocacy groups that have a direct impact on global
politics and social change with professional associations, service providers,
research organizations, and religious groups that may or may not play a part in
eVorts to bring about social change. However, by carefully mining the data to select
the subset of INGOs relevant to a discussion of political institutions, Sikkink and
Smith (2002) were able to show a signiWcant trend: a nearly sixfold increase in the
number of social-change INGOs from 1953 to 1993, with a particular jump in the
last decade of that period. They argue that such a trend is indicative of the broader
development of transnational civil society, even if the data do not allow scholars to
document the overall size of the phenomenon.

4 Whether and When They Matter

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the 1970s, the international relations Weld saw a major debate on ‘‘transnational
relations’’—that is, regular interactions across borders involving non-state actors
(Keohane and Nye 1972; Keohane and Nye 1977; Rosenau 1980). Some of the
literature, particularly the contributions from Keohane and Nye, posed useful
questions about the (signiWcant but not dominant) roles of non-state actors in
what was still assumed to be a strongly state-based system. They cited examples
from multinational business, NGOs, revolutionary movements, trade unions,
scientiWc networks, and international cartels to argue that while states remained
central, such factors as growing interdependence among nation states, the rise of
economic and environmental issues alongside military topics on the global agenda,
and advances in transportation and communication technology, had made it
possible for a wide array of non-governmental entities to play an increasingly direct
role in global policy-making. Others argued more strongly for a society-based
680 ann florini

alternative to state-based thinking. That debate withered away as state-centric

approaches to international relations thinking came to dominate. But as Thomas
Risse-Kappen put it in his edited volume on Bringing Transnational Relations Back
In2 (1995, xi), ‘‘The end of the Cold War and the dissatisfaction with prevailing
approaches to international relations have opened new space for theorizing about
world politics.’’
Thus, the 1990s saw an explosion in the number of scholarly works examining
the causes and consequences of the rapid rise of transnational citizen-group ties.
Because the dominant strands of theory in international relations simply assume
that non-state actors play little if any role in the world, much of this early literature
was aimed at proving those theories wrong, or at least incomplete (Boli and
Thomas 1999; Florini 2000; Keck and Sikkink 1998; Risse-Kappen 1995; Smith,
ChatWeld, and Pagnucco 1997).
The scholarly literature frequently used in-depth case studies in a theoretical
framework aimed at understanding whether, how, and when NGOs mattered in
international politics. The Risse-Kappen volume, for example, set out to ask
‘‘under what domestic and international circumstances do transnational coalitions
and actors who attempt to change policy outcomes in a speciWc issue-area succeed
or fail to achieve their goals?’’ (Risse-Kappen 1995; see also Edwards and Gaventa
2001). The volume incorporated cases ranging across disparate issue-areas,
including international economics, environment, security, and human rights.
The actors examined included not only formal international NGOs but also
multinational corporations, transgovernmental ties, and loosely connected social
groups. The theoretical bases of the volume brought together insights from
theories focused on domestic structures within polities and from theories looking
at degrees of international institutionalization, such as regime theory.
Other works have drawn on theoretical traditions in sociology that address
broad social movements. Boli and Thomas (1999), for example, interpreted
the history of INGOs through the framework of a sociological theory known as
world-polity institutionalism. This edited volume used eight case studies, four on
social movements (environment, women, Esperanto, and the International Red
Cross) and four examining technical, scientiWc, and development sectors. The
volume concluded with an analysis of a core theoretical problems—how can
INGOs exercise inXuence given their lack of resources and coercive enforcement
capabilities?—arguing that the authority of INGOs is legitimated by their
structures, their procedures, their purposes, and the credential and charisma of
their members.
Some scholars have crossed disciplinary boundaries to combine the insights of
sociology with theories taken from the international relations Weld to examine

2 This title was a reference to the inXuential edited volume by P. B. Evans, D. Rueschmeyer, and
T. Skocpol, Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge University Press, 1985).
 international ngos 681

social movements that cross national borders. Smith, ChatWeld, and Pagnucco
(1997), for example, drew on both sociological theory and international relations
theory to address international NGOs and the broader social movements of which
they are part in nine case studies. Khagram, Riker, and Sikkink (2002) aimed to
bridge the literature on transnationalism, regimes, and norms in the international
relations sub-Weld of political science with sociology’s literature on domestic social
movements. Their volume identiWed three diVerent forms by which non-
governmental groups could work across borders: Transnational advocacy networks,
which are usually informally and loosely linked sets of actors that exchange
information; transnational coalitions that coordinate strategies and/or tactics in
concerted international campaigns; and transnational social movements that ‘‘have
the capacity to generate coordinated and sustained social mobilization in more
than one country to publicly inXuence social change’’ (Khagram, Riker, and
Sikklink 2002, 8). Although the three types operate diVerently, they are all ‘‘forms
of transnational collective action involving non-governmental organizations
interacting with international norms to restructure world politics’’ (2002, 3).
In the late 1990s, a more policy-oriented literature also emerged, exempliWed by
articles in two top journals that focused on the impacts of formally organized
NGOs on world aVairs. In Foreign AVairs, Mathews (1997) focused on broad
normative questions: If NGOs are having a major inXuence on world aVairs, is
that good or bad? She argued that non-state actors in general and NGOs
in particular have been able to inXuence the decisions of the most powerful
governments (such as the United States during the NAFTA negotiations) while
compelling weaker states to modify their behavior signiWcantly (such as Mexico
during the Chiapas rebellion). This shift of power from state to non-state actors
may enhance the ability of the international community to address pressing needs.
But it may also raise problems. First, NGOs’ limited capacity prevents them from
undertaking large-scale endeavors. Second, in trying to expand their Wnancial base,
NGOs may compromise their operational independence. Finally, given that NGOs
are by deWnition usually special-interest groups whose sole purpose is to further
their narrowly deWned objectives, if such organizations begin to replace state
governments, the result could be a fragmented and paralyzed society.
Mathews’ fears that NGOs could create a fragmented, paralyzed global society
echo older arguments by Mancur Olson (1982) on democratic sclerosis.
He contended that as self-interested groups multiply and lobby to increase their
share of the distributional pie, the outcome of interest group competition is
political gridlock and policy incoherence.
But the evidence from the national level in rich and poor countries alike fails to
support this prediction. If the hypothesis were true, the United States, with its
vibrant citizen sector, should be frozen into immobility by its vast array of
competing interest groups, associations, think tanks, and NGOs. The hypothesis
also suggests that more authoritarian governments that strictly limit the activities
682 ann florini

of NGOs should adopt more coherent and eVective policies. The evidence for that
proposition is, to put it mildly, mixed at best.
Much of the literature on transnational civil society begins from a diVerent
starting point that disagrees with the basic premise of Olson’s argument and
Mathews’ fears. Not only are independent groups not necessarily bad for policy,
they can be downright good for both policy-making and society. The creation
of ‘‘social capital’’—relations within and among civic groups—promotes both
economic growth and political stability (Putnam 2000).
In Foreign Policy, Simmons (1998) pointed out the multiple ways NGOs
inXuence national governments, multilateral institutions, international corpor-
ations, and societies. They inXuence agendas—forcing leaders, policy-makers,
and publics to pay greater attention to various topics. They help to negotiate
outcomes, designing treaties and facilities agreements. They confer legitimacy,
promoting or restricting public support for issues and institutions. They can
help to implement solutions and push governments and other actors to abide by
their commitments. But the result of NGO involvement is not foreordained. NGOs
can sometimes improve domestic and international governance by drawing on
their expertise and resources, grassroots connections, sense of purpose, and
freedom from bureaucratic constraints. But they can also distort public opinion
with false or inaccurate information, lose their sense of purpose by growing larger
and more bureaucratic, or lose their organizational autonomy by increasingly
relying on state funding.
Florini (2000) drew on the scholarly literature to aim at a policy-making and
activist audience, taking a largely empirical approach to address three questions:
‘‘How powerful is transnational civil society? How sustainable is its inXuence? How
desirable is that inXuence?’’ The book drew together six case studies written by
authors, mostly scholars, who had actively participated in the networks they were
describing and thus could bring detailed inside knowledge to bear. Some of its
authors are among the long list of authors of book-length case studies that have
detailed how the growing phenomenon of transnational ties among citizens’
groups work in practice with regard to speciWc issues (Khagram 2004; Clark
2001; Evangelista 1999; Risse, Ropp, and Sikkink 1999; Lipschutz 1996; Wapner
1996).
This literature argued strongly that the answer to the most fundamental ques-
tion—do INGOs and other types of transnational civil society connections matter
to the conduct of international aVairs—was a resounding ‘‘yes.’’ Some went on to
consider the conditions under which they matter. The best known of such works is
Keck and Sikkink (1998), which focused on international advocacy networks and
argued that they are most likely to emerge around issues when channels of
communication between governments and peoples are blocked, activists believe
that networking will help them get better results more quickly, and various forms
of international contact facilitate the creation and strengthening of networks.
 international ngos 683

Politically signiWcant INGOs and other transnational civil society groups do not
operate in a sphere constituted by civil society alone. Civil society groups rarely
control economic or military resources that give them direct power as it is usually
understood. The political eVectiveness of such groups depends on their ability
to persuade others—state actors, the general public, corporations, or inter-
governmental organizations—to alter their policies or behavior. Most of the
literature described above focused on the eVorts of transnational civil society to
inXuence states. But another strand of the literature has focused on the interactions
between civil society groups and other actors. Doh and Teegen (2003), for example,
provide insights into the growing range of interactions directly between NGOs and
the business community. A substantial literature has addressed the formal organs
of global governance: Intergovernmental organizations such as the World Bank, the
International Monetary Fund, and the United Nations. Such interactions are at
least as much in need of scholarly investigation as are the inXuences of civil
society groups directly on governments, as intergovernmental organizations are
established by states explicitly to serve the interests of states. Why, to what extent,
and under what conditions do such organizations Wnd themselves inXuenced by
non-governmental actors?
Nelson (1995) constituted the Wrst overall assessment of the role of NGOs in
inXuencing the World Bank. He found that the World Bank’s claims to have
successfully incorporated NGOs into project design and implementation obscured
a more mixed picture. His data, collected between 1973 and 1990, revealed that of
the 304 joint projects between the World Bank and the NGO community, only 54
involved NGOs in project design. In most cases, NGOs played either a minor role
or were involved solely in the implementation phases of projects, having no
inXuence on determining what the Bank was trying to accomplish.
Weiss and Gordenker’s (1996) edited volume took on the subject of the United
Nations and its interactions with NGOs as a vantage point from which to analyze
the roles of NGOs in global governance. They noted that the United Nations
Charter contains speciWc language in Article 71 authorizing the Economic and
Social Council (ECOSOC) to ‘‘make suitable arrangements for consultation with
non-governmental organizations which are concerned with matters within its
competence,’’ a notable formalization of what had been only informal ties between
the UN’s predecessor, the League of Nations, and NGOs. Over time, as the scope of
the UN’s activities broadened and as other parts of the UN developed mechanisms
for dealing directly with NGOs, the impact of NGO participation become more
and more signiWcant, particularly after the end of the cold war. The volume has a
particularly useful theoretical framework (Gordenker and Weiss 1996).
Willetts’ (1996) edited volume of the same year took more of a policy approach
to the question of NGO relations with various intergovernmental organizations,
including the United Nations and the World Bank. After several chapters
describing how interactions between the two sectors have led to some extraordinary
684 ann florini

accomplishments in human rights, environmental protection, and humanitarian

assistance, the book argues that IGOs could and should do more to involve NGOs
in their activities. That may require revising the IGO’s state-centric constitutions
and charters to allow NGOs of all types—national and international, northern and
southern—greater access.
But as Florini (2000, 215–16) points out, the evolution of NGO–IGO interactions
has been anything but smooth. After NGOs demonstrated their growing promin-
ence through their active participation in and around the large UN conference of
the 1980s and 1990s, and as post-cold war euphoria set in, ECOSOC opened
intergovernmental negotiations in 1993 on expanding NGO access at the United
Nations. But many governments remained deeply uneasy about allowing a stronger
NGO role. Those that had been the targets of NGO campaigns on human
rights abuses were less than eager to reward such groups with a place at the
intergovernmental table. And many governments, especially those that were still
struggling to build eVective state institutions, saw little value in encouraging
non-governmental actors that might threaten their monopoly on decision-making.
By the mid-1990s, as the General Assembly was considering the question of broader
NGO access throughout the UN system, a backlash had arisen.
The interactions of speciWc NGOs with speciWc intergovernmental institutions
are part of a much larger phenomenon: The loose agglomeration of activists who
for a period around the turn of the millennium came to be known as the ‘‘anti-
globalization movement.’’ The term was always a misnomer. Few are actually
opposed to global integration per se. Most participants in the movement are
more accurately referred to as ‘‘globalization’s critics’’—people who have speciWc
objections to the consequences of certain types of economic integration, or to the
political processes by which globalization is being governed, or both. Globaliza-
tion’s critics may have come together in a loose-knit ‘‘movement,’’ but it is far from
a single coherent group. Indeed, it is so broad that many of its participants,
rejecting the ‘‘anti-globalization’’ label but unable to come up with an accurate
replacement, simply call it ‘‘the movement.’’
Toward the turn of the millennium, and particularly after the highly visible
protests at the ministerial meeting of the World Trade Organization in Seattle in
1999, analysts began to focus on this broad phenomenon. Scholte and Schnabel
(2002) brought together an unusual mixture of activists, oYcials, and researchers
to examine in depth the role of civil society in global Wnance.
O’Brien, Williams, Goetz, and Scholte (2000) examined ‘‘the relationship
between multilateral economic institutions (MEIs) and global social movements
(GSMs) as one aspect of a much wider global politics . . . and governance structure’’
(2000, 2). They argued that this relationship has transformed global economic
governance, moving it away from an exclusively state-centric system and leading
to signiWcant institutional modiWcation (though rather less change in
policy substance). The book examined four cases: The World Bank and women’s
 international ngos 685

movements; the World Trade Organization and labor; the World Bank, the WTO,
and the environmental social movement; and the International Monetary Fund
and social movements.
A key new source of information and analysis is the Yearbook on Global Civil
Society (2001, 2002, 2003, 2004), put out by the London School of Economics. The
Yearbooks analyze and describe a variety of forms of individual action by which
people outside the governmental and corporate sectors aim to inXuence global
issues and institutions. The Wrst Yearbook (2001) laid out a normative conception of
civil society as an emerging arena for global civic action that connects people across
borders. Its conceptual frameworks lay out alternative ways of thinking about the
world in the era of globalization, in opposition to the ‘‘methodological national-
ism’’ that has dominated the social sciences and made it diYcult for policy analysts
and scholars to understand the role of individual agency in global aVairs (Kaldor,
Anheier and Glasius 2003b; Shaw 2003; Beck 2003). Its chapters cover everything
from broad conceptual topics to speciWc issues such as civil society’s role in global
policies on trade, weapons of mass destruction, or violence against women, to
questions related to the nature and infrastructure of global civil society. It also
provides a useful chronology and other data on global civil society.
Increasingly, writing on civil society’s global roles is woven into larger works
concerned with global governance and authority in the international system
(Higgott, Underhill, and Bieler 2000). While it is not possible in the conWnes of
one chapter to cite, much less review, the vast literature on globalization, a few
examples are useful. The works of David Held and his colleagues (Held and McGrew
2002; Held and McGrew 2003a; Held and Archibugi 2003; Held and McGrew 2003b
provides a useful short summary), for example, broadly examined the emergence of
a global political sphere in response to the rapid increase in global public goods and
bads. Florini (2003) examined transnational civil society within the broader context
of global governance and the need to develop more democratic processes for
decision-making on how to address global issues. Scholte (2005) raised questions
about the value of relying on civil society involvement as a means of democratizing
globalization given the relatively small scale of such participating to date.
Most of the literature referenced above casts what is meant to be a disinterested,
objective eye on a political phenomenon of increasing interest. Others, however,
took a more negative perspective, arguing that the growing inXuence of INGOs and
other elements of transnational civil society is largely pernicious. The American
Enterprise Institute and the Federalist Society brieXy sponsored an ‘‘NGOWatch’’
project whose website (which has since been taken down) argued that ‘‘The
extraordinary growth of advocacy NGOs in liberal democracies has the potential
to undermine the sovereignty of constitutional democracies.’’ Manheim (2000)
analyzed campaigns directly by what he called the new anti-corporate left against
businesses. Anderson and RieV (2004) provided cautionary words in one edition of
the LSE Yearbook.
686 ann florini

5 Emerging Directions of Research

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, speculation abounded that now that the
‘‘interwar’’ period (between the end of the cold war and the emergence of the
next great military conXict) had drawn to an end, the conditions that allowed civil
society participation in global aVairs to Xourish would prove to have been only a
passing stage in a world still heavily dominated by nation-state decision-makers.
And it is true that the more spectacular manifestations of global civil society—the
massive demonstrations that had surrounded meetings of the WTO, the World
Bank and IMF, and the G-8—did die down. But it appears that the more funda-
mental trends that drove the rise of transnational civil society in the 1980s and
1990s still exist: The reality of border-crossing problems that national governments
are not adequately addressing; the relative ease of cross-border communication
among ordinary people in the information age; the availability of suYcient
(if limited) human and Wnancial resources. As the LSE Yearbooks and other
recent publications demonstrate, the empirical evidence continues to show
that transnational civil society continues to matter in global politics.
But that one answer—that transnational civil society does matter to outcomes in
global politics—leaves open three enormously important questions that future
research should continue to address. The Wrst is to further elucidate how and
when transnational civil society matters. As Price (2003) pointed out, the literature
has raised numerous hypotheses about the interaction between domestic political
norms and structures and the successes and failures of transnational campaigns,
but only occasionally have scholars rigorously vetted their empirical cases against
other possible theoretical explanations.
Second, until very recently, the literature focused almost entirely on the
interactions between transnational civil society and states, or state-created
intergovernmental organizations, and tended to explore the adversarial side of
those interactions. Given that much of what motivated the civil society actors was
opposition to what states and IGOs were doing, this was a natural and appropriate
focus. But the pattern of civil society’s global interactions is shifting. Increasingly,
actors from the public, proWt-seeking, and citizen sectors are working out
partnerships, sometimes explicit, sometimes tacit. In some cases, civil society
actors have been included in the delegations of governments involved in oYcial
intergovernmental negotiations, a phenomenon that has received little scholarly
attention. And the sectoral divides, never perfectly sharp, are blurring. Some of
global problem-solving is being tackled by ‘‘social entrepreneurs’’ who use business
models to develop proWtable, and hence sustainable, mechanisms for solving
public goods problems (World Economic Forum 2005). Future research needs to
consider carefully the shifting boundaries of, and patterns of relations among, the
public, proWt-seeking, and citizen sectors.
 international ngos 687

Third, as Sikkink (2002, 301) has pointed out, as ‘‘transnational social movements
and networks are increasingly permanent features of international life, scholars and
activists need to grapple more thoughtfully with the dilemmas that the presence
and power of these nontraditional actors pose:’’ dilemmas of representation,
democracy, deliberation, and accountability. The power of INGOs and other
manifestations of transnational civil society is a soft, diVuse power, one that shapes
norms and ideas in crucial ways but that is often not reXected in formal power
structures. Thus, traditional political mechanisms, such as electoral politics,
that have evolved over the centuries to apply a modicum of democracy and
accountability to political power do not easily apply here.
But some such mechanisms may be needed if transnational civil society is to Wnd
a long-term place as a legitimate participant in global politics. One problem is the
enormous asymmetries within the world of civil society, with citizens of rich
countries far more likely to be able to use civil society channels to participate in
global decision-making than citizens of poor ones. Decisions about which net-
works and campaigns to fund, and thus which part of the many possible global
agendas are likely to see progress, are often made by foundations based in wealthy
countries. Progress is being made toward greater equity. NGOs have proliferated
throughout the developing world (Fisher 1993), and northerners involved in
transnational campaigns have become more aware of the need to work with, rather
than on behalf of, counterparts in the south. Yet often these groups Wnd themselves
in competition for available resources.
Moreover, the claim of these groups to a place in international decision-making
rests on claims that their expertise, representativeness of a group legitimately
entitled to a say, and/or processes of deliberation meets a standard that entitles
them to inXuence or even make decisions that have consequences for other people.
No scholar surveyed in this chapter would argue that transnational NGOs and
networks measure up to ideals of representation, democracy, deliberation,
accountability, or autonomy (Sikkink 2002, 315). Nonetheless, public opinion
surveys in many parts of the world Wnd that NGOs routinely outrank governments
and businesses in assessments of trustworthiness and credibility. Little research has
yet been done on why that is true in some parts of the world but not others, or what
such groups need to do if they wish to create or sustain high levels of credibility.
In short, during the 1990s and in the early years of the new millennium,
scholarship on INGOs and other forms of transnational civil society contributed
greatly to the understanding of this amorphous, Xuid, yet increasingly signiWcant
type of political actor on the international scene. That research has convincingly
demonstrated that transnational civil society has a signiWcant impact, and has
begun to make inroads on questions concerning why that impact varies across
issues and political structures. The broader, more normative questions, however,
have just begun to receive attention. In the absence of a world government to
channel the activities of non-governmental actors, what are the appropriate roles
for civil society? And who decides?
688 ann florini

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 part iv
...................................................................................................................................................

OLD AND NEW

...................................................................................................................................................
 chapter 35
...................................................................................................................................................

ENCOUNTERS WITH
MODERNITY
...................................................................................................................................................

samuel h. beer

1 Why Political Science?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

I have been asked to write a personal commentary on the role of institutions in

political science. This is a welcome opportunity to look into a question that has
been nagging at my thoughts in recent years. ‘‘Why did I take up the study of
politics? How did I go about it? And what have I learned from it?’’ I have sometimes
characterized my work in British and American politics as the study of ideas and
institutions and for many years I gave an interdisciplinary course titled Western
Thought and Institutions in which I used the classics of political thought to
interpret and analyze political history. This present assignment gives me the chance
to emphasize the role of institutions, while giving an account of my ventures in
the comparative study of the politics of Britain and the USA.
The main cause of that initiative was the intellectual shock of communism and
fascism. This two-edged totalitarian threat forced my generation to rethink the
meaning of freedom. At the University of Michigan, although avoiding political
science courses as boring and undemanding, I was greatly attracted to the study
of history and philosophy and managed to do well enough to win a Rhodes
Scholarship. While living and traveling in Europe in the years 1932–5, direct contact
with fascism and communism as movements and as governments forced me to
694 samuel h. beer

come to terms with what was going on in the world, ultimately with such relevance
as to make me a political scientist instead of a medieval historian with a penchant
for philosophy of history, as I had intended.

1.1 The Liberalism of Modernity

Those medieval studies from which I had turned away, however, continued to orient
my eVort to Wnd a way through the intellectual chaos of current politics. Thanks
to them I can call this commentary Encounters with Modernity. They gave me
the perspective to perceive the onset of modernity as that profound turning
point in the development of the Western mind which produced the free society
I found under such dire assault. The freedom of that society is modern freedom,
so distinctive as to be the deWning characteristic of the age we call modernity and
of the process of modernization which transformed and continues to transform
the civilization of the West and of the other great cultural areas of the world.
This historical contrast brings out the basic traits of the political institutions of the
new age.
To be sure, freedom in one or another form has been a concern of
Western thought since ancient times. Plato’s myth of the cave is an allegory
of liberation, rendered even more illuminating by his vision in The Symposium
of the soul rising through levels of being toward identiWcation with the Absolute.
In the Middle Ages a similar version of ‘‘the great chain of being’’ was
embodied in conceptions of government which made liberty their organizing
principle. The plural is a more accurate rendering of the idea, as seen in a
classic expression, Magna Carta Libertatum (1215). In this document a variety of
freedoms were guaranteed respectively to the several ranks of a structure,
ranging down from the ecclesia anglicana to the villanus at the bottom of the
legal and political hierarchy. This structure foreshadowed the ‘‘polity of estates’’
(Weber’s mittelaelterliche Staendestaat) which emerged later in the thirteenth
century, as a mature expression of the hierarchic and corporatist ideals of the
high Middle Ages.
For 2,000 years or more the leading minds of the West championed a doctrine of
hierarchic inequality. Classical philosophy had taught the rule of the wise; Chris-
tian theology the rule of the holy. Medieval thinkers had combined the two
imperatives, vesting authority in a hierarchy of natural virtue and divine grace.
They diVered in the relation of secular and sacerdotal power. They did not doubt
that the few should rule the many; that the ruler, whether prince or prelate, knew
what was good for the ruled and, therefore, had the right, indeed the duty, to direct
them toward that good.
 encounters with modernity 695

In this society the exercise of freedom of thought and expression could be a

grievous oVense. ‘‘Heresy’’, wrote Thomas Aquinas, ‘‘merits not only excommuni-
cation, but death, for it is worse to corrupt the faith, which is the life of the soul,
than to issue counterfeit coins, which administer to the secular life. Since
counterfeiters are justly killed by princes as enemies to the common good, so
also heretics deserve the same fate.’’
Modernity turned things upside down. Freedom of thought, which in the
Thomistic world pointed the way to excommunication and death, became the
Wrst freedom of the modern political order. A term is needed to mark the great
divide between premodern and modern freedom. In the scholarly taxonomy of
political ideas that term is ‘‘liberalism.’’ This usage may well raise the hackles of
those students of politics who think of themselves as conservatives in contrast with
and opposition to liberals. My understanding of the term copes with that criticism.
I recognize and indeed emphasize that as a value system pervading the politics of
modern times, liberalism in the broad sense has been expressed in a variety of
diVerent and sometimes conXicting ways, ranging from laissez-faire to the welfare
state to democratic socialism. In this big ideological tent of modern liberalism,
I Wnd right-wing Republicans and left-wing Democrats, Tory democrats and
Labour socialists, and, in general, the mainstream political tendencies of modern
Western democracies.
At the American founding Thomas JeVerson reasserted the Wrst principle of
liberalism in the curt, explosive manifesto with which he led oV his argument for
independence: ‘‘all men are created equal.’’ This assertion of equality is a powerful
message of liberation. To say that all are equal is to deny that any have authority
over others. The egalitarian denial of authority to the few, moreover, follows from a
positive faith in the capacities of the many. The claim of ‘‘equal rights’’ for each
would be empty and unconvincing absent this premise which aYrms the capacity
of the many for self-government, individually and collectively. That capacity is no
small power. The attack on hierarchy did more than assert the rights of self-
government. It liberated not only what people do, but what they think. The
liberation proclaimed in the rights of self-government presumes the liberation
embodied in the capacity claimed for the human mind. According to liberal
doctrine, the reason men should be free to govern themselves is that they can
think for themselves. They ought to be free outwardly because they are free
inwardly. Thanks to that capacity—James Madison called it ‘‘a gift of nature’’—
their Wrst freedom is freedom of thought and expression, appropriately enshrined
in the First Amendment. ‘‘I have sworn eternal hostility’’, said JeVerson, ‘‘to every
form of tyranny over the human mind.’’
The prospect is boundless. The break out of the old closed society toward a new
world which was opened up and driven on by the liberated mind led to achieve-
ments on a grand scale. Democratic politics, capitalistic wealth, and scientiWc
progress in their diVerent ways expressed the independent, inquiring, inventive
696 samuel h. beer

force of modernity. No less richly diverse, literature and the arts reXected
a powerful burst of the imagination. But although the promise and the achieve-
ments have been grand, the risks and the disasters have been apocalyptic. On
the one hand, such triumphs of the free mind as the increase of the wealth of
nations, the spread of civil liberties, and the victories of medicine over infectious
disease; on the other hand, such disasters as the social injustice of industrialization,
the rise of communism and fascism, the outburst of total war, and the invention of
weapons of mass destruction. The present nuclear threat to human life on this
planet is a product of modernity. The consequences, intended and unintended, of
the process of modernization set in motion by liberalism have been tragically
ambivalent.
In the liberal order, therefore, the task of those humanly devised incentives and
restraints on human action which we call political institutions is to release the
power of the free mind while reducing the risks of its exercise.

1.2 The City of Reason

By the time I came to Harvard in the fall of 1938, I was a Werce anti-communist,
a fervent New Dealer, a devotee of Emerson, and ready to try to put it all
together. Finding a bit to my surprise that I was expected to write a dissertation
for a Ph.D., I launched myself, with the audacity known only to graduate students,
on a defense of liberalism against the totalitarian threat. The dissertation,
completed in 1943, was not published until after the war in 1949 under the title,
The City of Reason. In essence the book was a restatement of the political theory
of philosophical idealism, descending from Hegel and set out by the British and
American idealists such as T. H. Green and Josiah Royce. To say a word along
these lines was woefully old-fashioned and academically incorrect at that
time, when logical positivism with its view of science as the only kind of truth
dominated philosophical thinking. On this score I was put at ease by the fact that
the two current thinkers on whom I mainly depended, Alfred North Whitehead
and John Dewey, were in no sense hostile to science. Whitehead, the more
systematic of the two, presented what he called ‘‘a philosophy of organism.’’ It
had two themes: on the one hand, a theory of ‘‘creative advance,’’ postulating the
autonomy of the human mind, and, on the other hand, a theory of ‘‘social union,’’
asserting the ‘‘real togetherness’’ possible for individuals. Hunches and hypotheses
derived from the work of these two authors will appear in the account of my
empirical study of the institutions of free government. At a very abstract level, the
two themes of creative advance and social union state the philosophical back-
ground of the following two sections of this chapter, ‘‘Liberal Democracy’’ and
‘‘Liberal Nationalism.’’
 encounters with modernity 697

There is, however, a metaphysical problem which needs Wrst to be brieXy dealt
with, since it has serious implications for political behavior. A doctrine of creative
advance and social union, if not put in a larger context, is just too good to be true.
It surely does not Wt the twentieth-century’s record of human Wnitude and fallibi-
lity, of limited minds and evil intentions. The perils of modernization, in short,
conWrm a current of skepticism which has washed against the foundations of
Western thought since ancient times. This tradition of pessimistic doubt has
both Greek and Biblical sources. Plato, needless to say, directed the Western
mind toward magniWcent vistas of aspiration. Yet it must be the rare student
who, on Wrst opening Plato’s dialogues, has not felt the enormous force of the
doubts raised by Socrates. Despite the happy resolutions Socrates extracts from his
compliant respondents, the reader must wonder if the master has not done more to
make the case for appearance than for reality. To the student of politics, for
instance, The Statesman is the classic celebration of the rule of law and constitu-
tionalism. Yet the reader can hardly be blamed if he doubts that the aYrmative case
can stand against the forceful exposition and clear-eyed perception of the inevit-
ability of personal rule in a world where ‘‘all is Xux.’’ On a still grander scale, that
same Heraclitan hypothesis inspires probing inquiries into the relativity of know-
ledge and morality which severely shake the cosmic architecture in which the
dialogues seek to shelter human rationality. In modern times skepticism has
forceful advocates in Hobbes, Nietzsche, and the contemporary postmodernists
and deconstructionists. Not so many years ago, during a conversation with Isaiah
Berlin, while he was attacking the belief in a philosophy of history, which he
incorrectly attributed to me, he exclaimed, ‘‘Sometimes I agree with A. J. P. Taylor
that history is just one damned thing after another!’’
The encounter with the skeptical proposition that all is Xux is not just a
contretemps of the intellectual life. Once its meaning for individual and human
eVort dawns, a paralyzing pessimism may set in. What is the use of trying to
control history, when consequences are so unpredictable? Why seek justice when
you know that any conceivable version will be controverted? Into this intellectual
and emotional void the totalitarian temptation may well enter with its promise of
power and faith, if only reason, the source of doubt and uncertainty, is surren-
dered. The brilliant negativism of the cultural life of pre-Hitler Germany is a
cautionary example.
Whitehead’s idea of the interconnectedness of things makes it possible to
conceive a cosmos in which the Xux is overcome in a ‘‘saving order’’ which
creates and preserves the partial orders of the temporal world. In his severe bare-
bones intellectualism, F. H. Bradley summarized this conclusion: ‘‘We have no
knowledge of plural diversity, nor can we attach any sense to it, if we do not have
it somehow as one.’’ Emerson is more relaxed and closer to ordinary experience
when he says, ‘‘We grant that human life is mean, but how did we Wnd out that it
is mean? . . . What is this universal sense of want and ignorance, but the Wne
698 samuel h. beer

innuendo by which the great soul makes its enormous claim?’’ I like Miloscz’
concise summary:
For me, therefore, everything has a double existence,
Both in time and when time shall be no more.

This cosmology makes sense of human purpose. The whole cannot exist without
the parts. InWnitesimal as they are in that cosmic scheme, human eVorts to make
the temporal world less imperfect are not lost. Followed to its aYrmation of such a
saving order, the doctrine is robustly aYrmative. Immunized against pessimism
and despair by its critique of reason, it aYrms the value of human aspiration
regardless of any temporal disaster and fortiWes the will to understand and advance
human freedom. So I was ready to go to work as political activist and political
scientist.

2 Liberal Democracy
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

By the early postwar years, thanks to academic study and personal experience, I
had got a pretty good hold on the rudiments of a liberal philosophy of politics. Its
major premise was the autonomy of the mind and its principal working hypothesis
was the powerful inXuence of ideas on political behavior. It lacked a developed view
of the interaction between ideas and behavior, in other words, an empirically
grounded view of political institutions. Working toward an institutional approach
took me through a struggle with the way some of my colleagues looked at the
process of government. Comparison of the process of government in Britain and
the United States helped me with that task.

2.1 Escape from Group Theory

At Harvard, as generally in American political science in these years, group
theory—later known as interest group pluralism—dominated the discipline,
inspiring splendid empirical research in American politics as displayed in the
work of Pendleton Herring, Peter Odegard, and David Truman. When, however,
the perspectives of the leading work of theory, Arthur Bentley’s Process of
 encounters with modernity 699

Government (1908), were turned on British politics the results were puzzling.
While pressure groups were seen, to the dismay of many, to Xourish in American
politics, they were commonly believed to be negligible in Great Britain. It is,
therefore, understandable that in 1956 the American Political Science Review
should give page one billing to a paper of mine asserting that ‘‘if we had a way
of measuring power we should probably Wnd that pressure groups are more
powerful in Britain than in the United States . . . numerous, massive, well-organ-
ized, and highly eVective.’’
Some of my colleagues have said that I discovered British pressure groups. That
is not quite correct. But it is true that I was the Wrst to show where and how they
operated. This revelation resulted from the commonsense hypothesis once put into
words by V. O. Key: ‘‘Where power is, there the pressure will be applied.’’ In Britain
this did not mean the legislature, since there that body is substantially under the
control of the executive. It was, therefore, in the corridors of Whitehall in the daily
contacts of ministers and civil servants that one found the representatives of the
great economic and social interests of the nation. . . . As I worked out the structure
of the postwar British polity, these interconnections appeared so well developed as
to constitute a veritable institution of functional representation, serving as an
eVective instrument of the government’s management of the economy. Something
more than group pressure was at work.
Nor was group theory adequate when applied to certain basic features of
American politics. I recall the attempt of some of us young instructors to make it
work as an explanation of familiar nationwide traits. ‘‘Shall we say then,’’ sarcas-
tically asked our authority on constitutional law, ‘‘that the general hostility to
homicide means that alongside the farmers, workers and capitalists, there is simply
another group, the big anti-murder interest group?’’ We were avoiding the use of
terms such as ‘‘the national interest’’ or ‘‘the common good’’ as moralistic and non-
operational. Our thinking was still clouded by Charles Beard’s ridicule of ‘‘abstract
ideas’’ as a political force.
The British comparison helped us see the larger context in which pluralism
operated. The Brits had their interest groups and they exercised ‘‘pressure,’’ if by
that you meant ‘‘inXuence.’’ There was, however, in contrast with American
manners, an easy acceptance of group representation in government and quite
diVerent expectations of how groups and government should interact. And how
did I Wnd this out? Often conversations with someone I knew socially—the
old-boy network—were the most revealing source. I enjoy recalling, for instance,
the annual dinner in 1958 of the Chamber of Shipping, the trade association of
the great shipping companies. I attended thanks to a contact I had made at
Harvard with a Commonwealth Fellow who had also gone to Balliol and who
was now the assistant secretary in the appropriate department of the civil service.
700 samuel h. beer

I sat with him as his minister, Lord Mancroft, gave an after dinner talk on the
government’s relations with the industry. This speech, I then and there learned,
had been composed, except for its whimsy, by my friend and his opposite
number in the trade association. They would nod and make remarks sotto
voce as they followed their copies of the minister’s rendition of their joint
composition.
The facts were clear but I needed some construct that would pull together
these observations of attitude and expectation into a tool for systematic compara-
tive analysis. I found it in the concept of ‘‘culture’’ which Talcott Parsons had
deployed in his Theory of Social Action (1951), drawing largely on the work of Max
Weber. In my 1956 discussion of British pressure politics, a central theme was ‘‘the
cultural context,’’ consisting of certain general ideas which determined not only the
process of group representation, but also in a degree the very substance of these
interests.

2.2 From Culture to Institutions

In this use of the concept of culture as a tool of analysis, social scientists were reXecting
the modern liberal belief in the autonomy of the mind as a basic force in the social and
political process. We had groped for a term to express this point of methodology.
‘‘Ideology’’ (Karl Mannheim) overemphasized the limiting function of ideas. ‘‘The
role of ideas in history’’ (Crane Brinton) was too intellectual. ‘‘Operative ideals’’
(A. D. Lindsay) asserted that ideas can have consequences, but focused narrowly on
the normative aspect. ‘‘Culture,’’ however, has the necessary breadth by embracing the
normative, the cognitive, and the aVectual aspects of ‘‘the ordered set of symbols’’
(Parsons) by which the members of a group sharing them similarly see and sense the
situation, physical and social, constituting their environment. Its further use in
political study was greatly advanced by a brilliant paper presented by Gabriel Almond
at a conference in 1955—the same meeting, incidentally, at which I presented my paper
on British pressure groups and parties. His term ‘‘political culture’’ has continued to
be used in the profession and in everyday speech.
The concept of political culture supplied the missing link between political philosophy
and political behavior. In a political culture ideas drawn from political philosophy are
embodied in the motivations of political actors, dictating what ought and ought not to be
done and what can and cannot be done. Such a body of incentives and restraints on
behavior is a political institution. The political culture is not itself an institution. The
political culture is the body of dos and don’ts, cans and can’ts which is embodied in
various institutions, the actual patterns of intended behavior.
 encounters with modernity 701

2.3 The Liberal Constitution

But how well do the institutions of a country perform? Do they meet the liberal
commitment to evoke the powers of the free mind, while also guarding against
its risks? The institution charged with this comprehensive task is commonly
called a constitution. You might say that any government has a constitution,
insofar as it displays some regularity in how it exercises power and what for. And
so the term is sometimes used merely to refer to a frame of government, a
pattern of government, a political system. But constitutionalism means more
than that. It also means that this regularity in behavior is intentional, conforming
to a body of rules which regulate and authorize the rules embodied in the various
subordinate institutions of the political system—in short, an institution of
institutions.
The primary task of the liberal constitution is to foster creative advance.
Encourage that pluralism. Put the First Amendment to work in all spheres.
Cultivate incentives for the assertion of a variety of ideas and interests. Yet this
basic commitment of liberalism has its inherent dangers. They are twofold. First,
that very pluralism may be self-defeating. This consequence, however unintended,
has been denounced by the champions of hierarchy as the inevitable penalty of
democracy and analyzed by modern game theorists as ‘‘the multi-persons’
prisoners dilemma.’’ The vice lies not in the ill-will of the actors, whether
individuals or groups, but in the structure of the situation which, because of its
dispersion of decision-making among so large a number, virtually compels
participants to act against their common long-run interest. The incoherence
and immobilism of so overly responsive a democracy frustrates creative advance.
The liberal constitution averts this risk by its provision for coordination. This
function dominated my study of British and American institutions from the mid-
1940s to the mid-1960s, the main focus being on political parties and party
systems as the institutions which aggregated the pluralistic plenty of the free
mind.
The liberal constitution may open the way to a far greater evil than the incoher-
ence and immobilism of pluralistic stagnation. My generation experienced this
possibility when the chaos of the Great Depression brought on the totalitarian
response. The ideologies of fascism and communism which lay siege to the political
culture of modern freedom were themselves the product of that freedom. What this
attempt of self-destruction intended, and in some places achieved, was a coercive
unity based on race or class, not the social union which fulWlls creative advance in
liberal nationalism. That positive achievement was the main concern of my work
from the mid-1960s to the mid-1990s.
702 samuel h. beer

2.4 Constitutions for Deliberative Democracy

How does the liberal constitution cope with self-defeating pluralism? What does
the British/American comparison tell us? In Britain the collectivist polity which
emerged in the postwar years was a marked economic and political success.
Building on prewar foundations, successive governments created a welfare state
and managed economy which provided proximate solutions to some of the worst
problems of industrial capitalism. Although marred by miscalculation and
misfortune, the overall economic record was, in the words of Professor James
E. Meade, ‘‘an outstanding success story for a quarter of a century.’’ The political
success was that the radical program initiated by the Attlee government, although
originally enacted by a partisan majority, was substantially accepted and developed
by the opposition, signifying that this great program of reform had won the assent
of the British nation as a whole. Majoritarianism had been transformed into
convergence. I do not say ‘‘consensus’’ as that might well be taken to mean that
the contending public philosophies of the two main parties, Labour and Conser-
vative, had become identical. That did not happen. DiVerences in values, revolving
around questions of equality vs. inequality and public choice vs. market choice,
persisted, but, so to speak, in the background, capable of forcing their way into
strong, open electoral and parliamentary conXict at a later date. In the meantime,
however, party preferences on both sides had been suYciently transformed to
produce a convergence in policy which led to a mid-century period of relative
party peace.
Convergence is no small achievement. Although majority rule must be accepted
in order to get decisions in elections and legislation, majoritarianism can be
tyrannical. Even if by chance some sort of rotation in oYce gives each minority
the power for a time to rule in its interest, one can hope for a more comprehensive
and stable outcome. In postwar Britain both parties went through phases of
revisionism moving them toward acceptance of the welfare state and a managed
economy. Labour had to give up its old socialist pursuit of equality through
common ownership (read: nationalization) in favor of the redistributive spending
of their massive new social programs, which would now be nourished by an
admittedly capitalistic system embracing private property and moved by
self-interest. For the Conservatives, who inherited their party’s prewar reassertion
of state control, including the Wrst steps in nationalization, the great and fateful
concession was the further step of accepting the huge budgetary burdens of the
Keynesian and Beveridgean commitments. That diYculty was eased when
‘‘Mr Butskell’’ appeared, his presence being noted in the Economist of February
13, 1954. The new Wscal methodology facilitated not only the revisionist
egalitarianism of Labour, but also the revival of the graded paternalism of the
 encounters with modernity 703

Conservatives. ‘‘Toryism,’’ as Harold Macmillan once said, ‘‘has always been a form
of paternal socialism.’’
The outcome was a coherent and eVective program of government action.
Competititon for power moved the parties to adapt to the realities of governing
and winning oYce. How each saw these realities was conditioned by its public
philosophy. The outcome, however, was not some inevitable result of group
formation and cultural context. Essential to its achievement was also that process
of revisionism in each party and between them. Here a kind of collective thinking
took place, exhibiting once again that basic feature of modern liberalism, the truth
generating capacity of uncensored debate. I followed, wrote about, and in a very
modest way took part in the prolonged ‘‘rethinking’’ occasioned by revisionism in
Britain. General descriptions fail to convey the vitality and passionate nature of the
process. I can reproduce one inside moment of Labour revisionism which was
evoked by the publication of The New Fabian Essays in 1952. We Harvard liberals
sympathized with the programs of social services and economic mangement being
pioneered in Britain. But we were disappointed by the confusion and sense of drift
in the Essays and expressed our opinions in some highly critical reviews, as well as
in private conversations with the socialist dons and journalists with whom we
exchanged visits. One Sunday afternoon in the American Cambridge, following the
rural walk which was obligatory when our visitors were British, we got into a long
wrangle over public ownership. Finally, Arthur Schlesinger Jr. exploded, ‘‘Do you
really think that everything should be nationalized, even newspapers, magazines,
book publishing? How could you maintain freedom of the press under these
conditions?’’ Needless to say that was a powerful argument among a bunch of
aspiring authors. Thus, we social liberals dropped our grain of common sense into
the process of deliberative democracy by which policy preferences were trans-
formed as revisionism triumphed.

2.5 Party Government in Britain and America

In admiring American eyes, the key to the political success of postwar Britain was
‘‘party government.’’ In 1957, noting that party cohesion had been increasing
markedly for some time, I sketched the Westminster model. Two-party competi-
titon, unity among partisans in the legislature and executive, a government pro-
gram based on a distinctive public philosophy. Moreover, the Westminster model
presumed that the two-party system would conform to a similar duality in the
preferences of the voters. And as it happened, during the glory days of the
collectivist polity British voters did tend to think and act in terms of two classes,
the working class and the middle class, their party preferences strongly correlating
704 samuel h. beer

with class. Given this dualism in the electorate, the party system did aVord
the voters an eVective choice, while also producing governments with cohesive
majorities carrying out coherent programs.
The American attraction to party government had a history going back to
Woodrow Wilson’s Congressional Government in 1885. Inspired by contrast with
the glowing portrait of the British system in Bagehot’s English Constitution (1867),
Wilson gave a depressing report of the disorderly regime of a weak presidency and a
fragmented Congress, which he saw in the years after the Civil War. In 1950 the same
logic inspired the plea for party government in a celebrated report, entitled Toward A
More Responsible Two Party System and sponsored by the American Political Science
Association. Its argument was that a concentration of power similar to that enjoyed
by British governments could be democratically achieved by reforms of party
organization in the legislature and in the country. The reforms would include such
organizational devices as mass dues-paying memberships, cooperation with class
based organizations, issue oriented party conventions, and platforms binding on
nominees for executive and legislative oYce. Many American observers, politicians
as well as professors, thought that in this way we could remedy the incoherence and
gridlock which we felt often issued from our interest group pluralism.
As it happened, the new pattern of government inaugurated by the Roosevelt
administration made our hopes plausible. Beginning as a huge, short-lived venture
into corporatist planning, the real and lasting New Deal took shape in a series of
separate reforms amounting to a constitutional and economic revolution. Gov-
ernment power was sharply centralized within the federal system toward Washing-
ton and in Washington toward the presidency. Among the voters, moreover, the
political base of this power became more national as FDR taught them to look to
him and to Washington for solutions to their economic and social problems and
the old, rustic, and sectional constituencies gave way to a more urban and class-
based formation.
New Deal rhetoric, however, was not framed in class terms, in contrast with
Britain and other industrialized countries where the economic collapse brought
into prominence socialist parties explicitly identiWed with the working class. The
New Deal had a coherent public philosophy, but its inspiring principle had been
proclaimed by FDR when, during his 1932 campaign, he identiWed the Democrats
as ‘‘the party of liberalism—militant liberalism.’’ Needless to say, this was not the
libertarian creed which at this time Herbert Hoover also championed as liberalism.
It was rather the social liberalism introduced by Lloyd George during the great
reforming Government of Asquith of 1908–16, which, I remember as a lowly
speech-writer among the New Dealers, was a model among American reformers.
After Roosevelt the New Deal programs were defended by Truman and, to the
surprise of reactionaries, accepted by Eisenhower in an American example of
convergence in a two-party system. American administrations, however, were
never able to command reliable partisan legislative majorities in the British fashion.
 encounters with modernity 705

Presidents normally needed and enjoyed some support from the opposing party
for their majorities in Congress. The coordinating institution, then as now, was
presidential leadership, not party government.

2.6 Constitutions Make a Difference

The key to this diVerence is constitutional. Party organization and class structure
were contributing causes, but the heart of the matter was the American separation
of powers in contrast with the fusion of powers in Britain. Under the British
constitution, the cabinet exercised not only the executive power of directing the
various departments of the state, but also the legislative power of deciding what
laws would be passed and what taxes levied. Therefore, when the Queen read the
prime minister’s annual announcement of what laws his government proposed to
adopt, you knew that would happen. Compare those virtual certainties with the
mere probabilities of what a president proposes in his State of the Union address.
To be sure, in Britain as in the USA, bills become laws only if passed by the
legislature. That enactment required the assent of the monarch, still expressed in
the old Anglo-Norman imperative, la reine le veult, which has not been refused
since Queen Anne’s days. The monarch had the legal right to refuse consent, but by
long-established convention her consent, in eVect, was a power of the cabinet.
What the parliament may enact, moreover, had no legal limit. The Crown in
Parliament was still legally as sovereign as proclaimed in the celebrated declarations
of Coke and Blackstone. Thanks, however, to the fusion of powers in the cabinet,
which included what laws would be made, it was in that body that this great power
of ultimate legal sovereignty actually resided.
To be sure, the House of Commons could dismiss the cabinet by withdrawing its
conWdence. In this manner the House could deprive one cabinet of the power to
govern, but only in order to install another in its place. The House decided who
governs, but it did not itself govern. The legislature could change one monopolist
of power for another, thereby eVecting the wishes of the democratic electorate, but
it did not itself resume that power by turning over the business of law-making to
individuals or committees, except, you might wish to say, for that dominant
committee, which thereby became the executive.
This plural executive, the cabinet, was bound to act as a unit by the constitu-
tional convention of collective responsibility. This meant that every member of the
cabinet must comply with and, if necessary, defend in public the decisions of the
cabinet, even if he disliked them and had opposed them in cabinet discussions. The
cabinet, however, could not satisfy this norm independently of the prime minister.
He determined the agenda for cabinet discussion and his summations gave the
government machine its principal marching orders. He appointed and dismissed
706 samuel h. beer

its members, moved them from one post to another, and decided if and when the
cabinet would resign or go to the country in a general election.
These norms of cabinet government are not laws enforceable by courts like
imperatives of the American constitution, but conventions whose eVectiveness as
restraints and incentives are hardly less, as illustrated by their survival over
generations and in some respects centuries. The fusion of powers itself dates
back to the premodern monarchy. Criticizing Bagehot’s view that the cabinet is a
committee of the House of Commons, Leo Amery argued that the two elements of
the constitution ‘‘today as when William I was king’’ are, on the one hand, a central
energizing, initiating, directing element, which exercises both executive and legis-
lative power—formerly the monarch and today the cabinet; and, on the other
hand, a peripheral element, which complains, criticizes, and consents, but does not
itself govern—formerly the baronage and today the House of Commons, especially
the opposition. A Tory inellectual, Amery neglected a fact which fundamentally
qualiWes his assertion, while also conWrming it. From the great reform act of 1832
to the current representation of the people acts, statutes have given Britain a
vigorously democratic constitution, which, however, is expressed through institu-
tions inheriting the concentrated governing powers of the old monarchic regime.
This transfer of authority from monarch to cabinet was a remarkable and
inherently implausible piece of constitutional history. One might well suppose
that as the liberalizing forces of modernity shifted power from the monarchic
toward a democratic regime, the old concentration of power would be dispersed
among representative groups in the legislature as individuals and committees
reXected the pluralism of the empowered electorate. For a new pluralism in the
electorate and a heightened individualism in the legislature did emerge. On the
contrary, however, a new convention arose which vested the old fusion of powers in
the cabinet so long as, and only so long as, it had the conWdence of the House of
Commons. The classic formulation was framed by the leader of the opposition in
1841 in a motion of no conWdence, which led to the defeat of the government, a
dissolution, and election of a new government. By this link, democratization was
Wtted into the institutional norms of the old concentration. The same rigidity
survived as the constitution also continued to display its Xexibility in the further
development of cabinet government and prime ministerial authority.
So elaborated, this paradoxical constitution of ‘‘elective dictatorship’’—to use
Lord Hailsham’s perceptive exaggeration—based on a coherent framework of
convention and statute, was an indispensable condition for the rise of party govern-
ment. The dominant political formations of the collectivist age, the Conservative and
the Labour parties, both complied with its imperatives. Both accepted the fusion of
powers, whether exercising them as the government, or as the opposition, holding
the government accountable for their exercise and aspiring to have it for themselves.
 encounters with modernity 707

While both parties also accepted and complied with the requirement of democratic
consent, they diVered radically over how they understood that the Xow of inXuence
should move within their ranks and within the electorate, from the top down or
from the bottom up. ‘‘Tory democracy’’ still bore strong traces of premodern noblesse
oblige and deference. Labour’s sense of working class solidarity was strengthened by
traditions of an organic society which harmonized with trade union dominance.
So the British constitution, as constitutions must be if they are to perform their
coordinating function, was accepted by all participants despite their conXicting
partisan perspectives. And indeed, thanks to its ancient authorization of the
dualism of government vs. opposition, the constitution so framed perceptions
and preferences as to favor a two-party system. As the changing political culture
reshaped the institutions of party and group behavior, the constitution, that
institution of institutions, Wtted them to its enduring contours.
In the American case the democratic thrust of the constitution was dominant,
the preamble of its legal text declaring it to be ordained by that ultimate sovereign,
the People of the United States. Although its norms cannot compete with the
British in antiquity, they display rigidities with notable powers of endurance. There
is that 1787 text of explicit rules of law establishing and empowering our institu-
tions of government. To be sure, in the course of constitutional development, this
body of law has been changed by amendment, as in the case of the Wrst ten, the Bill
of Rights, and the three massive amendments occasioned by the Civil War. Few in
number, however, the amendments have done little to oVset the popular impres-
sion, often conWrmed by the rhetoric of editorial writers and even judges, that we
enjoy a wise and unchanging code bequeathed to the ages by our Founding Fathers.
Actually and, on balance, fortunately, that amended text is being continually
transformed by its reinterpretation by the Supreme Court exercising its power of
judicial review. The constitution’s ‘‘ambiguous libertarian generalities,’’ to use
Justice Frankfurter’s phrase, such as ‘‘due process of law’’ and ‘‘equal protection
of the laws,’’ have been something of a palimpsest for profound rewriting of the
verbal texts. In performing this function, the Court, it has been said, follows the
election returns, sometimes, however, lagging far behind, sometimes forging far
ahead. For instance, the words that were held to justify racial segregation in 1896
were not held to prohibit it until 1954. In those postwar years, the Warren–Burger
Court served as the most active agency of American government in pressing
forward the liberalizing of public policy. Given the ambiguity of the general
language of the constitutional text, the Court cannot help being a law-making
rather than a mere law applying institution.
Our constitutional norms, however, depend not only on the amended text
and judicial interpretation, but also, in the British manner, on conventions, old
or new. By convention the two-term rule on the presidency prevailed from the
708 samuel h. beer

administration of George Washington until, having been broken by FDR, it

was enacted by constitutional amendment in 1951. It is still only by convention
that presidential electors are bound to vote in accordance with the popular
vote in their state. The greatest change in the course of our constitutional
development has surely been the immense increase in the powers of the presidency.
The words of the text would seem to make him merely the executor of the decisions
in peace and war by the Congress and the Court. Yet that massive economic
and constitutional revolution in domestic and foreign aVairs achieved by
Franklin Roosevelt was accomplished without formal amendment and in the
teeth of judicial resistance. The latter barrier was overcome when FDR’s plan
to pack the Court failed, but was a suYcient threat to cause the Court to
discover in the legal text of the constitution the broader powers of federal
legislation Roosevelt sought for the New Deal. Under Roosevelt and his succes-
sors the ‘‘imperial presidency’’ in peace and war has been achieved step by step,
each incident of increase serving to authorize the next, making the
overall advance a matter of convention rather than judicial interpretation or
constitutional amendment.
Yet despite all these shifts in power within the executive, legislative, and judicial
branches of our constitutional system, its commitment to a separation of
these powers, though not explicitly stated in the legal text, has endured, a conven-
tion as fundamental to our system as its opposite, the fusion of powers, has
proved to be to the British. Despite the best eVorts of reformers, whether politi-
cians or political scientists, the response of the American polity to the new
demands of peace and war, therefore, was not party government, but presidential
leadership.
On both sides of the Atlantic, as the 1960s dawned the mood was euphoric.
In 1959 Macmillan won reelection on slogans that have not inaccurately
been summarized as ‘‘You never had it so good!’’ At the same time the cheerful
data for the civic culture study of Almond and Verba was being gathered, showing
British trust in their government and politics at a peak among nations. In a
book on postwar Britain published in 1965 and titled British Politics in the Collect-
ivist Age, I could conclude, ‘‘Happy the country in which consensus and conXict are
ordered in a dialectic that makes of the political arena at once a market of interests
and a forum for the debate of fundamental moral concerns.’’ In these years the
United States discovered its aZuence, reported its own high pride in its govern-
ment, and, despite the menace of the cold war and the trauma of Kennedy’s
assassination, acclaimed the reforms of Johnson’s Great Society. ‘‘For,’’ as our
foremost authority on presidential elections, Theodore White, proclaimed in
1965, ‘‘Americans live today on the threshold of the greatest hope in the whole
history of the human race.’’
 encounters with modernity 709

3 Liberal Nationalism
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

In neither country did this happy continuum last. In Britain and in the United
States the success story of postwar collectivism was disrupted by a series of
government failures which, beginning in the 1960s, persisted into the following
decade. Although reaching deeper levels of change in Britain, cause and eVect were
similar. The coordinating power, party government in Britain and presidential
leadership in the USA, succumbed in classic illustrations of self-defeating plural-
ism, or as I called it in the subtitle of Britain Against Itself (1982), ‘‘the political
contradictions of collectivism.’’
This loss of control over Wscal and economic policy contributed massively
to burgeoning budget deWcits and raging price and wage inXation, as exempliWed
in the last days of the Great Society and the ‘‘winter of discontent’’ of the Callaghan
government. Experimenting with models of rational choice theory, I thought at
Wrst that the source of the troubles was democratic collectivism itself, the inclusion
of so many decision-makers as to make collective decisions virtually impossible.
Yet these failures of collectivism also had a further source. As anyone who lived
through the 1960s and 1970s will recall, the government failures were overshadowed
and indeed precipitated by an immense cultural upheaval. The attack on authority
and order struck every sphere: dress, music, manners, education, sex, marriage,
work, religion, race relations, and, perhaps most sharply, politics and government.
Indirectly this attack on the old solidarities opened the way for the free market
advance in public policy initiated by Reagan and Thatcher and the subsequent
economic recovery. In the political culture of both countries, a shift from
the collectivist attitudes of the postwar period to more individualist attitudes
eased the movement of policy from public choice toward market choice. Accord-
ingly, when the left-of-center opposition took over, both Clinton and Blair
accepted the new outlook, acclaiming in their identical rhetoric ‘‘the end of big
government.’’ Still, both also sought to add a radical modiWcation which they
termed the Third Way.
In Britain, reXecting this reorientation of political culture, Thatcher’s eradica-
tion of Tory paternalism from the Conservative program was complemented by
Blair’s no less radical purge of socialism from New Labour. One outcome was a
marked Americanization of British political institutions and public policy. One
cannot fail to note the contrast with the strong Anglophile tendencies of American
politics during the immediate postwar years.
In broad outline, the institutions of the welfare state and managed economy
created in the postwar years had still framed the outlook of Gaitskell and Macmil-
lan. Leading the attack on this bureaucratic, corporatistic, interventionist regime,
Thatcher abolished the nationalized industries, privatized public housing, and
demolished the privileged position of organized labor. No less surprising, this
710 samuel h. beer

radical and comprehensive divergence in public policy was wholly accepted by

Tony Blair, thereby bringing about a new convergence between the parties. I
christened it ‘‘Blatcherism’’ in order to recall the similar somersault thirty years
before when the Conservaties adopted the major reforms of the Attlee government,
thereby earning the nickname ‘‘Butskellism.’’ In quite serious ways, however, Blair’s
Third Way was an advance from Blatcherism.

3.1 The Nation’s Constitution

What did these events teach me about political institutions? The main lesson was
that the liberal constitution performs the function of not only coordination, but
also integration. The collective thinking of deliberative democracy can reconcile
the diverse preferences of interest group pluralism. But who or what does this? To
say that ‘‘the people’’ rule does not say who the people are. One could take them
to include all mankind, as some Enlightenment radicals presumed. This utopian
hope is not to be disdained. It could be entertained as an operative ideal recognizing
and welcoming the possibility that existing units of self-government can be
expanded in ever wider regimes. The various peoples of the present European
Union of nation states may someday become suYciently integrated to act as
the European People who ordain a European Republic. In any case, it remains true
that the deWnition of the manner of government does not identify the unit of
government. Fierce conXicts sometimes rage between advocates who agree on the
manner of government, the democracy question, but disagree on who is to be
included, the nationality question. Under the American constitution, government
by the people is also expected to be government for the people. It is in our nationhood
that we Wnd our sense of identity and purpose, telling us who we are and what we are
trying to make of ourselves. The legal text declares that ‘‘We, The People’’seek ‘‘a more
perfect union.’’

3.2 Three Models of Liberal Nationalism

There are various kinds of bonding by which a number of individuals may be
connected suYciently to form a self-governing unit. One is the simple libertarian
contract not to harm one another, and therefore to form and to support a
government that protects this right for all. Closer to reality the communitarian
model identiWes the national bond as a common culture which unites its members
 encounters with modernity 711

by similarities of behavior and feelings of sympathy and belonging. Given

its intrinsic intolerance of diversity, the communitarian democracy threatens
creative advance by individuals or groups. A third variation which I have
called social liberalism combines the merits of a common culture and a commit-
ment to diversity. In this model of nationhood the integration of persons
is achieved because they are diverse, but complementary; that is, the various
members diVer in such ways that they Wt together as a more inclusive
whole. The favorite analogy is with a living body; hence the designation ‘‘organic
nationalism’’ for this idea of a free, egalitarian, democratic, and passionate form of
social union. The point to stress is that the interaction of its citizens is not merely
external and instrumental, but inward and constitutive, so transforming one
another as to make the aggregate a uniWed whole and a fulWllment of creative
advance.
To be members of such a nation is to be joined together not only by
ideas, but also by what Edmund Burke called ‘‘public aVections’’—the whole
range: fear, joy, pride, shame, anger, devotion, and revulsion. Not that all
members will at all times react to events in the same way, as they did in grief
over JFK’s assassination and the shattering events of 9/11. At times some Americans
will feel shame for what others take pride in, as happened during our bitter
divisions over war in Vietnam and Iraq. But both the shame and the pride spring
from a common sense of nationhood. You cannot be ashamed of your country
unless you love it.

3.3 Blair’s New Nationalism

‘‘I like to think of myself,’’ Thatcher once said, ‘‘as a Liberal in the nineteenth-
century sense—like Gladstone.’’ Her repudiation of Tory paternalism Wts
her libertarian mold. Tony Blair’s repudiation of socialism, although not explicit,
was no less thorough. Does that make him a liberal too? If so, it would be as a
fellow traveler not with Gladstone, but with David Lloyd-George. His was a
liberalism heartily committed to capitalism, but, as he showed in word and
deed, a capitalism modiWed by far-reaching reform. This social liberalism
advances Blair beyond Blatcherism, distinguishing him from libertarians as well
as socialists.
The socialist favors equality of condition, in accord with the ancient
admonition, ‘‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.’’
Even after having served as prime minister, Attlee assured me that he still thought
that, as he had written before the war, the ultimate goal basically should be equal
incomes for all. Some on the Labour left today may still share this faith. In sharp
712 samuel h. beer

contrast, the libertarians, with whom it is not unfair to class Reagan and Thatcher,
defend the right of each person to pursue his or her own idea of the good life and,
therefore, Wnd government intervention suYcient if it ensures all equal protection
against harm by any. Recognizing that beyond this negative right the individual
may well need positive assistance, if he is to pursue his better possibilities, social
liberalism oVers equality of opportunity, but with the crucial proviso that the oVer
of opportunity entails the duty of its responsible use.
Welfare policy, declared Blair at the party conference of 1997 in a vivid oxy-
moron, should be governed by ‘‘compassion with a hard edge.’’ He accordingly
warned the unemployed, especially the young, not to lapse into dependency on
welfare entitlements, but seriously and persistently to look for work. I was
reminded of how, as a youthful ghost-writer for the New Deal, I had learned,
when justifying aid to the unemployed, to add ‘‘through no fault of their own.’’
These were exactly the same words which had often been used by Lloyd-George in a
similar context. Precisely this rationale of encouraging self-reliance by empower-
ment rather than entitlement informed the workfare provisions of the welfare
reform act which President Clinton signed in 1996 and which served as a precedent
for the measure adopted by Tony Blair, similar even to the extent of using the term
‘‘new deal’’ for certain provisions. In a signiWcant way the social liberal shares the
libertarian belief in and hope for individual autonomy.
The individual freely makes his choice, but with social assistance and for a
further purpose, as Blair concluded in his 1997 conference address, to make Britain,
if no longer ‘‘the mightiest,’’ now and in the future, ‘‘the best place to lead a fulWlled
life.’’ Earnestly as he supported, on the one hand, devolution in the UK and, on the
other hand, a leading role in the European Union, to his way of thinking, the
British nation state was alive and well and on its way to becoming ‘‘a beacon for
good at home and abroad.’’ In what he had said and done I found enough such
emphasis to speak of Blair’s ‘‘New Nationalism.’’
The ground for this new hope was a new fact. While public policy was institu-
tionalizing greater individual freedom and greater individual responsibility, at the
same time and for the same reason the ancient class system was dissolving. This
‘‘collapse of deference,’’ as I with some exaggeration called it in Britain Against Itself
(1982), had the positive eVect of facilitating the advance of social liberalism. The
ancient cultural premises of British politics had been hammered home on me by
my tutor in medieval history at Balliol, the renown Vivian Hunter Galbraith.
‘‘Beer,’’ he said to me, ‘‘you will never understand England until you understand
her middle ages.’’ And then as if in logical sequence, he continued, ‘‘In England the
upper classes do not hold the lower classes down, the lower classes hold the upper
classes up.’’ That penetrating observation of core values of Toryism and socialism
was Wnally losing its relevance.
 encounters with modernity 713

3.4 Integrating the American Nation

In the USA the most prominent, though not the only illustration of a new
nationalism, was the constitutional revolution brought about by the civil rights
movement. Its purpose was to eliminate the deeply held racism—legal, political,
economic, and social—of the American people. That negation had the positive
purpose of ‘‘making the nation more of a nation,’’ to cite the theme of my book,
To Make A Nation (1993). Some black spokesmen, on the contrary, likewise
demanded an equalization of rights, but so designed as to enable blacks to develop
and enjoy their own way of life separately from whites. Against these separatists
the mainstream of the civil rights movement, however, steadfastly favored inte-
gration on a nationwide scale, as Walter White had successfully contended against
W. E. B. Dubois in the 1930s, as Thurgood Marshall had insisted against Stokely
Carmichael and Rap Brown in the 1950s, and as Martin Luther King Jr. had
foreseen before an audience of a quarter of a million in front of the Lincoln
Memorial on August 28, 1963 dreaming of a future when ‘‘the sons of former
slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will sit together at the table of
brotherhood.’’ That famous metaphor had a literal meaning: lunch counters had
been among the Wrst arenas of integration in the South. As a metaphor, it
envisioned American civilization nourished by the free and uncoerced commu-
nion of both races.
What actually happens? There is an interchange in which individuals come to
appreciate and to emulate one another’s virtues. Ideally, in this American paideia,
the individuality of separate persons is enhanced and our union as a nation is made
less imperfect. These gifts of American pluralism are not skills or techniques, but
the human capacities that enable individuals to acquire and exercise skill and
knowledge. These capacities may properly be called ‘‘virtues’’ in the original
meaning of the term, arête, real powers of human achievement. As such they are
the gifts of individuality. But as elements in a social division of labor, they are also
complementary. They not only empower those who possess them; as items of social
interchange they also empower others. This process of social interchange is not like
economic exchange, in which what one gives one no longer has and what one
receives the other no longer has, leaving the parties as separate as before. In social
interchange, what the parties give one another they also keep. They do not have
something more; they have become something else. Therein their connection
becomes stronger and richer and more beautiful, in Whitman’s words, making
‘‘the united states . . . the greatest poem.’’
It is vital to sense what actually happens in the integrating process if the
institutions of social liberalism, such as aYrmative action, are to be properly
designed. These legal and moral institutions of civil rights reform provide the
opportunity and incentives for assimilation. But if assimilation is to continue as an
714 samuel h. beer

inward and constitutive integration of persons, that culminating step from equal
rights to fraternal communion must be voluntary.
It was a moment of great promise. If the task of liberal institutions is to release
the creative powers of the free mind, while also guarding against its risks, social
liberalism is a sensible third way between the libertarians and the socialists. So it
was this name, the Third Way, that Clinton and Blair gave to their distinctive public
philosophy. New Democrat and New Labour seemed to be in the process of
establishing a complex of institutions which would repeat the success of welfare
reform in new programs in such Welds as education, health care, the environment,
Wscal policy, and law and order. The Third Way also had a global aspect as a model
for other free countries. In its glory days from 1998 through 2000, these proposals
were seen as promising to strengthen the liberal nation state against ‘‘rogue states’’
and ‘‘terrorists’’ and won the approval of a series of summits of left-of-center
governments in the West. Perhaps the most grandiose was the Berlin meeting on
June 1, 2000 when thirteen heads of governments signed a joint communiqué
praising the Third Way and advocating a comprehensive global program of reforms
as ‘‘a new international social compact.’’ In the individual states, however, the
institutional demand proved hard, sometimes too hard, to meet and after 9/11
American leadership succumbed to the more immediate needs of national security.
As recently as the dedication of his Presidential Library on November 19, 2004,
however, Clinton could still hail the Third Way and repeat his mantra of Commu-
nity, Opportunity, and Responsibility.

4 A Good Word for Institutionalism

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Institutionalism is a big tent. This review of my work has helped me see how the
concept I have chosen gets at the role of ideas in history. My basic working
hypothesis is that the free mind is and ought to be the ethical premise of modernity
and the governing force in modernization. Switching from JeVersonian rhetoric
to modern social science, I say in the words of CliVord Geertz, ‘‘the autonomous
process of symbol formulation’’ enables man to be ‘‘the agent of his own
realization’’ who through ‘‘the construction of schematic images of social order . . .
makes himself for better or worse a political animal.’’ Liberalism in the very
broadest sense is the word for this primary norm and fact. The politics of the
free mind that follows from this liberal premise promises achievement on a grand
scale, but also threatens self-inXicted failure and disaster. The need for some means
to realize the promise and avert the perils points toward an institutional approach.
 encounters with modernity 715

By an institution I mean a pattern of motivation imposing restraints and incentives

on behavior. Its source is the free mind’s ceaseless revelation of possibility. The
political culture so created is embodied in a set of incentives and restraints on
political behavior. The political culture is not itself an institution, nor is political
behavior in itself. The institution is the behavior with the meaning given it as the
product of these incentives and restraints.
This concept of an institution directs attention to the nature and function of a
liberal constitution. In any liberal polity, its inherent pluralism will create a
complex of institutions in wider or narrower arenas of behavior, thereby creating
a need for an institution that orders the complex as a whole. The institution
charged with such a comprehensive task of coordination is appropriately called a
constitution. Proposals of constitutional reform need such an overall perspective.
A few years ago, for example, it seemed to me that Charter 88’s admirable concern
to relax Britain’s over-centralized system had become so one-sided that their
program, if enacted as a whole, would have quite destroyed the power of coherent
governance. The task of the liberal constitution, moreover, is not only coordin-
ation, but also integration. Incentives and restraints to facilitate and coordinate
liberal democracy are obviously needed. No less a constitutional imperative is the
integration that makes the nation more of a nation. The process of creative
advance, we may hope, is in constant motion; likewise its fulWllment in a more
perfect social union.
 chapter 36
...................................................................................................................................................

ABOUT INSTITUTIONS,
M A I N LY, B U T N OT
E XC LU S I V E LY,
POLITICAL
...................................................................................................................................................

jean blondel

If institutions are regarded as central in a social science discipline, it is in political

science. This has been the case during the long process of maturation of the subject
from its very early beginnings to the increasingly rapid pace of its development up
to the Second World War. After an interlude of at most two decades during which,
under the impact of the ‘‘behavioral revolution,’’ they seemed to be receding in
importance, political institutions saw their crucial position once more restated as a
result of the ‘‘new institutionalism’’ wave started in the 1980s by March and Olsen:
political institutions have Xourished ever since, in particular in the rational choice
context. Indeed, even the temporary ‘‘decline’’ in prestige of institutions in the
1960s and 1970s must not be exaggerated. Not only did such ‘‘institutions’’ as
parties, legislatures, or governments constitute the framework within which single
country and even comparative studies tended typically to be analyzed, but the
prevailing ‘‘grand model’’ of the period, structural-functionalism, gave a central
position to ‘‘structures,’’ a term which was felt more neutral than the word
institution, but covering at least in large part the same reality.
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 717

Institutions may have thus prevailed in political science, but what might be termed
‘‘clariWcation’’ endeavors with respect to the concept were rare. There is indeed more
interest in the determination of what institutions are in economics or sociology
than in political science: moreover, bizarrely, there appears to have been no
concern in political science for the vagueness, to say the least, of what should
come under the umbrella of the concept. It was as if the meaning of that concept
was self-evident and we should immediately recognize an institution when we
saw one. This is strange since, outside political science, deWnitions are complex,
for instance those given by sociologists. Talcott Parsons thus said that institutions
are ‘‘those patterns which deWne the essentials of the legitimately expected
behaviour of persons insofar as they perform structurally important roles in
the social system’’ (1954, 239). W. R. Scott, almost half a century later, was only a
little more concrete: ‘‘institutions consist of cognitive, normative and regulative
structures and activities that provide stability and meaning to social behavior’’
(1995, 33). These deWnitions suggest that major problems need to be clariWed: in
the case of the second one, for instance, alongside ‘‘cognitive, normative and,
regulative’’ structures, we have also to consider ‘‘activities.’’ If applied to politics,
what this deWnition would exclude would be small and indeed debatable.
Yet, in the political context at least, the deWnition problem is not the only one in
need of ‘‘clariWcation:’’ ‘‘institutionalization’’ raises diYculties as well, although the
expression has been in great use since the Second World War. In his 1968 Political
Order in Changing Societies, Huntington gave a broad deWnition as well when he said
that institutionalization is ‘‘the process by which organisations and procedures
acquire value and stability’’ (1968, 12) and that four characteristics aVected it:
‘‘adaptability, complexity, autonomy and coherence.’’ The scope of the concept is
somewhat narrowed, since the reference here is to ‘‘procedures’’ and not to ‘‘activ-
ities,’’ but the question of the development of institutions over time now arises. Time
itself becomes a variable, although other reasons why institutionalization has
to ‘‘develop’’ are added, which means that institutions can also decay (Huntington
1968, 13–14). Institutions are not regarded as automatically eYcient; their eYciency
seems ostensibly to depend, not just on internal characteristics, as on the way the
actors use them, but on external aspects, as on the way the broader society reacts to
them: The strength of institutions, at any rate in the political realm, appears linked in
part to the support these may enjoy outside their ‘‘borders.’’ The institutionalization
process thus needs to be explored alongside the concept of institution: It provides a
key to understanding why and how new institutions might have to be ‘‘designed’’ to
cope with problems hitherto not handled satisfactorily. These problems are only
beginning to be considered and are in great need of systematic examination.
A chapter such as this can explore these matters only generally. What can be
done, under the guidance of the literature, is, Wrst, to come closer to a satisfactory
deWnition of the concept of institution by looking at its components and, second,
to examine the way in which institutionalization can increase (or decrease). The
718 jean blondel

Wrst section of this chapter thus considers the place to be given to organizations
and to procedures in the deWnition of institutions: Major diVerences across the
social sciences and in particular in the political, social, and economic Welds emerge
in this context. The second section is concerned with institutionalization: Marked
diVerences are found among the social sciences in this respect as well.

1 Institutions in the Political

Context in Contrast to the Economic
and Social Context
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

1.1 The Non-problematic Character of Institutions in

Political Science up to the 1990s
The indiVerence which political scientists displayed traditionally with respect to
what constitutes political institutions is remarkable: Indeed, at any rate up to the
emergence of the behavioral movement, the empirical study of politics seemed to be
viewed as coextensive with the study of political institutions. Thus a department in a
university could be labeled ‘‘Department of Political Institutions’’ to indicate that it
was concerned with empirical politics, not political philosophy. Thus studies under-
taken in the early post-Second World War period did not even need to mention
institutions in their index nor did Finer’s three-volume History of Government
published in 1993 do so. Despite the ‘‘concept clariWcation’’ aims of that work, Sartori’s
Social Science Concepts, published in 1980, does not refer to institutions at all, in the
index or elsewhere, as if the concept was ‘‘non-problematic’’ and ‘‘self-evident.’’
Discussion, though not controversy, had begun to arise on the subject, however,
as the study of politics, even before behaviorism emerged, went beyond (or below)
classical ‘‘political institutions’’ and into the social realm in particular by studying
groups. In his Governmental Process, published in 1962, Truman stated: ‘‘The
word [institution] does not have a meaning suYciently precise to enable one to
state with conWdence that one group is an institution whereas another is not’’
(1962, 26). Some questions were being raised as to whether bodies such as groups
were institutions in the same way as parties or legislatures; but the matter was
mentioned indirectly, casually even. In their introduction to their volume on The
Politics of the Developing Areas (1960), Almond and Coleman drew a distinction, in
the context of the ‘‘Interest Articulation’’ function, between ‘‘(1) institutional
interest groups’’ and three other types of groups (non-associational, anomic, and
associational) (1960, 33), but no attempt was made to deWne these ‘‘institutional
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 719

interest groups.’’ More generally, they said they had ‘‘in mind phenomena
occurring within such organisations as legislatures, political executives, armies,
bureaucracies, churches and the like’’ (Almond and Coleman 1960, 33; emphasis
added). Very early in the book, they had simply said that ‘‘instead of ‘institutions,’
which again directs us towards formal norms, [we prefer] structures’’ (1960, 4).
A few years later, in 1966, in their Comparative Politics, Almond and Powell referred
in a similarly casual manner to ‘‘formal and institutional channels of access which
exist in a modern political system. The mass media constitute one such access
channel’’ (1966, 84–5; emphasis in original). Parties, legislatures, bureaucracies, and
cabinets are then mentioned as being also formal and institutional channels.
Despite what has been frequently said about the attitude of ‘‘behaviorists’’
vis-à-vis institutions, there is therefore not so much a negative approach to these
elements of political life as a ‘‘taken-for-granted’’ standpoint. Easton, in the index
to his Political System (1953), lists a number of points at which institutions are
mentioned (he does not do so at all in his subsequent A Systems Analysis of Political
Life (1965)), but in the body of the text, as when he discusses the works of Bagehot
or Bryce, the word institution is not even mentioned: he appears to assume that the
kinds of bodies which these authors referred to are ‘‘institutions.’’
Thus behaviorists did not deny that institutions had a role, but, by introducing
the ‘‘broader’’ notion of structure, Almond (and indeed, by introducing the notion
of system, Easton and Almond) brought about a distinction which was bound one
day to lead to questions about possible diVerences between these concepts. The
notion of institution was rendered controversial by the sheer fact that a second
notion was introduced without abandoning the Wrst, but, in the 1960s and 1970s,
the point had not been reached when one could say, as Rothstein did in his
contribution to the New Handbook of Political Science of R. E. Goodin and
H.-D. Klingemann (1996), ‘‘Political Institutions: an Overview:’’ ‘‘whichever story
political scientists want to tell, it will be a story about institutions. A central puzzle
in political science is that what we see in the real world is an enormous variation,
over time and place, in the speciWcs of these institutions’’ (1996, 134–5). Possibly the
Wrst text which truly raised the issue was that of Lawson, The Human Polity,
published in 1985, where it is stated under the subtitle of institutions: ‘‘An institu-
tion is a structure with established, important functions to perform; with well-
speciWed rules for carrying out these functions; and with a clear set of rules
governing the relationships between the people who occupy those roles’’ (1985, 29).
The nature of the debate was of course transformed by March and Olsen’s work,
Rediscovering Institutions, published in 1989, after the article entitled ‘‘The New Insti-
tutionalism’’ was published in the American Political Science Review in 1984. The
inXuence of the volume has been extraordinarily large, but the text is also extraordin-
arily laconic, not to say more than laconic, about what institutions are. The Wrst
sentence echoes the phraseology of Almond and Coleman, a generation earlier, the
words ‘‘such as’’ being used as substitutes for a deWnition: ‘‘In most contemporary
720 jean blondel

theories of politics, traditional political institutions, such as the legislature, the legal
system and the state, as well as traditional economic institutions, such as the Wrm, have
receded in importance from the position they held in earlier theories’’ (March and
Olsen 1989, 1). The Wrst chapter is thus devoted to what are described as ‘‘Institutional
Perspectives on Politics,’’ but nowhere is the chapter concerned with the deWnitional
problem. In the last section of that chapter, entitled ‘‘The role of institutions in
politics,’’ the authors state: ‘‘In the remainder of the present book we wish to explore
some ways inwhich the institutions of politics, particularly administrative institutions,
provide order and inXuence change in politics’’ (1989, 16). Thus March and Olsen are
not apparently more conscious than their predecessors of the fact that a
problem of deWnition arises with respect to institutions and that a distinction has to
be made between institutions and other ‘‘elements’’ which play a part in politics.
The question of the meaning of the concept of ‘‘institution’’ came to be raised only
a few years later, in the mid-1990’s; yet this was done at Wrst somewhat marginally by
Goodin who noticed the diVerent part which institutions play in the various social
science disciplines (1996, 1–24). Probably the Wrst full confrontation with the prob-
lem was in Lane and Ersson’s volume on The New Institutional Politics (2000). This
was something of a ‘‘volte-face’’ by these authors, as they still adopted, in the fourth
edition of their Politics and Society in Western Europe, published in 1999, the kind of
‘‘unproblematic’’ language of March and Olsen. No attempt was then made, for
instance, in the section of the introductory chapter entitled ‘‘Social Structure versus
Political Institutions,’’ to deWne these expressions. The authors had stated, without
any further concern, that ‘‘[t]he focus on the variation between institutions of
political democracy and their sources in civil society as well as their consequences
for political outcomes creates a certain logical structure for the contents of the
volume’’ (Lane and Ersson 1999, 14). Yet, one year later, they devoted a whole chapter
to the question ‘‘What is an institution’’ (2000, 23–37) in which they referred, among
other problems, to the ‘‘ambiguity of institution’’ (24–7) and proceeded to discuss a
distinction which they made between what they described as ‘‘holistic’’ or ‘‘socio-
logical institutionalism’’ and ‘‘rational-choice institutionalism’’ (29–36). This was
real progress, but Lane and Ersson do not appear to consider that institutions have
a particular ‘‘resonance,’’ so to speak, in the political science context. To Wnd out why
there is such a ‘‘resonance,’’ we need Wrst to turn to a general examination of the
diVerences among the various disciplines on the subject.

1.2 What Institutions are for Economists and Sociologists

and why Political Scientists have to DiVer
In The Theory of Institutional Design, edited by R. E. Goodin (1996), the question of
diVerent kinds of ‘‘institutionalisms’’ is evoked, possibly for the Wrst time, at least in
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 721

such a clear-cut manner: ‘‘Each of the several disciplines that collectively constitute
the social sciences contained an older institutionalist tradition. In each case that
tradition has recently been resurrected with some new twist . . . .The new institu-
tionalism mean [sic] something rather diVerent in each of these alternative discip-
linary settings’’ (Goodin 1996, 2). The characteristic meaning of institutions in each
discipline is then examined, and the author continues: ‘‘There is wide diversity
within and across disciplines in what they construe as ‘institutions’ and why. That
diversity derives, in large measure, from the inclination within each tradition to look
for deWnitions that are somehow ‘internal’ to the practices they describe’’ (1996, 20).
A ‘‘central deWning feature’’ is then attempted: having adopted what he refers to as an
‘‘external’’ account of what institutions are and what they do, the author states that
‘‘a social institution is . . . nothing more than a ‘stable, valued, recurring pattern of
behaviour’ ’’ (1996, 21), the formula being that of Huntington.
Yet it is probably more fruitful to look at diVerences among the social sciences in
this respect and in particular at what is suggested by economists and sociologists
alongside political scientists. There appears to be a dimension, with economics and
political science at the two extremes and sociology somewhere in the middle. As
was noted early in this chapter, W. R. Scott, a sociologist, stated that institutions
covered both organizations and activities: this is indeed the middle position
characterizing sociological analysis with respect to institutions. What was said
earlier suggests that in politics the traditional stress—including that which both
Lawson and Lane and Ersson indicated—was that institutions were Wrst and
foremost organizations. In economics, on the contrary, the emphasis is exclusively
on procedures. ‘‘Institutions are the rules of the game in a society or, more
formally, are the humanly devised constraints that shape human interaction:’’
this is how D. C. North begins his book on Institutions, Institutional Change and
Economic Performance (1990, 3). No reference whatsoever is made to organizations
in this description.
Whether it is worth trying to reconcile the points of view of the disciplines about
institutions is debatable: it is unquestionably valuable to note that major
diVerences exist about the meaning of the concept. These exist because the three
disciplines are concerned with diVerent sets of problems. As Goodin points out,
economists are primarily concerned with solving the problem of individual choice
(1996, 11) and are therefore concerned with rules. The individuals are the agents of
the economic ‘‘machine’’ (whether as physical individuals or in association with
each other in Wrms): Individuals cannot be expected to achieve their goals unless
there are rules which determine how they are to relate to each other.
The situation is diVerent in the society at large: Individuals congregate to
form associations, unless they Wnd themselves in bodies which have existed for
generations, whether in traditional societies (tribes) or in modern societies (from
families to churches). These bodies constrain individuals. Institutions cannot just
be based on rules; they have to include the way collective arrangements, in groups,
722 jean blondel

aVect the behavior of individuals. As OVe states in the Encyclopedia of Democratic

Thought, edited by P. B. Barry and J. Foweraker, in a rubric entitled, not institu-
tions, but ‘‘institutional design:’’ ‘‘The rules and behavioural routines that make up
the institutions are not just contractually agreed upon between the actual partici-
pants, but recognised, validated and expected by third parties and observers. Some
of the more important institutions come with elaborate normative theories, ‘char-
ters’, ‘animating ideas’ ’’ (2001, 363). Social analysis has to be based both on the
choice of individuals and on what might be regarded as the ‘‘pressure’’ of the
groups to which these individuals belong. Hence the emphasis of W. R. Scott (1995)
on both organizations and procedures.
The case of politics is diVerent. Politics is a process of decision-making—and in
that it resembles economics—but a process of decision-making taking place not
between individuals but in communities (in ‘‘systems’’) and applicable to those who
belong to these communities, whether they participated or not in the decisions or
indeed even agreed to them. This is why, as Easton pointed out in The Political
System, politics has to be an ‘‘authoritative’’ process of decision-making (1953, 135–
41). Two key consequences follow. First, choice in politics is rarely individual, except
if someone leaves the community to which he or she belongs, a move which is easily
doable in the case of the membership of an association (‘‘exit’’), but is appreciably
more diYcult, in practice, with respect to the state. Second, much of politics
concerns people not involved in the decisions taken. This is not equally the case in
(conventional) economics or even in much of what sociologists are concerned with.
The point is critical: It leads to the distinction between the way economists and
sociologists, on the one hand, and political scientists, on the other, understand the
meaning of institutions. Strangely enough, Rothstein does not point out that
diVerence, although he distinguishes between the approaches of economists and
sociologists (in Goodin and Klingemann 1996, 144–9).

2 Institutions and Politics: A Case of

Organizations and of Procedures, but
within Organizations
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

One can therefore see why in politics the emphasis has been almost automatically
placed on organizations rather than on procedures or rules when the question of
the deWnition of institutions has arisen. Rules count: They are part of the institu-
tional process; but rules and procedures become applicable, in politics, through
organizations only, as they have to be applicable to large numbers who have not
participated (because they do not have the right to do so, in most cases) in the
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 723

process of decision-making. Thus only if rules and procedures are ‘‘legitimized,’’ so to

speak, by an organization whose ‘‘authority’’ the individual is prepared to recognize
can they be also recognized. Economics does indeed need such a blessing by an
authority: This is why economists declare that the state has to impose the rules which
economics needs, but they do so sometimes with a degree of superior nonchalance as
if ‘‘politics simply had to do its job.’’ D. C. North is more ‘‘generous:’’ he notes that
‘‘[b]roadly speaking, political rules in place lead to economic rules, though the
causality runs both ways’’ (1990, 48). The same occurs in the social Weld, but not
always: Many social organizations are very small and can operate, at least ostensibly
and so long as there is no major conXict, without having to call on the ‘‘authority’’ of
the state. Only in politics is the recourse to authority continuous and universal; only
in politics are organizations always on the front line: Rules and procedures, however
important, have to be defended and supported by organizations.
In the political context, institutions are therefore primarily organizations. This is
so whether these organizations are ‘‘fully’’ political, so to speak, as legislatures or
parties, or ‘‘intermittently’’ political, as groups. Behaviorists were right to intro-
duce these social bodies in the political process, but being intermittently in politics,
these share the characteristics of both political and social organizations. This is
indeed also the case of such economic organizations as, for instance, large com-
panies and in particular multinational corporations.
A deWnition of institutions cannot therefore be applicable uniformly to all social
sciences, as it then becomes a common denominator without much real sign-
iWcance. In the political science context, the search for a deWnition has to be around
the concept of bodies able to take authoritative decisions, these bodies being in a
position to develop practices—that is to say, procedures and rules—which those
who recognize these bodies have to accept as being, so to speak, the ‘‘arms and legs’’
of these organizations. Much further research is needed in this context: But only in
this direction can one expect to solve the key puzzle of political institutions. The
puzzle is that institutions have been perceived as clear and distinct for generations,
but there are uncertainties about what these cover in terms of both the organiza-
tions concerned and the manner in which organizations express the decisions
which they take.

3 Institutionalization and its Great

Role in Politics
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Do political, social, or economic ‘‘arrangements’’ come to be institutions automa-

tically and immediately? Or do they become institutions after time passes? Is there,
724 jean blondel

in this case, an ‘‘institutionalization’’ period with the consequence that some

arrangements are ‘‘more’’ (or ‘‘less’’) institutional than others or that the same
arrangements become ‘‘more’’ (or ‘‘less’’) institutional?

3.1 Institutionalization in Political Science, Economics, and

Sociology
The question of institutionalization has concerned political scientists more than
other social scientists, Huntington being perhaps the political scientist who
reXected most on the problem. From his view that, as we noted, institutions are
‘‘organisations and procedures which acquire value and stability’’ (1968, 12), it can
be inferred that the process takes place over time. Institutions do not have ‘‘value
and stability’’ automatically from the moment they are set up. Indeed, an often-
cited (1962) Polsby article in the American Political Science Review had given an
empirical basis to such a standpoint: It showed in great detail the way in which the
districts of the House had become more competitive in the course of the develop-
ment of the American republic. What Huntington stated six years later seemed to
be a general and theoretical statement of the viewpoint that institutionalization
takes time.
In this, as with respect to the nature of institutions, political science diVers from
economics and sociology, a point which does not appear to have been noted. In
these last two disciplines, arrangements seem to become institutions immediately.
D. C. North notes that there is institutional change, but nowhere does he mention
institutionalization. He refers to the fact that ‘‘institutions change incrementally’’
(1990, 6), but merely to state that these changes take place incrementally ‘‘rather
than in a discontinuous fashion’’ (North 1990, 6). What is being considered is how
property rights have come to be altered in diVerent societies, but not how, in the
speciWc economic case, these ‘‘rules’’ have ‘‘acquire[d] value and stability.’’
An economist interested in institutions and their role, such as North, is not
concerned with how institutions (i.e. rules) develop, but (merely) how new rules
replace older ones.
Given that economists view institutions exclusively as rules, it is perhaps not
surprising that their approach to these rules should not be ‘‘evolutionary.’’ It is
more surprising that this should be the case for sociologists, since they are
concerned with organizations as well as with rules. It might indeed seem that
sociological theory should be ‘‘evolutionary’’ about institutions. W. R. Scott uses
the concept of institutionalization, which is listed in the index (but not in
North’s text). However, in Scott’s text, the role of time is wholly diVerent
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 725

from—and indeed much less important than—the one which it has in political
science. Referring to a work by Selznick, Scott says that ‘‘[o]rganisations with
more precisely deWned or with better developed technologies are less subject to
institutionalization than those with diVuse goals and weak technologies’’ (1995,
19). He then notes the diVerence between ‘‘oYcial’’ and ‘‘real’’ goals of organiza-
tions and the part played by power. Quoting Stinchcombe, who stated that
institutions are ‘‘structures in which powerful people are committed to some
value or interest’’ (1968, 107), he emphasizes that ‘‘values are preserved and
interests are protected if those holding them retain power’’ (Scott 1995, 19).
Referring to experiments conducted by Zucker (1977), Scott states that ‘‘to
create higher levels of institutionalization, the subject [of the experiment] was
told that she and her co-worker were both participants in an organization and
the co-worker (the confederate) was given the title of ‘light operator’ ’’ (Scott
1995, 83). Institutionalization is ‘‘manipulable,’’ so to speak. It is not a state
acquired over time, but a state which an institution has when certain conditions
are fulWlled, conditions which may or may not, more or less at will, be
introduced.
Why is it the case with the kind of social organizations which Scott examines,
and apparently not the case in politics? The point is that Scott is concerned with
what occurs among the members of an organization and not with the eVect
which the organization may have on persons outside the organization. Such
a point of view is justiWed from the point of a sociologist, particularly of
a sociologist who focuses on relatively small organizations or on Wrms which do
not have to ensure that their decisions are applied outside the organization.
For those in the organization, the organization is indeed institutionalized:
Employees have to abide by the rules, not merely because if they do not,
they are likely to be dismissed, but because they cannot relate to other
employees unless there is some agreement, that is to say unless some rules are
institutionalized.
The case is diVerent in politics, as was pointed out earlier, as it is diVerent in
‘‘social’’ organizations which attempt to impose their views on non-employees,
for instance trade unions, employers’ organizations, or many NGOs. When what
can be described as an ‘‘external constituency’’ plays a part in the life of an
organization, it cannot be taken for granted that people will abide by the rules
and therefore that institutionalization will be ‘‘automatic’’ and ‘‘instantaneous:’’
It has to be built. The fact that institutionalization has to be built (and,
conversely, can be ‘‘unbuilt’’) explains why institutionalization is such a central
concept in the analysis of political scientists. Yet, although it is central for
political scientists—and somehow perceived as central—it is surprising that the
basis for the development of institutionalization has not been systematically
explored.
726 jean blondel

4 The Role of ‘‘External’’

Considerations in the
Institutionalization of
Political Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Unlike economists and sociologists, political scientists have placed considerable

emphasis on institutionalization. There is no absence of interest in this case, as in
the deWnition of institutions, but the origins of the institutionalization process and
the forms it takes need a comprehensive examination. Admittedly, Huntington is
concerned with the ways in which and to an extent with the reasons for which
institutionalization develops, but as the sociologists tend to do, merely ‘‘internally.’’
He notes that time is crucial for the four key characteristics of institutionalization,
adaptability, complexity, autonomy, and coherence, to mature but the process is
presented in a rather mechanical manner. Time is viewed as being by itself one of
the ‘‘causes,’’ so to speak, of institutionalization (Huntington 1968, 13): Yet it is
simply not the case that ‘‘the longer an organisation or procedure has been in
existence, the higher the level of institutionalisation’’ (1968, 13–14). The process is
not only unlikely to be linear; it can also be reversed, as is shown by examples of
decline and collapse of well-established regimes. Huntington himself does indeed
point out that when ‘‘a function is no longer needed, the organization faces a major
crisis: It either Wnds a new function or reconciles itself to a lingering death’’ (1968,
15). However, the analysis is concerned only with the extent to which, within the
institution, there is more adaptability, complexity, autonomy, or coherence, as a
sociologist such as Scott does when he refers to Parsons: ‘‘A system of action was
said [by Parsons] to be ‘institutionalised’ to the extent that actors in an ongoing
relation oriented their actions to a common set of normative standards and value
patterns’’ (Scott 1995, 12). What is not taken into account is how the institution
relates to the rest of the society, although this matter is crucial in the case of
political institutions, since, as we noted, these institutions exist essentially in order
to aVect the polity as a whole.
Huntington is not the only author to consider institutionalization merely from
the point of view of the internal problems of the institution. Goodin and his
collaborators, thirty years later, in The Theory of Institutional Design (1996), analyze
the problem from the same standpoint. In the introductory chapter to the volume,
Goodin suggests that institutional change emerges in three ways, by accident, by
evolution, or by intention or design (1996, 24 V). In this third case, the analysis of
the development of institutions is exclusively devoted to the various ways in which
‘‘agents’’ develop their designs, which can be on ‘‘policy,’’ on ‘‘mechanisms,’’ and on
‘‘system’’ (1996, 31–3). These distinctions may well correspond to diVerent ways in
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 727

which institutions can overcome problems of ‘‘de-institutionalization’’ arising

when the institution does not fulWll the functions it should fulWll: But the question
arises as to why this is the case and speciWcally why, having fulWlled that function in
the past, it no longer does so.
The absence of any part played by ‘‘the polity at large’’ is even clearer in OVe’s
analysis, in the same volume, under the title of ‘‘Designing institutions in East
European transitions’’ (Goodin 1996, 199–226). In a section entitled ‘‘Challenges,
breakdowns and survival responses,’’ that author suggests that ‘‘breakdowns of
institutions can occur in response to any of three challenges. First, they [the
institutions] may fail to inculcate the norms and preferences that condition the
loyalty of members . . . Second, institutions may decay because alternatives emerge
which allow for the satisfaction of those needs and the fulWlment of those functions
over which the institution used to hold a monopoly . . . . Third, institutions may
break down because of their manifest failure in performing the functions with
which they are charged’’ (Goodin 1996, 219–20; emphasis in original). All three
points refer exclusively to internal problems although in all three cases the break-
down is most likely to occur because those outside the institution, who for some
reason depend on the institution (on the government, for instance), may have
ceased to have conWdence in the institution and its agents. The notion that
institutions ‘‘fail to inculcate norms and preferences’’ clearly shows that the analysis
is undertaken from the point of view of the institution and of its agents: That the
members of the polity at large may not or no longer feel comfortable with the
institution is simply not considered.
Such a state of aVairs is strange. Support is central to political science and has
indeed concerned political philosophers as well as empiricists for generations: Yet
the point does not appear to be recognized as being at all relevant in the context of
the setting up, life, and death of political institutions, whether these institutions are
organizations or procedures. Probably no political scientist would deny that some
support at least is necessary for regimes to be maintained; probably no political
scientist would deny that this support is subject to Xuctuations. Why should
a notion of this kind not have permeated into the analysis of the political institu-
tionalization process and by extension into the analysis of political institutions?
It is not suggested that the ‘‘external’’ elements of the problem are more
important than the ‘‘internal’’ elements in the process of institutionalization and
of ‘‘de-institutionalization’’ of political institutions. What is pointed out is that
political institutions (as well as a few social institutions which are ‘‘intermittently’’
political) are peculiar, as they take decisions going well beyond the boundaries of
the institution itself. For that reason, those who are the objects of these decisions
aVect the extent to which the institution achieves what its leaders may wish it to do.
Thus, to a degree at least and indeed to a varying degree depending on the regime,
the political culture, and the circumstances, the extent of support for the institu-
tion needs to be taken into account alongside its structure.
728 jean blondel

It is because support cannot fail but to play a part in the context of political
institutions that institutionalization has a peculiar and indeed a peculiarly import-
ant character in the political context. Yet, while the introduction of support in the
equation renders the analysis of institutionalization in politics more realistic, it
seems to complicate further the question of a deWnition of institutions in
the political context: This is because the question arises as to whether political
institutions can be examined independently from the support which they might
enjoy. Is a political organization or procedure still an institution even if it does not
have support or has only very little support? Are political institutions conditional
on them enjoying support?
It seems prima facie unrealistic to tie the very existence of political institutions to
the support which they might have: Institutions are organizations or procedures, as
we saw, characterized by ‘‘stable, valued, recurring patterns of behaviour’’ (Goodin
1996, 21). Support seems extraneous to these characteristics: The way an institu-
tional arrangement is shaped does not seem to depend on the support for that
arrangement. Moreover, if support is brought into the picture, since support is
never ‘‘total,’’ the question arises as to what is the threshold below which the extent
of support would be too small for the arrangement to be an institution. The
diYculties are such that one is tempted to conclude that what makes an arrange-
ment an institution, in politics as elsewhere, is merely whether that arrangement is
a ‘‘stable, valued and recurring pattern of behavior.’’
It does seem prima facie reasonable to claim that governments, legislatures,
parties, indeed constitutions, exist as institutions even with very few followers and
need coercion to remain in being; But it is also doubtful as to whether, in the
extreme case of the near-complete collapse of such bodies, one can still refer to
them as ‘‘institutions,’’ unless one comes to the conclusion that one must distin-
guish between institutions and institutionalization. The government of a regime on
the verge of collapse is clearly ‘‘de-institutionalized:’’ Such a government seems
therefore to be no more than a ‘‘pseudo-institution.’’ The point needs to be
registered somewhere in the description of the organization or procedure under
consideration. Perhaps this is the reason why, deep down, political scientists have
found it diYcult to deWne what an institution is and why they have in some
ways felt more at home with the concept of institutionalization than with the
concept of institution.
Much work manifestly needs to be done before a coherent conception can be
expected to be found of what institutions consist of. Given the major diVerences
among the social sciences as to what institutions appear to be, however, it is
probably more realistic to undertake disciplinary eVorts before an overall social
science view of institutions is elaborated. There is no doubt that the notion refers to
highly distinct realities in economics, sociology, and politics. True to their tradi-
tions, economists are able to simplify the concept and reduce it to what seems a
homogeneous viewpoint. True to their traditions, too, political scientists are
about institutions, mainly, but not exclusively, political 729

confronted with ‘‘big rocks in the landscape,’’ such as governments, legislatures,

parties: They cannot deny the importance of these bodies nor can they reduce these
‘‘rocks,’’ despite valiant eVorts made by some, to sets of homogeneous arrange-
ments. Sociologists are somewhere between these two extremes, depending on
whether they focus on a huge number of relatively small bodies or on a relatively
small number of large ones. The diVerences in the character of institutions are
directly connected to diVerences in the nature of the institutionalization process,
thus further complicating the picture and making it even more diYcult, if not
wholly unrealistic, to look for an overall picture. What diYculties and diVerences
suggest is that the dearth of studies on the nature of institutions, except until very
recently, is not just a puzzle needing a solution, but a serious gap in our
understanding of social life, as studies of institutions and institutionalization are
likely to provide major clues about key variations in approach among the social
sciences.

References
Almond, G. A. and Coleman, J. S. 1960. The Politics of the Developing Areas. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
—— and Powell, G. B. 1966. Comparative Politics. Boston: Little, Brown.
Barry, P. B. and Foweraker, J. (eds.) 2001. Encyclopedia of Democratic Thought. London:
Routledge.
Easton, D. 1953. The Political System. New York: Knopf.
—— 1965. A Systems Analysis of Political Life. New York: Wiley.
Finer, S. E. 1993. A History of Government, 3 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Goodin, R. E. (ed.) 1996. The Theory of Institutional Design. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
—— and Klingemann, H.-D. 1996. (eds.) A New Handbook of Political Science. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Huntington, S. P. 1968. Political Order in Changing Societies. New Haven, Conn.: Yale
University Press.
Lane, J. E. and Ersson, S. 1999. Politics and Society in Western Europe, 4th edn. Los Angeles:
Sage.
—— —— 2000. The New Institutional Politics. London: Routledge.
Lawson, K. 1985. The Human Polity. Boston: Houghton MiZin.
March, J. G. and Olsen, J. P. 1984. The new institutionalism. American Political Science
Review, 78: 734–49.
—— —— 1989. Rediscovering Institutions. New York: Free Press.
North, D. C. 1990. Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Parsons, T. 1954. Essays in Sociological Theory, rev. edn. Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press.
Polsby, N. W. 1962. The institutionalisation of the House of Representatives. American
Political Science Review, 62: 144–68.
730 jean blondel

Sartori, G. (ed.) 1980. Social Science Concepts. London: Sage.

Scott, W. R. 1995. Institutions and Organisations, London: Sage.
Stinchcombe, A. L. 1968. Constructing Social Interests. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Truman, D. B. 1962. The Governmental Process. New York: Knopf.
Zucker, L. G. 1977. The role of institutionalisation in cultural perspective. American
Sociological Review, 42 (5): 726–43.
 chapter 37
...................................................................................................................................................

THINKING
I N S T I T U T I O NA L LY
...................................................................................................................................................

hugh heclo

By the mid-twentieth century, intellectual and cultural currents were taking an

increasingly dim view of institutions.
My Wrst introduction to this fact came courtesy of Yale University’s splendid
graduate department of political science in the mid-1960s. Sitting at the head of our
seminar tables were leading lights in political science’s version of the ‘‘behavioral
revolution:’’ Robert Dahl, Karl Deutsch, Robert Lane, Charles Lindblom, David
Danelski, James Barber, and even the aged Harold Laswell. There we dutifully read
Truman, Key, Schattsneider, all of whom we learned were drawing on the much earlier
insights of the mysterious Arthur Bentley. Government was the process of adjustment
among groups. With that insight, institutions faded into the background and process
came to the fore. Corwin on the presidency’s powers was out; Neustadt on presidential
power was in. At best, the formal legal framework represented by institutions oVered
an insuYcient picture of reality. A more accurate understanding of an institution’s
reality had to be built up from observation of the interactions of people participating in
it. One gets ‘‘nowhere’’ by taking an institution for what it purports to be. The norms
of oYcial behavior had the quality of myth, of values that were professed
but not necessarily practiced (Truman 1963, 263, 351). From here, our impatient
young minds nimbly jumped to the conclusion that professed values were of no value.
I soon learned that behind the social science of the time lay much deeper cultural
currents. As the various liberation movements of the 1960s swept through Yale
732 hugh heclo

(unknown to me, undergraduates George W. Bush and John Kerry were down the
street prepping for the later culture wars) the view of institutions became even
dimmer. Critical theory taught us that we were living amidst the ‘‘colonization of
the lifeworld by the system’’ (Habermas 1984, 988). The duty seemed to be to rebel
against the system—another name for the Establishment, power structure, or just
plain institutions. Whether or not you let your hair grow long, any thinking person
knew that institutions represented the blighted life of mid-twentieth-century
‘‘organization man’’—the people ‘‘who have left home, spiritually as well as
physically, to take the vows of organization life, and it is they who are the mind
and soul of our great self-perpetuating institutions’’ (Whyte 1956, 3). Institutions
were purely instruments of social control, end of story. Even before the arrival of
the immense modern power structures of industrial production, consumption,
transportation, the state, and media, the Romantics we studied in political theory
class had gotten it right. Institutions were about chains. The liberation mentality of
the 1960s had already been given voice in Rousseau’s Emile:

Civil man is born, lives, and dies in slavery. At his birth he is sewed in swaddling clothes; at
this death he is nailed in a coYn. So long as he keeps his human shape, he is enchained by
our institutions. (Rousseau 1979, 43)

Needless to say, I was only vaguely aware of the paradox in all this. I was learning,
on one hand, to be dismissive of institutions as mere formalities of textbook
description, and on the other hand to be afraid of institutions as oppressive
structures of overweening power. Some very smart people, the 1960s’ descendents
of the Romantic movement, were telling me to ‘‘raise my consciousness’’ and
see institutions as vehicles for ‘‘institutionalized’’ racism, sexism, consumerism,
militarism, and the like. Other very smart people, descendents of the Enlighten-
ment, were telling me that institutions were merely social techniques we invented
and reformed at will to meet our goals. In short, institutions were both the icing on
the cake of behavioral reality and the iron cages of social control.
The 1980s saw the arrival of a ‘‘new institutionalism’’ in the social sciences
(March and Olson 1984; Cammack 1992). Political scientists talked about ‘‘bringing
the state back in,’’ which seemed a good thing for political scientists to do (Evans,
Rueschemeyer, and Skocpol 1985). Sociologists found that organizational theories
needed to consider institutions, and that too seemed a very good thing (Zucker
1987). Economists pondered anew the fact that economic actions might be embed-
ded in structured social relations (Granovetter 1985) and then pondered if the
‘‘new institutional economics’’ was really much better than the ‘‘old institutional
economics’’ of John R. Commons (Andersen and Bregn 1992). Some left the
fraternity altogether and started calling their Weld socioeconomics (Stern 1993).
It seems to me that all of these ways of talking about institutions represent a
worthy endeavor occupying the minds of very erudite people. But if that is all
scholars are doing, it also seems to me that something important is missing. It is
 thinking institutionally 733

missing not simply in an intellectual sense, but in a human sense of what it is we

need to pass on to younger people to help them get their bearings. What is missing
is the understanding that comes from working from the inside out. Very intelligent
academics have much to say about institutions from the outside, but what it is it
like to be on the inside, to be thinking institutionally?
To think about science is not the same thing as thinking with a scientiWc mind. To
think about marriage is not necessarily to think like a married person, and similarly,
to think about Christianity is not equivalent to having, as Paul put it, the mind of
Christ Jesus ‘‘in you’’ (Philippians 2:5). So too, thinking about institutions is not the
same thing as thinking institutionally. ‘‘Thinking about’’ does not tell us what it is like
for a person to go around with presuppositions of things institutional in his or her
head. In fact, ‘‘thinking about’’ may actually diminish capacities for thinking institu-
tionally. It has the eVect of conWning a person to a subject/object relationship, never
telling you what it means to inhabit mentally the world presented by institutions. This
outside-in vs. inside-out distinction matters because, while thinking about institutions
is an academic’s intellectual project, thinking institutionally is something that people
do or do not do in the real world—at the oYce, in their family relations, at the polls,
in talking about the news at the local diner. Whatever academics may say about
institutions, an institutional way of thinking—and its absence—has consequences.
Thus, my self-appointed task here is to describe a way of thought that comes with
being inside an institutional frame of mind and looking out. This mental interiority
amounts to an ‘‘appreciative system’’ (Vickers 1965). The term appreciation does not
necessarily mean an attitude of gratitude (though as we shall see there is that at work). It
means a coherent, sensitive awareness in making judgments. I may not ‘‘appreciate’’ your
singing but I can ‘‘appreciate’’ that it is a song we both know that you are trying to sing.
Such an interpretive approach trains its attention on what institutions, actions, images,
and so on mean to those whose institutions, actions, images they are (Geertz 1983).
To make this appreciative system more attractive to modern sensibilities, it is
very tempting to tone down the ostensibly alien quality of institutional thinking. I
hope to resist that temptation. By seeing the elements of institutional thinking in
their starkest form, we may really begin to get the idea of the thing. Unminced
words may even spark the thought that perhaps it is non-institutional rather than
institutional thinking that is quite strange. Institutional thinking is undramatic,
unassuming, and unfashionable. That helps explain why we hear so little about it.

1 What Is It To Think Institutionally?

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Just as human speech is always a matter of speaking some speciWc language, so

institutional thinking always occurs in the context of some particular institution.
734 hugh heclo

Neglecting this particularity, there is only so much that reasonably can be said on
the subject. But some things can be said, and the task here is to try and distil
elements in the common essence of institutional thinking. The institution in
question may be an organized social structure (such as the family, court system,
or church) or a social practice (such as marriage, rules of legal procedure, or
religious ritual). Here we are trying to sketch the coherence and signiWcance of
mental life inside any and all such institutions. The four points are obviously
overlapping; they probably have to do so in order to constitute a system for
appreciating the world.1

1.1 What Institutional Thinking is Not

We might begin by observing what institutional thinking is not. It is not critical
thinking, as intellectuals use that term today. In other words, the central impulse is
not to question rigorously and challenge everything presented. It does not have the
‘‘critical’’ agenda to unmask, demystify, and expose the real from the apparent.
Against all modern trends, institutional thinking is not focused on a ‘‘hermeneutics
of suspicion’’ (Stewart 1989). On the contrary, institutional thinking oVers some
good reasons to be rather suspicious of unremitting suspicion.
By beginning this way, one risks burning bridges to any well-schooled reader.
The widespread assumption and teaching throughout academia is that the only
kind of real thinker is the critical thinker. A constantly questioning, skeptical
awareness is taken to be the very hallmark of intelligence. However, the truth is
that modern intellectuals, who are the sort of people who write about institutions,
are a peculiar social type with a particular outlook. They champion the idea of self-
consciously thinking about and questioning everything we are doing, while—just
like the rest of us—most of their lives are Wlled with doing things from habit. Since
there is much about thinking institutionally that is not focused on thinking
critically about what you are doing, the conventional intellectual perspective subtly
but consistently devalues institutions. It does so by missing or holding in low
esteem one of their central operations, which is internalizing norms to the point of
habitual practice. As one of the more exceptional intellectuals put it almost a
century ago:
It is a profoundly erroneous truism, repeated by all copybooks and by eminent people when
they are making speeches, that we should cultivate the habit of thinking of what we are doing.
The precise opposite is the case. Civilization advances by extending the number of important
operations which we can perform without thinking about them. (Whitehead 1911, 61)

1 Here I leave aside the question of whether or how institutions themselves might ‘‘think.’’ See
Douglas 1986.
 thinking institutionally 735

If we leave it at this, institutional thinking risks quickly degenerating into simple

conformity either to what someone else tells you to do or what everyone else is
doing. That is the sort of conformity which some see in the modern decline of
culture, and it is precisely against such a loss of ‘‘will to meaning’’ that institutions
stand guard (Frankl 1993). Modern prejudices to the contrary, thinking institu-
tionally is still thinking. Rather than being mindless, it means being mindful in
certain ways. It means exercising a particular form of attentiveness to the world.

1.2 Institutional Thinking as Faithful Reception

As a basic stance toward life, institutional thinking understands itself to be in a
position of receiving rather than of inventing or creating. The emphasis is not on
thinking up things for yourself, but on faithfully taking delivery of and using what
has been handed down to you. Because the known ways are valued, there is no
special premium given to novelty, newness, or originality for its own sake.
Here too, modern minds can Wnd this emphasis on receiving to be quite strange,
to say the least. When some issue arises, we expect to consult diVerent opinions,
consider alternatives, and come up with a working solution, preferably something
new and innovative. From the institutionalist perspective, things are diVerent.
What has been received from those who preceded carries authority. It is precisely
the authority of what has been given to us that makes it an institution that is at
work in our minds/lives, rather than some passing arrangement or mood of
convenience.
This does not mean closing oV thought or any form of innovation. Quite the
contrary. Precisely because it regards itself as a legatee of something of great value,
institutional thinking eagerly seeks to understand what has been received in light
of new circumstances that are always intruding. To be submissive to what has been
received is a distinctly unfashionable idea, but it does not mean being servile.
Because some things are regarded as Wxed (such as the essential mission of a
business, the ritual of a church, or in a politician like Lincoln’s case, the ideal of
the Union), there is something against which to be adaptable.

1.3 Institutional Thinking as Infusions of Value

It has been famously observed that to institutionalize something is to ‘‘infuse with
value beyond the technical requirements of the task at hand’’ (Selznick 1957, 17).
This is a helpful view because it points toward the distinction between strictly
instrumental attachments needed to get a particular job done and the deeper
736 hugh heclo

commitments that express one’s enduring loyalty to some group or process.

However, institutional thinking requires us to go a good deal farther down
this path.
That becomes clear if we ask where the infusion of value is coming from. If it is
simply the individual actor at work, then we are implicitly relegating institutions
to objects of psychological purchase that people choose to make based on some
sort of pleasure/pain criteria. For example, the devout baseball fan may infuse the
game with value, ‘‘getting a kick out of it’’ over and beyond any particular game his
team is playing. Yet, it is also clear that the fanatical team fan may have little interest
in and may actually behave in ways harmful to baseball as an institution. In other
words, institutional thinking is about value diVusion as well as infusion. Institu-
tions diVuse values beyond the personal preferences for the task at hand. They
make claims on one’s thinking to acknowledge, and then through choices and
conduct to realize, a normative order.
Institutions embody what Charles Taylor has termed ‘‘strong evaluations.’’ As he
puts it, these ‘‘involve discriminations of right or wrong, better or worse, higher or
lower, which are not rendered valid by our own desires, inclinations or choices, but
rather stand independent of these and oVer standards by which they can be judged’’
(Taylor 1989, 4). These intrinsic (rather than extrinsic) values imply relations of
obligation, not convenience. They demand that primary attention be given what is
appropriate rather than what is expedient. From inside the institutional world-
view one not only thinks about but is moved by a central fact—that there is
something estimable that is larger than yourself and your immediate interests. In
approaching a situation the question is not, how can I get what I want? It is the
more duty-laden question of, what expectations and conduct are appropriate to
my position? Of what am I to be an example?
A prominent example in modern times has been the development of professions
and formal professional standards. To invoke claims of professionalism is to appeal
to standards for guiding and judging conduct that lie beyond our individual
preferences. In recent years many people have tended think of a profession as a
group monopolizing a body of knowledge or practicing specialized techniques.
However, if this is all a profession means, it lacks the institutional quality we are
discussing here. The institutional thinking embodied in any true profession is
the remnant of much older ideas having to do with ‘‘oYce’’ and ‘‘vocation.’’ It
is the attitude of responding to a call from beyond yourself. More than simply
acquiring a body of knowledge or techniques, one enters into a professional lore
such that applying this or that technique Wts into a normative scheme of things.
Of course, it is common these days to hear complaints about the behavior of
lawyers, doctors, teachers, and others. However, even the most cynical lawyer or
doctor jokes are, in a backhanded way, aYrming strong evaluations that should be
guiding the delinquent practitioners of modern professions. Likewise, when one
hears complaints about higher education or a news organization losing its soul to
 thinking institutionally 737

economic market forces, the assumption is that there really is a soul to lose.
However obliquely, all such criticisms are pointing to a belief that in talking
about the university, or lawyering, or news journalism at its ‘‘truest and best,’’
one is talking about something real (Kirp 2005; Cuban 2004; Linowitz 1999). Even
the churchy hypocrite, by not being himself on Sunday, is indirectly testifying to
the standard of a higher and truer self.

1.4 Institutional Thinking as Lengthened Time Horizons

It follows from earlier points that institutional thinking also involves being mindful
about time in a particular way. To think institutionally is to stretch the time
horizon backward and forward. One senses the shadows of both past and
future lengthening into the present. This outlook is typically expressed by being
attentive to precedent. Unfortunately, to modern ears that term evokes the image
of being controlled by the ‘‘dead hand of the past.’’
A more adequate view of institutional thinking understands precedent as a form
of solidarity. Choices made in the present serve to strengthen or erode solidarity
among an ‘‘us’’ that is peopled by the living, the dead, and the yet unborn. Because
there are attachments through time, institutional thinking means living an impli-
cated life, always both receiving and bequeathing. Decisions made in the present
are under the obligations of usufruct, the sense that one is enjoying the fruits of
something belonging to predecessors and successors. Therefore, while change is
inevitable, it is embedded in a strong appreciation for what has gone on before and
what will go on after you are gone. Inheritance keeps Wnding fresh work. To put it
another way, institutional thinking restrains conduct by making it beholden to its
own past history and to the history it is creating. The present is never only the
present. It is one moment in a going concern.
Thus institutional thinking values continuity and long-term over short-term
calculations. Even within the realm of economics, it understands the world in
terms of ongoing customer markets not pointillistic auction markets (Okun 1981).
The focus in institutional thinking is on enduring relationships rather than point-
in-time transactions. This idea is illustrated by the story of three major highways
donated to the development program in Nepal by American, Indian, and Chinese
governments. The Americans imported an immense Xeet of heavy equipment,
quickly pushed the road through to completion, and departed, leaving most of
the machinery behind with no skilled operators to use it. With the Indians came a
large labor force. This labor force was organized into construction camps, which
moved along the highway until they reached the road’s destination and left. The
Chinese brought in foremen who recruited and trained village workers for each
section of the highway. These checkerboard sections were worked on in relays,
738 hugh heclo

leaving behind experienced straw bosses and workers in each locale. Each of the
three highways was completed as planned, but only one had any prospects for
sustained maintenance (Montgomery 1983, 99).

2 Why Might Any of This Matter

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Without institutional thinking to make them real, institutions truly are little
more than unpopulated, empty formalities. No one really lives there. The Wrm,
the political body, the university, the marriage—all so-called institutions become
sites for transient, interpersonal transactions with no deeper, more enduring
meanings. Institutions have been described as solutions grown by cultural evolu-
tion, often seeming to take shape planlessly like coral reefs (Sait 1938). If this is even
partially true, then it would be imprudent, to put it mildly, to regard institutional
thinking as something archaic and unimportant.
At the societal level, there is the basic matter of sustainability and survival. We
began by considering the most elemental form of institutional thinking, the habit
of not critically thinking about what you are doing but simply carrying on with
your job in the unexamined larger scheme of things. The steady habits (not the
same thing as addictive behavior) have immense survival value for society at large.
Institutional thinking habits are implicit testimony to and support for the value of
the going concern of the social order. The multitude of nameless people ‘‘just doing
my job’’ amounts to a sheet anchor sustaining civilized life together, something we
are never likely to notice until disaster strikes.
The scale of such sustaining work ranges from the most personal home life to the
massive social structures of civilization itself. To grab for the family photo album when
the house catches Wre is an elemental act of this mentality. At the other extreme,
history oVers compelling examples of societies surviving through devastating cata-
clysms by virtue of ordinary people simply carrying on with appointed duties. One
historian has noted the similar grounds of social survival in the atomic bombing
of Japan and the Black Death in fourteenth-century Europe: ‘‘In the worst years of
the mortality, Europeans witness horrors comparable to Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but
even when death was everywhere and only a fool would dare to hope, the thin fabric of
civilization held . . . . Enough notaries, municipal and church authorities, physicians
and merchants stepped forward to keep governments and courts and churches and
Wnancial houses running—albeit at a much reduced level’’ (Kelly 2004, 16).
In ordinary times as well, institutional thinking has great value in the political
councils of society as a going concern. It tends to interject several kinds of reality
 thinking institutionally 739

checks into any decision-making. The Wrst is a voice independent of the claims of
personal power. This voice may be inside the leader’s head or it may be standing in
front of him. The former is illustrated by President Lincoln’s determination to hold
the scheduled 1864 election as scheduled, despite being in the midst of a deterior-
ating civil war and the strong likelihood of his own defeat. Lincoln understood that
regardless of his personal political fate, the cause of constitutional government
under the Union would already be defeated if the election were cancelled or
postponed. The latter embodiment of institutional thinking in a staV person is
illustrated by an incident from FDR’s presidency. Rudolph Forster had been in the
White House since the McKinley administration and as Executive Clerk had seen
presidents come and go. When, in October 1944, FDR left on one of his last
campaign trips, Foster, with a guilty air, shook the president’s hand warmly and
wished him good luck. As Foster waved goodbye to the departing car, Roosevelt
told his companion, with pride and real emotion in his voice, ‘‘That’s practically
the Wrst time in all these years that Rudolph has ever stepped out of character and
spoken to me as if I were a human being instead of just another President’’
(Sherwood 1950, 209). Roosevelt, who had had special legislation passed to allow
Foster to stay on indeWnitely past the legal retirement age, understood that with
at least some people around you who are thinking institutionally, there is a
greater chance of being told what you need to hear rather than simply what you
want to hear.
A second reality check is institutional thinking’s protection against the willful
ignorance called presentism, the arrogant belief in the privileged entitlements and
moral superiority attached to one’s own little moment in time. Institutional
thinking transforms the past into memory, which is a way of keeping alive what
is meaningful about people’s deepest hopes and fears. ‘‘As such, memory is another
evidence that we have a Xexible and creative relation to time, the guiding principle
being not the clock but the qualitative signiWcance of our experiences’’ (May 1953,
258). Likewise, institutional thinking transforms the future into a present voice by a
concern for passing on what has been received. Memory and anticipation speak
together in the present tense.
One could go on listing various advantages of institutional thinking in
politics and society at large. Because it is attentive to rule-following rather than
personal strategies to achieve personal ends, thinking institutionally enhances
predictability in conduct. Predictability in turn can enhance trust, which can
enhance reciprocating loyalty, which can facilitate bargaining, compromise,
and Wduciary relationships. Because institutional thinking goes beyond merely
contingent, instrumental attachments, it takes daily life into something deeper
than a passing parade of personal moods and feelings.
In the end, the advantages of institutional thinking come down to what is
distinctly human. The point is not that it is wrong to see institutions as cages
of human oppression, but that this is a dangerously incomplete half-truth.
740 hugh heclo

Institutions can also be the instruments for human liberation and enriched,
Xourishing lives. As several authors have put it, ‘‘we live through institutions’’
(Bellah 1991, ch. 1). For example, without institutions upholding private property,
even the most liberated individual will soon Wnd his or her freedom an empty
slogan. But it goes beyond that. By its nature, institutional thinking tends to
cultivate belonging and a common life. It leads to collective action that not only
controls but also expands and liberates individual action. Humans Xourish as
creatures of attachments, not unencumbered selves. Growing up detached from
the authoritative communities that social institutions are, children exhibit signs of
deteriorating mental and behavioral health (Commission on Children at Risk
2003). Without a similar deep connectedness, individuals also age and die poorly
by the standards of human dignity. What Rousseau depicted as enchaining were in
fact signs of human nurturing. The swaddling clothes and coYn testify that
humans are something more than beasts dropped in the Weld or left dead by the
roadside.
Works of modern Wction routinely portray rebellion against institutions as cour-
ageous adventures of liberation. The promise is perfect freedom. The truth found in
any reliable work of non-Wction—whether it is history, biography, or current
events—is that a life without institutions becomes a perfect hell. A life without
institutional thinking tends toward self-destructive excesses, at the center of which is
the ultimate excess, the overweening Self-Life. Without authority for freedom to
play against, the adventure itself is extinguished into existential nothingness.
Obviously, I have emphasized only the positive aspects of institutional thinking.
There is, of course, another side. For example, in terms of criminal activity, the
MaWa is an outstanding example of institutional thinking across the generations.
Depending on the overall goals and the operative conduct of people in a particular
institution, the implications for human Xourishing may be positive, negative, or
indiVerent. To live in a world of nothing but institutional thinking would be a
monstrosity. By the same token, to live in a world where institutional thinking is
absent, or so heavily discounted as to fade into insigniWcance, would also be a
monstrosity.
To me at least, the evidence from the current scene is clear. The great danger is
not too much but too little institutional thinking. To test that proposition, one
might consider the common lamentations about any given realm of contemporary
life—the scandals in accounting Wrms and news organizations; the sports Wgures
and businessmen who put short-term gain ahead of the sport and the business; the
loss of stature and trust in legal, medical, and teaching professions; the marriages
deinstitutionalized into contracts of mere mutual convenience; the politicians
who blithely mortgage the future, and the citizens who let them. Amid all the
particular complaints, we do not seem to perceive the larger fact that we are living
amid the rubble produced by an indiVerence and even aversion to thinking
institutionally about our aVairs. In one realm after another, modern minds Wnd
 thinking institutionally 741

it much easier and more tempting to shun institutional commitments. Here we

might adopt the pragmatic test espoused by critical thinkers and ask ourselves: how
is that working?
Trying to think institutionally, I believe that a good question for the leader of any
major public or private enterprise to put to himself or herself is this: Would I want
to be my own successor in this oYce? An equally good question for each generation
to ask itself is: Are we producing a world we would want to inherit? If the answers
are no, it is time to think, and then act, diVerently.

References
Andersen, O. and Bregn, K. 1992. New institutional economics: what does it have to oVer?
Review of Political Economy, 4: 484–97.
Bellah, R., Madsen, Richard, Madsen, Robert, and Tipton, S. 1991. The Good Society,
New York: Knopf.
Cammack, P. 1992. The new institutionalism. Economy and Society, 21: 397–429.
Commission on Children at Risk 2003. Hardwired to Connect: The New ScientiWc Case for
Authoritative Communities. New York: Institute for American Values.
Cuban, L. 2004. The Blackboard and the Bottom Line: Why Schools Can’t Be Businesses.
Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.
Douglas, M. 1986. How Institutions Think. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press.
Evans, P., Rueschemeyer, D., and Skocpol, T. (eds.) 1985. Bringing the State Back In.
New York: Cambridge University Press.
Frankl, V. 1993. Man’s Search for Meaning. New York: Pocket Books; orig. pub. 1963.
Geertz, C. 1983. Local Knowledge. New York: Basic Books.
Granovetter, M. 1985. Economic action and social structure. American Journal of
Sociology, 91: 481–510.
Habermas, J. 1984. The Theory of Communicative Action. Boston: Beacon Press.
Kelly, J. 2004. The Great Mortality. New York: HarperCollins.
Kirp, D. L. 2005. Shakespeare, Einstein, and the Bottom Line: The Marketing of Higher
Education. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.
Linowitz, S. M. 1999. The Betrayed Profession: Lawyering at the End of the Twentieth
Century. New York: Scribners.
March, J. and Olsen, J. 1984. The new institutionalism. American Political Science Review,
78: 734–49.
May, R. 1953. Man’s Search for Himself. New York: Norton.
Montgomery, J. D. 1983. When local participation helps. Journal of Policy Analysis and
Management, 3: 90–105.
Okun, A. 1981. Prices and Quantities. Washington, DC: Brookings.
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Selznick, P. 1957. Leadership in Administration. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Sherwood, R. E. 1950. Roosevelt and Hopkins. New York: Harper and Brothers.
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Taylor, C. 1989. Sources of the Self. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.
Truman, D. 1963. The Governmental Process. New York: Knopf.
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Whitehead, A. N. 1911. An Introduction to Mathematics. New York: Holt.
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 chapter 38
...................................................................................................................................................

POLITICAL
INSTITUTIONS—OLD
A N D N EW
...................................................................................................................................................

klaus von beyme

‘‘Political institutions—old and new’’ as a topic has two dimensions: The evolution
of old and new institutions and the reXection of these developments in political
theory. There is, however, an asymmetry of these dimensions.

1 From Old to New Institutions

.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Few really ‘‘new institutions’’ developed in the three waves of democratization after
1789. The three major branches of public life existed not only in Montesquieu’s
theory, but their weight had shifted, especially in tune with the decline of monar-
chical power. The Wrst old institution which spread all over the world—with the
exception of the United Kingdom—was the ‘‘constitution,’’ mostly considered as an
emanation of the popular will, and since 1918 frequently submitted for ratiWcation
744 klaus von beyme

by a popular referendum. The revolutionary constitutions in France (since 1792)

and in the United States (in 1787) did not completely break with the institutions of
the pre-revolutionary regime, but adapted them to the needs of representative—
and later when universal suVrage was accepted—democratic government. Consti-
tutions by the conservatives of the early nineteenth century were considered as
‘‘revolutionary institutions.’’ But under the threat of revolution various forms of
adaptation of this institution by the existing monarchies took place. Constitutions
were either imposed by monarchs (octroi), as the Piedmontese ‘‘Statuto Albertino’’
of 1849 which was to become the constitution of the kingdom of Italy, or negotiated
by legislatures and monarchs (France 1792, Spain 1810, and in many European
territories after 1815). Even dictatorships normally adapted some kind of constitu-
tion, including a bill of rights which the regime rarely respected.
Old assemblies of ‘‘estates’’ were transformed into modern parliaments, some-
times as late as 1866 in Sweden. Various forms of advisers to the crown developed
into a modern cabinet with a ‘‘prime minister.’’ Important institutional changes were
grounded not so much in the internal change of institutions, but in their mutual
relationship within the system. The major institutional innovation was the devel-
opment of dependence of cabinets on the conWdence of parliamentary majorities
over almost one century. It happened in systems with continuity of former estate
systems (Britain, Wnal conXict 1832, Netherlands 1868, Sweden 1917). New institu-
tions were created by new revolutionary systems which established parliamentary
responsibility of governments (France and Belgium 1831). Parliamentarization of
neoabsolutist regimes was normally late—with the exception of Italy (1860).
The latest latecomers in this group were Germany and Austria (1918). Parliamen-
tarization did not evolve in harmony with the extension of voting rights. SuVrage in
the Wrst parliamentary systems on the continent was hardly above 1–2 percent.
Germany introduced universal suVrage as early as 1871, but full parliamentary
responsibility of governments followed only in 1918 (von Beyme 2000, 28).
Most regimes in the nineteenth century were dualistic constitutional monarch-
ies. Revolutions which led to a republican system—as in France in 1848, in
Germany and Finland in 1918—tried to Wnd a republican equivalent for a system
with a president elected by popular vote and not depending on parliamentary
majorities. Only in the Fifth French Republic was this type of government dubbed a
‘‘semi-presidential regime.’’ Frequently it evolved in a constitution making process
with extensive debates on the virtues of the American ‘‘presidential system.’’ Finally
a European compromise led to a hybrid of parliamentary systems in which the
prime minister and the cabinet depended on parliamentary votes and the president
was equipped with the right to dissolve parliament as a counterweight against
permanently hostile legislative majorities (von Beyme 1987, 33V).
Two major institutions had existed already in Ancient Rome but developed into
powerful organizations which penetrated the whole life of society: bureaucracy
and parties. Bureaucracy for Max Weber was the dominant institution of
 political institutions—old and new 745

modernization. Parties—frequently discriminated as unpleasant extra-constitu-

tional and anomic institutions under the label of ‘‘factions’’—only in modern
times became the basic element which coordinated all the institutions of the state.
An exception to the ‘‘nothing-new-under-the-sun approach’’ to institutions was
the success story of constitutional courts. This institution was new only if we exclude
the functional equivalent of the American Supreme Court which developed—
not completely in tune with the ideas of most founding fathers of the constitution
—judicial review of legislative acts from its seminal decision Marbury vs. Madison
in 1803. In the light of former colonial history, the USA did not accept special
courts because the American states were afraid of a continuation of the ‘‘Star
chamber proceedings’’ of the British Crown. Not even a special constitutional
court was feasible. Therefore the drafters of the American constitution deliberately
did not accept ‘‘abstract judicial review.’’ The Supreme Court was the least demo-
cratic decision-making body and it was meant by the Federalists to serve—like the
Senate—as another check on volatile democratic decisions in an elitist deliberating
institution with no direct access for the people.
It is an exaggeration that judicial review after 1945 was accepted ‘‘at the point of
a gun’’ (Martin Shapiro). Only Japan followed the American model. In Europe
the ‘‘Austrian model’’ was accepted, developed by Hans Kelsen in 1920–1. Kelsen
(1922, 55) was inspired by the ‘‘Imperial Court’’ of the ‘‘German Confederation’’
and its revolutionary constitution of 1849 which envisaged already the ‘‘constitu-
tional complaint’’ (§ 126 f, g). This type of judicial review became prominent in the
European model, which largely followed the German example. A variation of a
constitutional court sprang up even in political cultures such as France in the
‘‘conseil constitutionnel’’—a country which originally was hostile to the very idea
of ‘‘judicial review’’ against laws and acts of ‘‘the state’’ because it contradicted the
French republican tradition of popular sovereignty.
Some institutions spread from one area to others, such as the ombudsman. This
oYce was not really new. Ombudsmen were even remainders of pre-democratic
enlightened absolute rule as a safety valve for individual complaints. New institu-
tions such as planning authorities were developed in an era of a rational optimism
that society can be shaped by the state. But they withered away in the wave of
neoliberalism, which followed the collapse of Communist systems and the high
days of the welfare state. New institutions with a political impact were also
developed to guarantee a balance between the economic institutions. A national
bank and committees for the control over monopolies gained inXuence. The market
system no longer looked for democratic socialist institutional schemes but tried
indirectly to steer the economy by independent institutions.
Institutional theories always developed in cycles after revolutions (1789, 1830,
1848, 1871, 1918, 1945). Never did so many regimes break down at one time as in
1989. Never were so many regimes transformed from one fairly uniform Com-
munist institutional type to another fairly uniform type of Western democracy.
746 klaus von beyme

Special national roads of development to democracy were no longer hailed, as in

the period after the First World War. At no time did so many countries launch an
institutional debate as in the ‘‘new democracies.’’ ‘‘Constitutional engineering’’
became the highly misleading basic term of the new branch of ‘‘transitology’’ in
the third wave of democratization (Sartori 1994). Grandpa’s institutionalist polit-
ical science was again in vogue. Old-fashioned debates on the preference of semi-
presidentialism vs. parliamentary systems were revitalized. Old institutions such
as the one-party monopoly, the collective presidium of the legislature as an
equivalent to Western presidents, planning oYces, the wide range of competences
of a ‘‘prokuratura’’ which was more than a prosecuting attorney, and the gigantic
bureaucracies of state security had to disappear. The new institutions, however,
were the old ones—mostly institutions from Western countries. The most inXuen-
tial institutions proved to be the French semi-presidential system and the
German Constitutional Court. Many details of institutions were copied from a
5 percent threshold for parties during elections to electoral laws, votes of
constructive non-conWdence, and abstract judicial review (von Beyme 1996, 98f ).

2 The Evolution of Theories of

Institutions
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

2.1 Theories and Methodological Approaches to Institutions

Theories tended to be changing more quickly than the institutions they had
pretended to analyze. Quite frequently theories of institutions lagged behind
the real functioning of a system, such as Montesquieu’s doctrine which ignored
the institutions of parties and adhered to a schematic view of the British system.
Some older theories of politics started from the assumption that political science as
a whole works with an institutional approach, whereas sociology emphasizes the
aspect of stratiWcation (Allardt 1969, 17). This assumption was never correct.
Even older approaches combined ‘‘elite’’—a more important notion in American
social sciences than ‘‘class’’—predominant in European sociology with institu-
tional studies. This concept neglected the necessary diVerentiation between
theory and method. Elites or stratiWcation are basic notions of social theory. The
institutional approach, on the other hand, belongs to the methods of political
science. A theory can be falsiWed. Methods, however, survive even if certain theories
which have been applied with the help of certain methods proved to be wrong. The
institutional approach is not obsolete when the old institutional paradigm of a
 political institutions—old and new 747

‘‘separation of powers’’ was no longer applicable to modern parliamentary systems.

Older institutional theories amalgamated elements of new theories such as the
theory of pluralism and methods which went beyond the old-fashioned juridical
normative approach to institutions. Theoretical concepts like ‘‘pluralism’’ or ‘‘fed-
eralism’’ can be put into empirical operation with institutionalist, behavioralist, or
rational choice methods.
Political science initially tried to legitimize itself with a revival of the Aristotelian
concept of politics. It tended to favor the institutional approach—compared to
eschatological theories of politics from St Augustine to Marx. The virtue of the
classical institutional approach was that it started from the assumption that the
political process is ‘‘open’’ in principle, and full citizens are basically ‘‘equal.’’ No
ontological essentialist diVerences between princes and the people, enlightened elites
and humble subjects, or proletarian avant-gardes and the masses were accepted.
Classical institutionalists from Montesquieu to de Tocqueville were never naive
ontological analysts but described institutions in comprehensive social settings
of a system. Each institution was linked to a special promoting social group.
Only rarely were deistic or mechanistic metaphors of a clockwork applied in a
formalistic way to political institutions. The ‘‘mechanics’’ of institutions included
contradictory elements, such as in inter- and intrainstitutional conXicts in two-
chamber systems of parliaments and the diVerence of government and opposition.
Most institutional theories favored a procedural concept of politics. For Max
Weber the typical occidental development—deviating from the rest of the
world—can be explained by institutional diVerentiation of religious and secular
power. The most interesting institution for Max Weber was the constitution of
‘‘cities’’ which were not mere agglomerations around a power center and which
deviated from the pattern of patrimonial and feudal systems of rule (‘‘Herrschaft’’).
From Max Weber to Stein Rokkan ‘‘modernization’’ in politics was basically
understood as a process of institution building. Contrary to economic modern-
ization theories, institutions such as bureaucracies or the military were seen as the
momentum of modernization. Weberian concepts were inXuential: bureaucracies
were superior to parochial or feudal elites. Beyond Weber some analysts preferred
bureaucratized party politics to bureaucratic rule.
A social concept of institutions gradually diVered from merely normative legal
and political theories. In Britain, Barker (1961, 166) suspected even after 1945 that
most institutionalists hailed their preferred institution as a disguise for a cult around
a social group. In French legal theory, Maurice Hauriou (1906) tried to avoid this
danger of the old institutionalism by the diVerentiation of ‘‘institution-chose’’ having
objective dignity and the ‘‘institution-groupe’’ suspected of being only disguised
selWsh group interest. Group theories of institutions were mostly unable to agree
on the relative weight of certain institutions. The continental Roman law tradition
suggested that ‘‘the state’’ was the most important institution, whereas a leftist
British tradition from guild-socialism to Harold Laski insisted that the state was
748 klaus von beyme

just another ‘‘collective group’’. Anglo-Saxon theories—with the exception of some

Hegelians in Britain from Thomas H. Green to Bernard Bosanquet—nourished a
deep distrust of the notion of the state and rather preferred ‘‘government’’ as the
central notion for institutional analysis.
The development of institutional theory after 1945 proved to be oscillating
between waves of neglect and rediscovery of institutions. The attempt to make
political science Wnally scientiWc stood against the accepting institutional analysis
as the centre of research. The ‘‘new science of politics’’ in the USA used the term
‘‘institution’’ in the vague sense of neighboring social sciences, such as sociology or
anthropology, as ‘‘a pattern composed of culture traits specialized to the shaping
and distribution of a particular value (or set of values)’’ (Lasswell and Kaplan 1950,
47). The ‘‘behavioral revolt’’ was directed against the old institutionalism, but did
not avoid institutions altogether. Heinz Eulau (1969, 1, 158), a pioneer of the
‘‘behavioral persuasion,’’ developed a synthesis of ‘‘behavioral-institutional
research,’’ mainly concentrated in legislative and judicial studies. Whereas Eulau
critically worked on a theory of micro–macro-relations—in spite of the basic
individualism of this approach—later behavioralists frequently uncritically gener-
alized the Wndings on the micro level in the macropolitics of institutions. The
‘‘epitaph of a successful protest’’ which Robert Dahl proclaimed in 1969 was
premature in the eyes of later analysts. John C. Wahlke (1979) in his presidential
address for the American Political Science Association ten years later was more
skeptical. After a quantitative analysis of review articles and research notes in the
American Political Science Review, he came to the conclusion that old-fashioned
institutional studies prevailed even in this journal which was considered to be the
‘‘battle organ’’ of the victorious behavioral revolt.
Behavioralism was accused of lacking theory-building. Systems theory hoped to
heal this shortcoming. Systems theories in America had the virtue to develop—for
the Wrst time since Weber—a generalized theory of institution, overcoming the
shortcomings of ad hoc theories in Europe. For Talcott Parsons (1959), deeply
inXuenced by Weber, institutional patterns, perceived in a demystiWed way, were
the backbone of social systems. Only in later variations of the theory of systems did
‘‘structures’’ become more important than institutions. They had, however, no
predetermined role. Similar functions within the system were completed by very
diVerent structures. The early Luhmann (1965, 13), originally Parsons’ devoted
disciple but soon a defector who created his own autopoietic version of a theory
of systems, still used institutions and structures as synonyma: ‘‘Institutions are
behavioural expectations generalized in temporal and social dimensions, and thus
create the structure of social systems.’’ Systems theory created a new methodo-
logical terminology, but on the descriptive level it classiWed the traditional powers,
such as the executive and parliament, adding bureaucracy and parties. They got,
however, more scientiWc names such as ‘‘rule-setting,’’ ‘‘rule applying,’’ ‘‘rule
adjudicating,’’ and ‘‘rule-enforcing’’ institutions.
 political institutions—old and new 749

Institutions in the new approaches like behavioralism and functionalism were no

longer independent entities and were dealt with—according to research questions
as ‘‘independent or dependent variables’’—just like other elements of analysis. In
‘‘structural functionalism’’ the systemic needs of the social system tended to pro-
duce political institutions needed to solve the basic problems of any society
(Eisenstadt 1965). Thus the analysis ended in a global justiWcation of all the
institutions developed in various societies. ‘‘Historical institutionalism’’ was closest
to treating institutions, such as ‘‘the state,’’ as the independent variable. The impact
of institutions was studied over time—from the way political groups deWned their
interests to policy outcomes under various regimes (Steinmo and Longstreth 1992).
The old generalization of modernization theories was overcome. Researchers
discovered the dependence of policy outcomes on historical institutions and
decisions which could not easily be changed by political actors. Policy results
proved to be ‘‘path dependent.’’ A variety of models—particularly in the Weld of
welfare policies—was discovered (Esping-Andersen 1990). The new institutional-
ism can better account for the paths that political actors will follow in order to
arrive at the prescribed equilibria.
Behavioralism and functionalism were the major foes of the old institutional
school represented by Carl J. Friedrich and Herman Finer. The old institutionalism
paradoxically got theoretical support from radical political thinkers who opposed
the institutions of the existing Western democracies. Neo-Marxism and radical
post-behavioralist approaches brought the ‘‘State back in’’ even in American dis-
cussions. But political institutions were always the dependent variable; the inde-
pendent variable was the economic subsystem of society. Systems theory reacted in
a hostile way to the new debate on the state. David Easton (1981, 322), a pioneer in
substituting the ‘‘political system’’ to old-fashioned theories of ‘‘the state,’’ was
afraid that the neoradical wave in political theory from Miliband to Poulantzas
might end up in a ‘‘romantic backlash’’ and that the state would start to besiege the
political system. Easton’s misgivings were exaggerated. Neither neo-Marxism nor
neoconservatism elaborated a new metaphysical concept of the state. But since
these new approaches concentrated on the economic aspects of the relationship
between state and society, they failed to develop a diVerentiated theory of institu-
tions. At the end of the neoradical movement which had inXuenced the develop-
ment of political theories, the holistic theories of the 1960s were approaching each
other.
The new wave of the policy approach in the 1970s ended in a merger of systems
theory and neo-Marxist state theories. A central actor was needed and though many
empirical scholars no longer called it ‘‘the state,’’ a great variety of actors and their
institutions were introduced in order to demonstrate the genesis of a decision—or
of a ‘‘non-decision.’’ Network approaches discovered so many veto-players to avoid
the impression that one actor, such as ‘‘the state,’’ was still considered as an
ontological entity as in some older institutionalist theories (Tsebelis 2002).
750 klaus von beyme

The rational choice school oVered another approach which rediscovered the insti-
tutions. The bias of this school was that theory perceived social systems as consisting
of only utility-maximizing rational individuals. They engage in strategic interactions
which stabilize an equilibrium. This approach was highly quantiWable but its pre-
dictive capacities were rather limited because apparently non-rational collective and
ideological motives distorted the ‘‘necessary outcome’’ of the prognosis. Political
institutions—such as parliamentary groups and their leaders—had to explain why
the ‘‘normal behavior’’ within larger institutions, such as parliaments, did not
function in the utility-maximizing way the strict individualism of the theory had
envisaged. The rational choice approach had the virtue of making cooperation in
institutions plausible as far as norms of cooperation were internalized. These norms,
however, hardly rise with one institution. They are pre-existing to most institutions,
and only historical political culture studies can enlighten us about their genesis.
Social institutions apparently determined policy outcome and even the economic
performance of systems. Organizational theory discovered these institutions in
many Welds—from legislation to industrial relations (Streeck 1992).

2.2 National Traditions and Transnational DiVusion of

Institutions and Theories about Institutions
Institutional theories developed in tune with national traditions of institutions.
Continental ‘‘statism’’ has always diVered from Anglo-Saxon concepts which did
not accept a dogmatic typology of ‘‘state and society’’—the expression of a
historical compromise between monarchy and the legislative powers of ‘‘estates’’—
from Hegel to Lorenz von Stein. In spite of many typologies of the role of
institutions in various political cultures, the dynamics of institutional theories
were never strictly limited to national traditions. The more radical-minded con-
stitution makers and political theorists worked in their countries, the stronger was
the inXuence of foreign models. After 1789 and after 1848 the French model had
some impact on the Continent. The French model of a so-called ‘‘unauthentic
parliamentarianism’’ later was less attractive than the British model for liberals in
Europe. France, moreover, was constitutionally unstable. According to a famous
anecdote a British traveler who asked in Paris for the French constitution got the
ironical answer from the book dealer: ‘‘Sorry, we don’t carry periodical literature.’’
The opposite example was the American revolution, frequently admired for its
sheer institutional stability over time. For certain parties in Europe the American
model was hailed because the American revolution was considered as being only
‘‘political’’—not aiming at a complete change of social powers in the society as did
the French revolutionary model from Hannah Arendt to Dolf Sternberger.
The theory of institutions was strong in American anthropology and developed
some impact on the neighboring social sciences. A long debate was launched
 political institutions—old and new 751

between ‘‘diVusionists’’ who thought that social institutions developed from one
center to other areas (Thor Heyerdal even tried to demonstrate the possibility of
diVusion of institutions by imitating boat trips from Polynesia to South America)
and ‘‘functionalists’’—prevailing in America—who considered the development of
social institutions rather as the result of social needs which led to functional
equivalents of rather similar institutions. The political debate in the North Atlantic
world was, however, more diVusionist than in the realm of cultures preserving only
oral traditions. ‘‘Institutional engineering’’ in political systems relied on a huge bulk
of constitutional models and political theories which shaped them. Conscious
adaptations of foreign institutions merged with national traditions since the belief
that national institutions ‘‘grow’’ out of national traditions—widely accepted by
conservative parties in the nineteenth century—was withering away.
The USA never shared the cult of the state as a major institution. Nevertheless
the citizens were more proud of their institutions than in other countries. The
study by Almond and Verba (1963, 102) found that 85 percent of Americans were
proud of their institutions, but only 46 percent of British, 7 percent of Germans,
and 3 percent of Italians. Already one of the Wrst European evaluations of the
American system, by Lord Bryce (1888/1959, vol. 1, 1) was puzzled by a typical
American question, ‘‘What do you think of our institutions?’’ which he never heard
in Britain. American preference for institutions was explained by the lack of a cult
of personality and monarchical symbolism.

2.3 Institutional Crises and the Para-theories of Institutions

Later theories had to cope with the fact that attitudes towards institutions are not
permanent features of some kind of ‘‘national character.’’ Periodical crises of
national institutions inspired less the creation of new institutions than the devel-
opment of new theories on institutions. Most of them hardly deserved the term
‘‘theory’’ and were ad hoc generalizations which did not survive in long-term
developments. Crisis-mongering leads to much discussed bestsellers in the intel-
lectual sphere which contributed at best para-theories. Cycles of corruption and
unlawful practices can undermine basic conWdence in the institutions.
Huntington (1981, 4) found a general gap between ideal and institutions—the
so-called IvI gap—as ‘‘a peculiarly American form of cognitive dissonance.’’ The
message was not without hope in post-Watergate America. Ideals of the American
creed periodically purify and revitalize American institutions. In other countries
another crisis of institutions was criticized. The scenarios were frequently even
more pessimistic. New institutions seemed to undermine the old constitutionally
guaranteed institutions. The ‘‘new social movements’’ caused fear and misgivings.
They may have been centered in Berkeley, Paris, or Berlin, but they spread all over
the world and formed loose revolutionary networks.
752 klaus von beyme

After the students’ riots in the Western world, combined with protests against
the Vietnam war, a new wave of crisis-of-institutions theories swept over Western
democracies. In Germany sociologists, such as Schelsky (1973, 21), suspected that a
‘‘revolutionary march through the institutions’’ might undermine the system. No
systems change happened. The only long-term consequence was that former
student rebels in 1998 entered the federal government. Germany, as a country of
conservative institutional immobilism, all of a sudden became the ‘‘Mecca’’ for a
new institution, the ecological ‘‘Green Party.’’
In France the sociologist Michel Crozier (1970) came to rather far-reaching
conclusions with his fear that a society is in danger where institutions block each
other and lead to non-decision. Under the temporary pressure of the students’
rebellion in 1968, the historical fear sprang up again: that French systems proved to
be unable to reform their institutions. The traumatic inspiration from French
history which dooms the country to develop by periodical revolutionary systems
changes led to a premature prognosis. The French Fifth Republic survived, though
de Gaulle withdrew earlier than expected, whereas the Italian system collapsed, but
at a time in the early 1990s when the storms of para-revolutionary unrest had
calmed down. There was a lot of theory building on a second Italian Republic, but
the changes of the system hardly justiWed speaking of an institutional revolution.
The party system was the only institution which was substantially aVected by the
institutional crisis of the system. The ‘‘new Republic’’ proved to be the ‘‘old
Republic.’’ The syndicalist enthusiasm for new social movements without bureau-
cratic structures which endangered established institutions from 1968 was met
by new institutional arrangements of the old institutions. ‘‘Neocorporatism’’ in
northern Europe had to explain why regimes did not collapse in a crisis of
institutions. From 1985 to about 1995 no book on the relationship between state
and society was successful unless it contained the catchphrase ‘‘neocorporatism.’’
Ten years later no book could be sold if it still stuck to this paradigm.
Neocorporatism has withered away under the glare of neoliberalism. Together
with the term ‘‘ungovernability’’ for which it was meant by Schmitter to serve as
a remedy, neocorporatism showed again how short-lived theoretical fashions are—
especially in the realm of institutions which invite, more than other subjects,
simplistic everyday evidence in the style of theorizing.

3 Conclusion
.........................................................................................................................................................................................

Institutions develop less quickly than theories on institutions. ‘‘Historical institu-

tionalism’’ has demonstrated that institutional traditions are not easy to change.
Institutions which have lost their former justiWcation, such as certain ministries or
 political institutions—old and new 753

state agencies, adapt new purposes and continue to exist. Even oddities like the
electoral college in the USA or an ‘‘executive second chamber’’ in Germany from
Bismarck to Adenauer have not been changed in spite of numerous reform
initiatives. Even the occupation forces in Germany after 1945 failed in trying to
impose on West Germany diVerent systems of a federal chamber, diVerent forms
of industrial relations, or a uniWed social security system. The cold war soon
promoted other priorities than the overhauling of traditional institutions.
Organizational theory has developed many strategies for the reform of political
institutions. They were more successful in the revived ‘‘new institutional econom-
ics’’ in the context of enterprises and industrial relations (Richter 1994, 3). The ‘‘new
institutionalism’’ in political science, however, has to live with the fact of the
persistence of many forms of organizational routines and structures. Most
institutional reform proved to be ad hoc activity (March and Olsen 1989, 69V).
There is a permanent division in political science between the ‘‘hard’’ type of
analysis aiming at universal laws—as in behavioralism and rational choice—and
the ‘‘soft’’ historically oriented analysis of political events and lines of cultural
development. The hope remains that both camps engage in a fruitful exchange
(Rothstein 1996, 156). The new institutionalism was a major step in the direction of
this synthesis. March and Olsen (1984, 747) hoped for a ‘‘gentle confrontation
between the wise and the smart’’ which characterizes innovations in intellectual
history. Many movements and theories have called themselves ‘‘new.’’ As in other
Welds—such as art—they quickly ended in ‘‘post-’’movements. In the best case
this lead to a development ‘‘from post- to neo.’’ Is neoinstitutionalism really new?
(a) It diVers from the older institutionalism in the attempt to work theory-
oriented. (b) It contains the achievements of former revolts—such as the behav-
ioral and rational choice revolts—to diVerentiate between dependent and
independent variables, though some authors blur this diVerence and treat their
institutions simultaneously as dependent and independent (Pedersen 1991, 131f).
Neoinstitutional approaches observe actual behavior instead of legal and formal
aspects of political behavior which prevailed in older theories. (c) The main virtue
is that concepts have been developed which make new institutionalism more
comparative than the older juxtapositions of regimes in early institutionalism
(Peters 1996, 206).
Comparative studies on institutions in Europe developed between European
traditions and American innovations. The Wrst foreign inXuences on my own
thinking took place in France in the late 1950s. As a student in France, Duverger
and Aron exercised considerable inXuence. My book on Political Parties in Western
Democracies (1985) has sometimes been dubbed as an ‘‘updated version’’ of Duver-
ger’s study. This perception hardly did justice to my own intentions:
comparative studies of institutions according to my interests had to get rid of
three vices of the older institutionalism in France: (a) The preoccupation with a
unilinear causality between electoral laws and parties in the school of André
Siegfried and Duverger; (b) The benign neglect for foreign languages besides
754 klaus von beyme

French and the lacking interest in ‘‘Smaller European Democracies.’’ The project
under this title, developed by Stein Rokkan and Hans Daalder, was seminal for my
own studies on parliaments, parties, interest groups, and trade unions; (c) The
study of institutions without reference to policy outcomes.
My own academic socialization in political science was aVected by American
theoretical developments in two waves. As a ‘‘true disciple’’ of an old institution-
alist, Carl J. Friedrich, I carefully followed the lectures at Harvard University of
Friedrich, V. O. Key, W. Y. Elliott, and McCloskey. The new developments, however,
took place in the sociology department. Two German students in 1961–2 went to
the courses of Talcott Parsons: Niklas Luhmann and myself. Only the former
became a true disciple of Parsons. Institutionalists like myself rather felt a subver-
sive joy of pilgrimage to MIT in order to study with Lasswell (teaching as a visiting
professor) and Karl W. Deutsch. The second personal involvement took place when
I was a visiting professor at Stanford University and underwent the inXuences of
my colleagues, Gabriel Almond, Seymour Martin Lipset, and Heinz Eulau. My
work was shaped by a moderate deviation from ‘‘paleo-institutionalism’’ in a turn
to sociological views in the tradition of Karl Deutsch and Martin Lipset.
In Germany ‘‘the state’’ was no longer a subject for political scientists like Dolf
Sternberger and Carl J. Friedrich who ran the Heidelberg Institute. The state after
Nazi rule was considered as the incarnation of misled nationalism. Institutions
were kept free from ‘‘identity politics’’ which only in the age of postmodernity
became a new concern of political science. Identity building was promoted in a
rational way, via ‘‘constitutional patriotism’’ in German theories from Sternberger
to Habermas. ‘‘The state’’ of the older German ‘‘Staatslehre’’ was no longer
a concern. The problem with state institutions was rather an almost silly anglo-
phile bias in studies of parliamentary systems and electoral laws, initiated by F. A.
Hermens, D. Sternberger, and others. Institutional theory was frequently depen-
dent on political reforms. There was a period when the ‘‘Grand Coalition’’ in
Germany (1966–9)—with advice from many political scientists and jurists—
seriously planned to introduce the British relative majority electoral law, in the
hope that only a two-party system would survive. But even early political culture
studies had a certain bias in favor of the ‘‘Anglo-Saxon’’ model. With Almond’s
neglect of the consociational democracies which he lumped into one category
of hybrids between the British and the ‘‘continental’’ model, consisting of the
Benelux countries and Scandinavia, the younger generation had to take issue.
Arend Lijphart and Gerhard Lehmbruch—with whom I worked in an institute at
Tübingen—have enlightened me more than the traditional state-orientation of the
‘‘nestor’’ of German political science, Theodor Eschenburg, then my colleague at
Tübingen (cf. Daalder 1997, 227V). The younger generation on the continent
discovered the traditions of ‘‘consociationalism,’’ which diverges from British
winner-takes-all concepts.
 political institutions—old and new 755

My own work diVered increasingly from Carl Friedrich’s in two respects. The
impact of American political sociology directed my interest to elites, interest
groups, and trade unions (1980) which were undeveloped in European comparative
studies. In studies on Communism, Carl Friedrich emphasized totalitarianism with
a static bias. The neglect of interest groups was also detrimental to studies on Eastern
Europe. No internal conXict and development was possible. Even Friedrich’s co-
author, Z. Brzezinski, was no longer able to follow Friedrich and did not participate
in the second revised edition of Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy (1965). I
came into a conXict of loyalty with my teacher because I was not willing to substitute
for Brzezinski. Since my studies in Moscow (1959–60) I was more able than the older
generation of Sovietologists and theoreticians of totalitarianism to discover modest
steps towards liberalization and the erosion of dictatorship. Moreover, in compara-
tive studies in both East and West, I was not interested in institutions per se,
but in combination with their impact on policies (1982). In that respect I was a
‘‘neoinstitutionalist’’ before the label has been invented.
The most interesting institution for older institutionalists, like Friedrich, was
federalism. Especially when they worked on the institutions of the budding
European Community they started from the normative assumption that federalism
was ‘‘progressive’’ per se. Doubts from the rational choice school in the work of
William Riker (1964) who calculated the costs of federalism by reluctant veto
groups in the decision-making process and especially in the implementation of
decisions at the national level, were widely ignored in Europe. In recent studies on
federalism I turned rather to comparisons of federalist and decentralized unitary
states. Only in the 1990s did scholars from smaller European countries, like
Switzerland, Sweden, or the Netherlands (D. Braun, H. Keman), discover that
decentralized non-federal states in many respects had better performances than
federalist systems. The institutional economy studies discovered in addition that
the American model of a ‘‘competitive federalism’’—instead of a ‘‘federalism of
joint decision-making’’—does not prosper in federations with many small units
and that corruption spoils the decision-making process of federal institutions.
The new wave of institutional studies in economics proved to be fertile in
political science, enlarging the range of institutions to many quasi-governmental
institutions from the national banks to units which administer unemployment or
protection of environment. Comparative politics as a study of institutions will
certainly continue to develop in the direction of policy studies and include a greater
number of actors and veto groups than recognized in the older schools of institu-
tionalism, still largely thinking in terms of a global ‘‘checks-and-balances’’ theory.
Neoinstitutionalism will never develop back into the old institutionalism.
Even specialists of institutions who are inclined to accept the organization they
have chosen as an independent variable, can no longer prevent that non-
institutionalist approaches accept institutions only as one dependent variable
among others. Even a blatant nostalgia for the older institutionalism can lead
756 klaus von beyme

only to half a comparative analysis when it excludes the other half of the individual
behavior of actors. Neoinstitutionalism cannot substitute for the behavioral and
the rational choice revolts, but can only correct their theoretical and methodo-
logical exaggerations.

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 N............................................
ame I ndex

6, Perri 6 101, 375 Amadiume, I 177

Abbot, K W 616, 617, 645, 646, 659 Amar, Akhil 205
Abbott, Frederick 664 Amery, Leo 706
Abdelal, R 57, 64, 69, 71 Amorim Neto, O 356, 445, 449
Abrams, P 123 Andersen, O 732
Acemoglu, D 229 Anderson, B 115
Acharya, A 615, 624 n2 Anderson, C 230
Achen, C 463, 563 Anderson, K 685
Ackerman, Bruce 208 Anderson, Lawrence 265
Acton, Lord 135 Anderson, C 580
Adams, Abigail 175 Andeweg, R B 458
Adams, John Quincy 175, 179 Andrews, J T 570, 583, 584, 589
Adcock, R 93 Anheier, H 139, 676
Adler, E 647 Annan, KoW 619
Adler, S 224, 314 Ansell, C 78, 84, 85
Adonis, A 336 Ansolabehere, S 465, 480
Aglietta, M 289 Anton, T J 249 n4, 254, 255, 256,
AgranoV, R J 274 286, 287
Aguilar, R 220 Apter, D A 9
Aiken, M 285 Aquinas, Thomas 137, 695
Aitkin, D 94 Arato, A 139
Albert, M 152 Archer, C 614 n1
Albrow, M 374 Arendt, Hannah 750
Al-Buraey, M A 98 Aristotle 411
Aldrich, J H 445, 557, 558, 559, 560, 562, 565, Armstrong, D 613, 619
567, 568, 572 Arrow, Kenneth 41, 596, 603 n4, 604
Alesina, Alberto 229, 388 Ashford, Douglas 286, 295
Alger, C 620 Ashworth, S 28 n10
Allard, S 247 n3 Asquith, H H 704
Allardt, E 746 Atiyah, P S 148
Allen, J 121 Attlee, Clement 702, 710, 711
Allison, G T 369 n1 Aucoin, P 332, 378
Almond, Gabriel 700, 708, 719, 751, 754 Auer, A 598 n2
Alt, J 570 Aufses, A 314
Althusius, Johannes 264 Aulich, C 328 n2
Alvarez, M 230, 359 Austen-Smith, D 24 n1, 30 n13
760 name index

Axelrod, R 28, 31–2, 569 Bawn, K 582, 583

Ayres, I 149, 409 Bayerlein, B 221
Baylis, T 228
Babcock, L 211 Bayliss, C 50
Bach, S 482 Beard, Charles 699
Bache, I 292 Bearman, P 83–4
Bachrach, P 397 Beck, U 127, 421, 685
Badie, B 126 Beer, Samuel 40, 239 n1, 240, 264, 457
Bagehot, Walter 325, 327, 345, 346, 347, 350, Behn, R D 332, 374
353, 704 Behr, R L 557
Bagwell, Kyle 660 Belassa, B 621
Bahl, R 266 Bell, D 200
Bahro, H 221 Bellah, R 740
Bailey, M A 247 n3 Bellamy, R 628
Baird, V 515, 526 Bennett, R J 497
Baker, W 82–3 Benoit, K 582, 586, 589
Bakvis, H 276, 328 n2, 337 Bensel, Richard 47–8
Baldez, L A 441 Benson, J K 82
Baldwin, P 387 Bentley, Arthur 698, 731
Baldwin, R 410 Berger, P L 7, 12, 15
Balme, R 283 Bergman, T 326, 335 n3, 336, 337, 338
Banks, J 24 n1, 30 n13 Berle, A 159
Baratz, M S 397 Berlin, Isaiah 697
Barber, B 139, 140, 304 n1 Berman, S 60, 69, 70
Barber, James 731 Bernstein, Edouard 136
Barber, K 584 n4 Bernstein, M 408
Bardach, Eugene 369 n1, 409 Berry, W D 247 n3
Barker, E 747 Besso, M 210
Barnard, C I 369 Best, J 198
Barnes, S 461 Bevir, M 71, 85, 90, 91, 101, 325,
Barnett, M N 635, 646, 668 339, 407
Barrett, A 224, 311, 314 Beyme, K von 744, 746
Barro, R 30 n13 Bibby, J F 556
Barrow, C W 117 Bickel, Alexander 207
Barry, B 94 Bickford, S 170
Barry, P B 722 Bieler, A 612, 685
Barsoom, P 640, 658, 664 Binder, S A 23, 26, 27, 44, 309 n7, 323, 464,
Bartels, L M 562 466, 469, 477, 480, 484, 491
Barzelay, M 378 Birch, F 581, 582, 584, 587, 590
Bassett, K 508 BirchWeld, V 228
Bates, Robert 34, 60 n3, 104, 105 Birnbaum, P 126
Batley, R 497 Bismarck, Otto von 415
Bátora, J 14, 16 Black, A 133
Baum, L 528, 530, 538, 549 Black, C L 200, 205
Baum, M 311 Blackstone, W 412
 name index 761

Blair, Tony 328, 329, 334, 475, 709, 710, Brennan, William J 517
711–12, 714 Breslin, S 624
Blais, A 223, 559, 560, 582, 585, 587, 589, 590 Brewer, M B 9
Blank, K 292, 294 Brinkley, A 49
Blau, P M 370 Brinton, Crane 700
Blick, A 334 Brittan, S 155, 333
Blondel, J 227, 325, 327, 329, 335 n3, 336, 337, Broadbent, J 81
349, 356 Brockington, D 585
Blunkett, David 138 Broderick, A 12
Blyth, M 57, 60, 64 n4, 67, 68–72, 99, 159 Brodie, I 544
Bobbitt, P 203, 205, 206–7 Brown, Gordon 329
Bogaards, M 224 Brown, J G 138
Bogason, P 293, 296 Brown, M K 390, 396
Bogdanor, V 95, 103, 219, 327, 467 Brown, R 212
Bohman, J 170 Brown, Rap 715
Boix, C 221, 589 Brown, T H 175
Boli, J 680 Brown, W 121
Bolı́var, Simón 220 Brown Weiss, E 658
Bonchek, M 31 Browne, E 570
Bond, J 314 Broz, J L 47
Bonner, R J 599 Brueckner, J K 247 n3
Bonoli, G 396 BruV, H H 204
Bork, Robert 199 Brunsson, N 16
Borraz, O 497, 498, 501, 503 Bruzst, L 83
Bosanquet, Bernard 748 Bryce, J 93, 274, 451, 479, 488, 490
Boston, J 378, 583 Brzezinki, Z 755
Bottom, W 480, 484 Buchanan, J 31, 217, 274
Bouckaert, G 329, 332, 378 Buchanan, W 463
Bours, A 498 Budge, I 227, 559, 569, 595, 596, 597, 600,
Bowler, S 579, 585, 590, 603 601, 606, 608
Bowman, A O’M 241, 251 Bueno de Mesquita, B 28
Brace, P R 517 n2, 520 Bull, Hedley 263
Bradbury, N 413 Bulpitt, J 284
Bradley, F H 697 Burden, B C 465, 466
Bradlow, D D 668 Burke, Edmund 461, 711
Brady, D 237, 251, 481, 482, 484 Burkett, T 457
Braithwaite, J 150, 409, 413, 415, 416, 418, Burnham, J 333
419, 422–426 Burns, J 220
Brandeis, Louis 540 Burns, J F 435
Brant, I 181 Burns, Nancy 174, 176, 570
Braun, Dietmar 269, 275, 276, 755 Burt, R 79, 84
Brazier, R 191, 193, 202 n9 Busch, Marc 663
Bregha, F 421 Bush, George H W 248, 252
Bregn, K 732 Bush, George W 248, 252, 379, 380, 515, 732
Brennan, G 217, 274, 440, 477, 483 Bush, Jeb 253
762 name index

Busia, K A 174 Charnovitz, S 674

Butler, C 229 Charrad, M M 177
Butler, D 336, 564, 596 Chase, Kerry 664
Bütler, M 663 ChatWeld, C 676, 680, 681
Bützer, M 610 Chayes, A 658
Buzan, B 634, 636 Chayes, A H 658
Checkel, J T 647
Cabinet OYce 332 Cheibub, J A 230, 355, 359
Cain, B 467, 581 Chemerinsky, E 196 n2
Calabresi, S G 196 n2, 197 Chevallier, J 92, 96, 284
Caldeira, G A 517, 522, 527 n5, 528, 529, Chhibber, P K 240, 558, 580
532, 546, 547 Chisholm, D 285
Caldwell, M 347 Chomsky, N 128
Calvert, R 24 n2, 25, 26, 28 n9 Choper, J 196 n2
Cameron, C 219, 224, 309 n7, 314, 545 Chowdbury, N 174, 176
Cameron, D 293, 385 Churchill, Winston 375
Camilleri, J A 262 Cicero, M T 133
Camissa, A 249 n4 Claessen, H J M 114
Cammack, P 732 Clark, A M 682
Cammisa, A 245, 254 Clark, John Maurice 23
Campbell, A xiii, 562, 563, 564 Claude, I L 613, 637, 645
Campbell, C 328 n2, 334 Clausen, A R 462
Campbell, John L 56 n1, 60, 70, 99 Clausewitz, Carl von 118
Canes-Wrone, Brandice 312, 313 Clayton, C W 16, 192, 523
Canon, B C 543 Clegg, S 104
Canon, D T 169 Clemens, Elisabeth 49
Cardozo, B N 545 Clift, E 174, 175
Carey, J 220, 357, 437, 439, 441, 442, 443, 446, Clinton, Bill 205, 252, 379, 397, 709, 712, 714
448, 467 Coase, Ronald 34, 369, 377
Carmichael, Stokely 713 Coates, D 152, 153
Carney, F S 264 Cohen, D 314
Carothers, T 675 Cohen, J J 139, 311
Carp, R A 517 n2, 542 Cole, A 508
Carpenter, Daniel 46–7, 369 n1 Coleman, J J 314
Carroll, R 445 Coleman, J S 417, 718, 719
Carter, E 590 Collins, H 149 n2
Carter, Jimmy 252 Colman, Tony 471
Casey, G 526 Colomer, J M 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222,
Cash, R 314 223, 229, 437, 444, 582, 583, 586, 589, 590
Castells, M 288, 407 Commission on Children at Risk 740
Castles, F G 275, 276, 398, 410, 475, 491 Commons, John R 732
Catt, Chapman 175 Condorcet, Marquis de 444
Chandler, A 147, 418, 428 Congleton, R D 218
Chandler, J 497, 498 Conlan, T 239 n1, 248, 251, 252
Chang, E C C 438 Conley, R 224, 314, 469
 name index 763

Connell, R W 123 de Gaulle, Charles 357 n2

Converse, P E xvi, 463, 562, 563, 564 de Luca, M 442
Cook, K 84 Deering, C J 443
Cooper, J F 193, 466 Degenne, A 78
Cooper, P 314 Deheza, G I 227
Coppedge, M J 447 n4 DeLeon, R E 506
Corwin, E 304 n1 Denters, B 499, 502, 503
Cotter, C P 556 Depauw, S 458
Cotterrell, R 425 Derthick, M 239 n1, 369 n1, 389
Coulson, A 500 DeSmith, S 191, 193, 202 n9
Courchene, Tom 262 Deutsch, Karl W 186, 731, 754
Cover, A 309 n7, 517 Dewatripont, M 28 n10
Cowley, P 457 Dewey, John 696
Cox, G 219, 220, 221, 222, 224, 326, 348, Diamond, L 497, 500
353, 434 n1, 436, 442, 443, 444, 445, Diamond, M 264
446, 449, 464, 556, 567, 568, Diani, M 84
578, 580 Dicey, A V 91
Crawford, S 24 n2 Dicken, P 150
Crawley, J P 287 Dickinson, Matthew 304, 309 n6
Crepaz, M 228 Dickson, P G M 416
Critchley, S 100 Dickson, W J xiii
Cronin, T E 607 Diehl, P F 619
Crossman, R H 219, 327 Diermeier, D 24 n1, 230, 474, 479, 481, 569,
Crouch, C 153, 289 570
Crozier, Michel 290, 752 DiGaetano, A 508
Cuban, L 737 diGiacomantonio, W 178
Culver, W W 437 Dion, D 448
Cusimano, M 620 DiPrete, T A 400
Cutler, C 612 Dirven, H -J 400
Cyert, R M 15, 33 Dobrzynska, A 589
Dogan, M 327
Daalder, Hans 754 Doh, J P 683
Dahl, R A xiii, 154, 166, 219, 372, 397, 541, Dolbeare, K M 547
731, 748 Donahue, J D 251
Dahrendorf, Ralf 137–8 Donovan, T 585, 603
Damgaard, E 457, 460 Doolittle, F C 246
Danelski, David 731 Dorf, M 426
Danziger, S 247 n3 DorV, R H 265
Davidson, R 461 Döring, H 356
Davies, G 391 Dotan, Y 544
Davies, J 505 Douglas, William O 523
Davis, Christina 662 Douglass, Frederick 175
Davis, G 83 Dowding, K 331, 506
Davis, S Rufus 241 n2, 267, 277 Downs, A 25, 28, 41, 562, 563
Dayton, J 201 Downs, G W 640, 658, 664
764 name index

Drahos, P 409, 415, 416, 418, 419, Elgie, R 97, 221, 225, 324, 325, 326, 337,
422, 423 338, 339
Dreher, A 667 Elias, N 115
Drewry, G 5, 538 Ellingsen, T 230
Droop, H R 346 Elliott, O V 375
Druckman, J 34 n17, 490 Elliott, W Y 754
Dryzek, J S 165–6 Elster, J 184, 217, 229
Dubois, W E B 713 Ely, J H 195, 209
Duchacek, Iva 267 Emerson, Ralph Waldo 696–697
Dudley, S 410 Emirbayer, M 75, 85
DuYeld, J S 633 Emmert, C F 538
Duhamel, O 97, 220 Enchautegui, M E 247 n3
Duncan, S 289 Engels, F 114
Dunleavy, P 288, 325, 327n1 Epp, C 271, 544
Dupeux, G 564 Epstein, D 30 n13, 224
Dupree, A 201 Epstein, L 518, 519, 521, 522, 524
Dupuy, F 287 Epstein, L D 359
Duquenne, V 85 Eriksen, E O 628
Duran, P 291 Erikson, R S 463, 563, 568, 572
Durkheim, E 137, 282, 425 Ersson, S 720
Duverger, Maurice 40, 94, 97, 220, 221, Eschenburg, Theodor 754
222, 223, 357, 434 n1, 578, 580, 581, Eskridge, W N 549
582, 753 Esping-Andersen, G 154, 385, 386, 389, 396,
Dworkin, R 8, 192, 206 397, 398, 749
Dye, Thomas 243, 246, 249 Etzioni, A 139, 368
Eulau, H 6, 461, 748, 754
Easterly, W 668 Evangelista, M 682
Easton, D 102 , 525, 719, 722, 749 Evans, C L 467
Eaton, K 228 Evans, P B 60 n5, 118, 386, 680 n2, 732
Eavey, C 480, 484
Eccles, R 82 FairWeld, R P 346
Echeverria, J D 528 Falk, J 262
Eckstein, H xiii, 92, 94, 95 Farah, B G 461
Edwards, G 224, 303, 311, 318, 543 Farhang, S 51
Edwards, Michael 677, 678, 680 Farina, Cynthia 197
Edwards III, G C 198 Farole, D J 544
Egeberg, M 8 Farrell, D M 578, 581, 585, 590, 591
Eggers, W E 373, 375 Faulkner, R 82
Ehrenberg, J 133 Faust, K 78
Eisenhower, Dwight D 705 Faye Williams, L 388
Eisenstadt, S 7, 14, 749 Fearon, J 28, 30 n13, 581
Eisgruber, C L 209 n14 Feddersen, T 474, 479, 481, 569
Eisner, M A 41 Feeley, M 196 n2
Elazar, D J 239 n1, 240, 243, Fehr, E 9 n4
264, 274 Fehrenbacher, D E 546
 name index 765

Feld, S L 610 Foweraker, J 722

Feldman, S M 192, 193, 211 Fox, Vicente 558
Felsenthal, D 225 Fraga, L R 170
Fenno, R F 460, 463, 470, 555 Franck, T M 261
Ferejohn, J 30 n13, 467, 548 Frank, A 285
Ferguson, Adam 135 Frankfurter, Felix 709
Ferguson, J R 211 Frankl, V 735
Ferguson, L 461 Franklin, J H 178
Fernandez, R 84 Franzese, R 156 n7
FerruWno, A 437 Frerdreis, J 570
Fesler, J 282 Freyer, T 418
Figgis, J N 133 Friedkin, N 85
Figlio, D N 247 n3 Friedman, B 208 n13
Figueiredo, A C 451 Friedman, Gerald 51
Figueiredo, Rui De 318 n9 Friedman, L M 525
Filippov, M 261, 267 Friedman, Milton 410
Finegold, Kenneth 45–6, 47 Friedrich, Carl J 749, 754, 755
Finer, Herman 749 Frisby, T M 465
Finer, S E 95, 96, 217, 228 Frohlich, N 31
Finnemore, M 635, 646, 647, 668 Frymer, P 51
Fiorina, M 31, 224, 463, 467, 562
563, 581 Gabriel, O W 283
Fisher, J 687 Gächter, S 9 n4
Fisher, L 196, 209 n14, 304, 548 Gaebler, Ted 379
Fiss, Owen 200 Galanter, M 543, 544
Fitzgibbon, R 220 Galbraith, Vivian Hunter 712
Fladeland, Betty 674 n1 Gallagher, M 435, 580, 585, 596, 598
Flaherty, Martin 197 Gallarotti, Giulio 657
Fleisher, R 314 Galligan, B 263, 270, 277
Fleishman, J 314 Galligan, Y 176
Flemming, R B 544 Gamble, A 156 n6, 325, 621
Flinders, M 219, 292 Gamm, G 16
Florini, A M 676, 677, 682, 684, Gamson, William 163
686, 685 Ganghof, S 225
Foley, M 327 n1, 328 Garcı́a Calderón, F 220
Forbath, W E 51, 201 Garland, D 411
Fording, R C 247 n3 Garraud, P 283
Formisano, R P 556 Garrett, G 154
Forrest, M 482 Gasiorowski, M 230, 359
Forsé, M 78 Gates, J B 50, 546 n3
Forster, Rudolph 739 Gates, S 230
Fortas, Abe 517 Gaventa, J 680
Fosler, R S 247 Geddes, B 229, 356
Fossum, J E 628 Geertz, C 104, 714, 733
Foucault, M 120 Geiger, K 51
766 name index

George, V 396 Gordenker, L 678, 680, 683

Gerber, E R 607 Gordon, C 390 n1, 391, 394
Gerberding, Julie 381 Gordon, L 119, 390 n1
Gerlach, M 82 Gordon, S C 523
Gerring, John 47–8, 359 Gore, Al 379
Gerschenkron, A 153 Gormley, W T 240, 246, 251, 252
Gerth, H H 14, 371 Gottmann, J 282
Gibson, E L 285 Gottschalk, M 394
Gibson, J L 515, 516, 519, 520, 525, 526, 527, Gould, Erica 668
530, 556 Gould, R 84
Gibson, T K 171 Gouldner, A W 368
Gilbert, G 288, 293 Graber, Mark 192
Gilens, Martin 338 Grabosky, Peter 149 n2, 409, 413, 422
Giles, M W 529 n8, 547 Gramsci, Antonio 113, 137
Gilligan, M J 660, 661 Grande, E 127
Gilligan, T W 442 Granovetter, M 77, 79, 83, 732
Gillman, H 16, 192, 523 Grant, R W 626, 668
Gilmour, J 314 Graziano, L 295
Gingrich, Newt 248 Green, D 33, 104, 327, 563
Ginsburg, T 549 Green, D G 140
Githens, Marianne 174 Green, T H 135, 696, 748
Gladdish, K 467 Greene, Abner 197
Glaeser, Edward 229, 388 Greene, J 224
Glaser, C L 641 Greenleaf, W H 91, 94, 102–3
Glasius, M 139, 685 Greenstein, F 304 n1
Gleditsch, N 230 Greenwood, Gordon 262
Gleiber, D 570 Greif, Avner 34
Glendening, P N 240 Grémion, P 286
Glick, H R 538, 542 Grewal, B S 274
Godard, F 288 Grieco, J M 639, 640
Goetz, A M 684 GriVen, K N 532
GoV, P 622 GriYth, J A G 101, 540
Goldberg, R A 180 Grodzins, M 239 n1, 274
Golden, M A 438 Groeling, T 311
GoldWeld, M 46 Grofman, B 221, 227, 354, 579, 610
Goldsmith, M 285, 287, 295, 296, 501 Groseclose, T 356
Goldsmith, S 375, 377 Grossman, G M 660
Goldstein, J 658, 661 Gruber, L G 648
Goldwater, Barry 180 Grumm, J 221
Goodin, R E 4, 5 n2, 11, 12, 14, 16, 33 n16, 90, Grunberg, I 618
93, 145, 229, 400, 402, 438, 719, 720, 722, Guengant, A 288
726, 727, 728 Guillory, C 230
Goodsell, C T 368 Guinier, L 170
Goodwin, L 48, 85 Gunn, G E 173
Goodwin, M 289 Gunningham, N 149 n2, 422
 name index 767

Gurr, T R 413 Hauser, H 663

Gurushina, N 515 Hay, C 60, 61, 62, 67, 68, 70, 99, 100,
104–5, 327
Haas, E 621 Hayek, F 156
Haas, P 646 Haynie, S L 531
Habermas, J 10, 15, 137, 138, 140, 732 Hays, S 565
Hacker, J S 52, 392 n2, 393, 394, Hayward, J 96, 287, 330
395, 397 Headey, B 400
Haddock, S 507, 508 Heclo, H 80–1, 303–4, 385
Haftendorn, H 633, 634 Hegel, G 135, 137, 750
Haggard, S 170, 556, 657 Hegre, H 230
Hague, W 138 Heinbecker, P 620
Hahn, H 463, 464, 466, 468 Held, D 623, 685
Haider, Donald 254 Heller, W B 354, 484, 570
Hailsham, Lord 708 Helmke, G 527 n5, 549
Haire, S B 544 Helms, L 329, 339
Hall, M G 517 n2, 520, 523, 528, 529, 538 Helpman, E 660
Hall, P xix, xiv, 24, 41, 56, 57 n2, 60, 61, 63, Henig, J R 509
64 n9, 66–7, 75, 92, 93, 152, 153, 156 n7, 391, Hennessy, P 328, 333
426 Henry, H M 178
Hallerberg, M 354 Hermens, F A 754
Halperin, M H 369 n1 Herring, Pendleton 698
Haltom, W 543 Herrmann, R K 9
Hamilton, A 12, 245, 345, 346 Herrnnson, P S 556
Hamlin, A 483 Herzog, D 461
Hammond, A 677 Hesse, J J 295, 500
Hammond, P E 547 Hettne, B 621
Hammond, T 219, 229, 480, 483, 484, 485 Heumann, M 543
Hanf, K 81 Heyerdal, Thor 751
Hannah, L 147, 418 Hibbing, J R 526
Hansford, T G 518, 523 Higgott, R 612, 624, 685
Hanson, R L 247 n3 Hill, C E 101
Hardin, R 31, 32 n14, 217 Hinich, M 24 n1, 563
Harding, A 292, 506 Hintze, O 118
Harding, R W 419, 420 Hirst, P 613
Hargrove, E C 328 n2 Hix, S 446
Harnisch, S 648 Hobbes, T 31, 134, 186
Harris, J 135, 140 HoVer, P C 548
Hart, J 305 HoVmann-Martinot, V 283
Hasan, Z 173 Hofstadter, R 48, 556
Hasenclever, A 641, 643, 644 Hofstede, G H 370 n2
Hattam, V C 51 Hogwood, B W 369 n1
HauXeur, V 614 Holden, M 171, 178
Hauriou, Maurice 747 Holmes, Oliver Wendell 208
Hausegger, L 549 Holmstrom, B 28 n10
768 name index

Hood, Christopher 378, 394, 409, 410, 420 Jacobson, G 156, 463, 464, 468, 558
Hooghe, L 292, 294, 618 Jacobson, H K 658
Hooker, Richard 134 Jacoby, S M 391, 394
Hoover, Herbert 704 Jain, R B 173
Horan, M J 530 James, S 288
Horowitz, D 210, 211, 265 Jay, J 12, 345, 346
Hovenkamp, H 205 n12 Jayasuriya, K 410, 624
Howard, Christopher 394 JeVerson, Thomas 697
Howard, Michael 184 JeVery, C 268
Howard, R M 540 Jenkins, J A 446
Howarth, D 100 Jenkins Commission 591
Howell, W 224, 311 n8, 314, 315, 316 Jennings, Ivor 219
Huber, E 396 Jenny, M 457, 458
Huber, G A 523 Jenson, J 122
Huber, J 16, 230, 354, 437 Jervis, R 633
Huckfeldt, R 85 Jessop, B 99–100, 117, 124, 125, 127
Huckshorn, R J 556 Jewitt, I 28 n10
Hudec, R E 663 Jinks, B 94
Hug, S 607 John, P 297, 501, 502, 503,
Hula, R C 413 506, 508
Hull, N E H 546 Johnsen, D 209 n15
Hume, D 31 Johnson, A 477
Humes, Samuel 497 Johnson, C 153
Huntington, S P 717, 724, 726, 751 Johnson, C A 543
Hurrell, A 617 Johnson, N 92, 98
Johnson, S 229
Ignagni, J 549 Johnston, A I 647, 648, 668
Ikenberry, G J 649, 650 Johnston, L 420
Im, H B 173 Johnstone, R 149 n2
Imbeau, L M 261, 277 Jones, C O 257, 317
Indridiason, I H 559, 560 Jones, G 286, 291, 325, 333, 335 n3
Inglehart, R 185 Jones, M P 442
International Institute for Democracy and Jordan, A G 16
Electoral Assistance 439 Jordana, Jacint 148, 409–10
Inter-Parliamentary Union 435 Joubert, Joseph xviii
Isaac, R M 9 n4, 15 Judge, D 504
Israel, J 412 Justinian 133
Iversen, T 391
Iverson, G R 602 Kagan, Elena 197
Ives, N 435 Kagan, Robert 409
Kahler, Miles 664
Jackman, R 583, 584, 589 Kahneman, Daniel 33
Jackson, J H 663 Kaldor, M 139, 678, 685
Jackson, J L, Jr 199 Kammen, M 199 n8
Jacobi, T 27, 318 n9 Kant, Immanuel 135
 name index 769

Kantor, P 507, 508 King, A 353, 354

Kaplan, A 176, 748 King, D 287
Karch, A 50 King, G 224, 304, 570
Karpinski, J 515 King, Martin Luther, Jr 177, 713
Katz, J N 565 Kingdon, J W 465, 467–8, 472
Katz, M B 394 Kipling, Rudyard 325
Katz, R 221, 591 Kirp, D L 737
Katzenstein, P 81, 295, 611 Kitschelt, H 556, 557, 572
Katznelson, I 51 Klein, D 540
Kaufman, H 11, 372 Klein, J L 394
Kaufmann, K M 170 Klemanski, J S 508
Kaul, I 618 Klijn, E -H 82
Kavanagh, D 334 Klingemann, H -D 90, 719, 722
Kaviraj, S 139 Knight, J 518, 519, 521, 522, 524, 578
Kay, Richard 203 Knoke, D 76 n2, 81
Keane, J 138, 139 Knutilla, M 121
Keating, M 283, 296, 297 Kobach, K W 601
Keck, M 84, 680, 682 Koenig-Archibugi, M 687
Kedar, O 572 Kohl, Helmut 154
Kelemen, D R 251, 257 Kolko, G 392
Keller, E J 170 Kollman, K 240, 580, 558
Kelly, D L 738 Kolodziej, E A 634
Kelman, S 148 Kolpin, Van W 247 n3
Kelsen, Hans 745 Konig, T 479, 480, 484, 490
Keman, H 227, 755 Kontopoulos, K 78
Kens, P 546 Koppenjan, J F M 82
Keohane, R 263, 611, 617, 626, 628, 633, 635, Koput, K 83
636, 339, 641, 642, 643, 644, 645, 646, 656, Koremenos, B 651, 658, 665
658, 668, 679 Korn, J 548
Kernell, S 219, 310, 311, 463 Korpi, W 154
Kerry, John 732 Kousser, T 442
Kersh, K 50 Krackhardt, D 84
Kessler-Harris, A 390 n1 Kramer, L D 196 n2, 209 n15
Kettl, D F 376, 378, 379, 381 Kraner, K L 287
Key, V O, Jr 556, 561, 562, 703, 754 Krasner, S 12 n5, 60, 263, 611, 617, 640, 641,
Khademian, A M 370 646, 648, 656, 657
Khagram, S 681, 682 Kratochwil, F 9, 15, 611, 617, 657
Khan, R 266 Kraus, P A 10
Khilnani, S 139 Kraus, S J 518
Kickert, W J M 82 Krause, G A 241, 251, 314
Kiewiet, R 30 n13, 443 Krehbiel, K 24 n1, 219, 230, 442, 446, 459,
Kile, C 480, 484, 485 460, 465, 567
Kim, C J 170 Krieger, J 613
Kim, P T 517 Kriesi, H P 596
Kincaid, J 240, 244, 248 Kriner, D 316
770 name index

Kritzer, H M 518 n3, 525 n5, 526, 527, 530 Lee, T 170
n10, 538, 544 Lee, Woojin 388
Krotoszynski, R J 193 Leech, D 225
Krueger, G 247 n3 Lehmbruch, Gerhard 754
Kryder, D 51 Leibfried, S 275
Kubik, W 121 LeLoup, L T 314
Kuhn, T 35, 66 Lembruch, G 81
Kupchan, C A 637 Lequesne, C 297
Lessig, Lawrence 197, 204
La Porta, R 229 Levi, E H 545
La Porte, T 81 Levi, Margaret 34, 409
Laakso, M 435 Levi-Faur, David 148, 407, 408, 409, 410,
Laclau, E 92, 100 412, 424, 426
Lægreid, P 9 Levine, P 247 n3
Laitin, D 28 Levine, R 559, 560
Lake, David 658 Levine, S 583
Lakeman, E 579 Levite, A 170
Lambert, J 220 Levitsky, T 525 n5
Lancaster, T D 529 n8 Levmore, S 481, 483
Landau, M 96, 482, 483 Lewis, D 309 n6, 314, 315
Lane, J E 721 Li, Q 230
Lane, R 731 Lidstrom, A 497, 498, 499, 501
Langer, L 517 n2 Lieberman, R C 42, 51, 388
LaPalombara, J 222 Light, Paul 376
LaPierre, B 196 n2 Lijphart, A 173, 211, 221, 223, 224, 228, 266,
Laski, H J 137, 747 267, 269, 336, 353, 356, 434 n1, 437, 475,
Lasswell, H A 176, 748, 754 476, 477, 478, 480, 481, 490, 491, 492, 558,
Laumann, E 81 579, 754
Lauria, M 506 Limongi, F 230, 359, 449
Lauridsen, L S 126 Lin, N 84
Laver, M 24 n1, 225, 227, 326, 354, 444, 559, Lincoln, Abraham 739
569, 570, 580 Lindblom, C 372, 392 n2, 731
Lawless, P 508 Linder, W 602
Lawson, K 721 Lindsay, A D 700
Lazar, H 263, 276 Linklater, Andrew 262
Lazarus, E H 557 Linn, J 266
Lazonick, W 144, 153 Linowitz, S M 737
Le Duc, L 596, 604, 605 Linz, J J 219, 220, 230, 355, 359, 449
Le Galès, P 292, 294, 297, 499, 500, Lipschutz, R 682
503, 504 Lipset, S M 11, 557, 754
Le Grand, J 398 Lipsky, Michael 368, 396
Leach, S 291 Lipson, C 639, 649, 658
Leat, D 101 Lipson, L 221
Lee, F E 243 Livingston, J 47
Lee, J M 333 Livingston, William 265
 name index 771

Llanos, M 478, 490 Mann, M 60 n5

Lloyd, L 619 Mannheim, Karl 700
Lloyd George, David 415, 704, 712 MansWeld, E 611
Locke, John 40, 134, 135 March, J G 56, 92, 146, 163, 642, 719, 720,
Locke, Richard 83 732, 753
Loewenstein, K 219, 220 Marchand, R 156
Lomasky, L 477 Marchant, O 100
Londregan, J 441 Mares, I 391
Longley, L D 477 Marinetto, M 329
Longstreth, F 749 Maritain, Jacques 137
Lopez-de-Silanes, F 229 Markovits, I 527 n6
Loughlin, J 296, 297 Marks, G 292, 294, 618
Loughlin, M 410 Marks, T C 193
Lowell, A L 95, 456, 457 Marquand, D 289
Lowi, T J 41, 50–1, 265 Marr, D 334
Lowndes, V xvii, 5 n1, 16, 93 Marriott, J 477, 479
Lowry, W R 239 n1, 246 Marshall, G 93, 331
Luce, R 32 n15 Marshall, Thurgood 196 n3, 517, 713
Luciak, I A 177 Marshall, W 196 n2
Luckmann, T 7, 12, 15 Martin, A D 517, 518
Luhmann, Niklas 750, 756 Martin, C J 391
Lukes, S 397 Martin, Eileen 497
Lupia, A 33 n16, 563, 570 Martin, J 378
Lutz, Donald 270 Martin, L 314, 354, 449, 571, 611, 616, 617,
Lutz, S 150 n3 627, 629, 635, 642, 643, 645, 646, 648, 649,
Lynn-Jones, S M 643 656, 661
Marx, Karl 135, 137
MacDonagh, O 148, 413 Mashaw, J R 205
Machiavelli, N 118 Massicotte, L 223, 590
Machover, M 225 Mastanduno, M 640
MacIver, R M 137 Masuyama, M 445
MacKinnon, C 121 Mather, L 543, 545
Mackintosh, J 327 Mathews, R L 274
MacKuen, M B 563, 568, 572 Mathieu, D 9 n4, 15
Macmillan, Harold 705, 708 Matthews, D R 460
Macridis, R C 5 Matthews, J 683
Madison, James 12, 167, 345, 346, 486, 487, Maull, H W 648
596, 598, 695, 697 Mauss, M 145
Magaloni, B 558 Maxwell, S 628
Magleby, D B 599 May, R 740
Mainwaring, S 355, 359 Mayer, K 314
Majone, G 409, 410 Mayer, P 641, 643, 644
Maltzman, F 27 Mayhew, D 224, 314, 456–9, 462, 469
Mancroft, Lord 699 Mazur, A G 392
Manheim, J 685 McAdam, Doug 48, 84
772 name index

McAllister, I 94 Miliband, R 92, 116

McCann, M 543 Mill, John Stuart 10, 12, 135, 346, 477, 486,
McCarney, P L 500 487, 596
McCarty, N 309 n7, 314, 356 Millard, M 584, 587, 590
McCloskey, Robert 40 Miller, David 438
McClure, K M 170 Miller, GeoVrey 197, 219, 462, 480, 483, 484,
McConnell, M W 196 n2 485
McCraw, T K 413, 415 Miller, N 230
McCubbins, M 30 n13, 33 n16, 224, 348, Miller, R E 543, 544
356, 436, 443, 444, 445, 449, 464, 556, Miller, W E 562, 563, 564
563, 567, 662 Miller, W L 179
McDonald, M 608 Mills, C Wright 14, 371
McGarvey, N 410 Milner, H 586, 629, 646, 665
McGinnis, M D 572 Milward, H B 82
McGrew, A 687 Mink, G 390 n1
McGuire, K T 539, 547 Mishler, W 539
McGuire, M 274 Mitchell, D 398
McIver, J P 463 Mitchell, G 519
McKelvey, R 444 Mizruchi, M 83
McKenzie, W S 353 Moe, T xvi, 146, 308, 311 n8, 347
McLean, I S 610 MoVet, J 423
McLeay, E 585 Mohr, J 85
McMahon, K J 171 Mommsen, W J 357
McManus, P A 402 Money, J 243, 478, 479, 481, 485, 486
McMath, R 48 Monroe, B L 434 n1
McNamara, K 60, 69, 156 Montero, A P 296
Meade, James E 702 Montesquieu, Charles de Secondat 345, 412,
Means, G 159 747
Mearsheimer, J 627, 639, 640 Montgomery, J D 738
Meernik, J 549 Montgomery, K A 176
Mellen, G W F 178 Moran, Michael 148, 156, 409, 410
Melossi, D 123 Moravcsik, A 618, 628
Mendelsohn, M 595, 596, 598, 600, 601, 602, Moreno, L 283
604 Morgan, R P 314
Merrill, R A 205 Morgan-Jones, E 358
Merritt, D J 196 n2 Morgenstern, S 220, 442, 446, 449
Merry, S E 543 Morin, R 530
Mershon, C 570 Morrow, J 28, 658
Merton, R K 9, 10, 15 Moser, P 225
Mettler, S 51, 390 n1 Mossberger, K 504, 505, 506, 507, 508,
Meyer, J 10 509
Michelman, Frank 201 Mott, P E 285
Middelkoop, M J 421 Mouritizen, P 503
Midwinter, A 410 Mueller, D 24 n1, 217
Miles, Rufus 369 MuVels, R 400
 name index 773

Mughan, A 325, 327 n1, 474, 477, O’Brien, R 684

488, 490 O’Connor, Sandra Day 530
Mula, R C 509 Odegard, Peter 698
Mulgan, R 277, 332 OVe, C 7, 12, 229, 729
Müller, H 635, 648, 650 O’Halloran, S 30 n13, 224
Muller, M M 410 Okun, A 374 , 737
Müller, W C 28 n9, 326, 335 n3, 336, 337, 338, Oleszek, W 465
459, 460, 464 Olsen, J P, xix, xv, xvi, 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,
Müller-Rommel, F 227, 325, 329, 335 n3, 13, 14, 15, 16, 56, 91, 163, 720, 753
336 Olson, D J 170
Munger, M 563 Olson, D M 477
Munson, Z 50 Olson, M 28, 30, 41, 145, 155, 681
Murphy, W F 539 Omid, H 98
O’Neill, Thomas P 461
Nabors, R 658 Oppenheimer, B I 243
Nacif, B 220, 442, 570 Oppenheimer, J 31
Nathan, R P 246, 248 Orchard, L 94
Negretto, G 220 Ordeshook, P 217, 261, 267
Nelken, D 14 OrloV, A S 392
Nelson, B J 174, 176 Orr, M 509
Nelson, P J 683 Orren, K 8, 12 n5, 14, 17, 44, 45, 51,
Neocleous, M 411, 412 369 n1
Neustadt, R 219, 304 n1, 311, 522 Osa, M J 84
Nicholson, P P 97 Osborne, David 379, 410
Nielson, Daniel 668 Ostrogorski, M 175
Niemi, R G 442 Ostrom, E 24 n2
Nino, C 220 O’Toole, L J 249 n4
Nitz, L 247 n3 Ottaway, M 675
Nixon, Richard 248 Otter, C von 158
Nohria, H 82
Nolte, D 478, 490 Pachon, M 445
Norris, Pippa 176 , 185, 467 Paddison, R 282
North, Douglass 24, 42, 146 , 151 n4, 191, 217, Padgett, J 84
721, 723, 724 Page, C H 137
Norton, A 497, 500 Page, E 286, 287, 295, 501, 503
Norton, Philip 457, 467, 469, 476 Pagnucco, R 676, 680, 681
Noury, A 439, 446 Painter, J 289
Novkov, J 171 Painter, M 293
Nowak, J E 204 Pallot, J 378
Nye, J 150 n3, 263, 647, 648, 679 Palmer, M S 347, 353
Palmquist, B 563
Oakeshott, M 92, 97–8 Pappi, F 81
Oates, W E 288 Parker, C 410, 426
Oatley, T 658 Parkin, A 595, 596, 598, 600, 601, 602,
Obinger, H 275, 276 604
774 name index

Parkin, C 517 Polsby, N W 6, 724

Parks, Rosa 182 Pontell, H N 409
Parodi, J -L 97, 220 Poole, K T 445, 446, 464, 466
Parsons, C 57, 64, 69, 71 Popkin, S L 563
Parsons, Talcott 700, 717, 748, 754 Porter, B 114
Patten, C 138 Porter, T 612
Patterson, S C 325, 474, 477, 482, 488, Posner, P L 249 n4, 252, 253, 255
490 Posner, Richard 408
Patzelt, W J 467 Poulantzas, Nicos 113–14, 116–17
Pauly, L W 668 Powell, G B 228, 230, 354, 437, 443, 448, 580,
Payne, A J 621 586, 587, 591, 719
Peake, J 224, 314 Powell, H J 200, 208
Pedersen, Ove K 56 n1, 99 Powell, L W 442
Pedescleaux, S 509 Powell, W W 82, 83
Peel, Robert 413 Power, M 412
Pelassy, D 327 Power, T 230, 359
Perot, H Ross 379 Prakash, Saikrishna 197
Perry, H W 541 Pressman, J 285, 369 n1
Perry, Michael 203 Pretceceille, E 499
Persson, T 24 n1, 228, 359, 361, 438 Preuss, Hugo 357
Peters, B G xvii, 5 n2, 5 n3, 16, 56, 286, Preuss, U 229
292, 294, 297, 332, 333, 335, 336, 369 n1, Price, H D 565
381, 753 Price, K 314
Peters, G 93, 97 Price, R 686
Peterson, M 314 Provan, K 82
Peterson, P 224, 239 n1, 246, 247 Pryce, S 327 n1
Petry, F 275 Przeworski, A 229, 230, 355, 359
Pettit, P 440 Puchala, D 292
Pevehouse, J 317 Pulzer, Peter J G 183
Phelps, G A 546 n3 Punnett, R M 328 n2
Pickvance, C 599 Putnam, R D 140, 682
Pierce, R xiv, 461, 564
Pierre, J 286, 292, 294, 381 Quinn, K M 517, 518
Pierson, P xvi, 5, 12 n5, 14, 39, 43, 60, 63,
339, 392 n2, 393, 396, 400, 401 Rabe, B G 239 n1, 246
Pierson, S 101 Rae, D 221, 578, 579
Pinello, D 192 Ragsdale, L 224
Pious, R 314 RaiVa, H 32 n15
Pitkin, H 8 Rakove, J 198
Plato 696, 697 Ralston Saul, J 627
Plowden, W 335 Ranki, V 164, 170, 178
Poguntke, T 327 n1, 329, 335 n3 Ranney, A 596
Polanyi, K 146, 411 n1, 412 Ranson, S 291
Pollack, N 48 Rao, M G 266
Pollitt, C 157, 329, 332, 378 Rasch, B E 480, 481, 483
 name index 775

Rathenau, Walther 183 Rogowski, R 230

Rawls, J 10, 386 Rohde, D W 464, 466, 567, 568
Ray, P Orman 175 Rokkan, S 11, 115, 283, 557, 747, 754
Razaghian, R 309 n7 Roland, G 359, 361
Reagan, Ronald 248, 252, 253, 711, 714 Rom, M C 247 n3
Redmond, J 619 Roness, P G 13
Redslob, Robert 357 Roosevelt, Franklin D 201, 704, 708, 739
Reed, Thomas 459 Roozendaal, P Van 227, 354, 570
Rees, Joseph 409 Ropp, S C 682
Reeves, M M 240 Rosamond, B 68, 615, 618
Rehnquist, William 207, 517 Rose, A 665
Reid, G 482 Rose, L 499, 502, 503
Reid, W E 247 n3 Rose, R 337
Reinhardt, E 663, 664 Rosenau, J N 679
Reiss, H 135 Rosenberg, G N 50, 537, 546, 547
Remington, T F 443, 570, 583 Rosenbluth, F M 436
Reynal-Querol, M 230 RosendorV, B P 665
Rhodes, R A W 16, 71, 81, 85, 91, 95, 102, 286, Rosenfeld, M 191
289, 290, 291, 292, 294, 297, 325, 326, 327 Rosenstone, S J 557
n1, 333, 335, 337, 339, 407 Rosenthal, H 445, 464, 466
Richards, J E 650 Rosenthal, Jean-Laurent 34
Richards, M J 518 n3 RosoV, S E 409
Richter, R 753 Ross, D 40
RieV, D 685 Rossiter, C 304 n1
Riemann, C 224 Rothstein, B 5 n2, 7, 503, 719, 722, 753
Riggs, F 219 Rotunda, R D 204
Riker, J V 681 Rouse, A A 309 n16
Riker, W 24 n2, 181, 219, 239 n1, 264, 265, Rousseau, Jean Jacques 135, 596, 699, 732
444, 482, 485, 557, 569, 578, 580, 755 Rowan, B 10
Risse, T 9, 649, 682 Rowland, C K 517 n2, 542
Risse-Kappen, Thomas 680 Rowse, T 139
Ritaine, E 283 Royal Institute of Public
Rittberger, V 641, 643, 644 Administration 334–6
Roberts, N 583 Royce, Josiah 696
Roberts, W 263 Rubin, E L 196 n2
Robertson, D 51, 181 Rudalevige, A 309–10, 309
Robinson, J 229 Rudolph, S H 674
Robson, William 101 Rueschemeyer, D 118, 386, 732
Rocke, D M 640, 658, 664 Ruger, T W 517
Rockman, B A 7, 8, 336 Ruggie, J G 616, 617, 647, 657, 658
Rodden, J 240, 274 Rumsfeld, Donald 46
Rodrik, D 426 Russell, M 477, 478, 479, 489, 492
Roe, M 152 Russell, P H 261, 265, 270
Roemer, John 388 Rustow, Dankwart A 170
Roethlisberger, F J xiii Rutherford, M 145
776 name index

Saalfeld, T 458, 462, 467, 469 Schlesinger, A 29 n11, 304 n1, 314, 703
Saavedra, L A 247 n3 Schmidt, V 57, 60
Sabel, C 426 Schmitter, P 621
Sacerdote, Bruce 388 Schnabel, A 684
Sætren, H 13 Schneier, Edward 462
Sahlin-Andersson, K 157 SchoWeld, N 227, 559, 569, 580
Saiegh, S 355 Scholte, J A 684, 685
Saint-Martin, D 157 Scholz, John 409
Sait, Edward xvii, 26, 95–6, 738 Schotter, A 24 n2, 25
Sakamoto, T 587, 588 Schram, S 247 n3
Sala, B R 565 Schumpeter, J 158
Salamon, L M 375 Schwartz, H 529 n1
Saltman, R 158 Schwartz, M 48, 49, 82
Samuels, D 360, 442 Schwartz, T 662
Samuelson, P 30 Scott, C 410
Sanders, E 46, 47, 50 Scott, J 78
Sandler, T 31 Scott, W R 370, 717, 721, 722, 725, 726
Sapiro, Virginia 174 Searing, D D 461, 462, 468
Sarat, A 543, 544 Seaward, P 219
Sargentich, Thomas 197 Segal, J A 192, 516, 517, 518, 521, 539, 540, 545
Särlvick, B 221 Seidman, H 330
Sartori, G 191, 221, 357, 359, 437, 506, 508, Seldon, A 329, 334
718, 746 Self, P 157
Saunders, P 288 Seligman, A 140, 674
Savitch, H 283, 507, 508 Seltzer, K 101
Savoie, D 328 n2 Selznick, P 163, 735
Saward, M 595 SeraWni, M W 253
Sawer, GeoVrey 265 Seymour-Ure, C 328
Saxenian, Anno 83 Shane, P M 194, 197, 198, 204, 205,
Sayre, Wallace 372 209, 211, 212
Sbragia, A M 243, 246 Shapiro, D L 196 n2
Scalia, Antonin 199, 204, 517 Shapiro, I 33, 104, 327
Scalia, Laura 170 Shapiro, Martin 745
Scarrow, S 222 Sharman, C 266
Scharpf, F 81, 292 Sharon, Ariel 559, 560
Schattschneider, E E 8, 555, 579 Sharpe, L J 282, 286, 295, 499
Schelling, Thomas C 25 Shaw, M 127, 685
Schelsky, H 752 Shearing, C 422, 428
Schepel, H 425 Sheehan, R S 539, 544
Schiavone, G 613, 614 n1 Shell, D 482, 491
Schick, A 378, 381 Shepsle, K 24 n1, 24 n2, 25, 27 n7, 31, 41,
Schickler, Eric 44, 401 225, 227, 230, 326, 442, 443, 460, 559,
Schickler, H 563 569, 570
Schiller, W J 459 Sherry, S 520
Schleiter, P 358 Sherwood, R E 739
 name index 777

Shevtsova, O 261, 267, 583 Smith, Rogers 192

Shihata, I F I 668 Smith, S 26
Shils, E 285 Smith, S S 439, 442, 443, 465, 583
Shire, C 104 Smith-Doerr, L 83
ShonWeld, A 152 Smyth, R 570
Shore, C 339 Snidal, D 616, 617, 645, 646, 648, 649,
Shotts, K 312 658, 659
Shugart, M S 220, 221, 357, 360, 361, 434 n1, Snyder, G H 637
437, 448, 467, 579, 592 Snyder, J 230, 440, 465, 480
Shull, S A 314 , 316 Socrates 697
SiaroV, A 357 Songer, D R 544, 545
Siavelis, P 441 Soskice, D 60, 63, 152, 153, 391, 426
Siegel, Sidney 33 Soss, J 247 n3
Siegfried, A 753 Spaeth, H J 192, 516, 517, 518
Sieyes, Abbe 477 Spence, L K 527 n5, 527, 530
Sikkink, K 84, 679, 680, 681, 682, 687 Sperlich, P 311 n18
Silk, P 219 Sprague, J 85, 557
Silverstein, K 156 Spriggs, J F 518
Simeon, R 293 Sproats, K 500
Simmons, B 611, 617, 627, 635, 649, 656, 657, Sridharan, E 173
658, 682 Staiger, Robert 660
Simon, H A 9, 33, 369 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady 174–5
Sinclair, B 462, 465 Stark, D 83
Sinclair, D 149 n2 Stearns, L B 83
Singer, P W 420 Stein, A A 658
Siverson, R 28 Stein, Lorenz von 750
Sjow 17 Steinberg, Richard 662
Skach, C 230, 356, 359 Steinmo, S 62, 92, 95, 102, 749
Skalnik, P 114 Stepan, A 230, 356, 359
Skelcher, C 294 Stephens, J D 396
Skjaeveland, A 457 Stern, M 618
Skocpol, T xvi, 5, 12 n5, 14, 45–6, 47, 49–50, Stern, P 732
118, 140, 385, 386, 397, 400, 401, 680 n2, Stern, R E 500
732 Sternberger, Dolf 750, 754
Skogstad, G 276 Stetson, D M 390
Skowronek, S 8, 12 n5, 14, 44, 45, 46, 50, Stevens, B 394
304, 318, 369 n1 Stevens, R 548
Slagstad, R 217 Stevenson, R T 354, 570
Smiley, D V 265 Stewart, C 465
Smith, A 28, 227 Stewart, D 734
Smith, Adam 135, 145, 293, 411, 412 Stewart, John 101
Smith, D E 475, 477, 489 Stigler, George 418
Smith, J 676, 679, 680, 681 Stiglitz, J E 426
Smith, James McCall 663 Stimson, J A 539, 563, 568, 572
Smith, M J 326 Stinchcombe, A L 725
778 name index

Stirk, P 357 Thiébault, J -L 325, 337

Stoker, G 101, 286, 287, 289, 292, 497, 502, Thies, M F 436, 449, 490
504, 505, 506, 507, 508, 509 Thoenig, J -C 5 n1, 5 n2, 286, 287, 290, 291,
Stokes, A P 173 293, 294
Stokes, D E 564, 565, 566, 604 Thomas, Clarence 530
Stokes, W 220, 462 Thomas, G 680
Stoltz, K 283 Thomas, K P 246, 247
Stone, C N 504, 506, 509, 510 Thomas, N C 304
Stone, Randall 669 Thomas, R 146, 151 n4
Stone-Sweet, A 550 Thompson, E 331
Strange, S 150, 617, 640 Thompson, G 613
Strauss, Peter 197, 206 Tichenor, Daniel 52
Streeck, W 12, 17, 153, 750 Tierney, Michael 668
Stretton, H 94 Tillman, R H 409
Strøm, K 28 n9, 227, 326, 335 n3, 336, 337, Tillotsen, G 331
338, 354, 357, 358, 443, 448, 569, 570 Tilly, Charles 60 n5, 65
Strong, C F 217 Ting, M M 440, 480
Sturm, R 273 Tirole, J 28 n10
Sudarshan, R 173 Titmuss, Richard 393
Suleiman, E 13 Tocqueville, Alexis de 40, 118, 136, 264,
Sunduram, R 30 n13 515
Sunstein, Cass 197, 201 Tomlins, C L 51, 411
Svara, J 503 Travers, T 336
Swain, Carol 168 Tremblay, M 176
Swenson, Peter 391, 392 TriWletti, G 263
Swianiewicz, P 502 Trubek, D M 128
Swindle, S 227 Truman, David 768, 718, 731
Truman, Harry S 705
Taagepera, R 221, 224, 434 n1, 435, 579, 591 Tsebelis, G xvii, 225, 243, 275, 326, 444,
Tabellini, G 24 n1, 228, 359, 361, 439, 448 447 n6, 449, 478, 479, 480, 481, 483, 484,
Talbot, C 157 485, 486, 490, 525 n4, 578, 749
Tarrow, S 170, 286, 287, 295, 675 Tsujinaka, Y 81
Tate, C N 514, 550 Tudor, H 136
Taylor, A J P 697 Tudor, J M 136
Taylor, Charles 98, 104, 736 Tula, M I 442
Taylor, M 32 n14 Tullock, G 31, 217
Taylor, R xiv, 24, 56, 57 n2, 60, 61, 93 Turner, J 462
Taylor-Gooby, P 385, 396 TuschhoV, C 644, 645, 646, 648
Teegen, H 683 Tushnet, M 201, 202, 209 n15, 546
Telford, H 263, 276 Tversky, Amos 33
Teubner, G 14, 149 n2 Tyler, T R 519
Thacker, S 359, 667
Thatcher, Margaret 154, 328, 709, 711, 712 Uhr, J 475, 489, 491
Theiss-Morse, E 526 Uleri, P V 596
Thelen, Kathleen 5 n2, 12, 17, 62, 92, 95, 102, 401 Ullman, R H 634
 name index 779

Underhill, G 612, 685 Ward, H 28

Urwin, D W 283 Warren, Earl 547
Uslaner, E M 460, 463, 466, 469 Warren, M 410
Uzzi, Brian 83 Washington, George 708
Wasserman, S 78
Valenzuela, A 220, 230 Waterman, R W 309 n11, 369
Vallinder, T 514, 550 Wattenberg, M P 592
Van Alstyne, W 196 n2 Watts, D 79
Vanberg, G 437, 449, 549, 571 Watts, R L 263, 266, 267, 271, 272, 273, 276
Vanukovych, Viktor 514 Way, H F 547
Vatter, A 475, 476, 482, 491, 492 Wayne, Stephen 304, 314
Vaubel, R 667, 669 Weaver, R K 7, 8, 253, 336, 396
Vaughn, D 370 Webb, Beatrice 101
Verba, S 751 Webb, P 327 n1, 329, 335 n3
Vergniolle de Chantal, F 251 Webb, Sydney 101
Verney, D 223, 266 Weber, E 9
Veser, E 221 Weber, M 7, 14, 40, 112, 118, 357, 371, 700,
Vickers, G 733 744, 747
Victor, J 480, 484 Weber, S 641
Voelker, J 526, 530 n10 Wechsler, Herbert 196 n2
Voeten, E 445 Weiner, M 222
Vogel, D 148 Weingast, Barry 24 n1, 24 n2, 34, 217, 239 n1,
Voigt, S 229 246, 460, 548
Volden, C 219, 248 n3 Weisberg, H F 567
Vote World 439 Weiss, T 676, 678, 683
Vowles, J 583, 588 Weldon, J 355 n1
Vreeland, J R 668 Weller, P 328 n2, 329, 335, 337, 339
Wellman, B 75 n1
Wagner, R 31 Wendt, A 64, 67 n10, 68, 69, 617, 647
Wahlke, J 461, 748 Wertenbaker. T J 184
Walby, S 410 Wettenhall, R 328 n2
Walker, D B 251 Wheare, K 219, 268, 479
Walker, T G 547 Wheeler, H 14
Wallace, George 180 Whelan, R K 506
Wallace, H 618 Whitby, Kenny 168
Wallace, W 618 White, Theodore 708
Wallander, C A 633, 636, 640, 641, 642, 650 White, W S 459, 548
Wallas, G 137 White, Walter 713
Wallerstein, I 285 Whitehead, Alfred North 696, 697, 734
Walsh, K 291 Whitford, A B 527
Walsh, P 378 Whittington, Keith 192
Walt, S M 634 Whyte, W H 732
Walzer, M 139 Wildavsky, A 285, 314, 369 n1
Wapner, P 682 Wilder, L Douglas 181
Warber, A 314 Wilensky, H L 398
780 name index

Wiles, P 151 World Economic Forum 686

Wilkinson, M 334 Wright, D S 239 n1, 249 n4, 250, 296, 297
Willetts, D 138 Wright, G C 463
Willetts, P 683 Wright, J R 544
Williams, K 582, 584, 590 Wright, V 287, 330
Williams, M 684
Williamson, Oliver 34, 82, 145, 369, 377 Yates, J L 525 n5, 527
Wilson, G 334
Wilson, Harold 328 Yngvesson, B 545
Wilson, James Q 369 n1, 370, 409 Yoo, J 196 n2
Wilson, Richard 331 Yoshinaka, A 590
Wilson, S A 308 Young, A H 506
Wilson, Woodrow 40, 455, 460, 466, 468, Young, Hugo 335
704 Young, O 31
Winch, P 100 Young, O R 633, 635, 636, 637, 644, 646, 657
Wincott, D 60, 61 Yushenko, Vicktor 514
Winston, P 253, 254, 255
Wittman, D 28 n9 Zagar, Mitja 265
Wohlstetter, R 164
Wolfers, A 634, 637 Zajac, E E 9 n4, 15
Wollmann, H 297 Zechmeister, E 558
Wollstonecraft, Mary 174 Zegart, A 47
Wolman, H 504 Zeitlin, J 128
Wong, K K 239 n1 Zimmerman, D 247 n3
Wood, B D 309 n6, 369 Zimmerman, J F 241, 249 n4
Wood, J 420, 426 Zittel, T 469
Woodhouse, D 331 Zorn, C J W 520
Woods, Ngaire 666 Zucker, L G 725, 732
 S ubject I ndex
.............................................................

ABM Treaty 642, 651 agency:

Abu-Grahib 422 and economic institutions:
accountability: impact on 158–9
and bicameralism 485 institutional design 149, 153–4
and executives in parliamentary and historical institutionalism 43–4
government 331–4 elite-centered approaches 45–8
civil service accountability 332–3 social movements 48–50
collective responsibility 326, 330, 332, state-society interaction 50–2
708 and structure 99–100
ministerial responsibility 332 agenda control 339
networks 333–4 and Congressional committees 462
and international Wnancial and legislative decisiveness 447–8
institutions 670 Al Qaeda 679
and judiciary: alliances, and international security
decision-making by 525, 540–1 institutions 639
democratic accountability 531–2 American Enterprise Institute 687
independence of 530–1 American Political Development, and
and party systems: historical institutionalism 46,
multiparty 561–2, 582 47, 49
two-party 560–1 American Political Science Association 45
and principal-agent problems 159 Amnesty International 675
and public bureaucracies 375–6, 383 analytical narrative, and rational choice
activism, and judicial decision-making 522 institutionalism 34–5
adjudication, see judiciary, and Anglo-Saxon capitalism 152
decision-making by anti-globalization movement 675, 686
adverse selection: anti-Semitism 183
and parliamentary democracy 327 antitrust laws, and United States 419–20
and principal-agent relationships 371 appreciative system, and thinking
and (s)electorate preferences 29 institutionally 735
advisers, and growth in 335 appropriateness, and institutions 3, 7, 9
Afghanistan, and representation in Argentina 261, 444
legislature 437–9 arms control agreements 638–9, 645, 646
African Union 426, 616 army reform, and elite-centered
African-Americans, and approaches 46
inclusion-and-exclusion 177–80 Ashanti, and status of women 174
federalism 181–2 Asian Development Bank 627
782 subject index

Association of Southeast Asian Nations Belgium:

(ASEAN) 616, 617, 626, 650 and bicameralism 479, 492
Atlanta, and local governance regime 507–8 and constitutional interpretation 271
attitudes, and judicial and federalism 261, 265, 266, 267, 276, 477
decision-making 518–20 Bhopal disaster 423
audit society 412, 426 bicameralism:
Australia: and accountability 485
and bicameralism 272, 490–1, 492 as anti-democratic 476
and executive coordination 331 and balanced government 487–90
and federalism 261, 262, 263, 266 dual deliberation 487
constitutional amendment 269–70 mixed regimes 487
constitutional interpretation 271 and cleavage management 491
intergovernmental relations 275 and Congressional systems 477
and local governance 501 and deWnition of 476
and political science traditions 93 and distribution of power 480
and politicization of civil service 336 and diversity of representation 481, 485
and tricameralism 484 and executive-legislative relations 481–2
Australia Group 639 and federalism 272–3, 478, 479
Australian Public Service (APS) 331 and game-theoretic analysis of 481–2
Austria: and impact of interchamber conXict 451
and bicameralism 492 and inheritance in 477, 493
and Bundestag 460 and innovation in 477, 493
and constitutional interpretation 271 and liberal doctrines of 487–8
and federalism 261, 262, 267 negative conception of 488–9
autonomy: positive conception of 489–90
and international Wnancial and multicameralism 483
institutions 669, 670 and parliamentary systems 476, 477, 480
and international security political executive 482–3
institutions 647–8 and policy importance of 477
and the state 118–19 and policy stability 485, 486
and power-sharing 477
balanced government, and and presidential systems 480
bicameralism 487–90 political executive 482–3
Bank of England 411 stalemate 486
bargaining problems, and trade and prevalence of 478, 479
institutions 662–4 and rational choice institutionalism 485
Basle Accord 657 and redundancy theory 484–6
Basle Committee 426 and rejection of 478–9
behavioral economics, and rational choice subnational level 479
institutionalism 33–4 and research priorities:
behavioral revolution: analytical history 493
and challenge to 41 balance concept 494
and impact of 40, 718, 733, 750 constitutional settings 493
and politics 5–6 and semi-presidential systems 480–1
and reaction against 92–3 and signiWcance of 493
 subject index 783

and strong forms of 491–2 as instrument of state power 369–72

and tricameralism 483–4 and legal constraints 374
and under-theorizing of 476–7 and meanings of term 368–9
and upper/second chambers: negative connotations 370
characteristics of 494 and origins of term 368
role of 479, 480–1 and paradoxes of 382–3
and weak forms of 490, 492, 493 and pathologies of 374–5
BONGOs 680 and policy implementation 370–1
bottlenecks, and legislative decisiveness 446 and principal-agent relationships 371,
bounded rationality, and rational choice 376, 379
institutionalism 33 and reform of:
‘‘bowling-alone’’ syndrome 140 New Public Management 378–80
Brazil 261, 444, 447, 451 pressures for 378
Bretton Woods institutions 615, 657, 668–9 United States 380–2
and impact of 670–1 and signiWcance of 368
see also international economic and standards 374
institutions (IEIs); International and street-level bureaucrats 370
Monetary Fund; World Bank business:
British and Foreign Anti-Slavery and urban regimes 507–9, 511
Society 676 and welfare state 393–5
British South Africa Company 419 see also capitalism
bureaucracy:
and accountability of 375–6, 383 cabinets:
and centralization of presidential and British constitution 707–8
authority 309–11 and collective responsibility 326, 330, 332
and challenges facing: and comparative analysis 337–9
boundary-spanning problems 383–4 and government overload 334–5
developing countries 383 and ministerial responsibility 332
eYciency/democracy 376–7, 383 and modernist-empiricist approach
Xexibility 377 to 326
managing external programs 377 and parliamentary government 326, 330,
network management 377–8 483
and characteristics of 373–4 and rational choice institutionalism 327
and civil service rules 374 California, and direct democracy 601, 606
and constraints on 374 Campbell Collaboration 428
and coordination 372–5 Canada:
and cultural context 371–2 and bicameralism 492
and decision-making 370–1 rejection at provincial level 479
and delegation 370 and electoral reform 588, 590
and discretion 370 and federalism 261, 262, 263, 266
and endurance of 382–3 centrality to policy development 276
and evolution of 746–7 constitutional amendment 270
and external control over missions of 374 constitutional arrangements 268–9
and governance 383, 384 constitutional interpretation 271
and information 371 Wscal policy 275
784 subject index

Canada (cont.) and territorial politics 287

ineVective bicameralism 273 Challenger space shuttle 372
secessionist pressures 265 change, institutional 7, 11–15
and local governance 501, 502 and agency questions 43–4
capitalism: economic institutions 153–4
and democratic government 155–8 and balancing exploitation/
constrained by 156–7 exploration 13
control of economic and competing institutions 14
institutions 155–6 and conXict 14
and economic institutions 150–4 and constructivist institutionalism 64–5
Anglo-Saxon capitalism 152 and democracies 12
comparative studies 151 and diYculties with 754–5
East Asian capitalism 152 and discontinuities 12
institutional diVerentiation 152 and elites 45–8, 164
institutional fatalism 154 and feedback 146
Rhineland capitalism 152 and ideas 41, 68
role of agency 153–4 and incrementalism 12–13
and federalism 262 and institutional diversity 15
and regulatory capitalism 410, 412 and institutional environment 14–15
business size 416 and lock-in 146
corporate regulation of states 426–7 and paradigm shifts 67–8
created by mega-corporations 421–4 and path dependency 12, 39, 64–5, 146
globalization of mega-corporate and post-formative change 60–1
capitalism 419–21 and processes of 11
impact of corporatization 418–19 and role of leadership 154
impact of securitization 418–19 and social movements 48–50
impact on tax-collection 424–5 and sources of 12
non-state regulators 423–4 and state-society interaction 50–2
research agendas 427–8 checks-and-balances regimes:
separation of powers 426–7 and legislative responsibilities 435–6,
and varieties of 393 448–51
and welfare state 393–5 and separation of powers 219
caste, and inclusion-and-exclusion 172–3 and veto players 225
center-periphery relationships: chemical industry, and regulation 423–4
and governance 292–4 Chicago School 410–11
and interorganizational analysis 289–92 Chile 443, 445
and national context 295–7 China 277, 650
and political dynamics 286–8 Civic Capacity and Urban Education
and state theories 288–9 Project 511
and territorial politics 281, 285 Civil Aeronautics Board (USA) 417
see also intergovernmental relations Civil Rights Act (USA, 1964) 180, 549
central banks 156 civil rights movement 48, 177, 180
centrality, and network analysis 78 and integration 715–16
centralization: civil service:
and presidential authority (USA) 309–11 and accountability of 332–3
 subject index 785

and politicization of 335–6 coalitions:

and reform of, elite-centered and executive-legislative relations 355–6
approaches 46 and minority inclusion 169–71
see also bureaucracy and multiparty systems 561–2, 571–2, 582
civil society: coercion, and statehood 112, 113
and ambiguity of concept 131 cognitive networks 84
and contemporary understandings of cohesion, and network analysis 79
concept 139–41 collective action:
and deWnition of 678–9 and historical institutionalism 42
and development of concept: and international economic institutions
changes in meaning of words 135–6 (IEIs) 658
contemporary interest in 138–9 and international security
decline of interest in (19th/20th institutions 646–7
century) 136–7 and rational choice institutionalism 28
in Eastern Europe 138 cooperation 31–2
English contractarian school 134 free-riding 30
Global Civil Society movement 139 political entrepreneurs 31
Hegelian/Marxist view of 135 selective beneWts 30–1
identiWcation with government and unstructured institutions 30–2
state 134–5 and thinking institutionally 742
Kant’s view of 135 collective responsibility, and parliamentary
late-twentieth century revival 137–8 government 326, 330, 332, 708
in mid-twentieth century 137 collective security systems (CSS):
post-Roman Europe 133 and international security
Rome 132–3 institutions 639–40
seventeenth-century Europe 133–4 and United Nations 618, 621
as sphere of voluntary cooperation collectivism:
136 and failures of 711
usage of the term 678–80 and representation of diversity 436–40
and diversity of meanings 131–2, 139–41 Columbia 492
and growth of 676–7 Commonwealth 616
and international nongovernmental communitarianism 713
organizations 677–8 Comparative States Election Studies
distinction between 678 (CSES) 568
and rediscovery of concept 132, 677–8 comparative studies 755–6
see also international nongovernmental and capitalism 151
organizations (INGOs) and executives in parliamentary
class: government 337–9
and inclusion-and-exclusion 172–3 and formal-legal analysis 95
and social policy 392 competitive selection, and institutional
and United Kingdom 714 change 11
cleavage management, and complexity:
bicameralism 491 and network institutionalism 76, 81
climate change, and American and reXexive regulation hypothesis
federalism 246 148–9
786 subject index

compliance, and international economic democratic theory 211

institutions (IEIs) 660 interethnic cooperation 211
concept stretching, and urban regime nonjudicial actors 212
analysis 510 roles of legal actors 211–12
Concert of Europe 615 and interaction with political
conXict: institutions 191–2
and constitutional regime type 230 and interpretation of 192, 202–3
and institutions 14 federalism 271
conXict design, and institutional change 11 judicial review 193, 203–4, 207–10
consensual democracy, compared with judiciary 203–10
majoritarian democracy 336–7 and Iraq 436–7
consequences, and institutions 9 and judicial review 193, 270–1
conservative welfare states 388 and liberal constitution 703, 717
consociationalism 756 and objectives of 191
constitutional courts, and evolution of 747 and party government, United
constitutional monarchy 217 Kingdom 707–9
constitutional patriotism, and European and separation of powers 217
Union 9–10 checks-and-balances regimes 219
constitutions: constitutional monarchy 217
and Afghanistan 437–9 dual formula for 217
and consequences of regime type 226, parliamentary regimes 217–18
232 presidentialism 220
democracy duration 229–31 semi-presidentialism 220–1
executive-legislative relations 361–2 and social rights 200–2
government formation 227 and status and functions of 193–4
policy performance 228–9 and typologies of 223
and constitutional engineering 748 Wve-fold schema 225–6
and deWnition of 191, 217 geographical distribution 363
and deliberative democracy 704–5 majoritarian/consensus 224
and electoral rules: parliamentary 350, 351
micromega’s rule 223 presidential 350–1
multimember districts 221–2 role of political parties 224–5
political parties 222–3 semi-presidentialism 351–2, 363–4
promotion of candidate voting 222 uniWed/divided government 224–5
proportional representation 222 veto players 225
single-member districts 222 see also executives; federalism; judicial
and evolution of 745–6 review; legislatures; parliamentary
and federalism: government;
diYculties in amending 269–70 presidentialism; semi-presidentialism;
written 268–9 United States Constitution
and formal-legal analysis 95 constrained choice, and judicial
and future research: decision-making 523
comparative constitutional constructivist institutionalism:
analysis 210 and actors’ conduct 63–4, 65
constitutional interpretation 211 perceptions of interests 68–9
 subject index 787

and analytical and ontological and international security

distinctiveness of 63–5 institutions 644–5
and emergence of 56–7 and liberal constitution 703, 717
and epistemological status of 71 and networks 82
and ideas 65 and public bureaucracies 372–5
in times of crisis 70–1 and role of government 427
and institutional change 64–5 as twin-headed task 372–3
and interests: core executive approach, and executives in
actors’ conduct 68–9 parliamentary government 326–7,
in times of crisis 69–70 338–9
and materialism 71 corporatization:
and origins of 57–63 and regulation 410, 418–19
concern with institutional and tax collection 424–5
disequilibrium 57–60 Costa Rica 444–5
historical institutionalism 60–3, 66 counterattack hypothesis, and
and paradigm shifts 67–8 inclusion-and-exclusion 165
and path dependency 64–5 African-Americans 177–82
and shortcomings of 71–2 courts, see judicial review; judiciary; United
and theoretical status of 71 States Supreme Court
and view of institutions 64 creative advance 698–9
see also new institutionalism crises, and institutional theories 753–4
consultancy culture, economic institutions, critical junctures:
and interpretive turn 157–8 and institutional change 12
contextualism 6 and paradigm shifts 67–8
‘‘Contract with America’’ 381 critical theory 734
contracts, and transaction-cost critical thinking 736
economics 34 cultural community, and interpretation of
contractualism, and economic politics 4
institutions 157 culture, as tool of analysis 702
Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty 644 cumulative voting 587
conventions, and constitutions 707–9, 710 cycling, and legislative decisiveness 446
convergence, and two-party system 703,
707, 711–12 decentralization, and nonfederal states 757
conversion, and policy change 403 decision-making:
cooperation, and collective action 31–2 and bureaucrats 370–1
Coordinating Committee for Multilateral and judiciary 517–18
Export Controls (COCOM) 639 attitudinal model of 518–20
coordination: impact of institutions 525
and approaches to 373 impact of process on
and bargaining 374 policymaking 541–4
and electoral systems 587 inXuence of interest groups 525
and executives in parliamentary legal model of 520–3
government 330–1 popular accountability 525, 540–1
and international economic institutions strategic model of 523–6
(IEIs) 658, 659–60 and legislatures 435
788 subject index

decision-making: (cont.) and trade institutions 666–7

agenda control 447–8 developing countries:
bottlenecks 446 and international organizations 625–6
cycling 446 regulatory regionalism 626–7
information/expertise building 442–4 and public bureaucracies 383
role of political parties 446 and trade liberalization 664
transparency 440–2 developmental states 126
and politics 724 diVuse reciprocity, and multilateralism 618
and thinking institutionally 740–1 diVuse support, and legitimacy 527
decommodiWcation, and social policy 392 diVusionism 753
degreeism, and urban regime analysis 510 direct democracy:
delegates, and representatives as 463–4 and criticisms of 597–8, 600
deliberation: responses to 598–9
and bicameralism 489–90 undesirable consequences 608–9
and legislatures 434, 440–2 and deWnition of 601
deliberative democracy 440, 704–5 and federal systems 606
democracy: and increase in 608
and competitive elections 559–60 and literature of 610–11
and deWnition of 597 and mediated voting 600–2, 609
and duration of, impact of constitutional and policy areas covered by 607–8
regime 229–31 and policy outcomes 608
and economic institutions 155–8 and political parties 599–600, 609
constrained by 156–7 impact on 602–4
consultancy culture 157–8 and procedures of:
contractualism 157 initiatives 604–6
control of 155–6 referendums 604–6
executive agencies 157 and representative democracy 599–600
and elections 597 individual/package policy
and institutional design 12 voting 609–10
and institutional requirements for 166 and requirement of 601
and political parties 557, 563, 574–5, 581 and varieties of 600–2
see also direct democracy discourse theory 100
Denmark 459, 478 and the state 123–4
and local governance 500 discretion:
deregulation, and failure of 411 and bureaucrats 370
design, institutional 10 and judicial decision-making 520–1
and agency 149 discursive institutionalism, see
economic institutions 153–4 constructivist institutionalism
and democracy 12 dispute resolution, and trade
and institutional change 11 institutions 665–6
and institutionalization 728–9 distributional institutions 580
and international economic institutions diversity:
(IEIs) 660 and institutional change 15
and redundancy theory, and representation in legislature 434,
bicameralism 484–6 436–40
 subject index 789

bicameralism 481, 485 feedback 146

divided government 470–1 institutional choice 146
division of powers, see separation of powers lock-in 146
dominant groups, and inclusion-and- meaning of institutions 146
exclusion 172–3 new institutionalism 146
DONGOs 679 old institutionalism 145–6
drift, and policy change 403–4 role of Wrms 146–7
dual citizenship, and federalism 264 and interaction with political
dual state thesis 288 institutions 144–5
Duverger’s Law: and lock-in 146, 148, 149
and electoral systems 579–80, 581–4 and path dependency 146, 148, 149
and political parties 580 and political signiWcance of 144–5
and principal-agent problems 159
Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC) 396 see also international economic
East African Common Market 623 institutions (IEIs); trade institutions
East Asian capitalism 152 economic performance, and constitution
and regulatory regionalism 626–7 type 228–9
East India Company 419 economic regulation 147–51
Economic Community of West African and globalization 150
States (ECOWAS) 626 and institutional design 149
economic institutions 158 and national styles hypothesis 147–8
and capitalism 150–4 and reXexive regulation hypothesis 148–9
Anglo-Saxon capitalism 152 and regulatory state 149
comparative studies 151 and state’s role 152
East Asian capitalism 152 economics:
institutional diVerentiation 152 and deWnition of institutions 723, 725
institutional fatalism 154 and institutionalization 726
Rhineland capitalism 152 eYcient institutions 580
role of agency 153–4 elections:
and democratic government 155–8 and competitive elections 559–60
as constraint on capitalism 156–7 and constitutional rules:
consultancy culture 157–8 impact on democracy duration 230
contractualism 157 impact on government formation 227
control of economic impact on policy performance 228–9
institutions 155–6 micromega’s rule 223
executive agencies 157 multimember districts 221–2
and economic regulation 147–51 political parties 222–3
globalization 150 promotion of candidate voting 222
institutional design 149 proportional representation 222
national styles hypothesis 147–8 single-member districts 222
reXexive regulation hypothesis 148–9 and democracy 597
regulatory state 149 and inclusion-and-exclusion:
state’s role 152 at-large vs. single member districts 167
and institutionalism 145–7 descriptive and substantive
distinction from organizations 146 representation 168–9
790 subject index

elections: (cont.) enforcement problems:

inclusion and and international Wnancial
coalition-building 169–71 institutions 670–1
proportional representation 169 and trade institutions 662, 664–5
run-oV elections 167 entrapment, and
and reelection rates 444 inclusion-and-exclusion 165
home styles 465–6 epiphenomenalism, and Marxist
and retrospective voting 566 approaches to the state 116
see also electoral systems; proportional equality, and liberalism 697
representation equilibrium patterns:
electoral college, and United States and interpretation of institutions 25–6
Constitution 198 and unstructured institutions 28
electoral systems: equivalence, and network analysis 79
and Afghanistan 437–9 Ethiopia 266
and changing 584–5 ethnic cleansing 183
electoral law 591–2 ethnicity:
obstacles to 588 and descriptive and substantive
reasons for 589–91 representation 168
role of popular pressure 590 and electoral coalition-building 169–71
role of self-interest 590–1 and federalism 265
role of values 589 and inclusion-and-exclusion 165
uncertainty over impact of 586–8 African-Americans 177–82
uncertainty over party numbers 585 and welfare state 389–91
uncertainty over voter preferences 586 see also inclusion-and-exclusion
and coordination problems 587 ethnography 104
as distributional institution 580–1 European Coal and Steel Community 623
and Duverger’s Law 579–80, 581–4 European Court of Human Rights 552
and electoral thresholds 584 European Court of Justice 552, 624–5
and functions of 579 European Defence Community 623
and future research 593–4 European Parliament 448, 471
and governability 582, 583 European Union 616
and importance of choice of 580 and creation of common identities 9–10
and Iraq 436–7 and democratic legitimacy 625, 628, 630
and political parties 581 and federalism 256–7
choices by 584 and governance systems 624–5
and representation 583, 589–90 as integrated organization 616–17
and stability of 584–5, 593 and legal powers of 618
and voter/representative relationship 581 as multifunctional organization 617,
see also elections; proportional 623–4
representation and regulation 426
electorate, and structured institutions 28, and sovereignty pooling 619–20, 625
29–30 exchange relationships, and networks 77
elites: exclusion, see inclusion-and-exclusion
and institutional change 45–8, 164 executive agencies, and economic
and institutional pluralism 311–12 institutions 157
 subject index 791

executives: limitations of literature on 324–5, 328

and American presidency, quantitative ministerial responsibility 332
research on 304–5 modernist-empiricist/behavioral
assessing success of presidents 313 approach 326
budget proposals 313–14 network accountability 333–4
centralization of presidential plurality of policy advice 335
authority 309–11 politicization of civil service 335–6
criticism of lack of 303–4 presidentialization of prime
data limitations 319 ministers 328–30, 483
enhanced quality of 308–9 rational choice institutionalism
increase in 308, 317–18 approach to 327, 338
inXuence on Congress 314–15 reasons for studying 340
institutional constraints 318–19 traditions 340
lack of theoretical basis 318 veto players 339–40
policy inXuence 314–17 Westminster approach to 325–6
public appeals 311–14 expertise, and development in
publication trends in 305–8, 317 legislatures 434–5, 442–4
unilateral powers 315–17 impact of tenure 444–5
and executive-legislative relations 346 exploitation, and institutional change 13
bicameralism 481–2 exploration, and institutional change 13
checks on power 435–6, 448–51 export control agreements 639
hierarchical 346–50 expulsion, and exclusion 183
impact of regime type 361–2 extermination, and exclusion 183
information asymmetry 443
origins of systems of 363 Fabianism 101
oversight 364 failed states 128
parliamentary democracies 350, 351, Falkland Islands conXict (1982) 647
352–6 Federal Communications Commission
presidential democracies 350–1, 356–8 (USA) 417
semi-presidentialism 351–2, 359–60 Federal Elections Bill (USA, 1890) 179
theoretical considerations 347–50 Federal Reserve Bank 411
transactional 346–50 Federal Trade Commission (USA) 417
and growth in power of 52–3 federalism 276, 757
in parliamentary government: American:
accountability 331–4 and absence of state
civil service accountability 332–3 representation 244–5
collective responsibility 326, 330, 332 and balance of power 250–1
comparative analysis 337–9 and centralized federalism 246, 247
consequences of institutional and comparative studies 256–7
diVerences 336–7 and competitive federalism 246, 247,
core executive approach to 326–7, 757
338–9 and complexity of 255–6
deWnition of 325 and conXict of territorial/functional
executive coordination 330–1 politics 240, 242, 244, 256
government overload 334–5 and constitutional dimension 241
792 subject index

federalism (cont.) and globalization 262, 276

and diverse views of 240 and government size 274, 276
and diversity/uniformity and institutions of 267–8
debates 245–6 and intergovernmental relations 273–6
and federal monies 252 and judicial review 270–1
and federal regulation 252–3 and liberal pluralism 265, 266
and implementation of federal and multiple allegiances 264–5
policy 240 and policy innovation 275–6
and inclusion-and-exclusion 181–2 and post-sovereignty world 262–3
and intergovernmental lobbying 241, and redundancy theory 485
243–4, 254–5 and reelection rates 444
and intergovernmental and renewed interest in 261
management 249, 250 and secessionist pressures 265
and intergovernmental and spread of 261–2
relations 249–50, 256, 274 and territory size 265–6
and interventionist state 246 Federalist Papers 598
and national-state relations 240–1 and bicameralism 487–9
and policy centralization 250–1, 256 Federalist Society 687
and public policy 247–8, 256 feedback, and institutions 146
and reduced policy diversity 240 feminism 121–3
and Republican Party 248 see also gender
and role of states 243 Wlibusters, and US Senate 461
and small government 246 Wrms:
and state/local government and economic regulation 147–51
competition 242 national styles hypothesis 147–8
and subnational governments 239, 241 reXexive regulation hypothesis 148–9
and tax policy 250–1 state’s role 152
and territorial politics 242–4 and signiWcance of 146–7
and United States Constitution 195–7 Wscal policy:
as association of associations 264 and center-periphery
and bicameral legislatures 272–3, 478, 479 relationships 288–9
and characteristics of 263 and corporatization, impact on tax-
and comparative 256–7 collection 424–5
and constitutions: and federalism 250–1, 274–5
diYculties in amending 269–70 and welfare state 395–6
written 268–9 Xoor votes, and legislative
and deWnition of 263–4 transparency 441–2
and direct democracy 606 Food and Drug Administration (USA) 417
and dual citizenship 264 force, and proscription of 639
and ethnic diversity 265 Forest and Marine Stewardship
and favorable contemporary Councils 427
environment for 262–3 formal-legal analysis 91, 94–7, 102–3
and federal countries 266–7 and constitutions 95
and Wscal policy 250–1, 274–5 and nature of approach of 95
and future development of 276–7 comparative studies 95
 subject index 793

historical 95–6 Wscal policy 275

inductive 96 territorial politics 244–5
and rules 94–5 and legislative review 450
France: and local governance 501, 504
and bicameralism 481, 492 and political science traditions 96
and electoral reform 591 and the state 756
and immigration 186 Global Civil Society movement 139, 140
and local governance 503 global governance 614, 618, 620
complexity of 499–500 and limits to 627–8
decentralization reforms 500 and nongovernmental organizations 685,
and multiparty system 582 686–7
and political science traditions 96 and sovereignty 625
and semi-presidentialism 220–1 see also international political institutions
and territorial politics 286, 295 globalization:
Francophonie 616 and civil society 140
Frankfurt School, and the state 116 and critics of 686
freedom, and modernity 696–8 and economic regulation 150
free-riding, and collective action 30–1 and federalism 262, 276
functionalism 6, 753 and institutional fatalism 154
and international nongovernmental
game forms, and rational choice organizations 686–7
institutionalism 24–5 and international organizations 614
games 31–2 and regional organizations 624, 626
see also prisoners’ dilemma and regulatory regionalism 626–7
gender: and the state 126
and Afghan electoral system 438 and United Nations 621
and descriptive and substantive glocalization 262
representation 168 GONGOs 679–80
and inclusion-and-exclusion 165 governability, and electoral systems 582, 583
status of women 173–7 governance:
and Iraqi electoral system 437 and global governance 614, 618, 620
and the state 121–2 limits to 627–8
and welfare state 391–2 nongovernmental organizations
see also inclusion-and-exclusion (NGOs) 685, 686–7
General Agreement on TariVs and Trade sovereignty 625
(GATT) 616 and public bureaucracies 383, 384
see also World Trade Organization and regulation 409–10
geography, and territorial politics 282 and the state 127–8
Germany: and territorial politics 292–4
and bicameralism 272, 481, 492 see also local governance
and Bundestag 459–60, 463, 469 government overload 334–5
and constitutional interpretation 271 governmentality 120
and federalism 261, 262, 263, 266 Greece 266
constitutional arrangements 268 Greenpeace 517, 675
constitutional rigidity 269, 270 group theory 700–2
794 subject index

Hague conferences (1899, 1907) 615 Iceland 478

Harare Declaration (1991) 616 idealism 97–9, 698
hegemony, and statehood 113 ideas:
heresy 697 and constructivist institutionalism 65
hierarchy: and crises 70–1
and bureaucracy 373, 383 and historical institutionalism 42, 66–7
and executive-legislative and inXuence of 700
relations 346–50 and institutional change 41, 68
parliamentary democracies 352–6 and institutions 103
presidential democracies 356–8 and interests 68–9
and inequality 696 and paradigm shifts 67–8
and networks 77–8 and policy paradigms 66–7
historical eYciency, and institutions 11 ideational institutionalism, see
historical institutionalism 751 constructivist institutionalism
and agency questions 43–4 identiWcation:
approaches to 44 and institutions 8–9
and analytical narratives 34–5 and multiculturalism 9–10
and central assumption of 39 identity politics 170, 756
and collective action 42 ideology, and party identiWcation 565
and concerns of 42 immigration, and inclusion-and-
and constructivist institutionalism 60–3, exclusion 185–6
66 inclusion-and-exclusion 166
and disequilibrium dynamics 61 and administrative/judicial decisions 164
and distinctiveness of 61–2 and African-Americans 177–80
and epistemology of 41–3 federalism 181–2
and executive power 52–3 and American federalism 181–2
and historical analysis of and claims for inclusion:
institutions 39–40 legal rights 182
and ideas 42, 66–7 moral claims 182
and institutional change 754–5 mutual self-interest 182–3
elite-centered approaches 45–8 and counterattack hypothesis 165
social movements 48–50 and diVerences in dealing with 171–2
and methodology 44 and dominant/subordinate groups 172–3
and modernization focus of 52 and elections:
and normative focus of 42–3 at-large vs. single member districts 167
and path dependency 39, 43–4 descriptive and substantive
and rational choice institutionalism 42, 43 representation 168–9
and reemergence of 40–1 inclusion and coalition-
and state-society interaction 50–2 building 169–71
and ‘‘undisciplined’’ nature of 44 proportional representation 169
see also new institutionalism run-oV elections 167
Holocaust 183 and entrapment 165
‘‘home styles,’’ and US Congress 465–6 and ethnicity 165
House of Lords 477 welfare state 389–91
Hudson Bay Company 413, 419 and exclusion 183
 subject index 795

criteria for 183–4 Marxist political economy 99–100

disappearance/reduction of 184 modernist-empiricism 92–4, 102
expulsion 183 post-Marxism 100
extermination 183 and varieties of 4
and gender and status of women 165, and view of institutions 4
173–7 see also institutions; new institutionalism;
and immigration 185–6 thinking institutionally
and institutions 163–4 institutionalization 725–6
and religion 173, 185 and characteristics of 728
income inequality 153–4 and deWnition of 719
incrementalism, and institutional and development of 727
change 12–13 in economics 726
India: and external support for 729–30
and constitutional interpretation 271 and internal perspective on 728–9
and federalism 261, 263, 265, 266, 267 in political science 726, 727
individualism, and representation of in sociology 726–7
diversity 436–40 institutions:
indivisibility, and multilateralism 618 and basis for assessing 10
Indonesia 477 and behavioral revolution 5–6, 40, 41,
inequality 401 92–3, 718, 733
and hierarchy of 696 and breakdown of 729
INF Treaty 646 and characteristics of 6–7
information: and deWnition of 3, 51, 146, 163, 719
and bureaucracy 371 disciplinary diVerences 722–4, 730–1
and development of legislative in politics 724–5, 730
expertise 434–5, 442–4 problem of 721–2
impact of tenure 444–5 taken-for-granted nature of 720–1
initiatives: and distinction from organizations 146,
and direct democracy 604–6 613, 637
and policy areas covered by 607 and distributional 580
see also direct democracy and diversity of 6, 15
institutional economics, and networks 82 and eVects of 7–10
institutionalism: and eYcient 580
and behavioral revolution 5–6 and endogenous nature of 4
and economic institutions 145–7 and evolution of 26–7, 745–8
and international organizations 618–19 and evolution of theories of:
and liberalism 716–17 behavioral revolution 750
and order and stability 4–5, 8 historical institutionalism 751
and processes 5 institutional approach 748–9
and status of 5 institutional crises 753–4
and traditions of study 90–2 national traditions 752–3
Fabianism 101 neo-Marxism 751
formal-legal analysis 94–7, 102–3 network approach 751
idealism 97–9 new science of politics 750
Islamic 98–9 organizational theory 752
796 subject index

institutions: (cont.) International Civil Aviation

policy approach 751 Organization 426
post-behavioralism 751 International Criminal Court 629, 651, 680
post-war developments 750–2 international economic institutions
rational choice school 752 (IEIs) 614, 656–7
social concept of 749–50 and international Wnancial
structural functionalism 751 institutions 668–71
systems theory 750 accountability 670
transnational diVusion of 752–3 autonomy 669, 670
and external support for 729–30 delegated authority 670
and ideas 103 enforcement problems 670–1
and insulation of 164 impact of 670–1
and policy 8 moral hazard problem 668–9
and political culture 702 principal-agent framework 668, 669–70
and political science 718 role of 668
and role of 697 and nongovernmental organizations 685,
and social construction of 4 686–7
and strength of 719 and theoretical approaches to 657–61
see also change, institutional; design, compliance 660
institutional; institutionalism; new contractual view of 658
institutionalism; practices; coordination problems 659–60
routines; rules; thinking institutionally form and design 660–1
instrumentalism 6 multilateralism 660
and Marxist approaches to the state 116 regime analysis 658–9
interest groups 700–2 and trade institutions 661–7
and impact of proliferation of 683–4 bargaining problems 662–4
and interest group pluralism 700–2 dispute resolution 665–6
and judicial decision-making 525 enforcement problems 662, 664–5
and judicial legitimacy 530 ‘‘escape clauses’’ 666–7
and litigation 546–7 fundamental problems facing 662
interests: impact of 667
and actors’ conduct 68–9 institutional design 666–7
and crises 69–71 regional trading arrangements 665–6
intergovernmental organizations 615 see also economic institutions
and nongovernmental international Wnancial institutions
organizations 685–6 (IFIs) 657, 668–71
see also international political and accountability 670
institutions and autonomy 669, 670
intergovernmental relations: and delegated authority 670
and federalism 273–6 and enforcement problems 670–1
American 249–50, 256 and impact of 670–1
and governance 292 and moral hazard problem 668–9
and territorial politics 281 and principal-agent framework 668,
see also center-periphery relationships; 669–70
local governance and role of 668
 subject index 797

International Labour Organization and future research 629–30

(ILO) 617 and global governance 614, 618, 620
International Maritime Organization 428 limits to 627–8
International Monetary Fund 150, 383, 418, sovereignty 625
426, 627, 657, 668 and historical context 615–16
and impact of 670–1 as institutions 613
and moral hazard problem 668–9 and international economic
and United States 669, 670 organizations 614
international nongovernmental and international security
organizations (INGOs): organizations 614
and amorphous nature of 675 and legitimacy 622, 625, 628
and civil society 677–8 and multilateralism 660
distinction between 678 deWnition of 618
usage of the term 678–80 future of 628, 630–1
and deWnition problems 678–81 and realist context 629
classiWcations 679–80 and regional organizations 622–3
formal nature of 678 developing countries 625–7
and growth of scholarly interest in 675–6 European Union 623–5
and historical development of 676–7 regulatory regionalism 626–7
and research on signiWcance of 681–7 and sociological context 629
case studies 682 and the state 614
critical studies 687 and theoretical approaches to 618–20
cross-disciplinary approaches 682–3 development of 619–20
democratic sclerosis 683–4 institutionalism 618–19
future directions of 688–9 integrationalist 619–20
global economic governance 686–7 intergovernmentalist 620
impact on world aVairs 683–5 as norm brokers 619
inXuence on intergovernmental outcomes 619
organizations 685–6 regime theory 618–19
inXuence on non-state actors 685 and United Nations 621–2
sociological theory 682 international security institutions
transnational civil society 684–5 (ISIs) 614
transnational relations 681–2 and deWnition of 636–7
Yearbook on Global Civil Society 687 and durability of 643–4
and size of sector 680–1 and forms of 637, 640
international political institutions: contingent rules 639–40, 645
and classiWcation of: inclusive vs. exclusive 638
degree of integration 616–17 operative rules 638–9, 645
function/policy area 617 and future research:
independence of 617–18 as dependent variables 650–1
legal powers 617–18 eVects of 650
membership scope 616 and legitimacy 652
and deWnition of 637 and scholarly work on 635–6
and diminished enthusiasm for 629 and signiWcance of 640–1
and durability of 627 contemporary tests of theories 651–2
798 subject index

international security institutions (cont.) and federalism 270–1

eVects of 650 judiciary:
neoinstitutional approach 644–6 and constitutional courts, evolution
neorealist approach 641–4 of 747
as organizational tools 646–8 and constitutional interpretation:
social constructivist approach 648–50 doctrinal arguments 206
International Telecommunication Union ethical arguments 206
(ITU) 426 historical arguments 203–4
International Telegraph Union 615 judicial supremacy 209–10
interorganizational analysis, and territorial prudential arguments 206–7
politics 289–92 structural arguments 205–6
interpretive turn 103–4 textual arguments 204–5
and executive politics 341 and decision-making by 517–18
Interstate Commerce Commission Attitudinal Model 518–20
(ICC) 45, 46, 417 impact of institutions 525
Iraq: impact of process on policy-
and invasion of 642, 651 making 541–4
and representation in legislature 436–7 inXuence of interest groups 525
Ireland 492 Legal Model 520–3
and judicialization 517 popular accountability 525, 540–1
and local governance 500, 501, 504 Strategic Model of 523–4, 525–6
iron triangles 80–1 and democratic accountability 531–2
Islam, and institutions 98–9 and independence of 530–1
Israel, and multiparty system 561–2, 582 and institutional legitimacy 526–30
issue networks 80–1 challenges to 529–30
Italy: as condition for policy-making 539,
and bicameralism 480, 492 541
and electoral system 585, 590 diVuse support 527
and local governance 503 origins and evolution of 528–9
and multiparty system 582 unpopular decisions 527–8
and party system 572 and judicial elections 532
and political science traditions 96 and judicialization of politics 516
Ireland 517
Japan 269, 447 Poland 517
and bicameralism 492 Russian Federation 517
and electoral system 585, 590 Ukraine 516
and local governance 502 United States 517
and MITI 153 and justiciability 543
joint ventures, and networks 82 and policy-making 538–9
judges, see judiciary absence of oversight 544
judicial review: conditions for eVective 539
and constitutional interpretation 193, expanding role in 552
203–4 framing function of litigants 546–7
legitimacy concerns 207–10 impact of selection procedures 540–1
and evolution of 747 implementation problems 548–51
 subject index 799

legal foundations of 547–8 bicameralism 481–2

limitations on 541–4, 551–2 checks on power 435–6, 448–51
nature of decision-making hierarchical 346–50
process 541–4 impact of regime type 361–2
need for systemic support 548–51 information asymmetry 443
role of litigants 545–6 origins of systems of 363
types of litigants 546 oversight 364
and politicization of 516 parliamentary democracies 350, 351,
and selection of judges 531, 540–1 352–6
and social rights 201 presidential democracies 350–1, 356–8
see also judicial review; United States semi-presidentialism 351–2, 359–60
Supreme Court theoretical considerations 347–50
transactional 346–50
Kyoto Protocol 629 and inclusion-and-exclusion, gender and
women’s status 173–7
labor movements, and state-society and information/expertise
interaction 51 building 434–5, 442–4
Latin American Free Trade Area 623 impact of tenure 444–5
law: and need for strong 451
and judicial decision-making 520–3 and partisanship in:
and research into 532–3 behavioral foundations of 463–6
see also judiciary consequences of changes in 470–2
layering, and policy change 403 explaining changes in 466–9
leadership: institutional inXuences on 458–62
and collective action 31 role theory 463–4
and coordination 373 and political parties in:
and role of 154 multiparty parliaments 571–3
and spatial leadership 329 party voting in US Congress 568–71
League of Nations 615, 621 and reelection rates 444
learning, and institutional change 11 home styles 465–6
legislatures: and representation of diversity 434
as arenas 6 Afghanistan 437–9
and behavior of, parliamentary compared collectivism vs. individualism 436–40
to Congressional 457–8 Iraq 436–7
and bicameralism and federalism 272–3 and responsibilities of 433
and checks on majority/executive and role theory 463–4
power 435–6, 448–51 as transformative institutions 6
and committee appointments 444–5 see also bicameralism
and decision-making 435, 445 legitimacy:
agenda control 447–8, 462 and democracy duration 229–30
bottlenecks 446 and institutions 10
cycling 446 and international organizations 622, 628
role of political parties 446 European Union 625, 628, 630
and deliberation 434, 440–2 and international security
and executive-legislative relations 346 institutions 652
800 subject index

legitimacy: (cont.) path dependency 503

and judicial institutions 526–30 and identifying trends in 503–5
challenges to 529–30 citizen involvement 504
as condition for policy-making local leadership 504, 505
539, 541 move away from local government 504
diVuse support 527 neoliberal inXuence 504
origins and evolution of New Public Management 504
legitimacy 528–9 and informal networks 498
unpopular decisions 527–8 and institutions:
and judicial review 207–10 attention to 497
liberal constitution 703, 717 centrality of 497, 512
liberal democracy 700 new institutionalism 498, 505–6
liberal nationalism 711–12 old institutionalism 497–8
and Blair’s New Nationalism 713–14 and territorial politics 295–6
and three models of 712–13 and urban regimes 498
liberal welfare states 388 Atlanta 507–8
liberalism: business participation 507–9, 511
and inclusive nature of 697 concept stretching in studying 510
and institutionalism 716–17 conceptualization problems 513
and modernity 697–8 deWnition of 506
liberalization (trade), see international degreeism in studying 510
economic institutions (IEIs); World education reform 511–12
Trade Organization European urban regeneration 508
liberation movements 733–4 misclassiWcation in studying 509–10
libertarianism 712–13, 714 parochialism in studying 508–9
litigants, in judicial process 545–6 relationships at the core of 507
framing function in 546–7 relationships with external actors 507
types of 546 social production of power 506–7
Liverpool 509 typology of 510–11
Lloyd’s of London 419, 424 see also center-periphery relationships;
lobbying, and American federalism 241, intergovernmental relations
243–4, 254–5 lock-in:
local governance: and economic regulation 148, 149
and absence of global perspective and institutions 146
on 512–13 logical positivism 698
and classiWcation of systems of 499–502 logrolling 462
complexity and diversity of 499–500 London School of Economics 687
concentration on elected Luxembourg Income Study (LIS) 400–1
institutions 500
criteria for 500–2 MaWa, and thinking institutionally 742
descriptive studies of 499 majoritarian democracy:
new democracies 502 and compared with consensual
western focus of 502 democracy 336–7
and development of literature on 497–8 and executive-legislative relations
and explaining diVerences in 503, 505 355–6
 subject index 801

majority rule, and legislative checks Missile Technology Control Regime

on 435–6, 448–51 (MTCR) 639
Malaysia: mixed regimes, and bicameralism 487
and constitutional interpretation 271 mobilization, and networks 83–4
and federalism 261, 266 modernist-empiricism 102
and judicial policy-making 551 and executives in parliamentary
management consultancy, and expansion government 326
of 157–8 and new institutionalism 92–4
markets: modernity, and liberalism of 696–8
and networks 82–3 monarchy, and constitutional
and regulation 410–11 monarchy 217
and the state 144, 145–6 monetary policy, and elite-centered
Marxism: approaches 47
and Marxist political economy 99–100 Monopolies Act (UK, 1948) 420
and the state 115–17 Moody’s 424, 426
Massachusetts Bay Company 419 moral hazard:
media: and international Wnancial
and portrayal of legal system 545 institutions 668–9
and presidential public appeals and parliamentary democracy 327
(USA) 312 and principal-agent relationships 371
and spatial leadership 329 and selectorate preferences 29–30
Median Voter Theorem 25 most-favored nation principle 663
Medicaid 253 multicameralism 483
Medicare 253 multiculturalism, and creation of common
memory, and thinking institutionally 741 identities 9–10
Mercosur 616, 626 multilateralism 660
Mexico 261 and deWnition of 618
and democratic transition 559–60 and future of 628
Micronesia 266 and future prospects for 630–1
Militant Tendency 509 see also international political institutions
military reform, and elite-centered mutual obligation, and networks 77
approaches 46, 47
Millennium Development Goals 630 Nantes, Edict of 134
ministerial responsibility, and executives in Napoleonic Code 135
parliamentary government 332 narrative, and rational choice
minorities, and inclusion/exclusion: institutionalism 34–5
at-large vs. single member districts 167 Nash Equilibrium 25
descriptive and substantive National Association for the Advancement
representation 168–9 of Colored People 548
inclusion and coalition-building 169–71 National Association of Counties
proportional representation 169 (USA) 254
run-oV elections 167 National Conference of State Legislatures
see also inclusion-and-exclusion (USA) 254
misclassiWcation, and urban regime National Governors Association
analysis 509–10 (USA) 254–5
802 subject index

National League of Cities (USA) 254 policy networks 80–1

National Recovery Administration political culture 85
(USA) 417 political mobilization 83–4
nationalization, and provider state 416–17 social inXuence 85
NATO 616 social movements 84
and centralization of activities/ social psychology 84–5
resources 647 networked governance 409
and dependence on United States 642 networks:
and ideational change within 650 and accountability of 333–4
and post-Cold War development 644, and local governance 498
652 and public bureaucracies 377–8
Nebraska, and rejection of see also network institutionalism
bicameralism 479 New Deal (USA) 417, 706–7
neocorporatism 754 new institutionalism:
neoliberal institutionalism, and and arrival of 734
international security and characteristics of 755
institutions 644–6 and eVects of institutions 7–10
neoliberalism: and features of 6–7
and local governance 504 and future direction of 16–17
and regulation 411 and institutional change 11–15
neo-Marxism 751 and international security
neorealism, and international security institutions 644–6
institutions 641–4 and modernist-empiricism 93–4
Netherlands 450 as reaction against behavioralism 92–3
and bicameralism 492 and skepticism about 16
and electoral system 469 and varieties of 56, 93
and local governance 500, 501 see also constructivist institutionalism;
network institutionalism 16, 75 historical institutionalism;
and advantages of 86 institutionalism; network
and approach of 76 institutionalism; rational choice
criticism of 85–6 institutionalism; thinking
and meta-principles of: institutionally
complexity 76 New Public Management 157–8, 283
networks as resources/constraints 76 and bureaucratic reform 378–80
relational perspective 75–6 and local governance 504
variety 76 and regulatory capitalism 412
and network analysis 78–80 New Zealand 266, 276–7
data collection 79–80 and electoral system 585, 590
small world phenomenon 79 and local governance 501
techniques of 78–9 and New Public Management 378–80
and networks: and rejection of bicameralism 478
cognitive networks 84 Nicaragua, and status of women 177
markets 82–3 Nigeria:
meaning and nature of 76–8 and federalism 262
organizations 81–2 and status of women 177
 subject index 803

No Child Left Behind Act (USA) 245, 248 oversight:

Non Aligned Movement (NAM) 617 and executive-legislative relations 364
nondiscrimination: and judicial policy-making 544
and multilateralism 618 and legislatures 448–51
and trade institutions 663
nongovernmental organizations (NGOs): Pakistan 266
and civil society 139 Panel Study of Income Dynamics
and international networks 84 (PSID) 401
see also international nongovernmental paradigms:
organizations (INGOs) and paradigm shifts 67–8
norms: and policy 66–7
and judicial decision-making 522 Paris Club 418
and unstructured institutions 27–8 parliamentary government:
North American Free Trade Agreement and bicameralism 476, 477, 480
(NAFTA) 661, 666 political executive 482–3
Northern Ireland 261 and cabinets 326, 330, 483
and electoral system 583 and comparison of majoritarian/
Norway 459, 478 consensus styles 336–7
Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty 644 and deWnition of 325, 350
nursing home industry, and regulation 421, and evolution of 746
422, 424 and executive-legislative
relations 347–50, 351, 352–5, 361–2
old institutionalism, see institutionalism majoritarian parliamentarism 355
ombudsman: transactional parliamentarism 355–6
and evolution of 747 and executives in:
and globalization of institution of 426 accountability 331–4
order: civil service accountability 332–3
and institutionalism 4–5, 8 collective responsibility 326, 330, 332
and multiculturalism 9–10 comparative analysis 337–9
organic nationalism 713 core executive approach to 326–7,
Organization for Economic Cooperation 338–9
and Development (OECD) 424, 657 executive coordination 330–1
organization man 734 government overload 334–5
Organization of African Unity (OAU) 616 limitations of literature on 324–5, 328
Organization of Black Sea Economic ministerial responsibility 332
Cooperation (BSEC) 626 modernist-empiricist or behavioural
organization theory 8, 752, 755 approach 326
and networks 78 network accountability 333–4
organizations: plurality of policy advice 335
and coordination 373 politicization of civil service 335–6
and distinction from institutions 146, presidentialization of prime
613, 637 ministers 328–30, 483
and networks 81–2 rational choice institutionalism
and politics 724–5 approach to 327, 338
see also interorganizational analysis reasons for studying 340
804 subject index

parliamentary government: (cont.) and policy development 402

traditions 340 patriarchy, and the state 121–2
veto players 339–40 Pay As You Earn 425
Westminster approach to 325–6 Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the
and legislative behavior, orderliness Abolition of Slavery 676
of 457 Personal Responsibility and Work
and legislative partisanship: Opportunity Reconciliation Act
behavioral foundations of 463–6 (USA, 1996) 253
consequences of changes in 471–2 Peru 478–9
explaining changes in 469–70 pharmaceutical industry, and
institutional inXuences on 458–62 regulation 423–4
role theory 463–4 pluralism:
parliamentary regimes: and challenge to 41–2
and duration of democracy 230 individualized 312
and government formation 227 institutionalized 311–12
and policy performance 228 Poland:
and separation of powers 217–18 and judicialization 517
and veto players 225 and local governance 502
parochialism, and urban regime police:
analysis 508–9 and police economy 413–15
Parti Quebecois 588 and private security 422
participant observation 104 policy:
participation, and territorial politics 283 and institutions 8
partisanship: and paradigm shifts 67–8
legislative: and policy paradigms 66–7
behavioral foundations of 463–6 policy analysis, and interorganizational
consequences of changes in 470–2 analysis 291
explaining changes in 466–9 policy communities 81
institutional inXuences on 458–62 policy-making:
role theory 463–4 and agenda control 339
and party identiWcation 563–8 and bureaucratic implementation 370–1
aVect-centered view of 564 and judiciary 538–9
cognitive-based view of 564–5 absence of oversight 544
comparative application of 566–7 conditions for eVective 539
ideology 565 expanding role in 552
parties as choice/assessment 566–8 framing function of litigants 546–7
as property of voters 565–6 impact of selection procedures 540–1
as ‘‘standing decision’’ 565 implementation problems 548–51
utility of 566 legal foundations of 547–8
path dependency: limitations on 541–4, 551–2
and constructivist institutionalism 64–5 nature of decision-making
and development of local governance 503 process 541–4
and economic regulation 148, 149 need for systemic support 548–51
and historical institutionalism 43–4 role of litigants 545–6
and institutional change 12, 39, 146 types of litigants 546
 subject index 805

and parliamentary government: as institutions 558–9

growth in advisers 335 created by political actors 558–9
plurality of policy advice 335 endogenous nature of 559
politicization of civil service 335–6 party-as-organization 558
and presidency (USA): party-in-government 558
centralization of authority 309–11 party-in-the-electorate 558
policy inXuence 314–17 in legislatures:
public appeals 311–14 multiparty parliaments 571–3
policy networks: party voting in US Congress 568–71
and interorganizational analysis 291 and legislatures, decisiveness 446, 447–8
and network institutionalism 80–1 and parliamentary government 457–8
policy performance, and constitution and parliamentary regimes 218
type 228–9 and partisanship in legislatures:
policy voting, see direct democracy behavioral foundations of 463–6
political culture: consequences of changes in 470–2
and concept of 702 explaining changes in 466–70
and networks 85 institutional inXuences on 458–62
political dynamics, and territorial and party government:
politics 286–8 role of British constitution 707–9
political entrepreneurs 31 United Kingdom 705–6
political institutions, see institutions; United States 706–7
international political institutions and party identiWcation 563–8
political mobilization, and networks 83–4 aVect-centered view of 564
political parties: cognitive-based view of 564–5
and accountability 563 comparative application of 566–7
multiparty system 561–3 ideology 565
two-party system 560–1 parties as choice/assessment 566–8
and classiWcation of constitutions 224–5 as property of voters 565–6
and competitive elections 559–60 as ‘‘standing decision’’ 565
and Congressional systems 457–8 utility of 566
and democracy 557, 563, 574–5, 581 and political representation 560
and direct democracy 599–600, 609 and representation 563
impact of 602–4 multiparty system 561–2
and Duverger’s Law 580, 581–4 two-party system 560–1
and eVective number of parties 574 and role of 573
and electoral rules 222–3 and spatial leadership 329
and electoral systems 581 in Westminster system 326
changes to 585 political science:
choice of 584 and contribution of 102
and elite-centered approaches 47–8 and hard/soft division within 755
and evolution of 747 and institutionalization 726, 727
and executive-legislative relations 355–6 and institutions 718
and extremism of activists 571, 574 deWnition of 719–22, 724–5, 730
as generators of oYce-holders 574 and postmodernism 104
and government formation 227 and traditions of study:
806 subject index

political science: (cont.) and quantitative research on 304–5

Fabianism 101 assessing success of presidents 313
formal-legal analysis 94–7, 102–3 budget proposals 313–14
idealism 97–9 centralization of presidential
Islamic 98–9 authority 309–11
Marxist political economy 99–100 criticism of lack of 303–4
modernist-empiricism 92–4, 102 data limitations 319
post-Marxism 100 enhanced quality of 308–9
politicians, and structured institutions: increase in 308, 317–18
behavioral repertoires 29 inXuence on Congress 314–15
objectives of 28–9 institutional constraints 318–19
payoVs 29 lack of theoretical basis 318
selection of 28 policy inXuence 314–17
selectorate preferences 29–30 public appeals 311–14
politics: publication trends in 305–8, 317
and decision-making 724 unilateral powers 315–17
and diVerent perspectives on 4 presidentialism:
popular sovereignty 598 and bicameralism 480
see also direct democracy political executive 482–3
post-formative change, and historical and deWnition of 350–1
institutionalism 60–1 and duration of democracy 230
post-Marxism 100 and executive-legislative
postmodernism 104 relations 347–51, 356–8, 361–2
power: and government formation 227
and bureaucracies as instrument of and legislative checks on 450–1
state 369–72 and prime ministers 328–30
and deWnition of 290 and separation of powers 220
and Foucault’s approach to 120 and tricameralism 483
and social production model of 506–7 see also presidency, American; semi-
power-sharing, and bicameralism 477 presidentialism
see also federalism pressure groups 700–2
practices: see also interest groups
and institutions 3, 8, 97 prime ministers:
and unstructured institutions 27–8 and comparative analysis 337–9
precedent: and core executive approach 327
and judicial decision-making 520–1, and government overload 334–5
522–3 and presidentialization of 328–30, 483
and thinking institutionally 739 and rational choice institutionalism 327
predatory states 126 principal-agent relationships:
predictability, and institutionalism 4–5, 8 and economic institutions 159
preference change, and international and international Wnancial
security institutions 648–9 institutions 668, 669–70
presentism, and thinking institutionally 741 and parliamentary democracy 327, 338
presidency, American: and public bureaucracies 371, 379
and growth in power of 710 accountability 375–6
 subject index 807

prison industry, and regulation 421–2 framing function of litigants 546–7

prisoners’ dilemma: impact of selection procedures 540–1
and cooperation 31–2 implementation problems 548–51
and international economic institutions legal foundations of 547–8
(IEIs) 662 limitations on 541–4, 551–2
and international security nature of decision-making process 541–4
institutions 645 need for systemic support 548–51
privatization 379 role of litigants 545–6
and regulatory growth 412 types of litigants 546
processes, and institutionalism 5
professions, and thinking Quakers, and slavery 178–9
institutionally 738–9 QUANGOs 679
proportional representation: Quebec 265, 271
and coalitions 561–2, 582 and direct democracy 606
and coordination problems 587 and electoral system 588
and duration of democracy 230
and electoral rules 222 race, and welfare state 389–91
and electoral thresholds 584 see also ethnicity
and executive-legislative relations 348 railroad regulation 39
and impact on party numbers 581–4 and elite-centered approaches 46
and inclusion-and-exclusion 169 Raison d’e’tat
and policy performance 228 120
and representation 583 ratings agencies, and regulatory
see also electoral systems capitalism 424
provider state, and development of rational actors, and interpretation of
regulation 416–17 politics 4
public administration: rational choice institutionalism 24, 752
and networks 82 and analytical foundations of 32–3
and territorial politics 286 and analytical narratives 34–5
public appeals: and behavioral economics 33–4
and presidency (USA) 311–14 and bicameralism 485
and spatial leadership 329 and bounded rationality 33
public Wnance, and development of state and criticism of 35
control of 418–19 and executives in parliamentary
public good, and collective action 30 government 327, 338
public opinion: and historical institutionalism 42, 43
and legislative behavior 464–5 and international security
and presidential public appeals institutions 642
(USA) 311–14 and interpretation of institutions:
and spatial leadership 329 as constraints 24–5
public policy, and judicial policy- as equilibrium 25–6
making 538–9 focal view 25–6
absence of oversight 544 as game form 24–5
conditions for eVective 539 as macrosociological practices 26–7
expanding role of 552 and structured institutions 27, 28–30
808 subject index

rational choice institutionalism (cont.) and development of:

clarity of outcomes 29 continuities in 428
payoVs 29 globalization of mega-corporate
politician behavioral repertoires 29 capitalism 419–21
politician objectives 28–9 impact of 428–9
politician selection 28 impact of corporatization 418–19
selectorate preferences 29–30 impact of securitization 418–19
and transaction-cost economics 34 nineteenth-century 415–16
and unstructured institutions 27–8 non-state regulators 423–4
collective action 30–2 police economy 413–15
see also new institutionalism provider state 416–17
rational choice theory: role of mega-corporations 421–4
and contribution of 23 tax collection 424–5
and judicial decision-making 523–4 and failure of deregulation 411
reciprocity: and governance 409–10
and networks 77 and privatization 412
and trade institutions 663 and regionalism 626–7
reductionism 6 and regulatory capitalism 410, 412
redundancy theory: business size 416
and bicameralism 484–6 corporate regulation of states 426–7
and federalism 485 created by mega-corporations
referendums: 421–4
and direct democracy 604–6 impact on tax-collection 424–5
and policy areas covered by 607 research agendas 427–8
see also direct democracy separation of powers 426–7
reXexive regulation hypothesis, and and regulatory state 149
economic regulation 148–9 rise of 411–13
regime theory: and regulatory studies 410–11
and international economic institutions reinventing government 381, 412
(IEIs) 658–9 relationships, and network
and international organizations 618–19 institutionalism 75–8
regimes, and deWnition of 506 relative gains, and international security
regionalism/regionalization: institutions 642, 643, 648
and international organizations 616, religion:
622–3 and civil society 140
developing countries 625–7 and inclusion-and-exclusion 173, 185
European Union 623–5 and international nongovernmental
regulatory regionalism 626–7 organizations 676–7
and the state 126 representation:
and territorial politics 283 and descriptive and substantive
and trade institutions 665–6 representation 168–9
regulation: and diversity of:
and audit society 412, 426 bicameralism 480, 481, 485
and Chicago School approach 410–11 in legislatures 434, 436–40
and corporatization 410 and electoral system 583, 589–90
 subject index 809

and legislatures 434 and elections 572

collectivism vs. individualism 436–40 and judicialization 517
and political parties 560, 563 Rwanda 183
multiparty system 561–2
two-party system 560–1 San Francisco 590
representative democracy, and direct Scotland 261, 263, 479
democracy 599–600 Seattle protests (1999) 675, 686
individual/package policy voting 609–10 Securities and Exchange Commission
Republican Governors Association (USA) 417
(USA) 255 securitization, and regulation 418–19
Republican party, and federalism 248 security, see international security
resources, and institutions 3 institutions (ISIs)
Responsible Care, and regulation of security industry 422
chemical industry 423–4 segregation, and United States Supreme
Restrictive Trade Practices Act (UK, Court 549
1956) 420 selectorate, and structured institutions 28,
retrenchment, and welfare state 397–400 29–30
retrospective voting 566 self-binding, and multilateralism 618
revisionism, and post-war British semi-presidentialism:
politics 704–5 and bicameralism 480–1
Rhineland capitalism 152 and core executive approach 338–9
risk management, and regulatory and evolution of 746
capitalism 423–4 and executive-legislative relations 351–2,
rogue states 128 359–60
role theory: and separation of powers 220–1
and judicial decision-making 522 and variants of 363–4
and legislatures 463–4 see also presidency, American;
Rome, and civil society concept 132–3 presidentialism
routines: separation of powers:
and institutional change 13 and constitutional types 217
and institutions 8 checks- and balances regimes 219
Royal Institute of Public constitutional monarchy 217
Administration 335–6 dual formula for 217
rules: parliamentary regimes 217–18
as actor-given 25–6 presidentialism 220
as exogenous constraints 24–5 semi-presidentialism 220–1
and formal-legal analysis 94–5 and executive–legislative relations 347
and institutional change 13 and federalism 268–9
and institutions 3, 7, 8, 9 and regulatory capitalism 426–7
and international security institutions: and United States Constitution 195,
contingent rules 639–40, 645 196, 197
neoinstitutional view of 644–6 Sherman Act (USA) 420
operative rules 638–9, 645 single member simple plurality electoral
and politics 724–5 system:
Russia 445 and big-party bias of 583
810 subject index

single member: (cont.) Société des Amis des Noirs 676

and impact on party numbers 581 Société Général de Surveillance 428
single nontransferable vote electoral system, society:
and Afghanistan 437–8 and growth of interest in concept 136
single transferable vote electoral and the state 129
system 583, 587 see also civil society
single-actor design, and institutional Society for EVecting the Abolition of the
change 11 Slave Trade 676
skepticism 699 sociology:
slavery: and deWnition of institutions 723–4
and African-Americans 177–9 and institutionalization 726
and international nongovernmental solidarity:
organizations 676–7 and race and the welfare states 389–91
and United States Constitution 194–5 and thinking institutionally 739
small business, and regulation 416, 421, 423 South Africa:
small world phenomenon, and network and electoral system 583
analysis 79 and federalism 262, 266, 276
Social Accountability International 427–8 South African Constitutional Court 201
social capital: Southern African Development
and networks 84 Co-ordination Conference
and transnational civil society 684 (SADCC) 626
social constructivism, and international sovereignty:
security institutions 648–50 and global governance 625
social democratic welfare states 388 and international organizations 615
social engineering, and Fabianism 101 and pooling in European Union 619–20,
social inXuence, and networks 85 625
social liberalism 713 Soviet Union 677
and Blair’s New Nationalism 713–14 Spain:
and United States 715–16 and bicameralism 492
social movements 675 and constitutional interpretation 271
and institutional change 48–50 and federalism 261, 266, 267, 276
and networks 84 and local governance 504
and public creation of 558–9 and political science traditions 96–7
and United States Constitution 199–200 spatial leadership 329
and women’s movement 176 St Kitts and Nevis 266
and women’s suVrage 174–5 stability:
see also international nongovernmental and bicameralism 485, 486
organizations (INGOs) balanced government 487–90
social network analysis 78–80 and institutionalism 4–5, 8
see also network institutionalism Standard and Poors 424, 426
social psychology, and networks 84–5 standards, and thinking
social rights, and constitutions 200–2 institutionally 738–9
social science 102–3 state, the:
and deWnitions of institution 722–4, 730–1 and bureaucracies as instrument of
social union 698–9 power 369–72
 subject index 811

and contingency of 128 strategic-relational analysis, and the

and deWnitions of 111–14 state 124–5, 128–9
diYculties in 111–12 street-level bureaucrats 370
hegemony 113 structural functionalism 718, 751
monopoly over coercion 112 structure, and agency 99–100
as social relation 113–14 structured institutions, and rational choice
territorialization of authority 113 institutionalism 27, 28–30
and discourse theory 123–4 clarity of outcomes 29
stateless state theory 123 payoVs 29
and failed states 128 politician behavioral repertoires 29
and feminist approaches to 121–3 politician objectives 28–9
and Foucault’s approach to 120–1 politician selection 28
criticism of 121 selectorate preferences 29–30
and international organizations 614 structures of meaning, and institutions 3
and international security institutions: subgovernments, and policy networks 80–1
neoinstitutional view of 644–6 subgroups, and network analysis 78–9
neorealist view of 641–4 subordinate groups, and inclusion-and-
as organizational tools 646–8 exclusion 172–3
social constructivist view of 648–50 support, and institutionalization 729–30
and markets 144, 145–6 supranational institutions, and territorial
and Marxist approaches to 115–17 politics 284
and Marxist political economy 99–100 survival, and thinking institutionally 740
and origins of 114–15 sustainability, and thinking
and research on 125–6 institutionally 740
future of nation state 126–7 Sustainable Agriculture Network 428
governance 127–8 Sweden 269
scales of politics 127 and electoral system 469
state forms and functions 127 and local governance 500
state strength 126 and rejection of bicameralism 478
stateness 126 and welfare state 394
and rogue states 128 Switzerland:
and society 129 and bicameralism 273, 492
and state formation 114–15 and constitutional amendment 269–70
and state-centered theories 117–19 and constitutional interpretation 271
criticism of 119–20 and direct democracy 603, 605,
state autonomy 118–19 606, 610
themes of 118 and federalism 261, 265, 266
and strategic-relational approach 124–5 constitutional arrangements 268
and strategic-relational context 128–9 systems theory 750
state theories, and territorial politics 288–9
strategic alliances, and networks 82 Taiwan 427
strategic behavior, and judicial and democratic transition 559–60
decision-making 523–4, 525–6 tax policy, see Wscal policy
strategic planning, and New Public tenure:
Management 379 and development of expertise 444–5
812 subject index

and reelection rates 444 political decision-making 740–1

home styles 465–6 protection against presentism 741
territorial politics: sustainability and survival 740
and American federalism 242–4, 256 and standards 738–9
absence of state representation 244–5 as thinking 737
and approaches to: and time 739–40
diversity of 285–6 Third Way 711, 716
governance 292–4 time:
interorganizational analysis 289–92 and institutionalization 726–7, 728
political dynamics 286–8 and thinking institutionally 739–40
state theories 288–9 toleration, and civil society 134
and center–periphery relationships 281, totalitarianism 699, 757
285, 287–8 trade institutions 661–7
and centralization 287 and dispute resolution 665–6
and contemporary issues 282–3 and ‘‘escape clauses’’ 666–7
and cross-territorial issues 283–4 and fundamental problems facing 662
and Wscal policy 288–9 bargaining problems 662–4
and geography 282 enforcement problems 662, 664–5
and German federalism 244–5 and impact of 667
and governmental authority 281–2 and institutional design 666–7
as independent domain 284–5 and regional trading agreement 665–6
and intergovernmental relations 281 trade unions:
and national context 295–7 and control of 155
and participation 283 in United States 417
and regionalism 283 traditions:
and supranational developments 284 and constructed nature of 91
territoriality, and statehood 113 and coordination 373
terrorism 651 and executive politics 340
Thailand 427 transaction, and executive–legislative
theory, and role of 102–3 relations 346–50
thinking institutionally 735 parliamentary democracies 352–6
and adaptability 737 presidential democracies 356–8
and consequences of 735 transaction-cost economics, and rational
is not critical thinking 736 choice institutionalism 34
and dangers of absence of 742–3 transnational advocacy networks 84, 683
and diVusing value 738 see also international nongovernmental
and infusing value 737–9 organizations (INGOs)
and institutional context of 735–6 transnational relations 681–2
and internalization of norms 736 see also international nongovernmental
and negative aspects of 742 organizations (INGOs)
and precedent 739 transparency:
and receiving 737 and international security
and signiWcance of 740–3 institutions 646
cultivation of belonging/common and legislative deliberation 434, 440–2
life 741–2 and New Public Management 379
 subject index 813

Trial Lawyers Association 530 as international political

tricameralism 483 organization 621–2
trust, and international organizations 618 and legal powers of 618
trustees, and representatives as 463–4 and legitimacy 628
as multifunctional organization 617
Ukraine, and judicialization 516 and nongovernmental organizations 685
uncertainty: and peacekeeping 644, 652
and electoral system change: and reform of 629–30
impact of 586–8 Security Council 644, 646, 647
party numbers 585 and United States 622, 630
voter preferences 586 United Nations Conference on Trade and
and international security institutions: Development (UNCTAD) 421, 617
neoinstitutional view of 645–6 United New Netherland Company 419
neorealist view of 641–2 United States:
and paradigm shifts 67–8 and bureaucratic reform 380–2
Unfunded Mandates Reform Act (USA, and divided government 470–1
1995) 253 and economic regulation 148
unicameralism 478–9 impact on global 150
unilateral powers, and presidency and executive power, growth of 52–3
(USA) 315–17 and inclusion-and-exclusion:
Union Carbide 423 African-Americans 177–82
Union of International Associations 681 federalism 181–2
United Kingdom 266, 269 immigration 185–6
and bicameralism 492 and integration 715–16
and constitution of 707–9 and International Monetary Fund
and devolution 261, 263 669, 670
and economic regulation 148 and international security
and local governance 500–1, 503, 504 institutions 651–2
and New Public Management 378–80 and local governance 501, 502
and party government 705–6 regimes of 507–8
role of constitution 707–9 and party government 706–7
and political science traditions: and political science traditions:
formal-legal analysis 96 formal-legal analysis 96
idealism 97–8 modernist-empiricism 93
modernist-empiricism 93–4 and regulation:
and politicization of civil service 335–6 antitrust laws 419–20
and pressure groups 701–2 early twentieth-century development
and regulation, growth of 412 of 417
and territorial politics 286, 295 globalization of mega-corporate
see also parliamentary government capitalism 419–21
United Nations 502 growth of 411–12
and challenges facing 622 as solitary superpower 651
and creation of 615 and territorial politics 286
General Assembly 647 and United Nations 622, 630
814 subject index

United States: (cont.) and bicameralism 272

and welfare state: and checks and balances 219
business 393–5 and Commerce Clause 196–7
distribution of beneWts 396–7 and development of 709–10
gender 391–2 and diYculty in changing 193, 270
race 389–91 and implementation of founding
retrenchment 398–9 bargains 194
spending on 396 slavery 194–5
and World Bank 670 states’ rights 194
see also federalism; presidency, American; and interpretation of 202, 271
United States Congress; United doctrinal arguments 206
States Constitution; United ethical arguments 206
States Senate; United States Supreme historical arguments 203–4
Court judicial supremacy 209–10
United States Chamber of Commerce 530 legitimacy of change eVected
United States Conference of Mayors 254 by 207–10
United States Congress: prudential arguments 206–7
and African-Americans 178–80 structural arguments 205–6
and bicameralism 477 Supreme Court 192, 196–7
diversity of representation 481 textual arguments 204–5
and committee system 461–2 and judicial review 193
and disorderliness of 457 and limitations on government power:
and divided government 470–1 channeling of political
and Wlibusters 461 protest 199–200
and functional structure of 242, 243, 254 individual rights 198–9
and ‘‘home styles’’ 465–6 and religion 173
and legislative partisanship: and social rights 200–2
behavioral foundations of 463–6 and states’ rights 241
consequences of changes in 470–2 and structuring exercise of power:
explaining changes in 466–8 electoral processes 198
institutional inXuences on 458–62 federalism 195–7
role theory 463–4 judicial appointments 197–8
and party system 560 separation of powers 195, 196, 197
party voting 568–71 see also federalism; United States
and presidential budget proposals Supreme Court
313–14 United States House of Representatives:
and procedures of 460–1 and partisanship in 459
and seniority 27, 461 and political parties 466–8
and stalemate 486 and procedures of 460, 466–7
and voting patterns 447, 448 and structural reforms of 466–7
see also United States House of see also United States Congress
Representatives; United States United States Senate:
Senate and Wlibusters 461
United States Constitution: and partisanship in 468
and antidemocratic provisions 194 and procedures of 461
 subject index 815

and representation in 243 nature of decision-making

and senatorial courtesy 27 process 542–3
and tenure 460 and Republican Party of Minnesota vs.
and United States Constitution 194 White (2002) 529
see also United States Congress and Roe vs. Wade (1973) 206, 548
United States Supreme Court: Universal Postal Union 416, 615
and Ashwander vs. Tennessee Valley unstructured institutions:
Authority (1936) 542 and rational choice institutionalism 27–8
and Bolling vs. Sharpe (1954) 206 collective action 30–2
and Brown vs. Board of Education urban regeneration, and local governance
(1954) 206, 549 regimes 508
and Bush vs. Gore (2001) 517, 528, 529 urban regimes 498
and constitutional interpretation 192, and Atlanta 507–8
271, 709 and business participation 507–9, 511
doctrinal arguments 206 and conceptualization problems 513
ethical arguments 206 and deWnition of 506
federalism 196–7 and education reform 511–12
historical arguments 203–4 and errors in study of:
judicial supremacy 209–10 concept stretching 510
legitimacy of change eVected degreeism 510
by 207–10 misclassiWcation 509–10
prudential arguments 206–7 parochialism 508–9
separation of powers 197 and European urban regeneration 508
structural arguments 205–6 and relationships within:
textual arguments 204–5 at core of 507
and decision-making by 542–3 core-external actors 507
Attitudinal Model of 518–20 and social production of power 506–7
inXuence of interest groups 525 and typology of 510–11
Legal Model of 520–3 see also intergovernmental relations; local
Strategic Model of 523–4 governance
and Dred Scott vs. Sandford (1857) 548 utilitarianism 6
and Goldwater vs. Carter (1979) 207
and Immigration and Naturalization values, and thinking institutionally 737–9
Service vs. Chadha (1983) 550 Venezuela 261, 267
and inXuences on 50 veto players:
and institutional legitimacy 528, 529 and classiWcation of constitutions 225
and Lochner vs. New York (1905) 548 and role of 339–40
and Marbury vs. Madison (1803) 204, 747 Vienna, Congress of (1815) 615
and Miranda vs. Arizona (1966) 542, virtue 715
549–50 voluntary organizations, and historical
and Planned Parenthood of Southeastern institutionalism 49–50
Pennsylvania vs. Casey 528 Voting Rights Act (USA, 1965) 177, 468
and policy-making 538–9, 709
conditions for eVective 539 Wales 261, 263
implementation problems 548–50 Warsaw Pact 677
816 subject index

Washington Naval Treaty (1923) 642 progress of 389

Weimar Constitution 201, 359, 582 and resilience of 398
welfare state: and retrenchment of 397–400
and business 393–5 and solidarity 389
and distribution of beneWts 396–7 and tax policy 395–6
as distributive institution 389 and typology of 388
and gender 391–2 Westminster system:
and ‘‘hidden’’ welfare state 395–7 and parliamentary government 325–6
and indirect policies 396 and presidentialization of prime
as institution of modern politics 388 ministers 328–30
and policy change 402–3 see also parliamentary government
conversion 403 Westphalia, Treaties of (1648) 113
drift 403–4 women, see feminism; gender
failure to adapt to new risks 404 World Bank 150, 383, 426, 627, 657, 668
institutional obstacles to 404 and nongovernmental organizations 685
layering 403 and United States 670
and policy outcomes 400–2 World Health Organization 424, 617
Luxembourg Income Study World Social Forum 678
(LIS) 400–1 World Trade Organization 426, 616, 657,
panel studies of income 661
dynamics 401–2 and bargaining problem 662–4
and private beneWts 396 and dispute resolution 665
and public spending programs 395, 400 and enforcement problems 664–5
and race 389–91 and impact of 667
and research on: and legal powers of 618
challenges facing 399–400 world-polity institutionalism 682
diversity of 388–9
growth of 387–8 Yugoslavia, and federalism 265, 266