Nussbaum's The Cosmopolitan Tradition

Martha Nussbaum, The Cosmopolitan Tradition: A Noble But Flawed Ideal, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019).

Published in 2019, it’s almost impossible to read Nussbaum’s defense and extension of modern liberalism without thinking about the context of Trump. Any defence, no matter that Nussbaum has been writing about the crisis of liberalism for decades, must take account of the shadow he cast over the American demos. In brief, she argues: liberalism is in crisis because its account of freedom cannot account for ecological and material damage endured by the poor and by the planet. It no longer offers a convincing weltanschauung, and the resurgent isolationism in America and England - she implies - is just more evidence of its failure. Another hint that it is America she has in her mind’s eye as she writes is the stoic, classical foundations which she attacks. The stoicism of Diogenes and Cicero teaches rejection of material and bodily concerns (and is, unsurprisingly, undergoing a renaissance in silicon valley) and underpins a certain class’ declaration that they are citizens of the world, she argues, does not allow for the myriad ways in which social, economic, biological, and material contexts generate inequality. If we ignore inequality, that is to say, it will not go away. It is for perhaps this reason that her ‘Capabilities Argument’ fails. Attempting to revive and defend a liberalism shaken by 2016 by adding a sprinkling of intersectionality, she does not qualify or say anything new about Diogenes, Cicero, or Kant. She still believes in the Kantian relationship to nature, she still defends a ‘scientific world view’ while arguing around the religious concepts of human dignity. She may identify ends, but refuses to discuss causes.

The Cosmopolitan tradition owes much to the stoicism of Diogenes and Cicero, and the Weltburger of Kant. To be cosmopolitan is to reject the ties of material difference, of social or family affiliation, of religion and of creed, and to declare oneself a citizen of the word. To do so is also to insist on the fundamental equality of humanity. Nussbaum argues however that this belief in human equality ignores the extent to which humans are differentiated by circumstances of biological, material, economic, and social factors. To claim that there is no difference between a magic circle lawyer on £350,000 in London, a homeless woman and addict in Arkansas, or a garment factory worker working 18h days in Bangladesh under threat of starvation or flood is to ignore the myriad ways in which they suffer. It is not enough to emphasise stoic indifference to suffering; to do so is not emancipatory, but chains the victim to their oppression. In other words, if you characterise all life as suffering, equally worthy of disdain, then it becomes difficult to differentiate victim and oppressor. There is on motivation to struggle for change. 

Against this tradition, Nussbaum argues that material inequality matters. All entitlements have an economic and social dimension. Some people will always need help or resources more urgently than others, just as the baby needs more protein than others. None of us are free of our contexts. In this sense then, though she uses the term only once, Nussbaum argues for a type of intersectional liberalism. We are shaped and enmeshed by myriad social circumstances that differentiate us, but still retain a core individuality when it comes to political action. The liberal subject is born unfree and is everywhere in chains.

In its place, she proposes a version of her Capabilities Approach. Capabilities Approach’ arguments are twofold; a) that freedom to attain moral well being is of primary moral importance, and b) well-being should be understood in terms of a person’s capabilities and functioning. Such an approach requires us to ally justice with material aid and emphasises perception over intelligence or rationality. In so doing we no longer ignore the material inequality. Neither, and this she claims is the most critical issue concerning the anthropocene, do we reify an idea of humanity that excludes both the intellectually disabled and the higher-functioning animals.

None of this breaks from the assumptions of the 20th century. Inequality is bad, there is some sort of worth inherent in humans and animals, and we should take care of the planet. In terms of political institutions, the post-imperial nation-state is the default unit. Western democracies should be broadly non-interventionist. Only to avert genocide should we intervene. Long-term aid in terms of cash rather than expertise stymie the ‘natural’ development of political systems. But in the case of immediate famine, we should of course give as much as we can. 

Here lies the wider issue with Nussbaum’s world view. Just what threshold is required for action? How many bodies are enough? What kind of inequality is acceptable? Where does humanity end? Dignity, whether animal or human, requires a cluster of specific behaviours or responses. But _what_ that cluster is, what separates ‘alive’ from ‘dead’ and determines quality of life, is left to the reader. So too is the threshold required before military intervention becomes acceptable. She acknowledges the fundamental value of humans, the rights we all have to live free of material and social burdens, and underscores ‘to each according to his ability’. But just how many deaths are acceptable before other countries intervene? Nussbaum thus writes a defence of not just the status quo, but of inaction. We can only act when it is too late, when all the evidence has been gathered, and we can only brake when the car has gone over the bridge.

The overriding issue is that Nussbaum uses theological, marxist, and intersectional language and concepts without grappling with their contexts and implications. Nussbaum clearly believes in a theological concept of human dignity. She briefly alludes to her own reform judaism. But she remains just as unwilling to defend that concept of the human as she is to accept that the Kantian revolution has its flaws. Absent, too, is any material analysis. Again, she accepts certain concepts - capitalism, exploitation, material inequality - at face value and without reference to how such inequality perpetuates or shapes human identity. Our bonds may bind us, but they do so in this account without leaving marks and barely touching the skin.

 Nation states, too, form an uncomplicated whole. But these are fragile, novel, and there’s no sense of how national and international identity can simultaneously sustain a sense of rootedness-in-isolation without international conflict. We may have duties, but when and how should we execute them? This is not to say that Nussbaum’s ideas are bad. Naivety would be perhaps a better word. She clearly believes in an international community that balances rights and duties, defends the environment (even if she struggles to locate humanity as anything other than apart from it), and recognises the dangers of quick fixes. But there is no reason to think that there is either an adequate departure from, or engagement with, the problems that led to liberalism’s crisis.