Bénéton begins Les Régimes Politiques by emphasizing the importance of defining what constitutes a political regime. For him, a political regime is not merely a set of institutions or legal frameworks; it is a broader system encompassing the organization of power, the principles guiding governance, and the relationship between rulers and the ruled. Bénéton stresses that political regimes must be understood in their entirety, considering their formal structures and the underlying values and ideologies that shape their functioning. This holistic approach allows him to draw meaningful comparisons between different regimes and to assess their strengths and weaknesses more effectively.

Central to Bénéton’s analysis is his classification of political regimes, which he derives from classical political theory. He draws heavily on Aristotle’s typology, categorizing regimes based on who rules and for whose benefit. According to this classification, regimes can be broadly divided into three types: monarchy (rule by one), aristocracy (rule by the few), and polity or democracy (rule by the many). These can degenerate into a corrupt form: tyranny, oligarchy, and mob rule, respectively. Bénéton adopts this framework but adapts it to contemporary political realities, recognizing that modern states rarely fit neatly into these categories and that hybrid regimes are increasingly common.

Bénéton contrasts the political structures outlined by Machiavelli, Montesquieu, and Marx with Aristotle’s account of regimes, highlighting the shortcomings of modern approaches and demonstrating Aristotle’s enduring relevance. In seeking to redefine politics in purely pragmatic and amoral terms, Machiavelli dismisses the classical emphasis on the common good and virtue. For Machiavelli, the distinction between just and unjust regimes is irrelevant; the effectiveness of power, secured through force or deceit, is paramount. Bénéton critiques this approach for neglecting the stabilizing role of legitimacy and shared moral values, which Aristotle identified as essential to a well-ordered polis. Unlike Machiavelli’s focus on expediency, Aristotle’s framework insists on aligning political power with justice and the natural order, fostering stable governance through the active consent and virtue of the governed.

Montesquieu’s tripartite classification of regimes—republic, monarchy, and despotism—marks a departure from Aristotle’s nuanced typology that integrates the number of rulers and their orientation toward the common good. While Montesquieu emphasizes the importance of institutional structures and the spirit of laws, Bénéton argues that his analysis lacks the depth of Aristotle’s moral and teleological foundation. Montesquieu focuses on the mechanics of governance and the principles animating different systems, such as virtue in republics and honor in monarchies. Still, he does not address the intrinsic nature of justice and the cultivation of human flourishing as central to political life. By contrast, Aristotle provides a more holistic account, categorizing regimes not merely by their structure but by their alignment with the virtuous development of citizens, thereby situating political life within the broader context of human excellence.

In his critique of political regimes, Marx subordinates politics to economics, reducing regimes to mere instruments of class struggle and modes of production. Bénéton identifies this economic determinism as a fundamental flaw, as it dismisses the autonomy and moral dimensions of political life. Aristotle’s account, by contrast, maintains the primacy of politics as the architectonic science, shaping all other human activities. While Marx envisions the ultimate dissolution of political regimes in a classless society, Aristotle recognizes the perpetual necessity of political structures to mediate human relations and promote the common good. Bénéton concludes that Aristotle’s emphasis on justice, virtue, and the moral purpose of governance offers a superior framework, preserving the intrinsic dignity and complexity of political life in a way that modern theories fail to achieve.

Bénéton critiques the 20th-century behavioral political sciences, as represented by figures like David Easton, Robert Dahl, and Gabriel Almond, for their reductive approach to political regimes. These thinkers prioritize empirical methodologies and systemic generalizations, often modeled on the natural sciences, to analyze political life. Focusing on observable behaviors, patterns, and measurable dynamics reduces regimes to mechanistic frameworks devoid of moral or cultural depth. For example, Easton’s “systems theory” views politics as an input-output process, while Dahl’s pluralist model treats power as dispersed among competing groups, and Almond’s “structural-functionalism” emphasizes universal roles and functions. Bénéton argues that these approaches overlook the qualitative and normative distinctions between regimes, which Aristotle emphasizes as central. Aristotle’s account sees regimes not just as systems of governance but as expressions of ethical and communal life grounded in justice, legitimacy, and the common good—dimensions behavioral political science fails to address.

Moreover, Bénéton critiques the behavioral sciences’ claim to value-neutrality, which he sees as fundamentally flawed and inadequate for understanding political regimes. By striving for objectivity, thinkers like Dahl and Almond flatten the profound distinctions between democratic, oligarchic, and tyrannical regimes, reducing them to variations in institutional structures or distributions of power. This perspective erases the moral and teleological aspects of political life that Aristotle highlights, particularly the idea that regimes aim at specific ends—some noble, others corrupt. For Aristotle, the regime determines the ethical orientation of its citizens and the pursuit of the common good. In contrast, behavioral science, with its descriptive focus, neglects the question of how regimes cultivate or undermine virtue, leaving its analysis ethically impoverished and unable to evaluate the qualitative differences that make one regime superior to another.

Bénéton underscores how the behavioral sciences’ emphasis on systemic regularities and universal patterns fails to grapple with the historical and cultural particularities that shape regimes. Aristotle’s analysis, rooted in the diversity of political life, acknowledges the interplay of historical, ethical, and social factors in determining a regime’s character. For instance, Aristotle differentiates between regimes based on their alignment with justice and their capacity to promote human flourishing, recognizing the profound consequences of these distinctions for civic life, and in its quest for generality, behavioral political science disregards such nuances, treating regimes as interchangeable mechanisms for managing power. Bénéton concludes that while behavioral approaches offer valuable technical insights, they ultimately fall short of Aristotle’s richer and more holistic understanding of regimes as the foundation of communal and ethical life.

Bénéton’s discussion of democracy is remarkably nuanced and insightful. He recognizes democracy as the dominant political regime of the modern era but carefully distinguishes between different forms of democracy. He differentiates between “classical democracy,” which he associates with direct participation by the citizens in the governance process, and “representative democracy,” which is characterized by the election of representatives who make decisions on behalf of the people. Bénéton argues that while representative democracy is the most prevalent form today, it has its challenges and potential pitfalls.

One of the key themes in Bénéton’s analysis of democracy is the tension between “liberty and equality.” He observes that modern democracies are often torn between the desire to promote individual freedoms and the drive to achieve greater social and economic equality. Bénéton states this tension can lead to contradictions and conflicts within democratic societies. For example, policies promoting equality, such as wealth redistribution, may infringe on individual liberties. In contrast, policies prioritizing freedom, such as laissez-faire economic practices, may exacerbate social inequalities. He argues that managing this tension is one of the central challenges for modern democracies and requires carefully balancing competing values.

Bénéton is also critical of what he sees as the “excesses of democratic egalitarianism.” He warns that an overemphasis on equality can lead to a leveling of society that undermines excellence, merit, and the pursuit of the common good. In his view, democracy should not merely focus on ensuring equal outcomes but should also strive to cultivate virtues and promote the well-being of the community as a whole. Bénéton is concerned that contemporary democracies, in their pursuit of equality, may neglect these higher goals and reduce politics to a mere struggle for power and resources. This, he argues, can lead to the erosion of civic virtue and a decline in the quality of public life.

Another critical aspect of Bénéton’s analysis is his exploration of the “moral foundations of political regimes.” He argues that the legitimacy and stability of any political regime depend on its moral and ethical underpinnings. In this regard, Bénéton is mainly concerned with the role of “virtue” in governance. Drawing on classical political philosophy, he contends that a good regime is one that promotes virtue among its citizens and rulers. For Bénéton, virtue is not just a personal quality bujusticet ajustice public good that is essential for the proper functioning of society. He believes that without a commitment to virtue, political regimes will likely become corrupt and degenerate, leading to tyranny or chaos.

Bénéton’s emphasis on virtue leads him to critique modern liberal democracies, which he believes have largely abandoned the pursuit of virtue in favor of “procedural justice” and individual rights. While he acknowledges the importance of these principles, he argues that they are insufficient for sustaining a healthy political community. Bénéton worries that the focus on individual rights and freedoms can lead to a kind of moral relativism, where the pursuit of self-interest takes precedence over the common good. This, he suggests, can result in a fragmented and atomized society where civic engagement and social cohesion are weakened.

In addition to his critique of modern democracy, Bénéton also explores the dynamics of “authoritarian regimes.” He is particularly interested in how these regimes maintain control and legitimacy in the absence of democratic processes. Bénéton argues that authoritarian regimes often rely on a combination of coercion and consent, using propaganda, surveillance, and repression to suppress dissent while also seeking to cultivate a sense of legitimacy through appeals to tradition, nationalism, or ideology. He notes that while authoritarian regimes can achieve stability, they are often brittle and prone to collapse if their sources of legitimacy are undermined.

Bénéton’s analysis of totalitarianism, a particularly extreme form of authoritarianism, contributes significantly to his understanding of political regimes. He identifies totalitarianism as a regime that seeks total control over all aspects of life, including politics, the economy, culture, and even personal beliefs. Bénéton highlights the dangers of totalitarian regimes, particularly their tendency to dehumanize individuals and reduce them to mere instruments of the state. He argues that totalitarianism represents a profound threat to human dignity and freedom and that its emergence is often the result of profound social and political crises that disrupt the normal functioning of democratic institutions.

In Les Régimes Politiques, Bénéton also engages with the concept of “regime change” and the conditions under which political regimes transform. He argues that a combination of internal and external factors, including economic crises, social unrest, wars, and ideological shifts, often drive regime change. Bénéton is particularly interested in how regimes manage or fail to manage these pressures and what this reveals about their strengths and vulnerabilities. He suggests that successful regime change often requires not just the removal of the old regime but the establishment of a new political order that is both legitimate and capable of addressing the underlying causes of the crisis.

Finally, Bénéton concludes his analysis by reflecting on the future of political regimes in the modern world. He is cautiously optimistic about the prospects for democracy but warns that the challenges it faces, particularly the tension between liberty and equality, must be carefully managed. He also emphasizes the importance of cultivating civic virtue and a sense of common purpose in order to sustain democratic governance. Bénéton’s work is a call to political philosophers and practitioners alike to engage deeply with political regimes’ moral and ethical dimensions and seek ways to strengthen the foundations of democratic life.

In conclusion, Philippe Bénéton’s Les Régimes Politiques offers a rich and nuanced exploration of political regimes, drawing on classical political theory while addressing contemporary challenges. Bénéton’s analysis is characterized by its emphasis on the moral and ethical dimensions of governance, particularly the role of virtue in sustaining political order. His critique of modern democracy, focusing on the tension between liberty and equality, provides valuable insights into the challenges facing democratic regimes today. Through his examination of different types of regimes, including authoritarianism and totalitarianism, Bénéton delivers a comprehensive framework for understanding the complexities of political life and the conditions necessary for the success and stability of political regimes.

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This essay will examine Lefort’s understanding of the “political form” and its significance for grasping the nature of political regimes. It will also explore Lefort’s engagement with Strauss’s concept of Natural Right, analyzing how Lefort’s critique of modern political systems, especially totalitarianism, resonates with Strauss’s philosophical concerns. Although Lefort is not a direct disciple of Strauss, their intellectual engagement offers a fascinating dialogue about modernity’s moral and political conditions. Through this, the essay will highlight Lefort’s contributions to contemporary political theory and his subtle indebtedness to Strauss’s critique of modern relativism.

Political Forms in Lefort’s Thought

Lefort’s notion of the “political form” is central to his political philosophy. By political form, Lefort refers to the symbolic structure that underlies any given society, shaping its institutions, modes of governance, and the relationship between rulers and the ruled. This concept extends beyond the mere institutional framework of a political system; it addresses the deeper symbolic order that defines the nature of authority, legitimacy, and participation within a society.

In The Political Forms of Modern Society: Bureaucracy, Democracy, Totalitarianism (1986), Lefort argues that the political form of a society is crucial to understanding how power operates within it. In pre-modern societies, political power was embodied in a monarch or sovereign who claimed divine authority and symbolized the unity of the people and the state. This symbolic unity was mirrored in the hierarchical structure of society, with the king or emperor at the apex, representing a direct connection to a transcendent order.

With the advent of modernity, however, the political form of society underwent a radical transformation. The emergence of democratic regimes signaled the end of the symbolic unity of power, as a sovereign ruler no longer filled the place of power. Instead, power became “empty,” open to contestation, and subject to the will of the people. Lefort describes this as the “empty place of power,” a concept central to his understanding of democracy.

The Empty Place of Power and Democratic Society

In democratic societies, Claude Lefort argues that power is no longer concentrated in the hands of a single ruler or institution, as it often was in pre-modern or monarchical regimes. This shift represents a radical break from the earlier conception of sovereignty, where power was personified by a king, emperor, or ruling figure believed to derive their authority from divine or transcendent sources. Instead, in modern democratic regimes, power becomes depersonalized and abstracted—no longer embodied in any individual or institution. Lefort introduces the idea of the “empty place of power,” a central concept in his political thought. This idea suggests that in a democracy, power is not fixed or owned by any one party or figure but remains open to contestation and constant redefinition. Power in democratic societies is thus continually renegotiated through public debate, political competition, and the active participation of citizens. It is a space where authority is never fully stabilized, creating a dynamic and fluid political landscape.

The “empty place of power” signifies a departure from the traditional notion of political legitimacy, where authority was seen as permanent and derived from a higher, often divine, order. In contrast, Lefort argues that democratic authority is contingent, subject to the ongoing negotiation processes between citizens and their representatives. In this sense, power is never absolute or unquestionable; its legitimacy is always provisional, dependent on the people’s political will and collective actions. This continuous contestation makes democratic systems inherently unstable but also profoundly adaptable. For Lefort, this openness is not a weakness but a defining strength of democratic regimes. It allows for expressing diverse viewpoints and the possibility of institutional transformation, ensuring that no individual or group can monopolize political power indefinitely.

In Democracy and Political Theory (1989), Lefort emphasizes that the defining characteristic of democracy is its institutionalization of division, uncertainty, and pluralism. Unlike totalitarian regimes, which claim to embody the people’s singular will or possess the ultimate truth about society, democratic regimes acknowledge the inherent diversity of opinions, interests, and values within the political community. They recognize that no political authority can fully represent the totality of society or embody an unchanging truth. This acknowledgment of plurality makes democracy a dynamic and open-ended political form. It creates a space for contestation, where individuals and groups can challenge existing power structures, propose alternative political visions, and engage in political transformation processes. In this way, democracy institutionalizes conflict and change as essential features of political life.

For Lefort, the continuous possibility of conflict and change distinguishes democracy from more authoritarian or totalitarian forms of government. Totalitarian regimes, by contrast, attempt to erase political divisions and suppress dissent, presenting themselves as the complete and unquestionable embodiment of the people’s will. They seek to eliminate uncertainty by asserting absolute control over both the political and social realms, denying any possibility of opposition or pluralism. Democracy, on the other hand, thrives on uncertainty and division, making it a more resilient and adaptive political system. It is the capacity for change and renewal, fostered by the openness of the “empty place of power,” that allows democracy to remain responsive to the shifting needs and desires of its citizens. Democracy is not a static regime but an ongoing political process that continuously reshapes itself through conflict, contestation, and negotiation.

Totalitarianism: The Closure of the Political Space

Claude Lefort’s political theory draws a sharp contrast between the open, contested nature of democratic regimes and the closure of political space in totalitarian regimes. For Lefort, democracy is defined as the “empty place of power,” where political authority is constantly in flux, open to debate, and never fully possessed by any individual or institution. This openness allows for pluralism, contestation, and the ongoing renegotiation of power. Totalitarian regimes, by contrast, represent the antithesis of this dynamic. In totalitarian systems, power is no longer open or contested. Instead, it is fully embodied by the state, which claims to represent the totality of society and its interests. The totalitarian state presents itself as the absolute authority, collapsing any distinction between the state and society and asserting control over every aspect of social, cultural, and political life.

Lefort argues that totalitarianism fundamentally alters the symbolic structure of political life. In democratic regimes, the symbolic space remains open, allowing for the expression of dissent and the contestation of political authority. This openness enables democracy to be flexible, adaptive, and responsive to the evolving needs of its citizens. In totalitarian regimes, however, the symbolic space is closed off entirely. The state claims to embody the will of the people in its entirety, eliminating the need for political debate or alternative viewpoints. This totalization of political authority means that the state no longer allows for any meaningful distinction between rulers and the ruled, between the public and the private, or between political and non-political spheres of life.

This closure of symbolic space in totalitarianism has profound consequences for society. Lefort explains that totalitarian regimes seek to homogenize society by erasing all forms of difference, diversity, and plurality. In such a system, there is no room for independent thought, dissent, or political action because the state claims to possess the ultimate truth about society, history, and the human condition. The totalitarian state positions itself as the final arbiter of meaning, dictating political life and cultural and social norms. This leads to a complete absorption of society into the political domain, where every aspect of life is subject to state control and manipulation. The result is eliminating the symbolic distinctions crucial to political freedom and the flourishing of a pluralistic society.

Lefort’s critique of totalitarianism is deeply rooted in this symbolic closure. He argues that totalitarianism represents the ultimate denial of the political in the sense that it collapses the space where political action, disagreement, and debate can occur. In a democratic regime, power is never wholly owned; it is always in question and contested. However, in a totalitarian system, the state assumes complete authority, leaving no room for individuals or groups to challenge its legitimacy or propose alternative visions for society. This erasure of political contestation leads to the erasure of political freedom itself. Therefore, totalitarianism does not merely restrict political activity; it eradicates the conditions that make politics possible by absorbing society into the state’s vision of absolute truth.

The symbolic closure of totalitarian regimes also underscores Lefort’s broader concern with the relationship between power and society. In democratic regimes, power exists in an open and contested space, which allows for the ongoing reconfiguration of social and political relations. In totalitarian systems, by contrast, power can no longer be negotiated or challenged—it is absolute, embodied in the state, and inseparable from its authority. This obliteration of symbolic space results in the homogenization of society, where all forms of difference are subsumed under the state’s control. For Lefort, this is the ultimate danger of totalitarianism: it extinguishes the possibility of political life by eliminating the very distinctions that allow for freedom, plurality, and the ongoing negotiation of power within society. In his view, maintaining symbolic openness in democratic regimes is essential to preserving political freedom and resisting the totalizing tendencies of authoritarianism.

Bureaucracy and Democracy

Claude Lefort examines the inherent tension between bureaucracy and democracy, particularly in modern liberal democracies. In Lefort’s analysis, bureaucracy involves the depersonalization and routinization of political power. It functions through a rigid framework of rules, regulations, and procedures that, while essential for managing complex societies, often remove the immediacy and vibrancy of direct political contestation. As power becomes more bureaucratically managed, it also becomes less visible and more abstract, distancing itself from the dynamic interactions that are central to the political process in a democratic regime. Lefort acknowledges that bureaucracy is crucial in maintaining order and efficiency, especially in large and highly structured societies. Still, he is deeply concerned with the implications this has for the vitality of democratic life.

The central problem Lefort identifies is that the rise of bureaucracy in democratic societies can lead to the ossification of political institutions. Over time, these institutions become more rigid and less adaptable to the changing needs and desires of the people they are meant to serve. Bureaucratic systems tend to prioritize procedural correctness and the maintenance of existing structures over responsiveness to the political will of the populace. As a result, citizens may feel alienated from the political process, as their ability to meaningfully participate in decision-making is diminished. This alienation arises from the complexity and impersonality of bureaucratic procedures and the perception that political institutions are becoming less open to public input and debate. Lefort views this disconnection as a significant threat to the democratic principle of active political engagement.

Lefort argues that the health of a democratic society depends on maintaining a delicate balance between bureaucratic efficiency and the openness of political contestation. While some level of bureaucracy is necessary to ensure the smooth functioning of governmental operations, it should never be allowed to dominate or stifle the broader political sphere. For Lefort, the danger lies in bureaucracy’s tendency to solidify into a self-perpetuating system that operates with little accountability or transparency. When bureaucratic systems become too insulated from political contestation, they undermine the democratic ideal of power, constantly subjected to scrutiny and challenge by the people. This is particularly concerning because democracy, as Lefort understands it, thrives on the uncertainty and flux of political life—where power is always contestable. The institutions of power must remain flexible enough to adapt to new challenges.

To counterbalance the risks posed by bureaucratic rigidity, Lefort emphasizes the need to preserve spaces for political debate and engagement within democratic societies. Democratic politics, in Lefort’s view, requires ongoing participation, the constant questioning of authority, and the active involvement of citizens in shaping the direction of their government. This participatory aspect of democracy is essential for preventing bureaucracy from becoming an entrenched and unresponsive force. For Lefort, the challenge lies in ensuring that democratic institutions do not become mere administrative mechanisms, disconnected from the vibrant and open-ended political contestation crucial for democratic life. In sum, Lefort calls for a vigilant approach to safeguarding democracy from the encroachments of bureaucracy, advocating for a political environment where openness, responsiveness, and contestation remain central.

Political Regimes and Natural Right

Claude Lefort’s exploration of political regimes indirectly engages with the concept of Natural Right, a central theme in the work of Leo Strauss. Strauss, a German-American political philosopher, devoted much of his intellectual energy to critiquing the decline of natural right in modern political thought. For Strauss, Natural Right refers to a universal moral order inherent in nature and can be accessed through reason. This concept stands in stark opposition to the relativistic and historicist trends that have come to dominate modern conceptions of justice, which Strauss believed had eroded the possibility of establishing objective moral and political standards. In Strauss’s view, the loss of this grounding opened the door to political instability and, more dangerously, to totalitarian ideologies that impose their own arbitrary conception of truth.

Lefort does not directly reference Strauss’s specific arguments about Natural Right. Still, his critique of modernity and totalitarianism reveals a shared concern with contemporary societies’ moral and political crises. Lefort’s work addresses how totalitarian regimes eliminate the symbolic structures that allow for distinction between law, politics, and morality. In doing so, totalitarianism erases the space for individual moral judgment or dissent, subsuming all aspects of human life under the state’s authority. In this sense, totalitarianism denies any notion of a moral order outside the political, reflecting Strauss’s critique of regimes that sever the connection between politics and universal ethical principles. Lefort’s concept of the collapse of symbolic space in totalitarian regimes aligns with Strauss’s argument that without a transcendent moral framework like Natural Right, political regimes are at risk of total domination by a single authority.

For Lefort, totalitarian regimes represent the ultimate denial of both political freedom and moral autonomy precisely because they claim to embody the totality of society fully. In such regimes, there is no external space from which individuals can judge or critique the state. This symbolic and moral closure resonates with Strauss’s critique of modern relativism, which he argued leads to nihilism or the imposition of arbitrary power without objective moral standards. Strauss viewed the decline of Natural Right as creating fertile ground for totalitarian regimes, which fill the vacuum left by the erosion of universal ethical principles with ideologies that claim to offer a complete and absolute truth.

While Lefort does not advocate for a return to Natural Right as Strauss does, he shares Strauss’s concerns about the dangers of relativism and the collapse of moral distinctions in modern politics. Lefort’s focus on the symbolic nature of power in democratic regimes offers an alternative framework for thinking about how societies can resist totalitarianism without needing a fixed moral order. Lefort believes that democratic societies, by keeping the “empty place of power” open and allowing for contestation and debate, can maintain a space for political and moral plurality. This openness prevents the state from claiming total authority and allows individuals to engage in ethical and political judgment. In this way, Lefort’s thought offers a different, though complementary, approach to the problem of relativism that Strauss critiques.

Both Lefort and Strauss are concerned with how modern political regimes grapple with the loss of transcendent moral authority and the rise of ideologies that claim to embody the totality of truth. Strauss’s response calls for a revival of Natural Right, a return to a universal moral order grounded in nature. Conversely, Lefort emphasizes the importance of symbolic openness in democratic regimes, where power is always subject to contestation and no authority can claim absolute truth. While their solutions differ, Lefort and Strauss offer valuable insights into the challenges of modern political life, particularly in their critiques of totalitarianism and their shared belief in the necessity of maintaining a space for moral and political judgment outside of state authority.

Lefort’s Intellectual Engagement with Strauss

Although Lefort and Strauss approach political theory from different perspectives, they have a clear intellectual resonance. Both thinkers are concerned with the crisis of modernity, particularly the dangers of totalitarianism and the relativism that characterizes much of modern political thought. Strauss critiques modernity for its rejection of natural right and its embrace of relativism, arguing that this has eroded objective moral and political standards.

Lefort, while not advocating a return to natural right in the same way as Strauss, shares Strauss’s concern about the dangers of relativism. In totalitarian regimes, the collapse of symbolic distinctions leads to a form of political absolutism, where the state claims to represent the truth in its entirety. This is similar to Strauss’s critique of modern relativism, where the absence of objective moral standards leads to the rise of totalitarian ideologies that claim to embody the truth.

For Strauss, Natural Right serves as a safeguard against the dangers of relativism and totalitarianism. By grounding political life in objective moral standards, Strauss argues, we can prevent the rise of political systems that claim to represent the totality of society. Strauss advocates a return to classical natural right, particularly the ideas of ancient Greek philosophers like Plato and Aristotle, who grounded their political thought in a conception of nature and reason.

While not a natural right theorist in the same sense, Lefort acknowledges the importance of symbolic structures that maintain the distinction between power and society. In democratic regimes, the “empty place of power” represents the recognition that no political authority can fully embody the people’s truth or will. In Lefort’s view, this openness to contestation and pluralism is essential for preventing the rise of totalitarian ideologies.

Writing and Political Symbolism

In his later work, particularly in Writing: The Political Test (2000), Claude Lefort focuses on the role of culture and symbolism in shaping political life. For Lefort, political power is not confined to formal institutions like governments, laws, or constitutions. Instead, it extends to the symbolic practices that structure our understanding of society and influence how we interact with power. In this sense, writing becomes a central site for expressing political ideas and struggles. Through writing, individuals and groups can engage with the fundamental issues of power, authority, and legitimacy. Writing becomes a way of testing and challenging the boundaries of political thought, serving as a medium where the political is constantly negotiated and redefined.

For Lefort, writing and language are not neutral communication tools but are imbued with political significance. They are symbolic practices that both reflect and shape the social order. In democratic societies, writing is of special importance because it embodies the principles of openness, debate, and contestation that define democratic life. In this context, writing becomes a form of political action, a way of engaging with and potentially transforming the political landscape. Lefort emphasizes that the symbolic nature of writing allows for a multiplicity of voices and perspectives to be heard, contributing to the pluralism and diversity that are essential to the functioning of a democratic society.

One of the critical insights Lefort provides in Writing: The Political Test is that symbolic practices like writing serve as a means of challenging established power structures. In totalitarian regimes, where power seeks to close off all avenues of dissent and contestation, the symbolic space for political action is severely restricted. In contrast, democratic societies thrive on the ongoing negotiation of power relations, where writing plays a crucial role in keeping the space of political contestation open. Through the act of writing, individuals can resist the closure of the political space by questioning authority, expressing dissent, and proposing alternative visions of society. Lefort sees writing as a vital mechanism through which the symbolic openness of democracy is maintained.

Moreover, Lefort’s analysis of writing as a “political test” emphasizes the idea that political thought is never settled or finalized. Just as political power in a democracy is never fully possessed by any one individual or group, political thought is never complete. Writing, therefore, becomes a continuous process of engagement, a way of testing the limits of political theory and practice. Lefort views writing as an ongoing political experiment that allows for articulating new ideas, the revision of existing norms, and creating spaces for alternative forms of political engagement. This dynamic process reflects Lefort’s broader understanding of democracy as a regime that institutionalizes uncertainty and embraces contestation.

Finally, Lefort’s exploration of political symbolism through writing also connects to his broader concern with how societies represent and understand themselves. In democratic societies, writing and other symbolic practices contribute to the ongoing construction of collective identities. These identities are never fixed or predetermined but are constantly reshaped through political discourse and symbolic representation. In totalitarian regimes, on the other hand, the state seeks to impose a single, unified identity on society, closing off the possibility for pluralism and dissent. Writing, for Lefort, becomes a critical tool in resisting such totalizing tendencies by keeping the space for political contestation and diversity of identity open. Through writing, individuals and groups can imagine and articulate alternative futures, challenging the dominant narratives imposed by those in power.

Thus, Writing: The Political Test highlights the importance of symbolic practices in political life, particularly in democratic societies where openness, contestation, and pluralism are fundamental. For Lefort, writing is not merely a reflection of political thought but an active participant in shaping the political realm. It is a way of testing the boundaries of political possibility, engaging in the ongoing process of political action, and resisting the closure of political space by authoritarian regimes. Through writing, individuals and societies can continually redefine their political futures, keeping the space of democracy alive and vibrant.

Conclusion: Political Forms, Regimes, and Natural Right

Claude Lefort’s work offers a profound and multifaceted exploration of political forms, regimes, and the symbolic structures that undergird them. Central to his analysis is the concept of the “empty place of power” in democratic societies, a notion that symbolizes the radical openness and fluidity that characterize democratic politics. Lefort’s insight that power in a democracy is never fully possessed but remains open to contestation captures the unique nature of democratic regimes. This starkly contrasts the closed and totalizing nature of totalitarianism, where power is embodied in the state, which claims to represent the totality of society. Lefort’s critique of totalitarianism, which suppresses political plurality and symbolic openness, reflects his broader concern with preserving the space for political contestation and change—essential elements of a vibrant democracy.

Lefort’s analysis of totalitarianism, particularly its symbolic closure, resonates with concerns raised by Leo Strauss regarding modern political thought. Strauss warned against the dangers of relativism and the erosion of natural right in modernity, arguing that the absence of a fixed, transcendent moral order opened the door to totalitarian ideologies that claim to embody absolute truth. While Lefort does not share Strauss’s commitment to recovering classical natural right, he is similarly concerned with the political dangers that arise when power becomes absolute and incontestable. For Lefort and Strauss, the suppression of plurality and the elimination of political space—whether through totalitarianism or relativism—pose severe threats to political freedom and human dignity.

However, Lefort’s vision of political freedom diverges significantly from Strauss’s. While Strauss advocates for a return to natural right to ground political life in objective moral principles, Lefort embraces the indeterminacy and contestation that define modern democracy. Lefort’s emphasis on the symbolic openness of democratic regimes provides an alternative path to safeguarding political freedom that does not rely on recovering a fixed moral order. Instead, Lefort argues that the absence of such a grounding—the “empty place of power”—allows for the continuous negotiation and redefinition of political authority. This openness makes democracy resilient and adaptable, capable of withstanding the pressures of absolutism and ideological closure.

Lefort’s thought also provides a compelling response to the challenges of modern political life without resorting to the fixed foundations of natural right. By emphasizing the symbolic nature of political power, Lefort demonstrates how democratic societies can maintain their pluralism and openness without descending into relativism or nihilism. In Lefort’s framework, political freedom is preserved by maintaining symbolic spaces that allow for debate, contestation, and the continual re-articulation of collective identities. This ongoing negotiation process, rather than a return to natural right, sustains the vitality of democratic life. For Lefort, democracy is not a system that needs to be anchored in eternal truths but a political form that thrives on the uncertainty and fluidity of the political arena.

While not directly indebted to Strauss, Lefort’s work shares significant concerns with Strauss’s critique of modernity, particularly the dangers posed by political absolutism and the loss of moral and political standards. Yet Lefort offers an alternative vision of political life that embraces the indeterminacy of modern democracy while safeguarding political freedom through the symbolic openness of power. This vision provides a powerful critique of totalitarianism and a robust defense of democratic pluralism, illustrating how political freedom can be maintained without needing a fixed, transcendent moral order. Lefort’s contribution to political theory thus offers a compelling vision of a political life that is open, contested, and constantly evolving, free from the dangers of both political absolutism and moral relativism.

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Educated first in the seminary due to a growing interest in politics, in 1910, Salazar enrolled in law school, where he soon distinguished himself among Catholic circles as a conservative thinker and an expert in the field of economics and finance. After the mentioned military coup – by which the new government “inherited” a country in a difficult economic situation – he was therefore included first in the Ministry of Finance and then handed over control over the budgets of all ministries, with a veto right overall spending. Working to restore the dignity of Portugal and create such Portuguese as Portugal needed to become great again, and given the dependence of the new regime’s survival on financial consolidation, he soon surpassed the control of military circles and – along with President General Óscar Carmona – became the central national figure. On the 28th of June 1928, he finally gained the position of prime minister, which he then – combining it with various ministerial positions in certain periods – retained until the end of the 1960s.

Since his rise to power and a certain part of his reign coincided with the Fascist rule in Italy, and soon also the Nazi rule in Germany, as well as the reign of Francisco Franco in neighboring Spain (often also suspected of the same thing, albeit with some more justification), the perception of the Salazar’s regime is marked by the frequent labeling of it as Fascist. But while some of its features really were similar to that of the mentioned Fascist regimes, much of Salazar’s ruling skill shows a departure from these alleged role models. In this essay, we shall therefore show their similarities and differences while trying to explain how and why such a way of governing survived for such a long period of time in one Western European country, outliving even its creator for a few years.

* * *
Assuming that the reader is familiar with the basic features of Fascism, without presenting them in more detail, we must first look at the real and possible points of contact of that system with the system present in Portugal from 1933 to 1974. As already mentioned, Salazar’s rise to power coincided with the period of Mussolini’s and Hitler’s rule and thus necessarily led to certain contacts and consequent influences on Portugal and its leader. However, it is necessary to distinguish between the real influences derived from Fascism itself and the common features of the two (or three) regimes that only seem to be originally Fascist, while in fact they have their roots in the same, non-Fascist source. Given the contemporary tendency to crude categorization – with Fascism, in particular, playing the role of a huge ideological box into which, regardless of their real nature and often incompatible differences, almost all ideologies and movements that deviate from the Left mainstream are crammed – emphasizing the fact that similar is not the same as equal is of the greatest importance. However, from the points of contact between Salazar’s regime and Fascism, it is necessary to single out two or three of the basic ones, while for the others usually mentioned, it will be explained why their similarity is actually only apparent or nonexistent at all.

The greatest concrete resemblance to Fascism Salazar’s Portugal achieved in the economic field, namely, as in Mussolini’s Italy, and with the same goal of overcoming – in Marxist terms – class struggle by setting goals common to both the owners of the means of production and the workers, a corporate system was introduced into the Portuguese economy. By embedding Corporatism, together with the right of the state to intervene in order to protect the moral integrity of its citizens and the state itself, into the new 1933 constitution, Salazar tried to – at least in theory – base Portuguese economy on the Catholic social teaching – competitiveness remained, but with the common interest of the nation as the fundamental criterion, which enabled the wider possibilities of the state intervention in certain fields of production. However, despite the creation of the Corporate Chamber as a representative body of all social classes, Portuguese Corporatism still served primarily as an extended arm of the state control over society, resulting in filling the key positions with the people the regime sought to reward or bind to itself, which was followed by corruption and over-reliance on the state, to some extent comparable to that still present in (post)socialist countries.

The second, more pronounced, point of contact with Fascist European regimes came during their greatest expansion in the period of World War II. Seeking – and ultimately succeeding, as attributed to him even by the political opponents – to keep Portugal out of the new global conflict, Salazar nevertheless established economic cooperation with Nazi Germany, primarily in the trade of tungsten, needed for the development of the German war industry, in return receiving large quantities of gold, often abducted from the victims of Nazi genocidal policies. However, at the same time, assistance was provided to the refugees from Nazi violence, including the Jews. But, given its crucial geostrategic position and despite its declared neutrality, Portugal suffered pressure for cooperation from other warring parties; despite the efforts to remove all foreign influence and the threat of German retaliation, Salazar eventually allowed the Allies to use the Portuguese Azores as military air bases, which played some role in the survival of his regime after 1945.
Finally, as in many other countries, including the neighboring Spain, already during the interwar period a movement with the aim of turning the country in a Fascist direction emerged in Portugal. After several years of activity, during which they gained the greatest popularity among students and junior officers, the National Unionists or Blue Shirts, gathered around Francisco Preto, were finally suppressed due to, according to Salazar, their inspiration with certain foreign models, exaltation of youth and cult of force through direct action and the principle of the superiority of state political power in the life of society, and the aspiration to organize the masses behind one leader. Although it should be borne in mind that a significant part of the motivation for stifling the movement was the removal of a potential threat to his own rule, in the quoted words, it is possible to read a direct condemnation of some of the main elements of the Fascist ideology.

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In order to elaborate in more detail the aforementioned aversion to Fascist ideology in Salazar’s political worldview, it is first necessary to define it. In short, Portugal at that time could be described as a traditional autocracy, and Salazar as a reactionary, relying on Catholic conservatism. Namely, realizing the state to which the Portuguese nation was brought by the political factionalism and fruitless party competition of the Liberal period (until 1926), Salazar began to perceive democracy, and for the most part the politics itself, as an obstacle, not a means of reaching solutions. Considering that the country, therefore, needed political detoxification, he reduced the party life to the existence of the União Nacional party, whose representatives occasionally met in the National Assembly, whose de facto only task was to maintain the status quo within which The New State (Estado Novo) could develop. At its core was Salazar’s paternalistic attitude toward the Portuguese as a people currently incapable of broader political participation, whose development, therefore, required the guidance of a well-meaning leader. However, although Salazar relied heavily on the aforementioned Catholic social doctrine, believing that the authority came from God and not from the social contract, it should be emphasized that the Catholic Church in Portugal never acquired the status it enjoyed in the neighboring Franco’s Spain. Finally, the main theoretical framework of the political system remained the constitution, written as a mixture of democratic and authoritarian elements.

But, although creating a sort of one-party state, unlike the Fascists in Italy and especially the Nazis in Germany, Salazar never sought to turn the only allowed party into the leading force of society. As already mentioned, the goal was not the political fanaticism of the masses and their gathering in the movement but quite the opposite. In the same context, it is therefore necessary to interpret the very absence of Salazar’s pronounced public appearance. Leading a life bordered by asceticism and imbued with daily work routines and never wearing a military or any other uniform, Salazar rarely gave public speeches and only occasionally accepted the honors which, with the lag of time, could be placed in the sphere of the cult of personality. As a result, in foreign political circles, Portugal was often perceived as a dictatorship without a dictator. In addition, unlike the Fascist regimes, based on the ideas of Futurism and Modernism, Salazar’s goal – despite the aforementioned tendency to transform the Portuguese – was never to create a new man in the Fascist, especially not in the Nazi sense of the term. Moreover, in order to maintain the mentality and the way of life he considered useful, Salazar tried to delay the processes of modernization of rural areas of the country, thus damaging them in the long run and accelerating their depopulation after opening the opportunity to go abroad, where emigrants actually became even more exposed to what the state sought to avoid.

Finally, despite his shared aversion to Communism and its perception as the greatest danger to civilization, Salazar’s attitude towards Fascism (or, more precisely, all totalitarianism) is clearly evidenced by one of his many speeches said in a similar tone: We must put aside the inclination to form what might be called a totalitarian state. The state, which in its laws, ethics, politics, and economy subordinates everything to national or racial interests, would appear to be an omnipotent being, the principle and an end in itself, to which all individual or collective action would be subject; it might even bring about an absolutism worse than that which preceded the Liberal regimes. […] Such a state would be essentially pagan, incompatible with the character of our Christian civilization, and leading sooner or later to revolutions like those that infected the older, historical systems of government and, who knows, to religious wars more terrible than those of the old.

* * *

After the presentation of Salazar’s attitude towards Fascist regimes, it is necessary to finally answer the question of how such a system – although not Fascist, authoritarian, and undemocratic nevertheless – managed to survive for so long, especially if we keep in mind that it ruled over a Western European country and a NATO member. From the foreign policy perspective, the answer is, as expected, provided by the Cold War context – although Salazar’s regime had occasionally clashed with the US (especially during the Kennedy administration, insisting on leaving the African colonies as soon as possible) and other Western bloc countries, its geostrategic position on the very edge of the European continent made it an essential factor of defense in the event of a continental Soviet attack. As with many other undemocratic regimes, including the Communist Yugoslav one, Western powers were therefore willing to look through Salazar’s policies as long as they performed their function in the common defense mechanism.

However, much more interesting is the interpretation given in the above-mentioned biography of Salazar by Tom Gallagher about the causes of the internal political transfer of leadership over the country to one man over several decades. According to his interpretation, in the first half of the 20th century, Portugal was such an economically and socially disordered country that one of the only few consensuses that existed among its conflicting political circles was the willingness to leave the fixing of such a mess to someone else. In the person of António de Oliveira Salazar, such a statesman was found, and – although, besides periods of growth, it also suffered economic downturns even during his era – for a while, Portugal had a stable leadership and a secure political direction. However, after Salazar’s death, the same problem arose again, now further exacerbated by the years of (self-)imposed political passivity, within which the next equally capable and willing statesman failed to develop. After a decade of regime changes – including a Communist one – Portugal joined the European Economic Community in 1986, leaving the dictation of national policy to the supranational political bodies in Brussels.

The case described, therefore, encourages asking some questions: In the context of the evident weakening of interest in participating in democratic processes due to frustration with political scandals and falsehoods of the multi-party system in which both (or more) leading parties show little difference in concrete plans, caring only about their own interests, what is the future of modern national (and European) democratic systems? Will national political bodies, tired of internal conflicts and often unnecessarily ideologized and politicized, constantly repeating scenarios, end in handing over their sovereignty to external entities, or will in some of them appear statesmen who, like Salazar, will take matters into their own hands, with whether a long-term positive or negative result?

Saša Vuković
mag. hist.

Footnotes

[1] With 41.0% of the vote, Salazar was named the greatest Portuguese by viewers of the then-popular TV-show Os Grandes Portugueses, modeled on the BBC’s 100 Greatest Britons (in which Sir Winston Churchill was named the ‘winner’) and broadcasted on the state television RTP. The next in line, Communist leader Álvaro Cunhal, got 19.1% of the vote. Most of the other “top ten” candidates were rulers from the time of the peak of Portuguese power and great researchers from the Age of Discovery. The main source of this and most other information presented in this article is Salazar’s recent biography by Scottish political scientist and historian Tom Gallagher, Salazar: Dictator That Refused to Die, published in 2020.

[1] Along with several smaller colonies scattered along the African and Asian coasts, the two most important and largest Portuguese colonial estates were located on the territory of the present-day states of Angola and Mozambique. Along with them, as one of the most prestigious, it is necessary to highlight Goa on the Indian subcontinent. Called The Ultramar, in Salazar’s time – and especially since the beginning of the decolonization pressures – these colonies were presented as an integral part of Portugal, or as its overseas provinces, which the motherland therefore cannot and must not give up, as it would lose its international significance. In addition, the idea of Lusotropicalism was developed. Of course, in addition to some that – like the mentioned Goa, which was taken over by Nehru’s India in 1961 – were lost during Salazar’s rule, other colonies finally gained independence during the 1970s, sparking a wave of hundreds of thousands White Portuguese settlers returning to the country already affected by the economic crisis.

[1] After a series of strokes and a temporary coma, Salazar was replaced by Marcello Caetano as the actual head of the state. In that period, however, the regime was already living its last years, and not even the replacement of The New State by The Social State under the motto of evolution as a part of continuity could save it from the fall of 24^th of April 1974, less than four years after Salazar’s death. In the following months, an attempt was made to carry out a Communist revolution, and in 1975 the country again found itself on the brink of a possible civil war. Avoiding this, it then faced a series of difficulties inherent to the states in political transition, with multipartyism transformed into a struggle between a few only seemingly different parties, concerned primarily by their own interests.

[1] António Costa Pinto, The Blue Shirts – Portuguese Fascists and the New State (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000), 112.

[1] Apart from the Papal encyclicals on social issues and the situation in Portugal itself, a significant impact on Salazar’s mentality also had the texts of the French thinker Charles Maurras.

[1] For example, in Portugal civil marriage remained valid, Church communities were taxed, and property nationalized in the 19th century – despite a sense of aversion to the Liberal authorities taking such and other actions during the period – was not returned. Reasons for the satisfaction of the Catholic circles, however, were sufficient throughout the existence of the regime, and the previous Catholic political activity was redirected to the charitable and educational spheres.

[1] Of course, this does not mean that there has been no governmental repression of the political opponents, either by sending them to the more distant positions or by the more direct action by the secret police (PVDE/PIDE), including imprisonment, torture and liquidation; the Portuguese Communists came under special attack. But, as mentioned, most of the potential opponents of the regime have been “removed” by their inclusion into the system, i. e., by giving them favorable economic and other positions.

[1] Although he delivered the quoted speech as early as 1934 – so before the manifestation of the full extent of the totalitarian state in Germany and even in the Soviet Union – Salazar maintained the presented attitude towards their regimes throughout all his life; Tom Gallagher, Salazar: Dictator That Refused to Die (London: Hurst & Company, 2020), 69.

This essay, here slightly modified, was originally published on the Croatian website Heretica .com on November 19, 2021. I would like to thank Mr. Matija Štahan, the editor of the mentioned site, for his kind permission to republish it.

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