A Radical Political Theology for the Anthropocene Era: Thinking and Being Otherwise

Introduction

I think it is only through metaphysical, religious,and theological paradigms that one can truly approach the contemporary—the political—situation.¹

Philosophy as such is nothing but genuine awareness of the problems, i.e., of the fundamental and comprehensive problems. It is impossible to think about these problems without becoming inclined toward a solution, toward one or the other of the very few typical solutions. Yet as long as there is no wisdom but only quest for wisdom, the evidence of all solutions is necessarily smaller than the evidence of the problems. Therefore, the philosopher ceases to be a philosopher at the moment at which the subjective certainty [quoting M. Alexandre Kojève] of a solution becomes stronger than his awareness of the problematic character of that solution. At that moment the sectarian is born.²

(T)he prophecy of doom is to be given greater heed than the prophecy of bliss.³

We cannot construct an eco-theology without offering a radical political theology. An eco-theology/philosophy depends on thinking and being otherwise politically.

The news is bleak—increasing temperatures, melting glaciers, rising and more acidic seas, catastrophic storms, desertification of vast tracts of land, decimated rain forests, frequent massive forest fires, extinctions of millions of species, ⁴ failed and failing states, increases in political violence, and mass migrations of peoples within and between borders. ⁵ Bleaker still is the news that a number of climate scientists believe that we have already passed the threshold of making significant changes to avert global warming. ⁶ Even if we were to magically reduce carbon emissions to near zero, it would take centuries for the CO2 already present to diminish to earlier pre-Anthropocene Age levels. One climate scientist, responding to a reporter’s question about what he really thought about the consequences of climate change, said, We’re fucked. ⁷ We are, as Elizabeth Kolbert ⁸ and Naomi Klein ⁹ note, in the midst of a sixth extinction event, ¹⁰ which they and others call the Anthropocene Era ¹¹—an era of mass extinctions caused by human beings. ¹² This extinction event reveals, as historian Dipesh Chakrabarty rightly claims, that human beings are a force of nature, which means that natural and human history can no longer be considered separate. ¹³ Put differently, we have long recognized that human beings have political agency, but we are now realizing in this era that human beings also have eco-agency, though for decades human beings were blissfully, perhaps willfully, ignorant of our role in climate change.

Of course, it was not as if we were not aware that human beings could destroy the earth and most, if not all, of its residents. Growing up in the turbulence of the 1960s, I remember grade-school drills where we hid under our desks, not because of an active shooter, but in case of a nuclear attack. Nuclear war and nuclear winter captured our imaginations and heightened our sense of vulnerability and helplessness. During this time, though, almost no one had any idea that we were well on the way toward damaging our habitat, not by nuclear weapons, but by the very way we lived our lives in the profligacy of market societies. The great leap forward in science, technology, and industry in the late eighteenth century accompanied costs we have only begun to calculate during the last forty years. While we have found ways to constrain the proliferation of nuclear weapons, we (the United States in particular) have not and may not find the political-economic will to engage in real and comprehensive international cooperation to restrain, let alone stop, the trajectory of climate change and its dire consequences. Despite incredible human creativity and ingenuity in the face of these threats, I am neither optimistic nor hopeful, primarily because of human/collective anthropocentrism, narcissism (tribalism, classism, racism, sexism), and myopia evident in the ongoing prevalence of militarism, global capitalism, nationalism, and imperialism, all of which are seemingly insurmountable obstacles to global political cooperation toward making significant advances in reducing human degradation of the planet—our one and only home.

Yet, this is neither a counsel for despair nor nihilism, though these are understandable responses, even if they are unhelpful. And while I am aware of the prevalence of narcissism and parochialism, I also recognize that human beings are capable of extraordinary acts of love, self-sacrifice, and courageous generosity.¹⁴ Between the poles of optimism/hope and pessimism/despair are routine acts of care, acceptance, humility, patience, kindness, and hospitality. Care,¹⁵ not hope motivates me to write this book, to write in the face of present and coming disasters. It is care for the residents of the earth, care for other creatures who similarly depend on a good-enough habitat, care for the earth itself as an extraordinary, complex living system. This is echoed in Pope Francis’ encyclical, Laudato Si, wherein he uses the example of St. Francis to exhort human beings to care for all that exists, because every creature is a sister or brother.¹⁶ Whether care is sufficient to turn the tide is not the question. It may very well be that care is not enough, but care is not necessarily contingent on or determined by the realization of a particular vision or outcome, which I will say more about in the last chapter. Care is sufficient in itself, in the present, in the moment. As Martin Luther is credited with saying, If the world was going to end tomorrow, I would plant a tree today.

Care, then, is what goads me to write a book proposing a radical political theology for the Anthropocene Era. This radical political theology rests on five premises. First, human beings possess both political agency, which we have known and commented on for millennia, and ecological agency. The former undergirds a particular political ethos and mythos, wherein citizens, living a life in common, possess sufficient mutual fidelity, trust, and care to cooperate toward the well-being of society and its members. The latter founds the belief that human beings, as a force of nature, are responsible for caring for their habitats,¹⁷ which includes the vast diversity of creatures who, likewise, are dependent on a viable habitat for their existence and well-being.¹⁸ And we are now more aware than ever that our particular habitats are part of one larger, single, deeply complex living habitat—the earth. It is also increasingly apparent that political and ecological agencies are intertwined, for without care of the habitat, there will be no political ethos or mythos. Moreover, political and ecological agencies combine the universal and the particular. We all dwell and are dependent on one spaceship, despite all the rich varieties of cultures that inhabit the earth. The idea of the universal does not necessarily imply homogeneity vis-à-vis political and ecological agency. Just as one earth has diverse habitats, so, too, human beings, as universally dependent on the earth, have a diversity of cultures and political responses regarding how human beings are to dwell together.

In Western philosophy there is a long history of contested discourse regarding being and becoming, potentiality and actuality, essence and existence. If I may be overly reductionistic, from being to becoming, from potential to actual, from essence to existence occurs, for human beings, only if there is care. The second premise of a radical political theology, then, is that care founds subjectivity, intersubjectivity, and agency (political and ecological). At the same time, the fact of ecological agency also means that care necessarily extends to the earth—the very possibility of a viable habitat. In other words, subjectivity (becoming, actuality, and existence) is contingent on caring for the habitat, and not simply the care provided by human beings. We know, for instance, that for ages competent farmers, while dependent on the weather (which they could not influence), knew that they must care for the land for their very existence. Their agency as farmers was contingent on adapting to and nurturing the earth. If the land is ill, then human beings will also suffer.¹⁹ Today, more and more people are realizing that if we do not care for the earth, care for each other will be negatively impacted. Care of and for human beings, then, means caring for the earth, which now includes acknowledging that our embodied subjectivity is dependent on the viability of our habitat. The third and related premise is that God’s infinite and indeterminate care, evident in the act of creation and the incarnation, is partially manifested in human acts of care for Others, other-than-human beings, and the earth. Being created in the image and likeness of God, in other words, includes eco-agency and political agency of caring for others and care for the earth as a foundation of human life.

The fourth premise is that all human beings are residents of the earth. This is obvious, but it has implications with regard to the political. I avoid using the term citizen to refer to human beings as citizens of the earth. The notion citizen is a political and juridical concept, demarcating itself from those who are not citizens. In the case of a particular polis, citizens are deemed to have rights, responsibilities, protections, and privileges that are denied those who reside in society but deemed to be non-citizens.²⁰ Residents who are not citizens are both included and excluded, at best, and completely excluded, at worse. Today, there are persons, residing in the U.S. who are constructed as illegal, because they have not followed the guidelines for entry into the country. They are residents, but not citizens, which means they have fewer rights and are vulnerable to exploitation.²¹ If we shift to the Anthropocene Age and the reality that the earth is one habitat, we might entertain the idea that all human beings are citizens. Unfortunately, the legacy of exclusion (including identity) would continue in the sense that animals could not be considered citizens.²² Of course, it would be a category mistake to apply the concept of citizenry to animals, since they lack political agency. Therefore, I prefer the term resident in referring to all living creatures of the earth. This is not necessarily a juridical or political term, but rather an existential fact that eschews any attempt at exclusion. Human beings and other-than-human beings, then, are residents first and foremost. Human beings are secondarily citizens of their specific societies.

There is another reason for avoiding the term global citizenship. Citizenship implies that a particular state or governing body provides the juridical and political basis for who is and who is not a citizen. The idea of global citizenship would suggest some kind of world government, which is difficult to imagine as being currently possible or feasible given the plethora of nation states and the challenges of arriving at consensus about human rights and addressing issues of identity. Global citizenship is not impossible, however numerous obstacles limit it to the realm of metaphor or idea. I add here that global citizenship would continue to be exclusive with regard to nature and those residents of the earth that are more-than-human. Since they share the same habitat and are residents, are they to be excluded from protections and resources?

James Hunter argues that an essential task of political theology is to reflect critically on the world, as well as theological perspectives aimed at engaging the public-political realm.²³ A critical stance is the final premise, but a radical political theology extends this by critiquing the tradition from within so to suspend its authority and free it for a new use.²⁴ Decades ago Alan Watts made a similar comment, stating that To be free from convention is not to spurn it but not to be deceived by it. It is to be able to use it as an instrument instead of being used by it.²⁵ Scripture and theology, then, need to be problematized, because they can be used to promote and sustain ideologies that undermine political theologies that are more fitting to the demands of the Anthropocene Age. So, for instance, in chapter 1 I critique theologies of subjugation and subordination evident in scripture and many Judeo-Christian theologies with the aim of highlighting a theology of vulnerability and dependency that is latently evident in scripture. This will serve as the basis of a radical political theology that addresses the Anthropocene Age.

These premises undergird this work, which leads me to offer a comment about the method used in this book. The title, A Radical Political Theology for the Anthropocene, would seem to suggest, for some readers, the systematic construction of a political theology. This is not the approach taken here, in part, because any systematic creation of a political theology, as I hope to make clear, is already a problem.²⁶ It is a problem for two reasons. First, it would be a vision of what would be definitive for human beings. Instead, I would rather begin moving toward notion of a specific political theology (e.g., radical democracy) by identifying problems and principles so that we could discuss how we will dwell together.²⁷ Second, it is also a problem because it would likely support a particular type of political sovereignty, which, as I note in chapter 3, is inimical to the theological idea of a non-sovereign God. Instead of constructing or defending a systematic edifice, my approach is to identify and respond to various problems associated with any political theology and philosophy so that we might begin to see more clearly how we might work together to develop a provisional politics that is a means without a particular defined end.²⁸ The main reason for this approach is that political theology, at its best, is critical²⁹ and responsive to the questions, issues, and sufferings of the time (and geography) without imposing a particular vision of sovereignty, government, etc.³⁰ Or to turn to Paul Kahn’s view, political theology offers not theory of justice against which to reform our political life. It asks only to think carefully (and critically) about our own belief that we are and must be free.³¹ Therefore, a radical political theology is not, in my view, utopian in terms of seeking a particular vision of an unrealizable polis, in part, because to do so would suggest a universality that does not exist or, if it were to exist, would involve coercion, violence, and oppression toward those who have a different vision. This, however, does not mean there is an absence of a vision or mythos. Instead, it is a vision informed by, but not determined by, Christian mythoi that contain principles for dwelling together, principles of working toward a shared idea of the common well-being of others and the habitat. The approach here is realistic and respectful in that it recognizes the incredible diversity of human beings and their manifold ways of living a life in common, though my approach is also critically grounded in the theological mythos of the infinite, indeterminate care of God for all of creation and the incarnation of Jesus Christ. In terms of using this mythos, I follow, in part, Giorgio Agamben’s approach in deactivating a tradition in order to put it to new use.³²

My approach, while not aimed at constructing a particular polity, is also aimed at thinking and being otherwise given the particular polis in which we reside, as well as our use of theology. By this I mean, both possessing a critical stance and inoperativity (more about this later) vis-à-vis the governing structures and apparatuses³³ of our particular society (and theological apparatuses).³⁴ This critical stance and inoperativity emerge from a notion of care, and it is care in the Anthropocene Age that avoids both hope and despair. In other words, hope is contingent on some realization of a particular vision, and one is vulnerable to despair when this vision is not realized. A radical political theology rests on the idea of care, which is connected to a mythos and vision, but is not contingent on realizing the vision in the present moment of care. I intend to explicate this further in the last chapter.

Let me add a few related thoughts regarding political theologizing. French philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari write that philosophy is the art of forming, inventing, and fabricating concepts.³⁵ The history of philosophy, then, is not about the history of moving toward greater articulation of Truth(s). Instead, it is a history wherein persons create concepts that have meaning and significance given the questions, concerns, and issues of their time and location. I think theology and, in particular, political theology can be understood in this way as well, though with a qualification.

Any theology is, in my view, a creation that emerges from the issues of the day. I say a creation for two reasons. First, as Paul noted, we see through the glass darkly, which I take to mean that in grasping reality or truth, we distort it.³⁶ No human being has a privileged access to the Truth—a Truth that is universal and timeless. Second, our theological constructions of reality are creations that are inextricably linked to our projections. From Xenophanes³⁷ to Spinoza, from Voltaire to Feuerbach and Freud people have noted the projective element in human constructions and discussions about God. How could it be otherwise? Does this, then, mean that political theology lacks any foundational truth? Is it merely a construction, like philosophy? Are we doomed to relativity of perspectives, since there is no Truth? I have two responses. First, while I believe that political theology is a creative, critical enterprise that involves some projection, I do not think or believe it is merely this. This is where I part company with Deleuze’s and Guattari’s perspective. To say that we see through the glass darkly presupposes some Truth, though we inevitably distort it because of human finitude, which, I believe, is a fact or truth that might give rise to some degree of humility and even hospitality for diverse views among theologians who create political theologies. This said, the theological premise above is the Truth that I derive out of my seeing through the dark glass. The truth is the non-sovereign God’s infinite and indeterminate care, evident in creation, imago dei, and the incarnation. Daniel Black’s novel provides a brief illustration. On the slave ship the narrator looks across the ship and sees a fellow African, noting there was Something deep in the soul that could not be spoken. Something the oppressors could not disturb or destroy. Something unnamable, immeasurable, indestructible.³⁸ This man loved a woman, who was also brutally enslaved on the ship. That which could not be spoken, but was also immeasurable and unnamable, was also ungovernable, beyond the sovereignty of the oppressors and their terroristic machinations. Theologically, the man’s and woman’s love, in my view, can be understood as an incarnation of the non-sovereign care of God, though like Jesus’ forgiveness of his tormentors, had no apparent effect. That said, their love exceeded their chains. The belief in and truth of God’s infinite and determinate care, then, is the theological premise/truth that undergirds the political theological discussion in this book.

A second and related response concerns the silence of God. Frequently, theologies operate as apparatuses or disciplinary regimes, presuming to inform people about what God said, believes, or God’s attributes. Indeed, as will be discussed in the next chapter, theologies of subjugation/subordination serve as anthropological machines, differentiating between human beings and other-than-human beings in terms of the illusions of superiority and inferiority, which necessarily are linked to the notion of dominion that, more often than not, leads to exclusion and exploitation.³⁹ These theologies, in other words, are used to justify and legitimate forms of exploitation and political exclusion (e.g., sexism, racism, etc.). Colby Dickinson and Adam Kotsko note that Agamben did not articulate a theology, though we might suggest that if he did venture into this territory, it would be one wherein God is silent, behind the wall of ‘absolute immanence’ that at once undoes centuries of theological speculation and yet might preserve the nature of whatever ‘mystery’ such a divinity might actually be.⁴⁰ I appreciate this view, but out of this silence I will posit one attribute of this absolute immanent God and that is the infinite mystery of the indeterminate care of God.

Given these general comments, it is necessary in this introductory chapter to explain, albeit briefly, what is meant by polis, politics, political, and political theology, including a brief explication of how climate change shapes them. I hasten to add that these concepts, by themselves, are complex and contested, making it impossible to do justice to them in such a short space. Nevertheless, it is important to provide some foundation for the chapters that follow, and I do so by adding my own views regarding these concepts. Once this is accomplished, I conclude with a brief depiction of subsequent chapters.

Clarifying Terms: The Polis, Political, Politics, and the Anthropocene Age

I recall a Jewish colleague remarking humorously that if there are three Jews conversing, there will be four, perhaps five opinions. One could see this as the perennial problem of arriving at consensus, but I think it is what provides richness to conversations, especially discussions addressing topics of importance. The same can be said of academics who write about politics and political theology. As a group many theologians are deeply concerned about politics, which in the Anthropocene Age takes on even greater weight. While we may not arrive at consensus, the discussion itself may clarify our thoughts and methods. With this in mind, let me plunge ahead in depicting these terms, recognizing that these ideas will be explored further in subsequent chapters.

It is readily observed that the notions political and politics are derived from the Greek term polis, which is often translated as city-state.⁴¹ Political philosophers Leo Strauss and Joseph Cropsey argue that the term city-state is not an accurate translation.⁴² They write, When people speak today of ‘the state,’ they ordinarily understand the ‘state’ in contradistinction to ‘society.’ This distinction is alien to classical political philosophy.⁴³ Classical political philosophers, they argue, emphasized society vis-à-vis the city-state and they lacked the concept of the state, though this did not mean that they lacked a notion of governance or sovereignty.⁴⁴ Instead, as Melissa Lane points out, the polis, in Greek thought, was understood primarily to be a community in which citizens share; it is a community of common activities⁴⁵ for the sake of life.⁴⁶ In Aristotle’s view, for instance, the polis is a sphere of conscious creation, which is allied with humankind’s nature to associate and dwell together—life lived in common.⁴⁷ The polis, in other words, reflects the intersection of the given and the made, necessity and freedom. Human beings create the polis and its institutions, yet human beings by nature are finite social/political animals.

In terms of the made, philosopher Hannah Arendt, relying on her reading of Plato and Aristotle, views the polis as a space wherein people speak and act together toward living a life in common and sharing in common a vision of the good life.⁴⁸ She argues further that the polis properly speaking is not a city-state in its physical location, it is an organization of the people as it arises out of speaking and acting together.⁴⁹ Arendt, following though amending Aristotle’s view, believed the polis was necessary for human beings to attain their full humanity, not only because they are (as in the privacy of the household) but also because they appear.⁵⁰ In other words, Politics arises in what lies between [persons] and is established as relationships.⁵¹ Her views are echoed later in Agamben’s work, wherein he argues that politics is humankind’s most proper dimension.⁵² Similarly, contemporary political philosophers Axel Honneth⁵³ and Nancy Fraser⁵⁴ contend that the political—this space of speaking and acting together—depends on interpersonal recognition, which could be said to mean that individuals are constructed as persons and they appear in their singularity or suchness. To appear in the polis means that there must be recognition and treatment of human beings as persons—unique, valued, inviolable, responsive subjects.⁵⁵ To experience oneself as a person, to appear as a unique human being, is both a social and political achievement, and one that necessarily implies plurality, which is, for Arendt, necessary for a viable polis.⁵⁶ Politics, then, is constitutive of being human in all its diversity—a Western notion that has deep roots in both Plato and Aristotle.⁵⁷

To return to Arendt, she rightly stresses communication and community, rather than locating geography (or identity) as the principal factor in understanding the notion city-state, though this will need to be further qualified below. Analogously, philosopher Giorgio Agamben argues that it is in speaking and acting together that one becomes a political being, which suggests that geography or specific location and particular governing structures are secondary to speaking and acting together.⁵⁸ For moderns, when it comes to the polis, we often focus on the state and geography instead of the community of citizens/residents speaking and acting together toward the common good. For instance, I might say I am a North American, which locates me not only within a specific geographical setting, but it also implies an identity that is exclusionary and linked to the state. For Arendt, who had the experience of being a stateless person fleeing the Nazis, the emphasis is on speaking and acting together, which paves the way for the possibility of political identity wherein geography and the state are secondary or in Agamben’s term, inoperative. Briefly, inoperative means deactivating the apparatus or disciplinary regime that establishes the political in terms of geography and identity.⁵⁹

Before identifying other features of a polis, let me linger for the moment to note a connection between polis and ekklesia. For Richard Horsley, the community of faith or ekklesia has a political character. He notes that the term ekklesia referred to the assembly of citizens in a self-governing city-state.⁶⁰ To be sure, modern understandings of the community of faith might eschew the notion of it being a polis or city-state. Naturally, there are distinctions to be made, but for my purposes the ekklesia falls within the notion of the polis, given that it involves an assembly of people engaged in mutual-personal recognition while speaking and acting together toward the common good. This will be important in later discussions regarding a radical political theology. For now, the political character of the ekklesia links it to the larger political reality of society, but, at the same time, paradoxically (ideally) incarnates the non-sovereign God, making inoperative—in the case of the early communities of faith—Roman political governance.

Several features of the polis are worth briefly identifying, because they will be important for subsequent chapters. When we say the polis is an assembly of people living and speaking together (Arendt’s space of appearances⁶¹), we immediately notice that this means its members or citizens have, in varying degrees, a shared language, narratives, and practices, which accompany a shared identity and vision(s) of the good. Implicit here for a polis or ekklesia to be viable, to flourish, shared personal recognition as fellow citizens is foundational for appearing as a political subject. This recognition, which I will discuss in more detail in the next chapter, necessarily accompanies and is supported by shared public-political narratives, communicative practices, and social rituals. These narratives, practices, and rituals not only contain representations for political recognition, they also contain the values that comprise a common, though often contested, vision of the common good. Even during instances of contestation regarding the common vision, people will be arguing from a set of shared narratives, while at the same time ideally sharing common representations for mutual-personal recognition.

Of course, the very same narratives and practices that make possible mutual personal recognition and that are necessary for speaking and acting together, are also involved in excluding persons from participating. As Claire Colebrook and Jason Maxwell note about Agamben’s political philosophy, Being recognized before the law, having the political identity of a citizen, is an event of inclusion that necessarily entails exclusion.⁶² If we turn to the Greeks, Aristotle’s polis excluded women, children, and slaves from the public-political process of speaking and acting together as citizens, though women, children, and slaves were included in the polis—residents, but not citizens. Others who were not politically recognized and who were excluded were men (foreigners, barbarians) from other city-states. They may have been residents, but they were excluded from full participation in the polis. In the history of the United States, slaves, African Americans, Native peoples, and women have, at times, not been recognized as political agents, though they resided within the U.S. They were, in other words, excluded from the political space of appearances, to use Arendt’s term, yet included in the polis-excluded-included Others.⁶³ The shared narratives and practices legitimated the attenuation of the space of appearances and accompanying mis or non-recognitions.

The struggle between exclusion and inclusion vis-à-vis human beings may have sparked Emmanuel Kant’s interest in cosmopolitanism.⁶⁴ How do we live in a polis that is pluralistic and diverse was an issue for Kant’s times, and our own as well, though there is a key difference. The realization that we are in the Anthropocene Age, wherein all human beings are residents, might offer opportunities to move beyond inclusion-exclusion dynamics within and between diverse political communities. Agamben envisions the possibility of a political community—coming community—that does not have the problem of inclusion-exclusion. Can we dwell in the polis such that we co-belong without any representable condition of belonging, without affirming identity?⁶⁵ He believes so, though not without recognizing the countervailing headwinds confronting any approximation of this type of polis. To embody and appear as singular and to belong without making either singularity or belonging contingent on the representations of a particular identity are intolerable to the state apparatus, according to Agamben. What the State cannot tolerate in any way, he writes, is that the singularities form a community without affirming an identity, that human beings co-belong without any representable condition of belonging.⁶⁶ We might hear counter-echoes of this in Galatians (3:28): There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ. The point here is not simply to live in a polis without the necessity of relying on identity, but how we are to live and cooperate together toward the well-being of all residents of the earth and the earth itself, while affirming the incredible diversity and plurality of cultures/identities. Can the space of appearances be extended to include all human beings (and other-than-human beings) without resorting to one state or universal government (Leviathan)? Or can we speak and act together without making identity the criterion for participation? I will return to this below.

Giorgio Agamben further broadens the vision of exclusion and inclusion vis-à-vis the polis. In Western philosophy, starting with the Greeks, Agamben notes, there has been a split between the political and natural world,⁶⁷ which means that more-than-human beings are not considered to be residents—existentially or juridically. Of course, there is no hint here of making animals legal residents or citizens, for that, as noted above, would be a category mistake. The point, rather, with regard to living in the Anthropocene, is to acknowledge that other-than-human beings and the earth are part of the polis and the political.⁶⁸ Nature, in other words, is the very foundation for the possibility of a polis. While we may agree with Arendt’s view that a polis is not defined by geography, there will be no polis if there is not a natural world that supports life. If anything, the Anthropocene Age informs us that geography or habitat is the basis of the very possibility of speaking and acting together. While the polis is natural, in the sense of being a construction of human beings and a need for being human (persons), it is not separate from nature.⁶⁹ Distinction is not necessarily separation or exclusion. In brief, the natural world is the foundation of the very possibility of a polis.

There are several other aspects of the polis need mentioning. As noted, speaking and acting together requires interpersonal recognition,⁷⁰ which founds the individual and the collective sense of self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-respect in the public realm.⁷¹ Put another way, to have political agency in the polis, to appear as a political agent, one must have affirmed one’s sense of self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-respect. Instances of exclusion, such as slavery, and marginalization, such as racism, classism, and sexism, involve disciplinary regimes or apparatuses that deny personal recognition, which, in turn, accompany the collapse or attenuation of the space of appearances and the diminution of political agency. The apparatuses or disciplinary regimes that humiliate persons and groups depend on misrecognition, which undermines the self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-respect necessary for political agency in speaking and acting together. People who are marginalized or excluded, then, will be unable to discover or have affirmed their public-political self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-respect. A decent polis or ekklesia, by contrast, does not humiliate its residents or some group of residents, making possible shared esteem, respect, and confidence necessary for political agency, for speaking and acting together.⁷²

It is important to stress that personal recognition in the polis has, as Nancy Fraser points out, very real effects on the distribution of resources.⁷³ In an indecent polis, those who are denied political agency or whose political agency is thwarted will not have the same access to resources as those who have full political agency and its corresponding sense of esteem, respect, and confidence. One need only point to the long history of slavery, racism, sexism, and classism in the United States to see this clearly. Also, when we consider that global warming will lead to the reduction of the resources needed for survival, we can imagine the likely possibility that recognition in the polis will become yoked to particular identities, leaving lesser identities (residents) in the polis to fend for themselves with less resources to cope. We already have clear evidence of this in Trump’s draconian—barely hidden—white supremacist immigration policies and his comment that Our country is full. It is also evident in environmental racism, which has negative effects on persons of color.⁷⁴ Clearly, then, social-political misrecognition is linked to the maldistribution of resources, and, in the Anthropocene, it will only get worse.⁷⁵

Agency within the polis is also intertwined with civic faith. For cooperation to exist in the polis, for people to engage in speaking and acting together toward the common well-being of the polis’ residents, there must be some semblance of shared civic faith—trust, fidelity, and hope.⁷⁶ We must have some semblance of trust and loyalty in the polis, if we are to risk appearing in our singularities. Even Hobbes’ dismal leviathan enforces and allows for some degree of trust and fidelity between citizens, though it is dependent on the threat of punishment—political violence. One might say the leviathan poses a threat that enforces a minimal amount of cooperation vis-à-vis security and peace.⁷⁷ More positively, the polis that promotes mutual personal recognition also at the same time facilitates civic trust and loyalty for the sake of speaking and acting together toward common well-being.⁷⁸

Included in the polis’ civic faith is the faculty to make and to keep promises.⁷⁹ To make and keep promises, Arendt argues, is necessary given the uncertainties and insecurities of the future.⁸⁰ Yet, we also know that, as much as human beings are promise-making creatures, we are also promise-breaking beings. We are faithful and faithless, which, if the polis is to survive, requires the faculty of forgiveness. Arendt writes, It is rather that forgiving attempts the seemingly impossible, to undo what has been done, and that it succeeds in making a new beginning where beginnings seemed to have become no longer possible.⁸¹ In short, a decent polis would entail customs and institutions that would facilitate relational repairs due to broken promises.

Implicit in the notions of interpersonal recognition, political agency, and civic faith is civic care. Numerous feminist scholars and pastoral theologians have argued that care is a political concept.⁸² While mentioned in a footnote above, care, in general, as a political concept refers to activities or practices that are aimed at meeting individuals’ and families’ vital biological needs, developing or maintaining their basic capabilities, and avoid or alleviate unnecessary or unwanted pain and suffering, so that they can survive, develop, and function in society.⁸³ Even indecent or dystopian societies have a semblance of care among its members, though care may be reduced to the home or friendships. The television show Deadwood, for instance, portrayed moments of care amidst the violence of living in a Western territory that had no laws or government.

In light of the Anthropocene Age, we are invited to extend political agency/faith, care, esteem, confidence, and respect not only for all who reside in a geographical location, but for every resident of the earth. If this seems unlikely or even naïve, recall that Agamben considers this a possibility for human beings. Human beings can co-belong without affirming an identity . . . without any representable condition of belonging.⁸⁴ I do not think that Agamben is suggesting that identity is not important. Rather, with regard to belonging, identity in the polis is not contingent on or determined by particular representations that legitimate participation. Put differently, particular representations vis-à-vis identity are inoperative in the polis. They are present, but not operative with regard to persons speaking and acting together. This paves the way for the idea that the polis, while local and having particular representations (narratives, rituals etc.), does not exclude others. If one believes this is not possible, consider the example of the Norwegian town Longyearbyen, which has over 50 nationalities among its 2,500 residents. It is a town where a visa is not required. As one resident remarked, All are guests, which he understood to mean as guests of the island and its animal residents. Also, as guests, their specific nationalities are inoperative—present, but not operating vis-à-vis their speaking and acting together in this polis.

In terms of the Anthropocene Age, the political community comprises all human beings and nature. Does this imply a homogenous world? I am confident Agamben’s idea of the coming community does not mean universal homogeneity or a global state government. It is possible to live like the residents of Longyearbyen amid diversity and plurality in speaking and acting together. Recognition of individuals’ singularities is by definition an acknowledgement of plurality. Put differently, the singularity and suchness of individuals, then, is recognized and accepted, yet particular representations are not the basis of a particular political identity/agency that excludes others. We are all part of one habitat. We all have political-ecological agency amid diverse city-states that are dependent on one habitat. We are all guests of the earth.

Having defined and addressed some the characteristics of the polis and its relation to the Anthropocene Age, I turn briefly to the cognate concepts’ politics and political. Political philosopher Sheldon Wolin views the political as an expression of the idea that a free society composed of diversities can nonetheless enjoy moments of commonality, when, through public deliberations, collective power is used to promote or protect the well-being of the collectivity.⁸⁵ He continues by saying Politics refers to the legitimized and public contestation, primarily by organized and unequal social powers, over access to resources available to the public authorities of the collectivity. Politics is continuous, ceaseless, and endless.⁸⁶ These terms are obviously related for Wolin. He notes, The political signifies the attempt to constitute the terms of politics so that struggles for power can be contained and so that it is possible to direct it for common ends, such as justice, equality, and cultural values.⁸⁷ Andrew Samuels holds a similar view. He argues that politics is the concentrated arrangements and struggles within an institution, or in a single society, or between the countries of the world for the organization and distribution of resources and power . . . to maintain survival . . . or more positively enhance the quality of human life.⁸⁸ While I will say more about power below and in the chapters on sovereignty and change, both Samuels and Wolin view the political and politics in terms of discourse, contestation, and agency, all of which are aimed at living a life in common with the goal of common well-being. That is, both politics and the political emerge from the shared concerns of human beings to take care of themselves and the part of the world they claim as their lot.⁸⁹ Politics, in short, represents agonistic relations of people struggling to speak and act together toward a vision of the good.

I quickly note here Wolin’s view of the relation between care and these two terms—politics and political. Care, as indicated above, is central to the political and politics. It is difficult to imagine political arrangements surviving without some level of civic care and civic faith. Even totalitarian states that rely on violence and the threat of violence to quell political opposition require some basic level of civic care to keep the society from imploding. Another important point in Wolin’s views is the importance of commonality vis-à-vis the political and politics. The political, he argues, is based on this possibility of commonality: our common capacity to share, to share memories and a common fate.⁹⁰ Lest one think that the term common is a code for exclusion of the uncommon or those in society who are included but excluded from common memories, Wolin believes that the problem of the political is not to clear a space from which society is to be kept out but is rather to ground power in commonality while reverencing diversity—not simply respecting difference.⁹¹ Unlike Hobbes, who feared human beings would return to the brutish state of nature, and Schmitt’s friend-enemy distinction as the basis of politics and the political, Wolin founds the political in common care and a commonality that cherishes difference and diversity.

The idea of civic care and civic faith vis-à-vis living a life in common is connected to the process of the political. Agamben contends that politics is a means without end.⁹² I understand this to mean two things. First, since human beings cannot, for Agamben, exhaust their potentiality, which indicates that a clearly defined end or telos would contradict the nature of being human.⁹³ Human beings, for Agamben, are defined as beings without an essence, unless we understand essence to be potentiality. Second, care vis-à-vis speaking and acting together in the polis, is the process by which potentiality becomes actual, which I will address in the chapter on political change. Care and attending personal recognition are means with no clear end or telos. Yes, the end is to live a life in common, but what that actually looks like is unclear and wildly diverse.

There is one other point that Hannah Arendt contributes to our understanding of the political. Political activity, she contends, is valued not because it may lead to agreement or to a shared conception of the good, but because it enables each citizen to exercise his or her powers of agency, to develop the capacities for judgment, and to attain by concerted actions some measure of political efficacy.⁹⁴ To return to Agamben, the political is humankind’s most proper dimension.⁹⁵ Arendt stresses that political activity—speaking and acting together in the polis—involves, like Wolin, diversity in the polis, which is not simply diverse singularities, but diverse visions of the good.⁹⁶ Again, what this good looks like is dependent on the means of care, which is without a determinative telos. Also, in my view, political activity/agency and care, as noted above, presupposes individual and shared, yet diverse, self-esteem, self-respect, and self-confidence, which are supported by public, political, and cultural institutions.

Neither Wolin nor Arendt associate politics and the political with government. To do so would limit these terms. They both acknowledge that the government or state is a creation of people speaking and acting together, which means that speaking and acting together precedes any notion or structure of government.⁹⁷ Moreover, for these theorists, politics is the lifeblood of society and constitutive for being human,⁹⁸ and not something simply and solely confined to those who are in the government. To be in society is to be engaged in the political and in politics. Even if one deliberately avoids voting and engaging in public-political discourse, they nevertheless remain part of the polis and are shaped by both politics and the political.

It can be helpful to encapsulate the above by saying that, by the political, I mean socially held and publicly used and expressed symbols, narratives, and rituals that are embodied in a polis’s institutions and social-symbolic communicative spaces that function to:

a. organize persons’ experiences and legitimate individuals’ actions in the public realm.⁹⁹

b. facilitate collective discourse and action in the public realm.¹⁰⁰

c. distribute power and resources.¹⁰¹

d. legitimate authority and governance.

e. adjudicate claims and discipline and repair breeches of both social order and the laws governing social arrangements and the distribution of resources.

f. provide an overarching social-political identity that supports collective action and discourse, as well as provides for a shared sense of continuity and cohesion.

g. facilitate civic care and trust for cooperation vis-à-vis survival and flourishing.

The notion of politics, then, refers to groups of people, not necessarily or always citizens, who are engaged in public action and discourse—speaking and acting together—pertaining to the common good and decisions being made with regard to a) who is