Optimism and agency in the sociology of Zygmunt Bauman

‘The sociologist of misery’: Bauman’s pessimism

Readings of Bauman’s sociology have often suggested that what we encounter is a bleak, pessimistic view of modernity, in both its solid and liquid forms. After all, his sociology can present the atrocities of Auschwitz (Bauman, 1989); ‘the century of the camps’ (Bauman, 1995); the separation of power and politics (Bauman, 1999a); the individuals who turn their back on love (Bauman, 2003); and the increasingly self-interested and self-satisfied consumers of liquid modernity (Bauman, 2007a) as being sprung from the same modernist well. Hence, perhaps Schutz’s categorisation that ‘If there is…one absolutely traditional category that looms large in Bauman, it is no doubt that of misery’ (Schutz, 2007:42) is an apt one. In addition, Davis claims that Bauman offers a ‘rather pessimistic worldview’ which ‘can often make one feel rather despondent’ (Davis, 2008: 108, 166) ² . It is also a common complaint that whilst one may agree with Bauman’s normative critique of the liquid modern world, his reluctance to offer alternatives makes such a world seem inevitable, and thus even more dispiriting (Carleheden, 2008; Christodoulisis, 2007; Elliott, 2007). Finally, there is the suggestion that Bauman’s pessimism is owing to a kind of ‘naive universalism’, which sees the corrosive effects of liquid modernity affecting all equally, without resistance or differentiation (Elliott, 2007; Ray, 2007). Whatever the reason one may pinpoint, in this view Bauman’s sociology is bleak and pessimistic because it only sees the negative in an age of liquid modernity.

The common response to this is to argue that whilst Bauman’s worldview may be bleak it is because it is inherently critical towards reality. Part of such a normative goal involves bringing the suffering (the ‘human waste’) back into the picture and back into our concerns. This may be depressing, but it is important (Lemert and Goodman, 2007; Peterson, 2010). Such an understanding of Bauman is at the centre of Tester’s reading which defends the role of the sociologist as attempting to: ‘emancipate humanity into freedom from out of erstwhile inevitability’ (Tester, 2004: 20). This perspective, which largely draws from Culture as Praxis (Bauman, 1999b [1973]), sees any attempt to order individual behaviour as a limiting of the intrinsically creative potential of humanity, and thus an object of critique. In this reading it may be true to say Bauman’s view of liquid modernity is negative or bleak, but then his view of any world, as ossified reality, would be like that. What Bauman offers is a ‘sociology of hope’, or, in less Obama-esque language, a sociology of human potentiality, of the possibility of re-creating the world in a more humane way (Davis, 2011). It is in this light that writers have pointed to Bauman’s sociology as inherently utopian (Jacobsen, 2007).

Whilst the latter of these two positions seems more in line with what Bauman intends as part of his ‘sociological hermeneutics’ (Bauman and Gane, 2004: 23), I wish to argue that it focuses on the universal potentiality within Bauman’s work at the expense of the specific potentiality. There is a division in Bauman’s sociology between the universal, time-spanning potentiality contained in Culture as Praxis and the time and circumstances specific potentiality contained in his writings on morality (Bauman, 1990, 1991, 1993, 1995, 1998, 2008). The latter opens up a fuller understanding of Bauman’s theory as an optimistic understanding of human agency. This ‘optimistic reading’ is intended to be an alternate, rather than a definitive, reading of Bauman’s ‘liquid turn’. I will return to how specifically it differs from a ‘hopeful’ or ‘utopian’ reading below.

‘If in doubt – consult your conscience’: Bauman’s optimism

To briefly recap the universal potentiality in Bauman’s work, Culture as Praxis argues that human activity, conceived as praxis, fills the role of ‘turning chaos into order’ (Bauman, 1999b [1973]: 96). This occurs through the specifically human activity of culture, which is not only able to give meaning to the outside world, but also limit and order the possibilities open for action. In this sense, culture gives birth to structure, or, to be more exact, structures. Hence, whilst culture can appear to be above the individual it is both the result of, and that which allows for, creative human activity. As Bauman puts it:

Human culture, far from being the art of adaptation, is the most audacious of all attempts to scrap the fetters of adaptation as the paramount hindrance to the full unfolding of human creativity. Culture, which is synonymous with the specifically human existence, is a daring dash for freedom from necessity and freedom to create. It is a blunt refusal to the offer of secure animal life. It is – to paraphrase Santayana – a knife with its sharp edge pressed continuously against the future. (1999b [1973]: 136)

It is possible to see such a view of humanity as inherently creative running throughout Bauman’s sociology, especially regarding his objects of critique (cf. Bauman, 2011a: 44–50). His focus on ‘unfreedom’ (Bauman, 1976a), the uses of fear (Bauman, 2004) and the lack of an ‘autonomous society’ (Bauman, 1999a) can all be traced back to this work. This is especially true when Bauman sees culture as being critical. By bringing ‘into relief the discord between the ideal and the real’ and holding it up to examination it is ‘the natural enemy of alienation’ (Bauman, 1999b [1973]: 136, 139). Bauman later argued that this critical nature is demonstrated by the ‘curious particle “no”’ whose use ‘forces us to know without wishing it, that things may be different from what they are, that there is an alternative to every step taken or contemplated’ (Bauman, 1998: 17). I would argue there is something fundamentally optimistic in any view which suggests a word we use mechanically and frequently every day is the manifestation of an inherently human ability to be critical and seek a different, perhaps more humane, world. Leaving this to one side, as I mentioned earlier, we can see an even stronger vein of optimism in Bauman’s specific potentiality of morality.

Whereas Bauman saw part of the appeal of the structuralist approach adopted in Culture as Praxis as its potential for universal application, across historical periods and societies (Bauman, 1999b [1973]: 69–70; see also Bauman, 1973), Postmodern Ethics (Bauman, 1993) is concerned with a time and place specific form of social action. Bauman’s argument here is that modern states aimed, with the help of the intellectuals-as-legislators of the period, to lay down a set of moral guidelines, which became the laws of the land. This rested upon the assumption that people had to be forced to be moral; that ‘true’ morality could only come from something which constrained the individual. Without such a body, individuals would inevitably be immoral, or, to be more exact, there would be no idea of what ‘to be moral’ was, as such an idea can only come from a supra-individual body, from ‘society’ itself. Bauman categorises this as the view of ‘the immorality of man and morality of society’ (Bauman, 1990: 9).

This is a thing of the solid modern past for Bauman. In the liquid modern era the state has given up this claim to provide universal laws of ethical guidance, which were, in fact, only ever nation-state specific (Bauman, 1993). This is because of a shift in an understanding of the state’s role, away from the ‘gardening state’ of solid modernity. Instead, the state now cedes most of its responsibilities to the market and gives up any claim to be constructing the ‘perfect’ society. As a result of individualisation, the individual is left with their own counsel for moral action; we face a time of ‘morality without ethics’ (Bauman, 1995: 10–43). Thankfully so for Bauman, as his moral philosophy is guided by that of Levinas, whose major claim is that ethics come before ontology, that being for the Other exists prior to being with the Other. As a result, morality exists within, and only within, the choice of the individual: ‘what societies do is manipulate morality rather than produce it’ (Bauman and Tester, 2001: 54) ³ . This individual capacity to make a moral choice cannot be destroyed or overcome:

If in doubt – consult your conscience. Moral responsibility is the most personal and inalienable of human possessions, and the most precious of human rights. It cannot be taken away, shared, ceded, pawned, or deposited for safe keeping. Moral responsibility is unconditional and infinite, and it manifests itself in the constant anguish of not manifesting itself enough. Moral responsibility does not look for reassurance for its right to be or for excuses for its right not to be. It is there before any reassurance or proof and after any excuse or absolution. (Bauman, 1993: 250)

Bauman sees the reassertion of individual morality as positive, partly because it lessens the opportunities for the adiaphorisation ⁴ of action central to his understanding of the Holocaust (Bauman, 1989). This does not mean that there are not forms of adiaphorisation in liquid modernity; in fact, ‘the adiaphorization of human action seems to be a necessary constitutive act of any supra-individual, social totality; of all social organization for that matter’ (Bauman, 1991: 146, my emphasis). Such forms include, but are not limited to, the individualising concerns of the consumer market (Bauman, 1995: 5, 2011a: 77–79), along with the unequal access this provides (Bauman, 1993: 244); the emergence of the ‘pure relationship’ type, (Bauman, 1993: 106); the expansion of the city with the corresponding removal of public spaces (Bauman, 1990: 26–27); and the use of technology as a form of societal rule (Bauman, 1991: 150).

Yet, despite all these pressures of adiaphorisation Bauman continues to emphasise the sociological significance of moral action. He provides an optimistic pedigree for such morality during Postmodern Ethics. Here, after surveying what appear to be bleak prospects for morality, he returns to what we may call ‘the heroes’ of his story—those who resisted during the Holocaust ⁵ . It is these individuals who Bauman points to in order to indicate the inalienability of moral concerns (Bauman, 1993: 249–250). Therefore, it is telling that when Bauman returns to the question of morality in The Art of Life he once again points to those who resisted the Nazis (Bauman, 2008: 95–98). These stories of morality in times when being moral seemed least likely, form part of the very basis of Bauman’s view on the impossibility of morality not being consulted as part of human action. Whilst this is not a view of individuals as intrinsically morally good (cf. Bauman and Tester, 2001: 43), it is an empirical claim about humanity being intrinsically moral, one which is expanded by liquid modernity.

The reason for this is that liquid modernity is a time of choices, the only thing which is not open to choice is whether to be a chooser: ‘Being an individual (that is, being responsible for your choice of life, your choice among choices, and the consequences of the choices you chose) is not itself a matter of choice, but rather a decree of fate’ (Bauman, 2008: 53). These choices are plentiful as ‘liquid life is a succession of new beginnings’ (Bauman, 2005:2). With the lifeworld opened up to more and more choices, morality, located within choice, has an even greater potential to be influential in action (Bauman, 2008: 93–124). The removal of the solid modern attempts to construct morality further opens the door to the same tendency—choice—which Bauman links directly to perhaps the most moral actions of the 20th century, resistance of the Nazis. Whilst this does not mean we will automatically deny our current forms of adiaphorisation—indeed Bauman warns against such a prediction (Bauman, 1995: 37) —when morality is presented in such a form, it is hard not to like our chances. Indeed, the pressures of the consumer market seem tame by comparison.

It is at this point that we can return to the distinction between a sociology of hope/utopia and one of optimism. By using the term ‘optimistic’ I am suggesting not just that Bauman identifies possible areas of moral resurgence in liquid modernity, but rather that his sociology suggests these are large-scale liquid modern phenomena that have the potential to make a significant impact. This is different to a sociology of hope: one can be hopeful something would happen, without being optimistic it actually will. The best example of this is Davis’ (2011) elaboration of Bauman’s sociology of hope. Davis argues that Bauman’s discussion of socialism as an ‘active utopia’ reminds us that at times such as the current ‘interregnum’ (Bauman, 2010: 119–122) the idea of a better society will reassert itself and act as an orientation point for our successes and failures. This hope, however, is largely independent of will: I can hope the active utopia of socialism will reassert itself and I can help towards that goal, but the extent to which it is successful is, in many ways, out of my hands, and thus open to pessimism as much as optimism. Morality, however, is at the hands of individuals. For Bauman to be moral or not in liquid modernity is as close to an inevitability as you can find in his sociology and the historical links he draws suggest that this can have positive outcomes. In this sense, it is an optimistic viewpoint; the results are here and now and positive, rather than a hopeful viewpoint where the results are only potentially present and largely unsure. It is partly for this reason that an optimistic reading reasserts the moral individual.

This also highlights the difference between optimism and utopianism. Bauman’s sociology is unapologetically utopian, but at the same time this is utopianism of a specific sort. As Jacobsen (2007) highlights, Bauman’s use of utopia is one of standpoint, rather than of blueprint, best shown in his work on socialism (Bauman, 1976b). Here, utopianism operates less as a view of a possible world, but rather as a device for critiquing the world: the utopia remains ‘in the realm of the possible’ (Bauman, 1976b: 36). The difference with optimism is clear: one can be utopianism or study utopias without having any particular views on their future occurrence. Although it is entirely possible to be optimistic, hopeful and utopian, each of these is analytically distinct and when discussing the role of morality in liquid modernity Bauman utilises an optimistic viewpoint.

The next step I wish to make is to point to the result of this; even if an individual is left with their own moral council, this is only significant when they act upon their decisions. It is this form of moral action in which we can find an intriguing understanding of liquid modern agency, to which I now turn.

Agency in Bauman

I believe it is possible to identify agency occurring via morality in Bauman’s work. Before I turn to this, there are two possible criticisms that need to be dealt with. The first criticism argues that there is another aspect of Bauman’s work which would seem equally fruitful for a discussion of agency, that of freedom (Bauman, 1988). Whilst freedom has always been a recurrent topic with Bauman’s sociology, it has recently been advocated as the, or one of the, central thread(s) running through his work (Davis, 2008; Marotta, 2002; Poder, 2007). The way in which Bauman’s discussion of freedom can be seen as a nascent theory of agency is best outlined by Poder, who emphasises Bauman’s focus on positive freedom as desire to act, plus the resources to do so (2007: 98), which would align with theories of agency such as that found in Giddens (1984). However, I wish to argue against this and claim that freedom in Bauman’s work cannot be used to fully explain agency. It helps us understand what the state of being a social agent requires, but does not explain why certain choices are made. There are two reasons for my position.

Firstly, when Bauman discusses freedom the ability to act freely does not come from freedom, but from security. Security to act includes both resources and feeling secure about one’s current position and social circumstances. Bauman suggests this covers the difference between individuality de jure (the pre-determined fate that in liquid modernity we are all choosers) and individuality de facto (the relational understanding of freedom of act, where some will have more opportunities to act out their desires than others) (Bauman, 2007b: 58). Therefore, freedom relies upon institutionalised forms of security to be effective, to produce individuality de facto (Bauman, 2007b: 62–7; Marotta, 2002: 49–52; Poder, 2007: 108). When put in these terms, the continuum Bauman argues exists between freedom and security can be seen as problematic. As argued by Davis (2008: 51–72), why search out freedom if one will then be too insecure to act? In this sense, placing agency within Bauman’s conception of freedom obscures more than it explains.

Secondly, were we to accept the tying of freedom and security together as a condition for agency in Bauman’s sociology, itself problematic, we face the question of liquid modern relevance. Freedom in late modernity is practised via the consumer market, which for Bauman is an intrinsically ineffective outlet for agency. It depoliticises (Bauman, 1988: 82), restricts entry and makes outcasts of those who cannot enter (Bauman, 2007a:126), and adiaphorises (Bauman 2011a: 72–82). We are left with a theory of agency where, in effect, all but a very small percentage of the world’s populace are capable of being agents. This may be entirely consistent with some forms of social theory, but would be a breach with Bauman’s focus, from Culture as Praxis onwards, on the ‘structuring’ capabilities of individuals. Therefore, whilst not wishing to downplay the significance of freedom within Bauman’s sociology, I wish to argue that adopting it as a theory of agency only tells half the story. The question of why people act in a certain way and how these actions are effective remains unanswered.

This brings us to the second criticism: by locating agency within Bauman’s conception of morality one gives up any claim to sociological analysis, as Bauman’s view of morality is ‘pre-social’ or, as Junge puts it, the ‘choice’ of a pre-social ‘obligation’ (Junge, 2001: 109) ⁶ . This is, in many ways, a well justified criticism of Bauman’s work as he does, indeed, refer to morality as ‘pre-social’ (Bauman, 1993: 43). There are two responses I offer to this criticism, one already well established in the literature, the other my own contribution. The first is put forward by Tester who suggests Bauman is being somewhat cavalier with his use of the term ‘pre-social’ and instead argues that:

[M]orality is social but pre-societal. The subtlety of this distinction can easily get lost. Bauman is saying that morality has its roots in the social, in “inter-human togetherness”, but he denies that it has anything to do with the “societal”, where the societal is identified with external agencies and institutions that seek to manage and routinise togetherness. (2004: 144)

As morality is defined as concern for the Other, it is impossible to have a purely pre-social conception of morality, as Bauman puts it elsewhere: ‘the non-social man lives nowhere but in social thought’ (Bauman, 1990: 5). It is, indeed, partly through the presence of the Other—‘moral proximity’—that we become aware of our responsibility for them, thus to term it pre-social would be to overlook how it comes into being ⁷ . I will return to this pre-social/societal distinction in the conclusion.

Bauman’s ‘character’: The case for agency

My response to this ‘pre-social’ criticism concerns Bauman’s recent writings on ‘character’. For Bauman, in everyday parlance, ‘fate’ takes the place of structure in sociological discourse as it is fate which ‘makes some choices more probable than others’; however, it is character—an individual’s moral standpoint or commitment to a cause—that ‘decides which choices are made’ (Bauman, 2008: 103, see also Bauman, 2010: 172–81). This conception of character is somewhat vague and, indeed, is largely undeveloped in Bauman’s work. However, it can be developed in such a way which advances our understanding of Bauman’s conception of agency.

Bauman presents ‘the choice’ of how liquid modern individuals justify their actions as being akin to a choice between the moral philosophies of Nietzsche and Levinas, itself a question of character (Bauman, 2008: 103–104). The difference being that whereas Nietzsche takes the object of moral obligation to be within the Superman himself, Levinas takes the responsibility to be one of the Other—a wide view of humanity which does not privilege any particular group (Bauman, 2008: 114–124). This choice of Levinas becomes the more moral as it involves ‘accepting responsibility for that responsibility’ (Bauman, 2008: 124), realising that one’s actions can have wide, and in some ways unknown, consequences. Such a concept becomes increasingly important and omnipresent in a time of globalisation which, Bauman argues, obliges individuals to feel guilt for actions beyond their immediate surroundings (Bauman, 2001a). Nevertheless, this choice of Levinas over Nietzsche is effectively going against the demands of liquid modernity, as the latter is ‘the most, perceptive spokesman for the emotions that set in motion and guide the life philosophy of a growing number of our contemporaries’ (Bauman 2008: 121–122). It means resisting the adiaphorising aspects of liquid modernity as a first step towards the imagination of a different form of global society.

It is here we find the individual agency of liquid modernity for Bauman, contained with the ability of the individual to make an ethical choice against the demands of liquid modernity, whilst at the same time being opened up by the constant instigation to choose which is part of liquid modernity. Character here returns us to the aforementioned ‘universal potentiality’ in Bauman’s work, his optimism residing within inherently creative individuals able to say ‘no’, but given expression via the specific potentiality of liquid modern individualised morality. In this sense ‘character’, the ability to reflect and act morally, is an expression of the expansion of choice within liquid modern agency. This choice, by being embedded within global societies, reasserts the universality within morality. However, agency can only be seen to exist when the acts of an agent have both an outlet and the ability to have an impact, thereby allowing expression of the specific potentiality. Bauman is clear that the choice of Levinas over Nietzsche is not an ‘easy’ choice (Bauman, 2008: 124), so is there any clear suggestion of how character, as the ‘inability to do otherwise’ when faced with a set of ethically demanding stimuli (Bauman, 2010: 180) can be expressed effectively?

Here, Bauman draws upon a wider argument in the history of social theory which links the potential of agency to the expansion of the democratic sphere (Bauman, 1990). An example of such advocacy, with strong overlaps to that found in Bauman’s work, can be found in the work of Mead. My reference to Mead is not only to place Bauman’s conception of character into a wider sociological context—in this case highlighting its similarities to Mead’s ‘genius’—but also to highlight how Mead suggests practical outlets for the expression of agency via democratic forms which refines Bauman’s work in this direction.

As part of his discussion of the development of the self and the ‘balance’ between the ‘I’ and the ‘me’ (Mead 1934: 197—222), Mead argues that we can identify certain individuals whose agency has been a spur to social change and, thus, whose I’s, when predominant, have changed the form of me available to all (Mead 1934: 202—217). Mead refers to these people as ‘genius’; such an individual undergoes the same process of responding to the generalised other and orientating themselves through their me, the difference being that ‘this definite attitude of his (sic) own with which he responds to the generalised attitude of the group is unique in the case of the genius, whereas it is not so in the case of the ordinary individual’ (Mead, 1934: 216). Mead defines this genius as someone who has ‘taken the attitude of living with reference to a larger society’ (Mead, 1934: 217), in effect someone who has located their me not within the narrow confines of their community, but rather have taken a larger conception of humanity. This conception of the genius has strong overlaps with Bauman’s conception of character, especially in the aforementioned link to an expanded global moral sphere. The implication being that Bauman is arguing the reference point for moral reflection and the potential for genius/character has expanded from Mead’s national-level focus (Mead, 1934: 220). With this in mind, the ways in which Mead suggested the genius could be expanded further are noteworthy. Such genius was, for Mead, mostly in the possession of artists and scientists (Mead, 1908). This was not because of some innate brilliance of these individuals, but instead owing to the outlet they had through their work for individual expression whilst taking a wider object of orientation. The key for Mead was to find a way of extending such possibilities beyond these privileged groups:

The value of an ordered society is essential to our existence, but there also has to be room for an expression of the individual himself (sic) if there is to be a satisfactory developed society. A means for such expression must be provided. Until we have such a social structure in which an individual can express himself as the artist or scientist does, we are thrown back on the sort of structure found in the mob, in which everybody is free to express himself against some hated object in the group. (1934: 221)

Da Silva links the possibility for such expression to what she terms the ‘democratic and anti-elitist’ nature of Mead’s sociology (Da Silva, 2007: 52, 61–5). In Da Silva (2007) and Joas’s (1997) reading of Mead there is a strong defence of democracy, with its wide object of orientation, as allowing for the ability of the genius or, in Bauman’s case, character, within each individual to have a form of expression whilst maintaining social cohesion. Compare such a sentiment with Bauman’s advocacy of:

A new ethics…fit to regulate actions which are conducted outside the morally dense context of proximity and which have distant and difficult to visualized effects…The “moralization of politics”, attainable through the dismantling of the most awesome monopolies of coercive power and through democratic control over the rest of the socially available resources of action, seems to contain some possibility of generating such an ethic. (1990: 35)

Hence, Bauman, like Mead, argues that an expanded reference point through democracy allows expression of the individual’s ability to make a difference to their surroundings, in other words to be an agent. Bauman locates this within the moral capacity of the individual to choose, the specific potentiality of liquid modernity. Character, like genius, requires democracy. Democratic forms are advocated here as allowing individuals to express such morality.

We have seen morality is both at the base of Bauman’s understanding of how action is given meaning in liquid modernity, whilst also giving some indication to which action will be chosen, namely that determined by moral considerations, the determining aspect of Bauman’s character and the specific potentiality of liquid modernity. We have also seen the centrality of democracy to the ability to develop character—by institutionalising an expanded moral reference point—much as it, for Mead, developed genius. Therefore, I now turn to a discussion of how democracy should be understood in Bauman’s sociology, and, by implication, its role in human agency.

Democracy in Bauman

As Carleheden (2007) notes, Bauman’s view of democracy can be accused of being under-developed, both in terms of what democracy is (Carleheden, 2007: 186) and what it should be (Carleheden, 2007: 188). Bauman shares with Mead this lack of clarity on the institutionalised form the ideal ‘moral’ democracy would take. However, Mead did provide some sketches of an ‘ideal democracy’ which help illuminate some of Bauman’s suggestions. Mead sees democracy as effective when it is embedded within everyday life, as an extension of forms of social organisation and individual activity already well-established (Mead, 1908). It is partly this view which saw him praise the localised form of socialism of the German Social Democratic Party (SPD) he experienced in Berlin during 1889–91 (Joas, 1997: 20–22). The effectiveness of this form of democracy resides in the possibility of allowing for communication and negotiation within all societal institutions (Joas, 1997: 138). This conception of democracy furthers Mead’s conception of the ‘experimental method’ of ethics, whereby the worth of moral action is discovered by actors through their reflective awareness of problems (Joas, 1997: 128–129, Mead, 1908: 90–93). In an echo of Bauman’s pre-societal view of morality, democracy then allows the individual the choice of asserting their obligation to an Other through institutionalised practice (Mead, 1930: 394, ff.).

In a similar fashion, much of Bauman’s focus in his writings on democracy is on the agora space (Bauman, 1999a: 3–7, 94–99), as he puts it: ‘democracy is the form of life of the agora’ (Bauman 2011a: 10). The agora is a space between the public and private sphere, a space within which private concerns become public issues. It is this space that Bauman feels has been lost in liquid modernity. The reason for this is that the ‘public’ has lost any claim to representing, and solving, shared issues and instead becomes an arena for a collection of individual, private concerns (Bauman, 1999a: 65–67). In this sense, the agora would serve a similar purpose to Mead’s ideal democracy, by providing the ability of communication and realisation of shared private issues as a public concern.

Bauman is not entirely clear on how the agora space can be reformed and what exact form it would take. At times he suggests it would be a literal space, as it was in ancient Greece ⁸ (Bauman, 1999a: 4), at other times he comes closer to seeing it as more a synonym of ‘civil society’ (Bauman, 1999a: 107). What is clear is that he argues these spaces can only be generated after a realisation of ‘universality…the across-the species ability to communicate and reach mutual understanding’ (Bauman, 1999a: 202). Whilst being for the Other is a pre-societal occurrence, the institutionalisation of democracy allows this to be recognised and for individual moral action to be linked to social reproduction. Thus, although Carleheden criticises Bauman’s ‘Thatcherite social analysis’ (2007: 187) of democracy, by focusing on democracy ‘from the bottom’ it is this, rather than what happens ‘at the top’ which determines its effectiveness. Hence, democracy for Bauman, akin to the SPD democracy so admired by Mead, is a political system which links the private act of choosing and public act of togetherness and thus allows for the communication between individuals to satisfy collective concerns. In Bauman’s formula, however, this is linked to the moral capacity of the individual to choose—this choice being, in turn, directed towards the Other, a relationship institutionalised within the agora space. Bauman’s conception of democracy returns us to the individual acting morally towards the Other and the expansion of the agora space would, it is suggested, make the choice of Levinas over Nietzsche more effective. Following our link with Mead, it would seem that SPD-like localised and ‘everyday’ forms of democracy would best support this.

Once again this is linked to a global political concern; the ‘universality’ has to be universal in a literal sense (Bauman, 1999a: 202). This would then demonstrate the relationships of interdependence between people across the globe. Whilst also exposing the unequal nature of such relationships, identifying the ‘collateral casualties of consumerism’ (Bauman, 2007a: 117ff.). An agora space would protect these collateral casualties by salvaging ‘human solidarity from erosion and the sentiments of ethical responsibility from fading’ (Bauman, 2007a: 143). Without such a space, the era of moral ‘non-engagement’ is likely to continue (Bauman 2011b: 43). Within Bauman’s account, such an expansion of institutionalised moral responsibility would operate as recognition of the more informal expansion of such responsibility for the Other which has already occurred as a result of globalisation ⁹ .

Hence, we have seen that being for the Other is at the base of Bauman’s discussion of not only how individuals act socially, but also the ways in which this can be effectively realised via democracy. For Bauman, whilst moral agency is an inevitability of liquid modernity, the ability for this to be effective relies upon a fully developed democratic sphere. At this point, I fear we may have encountered a ‘chicken and the egg’ situation regarding Bauman’s theory of moral agents. Put simply, does morality create the political forms mentioned above, or is it cultivated by them?

Conclusion

Bauman would be very clear in his answer to the above question, political institutions or movements cannot create morality. To make such a statement would be to subscribe to the understanding of morality as socially produced which Bauman so strongly rejects. But yet his work does seem to suggest that we need democratic forms, such as the agora, in order to maintain or reassert moral concern.

The answer here is to return to Tester’s distinction between social and societal forms of morality. Bauman’s theory of agency is based upon the pre-societal form of morality. It rests upon the assumption of not only being for the Other in a moral party of two, but that this moral party has expanded as a result of globalisation, requiring the democratic forms in which this can be realised and expressed. Democracy then comes to play the role of Bauman’s societal form of morality, of justice. This is not a morality that claims monopoly over the moral impulses of individuals, but instead a form which complements and extends the being for the Other up to a being with the Other ¹⁰ . Such being with is a relationship not just of responsibility but also of reciprocity and interdependence. However, it occurs as a result of my realisation for the other as an object of concern (hence Bauman’s focus on ‘universality’). In this case, democratic forms can help realise the collective concerns and inequalities of liquid modernity, but by realising them they build upon and appeal to the pre-societal form of morality. They rest upon the agency of the individual to take responsibility for the Other.

We have seen that Bauman’s liquid modern sociology is one driven by the conception of moral individuals whose best ability for realising this morality, for being agents, can occur within democratic forms. I have shown that there are clear links between the work of Bauman and Mead on the question of why some individuals may be moral or not and how agency can be achieved via democracy. This has also been an intrinsically liquid modern form of agency relying on factors such as globalisation, consumerism, the colonisation of the public by the private, choice and individualisation. I have also outlined my views as to why we can see Bauman’s sociology as an inherently optimistic one. It has not been my goal in doing so to dismiss the merits of a pessimistic form of sociology (cf. Bailey, 1988). Instead, I have used this ‘optimistic reading’ as a way of amplifying the ever-present nature of morality within Bauman’s work. It is this morality that is the specific potentiality of Bauman’s liquid modern sociology. If humans do recreate their social conditions, as Bauman argues, the only way this will occur within liquid modernity is by this call to morality against the pressures of liquid modernity. This is not an ‘easy’ option, but his sociology aims to remind us that people have been moral under even more challenging situations. As he optimistically puts it:

Taking responsibility for my responsibility is the outcome of pursuing that “better” – of a pursuit that may or may not be undertaken…This is, ultimately, the choice, the ultimate choice… A choice that needs to be made daily, and then steadfastly held to while being day in, day out reaffirmed. (2008: 124)