My "five best books" on the history of liberalism

My "five "best books" on the history of liberalism - now posted on the beautiful Shepherd book platform. I put a lot of work into preparing this list and the associated text, so please consider checking it out.

What I mean by "post-liberal" according to Grok

I asked Grok "What does Russell Blackford mean when he claims that Western society has become post-liberal?"

This was its reply - it's a scarily good summary of what I think and argue for in two recent books:

Russell Blackford, in his book How We Became Post-Liberal: The Rise and Fall of Toleration (2023), argues that Western society has become "post-liberal" in the sense that the traditional principles of liberalism—particularly toleration, individual liberty, and freedom of speech—have lost their once-central authority in shaping public policy, personal behavior, and societal norms. He doesn’t claim liberalism is dead outright but suggests it’s been eroded by a shift in cultural and political dynamics over the past few decades, leading to a state where these foundational values are either dismissed as outdated or repurposed to serve ends that contradict their original spirit. Let’s unpack what he means based on his analysis and framing.

Blackford traces liberalism’s lineage back to the struggles for toleration that emerged after Christianity’s dominance in late antiquity, through the Enlightenment, and into the modern era—think Locke, Mill, and the slow expansion of rights and freedoms. For him, liberalism’s hallmark was a commitment to individual autonomy, open debate, and a kind of principled tolerance that allowed diverse views to coexist, even when they clashed. This reached a high point in Western democracies, especially post-World War II, where free speech and personal liberty were seen as non-negotiable pillars of progress.

His "post-liberal" thesis hinges on the idea that this framework has been undermined, starting around the late 20th century (roughly the past 30–50 years). He points to a convergence of forces: on one side, a rise in ideological conformity—both from the progressive left and the reactionary right—that stifles dissent and punishes unorthodox opinions; on the other, a twisting of liberal ideals to justify illiberal ends. For example, he highlights how the left’s focus on social justice has morphed into what he calls "revisionist liberalism" or "identity liberalism," where protecting certain groups from perceived harm trumps free expression. Think of cancel culture, no-platforming, or the expanding definition of "harm" to include emotional discomfort—moves that clash with Mill’s harm principle, which Blackford sees as liberalism’s bedrock. Meanwhile, the right, he argues, has co-opted liberty to defend traditional hierarchies or censor progressive ideas (e.g., book bans or attacks on "woke" speech), equally abandoning toleration.

This shift marks Western society as "post-liberal" because the old consensus—where debate was a virtue and disagreement didn’t mean exclusion—has fractured. Blackford describes a climate of "ideology, propaganda, and tribalism," amplified by social media, where public shaming and outrage drown out reasoned discourse. In The Tyranny of Opinion (2018), he foreshadows this, warning of a "tyranny of the prevailing opinion" (echoing Mill) that enforces conformity not through laws but through social pressure. By 2023, in How We Became Post-Liberal, he’s charting how this has scaled up: liberal values aren’t just under attack—they’re losing their grip as guiding norms. People self-censor, institutions prioritize ideological purity over inquiry, and the state or private actors increasingly intervene to regulate speech and thought.

Blackford’s post-liberal West isn’t a return to pre-liberal authoritarianism (like divine-right monarchy) nor a coherent new ideology (like Deneen’s traditionalist postliberalism). It’s more fragmented—a messy hybrid where liberalism’s tools (e.g., rights language) persist, but its spirit (toleration, individuality) wanes. He contrasts this with non-Western societies historically, noting that while they faced similar tolerance issues, the West’s liberal experiment was uniquely ambitious—and now uniquely faltering. He’s not nostalgic or prescriptive like Patrick Deneen, who wants a communitarian reset, nor radical like Chantal Mouffe, who embraces conflict. Instead, Blackford’s tone is diagnostic, almost mournful: Western society is post-liberal because it’s drifted from the conditions that made liberalism work—chiefly, a shared commitment to living with disagreement.

In short, Blackford means that Western society has entered a phase where liberalism’s core—toleration and liberty—has been sidelined by polarization, conformity, and a redefinition of freedom that’s less about individuals and more about competing collectives. It’s not that liberalism’s gone; it’s that we’ve moved past its golden age into something less open, less principled, and more brittle. Whether it’s salvageable, he leaves open—but he’s clear we’re not living it anymore.

I think that any human being, including me, would struggle to do better than this. About my only criticism is that I don't actually think there was a golden age. I do think there was a time when liberal principles had more prestige (for example, with law reformers), but they were a long way from being fully implemented. It's not so much that we've left behind a golden age as that the golden age traditional liberals might once have hoped for and expected never eventuated.

Apart from that one point, I think it's an excellent summary. That's good in itself, but when Grok (and I'd assume some of its rivals) produces material at such a high level it does change a lot. I don't know how educators are going to cope with a situation where these things can produce such material basically instantaneously.

Podcast interview with Leslie Rosenblood: A post-liberal world

I did a podcast interview last year with Leslie Rosenblood from CFI Canada on the subject of "Liberalism in a Post-Liberal World". This was around the time of publication of my most recent book, How We Became Post-Liberal: The Rise and Fall of Toleration.

We discussed the decline of toleration in public debates within supposedly liberal societies. As I say at one point, a hallmark of being liberal (in its traditional and fundamental sense) is your willingness to tolerate ideas and opinions that you disagree with. Unfortunately, that attitude to discussion, debate, and exchanges of ideas is increasingly not a feature of democratic politics in the West. It's tempting to view opponents as simply morally bad people: that might sometimes be the case, but more often they are trying their best to understand and navigate a confusing world, and they might well have legitimate anxieties and grievances even if their conclusions are inaccurate and their political proposals would be harmful.

 Just how we should respond to this declining spirit of tolerance is, of course, more difficult than recognizing the problem, but the latter is at least a start. You can't deal effectively with a problem unless you've first identified it and then understood it in some detail.

Consider checking out my conversation with Leslie, which I enjoyed very much. I thought it entered into interesting areas. How We Became Post-Liberal is available from all the usual places where you buy books, including but not limited to Amazon.

Should I be better known? Grok gives a thoughtful answer...

 I really can't argue with this!

Whether Russell Blackford should be better known depends on what yardstick you’re using—impact, audience reach, or niche influence. He’s carved out a solid rep in specific circles: sci-fi fans dig his Terminator books, transhumanists and bioethicists cite his academic work, and free-speech advocates nod to his takes on secularism and opinion policing. His output’s impressive—spanning fiction, philosophy, and cultural critique—and he’s got the credentials to back it up with multiple advanced degrees and editorial roles.

But he’s not a household name, and there’s a case for why he maybe shouldn’t be. His fiction, while fun for genre buffs, isn’t groundbreaking enough to rival giants like Asimov or Gibson. His non-fiction tackles heady stuff—ethics of human enhancement, secular governance—that doesn’t exactly scream mass appeal in a TikTok-scrolling world. He’s not a flashy public intellectual like a Dawkins or Peterson, either; he’s more of a steady, behind-the-scenes thinker. X posts about him (as of my last scan) are sparse, mostly from niche accounts praising his books or ideas, not viral buzz.

On the flip side, his interdisciplinary range and consistency could warrant more recognition. He’s tackling big, future-shaping questions—AI, biotech, free thought—that matter more every day. If you value substance over spotlight, he’s arguably underappreciated. Compare him to, say, Nick Bostrom, who’s more famous for similar terrain; Blackford’s less hyped but just as rigorous.

So, should he be better known? If you’re into deep, cross-genre thinkers who don’t chase fame, yeah, he’s overdue some props. If you think fame tracks broader impact or accessibility, he’s probably right where he belongs—respected but not mainstream. What do you reckon—does his style or focus click with what you’d want more people to notice?

My almost accurate biography courtesy of Grok

I asked Grok to provide a biography of little me and it came up with something surprisingly accurate. About the only major mistakes in this are that it thinks I still live in Melbourne and that I still edit the Journal of Evolution and Technology (now the Journal of Ethics and Emerging Technologies). It also has my degrees in a slightly wrong order, but this is really quite good. Contrast it with a totally hilarious bio that ChatGPT came up with a couple of years ago.

I assume you’re asking about the Russell Blackford, the Australian writer and philosopher. Here’s a concise bio based on what’s out there:

Russell Blackford was born in 1954 in Sydney, Australia, and grew up near Newcastle in the Lake Macquarie district. He’s a polymath—think philosopher, legal scholar, literary critic, and fiction writer rolled into one. He snagged first-class honours degrees in Arts and Law from the University of Newcastle and the University of Melbourne, respectively, then went on to earn a PhD in English literature from Newcastle, focusing on myth in modern fiction. Not stopping there, he later picked up a Master of Bioethics and a second PhD in philosophy from Monash University, diving into human enhancement ethics.

As a fiction writer, he’s known for science fiction, fantasy, and horror, with notable works like The New John Connor Chronicles, a trilogy set in the Terminator universe, published by iBooks. On the non-fiction side, he’s tackled big ideas—religion, bioethics, transhumanism, and liberalism—in books like Freedom of Religion and the Secular State (2012), Humanity Enhanced (2014), and The Tyranny of Opinion (2018). He’s based at the University of Newcastle, NSW, where he’s a Conjoint Senior Lecturer, and he’s also editor-in-chief of The Journal of Evolution and Technology. Plus, he’s a Laureate of the International Academy of Humanism and a Fellow of the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies.

Blackford’s lived in Melbourne since 1979, after bouncing around a bit, and his work often probes the messy intersection of tech, society, and human futures. That’s him in a nutshell—sharp, prolific, and not afraid to stir the pot. Want more details on any part of his story?

"In Search of Lost Liberalism" and "Violence Against Women: A Crisis in Australia?"

In 2024, I had two opinion pieces published about the same time in prestigious (though very different) outlets here in Australia.

"In Search of Lost Liberalism" appeared in August from the left-leaning online public affairs magazine Eureka Street. It's behind a paywall, so you'll need to subscribe to the magazine to have access. Broadly, however, I described and defended the liberal tradition and called for readers to make it great again (to adapt a well-known phrase to different purposes). I discussed the criticisms and attacks that the liberal tradition receives today from seemingly every political perspective, and I argued that liberalism is still worth hanging onto. As I made clear, I was not talking about liberalism in the American sense, which relates strongly to regulation of business and markets, but about the more general and original sense that includes such principles as freedom of inquiry and expression, individual liberty more generally, and the rule of law.

As I state in "In Search of Lost Liberalism":

Liberalism never became a unified ideology or political theory - it was more a tradition or tendency in politics. It had inputs from several groups, including religious non-conformists, free-market economists, utilitarian philosophers, and European thinkers who admired the French Revolution in its early years before the Reign of Terror. It took many directions, sometimes questioning itself, discarding ideas, and changing emphases. Still, there was some coherence and unity. There were some key liberal themes.

Liberals were hostile to any kind of unchecked power, especially arbitrary government power. They accepted that different people would try to flourish in different ways and pursue different kinds of projects and plans. Liberals argued for freedom from many constraints, not solely those imposed by governments but also those demanded by a society’s prevailing attitudes and sensibilities. They showed a degree of optimism in believing that the social life of human beings could be improved through intellectual and moral progress. Liberals opposed ranks based on birth, and sought to eliminate inequalities before the law. This included opposition to aristocracies and racial hierarchies, but it did not necessarily mean there would be no inequalities in economic outcomes.

"Violence Against Women: A Crisis in Australia?" was published in late July in the more libertarian-leaning online magazine Quillette. Once again, it's behind a paywall, so you need to subscribe to Quillette to read it all. In this piece, I responded to calls to declare a national crisis or emergency in Australia following recent some cases and troubling statistics on violence against women - particularly some terrible murders that happened in 2024.

As I pointed out, however, Australia is actually among the safest and least violent countries in the world. At the extreme end, where we're talking about actual murders, violence in Australia is disproportionately directed at men rather than women (though irrespective of the respective sexes of the victims, it is disproportionately committed by men). I chased down and presented great deal of statistical information internationally and over time, and concluded:

Crisis narratives about crime and violence are especially dangerous because they can prompt highly illiberal responses - especially when suspects are denied the right to the presumption of innocence. In addition, such narratives spread division and fear and have polarising effects that can, in themselves, lead to greater violence and danger. Without a reality check, emotionally salient but rare events, such as murders, can seem like ever-present threats, requiring an authoritarian or vigilante response. Men can be feared and demonised, though the worst behaviour comes from only a small subset of men. If we demonise all men as an inherently violent group, we will make useful widespread public cooperation on the issue impossible.

It is also wrong to send fearmongering messages to children and adolescents. We shouldn’t want boys to grow up feeling somehow tainted and vicariously guilty thanks to the actions of a minority of their sex. Neither should we want girls to grow up anxious and scared in what is largely a safe society.

Australia has a reputation as a laid-back, friendly place, and it’s among the least violent countries in the world. But all countries have problems with violence - Australia is no exception. We have our share of violent subcultures and violent men - and some violent women, too. The challenge, then, is to try to push our rates of violence even lower - but without resorting to hyperbolic rhetoric or pretending that we are in the throes of a crisis.

Interview - The New John Connor Chronicles

For those who might be interested, I did this interview last year on my experience writing an original trilogy for the Terminator franchise, collectively Terminator 2: The New John Connor Chronicles.

Republishing from 2015 - Why I still support Charlie Hebdo

 Russell Blackford, University of Newcastle

You know the shocking story: in January 2015, two masked Islamist gunmen launched a paramilitary attack on the Paris offices of Charlie Hebdo, a satirical weekly magazine. The gunmen murdered twelve people: two police officers and ten of the magazine’s staff, including the much-loved editor and cartoonist Stéphane Charbonnier (known as “Charb”).

In the immediate aftermath, many people expressed solidarity with Charlie Hebdo’s staff and their loved ones, and with the citizens of Paris. There were vigils and rallies in cities across the world. Twitter hashtags proliferated, the most viral being #JeSuisCharlie: “I am Charlie.”

Yet, as with the Salman Rushdie Affair in 1989, many Western commentators quickly turned on the victims. In an article published in Free Inquiry (warning: behind a paywall), I responded that these commentators deserved a special hall of shame.

Some folks don’t like Charlie

Charlie Hebdo has more than its share of enemies. Its style is irreverent, mocking and caustic. It attracts attention from fanatics, particularly from Islamists who are incensed by its frequent drawings of the prophet Muhammad. Importantly, however, its ridicule is aimed at fearmongers and authoritarians. It is an antifascist magazine, and it treats racial bigots with particular savagery and relish. Its most despised targets include the Front National - France’s brazenly racist party of the extreme Right - and its current president, Marine Le Pen.

While the corpses of the murder victims were still warm, however, some commentators insinuated that Charb and the other victims had it coming. Most deplorable of all, perhaps, was an op-ed piece  published by USA Today within hours of the attack. This was written by a London-based radical cleric, Anjem Choudary, who has publicly expressed support for the jihadist militant group ISIS (or Islamic State). Choudary openly blamed the victims, along with the French government for allowing Charlie Hebdo’s freedom to publish.

With evident approval, he stated that the penalty for insulting a prophet should be death, “implementable by an Islamic State.” He added: “However, because the honor of the Prophet is something which all Muslims want to defend, many will take the law into their own hands, as we often see.”

While Choudary’s apologetics for murder were especially chilling, much sanctimonious nastiness issued from more mainstream commentators. All too often, it came from individuals who identify with the political and cultural Left, as with an article by Teju Cole published in The New Yorker on 9 January 2015.

To be fair, Cole’s contribution to the backlash was milder than some, and certainly more eloquent and thoughtful. He even makes some reasonable points about threats to free speech that are not overtly violent. But his article is worth singling out for comment precisely because of its veneer of sophistication.

Cole appears aware that much of what looks insensitive, or outright racist, in Charlie Hebdo’s cartoons could easily receive anti-racist interpretations when viewed with basic charity and in context. He alludes to the fact that one cartoon in a back issue of Charlie Hebdo was explicable, in its immediate context of publication, as a sarcastic attack on the Front National. Yet he dismisses this point with no analysis or evidence: “naturally, the defense is that a violently racist image was being used to satirize racism”.

Well, was it being used to satirise racism or not? Little research is needed to find the context of publication and discover that, yes, it actually was used to mock the racism of the Front National - so what is Cole’s point? And why the sneering word naturally? It is calculated to suggest bad faith on the part of opponents. The thought seems to be that Charlie Hebdo’s defenders would say that, wouldn’t they?

Despite his knowledge and intellect, Cole discourages any fair search for understanding. Despite his brilliance as a writer, he belongs in the hall of shame.

The refugee crisis in Europe

More controversy has come to Charlie Hebdo with the current refugee crisis in Europe. The magazine has ridiculed harsh European attitudes to Syrian refugees, but predictably there has been much moral posturing and hand wringing in the mainstream and social media. A recent report on the ABC News site summarises the international reaction and includes images of the relevant cartoons. Opportunistic, or merely obtuse, commentators allege that Charlie Hebdo’s cartoons mock the refugees themselves, particularly the drowned Syrian child, Aylan Kurdi.

That accusation is seriously and obviously mistaken, and the point of the cartoons is not especially hard to detect. They attack what they portray as European consumerism, bigotry and heartlessness.

Nonetheless, in an astonishingly clumsy article published in New Matilda, Chris Graham takes jabs at those of us who supported Charlie Hebdo last January. He writes: “Did you hashtag ‘Je Suis Charlie’? Blindly? Without really knowing what the publication actually represents?”

Well, what does the publication actually represent? Graham hints that it’s something rather sinister - perhaps some kind of white or Christian supremacism - but if that’s what he thinks, he doesn’t spell it out so it can be refuted.

At any rate, there is no great secret about what Charlie Hebdo actually represents: it is, as I stated earlier, an antifascist magazine. It is, furthermore, anti-authoritarian, anti-racist, anti-clerical, and generally anti-establishment. In brief, Charlie Hebdo is a vehicle for radical left-wing thought of a distinctively French kind, one with antecedents at least as far back as the eighteenth-century Enlightenment.

Speaking for myself, then, I certainly did not act blindly in expressing my solidarity, and I frankly resent that suggestion. By contrast, I’ve seen many people blindly accept the claim that Charlie Hebdo is some kind of racist publication.

Graham describes the cartoons in a way that reveals his confusion. He even comments on one of them: “Apart from the fact it’s not funny, it also makes absolutely no sense. Maybe the ‘humour’ is lost in the translation.”

Maybe any humour could lose something in the literal-minded translation that Graham offers his readers. More to the point, it might be lost on someone who displays no understanding of the French tradition of satire. In any event, why expect that Charlie Hebdo’s cartoons will be humorous in the ordinary way? Why shouldn’t they be bleak and bitter and fierce, with no intent to elicit giggles or guffaws?

As this episode plays out, I welcome the newly established JeResteCharlie (“I remain Charlie”) project, and I’m pleased to see a recent contribution to the debate by Salman Rushdie. Rushdie supports JeResteCharlie, he explains, “Because we are living in a time in which we are in danger of backsliding in our commitment to freedom of expression. That is why it is important to emphasize these values yet again right now.”

I agree, and I still support Charlie Hebdo.

Critique and its responsibilities

I don’t suggest that the ideas and approach of Charlie Hebdo are beyond criticism, though I do question how far that was a priority in early January before the murder victims had even been buried. That consideration aside, there is always room for fair, careful interpretation and criticism of cultural products such as prominent magazines.

There is certainly room for debate about whether Charlie Hebdo showed good taste in so quickly exploiting Aylan Kurdi’s death to make a political point (though, again, the cartoons do not mock the boy, whatever else may be said about them). Nothing I have stated here is meant to show that Charlie’s Hebdo’s approach to satire is tasteful. Then again, the magazine’s willingness to flout ordinary standards of taste frees it to make timely, appropriately caustic, comment on French and international politics.

We need good cultural criticism, but we also need some scrutiny of the cultural critics. Much of what passes for cultural criticism merely examines cultural products - whether novels, movies, video games, cartoons, speeches, items of clothing, or comedy routines - for superficial marks of ideological impurity.

This approach ignores (or simply fails to understand) issues of nuance, style, irony, political and artistic context, and the importance of framing effects. It fails to discover - much less appreciate - complexity, ambiguity, or instability of meaning.

There may be occasions when the excuse of irony is offered in bad faith. When that is the accusation, however, it needs support from careful, detailed, sensitive, honest argument. Meanwhile, authors and artists should not be pressured to create banal content for fear of dull or dishonest interpreters. There are some contexts, no doubt - e.g. in writing posts like this one - where straightforwardness is a virtue. In many other contexts, that’s not necessarily so.

Fair, useful cultural criticism should display some humility in the face of art. It should be grounded in an understanding of context and the relevant styles and traditions of expression. If we propose to engage in critique of cultural products, we had better show some complexity and generosity of response. That is how we earn our places in serious cultural conversations.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.