Editor's Note
2012; University of Chicago Press; Volume: 44; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1057/pol.2012.4
ISSN1744-1684
Autores ResumoNext article FreeEditor's NoteEditor's NoteCyrus Ernesto ZirakzadehCyrus Ernesto Zirakzadeh Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUSFull Text Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinked InRedditEmailQR Code SectionsMoreWho do we embrace? Who do we exclude and marginalize, despise and ignore? What do those decisions about inclusivity say both about us as human beings with the capacity to set standards of right and wrong, and about the political orders we uphold?Stephen Marshall draws on Edward P. Jones's novel, The Known World, as a springboard for a series of reflections on the appeals of mastery. Jones's tale addresses an uncommon and overlooked element of antebellum America: African–American freedmen owning slaves. The story is unsettling because it takes seriously the notion that some people in conditions of servitude dream not of ending their system of domination. To the contrary, they hope to become omnipotent masters one day whose decisions cannot be countered and who can treat fellow humans as inert objects, rather than as self-defining agents and actors in history. At the same time, the novel considers the decisions of those slave and former slaves who repudiate what Marshall calls the “lust for mastery.” Looking at the fates of different characters in the novel and employing psychological and political insights from a wide range of Western philosophers and theologians including Nietzsche and St. Augustine, Marshall concludes that if we can take seriously the notions of love, mercy, and envy, then, perhaps, we can break the cycles of domination that at times seem inevitable. Put differently: by recalling elements of classical moral thought, perhaps a more inclusive political order can be attained.Like Marshall, Heather Pool wonders about the cultural roots of decisions to resist systems of oppression and exploitation. Whereas Marshall bases his conclusions on careful reading of several texts, Pool looks at a single historical incident: the New York Triangle Fire of 1911. This tragedy, she argues, offered an opportunity for citizens of New York to re-examine common stereotypes and the corresponding exclusions of numerous residents and their sufferings from political discourse. The exercise in radical rethinking about membership in the political community occurred partly because of prior public demonstrations by women textile workers, whose protests drew newspaper and middle-class attention to issues of factory safety, exploitation, and the government's responsibility for protecting residents. After the fire, the circle of political care was expanded to include Southern and Eastern Europeans and many women. Pool reminds readers that this apparently benign expansion occurred at a heavy cost: whiteness became a boundary between those protected by and those excluded from the political order. She insists that the time has arrived to discuss the de facto boundaries to citizenship in the United States, which will require the public mourning of those who suffer because of racism.Brandon Turner shifts our attention from the United States to Scotland and its philosophic traditions. He argues that Adam Ferguson has much to teach us about the potential for agency in all human beings. These lessons thus far have been overlooked because scholars today tend to read Ferguson one dimensionally, as simply a theorist of republicanism and political participation. Turner, instead, analyzes Ferguson's descriptive vocabulary—which includes such words as “zeal,” “pursuit,” “exertion,” and “action”—and his vision of the human species. For Ferguson, humans (unlike other animals) are driven by personal ambition. This contributes to both private and social progress and, also, to avid participation in civil society. According to Turner, Ferguson's philosophic positions can teach us to respect the agency innate in all persons, to appreciate non-political forms of action, and to adopt what Turner calls a “muscular” liberal outlook when thinking about the proper role of government in human affairs.Turner proposes using Ferguson's writings as a doorway toward healthier understandings of the role of the state in protecting and promoting human actors. Matthew Laing wonders if opportunities for reshaping politics (at least in the United States) have ended. Like a number of previous contributors to this journal, Laing begins his study by looking at Stephen Skowronek's provocative arguments about a dramatic decline in the ability of presidents to create a new moral regime.1 Is Skowronek basically right? Have the parameters of public policy in the United States become fairly fixed, preventing presidents from effectively addressing the needs and grievances of new groups? Laing considers ideas of other scholars, such as Curt Nichols and Adam Myers, and reviews the experiences of recent presidents. He concludes that, yes, modern social and institutional developments have made it increasingly difficult for presidents to transform America's social practices, policy priorities, and moral vision. Granted, opportunities for change can be envisaged, if citizens and scholars think less in terms of a single presidential champion and more in terms of multiple presidents working within a single reform tradition. But for the most part, it behooves us to recognize the multiple limits to presidents’ power to alter the country's moral direction.Whereas Laing is interested in the power of the president to reshape domestic agendas, Sarah Kreps and John Kaag are concerned with foreign policy. They contrast some key principles of international humanitarian law with statements by government officials in defense of unmanned and high-precision weaponry. Western officials often argue that the new weapons facilitate compliance with international law. Kreps and Kaag point to a number of practical and philosophical problems with that position. One can of worms involves the identification of persons in civilian clothing who directly aid the enemy and who therefore can be legitimately targeted. Identification entails difficult value judgments about what actions constitute “direct aid.” It also entails complex questions about clemency once a person in civilian clothing has (for whatever reason) stopped directly supporting an enemy. Automated weapons, Kreps and Kaag warn, cannot make such moral (as opposed to factual) assessments. Complicating matters is the increasing tendency among government officials to pursue gigantic and even utopian goals, such as “eradicating evil.” These projects, prompted in part by faith in the moral cleanliness of high-tech warfare, make questions about “proportionality” (another principle of humanitarian law) extremely difficult to answer. According to Kreps and Kaag, it is imperative that officials and citizens alike address the painful dilemmas involved in modern warfare, and recognize that technological advanced weapons by themselves cannot prevent blatant violations of humanitarian standards.Luke Philip Plotica's essay on Michael Oakeshott completes the spring issue of Polity. Plotica, like the other contributors to the issue, wishes to avoid a contraction in the number of moral viewpoints in politics and, if possible, to increase the number of voices that are heard. He finds Oakeshott's understanding of conversation useful for thinking about this topic. According to Plotica, Oakeshott periodically considered conversation an analogy for healthy democratic politics, not because it leads to objectively “correct” policy decisions or produces consensus. Rather, Oakeshott found the plural viewpoints and the open-ended nature of conversation naturally attractive and deserving of respect. Of course, a minimum of agreement underlies any conversation. For example, people must share some linguistic habits if they are to converse. But, according to Oakeshott, the underlying consensus ought to be thin. Politics should be “neither a search for ‘truth’ nor the propagation of a belief,” but an ongoing exchange of views and ideas without expectations of ultimate agreement. Plotica discusses how this Oakeshottian understanding of politics as conversation differs from (and in some ways is superior to) the visions of deliberative democracy that some political theorists recently have advanced.The challenge of creating a pluralistic politics, in which vastly different voices are heard and in which a multiplicity of interests and viewpoints are represented, sometimes seems too enormous for humans to attempt. We, therefore, often look for easier questions to address, and we ignore cries for inclusion and pleas for justice from unfamiliar voices. In times of profound fear of diversity, scholarly articles that discuss the meaning of inclusivity and the value of open moral disagreement ought to be read and discussed. The six articles here are the types of thoughtful analysis that can help us collectively reason when, how, and why we should add fresh voices to our political conversations. Notes 1. See, for example, Curt Nichols, “The Presidency and the Political Order: In Context,” Polity 43 (October 2011): 513–531; Andrew J. Polsky, “Partisan Regimes in American Politics,” Polity 44 (January 2012): 51–80. Next article DetailsFiguresReferencesCited by Polity Volume 44, Number 2April 2012Morality and Exclusion The Journal of the Northeastern Political Science Association Article DOIhttps://doi.org/10.1057/pol.2012.4 Views: 48Total views on this site Copyright © 2012, Northeastern Political Science AssociationPDF download Crossref reports no articles citing this article.
Referência(s)