The tension between the original version of the welfare state, which is stern and dedicated to fostering self-reliance, and a later, gentler version, which values protection above all, continues to dominate our politics.

The most notable aspect of the current presidential election has been the division that has emerged between the two versions of the welfare state envisaged by the two parties.

An older, masculine, paternalistic version of the welfare state is fighting a guerrilla war against a newer and firmly established feminine-maternalistic conception of the welfare state. Nor is this a peculiarly American phenomenon. Something like it is visible in all the Western democracies. Though some intellectuals, especially in Europe, still chatter about conflict between a welfare state and a "free market" state, that polarity ceased to exist almost a century ago.

Fathers want their children to grow up to be self-reliant, self-supporting, and able to cope with a recalcitrant world. Mothers want their children to be as completely protected as possible from such a world and to be gratefully attached to them as long as they live; the avoidance of risk gets a very high priority. The original welfare state, from 1900 to 1945, was largely paternalistic in conception, since the trade unions (overwhelmingly male) played such a crucial role in bringing it into being.

After World War II, however, as women entered the labor force as well as educational institutions in large numbers, and as feminist ideas became popular, the welfare state came gradually to be seen less as a helping hand for those in need—a "safety net"—and more as a communal exercise in "compassion" toward an ever-expanding proportion of the population. That was the point of the complaint lodged by many feminists against Margaret Thatcher—she had a "manly" rather than "womanly" conception of social policy.

That is the key term in the feminization of social policy, "compassion." Adam Smith talked easily about the importance of "sympathy," but that term lacks the erotic warmth of "compassion." Sympathy is most easily directed toward those who want to help themselves and need a helping hand. Compassion, as we now understand it, is an indiscriminate response to suffering and is always therapeutic. Men can (and do) sympathize with those who are down on their luck, but it needs a woman to feel a deep compassion, shot through with free-floating indignation, for the human suffering of those who have been victimized by the ravages of ill fortune—or even by their own misdeeds. (There is no doubt that George W. Bush’s use of the phrase "compassionate conservatism" is an attempt to swim with the maternalistic current.)

Once upon a time, popular journalism knew how to exploit this deep well of compassion with the formulaic "sob story"—an account of human suffering that would bring tears to a woman’s eyes. This was regarded as an inferior form of hack journalism, written by hardened cynics who saw profit where others saw misery. Gradually, however, as more and more women were educated to read and were provided with time to read, it became a quite respectable genre of journalism. And with the advent of the mass media, and especially of television, it became a dominant form of journalism. That photograph of four American soldiers raising the flag at Iwo Jima was the last "masculine" spectacle enshrined by television. Since then, it is scenes of war’s brutality, and of human suffering, that win the awards.

The feminine, maternal version of the welfare state now has the support not only of public opinion, but of institutions and professions that have been nourished by this state, so that there are large numbers of working women loyal to this state—and men, too, who are loyal to these women. These are now designated collectively as the "helping professions" and include social work, nursing, psychology, public health, librarianship, teaching, and branches of television journalism.

These professions are—most of them anyhow—politically active. It has been noted that the largest single contingent at the Democratic conventions were members of the teachers unions, and while these included men, one can be certain that none of them ever dared breathe an antifeminist thought. It has hardly been noticed, though it is an interesting fact, that a whole new profession has been recognized in the media. It consists of people who designate themselves, and are then designated by others, as "activists." To be an activist has become a recognized occupational specialty with at least quasi-professional status. Needless to say, this activism goes in only one prescribed direction.

Creating this extensive, in some cases massive, maternal welfare state, has been an extraordinary achievement, in view of the fact that it was created, as it were, ex nihilo. It was not a response to any visible popular demand, but was propelled by the thinking and writing of social scientists and journalists—an instance of what Daniel Patrick Moynihan, back in the late 1960s, foresaw as the "professionalization of reform." This version of the welfare state was officially recognized, and inaugurated and financed, by Lyndon Johnson. There is considerable evidence in the memoirs of his White House staff that LBJ had no clear idea of what he was doing. That did not, of course, matter.

Meanwhile, the masculine version of the welfare state is still a living political idea. In order to survive, it has made concessions, inevitably. "Leave no child behind" is not a traditional, conservative educational slogan. And queuing up to be kissed and blessed by Oprah Winfrey is not a traditional electoral activity. But the original idea still exists and has its victories, most notably in the case of welfare reform. And in the longer run it has two things going for it. One is economics, and the other is foreign policy.

The feminine version of the welfare state is inherently expansive—compassion has no limits—and sooner or later it runs into economic counterpressures. This has already happened in the European democracies, where economic growth is impeded by high taxation and overly generous welfare expenditures. It can be predicted with some confidence that those European governments will move, however reluctantly, toward a more paternalistic (that is, limited) version of the welfare state. The Left—a coalition of trade unionists, environmentalists, feminists, and surviving socialists—is already in revolt against "globalization" and "Americanization." It may win the occasional election, but it cannot govern without abandoning its agenda.

The United States is in a much better position, mainly because we now enjoy strong economic growth together with a nice budgetary surplus. But the pressures to spend are there (and quite a few conservative politicians are as easily tempted as liberals are by envisaged electoral rewards). This is especially true for a nation that is a superpower, whose foreign policies require increasing military expenditures.

The maternal welfare state positively hates such expenditures, is cutting back on them in Europe, and is doing its best to emasculate the spirit of nationalist patriotism in all nations of Europe. The United States, however, cannot opt out of world affairs. Nor is there any serious evidence that the majority of Americans wish to disburden themselves of our superpower responsibilities. Even a casual television viewer can see that our military is still highly popular, which is not at all the case in Europe.

So the maternal-paternal conflict will continue, in a seesaw fashion, until a point arises—and it will, however unimaginable now—when other urgent issues intervene and the welfare state is no longer the focal point of democratic politics.

Irving Kristol is a senior fellow at AEI.