By definition, the preferences and interests of “wealthy” consumers carry more weight in the market than those of the “poor”; consequently, they possess a greater capacity to shape producers' decisions. It seems only natural that this heightened influence within the economic infrastructure (to borrow a Marxist term) should translate into greater regard or esteem within the social “superstructure,” and thus find expression in our “moral” dispositions. This need not, of course, be taken to the extreme of outright contempt for the poor; yet, inherent in the logic of the market is the implicit notion that no one wishes to resemble them. We all aspire to possess more money, for doing so renders our preferences more influential and our market interactions freer—enabling us to choose from better job opportunities, decline offers we deem beneath us (provided we do not require them for survival), direct our consumption toward companies that align with our values, demand better treatment from the service providers we engage, and so forth. In this sense, the disposition of which Smith speaks is not a vice—in the sense of an anomaly, a deviation, or a pathological trait that might be eradicated—but rather an inevitable corollary of the market’s pervasive influence. As is sometimes said in the field of computing: not a bug, but a feature—it is inseparable from the market, serving simultaneously as one of its prerequisites and one of its consequences. It is, of course, a separate matter that this tendency must be kept in check, for an excess of such “contempt for the poor” is both socially perilous and inefficient. Yet, such containment must necessarily be exogenous—it must originate from outside the market itself.

Certainly, one could argue that limitations on this market inertia must stem from morality and ethics; indeed, that appears to be Smith’s view. However, in my opinion, the market and ethics operate on fundamentally different levels: the market is an inter-individual mechanism for social coordination or resource allocation—a key element of the economic infrastructure. Ethics and its associated values, conversely, possess an eminently personal and individual dimension—inextricably linked to human life, its environment, and its material conditions—even if they can be articulated collectively (unlike morality); they reside within the social and discursive superstructure. Without recourse to Marxist concepts, I can construct a “market” system populated by autonomous agents (programs endowed with a system of incentives, perceptions, and actions)—indeed, this constitutes part of my research. Yet, I cannot produce “ethical” autonomous agents, for there can be no ethics without humanity; here, we return to some of the issues we discussed during our deliberative session.

The containment of those pathological (yet inherent) market tendencies stems from another model—one that is complementary, and at times contradictory—of collective decision-making: democracy. This is another model situated on the very same level, involving mechanisms for the inter-individual coordination and aggregation of preferences and interests. You are right when you point out, at the beginning of the article, that the “complex marriage between liberal democracy and capitalism” is the best system for “guaranteeing economic and social progress.” I would perhaps add the nuance that it is the best system when it combines a specific historical form of liberal democracy with a specific historical form of capitalism (or the market). That marriage is—as you say—complex and (I would add) unstable; yet when it works—the post-war “social democratic” consensus in Western Europe and the United States being the most recent era; I recently read Karl Polanyi’s The Great Transformation, in which he argues that the second half of the 19th century can be viewed as another period of stability and prosperity for this democracy-market pairing—it yields the most prolonged periods of peace, well-being, and emancipation. The problem is that their very combination—and their own expansion—can easily generate conditions that run counter to their own reproduction. This is precisely what occurred twice in the early 20th century, and it may well be happening right now (though let us hope that is not the case). 

In my view, in the long run, this combination is not necessarily stable because its two poles—democracy and the market—rest upon distinct mechanisms oriented toward different metrics, which, under conditions of crisis, become divergent. Democracy is a centralized system (though it may become “federalized,” a process that introduces further complexity into such systems) for collective decision-making, grounded in the equal participation of all those affected in shaping those decisions (as well as the equal obligation to respect and implement them once they have been made). The market, conversely, is a decentralized mechanism in which each agent influences the resulting decision based on their purchasing or productive capacity—a capacity that is unevenly distributed among those affected. This relative contradiction can be managed provided that the divergences remain relatively contained—specifically under conditions of relative economic prosperity and a broad distribution of the fruits of that prosperity; however, it tends to become fatal in contexts marked by crisis, scarcity, or economic and social polarization.

Hence stems my disagreement with “the ideal of classical capitalism” that you describe in the article: the notion that “governments only intervene when market imperfections exist” clashes with the fact that the vices identified by Smith—the tendency to value the “rich” above the “poor”—are not the result of market “imperfection,” but rather its fundamental operating principle, inseparable from it. Thus, the restorative action of states and governments—insofar as they embody the democratic will and result from the equal participation of all, regardless of income—is necessary even under conditions of a “perfect market,” because the economic equilibria that a perfect market might produce are not necessarily socially desirable... nor even tolerable. (Of course, I am speaking in “idealized” terms, regarding both the market and democratic government.)

It also follows from this that I partially disagree with your argument that “it is perhaps this corruption that repeatedly jeopardizes the sustainability of the system.” As I see it, it is not corruption—in the sense of deviant, anomalous, or unhealthy behavior—but rather the contradictions inherent in the democracy-market dyad that explain its recurring unsustainability. This has consequences: even if we were all individually virtuous and altruistic, the system would still suffer from recurrent sustainability issues, because it relies on mechanisms—democracy and the market—that are not always aligned, that generate divergent incentives, and that occasionally—for instance, when inequalities are particularly severe—pull in openly contradictory directions. Even as individuals, we are not the same person, nor do we make the same decisions, when we cast our votes as citizens—for example, in favor of strengthening labor regulations, even if doing so increases labor costs and impacts prices—as when we go grocery shopping as consumers, seeking out the lowest-priced products, even if this comes at the cost of reduced labor protections for the workers involved. [I recall this example from Robert Reich’s book, Supercapitalism.] Of course, added to these fundamental issues are those stemming from the imperfections of both the market and democracy—neither of which ever functions exactly as prescribed in its idealized form. These deviations can indeed be likened to, or are frequently intertwined with, various forms of corruption of varying severity: information asymmetries; oligopolistic concentrations—whether in the economic market or in political competition; nepotism and arbitrary decision-making; the socialization of risk; the emancipation or ossification of the bureaucratic class; and authoritarian drifts within the State and political parties, among others. Yet there are other pathologies at play—and, in my view, even more fundamental ones—that are inherent to the ideal versions of democracy and the market themselves.  

I largely subscribe to Rawls’s ethical approach to justice—at least as far as I am familiar with it; its corollary is indeed the one you mention: that collective decisions regarding inequalities must be oriented toward the greatest benefit of the least advantaged. This appears to be a more or less direct consequence of his “veil of ignorance”: one makes a decision as if one did not know from which position within society one would end up receiving it—whether as someone in need or as someone of means (for instance). This is, after all, essentially a reformulation of the Kantian imperative.

However, both Rawlsian and Kantian ethics proceed from the premise that the moral boundaries of all participants in a collective decision-making process are identical; only in this way can the notions of “ethical and moral reasoning”—aimed at achieving the “common good” through “intrinsically ethical” actions—be properly defined. Under these conditions, it suffices to bring the participants into contact—and to assume good faith on their part—for the “best” possible policy to naturally emerge and prevail through reflection and deliberation. This, too, is the starting point of Habermasian communicative action, insofar as I understand it.

Unfortunately, this cannot be taken for granted in the context of societies that are intrinsically (and increasingly) plural, and exposed to substantial (and growing) inequalities—whether social, economic, or cultural. Neither constitutive cultural plurality nor socio-economic inequalities are eradicable (though they may be contained or managed). In this context, your observation that “acting ethically entails setting aside individual interests (...) to focus on the common good” strikes me as unsatisfactory without further qualification: an effective ethics to guide collective decision-making should not require us to set aside our individual interests in favor of a supposedly distinct “common good” (of which each person may hold a different conception, depending on their cultural or socio-economic context). Rather, the point is for this ethics of decision-making to frame a sufficiently inclusive—and republican—conception of individual interests (of the individual-in-society that we are); one that reveals how these interests actually depend upon certain common goods that extend beyond the most immediate and myopic individualistic calculus—to put it simply. Rather than focusing on the opposition between individual and collective interests (whether to favor the former or to grant “altruistic” priority to the latter), the task, as I see it, lies in the necessary articulation of our individual interests with those of the people with whom we share a society: the “good” egoist knows that a world in which his own well-being coexists with the misery of his neighbors is undesirable—not only “for others,” but for himself as well. Yet there is no indisputable “common good,” just as there is no objective volonté générale or intérêt général: these Rousseauian notions (which I myself frequently employ, and which are ubiquitous in French political discourse, for instance) are acceptable only as convenient metaphors for the necessity of making decisions together because we live together—as volatile outcomes of individual goods, wills, and interests, collectively articulated (to a significant degree) through deliberation and mutual exchange of information. Not in opposition to individual reflections, but as their logical continuation (because we only know how to live in society).

I italicize the term “republican” because I am referring to a particular dimension of the concept—one that links an individual’s freedom and rights to the guarantee of the rights and freedom of all. Without this articulation between individual and collective interests, there is no possibility of a “common good” emerging—unless, that is, we are “just” in the Platonic sense, or unless someone superior to us compels us to act (authoritarily) as if we were. Yet, while we may always strive to be better (and for this reason, a sustained effort toward “civic education” and public deliberation is essential), we are not necessarily altruistic or virtuous; we cannot all be so—not all the time, and not under the same circumstances. Political systems that rely upon such Platonic virtue are doomed to be either unstable or tyrannical (or both). Consequently, my perspective here is not Platonic—in the sense that I do not believe a just political order should require us all to be just or virtuous; rather, it is Kantian: a just political order is one that allows a common good to emerge “even among a people of devils.” (These very words of Kant serve as the title of a book by Félix Ovejero on democracy, republicanism, and liberalism—a work in which he articulates these ideas.)

This is the point where—without necessarily fully endorsing the entire argumentative trajectory of the article—I do, in fact, share its conclusion. Precisely because the common good does not exist objectively as such, it is constructed subjectively through the exchange among equals; this is why initiatives like Ethosfera are central—not so much (I would argue) for the purpose of discovering that common good by setting aside our particular interests, but rather for shaping it after having thoroughly understood our individual interests and preferences, and their intricate interweaving with those of the people around us. I believe that what you term “ethical and moral reasoning,” I would tend to call “public deliberation”—since the process itself is the substantive element—yet the ultimate destination remains the same: it is through such deliberative, communicative, and ethical practices—like that of Ethosfera—that a shared space (one that is also moral in nature) is created, within which mutual understanding becomes possible as a prerequisite to jointly agreeing—via mutually intelligible mechanisms—upon the best possible collective decisions for any given moment and context.

In reality, I do not typically integrate ethics into my considerations regarding public debate—I am, in fact, "discovering" that approach through Ethosfera. My initial premise was—as we have had occasion to discuss—much more basic: in a democracy, collective decisions are (and must be) made by all those affected by them; therefore, it is crucial that everyone’s reasons, information, preferences, interests, and nuances circulate as freely as possible throughout the communicative sphere, allowing the strongest arguments to emerge and inform democratic decision-making. In this sense, I am an optimist: I believe that the best decisions arise from the interplay of the strongest arguments and the most accurate information, provided that personal interests and preferences are sufficiently represented. For this reason, my primary interest lies in the free flow of information—its availability and its unhindered circulation throughout the entire deliberative society—as well as in the transparency of public deliberation and the equal presence and representation of the interests, preferences, and perspectives of all those affected by a given decision. These elements serve as prerequisites for high-quality, democratic collective decision-making—a process in which democracy (understood in the conventional sense: freedom of expression, government limited by law, transparent media, and an egalitarian public sphere) renders decisions superior and more effective than those produced under any authoritarian system. The relevant ethical framework here is, in this sense, that of Spinoza: an ethics that stems from coming to know—and thereby being able to freely choose—what is "good" (or the best possible outcome, taking into account the trade-offs and balances that structure any society). Such knowledge requires both the circulation of sufficient information and the necessary quality of collective deliberation to ensure that it can emerge within the public sphere, becoming—to the greatest extent possible—identifiable and shareable.