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In this book, Marian Barnes and Tula Brannelly provide some guidance to researchers who wish to use care ethics as a guide to their research. As will become quickly apparent, this is not another book about research methods. Indeed, it is almost a book against such methods. As the American political theorist Sheldon Wolin warned, more than 50 years ago, even to think about ‘methods’ as the way to approach knowledge starts with some presumptions about the world:
The kind of world hospitable to method invites a search for those regularities that reflect the main patterns of behavior which society is seeking to promote and maintain. Predictable behavior is what societies live by, hence their structures of coercion, of reward and penalties, of subsidies and discouragements are shaped toward producing and maintaining certain regularities in behavior and attitudes. Further, every society is a structure bent in a particular and persistent way so that it constitutes not only an arrangement of power but also of powerlessness, of poverty as well as wealth, injustice and justice, suppression and encouragement. (Wolin, 1969, p 1064)
In the ensuing decades, the quest for ‘methods’ has made the short path towards ‘research’ ever the more well-trodden. Every graduate student must now take at least one course in research methods, and scholars delight in producing tomes that make such lists. Throughout the leading institutions and processes of academia that today inform the global practices of research, a consensus seems to exist that good research can be measured by such markers of academic success as number of articles or books published, number of citations, and ranking journals and presses based on their popularity with other similarly situated researchers. The whole system seems to reinforce Wolin’s concern that recreating and reflecting what is predictable and normal is the main purpose for scholarly work.
The view of research presented here starts with a different premise and ends up elsewhere. It marks what Thomas Kuhn (1970) first called a paradigm change: a different approach to research. What marks this paradigm change for Brannelly and Barnes is that they begin from the premise that research should be done with care.
We live in a world laced with forms of political violence. Kristen Renwick Monroe's latest work develops an interesting social psychological account of the conduct of victims, perpetrators, and bystanders of the most extreme form of violence—genocide. It also employs an interesting narrative approach that contributes to broad methodological discussions in political science about the ways in which subjective experience can best be understood. We have thus invited a diverse group of political scientists and historians to comment on the book's analysis of political violence and on its broader approach to the study of politics.—Jeffrey C. Isaac, Editor
The medical intervention is scheduled. The doctor visits the patient and explains again the procedure. She draws a picture of what she is going to do. She mentions the risks entailed in the procedure. She asks, “Have I answered all of your questions?” The patient nods. The doctor hands the patient a form to sign. “Could you sign this form, then? It indicates that we have discussed the procedure and you have consented to it.”
This ritual of consent is performed thousands of times every day in hospitals, doctor's offices, and other medical settings. Yet what does this ritual really mean? As Ruth Faden and Tom Beauchamp (1986) argue, there are two elements to the traditional way to view consent. It is both an exercise of the patient's autonomy and an institutional arrangement whereby the medical actors can demonstrate that they had authority to act (Cates 2001). These two elements are separated into an ethical concern, focused on the individual patient, and a legal concern, focused on the institution. But suppose, as a naturalized ethics might suggest we should, we try to put these two pieces together? For the most part, discussions of consent focus more on the concern for patient autonomy than on the ways in which they authorize actions. While consent has made health care providers more sensitive to the dangers of paternalism, if we focus on both aspects of consent, we will see something else.
The Place of Families: Fostering Capacity, Equality, and Responsibility. By Linda C. McClain. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006. 392p. $45.00.
Linda McClain's excellent book provides a comprehensive account of the political issues concerning families in United States public policy and a coherent perspective from which to evaluate proposals for change in these policies. Writing as a liberal feminist, McClain has an approach that will not please everyone, but since her starting point takes families seriously as political units, no serious discussant in these debates can ignore this book.
One important legacy of republicanism is the ideal of good citizenship; a related legacy of republicanism is the equation of citizenship and masculinity. These legacies are at once strange and familiar: today, masculinity and citizenship are often conceptualized as discrete and distinctive identities, and some critics, most notably feminists, suggest that in modern democracies good citizenship and masculinity may even be contradictory ideals. The source of these conceptual paradoxes is the transformation of gender and civic discourse in the early modern period, particularly the “long eighteenth century.” Understanding the implications of these changes helps us better grasp both the relationship of gender and citizenship today, and how a more effectively engaged and meaningfully egalitarian form of democratic citizenship, for men and women, might be realized.
Are social movements responsible for their unfinished agendas? Feminist successes in opening the professions to women paved the way for the emergence of the upper middle-class two-career household. These households sometimes hire domestic servants to accomplish their child care work. If, as I shall argue, this practice is unjust and furthers social inequality, then it poses a moral problem for any feminist commitment to social justice.
Jamie Mayerfeld has written a wise and morally sensitive book that he hopes will compel readers to take seriously their “prima facie duty to relieve suffering” (p. 9). Insofar as “attention to suffering has been a casualty of a long series of attacks on hedonistic utilitarianism” (p. 3), Mayerfeld offers a thorough account of the nature of suffering and argues for the view that its badness imposes a universal prima facie duty for people to try to avoid suffering. Since the purpose of moral inquiry is “to identify wrong kinds of behavior so that we can avoid them” (p. 7), Mayerfeld, not himself a utilitarian, follows a catholic approach and skillfully draws upon arguments from utilitarians, deontologists, Aristotelians, hedonists, psychologists, and philosophers to support his moral intuitions.
The best framework for moral and political thought is the one that creates the best climate for good political judgments. I argue that universalistic theories of justice fall short in this regard because they cannot distinguish idealization from abstraction. After describing how an ethic of care guides judgments, I suggest the practical effects that make this approach preferable. The ethic of care includes more aspects of human life in making political judgments.