I am very grateful to my fellow Law & Liberty contributors for their participation in this rousing forum. In a debased political moment, it has been an encouraging reminder of what is possible when citizens reason together in good faith, instead of grandstanding and manipulating one another. 

I am gratified, as well, that I have the opportunity to defend the position that citizens should, in general, plan to vote! It seems all participants of this forum agree that one should not vote for a depraved or grossly incompetent candidate, even to avoid a “lesser evil.” As I argued in my original post, this is morally compromising on a political level, and it contributes to the paralyzing situation in which we seem to find ourselves wherein the nation seems stuck in a gutter, unable to generate a more elevated discourse or address problems that all reasonable people can see looming (such as unsustainable entitlement spending). Despite that, I argue that voting should be the norm for responsible citizens, even if they feel it necessary to resort to a third party, write-in, or blank ballot. It seems my interlocutors disagree.

Ben Peterson provides some helpful historical context for the discussion, and stresses that elections are the “hallmark of self-government.” He views voting as a “civic opportunity” and “symbol that we are part of communities and in a political relationship with our fellow citizens,” but insists that it is not obligatory, especially because there are other more significant contributions one could make to our Republic: service, prayer, participation in the life of a community.

Patrick Lynch argues that principled non-participation can signal to parties that their candidates are unacceptable. He points out as well that the Founders believed that it was possible to make significant contributions to the Republic without voting, since they valued civic participation without embracing the universal franchise. “A citizen who was not a voter, perhaps a man who did not own property during the early republic, was not viewed as absolved from responsibility for the health of the nation’s political system,” Lynch notes.

John Grove is especially concerned to establish that civic participation neither begins nor ends with the electoral process, and that our social order has been deeply damaged by the widespread perception of elections as a kind of all-encompassing “moment of decision” in which the nation collectively plots its future course. He draws insights from Oakeshott to illustrate how some of the most valuable aspects of civilization are likely to be sidelined or abandoned if politics oversteps its appropriate boundaries. “Politics is a limited undertaking, but as much as any human activity, those engaged in it often claim much more for it, seeing themselves as the managers of society.”

I agree with many of these points. However, in reply, I would first draw an important distinction between what is defining and what is important. I stated in my original essay that voting was “the most defining civic contribution of a democratic citizen,” and that declining to do it was therefore a kind of failure of citizenship. My interlocutors take some issue with this; they want to insist that other civic contributions matter more. I don’t disagree that many other contributions (raising a family, being a productive worker, remaining actively involved in churches or community organizations) are potentially far more important than voting. It often happens in life that the defining features of a thing are not truly the most valuable. 

Consider a few examples. The ingesting of nutrients is the most defining feature of eating, but it’s entirely reasonable to value the gastronomic or social benefits of a good meal more than the nutrients. A marital relationship is most defined by what Christian moralists sometimes refer to as “the conjugal act,” but that doesn’t mean that love, mutual support, a shared life, etc., aren’t ultimately far more important. There is a metaphysical element to “defining” features: they make the thing what it is. But in doing so, they also give the thing a particular character, which is distinct even if it ultimately serves as a backdrop for other more important goods. A game of Ultimate Frisbee might provide occasion for an enjoyable social get-together, but it’s definitely different from breaking bread with one’s fellows. Friends and siblings can give one another love and mutual support, but those relationships have a very different character from a marital one, in ways that do seem unavoidably connected to “the conjugal act.”

Citizenship can involve many things, but in a society committed to self-government, the most defining features of citizenship must surely in some way signify overt inclusion in the self, which is to say, in the electoral or governmental process. Non-citizens can be involved in our church communities or neighborhood clubs. They can pray for our nation and, under appropriate circumstances, raise families on our soil. But only citizens are properly included in the democratic process. The government has a kind of accountability to citizens that it doesn’t owe to any living person, and it only seems reasonable to me that that relationship should entail at least some presumed level of mutual obligation. As I argued in my original essay, this obligation is defeasible. It is possible to have morally adequate reasons for declining to vote. But in general, a citizen should consider that he (or she) owes the nation his best-considered judgment on Election Day, rendered in the form of a vote. 

To those (especially Lynch) who recommend principled non-voting as a means of showing displeasure with the available candidates, I would simply ask: in every case, why would it not be better to opt for a blank ballot or write-in? In every election, many millions of people decline to vote because they are indifferent, lazy, or just unable to keep their calendar in order. To an analyst, the principled non-voter is indistinguishable from those people. If you want to send the message that the present candidates are unacceptable, the write-in or blank ballot seems far more effective. 

Peterson suggests that there have never been good arguments to establish voting as something obligatory as opposed to just a generally good thing to do. I don’t have the space here to build a complete meta-ethics, but to me, it doesn’t seem like there’s much space between those two things. Is it not good to act as a citizen, when one actually is? I think so, and insofar as voting carries costs (such as existential angst, or temptations to partisanship), I would think that those efforts, in general, would pay richer dividends by helping citizens to orient themselves appropriately vis-à-vis the state and society at large. If voting were expensive or immensely time-consuming, one could argue that it’s not always worth the investment. But if the problem is precisely that it’s difficult to vote virtuously, I would tend to see that as an argument in favor of voting (at least for most people). If a thing is challenging not for practical reasons but for moral reasons, chances are good that it’s worth the effort. 

Voting, in short, cannot properly be thrown onto a laundry list of things one could choose to do to “make a difference.” It doesn’t necessarily make much of a difference in a causal sense, but that’s not why we should vote. We do it because we are citizens, and this is what citizens do. 

I think it is entirely possible (easy, in fact) for a person to make too much of voting, in the sense of becoming excessively emotionally invested, or invested in an unhealthy sort of way. I have real sympathy, therefore, for Grove’s argument that many people will be better off ignoring elections. I completely share his (and Oakeshott’s) concerns about the metastasizing of the political order, and its dire effects on art, culture, and the social order more broadly. To me though, it seems likely that it will be easier for people to avoid this kind of unhealthy entanglement if they are taught to see voting not as a personal opportunity (for what, exactly?) or a symbol (if it’s just that, to hell with it!), but as a normal and plebeian civic duty. In some elections, it’s fine and indeed quite sensible to find this duty distasteful. Do it anyway, for broadly the same sorts of reasons you respect rules of etiquette, dress appropriately for social occasions, or put your litter in the trash can. It’s just one of those things that’s expected of you as an upstanding member of society. Make your best effort, and then move on with your life.

For what it’s worth, I am very sympathetic to the person who votes, not by “researching the issues” or watching horrendous infotainment-oriented debates, but simply by asking a respected and trusted person what he or she would recommend. That is not an abrogation of civic responsibility. Think of it as a voluntary, grassroots-level return to the kind of representation the Founders favored. You may not be well-equipped (for reasons of time or temperament) to make an informed decision about every electoral contest, but you can see that a particular person of your acquaintance is trustworthy and prudent. Choosing to follow their recommendation might, in some circumstances, be a perfectly responsible way of fulfilling your own civic duty. 

Nevertheless, in the context of the present discussion, I think it is worth reflecting on the question: was it a mistake for our nation (and the world at large) to embrace the universal franchise? As Lynch points out, the Founders didn’t embrace this as an obvious norm, and there are still people today who bemoan this development as a regrettable stage in the mad dash towards an irresponsible populism. Among far-right traditionalists (which group, I hasten to note, does not include any present company), one still very regularly encounters the view that the female franchise in particular was a bad mistake, replacing a family-oriented social ethic with a hyper-individualism that treats voting as a personal entitlement more than a civic responsibility. Answering that argument, for me at least, required some careful reflection at an earlier point in my life. Why is it important for women (or non-property-owners, or any other particular group) to have the franchise? Is it not true that people will be inclined to vote more thoughtfully when they clearly understand themselves to be representing something bigger than themselves (family, community, or nation)? And is it not also true that raising a family and keeping a home is ultimately far more important than voting in an election?

I think all of those things are plausibly true. The universal franchise has downsides, and it has nudged us further in the direction of seeing ourselves as atomistic free-floating individuals, not diverse members of a multi-tiered social order. Certainly, it is not the be-all-and-end-all of civic participation. Nevertheless, it is my own considered view that the universal franchise was an inevitable and, yes, fitting development under contemporary conditions, because in a society committed to self-government, a person who cannot vote will never be seen as a full-fledged citizen. Grassroots-level contributions are diverse (and extremely important!), but a citizen, most fundamentally, is one to whom government is accountable. That rubber meets the road at the ballot box. 

That’s why women, apartment-dwellers, and all law-abiding adult citizens should have the franchise. And it’s why I still maintain that we ought to be citizens by exercising that right on election day.