The Common Good

The Common Good Plot Summary

Introduction

The concept of the common good has been at the heart of American society since its founding, yet in recent decades this fundamental ideal has eroded significantly. We have witnessed a profound shift from a society that once valued collective responsibility to one increasingly dominated by self-interest and the relentless pursuit of personal gain. This transformation has led to a fractured social landscape where political polarization, economic inequality, and institutional distrust have become defining features of our national experience. Through meticulous historical analysis and contemporary case studies, we journey from the philosophical foundations of the common good to its practical applications in modern society. The examination reveals how three critical breakdowns—in politics, business, and economic policy—have undermined civic virtue and hollowed out our shared commitments to one another. Rather than simply diagnosing problems, the analysis offers a constructive path forward, exploring how leadership as trusteeship, the revival of honor and shame, recommitment to truth, and civic education can rebuild our moral infrastructure. This recovery of civic virtue is not merely an academic exercise but an urgent practical necessity if we wish to preserve democratic governance and restore social cohesion in an increasingly divided nation.

Chapter 1: The Erosion of Public Trust: How America Lost Its Moral Foundation

Since the mid-1960s, America has experienced a dramatic decline in public trust across all major institutions. This erosion represents more than just cynicism—it signals a fundamental breakdown in the moral infrastructure that once bound citizens together in common purpose. The timeline of this decline can be traced through a series of scandals and events that incrementally damaged public confidence: from the Gulf of Tonkin incident and Watergate in the 1960s and 1970s to the Wall Street financial crisis of 2008 and beyond. Each breach of trust contributed to a growing sense that the system no longer works for ordinary people. The story of Martin Shkreli exemplifies this moral collapse. As the pharmaceutical executive who raised the price of a life-saving drug by 5,000 percent overnight, Shkreli represents the triumph of naked self-interest over collective responsibility. His unapologetic defense—"This is a capitalist society, a capitalist system and capitalist rules"—reveals how far we have strayed from earlier understandings of business ethics. Equally troubling was John Stumpf, the seemingly charming CEO of Wells Fargo, who presided over massive consumer fraud while presenting himself as community-minded. These are not merely bad actors but symptoms of a deeper cultural shift. The cumulative effect of these high-profile breaches has been what sociologist Daniel Patrick Moynihan called "defining deviancy down"—conduct previously considered wrong has gradually become normalized. The pool of social trust, built up over generations, has been systematically exploited by those seeking personal gain at collective expense. This exploitation creates a first-mover advantage: the first people to break unwritten rules operate with tremendous advantage, much like the first thief in a community where no one locks their doors. When trust erodes, society incurs enormous costs. Laws must become more detailed and complex to prevent exploitation, red tape multiplies, and transactions require more oversight. People become less willing to contribute to collective enterprises. The system shifts from mutual obligations to private deals, with citizens asking less about their duties and more about what's in it for them. Most significantly, this erosion creates the conditions for demagogues who capitalize on public distrust by directing anger toward scapegoats rather than addressing the root causes of social breakdown. The decline in trust is reflected in stark statistics: in 1964, over 60 percent of Americans trusted government to do the right thing most of the time; today, only 16 percent do. Similar declines can be seen in confidence toward corporations, universities, religious institutions, and the media. This collapse in trust represents more than institutional failure—it signals the disintegration of the common good as a central organizing principle in American life.

Chapter 2: The Meaning of Common Good: Beyond Individual Self-Interest

The common good consists of shared values about what we owe one another as citizens bound together in society—norms we voluntarily abide by and ideals we collectively seek. It represents a moral attitude recognizing our fundamental interconnectedness. If there is no common good, there is no society. This understanding directly contradicts the philosophy of thinkers like Ayn Rand, who argued that the common good is an "undefined and undefinable concept" easily hijacked by dictators to justify tyranny and suppress individual freedom. Rand's views, formulated in the shadow of European fascism and Soviet communism, once seemed quaint or far-fetched to Americans who had lived through the Great Depression and World War II—experiences that demonstrated our interdependence. After the war, Americans used their prosperity to finance public goods including schools, highways, and healthcare for the aged and poor. However, beginning in the late 1970s, Rand's philosophy gained significant influence in American politics and business, becoming the intellectual foundation for modern conservatism, especially its libertarian strand. The problem with Rand's rejection of the common good becomes evident when we consider what society would look like if everyone behaved like Martin Shkreli, calculating personal advantage against the odds of getting caught. Without voluntary adherence to shared norms, we would need to devote enormous resources to protecting ourselves from exploitation. Even the "free market" that Rand glorified depends on shared understandings about what can be owned and traded, and how—it requires a foundation of common good to function at all. Truth itself constitutes a common good. Without shared truth, democratic deliberation becomes impossible. Yet in a world populated by self-interested actors, we could not trust anyone to be truthful when lying might be more advantageous. Internet ratings would be meaningless, transparency impossible, and professional ethics hollow. We would find ourselves in what Augustine called "a permanent state of bewilderment," unable to believe anything we hear. Most fundamentally, the common good depends on people trusting that most others will also adhere to it, rather than taking advantage of them. This civic trust is self-enforcing and self-perpetuating. History shows that societies with stronger commitment to the common good are more willing to accept disruptions from new ideas, technologies, and immigration because citizens trust that these changes won't unfairly burden them. Conversely, when trust erodes, virtuous circles can reverse into vicious cycles, making societies vulnerable to demagogues who exploit anger and fear. The common good has nothing to do with "we're better than anyone else" nationalism. Rather, it fosters compassion for others beyond national borders. As Edmund Burke noted, attachment to one's immediate community is "the first link in the series by which we proceed toward a love to our country and to mankind." True patriotism based on the common good doesn't fuel divisions but confirms what we have in common.

Chapter 3: Historical Foundations: The Civic Ideals That Unified America

America's founding fathers, while far from perfect in their understanding of who deserved equal citizenship, embraced principles that would eventually lead to a more inclusive society. They understood that preserving freedom required citizens fiercely committed to it. When they spoke of "virtue," they meant concern for the common good, not personal kindness. As James Madison wrote, "If there be not [virtue] among us, no form of government can render us secure." The founders didn't try to create the most efficient system or one that would generate the most wealth—they wanted a system that would produce the most virtuous people. When Alexis de Tocqueville visited the United States in the 1830s, he attributed the strength of America's young democracy to what he called "habits of the heart"—the moral and intellectual dispositions that emerged from Americans' experience in self-government. Through governing themselves, Americans learned to put public responsibility over selfish interest. "Citizens who are bound to take part in public affairs," Tocqueville wrote, "must turn from their private interests and occasionally take a look at something other than themselves." This public-spiritedness was replicated across America in barn-raisings and quilting bees. It can still be observed in neighbors who volunteer as firefighters or help one another during natural disasters. It is found in America's tradition of civic improvement, philanthropy, and local boosterism. The last scene in Frank Capra's film It's a Wonderful Life conveys this lesson: George Bailey learns he can count on his neighbors, just as they had always counted on him. They are bound together in the common good. Some of our ideas about what we owe each other are rooted in religious traditions. In the earliest days of Christianity, church father John Chrysostom wrote that "the seeking of the common good" was "the rule of most perfect Christianity." America began as a nation of religious communities whose members pledged to piety and charity and to the good of each other. John Winthrop, first governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, delivered a sermon before the Puritans landed in 1630 that described their endeavor in terms of the Sermon on the Mount: "We must delight in each other, make others' conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together." Other ideas about mutual obligation originated in legal compacts dating back to ancient civilizations. Although many inhabitants of these societies lacked citizenship rights, those who gained citizenship pledged to treat other citizens as equals under law. As citizenship expanded—from the Magna Carta (1215) to the U.S. Constitution (1787)—so did these ideas about equal political rights and mutual obligation. None of these expansions came easily; many required harsh struggle and troubling compromise. Our social compact extends beyond those alive today to past and future generations. The founders saw the Constitution as establishing a moral bond connecting generations. Abraham Lincoln referred to this as America's "mystic chords of memory." This covenant—not race, religion, or ethnicity—gave America its ideals and identity. As political philosopher Benjamin Barber noted, "The American trick was to use the fierce attachments of patriotic sentiment to bond a people to high ideals." These generational attachments form the tacit subtext of our daily conversations about American life, permeating both conservatism and liberalism.

Chapter 4: Three Critical Breakdowns: Politics, Business, and Economic Policy

Three chain reactions have systematically undermined the common good over the past five decades, each involving initial exploitations of trust that were then replicated by others who felt they had no choice but to follow suit. Eventually, these practices became so commonplace they were incorporated into the system itself, making it acceptable to gain wealth or power at the expense of collective integrity. The first breakdown occurred in politics, beginning with Nixon's Watergate scandal—a shocking breach of presidential norms that revealed Nixon's complete disregard for the common good in favor of personal power. The details remain disturbing: Nixon authorized break-ins against political opponents, ordered the IRS to investigate Democratic candidates, and attempted to obstruct justice. Although his actions led to his resignation and numerous reforms, public trust in politics was deeply shaken. This erosion continued with the bitter confirmation battle over Robert Bork's Supreme Court nomination in 1987, which introduced "whatever-it-takes" tactics into judicial appointments. When Newt Gingrich took control of the House in 1995, partisan warfare escalated further, transforming Washington from a place where legislators sought common ground into a combat zone where compromise was replaced by obstruction and threats to shut down government. This partisan escalation continued through the Obama administration and reached new extremes under Trump, who used white resentment to solidify his base while undermining democratic institutions and norms. The second breakdown transformed American business, beginning in the 1980s when "corporate raiders" mounted hostile takeovers financed by junk bonds. Before this era, corporations were understood to have responsibilities to all "stakeholders"—not just shareholders but also workers, communities, and the nation. Corporate executives like Frank Abrams of Standard Oil considered their job to be maintaining "an equitable working balance" among all affected groups. However, raiders like Michael Milken and Carl Icahn targeted companies that could deliver higher returns to shareholders by abandoning other stakeholders—fighting unions, cutting pay, automating jobs, and relocating operations. This pressure transformed CEOs from "corporate statesmen" concerned with the common good into "corporate butchers" focused exclusively on maximizing shareholder returns. Between 1981 and 2001, Jack Welch at GE slashed the American workforce while dramatically increasing shareholder value, setting a pattern others followed. CEO pay soared from 20 times that of the typical worker in the 1960s to almost 300 times by 2017. This shareholder-first mentality spread to sectors previously based on the common good, such as healthcare and finance, with devastating consequences. The third breakdown came when money flooded into politics to change economic rules in favor of corporations and the wealthy. Following a 1971 memo by future Supreme Court Justice Lewis Powell, businesses mobilized for political combat. Corporate lobbying offices in Washington ballooned from 100 in 1968 to over 500 a decade later. Political action committee spending increased fivefold. By 2016, corporations and Wall Street contributed $34 for every $1 donated by labor unions and public interest organizations combined. Both political parties transformed into fundraising machines dependent on corporate money. The result was a vast economic redistribution upward: intellectual property protections were expanded, antitrust enforcement relaxed, contract laws altered to favor corporations, securities regulations loosened, and taxes reduced on the wealthy. The market itself was restructured to benefit those already advantaged. This vicious cycle accelerated as greater wealth translated into greater political influence, which further rigged the economic system.

Chapter 5: Leadership as Trusteeship: Restoring Responsibility in Public Life

Reversing the erosion of the common good requires a fundamental redefinition of leadership. Rather than seeing success merely as the accumulation of power or wealth, leaders must understand their role as trustees of the institutions they oversee and the unwritten rules that constitute the common good. Leadership as trusteeship means recognizing that political victories that undermine trust in politics are actually losses, corporate profits achieved by eroding public trust are failures, and laws favoring donors at the expense of democracy represent an abdication of responsibility. This conception of leadership was exemplified by Senator John McCain when he returned to Washington from cancer treatment in 2017 to cast the deciding vote against repealing the Affordable Care Act. More significant than his vote was his speech admonishing colleagues for their partisan tribalism: "Our deliberations today are more partisan, more tribal, more of the time than any other time I remember." McCain reminded them that winning was less important than upholding democratic institutions: "Our system doesn't depend on our nobility. It accounts for our imperfections... It is our responsibility to preserve that, even when it requires us to do something less satisfying than 'winning.'" Similarly, Arizona Senator Jeff Flake challenged fellow Republicans who accommodated Trump's norm-breaking: "If ultimately our principles were so malleable as to no longer be principles, then what was the point of political victories in the first place?" The American presidency carries special responsibilities for moral leadership. The values a president enunciates ripple through society, strengthening or undermining the common good. George Washington exemplified this, understanding he had been entrusted with something of immense worth, which his duty was to uphold for its own sake. By contrast, Donald Trump's presidency has consistently undermined core democratic values—attacking judicial independence, threatening press freedom, equating neo-Nazis with counter-demonstrators, pardoning officials who violated civil rights, and disrespecting free speech. These actions have damaged public trust in democratic institutions. Corporate leaders also bear responsibility for the common good. CEOs who claim they must maximize shareholder value are making a choice, not following an inevitable law. No statute requires this narrow focus. For most of the 20th century, corporations balanced the interests of multiple stakeholders. Today, companies like Patagonia organize as "benefit corporations" that explicitly consider workers, communities, and the environment alongside shareholders. CEOs of major corporations could use their political influence to resurrect stakeholder capitalism, push for better education and infrastructure, support higher minimum wages and universal healthcare, make unionization easier, and advocate for campaign finance reform. Nothing prevents them from doing so except their own self-serving definition of leadership. Leadership as trusteeship extends beyond ethics compliance. It requires a different conception of one's central obligation. Success should not be measured solely by wealth, power, or influence, but by the legacy of trust passed forward. As former Israeli leader Shimon Peres put it, "We need a generation that sees leadership as a noble cause, defined not by personal ambition, but by morality and a call to service." The purpose of leadership is not simply to win; it is to serve the common good.

Chapter 6: Truth, Honor and Shame: Rebuilding Our Moral Infrastructure

Societies traditionally enforce the common good through honor and shame—honoring those who make exemplary contributions and shaming those who exploit public trust for personal gain. Modern America, however, seems to have misplaced these moral tools. We often honor people who have merely achieved celebrity or amassed wealth, while shaming individuals not for undermining the common good but for failing to conform to fashion or for associating with the "wrong" people. The meaning of honor has become confused partly because those bestowing honors frequently have ulterior motives. As government funding has dried up for universities, hospitals, museums, and social services, these institutions increasingly use honors to attract wealthy donors. Buildings, professorships, and awards carry the names of individuals regardless of how they acquired their wealth or whether their actions served the common good. Michael Milken, convicted of securities fraud in 1989, was honored with the Dr. Armand Hammer Philanthropy Award in 2016. The Taubman Center at Harvard's Kennedy School is named after Alfred Taubman, who was sentenced to prison for orchestrating a price-fixing scheme. These arrangements convey moral approval disconnected from concern for the common good. Those truly deserving of honor are often people who have shown courage in standing up for the common good against powerful interests. People like Cheryl Eckard, who as a quality assurance manager at GlaxoSmithKline discovered serious problems at its largest plant and was fired after alerting management; she then shared her findings with the FDA. Or Army Major General Antonio Taguba, who insisted on an honest investigation into prisoner torture despite pressure from superiors. Or Eileen Foster, who exposed massive fraud at Countrywide Financial during the mortgage crisis and was subsequently fired. We should also honor the unsung heroes who quietly serve the common good—dedicated public servants, teachers in poor communities, social workers, nurses, first responders, and military personnel. Shame, properly deployed, can be a powerful motivator for the common good. It illuminates the gap between our professed ideals and the reality we tolerate. Martin Luther King Jr. shamed the nation by making it impossible for white Americans outside the South to condemn segregation there while tolerating discrimination in their own communities. Joseph Welch shamed Senator Joseph McCarthy with his famous question, "Have you no sense of decency, sir?" Kenneth Frazier, CEO of Merck, shamed Donald Trump after his equivocation on white supremacists in Charlottesville by resigning from Trump's business advisory council. For shame to be effective, however, there must be appropriate consequences. Congressional hearings that berate corporate executives but lead to no substantive reforms create only an illusion of accountability. Criminal prosecutions must target individual wrongdoers rather than just imposing fines on corporations. Corporations cannot feel shame; only individuals can. Yet in recent years, few executives of major corporations have been held personally accountable for illegal acts. No executive of any major bank was prosecuted for causing the 2008 financial crisis, despite clear evidence of wrongdoing. America has become confused about the difference between private and public morality. Private morality concerns what people do in their personal lives; public morality involves what people do when they hold positions of power and public trust. While reasonable people disagree about private moral choices, there should be no dispute that pharmaceutical executives who gouge consumers, bank executives who defraud depositors, and public officials who disregard conflicts of interest are committing acts of public immorality. They reject the common good in favor of selfish needs for wealth or power. This is genuinely shameful behavior that demands public condemnation.

Chapter 7: Civic Education for Teaching Democratic Citizenship for Future Generations

Restoring the common good requires a renewed commitment to civic education—both for young people and for adults. Children need to understand themselves not just as individuals seeking self-expression and lucrative careers, but as citizens responsible for upholding core values. This education was once standard in American schools but has largely disappeared, replaced by a narrow focus on standardized tests in English and math. Higher education has simultaneously become more vocational, with students crowding into business and technical courses rather than studying the foundations of democratic citizenship. This shift reflects the growing view of education as a private investment rather than a public good. With widening inequality, parents and children focus on education primarily as a means to avoid economic hardship. Yet America's founding fathers understood education as essential to democracy. As historian Alan Taylor observed, they knew emperors and kings could easily mislead uneducated publics; the survival of the republic required citizens capable of resolving tensions between private interests and the common good. Benjamin Franklin, when asked what form of government the Constitutional Convention had created, famously replied, "A republic, if you can keep it." Keeping it required educated citizens. A true civic education must teach young people about our political system, the Constitution, separation of powers, and federalism. It must explain the difference between how our system should work and how it actually works, and why we have an obligation to bridge that gap. Students need to understand justice—equal political rights and equal opportunity—and how the economy is organized. They must learn openness to new ideas, tolerance of differences, and respect for human rights. Civic education should instill a passion for truth, enabling students to think critically, find reliable information, and differentiate fact from fiction. Beyond knowledge, civic education must encourage civic virtue—the profound difference between doing whatever it takes to win and acting for the common good. It should equip young people to communicate with others who don't share their views, to listen and open their minds to opposing perspectives. These lessons cannot be learned only in classrooms; they require practical experience through community service, working with people different from themselves. Two years of required public service would give young people direct experience of civic responsibility. This could include military service, an expanded Peace Corps, or programs like Teach For America extended to other professions. Such service would help instill in all young people, regardless of background, a sense of obligation to society. It would connect Americans across divisions of race, class, and politics. Some object that no one should be forced to serve their country, but young people were required to serve when we had a draft. We require children to attend school for sixteen years; why not require two years of public service to learn the basics of citizenship? Once learned, civic virtue must be practiced throughout life. Our obligations as citizens extend beyond voting and paying taxes to improving our communities and strengthening democracy. This commitment passes to future generations a society that comes closer to its ideals than when it was entrusted to us. The moral fiber of our society has been weakened but not destroyed. We can recover the rule of law and preserve democratic institutions through more active political engagement. We can protect truth by using facts and logic to combat lies. We can fight bigotry and strengthen social bonds by reaching across divides.

Summary

The restoration of the common good represents the central moral challenge of our time. After decades of erosion driven by whatever-it-takes strategies in politics, business, and economic policy, we face a critical choice: continue down the path of fragmentation and distrust, or recommit to the shared values and mutual obligations that make collective life possible. This recovery requires more than policy changes; it demands a fundamental shift in how we understand ourselves as citizens and members of a shared society. The path forward begins with reclaiming leadership as trusteeship, properly deploying honor and shame, recommitting to truth in public discourse, and reinvigorating civic education. These elements form the infrastructure of a healthy democracy—one where citizens recognize that individual flourishing depends on collective well-being. While the task of rebuilding civic virtue may seem daunting in an era marked by polarization and institutional distrust, it is far from hopeless. Throughout American history, our finest moments have come when we sought to become more perfect than we had been. The common good has never been fully realized, but by striving for it and demonstrating its worth through our actions, we lay the groundwork for a more cohesive and just society. As theologian Reinhold Niebuhr reminded us, nothing truly worthwhile can be completed in our lifetime, but that makes the effort no less necessary.

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Robert B. Reich

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