Mythbusting and elections -- September 15, 2006

Carlton Vogt's

Enterprise Ethics

Volume 4 Number 22 September 15, 2006

Myth-busting and elections

A decision about voting raises a philosophical question -- and a surprising answer

Every group, culture, and nation wraps itself in its mythology. The myths are valuable in telling a story about the group involved, but they begin to unravel when people take them literally or try to impose on them some notion of historical accuracy. The situation becomes worse when people twist reality in order to conform to the myth.

There are great myths and small myths. Great myths are those that involve creation, redemption, divine lawgiving, and national or ethnic origin. The Romans believed that the city-state was founded by the sons of the god Mars, Romulus and Remus, who had been raised by a she-wolf. In our current enlightened state, we may snicker at such fanciful myths, but even we aren't immune to lacing our own national origins with mythical beliefs.

For example, ask any school kid why the Pilgrims came to Plymouth in 1620, and he will tell you that they came "seeking religious freedom." Many of you might say the same thing. You would almost think that those dour religious extremists who came to the shores of Massachusetts were a group of Unitarians who had packed themselves into the Mayflower to set up book discussion groups in the Bay Colony.

Of course, nothing is further from the truth. The Pilgrims came to the New World to find a place where they could set up a repressive Puritan theocracy -- and they did. Non-Puritans were punished, banished, or in some cases, killed. People who weren't members of the sect were forbidden from holding public office. In fact, many of the much-maligned church-state separation provisions in the constitution arose as responses to the wretched theocratic excesses of the early settlers. I won't even mention the witch trials.

In fact, if you ask any school kid -- and most adults -- where the Pilgrims first set foot on our shore, they will mumble something about Plymouth and Plymouth Rock. In actuality, the Pilgrims first landed in Provincetown on Cape Cod, but after a month or so couldn't find suitable water sources and decided to move on to Plymouth. However, in Provincetown they did find some corn that the natives had harvested and stored, and they promptly stole it, presaging the rest of our sordid relationship with the native Americans.

Another little known fact: The Pilgrims were operating with an official warrant that allowed them to settle only in Virginia and not in the area they chose. So, their settling in Plymouth was technically unauthorized, making them perhaps the first illegal immigrants. How different history would have been had the native Americans had the good sense to build a large wall along the shore to keep out thieves and undocumented aliens. But I digress.

There are also small myths -- some might call them Old Wives Tales or Urban Legends. These are ideas and sayings that are repeated so often, we simply believe them without question. "Wait two hours after eating before swimming or you'll die of cramps" would be a good example and has ruined many a day out for children whose mother believed it.

My own recent brush with this latter type of mythology came when I remarked to a friend that I was considering sitting out the next election. When your choice is between a candidate who is owned by the chemical industry and a candidate who is owned by the telecommunications industry, it seems kind of foolish to waste your time deciding which corporate entity you want to have a greater say in running your life.

I've often been attracted to the idea that someone else proposed about politicians. That they should be required at all times to wear jackets emblazoned with the logos of the corporations that own them, letting us know exactly who we're voting for. But, again, I digress.

Declaring that you're thinking of not voting brings out two predictable responses. The first is that you couldn't possibly be saying that there is no difference between the two major parties. My rebuttal is that of course there are differences. but are the differences significant enough to warrant spending time making a choice? There is also the question of whether it's a real choice or what Arundhati Roy correctly characterizes as "an apparent choice."

"It’s not a real choice. It’s an apparent choice. Like choosing a brand of detergent. Whether

 you buy Ivory Snow or Tide, they’re both owned by Proctor & Gamble.

  

"This doesn’t mean that one takes a position that is without nuance, that the Congress and 

the BJP, New Labor and the Tories, the Democrats and Republicans are the same. Of course,

 they’re not. Neither are Tide and Ivory Snow. Tide has oxy-boosting and Ivory Snow is a 

gentle cleanser."

But that's not what I'm here to talk about. The other response to the non-voting threat is the time-honored cliché that if you don't vote, then you have no cause to complain about the results of the outcome. That's a solid part of the national mythology. You've heard it, probably often, and, in all likelihood, you've even used it. So have I.

However, after it was turned on me, I began to think about it, and realized that underlying it was a deep philosophical question. Does, in fact, the act of not voting preclude you from complaining about what follows from the results of the vote. Or, putting it conversely, does the act of voting somehow empower you to complain? The answer I came up with, which I admit is still a work in progress, surprised me.

Voting is a curious process, and at its heart embodies what philosopher John Rawls in his landmark work "A Theory of Justice" refers to as "pure procedural justice." In pure procedural justice, there is no answer that is right or wrong a priori. Rather, the procedure itself produces the right answer. This is in contrast to, say, a courtroom trial, in which the defendant is either guilty or innocent of the charge. so there is an a priori right or wrong answer. There, the procedure tries to arrive at the right answer, and while it gives a legal determination of guilt or innocence, it doesn't determine whether the person actually did that with which he or she is charged. That Rawls refers to as imperfect justice.

The very notion of voting as an act of pure procedural justice, is what constitutes the fly in the ointment for me. If the procedure, by its very nature, makes the outcome a just one, how can people who participate in the process then complain about the outcome or its sequelae?

If you participate in the process, then by that very fact, you have made an a priori admission that, while you may prefer one of the alternatives over the other, you see both outcomes as reasonable, and that you are willing to accept the outcome as the just answer. That would seem to foreclose your ability to complain once the result is announced or the sequelae run their course. To play the game when you find one of the probable outcomes unacceptable seems to be hypocritical.

Suppose you were among a group that was deciding where to go for a group outing. Some wanted to go to the mountains, and others to the seashore. The group decides to put it to a vote. The underlying idea is that members of the whole group would go wherever the majority decided. Now, suppose you want to go only to the seashore and would refuse to go if the group decided on the mountains. Taking part in the voting would be dishonest, because you had no intention of abiding by the outcome unless things broke in your favor.

You might try to argue that you voted only in the hopes of adding another vote to the seashore tally, hoping to swing the whole group, but you would be voting under false pretenses. It would be more honest to announce that you wanted to go only to the seashore and would join the others if they decided on that choice.

Now, let's up the ante and suppose that the group decided to hold a vote on whether to go to the seashore or, in the alternative, kill a person at random. You would, of course, find the latter choice repugnant, and you might even cast a vote in the hopes of saving someone's life. But, in reality, you have participated in the process, thereby validating that process and, by extension, the result. The proper ethical response to this type of vote is to refrain from taking part at all.

I don't think it's any different in a political scenario. By participating in the process, you are a priori endorsing the outcome, whatever that outcome may be. You may be disappointed that your candidate didn't win, but you can't really "complain," because your participation indicates that you felt either candidate was a reasonable option, although you preferred one over the other.

Those who can complain are those who felt that perhaps the game was rigged or that one outcome was repugnant and who didn't participate. A good non-political example of the former is gambling, another instance of what Rawls would terms "pure procedural justice." There is no a priori winner of a gambling competition, but in a fair game, the procedure itself produces the just winner.

When you agree to take part in a game, you are admitting that you consider the game is fair. Your only cause for complaint is if you take part in the game, but are deceived as to its fairness. If ahead of time you consider the game rigged and still take part, then you have no room for complaint. Those who can complain about the game are those who refused to play because of the certainty of an unfair outcome.

I live within a few minutes of any number of casinos. They are, as a group, renowned for their meager payoff on the slots, at least as compared to Vegas. Knowing the game is rigged against me, I avoid the slots and feel free to complain about the lousy payoff. However, I know people who spend way too much time and way too much money pumping coins into the penurious slots -- and then come home and complain, a complaint that I refuse to take seriously because they knowingly participate in the rigged game.

A political example of the repugnant outcome is a contest in which you feel one of the candidates is totally unsuitable or, in a worst-case scenario, that neither candidate is worthy, but is "the only choice we have." To take part, and then to complain, seems, as I have said, to be hypocritical, since your participation validates a process you have decided is flawed from the beginning. You can complain about the paucity of acceptable candidates, but I can't see why you need to vote in order to exercise the right to complain about that. In fact, voting for what is commonly referred to as "the lesser of two evils." means that you're still voting for "evil."

I'm not saying that I will follow through on my threat to abstain. Two things argue against that. I vote by mail as a permanent absentee and, if I don't vote, they will revoke that. Also, old habits die hard and I've voted in every election -- local, state, and national -- since I registered on my twenty-first birthday. I vote probably for the same reason some people will push an elevator call button repeatedly -- in the vain hope that their action will bring some positive result, despite historical evidence to the contrary.

All I'm arguing here is that the common belief that only those who vote have the right to complain appears to be wrong -- and quite possibly has the situation backward. Those who abstain can complain. Those who vote, endorse the process and, implicitly, the outcome and its sequelae.

Nor am I advocating that other people don't vote. I wouldn't presume to do that. All I'm saying is that if you participate in a process where there is a 50 percent chance of a repugnant outcome or a 100 percent chance of an undesirable outcome, and you don't like the result, don't come complaining to me. I'll tell you to go commiserate with the slot players.