Abstract
Some political theorists articulate an “ethos,” a distinctive animating ethical and affective spirit for politics. By proposing an ethos they hope to shape and reinvigorate our political sensibilities and engagement, while avoiding thickly prescriptive approaches to politics. In Worldly Ethics: Democratic Politics and Care for the World, Ella Myers offers a new, precisely targeted version of the charge, already made by other political theorists, that “ethos theorists” risk marginalizing or avoiding politics. 1 She argues that “therapeutic” ethos theories, inspired by Foucauldian care for the self, and “charitable” ethos theories, inspired by Levinasian care for others, either fail to encourage or actually inhibit associative democratic action. Myers offers an alternative “democratic ethos,” partly inspired by Arendt’s “amor mundi,” of collaborative “care for the world” (87–88). While she suggests that care for the self and care for immediate others might incidentally follow from her proposed ethos, her main claim is that self-care and other-care are unreliable, unproven routes to collective democratic engagement (144–48). Unlike extant ethos theories, which while often promising benefits for democratic participation have other foci, associative democratic activity is the main and immediate aim of her ethos.
Myers argues that therapeutic ethos theories, such as William Connolly’s pluralizing ethos, tend to prioritize “micro-political” work on the self as a precursor to “macro-politics,” rather than making these activities “mutually inspiring and reinforcing” (44). Yet, she claims, these theories fail to make clear how preparatory work on one’s dispositions (e.g., making oneself more open to embracing difference) can motivate collective democratic projects. I think Myers could agree that such self-work might make us more embracing of difference, if we were to participate in collective democratic projects. But she doubts that self-work itself can prompt associative politics. Care for the self is more likely to facilitate avoidance of politics, especially in light of the popular belief that you can change the world simply by “starting with yourself.” Indeed, therapeutic ethe allow us the self-satisfaction of still “doing politics” at the “micro-level,” even if we never graduate to full-fledged political participation. To the extent that self-intervention appears to motivate political intervention, Myers suspects that the claim of politics is already motivating the self-intervention, which is, therefore, secondary. Further, given contemporary narcissism and love for self-help, therapeutic ethe are also likely to deepen our self-absorption (42–52). What would Myers say, though, about working on the self with the explicit purpose of enhancing our ability to see the political possibilities before us, or of reducing our self-absorption? She suggests that given contemporary leanings, even well-intentioned self-work, if made the first or primary step, is liable to become a cover for disengagement. If we are serious about encouraging associative politics, we should shift our focus away from the self.
According to Myers, Levinasian charitable ethos theories, such as those of Simon Critchley and Judith Butler, invite a different problem, which I would call “other-absorption” (53–83). Drawing on Levinas, Critchley argues that the claim of ethics arises from the fundamental orienting experience of an “other” or “others” whose suffering, needs, and vulnerability reveal an “infinitely demanding” ethical claim (69). But, as with therapeutic ethe, Myers argues that a focus on the needs of the “other” need not lead to and may stifle collective political engagement. She identifies troubling commonalities between a Levinasian ethos and the practice of “charity.” A concern for the other can depend on relations of inequality that do not necessarily generate solidaristic political action; can narrow our focus to the “immediate material need” of others and away from the need to “alter social conditions themselves”; and can thereby depoliticize (and privatize) matters of collective concern (71–75).
Myers further faults Levinasian ethe for focusing on ethical truths (ontological insights), such as Butler’s “human precariousness,” which appear to guide politics from without, and for failing to acknowledge the political provenance of these truths (75–83). In agreement with George Shulman, 2 Myers suggests that the allure of such ostensibly apolitical insights may arise from theorists’ own “despair” or “cynicism” about the current plausibility of effective action in concert. Appeal to external truths seems to relieve us of the burden of establishing our political demands through contestation and collective mobilization (9, 82). But I think more could be said about how truths gleaned through self-work or the encounter with an immediate other might have a specific motivational advantage for political action. Even if we acknowledge the ultimate political heritage of these truths, the remaining distance of these truths from everyday political machinations might allow these truths to inspire us to act despite our cynicism. Myers would likely ask us to show how these truths could motivate collaborative political action. And she would likely insist that the risks of getting marooned in self–self and self–other relations, and never moving to associative politics, are still too high.
Worldly Ethics is a nifty, brilliant book. Myers’s writing is superb: smooth, jargon-free and moves at a steady clip. The treatments of individual thinkers are incredibly clear and systematic, and even work well as primers for the work of those thinkers. Her identification of the two basic “dyadic” approaches to ethos usefully maps the major contours of political theory’s “ethical turn.” Finally, her crucial “third term,” namely “particular worldly things,” unifies and deepens existing political critiques of ethos theory, while allowing her to still embrace the “ethical turn.” Myers argues that particular worldly things, say “a practice, a place, law, habit, or event,” are and ought to be the recipients of our collective political care (86). Worldly things are those objects (“multiple, fluctuating and contested”) which democratic associations form around and bring to light as matters deserving our active concern (93, 96, 104). If we look at the structure of democratic activity, Myers tells us, particular worldly things are what draw us into democratic activity (11). Her claim is that by actively tending to particular worldly things (rather than ourselves or immediate others), and by doing so collaboratively (her ethos is not for individuals), we shift our concern to the structural, collective conditions of a political issue (109).
It is through “collaborative care for a specific worldly thing” that we express Myers’s normatively ambitious democratic ethos of “care for the world” (111–12). The world is “the array of material and immaterial conditions under which human beings live—both with one another and with a rich variety of non-humans, organic and technological” (86–87). “Care for the world as world” has two aspects. First, we care for the world as a “shared home” for individuals by seeking to ensure that all individuals attain their basic material needs. This provision allows individuals to become visible to others in the public sphere and take on the tasks of citizenship (112–22). Second, care for the world also requires care for the world as the “in-between” that both “relates” and “separates” us as we “gather” around particular worldly things in “agreement and controversy.” Accordingly, we must engage in “broad efforts of democratization” and nurture spaces for meaningful collaborative participation that allow particular worldly things to emerge as objects of shared concern. So in addition to (and as encouraging of) collaborative care for particular worldly things, Myers’s ethos also seeks care for the health of associative politics (122–26).
Myers discusses the possible internal tension between the two aspects of “care for the world as world”: care for material conditions and care for ensuring sites for collective participation (138). California’s provision for direct voter legislation may allow for more robust collective participation, but its substantive outcomes (e.g., restricting the tax base and social services) can sometimes work against providing basic material needs for all Californians (134–35). Unfortunately, Myers does not explicitly explore the possible tension between “care for a specific worldly thing,” on the one hand, and “care for the world as world,” on the other. She thereby obscures the distinctive challenge of her ethos: it requires that we care for a cause while making sure that our pursuit of a cause is consistent with the ongoing flourishing of participatory, collaborative democracy.
Collaborative care for a particular worldly thing may certainly backfire for the health of associative politics overall. For example, in the United States, care for a particular cause can motivate citizens to form or raise money for a super Political Action Committee. These committees are not permitted to donate money directly to any candidate or coordinate their spending with their preferred candidate. However, they are not subject to campaign finance limits and are free to collect unlimited contributions and deploy these contributions to run campaigns for and against political candidates. Super PACs could become a focus for collaborative efforts of care for a “worldly thing” and a tool for systematic action aimed at structural conditions. A super PAC, named “I Can’t Breathe” in honor of Eric Garner’s last words, was registered at the Federal Election Commission with the aim of supporting candidates “who favor criminal justice reform, including requiring special prosecutors for police brutality cases.” 3 But forming a super PAC helps to normalize the use of super PACs and further undermine campaign finance limits. Super PACs may facilitate the disproportionate influence of the wealthy in public debate, or further the impression of such influence, and thereby discourage or limit the influence of meaningful associative political participation by ordinary citizens. While the electoral significance of super PACs may be debatable, 4 it remains the case that Myers’s demanding ethos requires continuing and complex judgments about whether forms of care for a worldly thing are consistent with and nurturing of care for the world as world.
In a deft move, Myers claims to derive her worldly ethos from the spirit that already animates certain extant examples of associative democratic action. It makes her ethos theory less vulnerable to the criticism that she is using ethics to regulate politics. But how does Myers propose that we cultivate this ethos? She suggests that if we see existing ventures that embody this ethos we might “join” those ventures or “take inspiration from them to create new ventures” (149–51). Myers offers several beautifully rendered examples of ventures that embody her ethos. And, I must admit, in her hands these examples are motivating. That re-description of existing praiseworthy political collaborations is the way to cultivate Myers’s democratic ethos, confirms the extent to which her ethos theory seeks to keep us turned toward politics.
Nevertheless, to my mind Myers’s properly political ethos theory is still driven by an ontological insight. Her account of “world” and how features of the world become matters of concern (“worldly things”), especially with its Heideggerian references and resonances, sounds very much like an ontological claim (89–98). It is a claim about what constitutes the human condition such that politics is possible at all. What I take from Myers, then, is not that theorists should avoid ontological insights as starting points for ethos theory. Rather, I learn that some ontological insights are more encouraging of associative politics than others.