Deliberative Democracy as a Matter of Public Spirit:
Reconstructing the Dewey-Lippmann Debate
In the 1920’s, a debate took place between several American thinkers concerned about the proper role of citizens in a democracy. Walter Lippman authored two books, Public Opinion and The Phantom Public, and John Dewey penned two reviews of the aforementioned books as well as his own, The Public and Its Problems. Commentators have seen these works as pitting Dewey against Lippmann, and some have argued that Lippmann got the better of it and some that Dewey did. I, however, contend that they have grossly misunderstood the exchange; that in fact Lippmann had another target in mind, and Dewey stepped in to mediate.
Two theses about this debate punctuate the two major sections of this paper. In the first, the negative or historical thesis states that the commentators have misinterpreted the debate’s construction and dynamic. In the second section, the positive or analytic thesis is that Dewey employs a concept called public-spiritedness to mediate the two conflicting positions taken in the debate. Not only does this concept help to reach a resolution, but as suggested in section three, it also anticipates the contemporary notion of deliberative democracy.
Commentators on the Dewey-Lippmann debate have split over who deserved the victory laurel. Dewey’s biographer, Robert Westbrook, sides with Lippmann. He reluctantly admits "that Lippmann had the better of Dewey in their debate in the 1920s on the implications of the eclipse of citizenship and the collapse of public life in the United States." The most ardent defenders of the view that Dewey triumphed in the debate are Michael Eldridge and Raymond Boisvert.
However, the commentators have misconstrued the debate’s construction and dynamic. Construction-wise, the debate took place not between Lippmann and Dewey, but instead between Lippmann and American Progressives committed to the majoritarian creed. According to this creed, democracy demands vigilance against the concentrated power of elites and deference to the decisions of majorities. To translate public opinion into government policy, patrons of the creed favour majoritarian methods—such as polls, votes, and elected representation—because these methods arouse the least suspicion of elitism. Besides questioning non-majoritarian methods, proponents of the creed also doubt the average citizen’s capacity for sound judgment, and thus whether majoritarian methods translate anything other than collective irrationality. Therefore, almost paradoxically, the sceptical bent of the majoritarian creed risks undermining its own presumptive faith in majoritarian decision-making.
Dynamic-wise, the debate occurred amidst a unique set of historical circumstances, in the mid to late 1920s, when the rise of America’s third political party had already reached its zenith and had since begun a spiralling decline. Progressive optimism about achieving the "public good" or "common interest" ebbed, and many members either left the Party or teetered on the brink of defection. It was therefore a propitious time for change in their philosophy, and Lippmann—an erstwhile Party member himself—stood ready to persuade the disillusioned Progressives to adopt his own.
In order to convert them, Lippmann aims in Public Opinion to exploit the most apparent weakness in their majoritarian creed: their scepticism about the average citizen’s capacity to make sound judgments. Citizens of existing democracies lack the time, interest and knowledge to make informed political decisions. Since popular opinion is generated by the free association of words, images and ideas, majoritarian methods merely register these dominant, and often irrational, associations—what Lippmann calls "stereotypes" or "pictures in our heads." Following the dictum that bad-input-makes-bad-output, these stereotypes distort the citizen’s understanding of the real political environment and, as a result, disappoint their efforts to impartially judge its features. Therefore, citizens of actual democracies live in what Lippmann calls a "pseudo-environment"—their judgment influenced by arbitrarily acquired stereotypes, not purposeful intelligence, about the world-at-large.
To achieve accuracy and intelligence in surveying the political landscape, the public requires at least two kinds of elites. The first, experts, record information and coordinate research about the environment, thereby "making the invisible visible."  The second, leaders, make and execute public policy decisions based on the findings of experts. In this scheme, little opportunity is left for deliberation by the average citizen. Moreover, to preserve popular support for government policies and leadership, elites must also "manufacture consent," or produce propaganda that manipulates the dominant stereotypes in the minds of citizens. Thus, Lippmann contends, the elites, rather than the average citizens, of a democracy administer the government’s affairs.
In The Phantom Public, Lippmann arrives at even more pessimistic conclusions than in Public Opinion. Not only is the "public" in traditional democratic theory ultimately a fiction or "phantom," citizens of real democracies also have a negligible role to play in practical politics, one circumscribed heavily by the authority of elites. Since, for Lippmann, elections represent sublimated or mock battles, the ritualistic trip to the voting booths functions to reduce the conflict between elites, but never to uplift or edify the citizen-voter. In the end, Lippmann hoped that Progressive democrats would acknowledge this dismal reality, abandon their majoritarian creed and, in their final act of conversion, substitute for it a newfound faith in the sagacity of elites—or what would later become known as the theory of "democratic elitism."
Particularly prominent among the old guard Progressives who embraced the majoritarian creed was the American jurist Learned Hand, to whom Lippmann dedicated his book The Phantom Public. The dedication was itself symbolic of Lippmann’s desire to sway Hand’s intellectual sympathies to his elitist position. In a strikingly similar event sixteen years prior, Graham Wallas dedicated his book, The Great Society, to Lippmann, his former student at Harvard.  Wallas intended to convince Lippmann of the soundness of his view that the environment of modern life was so complicated as to be inscrutable to all but the very few. As might be expected, Wallas’ efforts to convert Lippmann were not made in vain. Lippmann’s mature elitist views and especially his notion of a pseudo-environment bear the stamp of Wallas’ influence. To persuade Hand and his Progressive ilk, as Wallas had done to Lippmann years earlier, Lippmann had to do more than simply dedicate a book. He had to attack and exploit the vulnerable underbelly in their majoritarian creed.
However, if the case of Learned Hand is representative, then Lippmann’s efforts to convert Progressives en masse failed. It is easy to overlook Hand’s resistance to Lippmann’s brand of elitism, and conclude that the American jurist was, on all accounts, an easy convert. For one, Hand accepted the dedication and, two, if his silence is interpreted as assent, he implicitly agreed with The Phantom Public’s conclusions. Yet Hand’s biographer, Gerald Gunther, infers the opposite conclusion, namely that, "Hand must have read the book with very mixed, often disappointed emotions. He never wrote to Lippmann about it; unlike Public Opinion, it elicited no superlatives from him." So, according to Gunther, Lippmann’s arguments in The Phantom Public were not only unpersuasive to Hand, but even worse, they frustrated the jurist’s expectations for a sequel with a positive and compelling thesis. Despite Lippmann’s efforts, Hand’s faith that citizens should direct the affairs of state through majoritarian political processes remained undaunted.
Gunther’s conclusion that the American jurist rejected Lippmann’s arguments proves more persuasive in light of Hand’s conviction, shared with other Progressives, that some powers integral to self-government cannot be delegated to leaders and experts. For instance, in the Masses decision, Judge Hand affirmed the right of citizens to freely discuss and decide what government policies and practices should be tolerated, on the ground that "public opinion . . . is the final source of government in a democratic state." Years later in the Holmes Lectures at Harvard, Hand would declare that,
For myself it would be irksome to be ruled by a bevy of Platonic Guardians, even if I knew how to choose them, which I assuredly do not. If they were in charge I should miss the stimulus of living in a society where I have, at least theoretically, some part in public affairs.
Among the Progressives who embraced the majoritarian creed, Hand could not have made a firmer denunciation of Lippmann’s elitism, and a more resounding battle cry in favour of the majoritarian creed. In the end, despite his effort to exploit the critical weakness in their majoritarian creed, Lippmann did not achieve the widespread conversion of American Progressives that he had originally planned.
Dewey’s role in the debate between Lippmann and the Progressives was not in the capacity of a disputant.  Instead, and apropos of the positive or analytic thesis of this paper, Dewey navigates a safe course between two flawed alternatives: on the one hand, the Progressive or majoritarian way, which defends majoritarian procedures as the sole method for gauging the public’s preferences and, on the other, the Lippmann or elitist way, which disregards public preferences and entrusts policy decisions to the judgment of elites. Dewey accomplishes this feat by proposing a third way in the form of a mediating concept known as public-spiritedness.
One of Dewey’s biographers, Alan Ryan, laments that the "difficulty for readers of The Public and Its Problems . . . is that Dewey accepted most of Lippmann’s complaints against the existing order of things." While Ryan’s observation is astute, it only poses a challenge to readers if the debate is understood as between Lippmann and Dewey. Appreciated as it should be, that is, as between Lippmann and American Progressives committed to the majoritarian creed, the reader comprehends the rationale for his early concessions to Lippmann. Dewey’s role in the debate is that of a mediator, rather than that of a disputant.
As all proficient mediators do, he must first acknowledge the strengths of both disputants’ positions. First, to Lippmann, Dewey echoes his criticism that the theory and practice of democracy admit of increasing disparity. Likewise, Dewey acknowledges the multifarious complexities of modern, industrialized society. Also, in a similar vein as Lippmann, he recognizes the power of propagandists to manipulate public opinion by "enlisting upon their side the inertia, prejudices and emotional partisanship of the masses." But, most revealing of all, Dewey concludes, "the democratic public is still largely inchoate and unorganized."
Switching to the Progressives, Dewey stresses the importance of elected representation and social experimentation. Given Dewey’s definition of the "public," that is, as "all those affected by the indirect consequences of transactions," those publics qua publics must be empowered to select "representatives of . . . [their] interests, created by these perceived consequences and to define the functions which they shall possess and employ." In addition, given Dewey’s definition of the "state," that is, as "the organization of the public effected through officials," representatives become the caretakers for their constituent publics, as well as initiators of state-sponsored social experiments. Therefore, Dewey affirms the value of the majoritarian method of elected representation and the experimental process of social reform, two conventions prized by Progressives committed to the majoritarian creed.
Besides citing the strengths, Dewey also critically examines the weakness of their respective positions. In Public Opinion, Lippmann reveals his epistemological assumptions from the outset with an extensive passage quoted from Book VII of Plato’s Republic, the well-known allegory of the cave. From this passage and his notion of a pseudo-environment, it is easy to adduce that Lippmann assumes the bipolar "spectator-object" framework of classical epistemology. According to this framework, knowledge is analogous to sight, and the spectator—in Lippmann’s case, the citizen—views the illusory appearances of the world, "the pictures in our heads," but cannot access its real or "really real" objects—which, in Lippmann’s estimation, demands "intelligence work." Almost identical to Plato’s solution in the Republic, Lippmann grants access only to the sagacious few, the experts, in what Dewey characterizes as "the revival of the Platonic notion that philosophers should be kings . . . [wherein] the idea of experts is substituted for that of philosophers." If only the privileged few have access to the eternally fixed forms, true Being or confirmed knowledge, then these same few will be granted the exclusive rights to the instrumentalities or means to govern; the citizens then become subjects, and the Greek ideal of demo-kratia or rule of the people becomes a utopian fantasy. Epistemology defeats democracy.
Not only does Dewey disagree that the masses would willingly bequeath the ruling power to experts, he also rejects the classical epistemological framework that Lippmann uncritically inherits from Plato. Organisms do not passively intellectualize the appearances of their environment for the sake of discovering hidden objects; instead, they actively interact with it. As dynamic inquirers and problem-solvers, Dewey’s citizens are more faithfully compared with scientists or artists than with spectators. If the root conditions of problems in a democratic society, such as poverty and ignorance, are disregarded, and only their symptoms dealt with, then Lippmann’s elitist solution becomes a natural choice; for the expert qua decision-maker is always an improvement over the average citizen, impoverished and obtuse, qua decision-maker. However, if problematic conditions become subject matter for inquiry and elites treat citizens as having the capacity to develop intelligent habits for inquiry, then the reality of a self-governing public is, at least potentially, an achievable goal. Rather than bend to deceptive stereotypes, a community of educated inquirers—leaders, experts and average citizens working together—can transform their environment in the expectation that it will, in time, come nearer to fulfilling a communally shared ideal.
Lippmann’s opponents in the debate also receive critical treatment from Dewey. Dewey indirectly criticizes the Progressives for failing to appreciate the significance of non-majoritarian methods, such as debate and discussion. Despite the Progressives’ push for legislative experimentation, they ignored the educative and community-building effects of the activity that precedes majority decision-making: namely, deliberation. If reformers remove barriers to free inquiry, discussion and debate, Dewey suggests that they will foster more than an increase in the quantity of citizen deliberation; he also foresees a corresponding increase in the quality of deliberation. Practice at deliberating about public issues educates average citizens; more deliberation improves their capacities for clear judgment and intelligent inquiry; it allows them to express enlightened voting preferences; and, most importantly, it empowers them to take part in political debates and contests as informed participants. In other words, more deliberation engenders better deliberation. Once the Progressive reformer realizes this, he can then substitute a more optimistic vision for Lippmann’s: elections conceived, not as sublimated battles, but as opportunities to improve civic judgment and to build a stronger deliberative community. In sum, acknowledging the value of deliberation rewards the Progressive democrat two-fold: one, it ameliorates his scepticism about the citizen’s capacity to make sound judgments; and, two, it reinforces his faith in majoritarian methods.
To resolve the conflict between the elitist position, defended by Lippmann, and the majoritarian position, held by Progressives such as Hand, Dewey does more than simply cite their respective advantages and disadvantages. Dewey proposes a hybrid concept that helps the disputants on either side of the debate imagine their respective ideals realized in practice and harmony with each other. In The Public and Its Problems, Dewey introduces the concept of public-spiritedness with the shoe analogy:
The man who wears the shoe knows best that it pinches and where it pinches, even if the
expert shoemaker is the best judge of how the trouble is to be remedied. Popular
government has at least created public spirit even if its success in informing that spirit has
not been great.
According to this analogy, not only does self-government begin with citizens, who know the problems of their environment best, but it also extends to leaders and experts. Thus, citizens consult experts and experts consult citizens, thereby avoiding the tyranny of either and promoting the associated activity of both. This reciprocal relationship between citizens and experts fits with our lived experience of democratic transformation. For instance, social reforms that make the government more representative and stimulate citizen deliberation tend to generate the instrumentalities to manage this change; that is, they result in the growth of expert bureaucracies that, in the spirit of public service, should, and in the best scenarios do, consult with citizens. Therefore, Dewey’s concept of public-spiritedness harmonizes the majoritarian commitment to populist change and the elitist commitment to intelligently institutionalize the mechanisms of change.
Dewey’s arguments in favour of public-spiritedness as a mediating concept between majoritarianism and elitism do not constitute what Lippmann derisively calls the "sophistry that the public and all its individuals composing it are of one mind, one soul, one purpose." Nor does public-spiritedness represent any single entity or set of institutions. Instead, like democracy itself, it is a lived experience, one guided by a regulative ideal, but for which all concrete manifestations—the voting booth, the public meeting hall, the state or national legislature—are only temporary means for the satisfaction of intermediate ends. In The Public and Its Problems, Dewey effectively harmonizes two conflicting positions, the elitism of Walter Lippmann and the majoritarianism of American Progressives, for the sake of showing that, in practice, the ideal of open and fluid deliberation in a democracy can motivate intelligent inquiry and empower citizens to restructure their institutions as they see fit.
The reinterpretation of the Dewey-Lippmann debate that I have urged here is also consistent with this ideal. It aims to demonstrate that by reconsidering accepted interpretations and reconstructing new ones—both as individuals and as a community—we might engender a better understanding and use of "methods and conditions of debate, discussion and persuasion." In The Public and Its Problems, Dewey stresses the intimate connection between human spirit and community; in the book’s closing remarks, he declares that, "the human spirit will return to seek calm and order within itself. This, we repeat, can be found only in the vital, steady, and deep relationships which are present only in an immediate community."
As a melange of majoritarianism and elitism, public-spiritedness is a hybrid concept that begs for its own development and application in a concrete conception—that is, in a model of how public-spirited deliberation ought to manifest itself in an actual democratic community. Members of such a community discuss, debate and collectively decide how to interpret the notions of democracy, community and public-spiritedness in their best possible light, that is, as best suits their community’s values and interests.  Hence, when they seek to restructure their shared institutions, they do so in accordance with these interpretive conceptions. Rather than a one-time event, deliberation about the best conceptions of democracy, community and public-spiritedness is an on-going process; in other words, one conception, or set of conceptions, replaces another as the ideals and projects of the community change.
As part of that process, theorists of deliberative democracy continue to make critical and constructive contributions, arguing for and against models of public-spirited deliberation in a democratic community. Yet the final test of all these contributions is both a practical and a pragmatic one, particularly, how well they play out in the social experiments of deliberative communities and in the lived experience of actual democratic citizens. Therefore, in addition to successfully mediating the debate between Lippmann and American Progressives committed to the majoritarian creed, Dewey’s concept of public-spiritedness anticipates the contemporary notion of deliberative democracy.
 Robert Westbrook, for instance, thinks that Lippmann won the debate. See "Doing Dewey: An Autobiographical Fragment," Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, vol. 29, no. 4 (Fall 1993): 493-511, 505-6. Id, John Dewey and American Democracy (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1991), pp. 306-318. Michael Eldridge favours Dewey as the debate’s victor. See "Dewey’s Faith in Democracy as Shared Experience," Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, vol. 32, no. 1 (Winter 1996): 11-30, 16-17. Raymond Boisvert joins him. See Rethinking Our Time (New York: State University of New York, 1998), pp. 75-77.
 R. Westbrook, "Doing Dewey: An Autobiographical Fragment," p. 505.
 M. Eldridge, "Dewey’s Faith in Democracy as Shared Experience," Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, vol. 32, no. 1 (Winter 1996): 11-30, 16-17. R. Boisvert, Rethinking Our Time, pp. 75-77.
 They do not favour majoritarian decision procedures because majorities are morally right in virtue of their numerical might.
 However, claiming that the democrat’s scepticism is a prima facie reason in favour of discarding his faith in majoritarian methods would commit the fallacy of composition, that is, since the democrat doubts every citizen’s capacity for sound judgment, then he must doubt the collective capacity of the electorate to express informed political preferences. This is not necessarily the case. Therefore, the democrat’s doubt only risks undermining his faith.
 The halcyon days of American Progressivism took place from 1912 to the mid-20s. The Party had been graced with an inspired leadership—including Teddy Roosevelt and Robert LaFollette—but as enthusiasm for their causes dried up, so did their election victories. Moreover, Progressive political candidates pushed innovative domestic reforms—such as child-labour, minimum wage and eight-hour workday legislation—but, due to a turn of historical events, their platform met with an increasingly dour reception. Unfortunately, with the advent of the First World War, public interest had shifted from domestic to foreign affairs. John Chamberlain, Farewell to Reform: The Rise, Life and Decay of the Progressive Mind in America, 2nd ed. (Chicago: Quandrangle Books, 1965), pp. 32-35.
 Ibid., pp. 45-51. Peter Levine states that, "practically all self-described progressives shared at least one commitment. They believed that there was a "national interest" or "public good," superior to special interests and market outcomes. The New Progressive Era: Toward a Fair and Deliberative Democracy (New York and Oxford: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), p. 18.
 An obvious line of objection to my reconstruction of the debate is that Dewey, too, retained card-carrying status in the Party, shared many Progressive political views and could therefore be situated among the class of Lippmann’s opponents, as I have defined it. However, this objection overlooks the specificity of the class that I have identified. Although Dewey belonged to the Progressive Party and fought for several of its causes, he definitely did not count himself among the subset of Progressives—particularly, those committed to the majoritarian creed—that I have pinpointed as disputants in the debate. This point will become clearer in section two. See pp. 13-14.
 Whereas traditional democratic theory, inspired by Aristotle, assumes that citizens are "omnicompetent," and thus equipped by "natural endowment" for self-government, the actual practice of democracy, Lippmann argues, proves otherwise. The amount of accurate knowledge that any one person can accumulate about the modern world is, in point of fact, extremely limited. So, while majoritarian methods might prove effective at measuring citizens’ preferences, those preferences, left to develop on their own, reflect a coloured, and even unintelligible, record of the political landscape. Ibid., p. 379.
 In a revealing passage, he critically assesses the average voter’s time and capacity for informed judgement: "Of those who can both read and understand, a good three-quarters we may assume have some part of half an hour a day to spare for the subject. To them the words so acquired [by listening to the rhetoric of their leaders] are the cue for a whole train of ideas on which ultimately a vote of untold consequences may be based. Necessarily the ideas which we allow the words we read to evoke form the biggest part of the original data of our opinions." W. Lippmann, Public Opinion, p. 68.
 Ibid., p. 79.
 Overcoming these limiting environmental factors demands what Lippmann calls "intelligence work." To provide the factual knowledge necessary for leaders to make informed decisions, a working democracy requires an enormous bureaucracy of intelligence divisions, supporting the various agencies of government and staffed by social scientists. Ibid., p. 383.
 He is always the outsider and spectator because he "has neither time, nor attention, nor interest, nor the equipment for specific judgment." Id., Public Opinion, p. 400.
 While the expression "manufacture of consent" has since become popularized by Naom Chomsky, it was originally coined by Lippmann in his essay, "Journalism and the Higher Law," (1919) re-printed in Liberty and the News (New Brunswick and London: Transaction, 1995), p. 8. W. Lippmann, Public Opinion, pp. 132-3.
 Thus, in Public Opinion, Lippmann concludes, "it is on the men inside, working under conditions that are sound, that the daily administrations of society must rest." Ibid.
 Moreover, its claimed members lack a privileged epistemology—such as the scientific method or a common will—with which to liberate themselves from the chains of their pseudo-environment. Id., The Phantom Public, pp. 162-163. At regular intervals, citizens of a democracy intervene to select the Outs, or elites outside of political office, who should be the Ins, or elites in power, to reconfirm the Ins and, in rare cases, sound the alarm when elites break the rules and seek to advance their own interests. Ibid., pp. 126-129.
 Ibid., p. 59. Implied in Lippmann’s analysis is the claim that the less conflict and the more consensus among elites, the safer the public interest. In other words, the consolidation of elite power is a favourable outcome. Lippmann’s position is opposite of what contemporary political scientists call "social pluralism." According to this theory, conflict among elites is necessary to prevent the centralization of elite power that would otherwise lead to state corruption, abuses of official authority and harm to the public interest. For example, the pluralist might ask the question: with the arrival of a high degree of consensus among elites, what force, besides the opinion of the impotent masses (which can be easily manipulated by propaganda), ensures the accountability of the consolidated elite to the public interest? Karl Mannheim, for instance, thought that a ‘free-floating’ intellectual class was necessary to check the excesses of powerful elites. Ideology and Utopia, trans. by L. Wirth and E. Shils (New York: Harcourt, 1954), pp. 140-144. Lippmann, however, supplies no answer.
 Lippmann is often referred to as the forefather of "democratic elitism," namely, the theory that the masses are incompetent and either easily controlled or dangerous if left to their own devices, such that elites are necessary to safeguard the public interest. See Peter Bachrach, The Theory of Democratic Elitism: A Critique (Washington DC: University Press of America, 1980).
 Ronald Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century (Boston and Toronto: Little, Brown and Co., 1980), pp. 26-28.
 In their correspondence, Hand sympathized with Lippmann’s concern in Public Opinion that environmental and psychological demands placed on the public severely undermine the process of popular deliberation. Gerald Gunther, Learned Hand: The Man and the Judge (New York: Knopf, 1994), pp. 383-384.
 Ibid., p. 385.
 Hand states, " Words are not only the keys of persuasion, but the triggers of action, and those which have no purport but to counsel the violation of law cannot by any latitude of interpretation be a part of the public opinion which is the final source of government in a democratic state." Masses Publishing Co. v. Patten, 244 Fed. 535 (S.D.N.Y.1917). See Vincent Blasi, "Learned Hand and the Self-government Theory of the First Amendment: Masses Publishing Co. v. Patten," University of Colorado Law Review, vol. 61, no. 1 (1989): 1-37.
 Learned Hand, The Bill of Rights (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1958), p. 73.
 In a footnote, Dewey tells of his debt to Lippmann, stating that "To this [The Phantom Public] as well as his Public Opinion, I acknowledge my indebtedness, not only to this particular point, but for ideas involved in my entire discussion even when it reaches conclusions diverging from his." J. Dewey, PI P, pp. 116-117, ftn 1. It would clearly be mistaken to characterize Dewey’s reviews of Lippmann’s two books as the first engagement and Dewey’s The Public and Its Problems as the final battle in their debate over the role of citizens in a democracy. Upon reading the two reviews, one is immediately struck not only with the level of civility—which was typical of Dewey in evaluating other authors’ work—but with the high praise that the reviewer lavishes on both of Lippmann’s works. Calling Public Opinion "the most effective indictment of democracy as currently conceived ever penned" and The Phantom Public a "contribution [that] is constructive" fails to suggest a real controversy between Dewey and Lippmann. In The Public and Its Problems, it is likewise the case that Dewey does not immediately militate against Lippmann’s position, but agrees with many of his assessments.
 A. Ryan, John Dewey and the High Tide of American Liberalism (New York and London: W.W. Norton and Co., 1995), p. 217.
 William Caspary also understands Dewey, generally, as acting in the role of mediator in the inevitable conflicts that arise in political theory and practice. See Dewey on Democracy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000).
 J. Dewey, PIP, pp. 94-95, 157-158.
 Indeed, Dewey’s prognosis that the "public is in eclipse" stems from observations, not far from Lippmann’s, that officials "employ their panoply [of power] to advance private and class interests" and citizens eschew sound judgment and gravitate easily towards charismatic leaders. Ibid., pp. 61, 79, 81.
 Ibid., p. 169.
 Ibid., p. 108.
 Ibid, p. 32.
 Ibid., pp. 15-16, 33, 82. In their groundbreaking work on deliberative democracy, Amy Gutman and Dennis Thompson define majoritarianism as the "most straightforward form of popular rule [in which] . . . members of a sovereign society agree to be governed by the will of the majority or their accountable representatives. The decision of a majority at any particular time is provisional, since it may always be revised by subsequent majorities." Democracy and Disagreement (Cambridge and London: Belknap Press, 1996), p. 27.
 R. Boisvert, Rethinking Our Time, pp. 35-36.
 J. Dewey, PIP, p. 205.
 Ibid., p. 206.
 First, they inquire in response to some doubt or uncertainty, thereby uncovering what Dewey describes as a "problematic situation"; second, they develop hypotheses and experiment on the situation’s subject, not object, matter; and, third, they resolve the problem and effectively transform the situation. Id., Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (New York: Henry Holt, 1939), p. 55-65. Boisvert summarizes the characteristics of inquiry as follows:
"1. Doubt, uncertainty and puzzlement are not merely "subjective." It is situations themselves that are problematic, or questionable.
2. Inquiries involve a somatic intelligence in operation, that is to say, manipulation, some form of doing on the part of inquirers.
3. The procedures of inquiry are anti-reductionistic.
4. Responsibility is a human accompaniment of inquiry."
Rethinking Our Time, p. 39.
 Id., PIP, pp. 183-184, 217-218. Id., "Practical Democracy: The Phantom Public by Walter Lippmann," LW, vol. 2, p. 219-220.
 Although Dewey does not explicitly refer to "Progressives" or "Progressives embracing the majoritarian creed" in the passages I cite to support my position, the reference is implicit and would be understood by most mature Americans who had lived through the halcyon years of American Progressivism and witnessed its recent decline. According to Dewey, "counting of heads compels prior recourse to methods of discussion, consultation and persuasion . . . Majority rule, just as majority rule, is as foolish as its critics charge it with being. But it never is merely majority rule . . . [it is also] antecedent debates, modification of views to meet the opinions of minorities, the relative satisfaction given the latter by the fact that it has had a chance and that next time it may be successful in becoming a majority." Ibid., pp. 207-208.
As Dewey reminds them, "associated or joint activity is a condition of the creation of a community," and the members of that community "demand communication as a prerequisite." Ibid., pp. 151-152.
With communication impeded by censorship, bias and distorting propaganda, reformers "have no way of telling how apt for judgment of social policies the existing intelligence of the masses will be." Ibid., p. 209.
 Recognizing itself as a public is the "primary problem of the public" and success in doing so will end what Dewey calls the present "eclipse of the public." Ibid., p. 77, 217-218. Ronald Dworkin likewise recognizes the citizen’s "two main roles in a mature democracy" as "judges of political contests" and "participants in the political contests they judge." "Free Speech, Politics, and the Dimensions of Democracy" in Sovereign Virtue: The Theory and Practice of Equality (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), p. 358.
 Treating majoritarianism and elitism as pure and antithetical concepts has the undesirable effect of perpetuating, rather than resolving, their differences, like so many other dualisms rife in philosophy. On Dewey’s opposition to the traditional philosophical dualisms, see Experience and Nature (New York: Dover, 1958), pp. 56-58, 241-244, 393.
 Ibid., p. 207.
 Together they share in the common enterprise of intelligent inquiry, "consultation and discussion which uncover social needs and troubles." Otherwise, if the enterprise is entirely sequestered by bureaus of social scientists, the "specialized class" of experts that results will become insulated from the public interest and thus "shut off from knowledge of the needs which they are supposed to serve." Ibid., p. 206.
 As Dewey clearly affirms, the average citizen does not require the "knowledge and skill to carry on the needed investigation." Ibid., 209. Instead, he must, at the very least, possess "the ability to judge of the bearing of the knowledge supplied by others upon common concerns." Ibid.
 Peter Levine uses the example of Governor Francis E. McGovern’s election victory in Wisconsin, which led to an administration that pushed widespread social reform and, as Teddy Roosevelt described it, "wise experimental legislation aiming to secure the social and political betterment of the people as a whole." However, in the end, the executive bureaucracy became so complex and unwieldy that it became the impetus for trenchant criticism by the conservative Republican candidate, and eventual victor, Emanuel Phillipp, running against McGovern in the 1914 gubernatorial election. The New Progressive Era, p. 25.
 For a critique of the ability of Dewey’s notion of inquiry-driven democracy or "epistemic democracy" to bridge to the actual conditions of democracy, including the limitations of human nature and the complexity of institutions, or "political democracy," see Richard Posner’s Law, Pragmatism and Democracy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003).
 W. Lippmann, The Phantom Public, p. 160. J. Dewey, PI P, p. 71. What public-spiritedness is not is a transcendent, a’priori or religious concept. Although the term "spirit" carries its own sectarian baggage, Dewey made every effort to divest it of that burden. J. Dewey, Experience and Nature, p. 415. Dewey naturalizes it when he states that, "Spirit quickens; it is not only alive but spirit gives life. Animals are spirited, but man is a living spirit." Ibid., p. 294. In the same passage, Dewey expressed some doubt that "spirit" can be entirely saved from its religious or supernatural baggage.
 By joining "spirit" with "public," the new symbol, "public spirit," signifies a whole new set of meanings. Since "man is living spirit," these meanings are naturalized, that is, their sense is disclosed through lived experience. Ibid. Therefore, the concept of public-spiritedness is not understood, nor does it exist, prior to experience. A posteriori, it attaches to a whole range of human experiences, from engaging in "face-to-face intercourse" with one’s fellow citizens to criticizing existing institutions, from learning the rights and duties of citizenship to fully participating in communal life. Id., PI P, pp. 211, 213. For Dewey, democracy is not a discrete set of institutions, but is instead a kind of communally lived experience, what Dewey later in his career calls "democracy as a way of life." Id. "Creative Democracy—The Task Before Us." In J.A. Boydston and K.E. Paulos (eds.) LW, vol. 14, pp. 224-230. Originally appeared in John Dewey and the Promise of America, Progressive Education Booklet, no. 14 (Columbus, OH: American Education Press, 1939): 12-17.
 "Reconstruction is a periodic need of life. It represents, in history, the conflict between ideas and the institutions that embody those ideas." J. Dewey, The Study of Ethics: Early Essays In J.A. Boydston and K.E. Paulos (eds.) Early Works of John Dewey, vol. 4 (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois Press, 1963), p. 97.
 J. Dewey, The Public and Its Problems, p. 28. "In the question of methods concerned with reconstruction of special situation rather than in any refinements in the general concepts of institutions . . . lies the true impact of philosophical reconstruction." Reconstruction in Philosophy In MW, vol. 12, p. 190.
 PIP, p. 214.
 Dewey eloquently declared that, "Democracy will come into its own, for democracy is a name for a life of free and enriching communion. It had its seer in Walt Whitman. It will have its consummation when free social inquiry is indissolubly wedded to the art of full and moving communication." Ibid., p. 184. Dewey was also aware of the limitations immanent in such an ideal, stating that "there is no magic in democracy to confer immediately the power of critical discrimination upon the masses . . ." LW, vol. 5, p. 54.
 See P. Levine, The New Progressive Era: Toward a Fair and Deliberative Democracy. Amy Gutmann and Dennis Thompson, Democracy and Disagreement. Judith M. Green, Deep Democracy: Community, Diversity and Transformation (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1999). Jurgen Habermas, Between Facts and Norms, W. Rehg, trans. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996).