the conceptual priority of injustice
the conceptual priority of injustice
Eric Beerbohm
To cite this article: Eric Beerbohm (2014) The Conceptual Priority of Injustice, Jurisprudence,
5:2, 329-343, DOI: 10.5235/20403313.5.2.329
Article views: 22
REVIEW SYMPOSIUM
Eric Beerbohm*
other-worldly such a program can sound. The task of describing a hypothetical his-
tory of giving and taking goods without duress appears no less removed than the
egalitarian’s version of the problem.
The gap between justice as a decision problem and as a theoretical target has
only grown in recent years. GA Cohen urged that we understand normative prin-
ciples as higher-order properties that float free from facts of material scarcity and
constraints of human nature. When we are comparing rules of regulation, we will
need to draw upon general facts about human psychology, economics and politi-
cal institutions. Even your conviction that a work requirement is morally dubious
appeared to rely upon some loose social-scientific assumptions. Neo-Platonism
rejects the thought that theorists of justice face an essentially interdisciplinary
task. For Cohen, the subject of justice looks nothing less than transcendental—it
is ‘not what we should do but what we should think, even when what we should
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think makes no practical difference’.1 What follows for the division of labour for
reflection on justice is significant. We set up a firewall between the problems of
implementation and pure questions of principle. Philosophers chip away at the
unadorned principles—recognising the requisite detachment from empirics—
while democratic practitioners take up strategic and tactical questions of how to
make institutions and social practices less unjust.
Amartya Sen has powerfully challenged this way of framing the theory and prac-
tice of justice. In The Idea of Justice he argues that leading theorists of justice have
been ‘transcendental’ in character, univocally devoting themselves to answering
the question: what would a completely just society look like?2 On his charge, this
approach is both unnecessary and insufficient for deliberating in a meaningful way
about how we are to overcome the most pressing injustices of our time. Here I will
take up these two claims in turn. The space-clearing aim of my paper rejects the
necessity view. I argue that Sen drives an implausibly stark wedge between transcen-
dental and comparative approaches. The task of selecting the lesser injustice does
not typically require that we have worked out the single, all-encompassing account
of justice. But it does make essential reference to some transcendental theory or,
more likely, a set of underformulated theories.
That our grasp of an ‘all-out’ theory can be seriously incomplete doesn’t
undermine the ambition to find covering principles. We need some minimal moral-
theoretic knowledge of justice—in its idealised form—to make pronouncements
about relative injustices. This objection plays a constructive role. For, once we clar-
ify the mutually supportive relationship between transcendental and comparative
theory, we are in a better position to see how subject-changing Sen’s challenge
is. I then draw out the implications of this methodological shift for individuals
and groups attempting to reform unjust structures. Deliberating about injustice
implicates particular epistemic and deliberative powers, and it is irreducibly posi-
tion-sensitive. We have reason to give explanatory priority to injustice because
1 GA Cohen, ‘Facts and Principles’ (2003) 31(3) Philosophy & Public Affairs 211.
2 Amartya Sen, ‘What Do We Want from a Theory of Justice?’ (2006) CIII (5) Journal of Philosophy 215;
Amartya Sen, The Idea of Justice (Harvard University Press, 2011). Page references to this work are
given in the text in parentheses.
Review Symposium: Amartya Sen, ‘The Idea of Justice’ 331
decision problems call for direction absent in theories oriented around solving the
traditional theoretic problem of justice.
I want to use this distinction to tease out two ways to treat a theory of justice. The
first sees it as a reference work. A theory of justice takes on a primarily evaluative
character, providing us with a way to benchmark a given institution against a set
of principles. It can guide our decision making, but it does so indirectly, by devel-
oping a reference point against which to compare actual institutions. Put in this
language, Sen wants to say that transcendental theories are seriously incomplete
field guides. Their single reference point—all-out moral acceptability—makes
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them ill-equipped to say something useful about the comparative moral odiousness
of two institutional schemes.
Contrast this with a second approach, which treats a theory of justice as a kind
of user’s manual. Here the stress is on the decision-guidance that the theory issues.
If you treat these instructions as reason-giving in your deliberation, you will likely
reduce the injustice of a practice. Sen introduces the metaphor of a handbook.
His worry is that all-out theories provide us with user instructions of a sort, but
their guidance is insensitive to the position of the prospective reformer: as a ‘grand
revolutionary’s one-shot handbook’ (100). Imagine a citizen who searches for guid-
ance in reforming a health care system. The principles found in theories of priority
or equality may prove unhelpful. Egalitarian theories offer principles that are so
demanding that nothing close to them can be feasibly adopted. The call to restruc-
ture one’s economic system as a whole may not be usable. A candidate reformer will
demand a handbook whose instructions are sensitive to the incremental nature of
her reforming aims.
It is tempting to collapse these two approaches. The theoretical project of test-
ing the significance of relative injustices cannot be divorced from the practical
project of selecting among unjust feasible option sets. My claim is not that these are
independent enterprises, but that they are usefully—though perhaps not neatly—
separable. Our health care reformer may have in hand a theory that tells her which
of two possible health care systems is less unjust. As a reference work, then, the the-
ory is successful. But that same theory may not be institutionally sensitive enough
to suggest to her what actions she needs to take to approach the more morally
acceptable option. This case suggests that these two approaches are in principle
separable.
Before I develop this distinction further, let me guard against a natural worry.
Talk of user’s manuals of justice invites the thought that one is operating with an
implausible conception of the aims and purposes of a normative theory. It is clearly
false to think of a theory of justice in anthropomorphic terms, issuing judgments
that its end-users struggle to follow. This kind of language takes philosophical lib-
erties. But even the milder language of ‘instructions’ paints a misleading picture
of practical reasoning with moral principles. Take the experience of following the
332 Jurisprudence
cal world in analogous ways. I might leaf through a textbook on theoretical physics,
searching for some way to explain an observed natural phenomenon that puzzles
me. If, however, I find myself trapped in a lunar orbiter, subject to dangerous tem-
peratures, that same textbook may be consulted. But my attempt to extract from
it usable information in the face of an emergency is a very different kind of enter-
prise. Now I am only concerned with acquiring the bare knowledge to successfully
perform some task. While these seem to me to be two distinct ways of making use
of a theory of justice, they are not independent approaches. The reformer can also
use her adopted theory of justice as a reference work. Suppose, after she attempts
to refigure an objectionable practice, she looks back at her series of reforming
actions. Now she can use the theory as a purely evaluative tool—to ‘bear her own
survey’, in Hume’s phrase.
2. Full-Coverage Theories
plover’s eggs and now demands compensation from the state.3 Transcendentalists
will not be moved by the rejoinder that this thought experiment is unreal or its
resolution is lacking moral urgency. By their own lights, they need an answer to any
distributive problem, regardless of its distance from actual political practice. The
positive aim of transcendental theories, then, is to avoid the spectre of intuitionism
by providing a theory that yields a set of highly deterministic verdicts.4
The other way to demarcate transcendental theories is by noticing their built-in
limitations. Sen often characterises theories with a ‘totalist’ ambition by reference
to their deficiencies. Their encompassing ambition leaves them subject to two
kinds of indeterminacies in flawed environments. We can call the first disability:
Transcendentalists can find themselves deadlocked when they attempt to figure out
where their moral priorities lie under background injustices. Consider the project
of trading-off injustices. A Rawlsian may find herself torn between countenancing a
procedural or substantive infraction. For instance, you may have to choose between
fostering a democratic procedure that ensures greater power for the least well-
off representative person or material gains to that same person. A theory whose
principles simply warn us to avoid both kinds of infractions may not be satisfying.
I find the case of trading-off injustice compelling. But the Rawlsian could well find
that the principles suffer from what Sen calls a ‘relational silence’—they routinely
propose a single institutional jump that ignores the difficult choices involved in
the thorny transition to more a more just state of affairs. Counterexamples like this
are evidence that Sen has identified a deficiency in accounts of distributive justice.
3 Ronald Dworkin, Sovereign Virtue: The Theory and Practice of Equality (Harvard University Press, 2000).
4 Henry Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics (Hackett, 7th edn 1981 [1907]).
5 Bernard Arthur Owen Williams, Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy (Harvard University Press, 1985).
334 Jurisprudence
These two deficits are useful in setting up Sen’s alternative approach. Compara-
tive theories of justice aim to avoid these two kinds of indeterminacies. For Sen,
comparativists do not share the idealising project, since they do not seek the ‘iden-
tification of a perfectly just society’.6 But this way of distinguishing the approaches
has the potential to mislead. For one thing, it is not clear that theorists from the
transcendentalist tradition would accept this formulation. To see its peculiarity, con-
sider the analogue in moral philosophy. Suppose you set out to identify the morally
perfect person. Unless you happen to believe in a robustly determinate, monistic
theory of value, such a search would be quixotic. For on most plausible-sounding
approaches to morality, there is no such thing as the morally perfect person. To be
sure, there is a set of principles that, if flawless adhered to, would be constitutive
of a morally exemplary life. Unless the principles are highly restrictive, there are
presumably many ways of living that can succeed in satisfying these principles.
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6 Ibid, 225.
7 Plato, Compete Works, John M Cooper (ed) (Hackett, 1997).
8 ‘Thus on many questions of social and economic policy we must fall back upon a notion of quasi-
pure procedural justice: laws and policies are just provided that they lie within the allowed range,
and the legislature, in ways authorized by a just constitution, has in fact enacted them’: John Rawls,
A Theory of Justice (Harvard University Press, rev edn 1999) 362.
Review Symposium: Amartya Sen, ‘The Idea of Justice’ 335
tique.9 But those who wish to distinguish between a just basic structure and what
we might call cosmic justice will find Sen’s expansive marker problematic. They are
in the position to deny that they are formulating principles that, if satisfied, would
indicate a just society. For them, it is conceivable that we could have a fully just set
of ground rules alongside a series of injustices in what TM Scanlon calls ‘informal
politics’, where inequalities of power can be sustained against background fairness
of formal institutions.10 I should acknowledge that this second point is, as far as I
can tell, relatively minor. It requires tidying up the stated aim of transcendentalists.
latter necessary for the former? If not, in a world as seriously imperfect as our
own, why not postpone transcendental theorising for the indefinite future? How
we answer this question is important for theorists of justice. While Sen comes close
to concluding that transcendental approaches are pointless, my focus will remain
on his official position. The necessity claim holds that transcendental views do not
stand in any essential relation to comparative approaches. My strategy is to cast
doubt on the thesis in two ways. First, I will claim that the principal argument for it
is unsound. Second, I will suggest the difficulty of resisting a certain kind of neces-
sary relation between transcendental and comparative approaches. If this view is
correct, then the argument is also invalid. Sen arrives at this position through this
line of reasoning:
So, it is unnecessary for us to direct our theoretical energy at identifying the princi-
ples that a perfectly just society would satisfy.
I began this paper by acknowledging the plausibility of Premise 1. We don’t find
ourselves gathering together, de novo, aiming to construct institutions that are fully
just. So let us grant Premise 1 and focus our attention on Premise 2. In its defence,
Sen offers two arguments by analogy. The first begins with this premise:
Aesthetic Analogy. One can compare the relative beauty of the works of Picasso
over Dalí without identifying the most beautiful picture in the world.
9 Susan Moller Okin, Justice, Gender, and the Family (Basic Books, 1991); GA Cohen, ‘Where the Action
Is: On the Site of Distributive Justice’ (1997) 26(1) Philosophy & Public Affairs 3.
10 Thomas Scanlon, The Difficulty of Tolerance (Cambridge University Press, 2003).
336 Jurisprudence
Folk aesthetics accepts this claim as correct, and arguendo we can follow the lead of
common sense. To start with a thought experiment, imagine a renowned scholar of
art. Mary has devoted her life to the study of oil-based canvas painting. But there’s
a twist. At every stage her instructors and colleagues have kept her from being
exposed to the Mona Lisa.11 Now even if we suppose that da Vinci’s painting is
the aesthetically best, and Mary lacks all contact with that piece, it doesn’t neces-
sarily disqualify her from making comparative judgements among lesser works. It
is worth noting that examples of this kind don’t demonstrate the independence of
judgements about the best and judgements about the better. We could imagine
that, later in her career, Mary accidentally comes across a textbook that contains
the Mona Lisa. Identifying this painting as the best—in light of the principles of aes-
thetics that she has developed over the years—forces a certain amount of revision
in her theory of the beautiful. It could lead her to reverse her previous judgement
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between Picasso and Dalí. So even if we accept the Aesthetic Analogy and its rel-
evance to theorising about justice, this argument doesn’t yield a conclusion strong
enough to support the necessity thesis.
Well aware of the difficulties of this analogy, Sen repairs to a second argument
of the same basic form:
Distance Analogy. One can compare the heights of Mount Kanchenjunga and
mont Blanc without being about to pick out the tallest mountain in the world.
As an epistemic claim, this is surely right. Knowing about the superlative height
of Everest—even knowing that such a mountain of that height exists—would be
unnecessary for making this comparative judgement. The general principle that
Sen cites follows from reflection on examples like this one: we can make relative
judgements without knowing the object in the world that most closely approxi-
mates the relevant metric, whether that be height, weight or beauty.
Yet this analogy fails to lend support to the necessity thesis. How might an anal-
ogy with theories of justice be advanced? Suppose I am attempting to determine
which of two regimes, say North Korea and Iran, is more unjust. It is plausible to
think that I can form this judgement without canvassing all of the world’s nations
and picking out the regimes that most and least comply with the principles of jus-
tice that I take be to correct. I don’t need to know the ‘supreme alternative’, in
Sen’s parlance, to render a judgement about this more local judgement. Once we
state the analogy in this way, however, its limitations become clear. Now Sen wants to
argue that one need not engage in transcendental theorising about justice in order
to make comparative judgements. The upshot of his analogy, however, suggests a
different conclusion. There are two possible kinds of ignorance at work here: (1)
I may not know what actual regime comes closest to approximating justice; (2) I
11 This thought experiment bears a relation to Mary’s Room. In that case, Frank Jackson asks us to
imagine Mary, an accomplished neurophysiologist who specialises in colour. Mary has been raised in
a black and white environment. Does she know everything there is to know about the colour red, or
when exposed to a colour television does Mary learn something new? See Frank Jackson, ‘What Mary
Didn’t Know’ (1986) 83(5) Journal of Philosophy 291.
Review Symposium: Amartya Sen, ‘The Idea of Justice’ 337
may not know what moral principles are constitutive of a perfectly just regime. The
problem is that Sen’s analogy doesn’t speak to the latter kind of ignorance. But the
necessity thesis is a claim about the relationship between two approaches to justice,
not to knowledge of which worldly practices most embody a theory of justice.
Even if the necessity claim lacks a sound argument in its favour, it is valuable
to pause and investigate its surface appeal. What is intuitively attractive about the
thought that we can engage in comparative judgements of injustices without any
appeal to transcendental principles? Let me suggest two sources of appeal. The first
is that transcendentalists operate at a nosebleed level of ideality. This worry is as
old as Glaucon’s needling of Socrates. And since Rawls introduced the distinction
between ideal and nonideal theory, critics have raised doubts about the practical
value of investigating principles for a world of universally compliant individuals.12
We can reply directly to this concern in a moment—I think it is best bundled with
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The Partial Capability Approach: It’s 1979, and Amartya Sen has just introduced
basic capability equality in his Tanner Lecture.14 We have reason to pay attention
to what a person can do rather than what a person does.
The Full Capability Approach: It’s 1985, and Amartya Sen formalises his capability
framework. Our capabilities are a ‘set of functioning vectors within his or her
reach’.15
Here we have two accounts of capabilities, not all-out distributive justice. But my
point about incompleteness carries over. An individual criticising an unjust struc-
ture for discriminating against individuals with disabilities may not need the fuller
approach. She will do fine in 1979. Telescoping from this case, we can imagine a
range of decision problems that would only require the less formal characterisation
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14 Amartya Sen, ‘Equality of What?’ in The Tanner Lectures in Human Values, vol 1 (Cambridge University
Press, 1980) 217.
15 Amartya Sen, ‘Well-Being, Agency and Freedom’ (1985) 82(4) Journal of Philosophy 201.
16 Michael Sandel, Democracy’s Discontent: America in Search of a Public Philosophy (Harvard University
Press, 1996).
Review Symposium: Amartya Sen, ‘The Idea of Justice’ 339
4. Serviceable Principles
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If such spotless justice were the only focus of attention in a theory of justice, then the
institutional preconditions would form a kind of ‘entry barrier’, leading to an absti-
nence from applying justice theory to situations in which those exacting institutional
demands are not only currently met but cannot be met in the foreseeable future.19
What is insufficient about theories of justice that work from a background of ideal-
ised conditions is that they are incapable of fulfilling—at least on their own—both
roles that we assign to theories of justice. Despite their success as reference works,
they fall short when consulted as instructional materials. Our division of labour
should reflect the different purposes of a theory of justice. Earlier we imagined a
range of dilemmatic situations where full-compliance principles of justice weren’t
17 Sen puts the change in subject this way: ‘A transcendental approach to justice gives—or can give—
quite distinct and distant from the type of concerns that engage people in discussions on justice and
injustice in the world’: The Idea of Justice, 96.
18 Robert Nozick, The Nature of Rationality (Princeton University Press, 1993) 68.
19 Sen, ‘What Do We Want’ (n 2) 226.
340 Jurisprudence
tives. And they will be seriously limited in their ability to provide verdicts across
environments. In any case, the range of theories of distributive justice can seem
deadlocked. David Lewis liked to say that a deadlock is probative evidence that sub-
ject matter is difficult, not intractable. Nothing follows about whether there is a fact
of the matter about which rival principles are correct. The disagreements between
equality, priority and sufficiency theorists are deep and non-trivial. Whether these
theorists are climbing the same mountain, they are not aiming for the same peak—
to take Mill’s reinvigorated phrase.
If we assign investigative priority to injustice, we are shifting the subject way
from first-order distributive theory to the second-order question of the political
activist: what should individuals do with principles of justice in projects of reform?
The motivation can be put simply. The ethics of identifying and reforming unjust
institutions is not exhausted by a substantive theory of justice. And the mode of
ethical reasoning of the reformer is radically different from the theory-designer.
Political philosophies sometimes talk of ‘applying’ principles to actual institutions,
but political actors don’t see themselves as appliers. The function of principles of
justice in their day-in-day-out decision making is hardly clear. The test of service-
able principles is in their use. Are they effective at helping us identify and reform
injustices on the ground that may be occluded by our position within complex
institutional and social networks?
Notice the insistent focus on how things are for flesh-and-blood agents, who
have to figure out how to act within a system of diversely motivated non-compli-
ers. The perspective of the political reformer is not analogous to the institutional
designer. The way this ‘outsider’ deliberates about the moral acceptability of
institutions—whether the Boy Scouts of America or the United Nations—will be
institutionally one step removed. The prospective reformer wonders how to act in
response to the moral and rational failings of others precisely when one lacks direct
access to legislative action. This focus should not come at the expense of questions
of institutional design. How individuals should understand their reforming obliga-
tions is a hybrid of interpersonal and institutional concerns.
To see the significance of this subject-change, compare two pictures of the
reformer. The first is self-consciously realising an ideal of justice in her actions.
Review Symposium: Amartya Sen, ‘The Idea of Justice’ 341
‘Even most nonphilosophers who are active in the cause of justice’, writes A John
Simmons, ‘do in fact have in mind, however vaguely, an ideal of justice toward
which they take their campaigns to be ultimately directed.’20 We are all transcen-
dentalists, the thought goes. Some of us face greater time pressure than others,
and some have more theoretical materials at our grasp, but there is an essential
continuity between theory and practice. If we accept the sufficiency claim, a very
different picture of the reformer emerges. She needn’t be chagrined by her lack of
an ideal of justice. She retains confidence in her convictions about the presence of
practices that subordinate and subject some for the good of others. Her decision
making is not a result of calculation or the subtle weighing of positive principles of
justice, however unformed.
For the task of identifying an unjust institution is radically different from con-
structing a theory of justice. For one thing, the repertoire of skills that allow us to
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pick out an injustice seems considerably broader. It will not do to have a familiarity
with the reflective equilibrium and bare training in first-order logic. The demanded
skills of practical reasoning will be a mix of cognitive and affective. We will need
to read and respond to the basic elements of the moral world—to draw from Bar-
bara Herman’s work on what moral reasoning is really like for the deliberator.21
Consider the imaginative act of engaging vividly with the particulars of poverty. If
we have little first-hand acquaintance with deprivation, it may be difficult to vividly
enter into particulars—the hectoring calls from creditors and the experience of
having one’s food stamp allowance cut. Increasing our vividness of a person’s or
group’s position can improve our deliberative position, for status quo institutions
can deprive us of appreciating moral claims as seriously as we might.
These examples point to the gap between constructing justice and identifying
injustice. The theoretical enterprise of theory design is a fairly routinised activity.
We test an abstract principle—say that the moral value of achieving a benefit for
an individual depends on their level of well-being—by bringing it to bear on a
high-level description of a distributive pattern. If the result flies in the face of an
intuitive judgement, we modify the initial principle. Notice how little resemblance
this mode of reasoning bears to the task of identifying an injustice. This mode
of deliberation involves trying to assess how weighty various considerations are. It
seems especially amenable to heuristics like vividness and affective engagement
with the interests one is assessing. Individuals who have first-hand experience with
disadvantage may have a certain epistemic edge in this mode of reflection. For oth-
ers, a certain amount of meta-reasoning about one’s current deliberative position
may be an essential anecdote. Is my place within this institution obscuring features
that are salient for the identification of an injustice?
Now let’s turn to a second way to think of the priority of injustice, one that is
philosophically more ambitious. Suppose we assign conceptual priority of injustice over
justice. This move can sound mysterious until we look for analogous efforts across
philosophy. Some leading epistemologists have argued that knowledge has concep-
20 A John Simmons, ‘Ideal and Nonideal Theory’ (2010) 38(1) Philosophy & Public Affairs 36.
21 Babara Herman, Moral Literacy (Harvard University Press, 2008).
342 Jurisprudence
tual priority over belief. We get the concept of belief as ‘something derived from
the concept of knowledge’.22 Timothy Williamson has forcefully challenged the
tempting thought that belief is conceptually prior to knowledge. So, too, we may
conclude that Sen’s subject-change is as much theoretical as it is practical. Taken
seriously, it urges us to treat the very concept of injustice as more basic than justice,
so that the latter is derived from the former. I take this methodological shift to be
inspired by Sen’s approach rather than a statement of his official position. You
might worry that taking his thought in this direction makes him more of a grand
revolutionary than he would accept.
The basic idea—which I will describe and not defend—is that we have reason
to ask what properties make an institutional arrangement unjust independently
from and prior to attempts to characterise a just arrangement. We have seen that
theories of distributive justice typically proceed in two stages. They first investigate
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22 Timothy Williamson, Knowledge and its Limits (Oxford University Press, 2000) 2.
Review Symposium: Amartya Sen, ‘The Idea of Justice’ 343
can gravely matter vis-à-vis your obligations towards an institution. Sen’s remark-
able work on position-sensitivity is a paradigm of the kind of inquiry that follows
from taking injustice as conceptually prior. For him, ‘the role of positionality may
be particularly crucial in interpreting systematic and persistent illusions that can
significantly influence—and distort—social understanding and the assessment of
public affairs’ (168). All-out theories of justice can be utopian precisely because
they are indifferent to the position of the individual towards a discrete injustice.
Their guidance is naïve in its failing to take seriously the reforming capacities of
the particular individual. I have suggested that our ethical thinking about injus-
tice should be ‘location-aware’ in two ways. It should take seriously the individual
reformer’s environment and their own bearing towards a candidate injustice.
In a world where we have considerable confidence that chronic injustices
persist, devoting serious attention to completing an all-out theory of justice can
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