Each time a major election approaches, I find myself meditating on the Indian fable about the blind men and the elephant. It’s a famous story, but just in case: a group of blind men encounter an elephant for the first time, and try to make sense of the strange animal by touch. Each one in turn describes the legs, flank, trunk, and tusks, but instead of combining these data points to see the bigger picture, they end up coming to blows as all conclude that the others are dishonest or delusional. The moral is obvious. Myopically fixated on our own personal experience, human beings are lamentably quick to judge or condemn others who may just be perceiving the same complex reality from another angle. 

In the voting booth, we all resemble those blind men to varying extents. Realistically, no one person can pretend to have more than a narrow, heavily blinkered view of that wondrous, awful beast that is our Republic. But on election day we must render our verdict on America’s future, inevitably putting ourselves at odds with millions of our fellow citizens. Voting can be ennobling, treating all men and women as contributing citizens with a stake in the future. But it can also be degrading, turning us all into blind men who bite and claw at one another even as an elephant (or donkey?) threatens to trample us into dust. Given the obvious, painful degradation of our political sphere, it may seem that it is not possible to vote responsibly. I often reflect, in those final demoralizing days before an election, that feudalism may have had some underappreciated upsides.

Nevertheless, we should vote. I will argue in this essay that adult citizens have an obligation to vote, though I think this duty is defeasible; there can be morally adequate reasons not to vote. I will contend, as well, that American citizens should presumptively vote for one of the two major parties. However, that obligation too is defeasible. There can be morally sufficient reasons to vote for a third party, write in a candidate, or leave a segment of the ballot blank.

Making the Political Personal

Voting is a morally consequential act, which we undertake as rational beings and as citizens. That being the case, it is important to vote (or not) in a way that can be reconciled with our consciences, and with other commitments we have made. If it is possible to vote for a major-party candidate without violating that requirement, one should. If not, a third party, write-in, or partially blank ballot is the next best option. Staying home should be a last resort. But sometimes “last resort” becomes necessary, and it is far better to stay home than to toss one’s personal integrity on the pyre of political partisanship.

Voting is truly a curious thing. On one level, it is the most defining civic contribution of a democratic citizen. In a heroic mood, I can occasionally wax eloquent on the ennobling possibilities of the universal franchise, and there are reasons why so many have earnestly fought for it in the modern era. Personally, I very much appreciate the efforts of the Suffragettes. I think I deserve to be a full-fledged citizen, with attendant rights and duties.

In practice though, those duties can be onerous, and voting is often a dreary and demoralizing chore. The difficult part, obviously, is the deliberation, not the trivial task of casting the actual ballot. It’s depressing and morally fraught. It forces us to accept the reality of being at odds with many, or even most, of our compatriots. Reasonable people may well prefer not to vote. But we should do it anyway, for the sake of our nation and the future generations who will inherit it. If the franchise makes a citizen, those who fail to exercise it are refusing to act like citizens in a very important way. And if that sounds like high-flown romanticism, keep in mind that democracy cannot function unless morally serious citizens pay some attention to politics so that they can vote. Our parties cannot be rescued from irresponsible populists unless serious, reflective people keep coming to the polls. 

Now though, we come to a difficult point. A thing of great moral importance ought to be done well. But in a fractured republic, this can seem impossible. What if none of the parties are anywhere close to the right track? What if none of the candidates are good, or even barely acceptable? Perhaps there is always a lesser evil, even in the most debased circumstances, but even if that’s true it doesn’t resolve the moral difficulty of voting. It is impossible to deliberate seriously about politics without being drawn to some extent into the logic, rhetoric, and strategic positioning that shape the political realm. In principle that can be healthy, but in a deeply disordered society it probably isn’t, and even the rank-and-file voter (who distributes no leaflets, makes no campaign donations, and aspires to no office) may find engagement with the political realm deeply compromising. Politicians have a demonstrated power to lead ordinary people into delusional realms of demagoguery, often persuading them to jettison core convictions and commitments as a sacrifice to the gods of political religion. 

However dirty the job, someone must do it, lest we give up completely on our nation. But even if there are strong reasons to “hold one’s nose” and vote for an unworthy candidate, that choice is always risky, not only (or even primarily) for the country, but for one’s own character, reputation, and personal integrity. Voting is always a morally significant act. It has consequences for us, as rational persons and as citizens, regardless of the political consequences. The reality is that what you do in the ballot box almost certainly won’t change the outcome of the election. But it will change you. 

In voting for a person, you give that person real, concrete political support. Your vote reifies your deliberative process, rendering a personal verdict on a disputed question. On Election Day, the political becomes personal; each voter takes a stand and is counted. What that act means in the life of an individual can vary widely, precisely because the deliberative process is extremely personal, but there is no hiding from the reality of having dropped your oar in a particular place. Mindfully or not, you made a choice.

In difficult election years, mealy-mouthed apologists love to downplay the personal significance of that choice. They argue for various versions of a “binary choice” theory that treats a vote as nothing more than an indication of preference for one candidate over and above the other. A vote (so the reasoning goes) is not an endorsement of anyone’s character, platform, or fitness for leadership. It’s perfectly fine, in fact, to view your vote for Jane Smith first and foremost as a vote against John Smith, her opponent. Don’t overthink it; just pick Jane or John. 

Even from a coldly utilitarian standpoint, the reasoning behind binary choice theory is exceedingly weak. For one thing, the utilitarian value of a single vote is negligible. If voting isn’t elevated through broader appeals to the value of civic participation, then it’s probably irrational even to go to the polls. Beyond this, “wise as serpent” voting may not seem so wise when one considers how easily the election of a marginally-less-bad candidate might lead to worse outcomes overall, for instance by discrediting a worthy cause, or by closing off the possibility of a better candidate emerging from the more-salvageable party. 

All of this is beside the point, though. Binary choice reasoning is not truly a vehicle for hard-headed utilitarianism. The obvious goal is to make voting easier by reassuring people that they haven’t really chosen a bad candidate by voting for him. Unfortunately, this is false. A vote for John Smith represents real, concrete political support for John Smith. If you voted for him, you chose him. 

A vote may be cast reluctantly. This does matter, and it would be quite wrong to view a vote simply as an endorsement of the candidate’s character, platform, and fitness to lead. Political support for John Smith is compatible with serious reservations about him. But that’s a morally complex position that most people find hard to maintain in a politically polarized environment. 

Once they’ve picked a team, most voters find it extremely difficult to avoid the temptations of groupthink, confirmation bias, and specious rationalization. We experience the act of voting as a defining moment of decision, because in a sense it is that. Unless reservations have been very carefully and conscientiously developed beforehand, they tend to be shunted into a footnote once the election is over. We become John Smith supporters through the act of voting for him, even if we didn’t think of ourselves that way initially. Resisting that slide is possible, but it must be done very deliberately. And that, in turn, is only possible if one recognizes up-front the moral seriousness of a vote.

Navigating the Minefield

Citizens should vote conscientiously. If one cannot do that, it’s better not to vote at all. It might be reasonable for some to decide, like alcoholics avoiding the bar, that voting for them creates temptations too strong to handle. It should be said that I’ve never heard anyone give that justification for not voting. But I would respect a person who did.

More often, people explain their refusal to vote by citing the distasteful squalor of the political sphere, and their disappointment with the available options. Those are understandable reasons for not wanting to vote, but not sufficient to justify shirking the duty. If dissatisfied citizens fail to vote, the satisfied ones will continue to get their way. Does that sound like a good thing? In the eyes of candidates, campaigns, and electoral strategists, a citizen who refuses to vote for conscientious reasons is indistinguishable from one too lazy or indifferent to get off the couch. Political strategies are built around “likely voters.” There’s only one reliable way to be “a likely voter.” 

Not voting carries its own moral risk. The conscientious abstainer may come to see himself as above the fray, untainted by the tawdry back-and-forth of real politics. He may feel scornful of compatriots who, unlike him, were prepared to lower themselves to the abysmal level of the available candidates. Voting can be morally compromising, but shying away from necessary choices can also be vicious, and non-voters can easily come to feel that it’s someone else’s fault that the country isn’t better, and someone else’s job to fix it. Voting is and remains the core mechanism by which citizens make their wishes known. In general then, it’s best at least to go through the exercise of joining one’s fellow citizens at the polls, and casting a ballot.

When possible, it is also best to vote for a major party candidate. That is not because a third party or write-in voting is “throwing your vote away.” Neither is it true (though committed partisans love to claim it) that a vote for a third party is “really” a vote for the opposition. In the epic contest of Jane vs. John Smith, a vote for Lester is a vote for Lester. It doesn’t matter whether I normally support Jane’s party or John’s. 

Voters should normally support major parties because they are the ones that govern America. Our Constitution facilitates coalition-building within parties, not among them. We’re meant to engage in conflict and compromise at the party level, ultimately hammering out a platform that can appeal to a sizable portion of the country. When the major parties are in a particularly sorry state, people sometimes become disgruntled with this system and express the view that third parties ought to have more influence. I can’t really share this sentiment. Coalitional governments have their own problems; for instance, they often enable tiny, radical parties to gain wildly disproportionate influence by playing kingmaker among deadlocked parties. Our Constitutional structure is perfectly sound; we just need to make better use of it. In general, that means working within the major parties to achieve political goals.

Sometimes though, it just isn’t possible to vote for a major-party candidate without feeling personally compromised. This cannot be lightly dismissed as “squeamishness.” Remember, once again, that a vote represents real political support for the chosen candidate. If your conscience reels at the possibility that you could be described, even in a highly qualified sense, as “a John Smith supporter,” you should not vote for him. If Jane is just as bad, don’t vote for her either.

Where should that Rubicon be? There are no hard-and-fast rules, as indeed there really can’t be, since voting is highly personal. If a candidate has promised to do something heinously unethical, that might be a good enough reason. If he overwhelmingly fuels his campaign on hatred, resentment, or lies, that might do it. Character can be the deal-breaker, too. It’s reasonable to refuse to vote for someone who seems egregiously unfit to govern. Clearly, there are many judgment calls in this calculation, and different people will draw different lines. That’s perfectly appropriate, given that our perspectives, commitments, and deliberative processes are all distinct. But if the verdict of conscience is that the available candidates are unsupportable, don’t support them. This is not in any sense a “waste” of your vote. It signals to the major parties that voters find the available choices unacceptable, which is itself a statement.

Third-party or write-in voters, like conscientious abstainers, may be susceptible at times to self-righteous scorn or prissiness. No path is without peril. The best antidote here is to think seriously about possible developments that might make the major parties supportable again, and to advocate for those changes as much as one can. Boycotting the major parties should not be a pleasure, or a source of pride. It’s a contingency, to be exercised in very non-ideal circumstances.

The Duties of Citizenship

In the midst of an ugly election, politicians and campaigns will do everything possible to make voting seem easier. Resist. Voting should be hard. 

Above all, resist the impulse to dissolve personal qualms in the solvent of social approval. It’s pleasant to feel like a part of a team, and even nicer to be assured that you’re one of the good guys, but those are the impulses that turn us all into blind men, attacking one another while the world burns. Try, instead, to think of yourself as a conscientious citizen, whose perspective is valuable but also just one among many. 

In the Indian fable, each man sees (or rather feels) something true. Elephants do have legs, tusks, and trunks. If each could hold onto his perspective without hating the others, the group might gain a real understanding of the elephant. Maybe they could even tame it. Who knows?

As voters, we are in the same position. We owe our country our perspective on election day, and we do well to consider carefully what insights we have to contribute. But we should try to do it without viewing our compatriots as enemies. Even where they are wrong, their perspective may contain some element of truth that’s worth absorbing. Whether or not we can find it, we might be better for the attempt.