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When Your Vote Counts: Electoral Nihilism

Tuesday, November 4th, was an election day in the United States. Nevertheless, if you are eligible to vote in the U.S., you likely did not do so. Perhaps you did! Voter turnout was higher than usual. Further, there may be a significant selection effect among this audience such that you, someone interested in reading public philosophy, is more likely to be electorally engaged.

But statistically speaking, a majority of those who are eligible to vote in the U.S. don’t participate in each election, at least in recent decades. In presidential elections since 2004 between 50 and 66% of eligible voters cast a ballot, meaning that between one third and one half do not. Midterm elections typically see between 40% and 50% turnout during even-numbered years, with some years dipping into the 30’s – so most potential voters sit these out.

But turnout for local elections, especially those which occur in odd numbered “off-years,” is the most troublingly low. Data are hard to gather, given that these elections are (usually) not for federal offices and thus take place at the town, county, or state level. Regardless, the available data suggest that turnout for most local elections ranges from low to shockingly low; mayoral elections usually see about 20% turnout even in major cities, while other offices such as school board, town supervisors, or city council members may see turnout drop into single digits.

There are several reasons we might be troubled by this. I want to articulate at least three philosophical reasons for concern. First, there are epistemic issues. Going back to (at least) Aristotle, theorists have argued that what makes democracies special is that, by having many participate in the political process, we can access knowledge that may be inaccessible if only a minority participate. The idea here is that, through accessing the aggregate of everyone’s views, we are more likely to come upon the right view.

Exceptionally low turnout elections run counter to this proposed advantage of democracy. Instead, they appear to more closely resemble an aristocracy, rule by a small number of elites – only a select few participate in determining the outcome of these elections. Thus, if democracy is in part justified by its unique advantage in reaching the right answers, then we have reason to doubt the merits of elections where only a small minority participate as their verdicts are not a collective aggregate.

Second, one might worry about the legitimacy of any institutions whose officers are determined by only a small number of voters. Many contend that governments are only morally justified via the consent of the governed. It is this idea that gives democratic institutions their legitimacy; voting is the procedure by which we indicate our preferences and express consent for the outcome that emerges. However, when very few participate in the elections, we have serious reason to doubt the moral legitimacy of those selected. Only a small minority express a preference for them and thus the rest are giving, at best, tacit consent to grant power to those officials.

However, I think that closer examination of this issue – the role of elections in shaping governmental legitimacy – will reveal a larger issue to which low turnout elections give rise. It seems to me that low voter turnout will help to enable electoral nihilism. By this I mean the view that there is no good reason to participate in elections. The fewer people that participate in elections, the more likely it is that potential voters will become electorally nihilistic.

This may seem counter intuitive. I am claiming that not participating in elections, particularly local elections, may lead someone to believe that engaging in the electoral process is pointless. One would think that the order of operations would go in reverse – the view that it is pointless comes first, which then deflates the desire to participate.

But think carefully about the elections in which most voters do not participate, local elections. These are the elections which a) will have the most immediate, direct effect on their lives and b) are those where their vote will have the most power.

Suppose, for instance, that my town has a referendum on funding a new park. The referendum passing could produce a material change in my life and do so relatively quickly – the park would provide new opportunities for recreation, a new venue for events, etc. If I voted in favor of the referendum and it passed, I may see the results of my action and its impact on my life in short order.

Compare this to political action at the federal level. Former President Barack Obama, before leaving office, compared federal policy to steering a very large ship; it takes a long time to turn the boat in a new direction, and slight, even imperceptible, changes at one moment can result in arriving at a very different destination given enough time.  Few of us feel the effects of federal level elections soon after they occur. Of course, there will be exceptions – candidates may campaign on, and follow through with, policies that involve aggressively targeting specific groups, threaten to upend the economic or social order, and lead to war. But our vote at the federal level generally takes more time to trickle down to our individual lives.

Additionally, just mathematically speaking, our vote at the local level carries more weight. Given that there are fewer voters in a local election, each single vote matters much more. There is a real sense in which votes for federal offices do not matter. In the 2024 elections, out of 468 elections for seats in the House and Senate, only 43 had a margin of victory under 5%. However, the closest race in the Senate was won by 15,000 votes, while the most competitive House race had a margin of 187 votes. For presidential elections, the only voters who appear to shape the outcome of the elections are tens of thousands of voters across the battleground states. There is a real sense in which one simply casts their ballot into the ether in these elections. One can hardly be blamed for thinking that there is no point in participating in these circumstances.

Local elections, however, are quite different. The 2025 mayoral election for Johnson City, New York, a town where I lived during graduate school, was apparently decided by just 9 votes. No single person’s vote changed the outcome of this election, but one person’s actions may have or could have changed the outcome – one day of canvassing, one night of phone banking, one trip to take voters in need of a ride to the polls, or a few conversations with friends, could have added or flipped enough votes to change the victor. One’s personal vote, and their election related actions, are much more impactful on the local level. Thus, when one is regularly participating in local elections, it is far more difficult to collapse into electoral nihilism. The results of one’s efforts are readily apparent.

Of course, there are significant challenges to participating in local elections. As our sources of news have become more nationalized, 40% of local newspapers have gone out of business, resulting in 50 million Americans living in “news deserts” where there is extremely limited (or no) news coverage of local events and, by extension, elections. This is especially troubling given that the power to vote comes with responsibilities, specifically the responsibility to be informed. Voters may need to do significant personal research to find out who and what precisely is on their ballot, then dedicate efforts towards gathering information about the specific platforms for each candidate.

So why put in this effort to avoid electoral nihilism? At least initially, I think there are two primary reasons. First, Americans’ confidence in their democracy is at an all-time low. Of course, addressing this will require systemic reforms. But ensuring that one feels that voting matters seems to be a necessary first step to any changes. Second, reducing electoral nihilism may lead to more responsible voter behavior. When one feels that one’s vote is meaningless, it becomes easier to vote for fictional characters, or to treat your vote as a joke – when nothing matters, then anything is permitted. In a democratic society, we ought to be prepared to, even if only hypothetically, provide a good justification for how we fill out our ballot. It seems that a necessary first step along the way to developing this justification, is to think that one is doing something that matters with one’s vote. Being an engaged, informed and responsible voter is hard work, and hard work may not be worth doing if one feels that it does not matter.

A Boulder Rolls Downhill

photograph of silhoutted man leaning against boulder at dawn

On occasion a philosopher will be asked, sometimes seriously but often tongue-in-cheek, “What’s the meaning of life?” Stereotypically this conversation happens at a bar or party—somewhere that involves a mind-altering substance. A few weeks ago I had such a conversation at a bar. The novel coronavirus was not yet being taken seriously across the US (though it should have been). Nonetheless the theme is applicable—what should we do, and how should we feel, when things are bad? Does it matter? It’s easy to get to a negative answer: there is no meaning, and it doesn’t matter what we do. We can pick out at least two philosophical viewpoints from these sentiments.

If we think what we do doesn’t matter we might be affirming fatalism. This the view that future events are fixed and immutable, not susceptible to alteration by even our greatest efforts. This may be because, in some sense, the future has already happened. (Or more accurately, is continuously “happening,” just as the past is.) Several arguments for fatalism hinge on the premise that the future has, in some sense, happened. In order for statements about the future to be true (Aristotle), or for it to be possible that God has perfect knowledge about the future (Nelson Pike), some philosophers have argued that the future must be fixed and immutable.

To envision how fatalism plays out, consider Chinese engineer and author Liu Cixin’s short story “Moonlight.” An unnamed man receives a call from himself, far in the future. The Earth has suffered a climate disaster and the only way to avert it is to change how the world’s power needs are met. The future-caller offers advanced technology, and tells his past self to get it implemented. Immediately after the man resolves to get the technology built, he receives another call from the future. Though the plan worked, a different ecological disaster occurred instead. A new technology is offered, but another call but minutes later reveals that Earth is still doomed. The man and his future self resolve to destroy any plans sent from the future and have no further contact. The world will suffer an ecological catastrophe no matter what, in the world of “Moonlight.” It is fated.

What about nihilism? Nihilism is the view that there is neither negative nor positive moral value to anything we do. That is, there is nothing that we must or mustn’t do, morally speaking. To be clear, this isn’t a form of moral subjectivism claiming that what is good or bad—right or wrong—is different for each person depending on their beliefs and desires. Instead it is the view that nothing is good, bad, right, or wrong. Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s character Dmitri Karamozov opines that atheism leads to nihilism when he says in The Brothers Karamozov, “But … how will man be … without God? It means everything is permitted …”

A pandemic disease like coronavirus, with its attendant economic and social disruption, can provide fodder for fatalism and nihilism. When there is so much suffering and when years of work can be undone in a matter of weeks it can appear that everything is meaningless and pointless. In this situation arguments like the famed Problem of Evil ring plausible. This argument asserts that, if God exists it must be omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent. If God has these qualities then it would know about all evil (omniscience), be able to prevent all evil (omnipotence), and desire to prevent all evil (omnibenevolent). However pandemics, wars, natural disasters, and their like happen consistently. These are evils. Therefore no omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent being exists. Therefore no God exists. If Dmitri Karamozov is right, this means that everything is permitted. That is, nihilism is true.

Whether arguments like the Problem of Evil are valid, they have an emotional appeal when things are bad. There is a reason for this in the view of phenomenologists (i.e., philosophers whose method is to focus on the structure of lived experience) like Martin Heidegger and Jean-Paul Sartre. As humans we experience this disruption as anxiety. We are accustomed to a seamless experience of actions, objects, and interactions being jointly conducive to a clear end. In anxiety we feel as if all of these things are separated from each other by an untraversable space. When thinking in this disengaged fashion we can’t see any essential, objective (i.e., perspective independent) connections between anything. There is a reason for this, too, according to Heidegger and Sartre. It’s because there are no essential, objective connections. Life has no meaning of its own.

So are nihilism and fatalism true? No—or, maybe yes, but so what? For Sartre, humans are free and life has meaning because of the lack of any essential or objective connections and purposes. This is the upshot of his famous statement “existence precedes essence.” For Sartre nihilism and fatalism are the conditions of human freedom and meaningful life. Humanity’s quest for some prepackaged meaning and value is an effort to shirk the enormous responsibility of what he calls “radical freedom.”

But what about the futility of it all? After all everyone dies, and in life we may work for years to see all those efforts come to nothing. Albert Camus dramatizes this facet of life with his interpretation of the story of Sisyphus. Punished by the gods, Sisyphus is doomed to roll a great boulder up a long hill only for it to roll back down, over and over again. But Camus does not assume that Sisyphus’ toiling brings only despair. While he pushes the boulder up, Sisyphus is too engrossed in his task. This is the seamless experience of practical engagement described by Heidegger and Sartre. Camus asserts that the interesting thing is to think of Sisyphus as he walks back to the bottom of the hill. He imagines that Sisyphus claims ownership of his “fate.” By claiming ownership he creates a meaningful connection between the endless pushing-up and rolling down. He knows it will never end, but he does not despair. Camus imagines Sisyphus is happy.

Many people have been yanked from the feeling of seamless practical engagement by the coronavirus and its knock-on effects. Feelings of anxiety rise as people doubt the inherent worth and meaning of their lives. In the face of this how can people go on, and why should they? Because that’s what life is like, and there’s nothing else to do. Push the boulder back up the hill. It’ll roll down again, but at least we’ll have something to do.