Philosophy & Public Policy Quarterly
Civic Studies
Peter Levine
Y
ou are a citizen of a group (regardless of your
legal status) if you seriously ask: “What should
we do?”
The question is what we should do because the
point is not merely to talk but to change the world.
Thinking is intrinsically connected to action. We don’t
think in focused and disciplined ways about the social
world unless we are planning to act; and we don’t think
well unless we learn from our experience.
The question is what we should do, not what should
be done. It’s easy enough to say what should be done
(enact a global tax on carbon, for instance). The tough
question is what we can actually achieve. That requires
not only taking action but obtaining leverage over
larger systems. Since our tools for leverage are mostly
institutions, this question requires careful thought
about real and possible institutional forms. It is also,
by the way, not the question “What should I do?” Of
course, that is also important, but I cannot achieve
much alone and–worse–I cannot know on my own
what I ought to aim for. I must collaborate in order to
learn enough about what to do.
The goal of civic studies is to develop ideas and ways of
thinking helpful to citizens, understood as co-creators
of their worlds.
The question is what should we do, so it is
intrinsically about values and principles. We are not
asking “What do we want to do?” or “What biases and
preferences do we bring to the topic?” Should implies a
struggle to figure out what is right, quite apart from
what we may prefer. It is about the best ends or goals
and also the best means and strategies. (Or if not the
best, at least acceptable ones.)
Finally, the question is what we should do, which
implies an understanding of the options, their
probabilities of happening, and their likely costs and
consequences. These are complex empirical matters,
matters of fact and evidence.
Academia generally does not pose the question
“What should we do?” The what part is assigned to
science and social science, but those disciplines don’t
have much to say about the should or the we. Indeed,
the scientific method intentionally suppresses the
should. In general, philosophy and political theory ask
“What should be done?” not “What should we do?”
Many professional disciplines ask what specific kinds
of professionals should do. But the we must be broader
than any professional group.
In response to the question "What Should We
Do?" a group of scholars and activists have joined to
form the emerging academic field of "Civic Studies."
It is the intellectual component of civic renewal, which
is the movement intended to improve societies by
engaging their citizens. The concept of "Civic Studies"
as an academic field was coined in 2007 in a statement
by a group of scholars when they designed a summer
institute on the subject. The framing statement is
available at the website footnoted below.1 A more
complete portrayal of the nascent field of "Civic
Studies" can be found at its website
(http://activecitizen.tufts.edu/civic-studies/) along
with links to its organizing members. The website
presents "Civic Studies" in part as follows.
The goal of civic studies is to
develop ideas and ways of thinking
helpful to citizens, understood as cocreators of their worlds. We do not
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define “citizens” as official members
of nation-states or other political
jurisdictions. Nor does this formula
invoke the word “democracy.” One
can be a co-creator in many settings,
ranging from loose social networks
and religious congregations to the
globe. Not all of these venues are, or
could be, democracies.
Civic studies asks “What should we do?” It is thus
inevitably about ethics (what is right and good?), about
facts (what is actually going on?), about strategies (what
would work?), and about the institutions that we cocreate. Good strategies may take many forms and use
many instruments, but if a strategy addresses the
question “What should we do?”, then it must guide our
own actions – it cannot simply be about how other
people ought to act.
I have no complete theory of “Civic Studies” to
offer, but here are five principles, drawn from various
authors and from experience.
The heart of conservative thought is resistance to
intellectual arrogance. A conservative is highly
conscious of the limitations of human cognition and
virtue.
instance, you immediately return to a few core
principles, it will frustrate deliberation, collaboration,
and learning. It is equally damaging to drop ideas
quickly in order to avoid conflict. The ideal is genuine
intellectual engagement with other people, through
both talk and action.
Be Humble
In deciding what to do, we should be conscious of
intellectual limitations. This is what I take from
conservative thought: a serious doubt that we will
come up with a better plan than what our predecessors
devised, what the community in question already does,
or what emerges from uncoordinated individual action.
That doubt can be overcome by excellent thought; but
we must be reasonably cautious and humble about
ourselves.
The heart of conservative thought is resistance to
intellectual arrogance. A conservative is highly
conscious of the limitations of human cognition and
virtue. From a conservative perspective, human
arrogance may take several forms:
Learn from Collaboration
Our methods should be interactive and deliberative. I
will not decide what we should do; we will.
Yet procedures will not suffice. It is not enough to say
that a diverse mix of affected people should sit
together and decide what to do. If I am seated at that
table, I must decide what to advocate and how to
weigh other people’s ideas. A deliberative process
creates the framework for our discussion, but we still
need methods to guide our thinking.
It is important whether our substantive beliefs are
structured so as to permit interaction and learning. The
question is not (only) whether you believe in equality
or liberty, in God or in science. The question is how
you use those ideas in your overall thinking. If, for
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the ambition to plan a society from the center;
the willingness to scrap inherited norms and
values in favor of ideas that have been
conceived by theorists;
the preference for any given social outcome
over the aggregate choices of free individuals;
the assertion that one may take property or
rights away from another to serve any ideal;
and/or
the elevation of human reasoning over God’s.
These are separable claims. You can be an atheist
conservative who has no objection to elevating human
reason but deep concerns about state-planning. That is
why conservatism is a field of debate, not a uniform
movement. But it’s also possible to build coalitions,
since, for example, Christian conservatives and market
fundamentalists
can
unite
against
secular
bureaucracies. Their reasons differ, but it is not only
their practical objective that unites them. They also
share a critique of the bureaucracy as arrogant.
Edmund Burke, an 18th century Irish political
philosopher who served as a prominent member of the
British Parliament, is considered by many to epitomize
the ethic of conservatism. He stood for the
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proposition that the status quo is likely to be better
than any ambitious reform. Even if current institutions
are based on unjust or foolish general principles, they
have gradually evolved as a result of many people’s
deliberate work, so that they now embody some
wisdom. People have accommodated themselves to
the existing rules and structures, learned to live with
them and plan around them, and have woven more
complex wholes around the parts given by laws and
theories. Meanwhile, proposed reforms are almost
always flawed by limited information, ignorance of
context, and downright arrogance. In politics, as in
medicine, the chief principle should be: “First, do no
harm.”
In any debate, the Burkean conservative position is
worth serious consideration. I come down on that side
pretty often. And given the alternatives, I almost
always vote for the Burkean political party in the
United States, which is the Democratic Party.
It is the Democrats, after all, whose main goal is to
defend the public institutions built between 1900 and
1960: neighborhood public schools, state universities,
regulated capital markets, federal health programs,
science funding, affirmative action, and the like, against
untested alternatives based in the abstract theories of
neoliberalism. Importantly, Democrats defend existing
institutions without heartily endorsing them. A typical
Democratic position goes something like this:
Neighborhood public schools are inequitable and
sometimes oppressive, but they need our support
because lots of teachers and families have invested in
them, they are woven into communities, and the
radical critiques of them are overblown.
In fact, no one maintains authentic conservative
ideals in the United States as well as the grassroots
activists who organize everyday civic initiatives: service
projects, community-based research studies, public
deliberations, and the like. Typically, they place
themselves far to the left of the political spectrum. But
that just demonstrates that our political spectrum has
been oddly scrambled. Civic activists are precisely the
people who advocate respect for local norms and take
an “asset-based” stance toward the institutions,
resources, and norms of the communities where they
work. They also work independently of the state and
try to build the capacity of free citizens to solve their
own problems. These are authentically conservative
ideals.
Criticize from Within
Pure conservatism would preclude any criticism of
existing institutions and norms. That will not do. But
our critique of the shortcomings of our society should
be “immanent,” in the jargon of the Frankfurt School,
a group of social theorists associated with the Institute
for Social Research at the Goethe University in
Frankfurt, Germany, and particularly with its
contemporary leader, Jürgen Habermas.
Habermas has long argued that we should make
more explicit and try to improve the implicit
("immanent") norms of a community rather than
imagine that we can import a view from nowhere.
I would alter the idea of immanent critique in two
ways. First, we should not look only for contradictions
and hypocrisies in the norms underlying social and
political discourse. Holding contradictory ideas is a
sign of maturity and complexity, not an
embarrassment. And if you look for contradictions in
order to advance your own view, then you are not
actually practicing immanent critique. You’re hoping
to score debating points in favor of a position external
to the community. The immanent critique I
recommend is subtler and more respectful than that.
Second, it is not always directed at communities,
whether geospatial, ethnic, or political. Sometimes it is
directed at practices and fields. In fact, I see special
value in intellectual engagement with fields of practice
whose expressed aims are appealing but which need
help with the details.
In fact, no one maintains authentic conservative ideals
in the United States as well as the grassroots activists
who organize everyday civic initiatives: service projects,
community-based research studies, public deliberations,
and the like.
Avoid the Search for Root Causes
Here is a little fable that illustrates this point:
A group of middle class students has volunteered
to serve meals at a homeless shelter. They love the
experience. During the reflection session later, one
remarks, “Serving the homeless was so great! I hope
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that shelter will still be open in 50 years, so my
grandchildren can serve.”
A progressive educator cries, “No! Our goal must
be to end homelessness. You need to think about root
causes, not just serve free food once a week. What are
the fundamental causes of homelessness?” Chastened,
the students do serious research and determine that
homelessness results from poverty, which, in turn, is a
byproduct of global capitalism.
They are trying to figure out what to do about
capitalism when the Brazilian legal theorist and former
cabinet member Roberto Mangabeira Unger happens
to walk by. “No!” Unger might declare. “You are
assuming that the link between poverty and
homelessness is natural or inevitable. You have derived
patterns from data drawn from limited and partial
experience and restricted your imaginations to what
you believe are ‘lawlike tendencies or deep-seated
economic,
organizational,
and
psychological
constraints.’"2 We human beings have made the social
world and we can change any part of it–not only the
parts that you have identified as deep structures, but
also any of the other elements or links.
“Your ‘confining assumptions…impoverish [your]
sense of the alternative concrete institutional forms
democracies and markets can take.'3 By focusing on the
biggest and most intractable factors, you guarantee
defeat, whereas any part of the picture could be
changed. It would be possible to have a capitalist
society with poverty but no shortage of homes. What
if we got rid of all zoning rules and rent control but
gave everyone a voucher for rent? What if public
buildings were retrofitted to allow people to sleep
comfortably in them at night? What if some houses
were shared, like ZipCars, and homeless people
occupied the temporarily empty ones? What if …?”
The idea of "root causes" is a misleading metaphor.
Social issues are intertwined and replete with feedback
loops and reciprocal causality. There is no root.
Sometimes it is better to address an aspect of a
problem that seems relatively superficial, rather than
attack a more fundamental aspect without success.
Keep the Ship Together
In deciding what we should do next, we should not
turn our attention to ultimate ends, for example, to a
theory of the good (let alone the ideal) society. First,
the path toward the ideal is probably not direct, so
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knowing where you ultimately want to go may send
you in the opposite direction if you look for a shorter
path. Second, we should be just as concerned about
avoiding evil as achieving good. Third, our concept of
the ideal will evolve, and we should have the humility
to recognize that we do not believe what our
successors will believe. And fourth, we are a group that
has value–the group may even give our lives the value
they have. It is just as important to hold the group
together as to move it forward rapidly toward the ideal
state.
There’s a great scene in the movie Lincoln when the
president tells Thaddeus Stevens:
A compass, I learnt when I was
surveying, it’ll—it’ll point you True
North from where you’re standing,
but it’s got no advice about the
swamps and deserts and chasms that
you’ll encounter along the way. If in
pursuit of your destination you
plunge ahead, heedless of obstacles,
and achieve nothing more than to
sink in a swamp, what’s the use of
knowing True North?
These are the words of Tony Kushner, who wrote
the screenplay, not (as far as I know) of President
Lincoln himself. But they make an important point.
Knowing where we ought to end as a society tells us
very little about our best next move. Sometimes a
tactical retreat or a sidestep is well advised. Thus
political philosophy does not address the question,
“What should be done?” unless it is married to political
strategy–and the division of disciplines and
departments makes that combination rare.
I would actually push the point further. There is no
end, no literal True North. As we move through time
as a people, we keep deciding where we ought to go.
Moving in the right direction is important, but so is
holding ourselves together as a community so that we
can keep deciding where to go. Sometimes, the
imperative of maintaining our ability to govern
ourselves is more important than forward motion.
In his fine book, Reconstructing the Commercial
Republic, Stephen Elkin introduces this metaphor:
Those who wish to constitute a
republican
regime
are
like
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shipbuilding sailors on a partly
uncharted sea who know the
direction in which they sail, since the
kinds of ports they prefer lie that way.
This much they can agree on. To
attempt to agree on anything more
specific will defeat them, their
opinions on the matter differing
significantly. They also know too little
for substantive agreement to be
possible. … It is clear that the
relations among the shipbuilders are
fundamental. Because they must
build, rebuild, repair, and modify the
vessel as they sail and learn–and
because they must alter their
course…–it matters whether the
shipbuilders’ modes of association
are such as to facilitate this learning
and the decisions they must make. …
These modes of association are then
at least as important as the ports
toward which the shipbuilders sail.4
Peter Levine is Lincoln Filene Professor of
Citizenship and Public Service, Tisch College, Tufts
University. E-mail: Peter.Levine@tufts.edu.
Notes:
http://activecitizen.tufts.edu/civic-studies/summerinstitute/summer-institute-of-civic-studies-framingstatement/
Unger (2004). In this paraphrase, the last words are directly
quoted from p. 15.
Ibid., p. 10.
Elkin (2007) pp. 107-108.
Sources:
Elkin, S. (2007). Reconstructing the Commercial Republic:
Constitutional Design After Madison. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Unger, R. M. (2004). False Necessity: Anti-Necessitarian Social
Theory in the Service of Radical Democracy. New York: Verso.
So it is with a republican regime. Elkin adds that
the “essential problem is one of creating a design that
provides the capabilities that are needed to keep the
regime oriented in the right direction.”
Lincoln provides a rich example for thinking about
this problem. He knew the North Star (in that case,
abolition) but he also strove to keep the ship of state
together because abolition was not the only or final
destination our ship could reach. Lincoln’s was the
great case, but the same situation confronts every
leader–and every citizen. For instance, our current
president named the North Star in his Second
Inaugural:
We are true to our creed when a little
girl born into the bleakest poverty
knows that she has the same chance
to succeed as anybody else, because
she is an American, she is free, and
she is equal, not just in the eyes of
God but also in our own.
But how can we move a divided America closer to that
objective? That is an example of a question that is
worthy of us, as citizens.
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