Abstract
A major puzzle in contemporary political theory is how to extend notions of justice to the environment. With environmental entities unable to communicate in ways that are traditionally recognised within the political sphere, their interests have largely been recognised instrumentally: only important as they contribute to human interests. In response to the multispecies justice project's call to reimagine our concepts of justice to include other-than-human beings and entities, we offer a novel reading of Edmund Burke's account of political representation that, we argue, can be applied to the environment. Burke claimed that interests are ‘unattached’ to any actual class or group, and that it is the duty of the representative to represent these unattached interests. Beyond providing an original application of Burke's work, the paper offers an alternative to the ‘allure’ of authoritarian environmentalism, an alternative which conservative thinkers may use as an entryway into debates on environmental justice.
Keywords
Introduction
In a recent article that explores the political legitimacy of authoritarian governance, Ross Mittiga (2022) suggests we may arrive at a point of climate crisis in which the overriding of liberal democratic norms becomes legitimate and even required. At the same time, in highlighting the ‘allure of authoritarian environmentalism’ in the context of climate change, Mittiga (2022: 999) stresses the need to prevent those environmental emergencies that might necessitate the abandonment of liberal democratic values in favour of authoritarianism. Without commenting on whether a turn towards authoritarian politics may prove to be a necessary and/or legitimate response to climate catastrophe, we seek to emphasise that the range of available responses to the climate crisis need not be framed in terms of a dichotomous choice between those that are ‘liberal democratic’ and those that are ‘authoritarian’. We might instead, for example, rely on paternalistic approaches to addressing climate emergencies that are situated within liberal democratic regimes. Such approaches represent a middle ground between liberal democracy and authoritarianism, in that we can capture what is tempting about authoritarian approaches, without legitimising authoritarian power more broadly. In this paper, we suggest that the political theory of 18th-century statesman and philosopher, Edmund Burke (1730–1797), provides us with a template for a paternalistic approach to questions of environmental politics, within a broader liberal democratic system. Specifically, we show how Burke's conception of political representation of interests can be applied to the representation of ecosystems.
The work of Edmund Burke is not often associated with environmental politics. Instead, Burke's name tends to invoke his contributions to the British Parliament during his long tenure as a Whig MP, his early work on aesthetics, and his later scathing critique of the French Revolution, which has contributed to his current (albeit contested) reputation as the ‘father of modern conservatism’ (Jones, 2015). Yet, as Scruton (2007) has pointed out, Burke's brand of conservatism makes him a useful figure for conservatives of the environmental kind: conservationists. As Burke saw it, the social contract was an intergenerational ‘partnership’ (Burke, 2003: 82): it was the duty of those living to temper their desires in order to ensure the safe passage of valuable traditions and resources from past to future generations. It is a small step from this view to recognising that while ‘the living may have an interest in consuming the Earth's resources … it was not for this that the dead laboured’ (Scruton, 2007: 35). Similarly suggesting the usefulness of Burke's thought for environmental conservation, Wilson (2014: 161) suggests that ‘Burkean caution about change, when extended to non-human natural processes, reveals the sense in which much environmental thought and practice is basically conservative’. Nevertheless, though the parallels between Burkean thought and environmentalism have been noted, scholars have not yet fully embraced Burke's philosophy as a potential key historical site from which a conservative account of environmental justice can be developed. A fully fleshed out account of such a ‘green conservatism’ (Wilson, 2014: 168), by contrast with liberal and progressive accounts of environmental justice, is notably lacking in the current literature on environmental justice.
Beyond the novelty of a green reading of Burke's work, the relevance of this project can also be seen in light of important recent calls for political theorists to engage with the demands of ‘multispecies justice’. Political theorists have long been productive in challenging the normative underpinnings of current notions of justice by analysing canonical texts through critical gender, race, disability and coloniality lenses (e.g. Arneil and Hirschmann, 2016; Mills, 1997; 2015; Okin, 1979; Pateman, 2018), and as of the past two decades or so, this has included environmental critiques (e.g. Cannavó and Lane, 2014; Lane, 2012; Ploof, 2023). However, the multispecies justice project represents somewhat of a shift from previous work in environmental political theory, in that it is committed to rejecting the notion that humans are uniquely deserving of moral and political consideration, uniquely separate from the living and non-living communities of which they are a part, and uniquely capable of consciousness and agency (Celermajer et al., 2021: 120; also, Celermajer et al., 2020). Such commitments, for multispecies justice theorists, come alongside a further commitment to redefining the bounds of justice beyond the human, to encompass non-human entities as subjects of justice in their own right. Thus, for David Schlosberg, the difference relative to previous environmental justice movements can be explained as a move ‘from environmental conditions as an example or manifestation of social injustice to one where justice is applied to the treatment of the environment itself’ (2013: 44).
Through developing an underexplored aspect of an important figure in Western political thought, we seek to contribute to the multispecies justice project by providing a unique account of how ecosystems may be represented in the political sphere – a pressing challenge, given the increasing environmental crises that we face (Abate, 2020). In particular, we demonstrate how this Burkean account offers a solution to the puzzle of how to represent the interests of entities that cannot (straightforwardly) communicate with us, including those that are not necessarily consciously aware of their own interests (see Whitworth, 2000). We do so by drawing on Burke's idiosyncratic conception of interests, and suggest that this can provide a useful foundation for the representation of ecosystems. Acknowledging Wilson's (2014: 162) nod to the possibility that Burke's notion of trusteeship could be extended to the environment, this paper represents the first fully fleshed out account of the implications of Burke's theory of representation for environmental entities.
Beyond this important and novel application of Burke's intellectual work to the case of ecosystem representation, however, we suggest that the Burkean model is also able to avoid some of the shortcomings of existing political efforts to represent the environment, which tend to involve framing environmental interests only or primarily in terms of human interests. We stress, however, that our purpose is not to argue that the Burkean account of ecosystem representation is the ideal account – our goal is, first and foremost, to offer a new application of Burke's thought as derived from a multispecies justice re-reading of his work. Yet in order to explore the bounds of this account, we provide a sketch of some of its benefits, thereby grounding its relevance to contemporary debates about political representation of the environment. The key benefits outlined are that it can avoid the challenge of communication between environmental and human entities and, by virtue of its lack of reliance on direct communication between the representative and the represented, it avoids the ‘squeaky wheel’ phenomenon. We also address a potential objection to the account (namely, that ecosystems cannot have interests), and explore its potential limitations in relation to representing non-bounded environmental entities such as the climate, and encouraging authoritarian ‘creep’.
The Burkean conception of political representation
The purpose of the political representative
We can see a clear link between Burke's views on the purpose of political representation and many of the core concerns that underpin his philosophy. It is these concerns, particularly his understanding of the social contract, that also motivate the project linking Burke's thought to environmental representation. As noted above, Burke viewed the social contract as one that extended across generations, whereby Each contract of each particular state is but a clause in the great primeval contract of eternal society, linking the lower with the higher natures, connecting the visible and invisible world, according to a fixed compact sanctioned by the inviolable oath which holds all physical and all moral natures, each in their appointed place. (Burke, 2003: 82)
These values – of intergenerational stewardship and incremental reform – clearly underpin Burke's views on the role of the representative: one who must avoid being swayed by strong, parochial interests, and instead regard their task as promoting the interests of the nation as a whole. Burke's view on the role of the political representative can most clearly be discerned in his speech to the electors of Bristol, which is worth quoting at length: Parliament is not a congress of ambassadors from different and hostile interests; which interests each must maintain, as an agent and advocate, against other agents and advocates; but parliament is a deliberative assembly of one nation, with one interest, that of the whole; where, not local purposes, not local prejudices, ought to guide, but the general good, resulting from the general reason of the whole. … If the local constituent should have an interest, or should form an hasty opinion, evidently opposite to the real good of the rest of the community, the member for that place ought to be as far, as any other, from any endeavour to give it effect. (Burke, 1911: 29–30, emphasis in original)
Interests and their representation
Burke's view of political representation draws on his distinction between particular groups and locations being represented ‘actually’ or ‘virtually’. A constituency, for example, is represented actually, insofar as it is able to directly elect its own representative to the parliament: Bristol, which is allotted a Member of Parliament, is therefore actually represented. Virtual representation, by contrast, occurs when a town or region does not elect its own member directly but has a ‘communion of interest and sympathy in feelings and desires between those who act in the name of any description of people and the people in whose name they act, though the trustees are not actually chosen by them’ (Burke, 1949: 495).
For a particular member to act in the interest of, and on behalf of, another constituency without being the actual representative of that constituency, there must be some ‘thing’ that the member represents that is shared by both their constituency and the other. This is where Burke's peculiar notion of interests is important. For Burke (1996: 70), interests are ‘various, multiform, and intricate’. There are a limited number of these interests, and they tend to be clearly defined. Rather than a group or region being a composite of a number of these interests, they instead only have one. Moreover, these interests are generally economic – they include the Agricultural Interest, Merchant Interest, and Professional Interest 1 – yet are ‘unattached’, in that they have no relationship with a specific group of individuals. The Merchant Interest, for example, is not the interest of individual, living merchants per se. While this may appear counterintuitive, Burke is describing these interests as an objective reality, separate from any class or individual that might be otherwise considered part of it (Pitkin, 1967: 174). A good analogy here might be that of the relationship between a corporation and its members. The members’ interests may be tied to the interest of the corporation, but these interests do not fully constitute that of the corporate entity: the corporate interest – at least for legal purposes – exists independently of them. For Burke, rather than individuals of a particular location or group ‘having’ an interest, individuals in that location/group ‘participate’ in the relevant Interest: Bristol does not have a merchant or trading interest, but instead ‘participates’ in the Merchant or Trading Interest.
The notion of Interests (as Burke defines them) is what allows for virtual representation. Even though members of the city of Birmingham may not have elected their own actual representative, as Brummies participate in the Merchant or Trading Interest, along with Bristolians, they are virtually represented by the member for Bristol (via the Merchant/Trading Interest). In this way, virtual representation can be defined as an activity – looking after the Interest of the constituency (Pitkin, 1967: 174). The classification of virtual representation as relating to the constituency provides some nexus between virtual representation and actual; as the member is required to represent the Interest in which their constituency participates, this requires an actual relationship with the electorate. Burke would not be able to represent the Merchant Interest in which both Birmingham and Bristol participate, were he not the actual member for Bristol.
Beyond the feature of virtual representation and the representation of Interests as being geographically tied, Burke notes the capacity to extend representation to certain demographic groups. In setting out the relationship between virtual representation and actual representation, Burke notes that it might be possible for Irish Catholics (i.e. those who participate in the ‘Irish Catholic Interest’) to be virtually represented by the actual representative of another constituency.
Before proceeding to the application of this model of representation to ecosystems, it is useful to summarise the key elements of the view. First, Interests are clearly and objectively defined, such that we can demarcate between one Interest and another. Second, Interests tend to be tied to a particular geographic region. Third, an Interest is not merely the aggregation of the interests of those that participate in it, but exists independently of them.
Reading Burkean representation through the lens of multispecies justice
A Burkean model of ecosystem representation, as we outline it, involves extending the capacity to identify the Interests in which humans alone participate, to the Interests in which human and/or other-than-human entities participate. Such other-than-human entities, for our purposes, might include plants, animals, fungi, and non-organic entities such as rocks. Returning to the central tenets of Burke's view as set out above, in what follows we will explore how Burke's conception of interests seems aptly suited to an application to ecosystems.
Definable
First, ecosystem Interests can be defined. As first articulated by Arthur Tansley in 1935, an ecosystem is a system of interacting biotic and abiotic parts, and encompasses the geographic space where these interactions take place. If we think of tropical rainforests and deserts, we can demarcate between them by way of their different characteristics and processes: we can reasonably clearly distinguish between what is the tropical forest from what is not the tropical forest, just as we can distinguish between what is the desert and what is not the desert. We can also measure the health of ecosystems in terms of the processes that maintain it, just as we might measure the health of the human body (Schaeffer et al. 1988). Drawing on the notion of ecosystem health, we might define a particular ecosystem Interest as that which promotes the stability and sustainability of the ecosystem; to benefit the ecosystem Interest is therefore to ensure that the ecosystem ‘maintains its organisation and autonomy over time and is resilient to stress’ (Haskell et al., 1992: 9). From here, we can recognise the different Interests of these ecosystems in terms of what is needed to maintain their characteristic processes: we have a Desert Interest as distinct from a Tropical Rainforest Interest.
Of course, how we determine what is and what is not a part of the ecosystem (and therefore what takes part in the associated ecosystem Interest) is not a clear-cut matter. In line with Lovelock's Gaia hypothesis, we might think that all the Earth's components and processes are inextricably linked parts of a single whole, and that therefore it is somewhat arbitrary to carve out particular ecosystems as being of interest. This general point was not lost on Tansley (1935: 300), who noted that, The systems we isolate mentally [i.e. ecosystems] are not only included as parts of larger ones, but they also overlap, interlock and interact with one another. The isolation is partly artificial, but is the only possible way in which we can proceed.
It is also important to flag, at this stage, a potential concern with this account of how we define Interests. We can clearly demarcate the ecological processes that contribute to the ongoing health of a desert by contrast with those that contribute to the ongoing existence of a tropical rainforest. But this is, arguably, not the same thing as demarcating between the interests of these two entities. Can we claim that continued existence is in the interest of environmental entities such as deserts and rainforests? This is particularly important in the context of climate change, where we humans have more reason – as the catalysts of this phenomenon – to consider whether we have duties to prevent and/or reverse the rapid, detrimental, and potentially irreversible impacts of climate change on ecosystems. On what grounds might we claim, say, that the complete submersion of a low-lying Pacific island as a result of ice melting in the Antarctic is bad for the ecosystem on the now-submerged island itself? 2 Given the salience of this potential objection, it will be addressed more fully later in the paper; though we make the objection explicit here as it may be of concern to readers in this and following sections. For now, we assume that it is not incoherent to say that there are such things as a Desert Interest and a Tropical Rainforest Interest, as determined by what tends to promote the stability and resilience of deserts or tropical rainforests, and move on to apply the second feature of Burke's account of representation to ecosystems.
Geographically bounded
The second tenet of Burke's view of interests is that they are tied to geographic regions. Given that ecosystems tend to remain roughly fixed to specific geographic regions, this element can be applied to the environment in a straightforward fashion. Rainforests, coral reefs, and deserts, for example, are each tied to a particular geographic region. So, just as Birmingham is tied to the Merchant or Trading Interest, the geographical region in which some ecosystem is situated is tied to its relevant Interest. Of course, there might be some vagueness at the geographical boundaries of a certain ecosystem (where does the river end and where do the wetlands begin?). However, where vagueness does exist, boundaries can be drawn based on the best available ecological and geographical knowledge, as is already the case when we undertake to draw (if ultimately approximate) maps of geographical locations.
A consequence of this second element is that when it comes to actually identifying an ecosystem Interest, the question then becomes at what level of abstraction the Interest is defined. Given that Interests are tied to a particular geographic region, we can identify ecosystem Interests at greater levels of specificity, such as an ‘Amazon Rainforest Interest’, or a ‘Nile River Interest’. Or, we might define ecosystem Interests at a broader level of abstraction, such as a ‘Tropical Rainforest Interest’ (that the Amazon Rainforest participates in), or a ‘River Interest’ (that the Nile River participates in). What determines the level of abstraction at which level we identify the Interest is what exactly participates in that Interest.
What level of abstraction should we focus on? This would be determined by the boundaries of the political system. A representative of the Desert Interest from an organisation like the United Nations, to consider a relatively high level of abstraction, would provide actual representation to participants in this Interest around the world, such as the Sahara Desert, the Gobi Desert, and the Antarctic Desert. A representative of the Desert Interest from the Mexican state of Sonora, by contrast, would provide actual representation to the Sonoran Desert, but also virtual representation to the Chihuahuan Desert.
Non-aggregative
The third condition of Burke's view of Interests is that they are not mere aggregations of the interests of individuals. So, just as the Merchant Interest is not the aggregation of the interests of merchants, any ecosystem Interest is not merely an aggregation of the interests of the specific entities within it. Instead, the relevant individual or entity ‘participates’ in the broader Interest. When a representative acts in support of some Interest, those that take part in the Interest are benefitted.
The application of this condition to environmental interests depends on the level of abstraction at which an Interest is identified, and what is seen as ‘participating’ in that Interest. Consider an Interest in which various ecosystems in Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, French Guiana, Guyana, Peru, Suriname, and Venezuela could be said to participate: the Amazon Rainforest Interest. At one level of abstraction, we could say that what participates in that Interest are the various areas that are encompassed by the Amazon Rainforest, such as the Parque Nacional do Jaú, the Floresta Nacional de Pau-Rosa, and the Floresta Nacional do Aripuanã. At another, more fine-grained level of abstraction, we could say that what participates in the Interests are the trees, flowers, waters, and animals (both human and nonhuman) that inhabit the Amazon Rainforest. The key point here is that the Amazon Rainforest Interest is not an aggregation of the interests of specific flora and fauna, but rather it is that various flora, fauna, and other environmental entities participate in the Amazon Rainforest Interest.
The Burkean account of environmental representation
Having set out the specific tenets of Burke's account of Interests and its application to ecosystems, we are now able to provide a general overview of how his thought can account for the representation of ecosystems. As we have seen, we have the capacity to identify ecosystem Interests which are clearly and objectively defined, geographically tied, and non-aggregative. It is, on Burke's account, these Interests that are represented in the legislature by each relevant member, whose duty ‘towards his actual constituency is to pursue the [I]nterest in which the constituency participates’ (Pitkin, 1967: 176).
We suggest that this forms a basis for conceptualising how the Interests of ecosystems can be represented in democratic institutions. A Burkean would think of existing representatives, such as Members of Parliament, Congresspersons and Senators, as providing actual representation to their constituencies (as well as virtual representation to individuals in other constituencies). Bernie Sanders, for example, as a senator for the U.S. state of Vermont, provides the human citizens of Vermont with actual representation, and the human citizens of other US states with virtual representation, via the Interests in which they take part. Our claim is that this kind of representation can encompass ecosystems and, therefore, the range of human and nonhuman beings and entities that participate in ecosystem Interests. Sanders’ role, as such, could be seen as including representation of the Boreal Forest Interest, an interest in which various humans take part (e.g. those with a spiritual connection to a certain boreal forest; those in the lumber industry; those who are reliant on wood to heat their homes), but also one in which pine, spruce and fir trees, and the various nonhuman animals and entities who are sustained by them, take part. Furthermore, through working on behalf of the Boreal Forest Interest, Sanders would provide virtual representation to humans and other-than-humans in the US states of Alaska, Maine and New Hampshire, which are also home to boreal forests.
All of this is to say that extending Burke's view of Interests to ecosystems provides a grounding for the claim that it is (already) the duty of political representatives to advocate for the ecological Interests in which their constituents (both human and nonhuman) take part. Importantly, this account does not require that ecosystems need have their own specific representatives, separate from those who already exist in particular political jurisdictions (though this kind of separate representation might of course be useful). As was highlighted in the above section, ‘Interests and their representation’, representatives can represent ecosystem Interests alongside the various other Interests (social, cultural, economic) that they already serve. Nor does this account of ecosystem representation hinge on human constituents calling upon their representatives to consider ecosystems. The (paternalistic) Burkean representative, with his ‘mature judgement’ and ‘enlightened conscience’ (Burke, 1911: 29) is not ultimately reliant on whether his constituency cares about ecosystem Interests, but can be seen as having an obligation to represent these Interests regardless. As Michael Saward (2006) has argued, representation is a ‘two-way street’, whereby the represented choose their representative, but the representative also has the power to define her constituency and what she sees their interests to be. Of course, as Saward (2006, 303) further notes, not all definitions will necessarily be accepted as legitimate: ‘makers of representative claims could be makers of bad, or unacceptable, or unaccepted claims’, and thereby suffer the consequences at the ballot box. However, the flip side of this is that representative claim-makers can make good, acceptable and accepted claims – claims that influence the way constituents see themselves, their neighbours and the interests that bind them all together. In this sense, we can view the Burkean representative as engaging in a dialogue in which they seek to persuade voters that their duty is to represent a more-than-human constituency.
Before outlining the benefits of the Burkean account, we will now delve a little more deeply into the relationship between interests and Interests. In doing so, we address the concern raised earlier, about whether it makes sense to say that ecosystems have either of these.
Who or what is interested?
A key objection to any account of environmental representation that relies on a conception of interests is whether it makes sense to say that environmental entities, such as ecosystems, have interests at all. Some may think that for a being or entity to have interests, it must be able to have some kind of conscious experience accompanying the lack or fulfilment of whatever one is interested in. My interest in eating is accompanied by an unpleasant feeling of hunger, for instance, when this interest goes unfulfilled. It may therefore seem odd to suggest that I have an interest in X if my conscious experience is in no way bettered or worsened for having or avoiding X. If interests do hinge on how they impact the conscious experience of the holder of those interests, then does it really make sense to say that there are ecosystem Interests? Does it make sense to say that those entities that we might think are non-conscious, such as trees and rocks, are ‘participating’ in the ecosystem Interest?
Now, one could take an entirely anthropocentric approach, and assert that the humans living within, or who are supported by the resources of, the rainforest, are the only participants in the Rainforest Interest. The representative who looks after the Daintree Rainforest Interest is therefore looking after the interests of the human individuals who participate in that Interest (and will therefore, at least to some extent, indirectly be protecting the ecological viability of the Daintree Rainforest). However, this approach is likely to be unsatisfactory for those who believe that environmental entities deserve representation irrespective of their relationship with humans. Furthermore, it is not clear why human interests should be prioritised to the complete exclusion of the interests of other beings (Cochrane, 2013; Kymlicka, 2018). From here then, there we offer two ways of responding: one that denies that Burkean Interests require consciousness, and another that rejects Western ontologies that view most or all environmental entities as non-conscious, non-interest-bearers.
As noted above, we can conceive of ecosystem Interests in terms of what promotes their ‘health’: that which ensures that they can persist over time and weather potential stressors. Such an understanding of interests both does not require consciousness, and seems to be in accord with prototypical Burkean Interests. Burke, after all, spoke of the Merchant Interest without assuming that mercantile systems were consciously aware of what might benefit or hinder them. That mercantile systems were not conscious was, furthermore, no barrier to their being conceivable and representable. Again, we may look to the example of corporations as a useful analogy here. Under the ‘real entity theory’, corporations (though non-conscious) have a legal identity completely separate from the individual shareholders that invest in them or the boards that manage them (Ripken, 2019: 34–39). That is, while individuals participate in corporations as shareholders, no particular aggregate of shareholders is constitutive of the corporation itself, which is recognised as a legal entity in its own right. Yet if corporations are independent of the sentient, interest-bearing human individuals that make them up, then how can corporations be said to have interests of their own, much less interests that are interpretable in a political or legal context? Without entering into the debate on whether the notion of corporate interests or personhood is conceptually sound, it suffices to say that in practice, the notion of corporate entities and the representation of their interests has not posed an insurmountable metaphysical barrier in either legal or political settings – the settings that are most important to us in this discussion. Indeed, with corporations now claiming rights under the US Constitution (Ripken, 2019: 129), we can recognise that corporate interests are widely accepted and well protected. Are the interests of the environment substantially more difficult to conceptualise or interpret? Legal scholar Christopher Stone (2010: 11) does not think so: I am sure I can judge with more certainty and meaningfulness whether and when my lawn wants (needs) water, than the Attorney General can judge whether and when the United States wants (needs) to take an appeal from an adverse judgment by a lower court. The lawn tells me that it wants water by a certain dryness of the blades and soil—immediately obvious to the touch—the appearance of bald spots, yellowing, and a lack of springiness after being walked on; how does ‘the United States’ communicate to the Attorney General?
Even if we agree, however, that there are some useful parallels between the interests and political representation of ecosystems and corporations, we might use this comparison to raise another concern. Recall that under Burke's conceptualisation of Interests, (human) individuals participate in Interests. While the Merchant Interest might not be the aggregate of the interests of individual merchants, it surely would not exist without the presence of those interested merchants who participate in it. The question, therefore, is whether it is necessary for the individual or entity to ‘participate’ – to have some kind of interest or stake – in that Interest, for the Interest to exist. We can clearly see how this would be the case in relation to an Interest that is only associated with humans. It would make little sense to say, for example, that a Muslim (i.e. an individual who follows the Islamic faith and who, therefore, has no particular stake in the existence of Roman Catholicism) participates in the Roman Catholic Interest. And, if all Muslims decided to convert to Roman Catholicism, there would surely no longer be a Muslim Interest. Yet what about the case of an ecosystem which is made up of entities that (we might think) are not capable of having interests? We therefore now turn to address the question of whether, say, a Daintree Forest Interest can exist to be represented if none of the trees or other entities that make up the forest have any kind of interest or stake in it.
There is no longer any serious doubt that many (if not most) non-human animals are sentient beings, with feelings, desires, and preferences, all of which can contribute to a better (or worse) experience of life (Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness, 2021; Crump et al., 2022; Proctor 2012). As such, we can recognise that many or most animals have interests – if the interests are as simple as ‘not dying’ or ‘not experiencing pain’. As such, it is straightforward to claim that many animals can participate in – and therefore effectuate – the relevant ecological Interest.
What about non-animal beings or entities? We may think that these entities are not conscious, but nevertheless reject the claim that they do not have interests, or that they can’t ‘participate’ in an Interest. Consider again the idea of ecosystem health, as well as the notion that ecosystems come in all different shapes and sizes, ‘ranging in scale and scope from a single decaying acorn to the entire planet's biosphere’ (attributed to Reiners in Binkley, 2015: 883). If we think of trees, flowers, and fungi as their own kinds of ecosystems, then we can also apply the logic of ecosystem health to gauge their interests – interests that are clearly intertwined with the interests of the larger ecosystems of which they are a part. Indeed, we can view the tree as part of a forest ‘community’ of other trees, organisms, and materials, all of which provide protection and benefits to one another (see Nixon, 2021: 356–358), and therefore see the tree as taking part in a forest Interest.
Alternatively, we might reject the claim that entities like trees, flowers and fungi – and even non-organismal entities like rocks – are non-conscious or non-sentient, a move that would allow us to straightforwardly ascribe interests to these entities, therefore providing a pathway for these entities to participate in an ecosystem Interest. To do this, we might turn to various Indigenous intellectual traditions from around the world, which view both biotic and abiotic natural entities such as rivers, rocks and trees, as being the kin of humans (Kimmerer, 2013: 55; Salmón, 2000), with their own inherent value, sentience and agency (Strang, 2020: 111–112; Topa and Narvaez, 2022: Chapter 9). Given the range of perspectives that detail Indigenous perspectives on the environment (see Winter, 2022), we suggest that using Indigenous thought might be a fruitful way to explore how various biotic and abiotic environmental entities might participate in Burkean Interests. 3 Having now explored (and largely de-emphasised) the role of consciousness in Burkean Interests, we can now move on to consider some of the benefits of our Burkean account of ecological representation.
Benefits of the Burkean approach
Avoids communication problem
Alongside the question of whether ecosystems and their constituent members have interests (and can therefore be associated with, or participate in, Burkean Interests), that of how these interests are to be communicated is a core concern for those sceptical of the notion of environmental representation. That is, since the environment, it is thought, cannot speak in such a way that is required by present political institutions and assumed by dominant theories of political representation, it is assumed that the environment cannot truly be represented politically (e.g. Dienstag, 2021). This is where the Burkean aversion to mandate-driven representation allows us to avoid this concern. For, by conceptualising Interests as separate from the individual interests of those entities that participate in them, Burke's account shifts the onus from the represented in (necessarily) being able to articulate their interests. Of course, if representatives learn to be more conversant with their constituents – learn to understand the various ways that their wants and needs are expressed – this would surely be beneficial in providing them with more information about how to promote the Interests in which their constituents take part. The Agricultural Interest, for example, would surely be benefitted through communication with farmers and other stakeholders. Yet for Burke, the representative is to be the final arbiter of how best to promote that Interest – and direct communication with constituents is not sufficient or necessary for doing this.
It is important to add, however, that we may well think that the environment can communicate its interests to us. As noted above, various Indigenous knowledge systems understand environmental entities as agents that can and do communicate their desires with us (Kimmerer, 2013: 178). Support for the notion of environmental communication can also be found in Western thought, too. We touched earlier on Christopher Stone's account of his parched lawn indicating its interest in being watered; others, most notably John Dryzek, have developed more formal accounts of environmental communication in the political sphere. Dryzek invites us to view the environment as an intelligent system which can be described in terms of its rationality: a rational ecological system is one which ‘consistently produces the good of life-support for its components’ (1983: 6). Conceptualising of environmental systems in this way – as Daniel Dennett (2009) might have it, taking an intentional stance towards environmental systems – can therefore allow us to recognise the signals that they send out as forms of communication, and treat these signals ‘with the same respect we accord signals emanating from human subjects, and as requiring equally careful interpretation’ (Dryzek, 1995: 21). Communication with the environment can thereby form the basis of an account of ecocentric democracy, where institutions are designed so as to be ‘sensitive to ecological signals’ (Dryzek, 1995: 24).
Nevertheless, while learning to communicate with the environment may assist the Burkean representative, again, it is not strictly required. This brings us to consider how another feature of the Burkean account – namely, the emphasis on not being held to the expressed desires of individual constituents – can be beneficial when it comes to ecosystem representation.
Minimises the ‘squeaky wheel’ phenomenon
There is a wealth of evidence of the ‘squeaky wheel’ phenomenon at play in issues of environmental justice: profitable extractive industries are given licence to cause environmental harm despite local community outcry (Johnson, 2019), and more resource-rich communities are able to avoid or minimise their exposure to the impacts of environmental degradation and hazards at the expense of their poorer neighbours (Hajat et al., 2015; Pearce et al., 2010). If this is the case in relation to human ‘wheels’, then the problem intensifies when it comes to environmental ones, the ‘squeaks’ of which may be far easier to ignore or disregard than those of their human counterparts. The Burkean account of environmental representation, we suggest, allows us to mitigate this effect.
First, recall that under Burke's account, it is the representative's duty not to be swayed by the shifting desires of his constituency, but rather to be guided by ‘his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgement, his enlightened conscience’ (Burke, 1911: 29). As has been noted, Burke's opinion here was driven by his belief that most people (i.e. those outside the aristocratic or learned classes) were not well placed to determine their own interests. It is therefore the role of the representative, who Burke assumes through education and ‘breeding’ to be capable of judging well on the matter, to determine the good of the whole (Burke, 1911: 30). Since it is the role of the representative to promote the Interests of all constituents in the nation – Interests that are not, after all, connected to any particular set of individuals – the representative should pay no more heed to the loudest, most persistent, or most numerous groups of voices amongst his constituency, than he would to the softest or fewest in number. Indeed, being capable of communicating one's interests at all should be no requisite to having one's Interests promoted by the representative.
How does this relate to the representation of ecological Interests? Consider how individual interests (particularly those of particular mining and industrial farming operations) are powerful influencers of public policy, to the increasingly evident detriment of ecosystems around the world. A Burkean representative (at least in theory), would view it as his or her duty to determine what is in the overall, long-term Mining Interest and Farming Interest, even when this might conflict with how these Interests are framed by industry representatives. Furthermore, the Burkean representative would look to balance industry Interests with ecological Interests, regardless of how loud or numerous industry spokespeople are relative to ecological spokespeople.
This Burkean vision of political representatives using their ‘enlightened conscience’ to take more seriously the Interests of ecosystems alongside those of industry may be, admittedly, an idealistic and even naïve one, and one that is not likely to be achieved in the near future. Most political representatives are likely to see their duties as being in primarily or solely in relation to some or all of the following: their (human) voters; their (human) constituents; the (human) citizens of their country/state; the political, economic and social institutions of their country/state; and their country/state itself. Perhaps barring members of green parties, most would not see themselves as owing a duty to nature itself. At the same time, studies in democratic theory, for example, note the various ways that political representatives can be captured by elite or corporate interests (see Bagg 2024). These interests can, and often are, contrary to the project of environmental conservation or preservation.
To a certain extent, we do not deny the potential for these kinds of concerns with a Burkean approach. They are, however, concerns that are outside the scope of this paper. As the purpose of this paper is to offer an account of ecosystem representation that follows Burke's thought as closely as possible, we must retain a certain fealty to the specifics of Burke's views. Noting again that the Burkean representative has (again, at least in theory) a greater capacity for reason and judgement, they will be less susceptible to elite or corporate capture. Our account of Burkean ecosystem representation then, is a call for an important shift in the perspective of political representatives, one that would see them viewing ecosystems as inherently valuable and the proper subjects of representation. It offers an ideal to which representatives may over time aspire, even if it is never fully achieved.
Having outlined the benefits of the Burkean account we turn, finally, to respond to possible limitations of this account: the capacity for this account to encompass ‘border-less’ entities, and its potential to slide into authoritarianism.
A limit of, and a concern with, the Burkean account
Constituents without borders
Given the pressing nature of the climate crisis, we may wonder whether the Burkean account of ecosystem representation can be applied to the climate. While the interests and geographical boundaries of entities like rainforests and deserts may be defined without too much conceptual trouble, can the same be said for an environmental phenomenon like the climate? Christopher Stone (2010: 34) articulates the challenge well: The problems begin with the fact that ‘the climate’ makes for a shifty client – ‘it’ is more a set of parameters than a thing. And even if it is some sort of ‘thing,’ it stretches the imagination to provide a coherent account of how ‘it’ would be ‘injured’ as distinct from injuries to some climate-dependent things – be they plants, men, or beasts.
The greater challenge to the Burkean account in relation to the climate would seem to be its lack of clearly defined geographic boundaries. Since the climate is lacking such boundaries (unless we are looking at the climatic system of the Earth as a whole), we might think that this stretches the strict Burkean notion of representation – which is grounded in the nation-state – a little too far. We might draw highly arbitrary climatic boundaries corresponding to country boundaries for which representatives of a state would be given responsibility. Yet since climatic events may cover multiple state boundaries, and since sovereign airspace only extends so far above sea-level, states may deny responsibility for climatic phenomena that lie partially or completely outside their jurisdiction. The Burkean account, therefore, does not seem to offer an effective solution to the problem of representing the climate. The best that might be said in favour of it, in this context, would be that since it can account for direct representation of other environmental entities, the climate might subsequently benefit.
The authoritarian slippery slope
A second concern to consider in relation to the Burkean account derives from Mittiga's (2022) discussion of authoritarian approaches to emergencies to climate change. Specifically, we have the temptation, or ‘allure’ (Mittiga, 2022: 999), of authoritarian politics: might adopting the Burkean approach encourage authoritarian temptations that lead to authoritarianism proper? In dismissing this objection, we have the opportunity to present our argument in sharper focus. We suggest that the risk of a descent into authoritarian politics following the Burkean approach is avoided given that this account does not demand the dismantling of underlying liberal democratic institutions, or the rejection of liberal democratic principles. Rather, the focus of the Burkean approach to ecosystem representation is the attitudes of representatives. When it comes to the representation of ecosystems (and of all constituents, for that matter), the Burkean approach requires that representatives focus on objective Interests, rather than subjective interests. It is a call for more paternalistic (or, perhaps, more ‘terrnalistic’) attitudes in relation to the environment but not, crucially, a call for a shift towards authoritarian modes of governance or institutions.
To build on this point, we would highlight that the Burkean approach is far from lending itself to an authoritarian-style of politics in that it does not render representatives unaccountable to those they represent. Indeed, an important correlate of Burkean paternalism is accountability. Consider the emphasis Burke places on the role of accountability in relationships of trust, as outlined in his speech in support of Fox's East India Bill, in which he is sharply critical of the political power wielded in India by the East India Company. Burke (1999: 101, emphasis in original) holds That all political power which is set over men, and that all privilege claimed or exercised in exclusion of them, being wholly artificial, and for so much, a derogation from the natural equality of mankind at large, ought to be some way or other exercised ultimately for their benefit. If this is true with regard to every species of political dominion … then such rights, or privileges, or whatever else you choose to call them, are all in the strictest sense a trust; and it is of the very essence of every trust to be rendered accountable; and even totally to cease, when it substantially varies from the purposes for which alone it could have a lawful existence.
Conclusion: Burkean thought through the lens of multispecies justice
Multispecies justice scholars have recently called for theorists to ‘imagin[e] new forms of deliberation and representation’, in order to encapsulate nonhuman beings and entities whose interests – though expressed in ways that are not always familiar to humans – are worthy of respect (Celermajer et al., 2021: 133). In offering an original application of Burke's theory of representation to the representation of ecosystems, we seek to respond to this call. In doing so, we have also sought to engage in the project of challenging traditional ideas in the Western political canon – ideas that, unavoidably, have been built upon prejudices that no longer stand the test of time. Efforts like these are important because, as the work of those like Okin and Mills have shown, critical analyses of traditional Western thought not only offer us new and more morally sound ways of understanding the work of canonical thinkers, they have also enabled scholars of political thought opportunities to reframe central ideas in the Western canon in ways that speak productively to the challenges we face today. It is our goal in this paper to contribute to the project of re-imagining central Western thinkers and the ideas that they represent – specifically through the lens of multispecies justice – as a means of not only of rejecting the human/nonhuman binary in traditional Western thought, but also in order to provide a new interpretation of a particular historical thinker, thereby promoting the development of an overlapping green consensus between liberal, progressive and conservative traditions.
We do not claim that the Burkean account is necessarily the best account of how to represent ecosystems. Indeed, we acknowledge that the strong paternalistic strands that run through Burke's thought – though, as with Mittiga's (2022) account of environmental authoritarianism, arguably what is needed to solve environmental crises – may be undesirable. Instead, our goals have been more modest. We have sought to provide the first fleshed-out account of Burke's conception of political representation as applied to ecosystems. We then sought to provide some reasons for thinking that this account has something to offer to the current debate on environmental representation, beyond its relevance to the history of political thought. Burke's account of Interests and their representation demands that representatives view their duties, first and foremost, in terms of promoting national Interests, rather than the individual interests of their particular constituents. In foregrounding Interests at the expense of constituents’ desires, then, the Burkean account demands that democratic representatives adopt a somewhat paternalistic attitude. In a rapidly changing world of increasingly frequent and intense ice melts and blizzards, wildfires and floods, cyclones and drought, the Burkean account provides a call for representatives to take a longer-term view of what will promote the nation's wellbeing – even if this may sometimes come at the expense of constituents’ expressed desires (or representatives’ own electoral success). This view, we suggest, should include humans and other-than-human beings and entities, all of whom participate in the various environmental Interests that are the foundation of our lives on earth together.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The authors would like to thank Alexandra Oprea for her advice and encouragement in relation to this paper. We would also like to thank participants of the philosophy graduate students’ work-in-progress group at the University of Arizona, the 2022 Midwest Political Science Association conference, and the 2022 Association for Political Theory conference for their helpful comments on earlier drafts.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The authors received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
