Justice_ What's the Right Thing to Do_ - Michael Sandel [78]
That our society values these things is not our doing. Suppose that we, with our talents, inhabited not a technologically advanced, highly litigious society like ours, but a hunting society, or a warrior society, or a society that conferred its highest rewards and prestige on those who displayed physical strength, or religious piety. What would become of our talents then? Clearly, they wouldn’t get us very far. And no doubt some of us would develop others. But would we be less worthy or less virtuous than we are now?
Rawls’s answer is no. We might receive less, and properly so. But while we would be entitled to less, we would be no less worthy, no less deserving than others. The same is true of those in our society who lack prestigious positions, and who possess fewer of the talents that our society happens to reward.
So, while we are entitled to the benefits that the rules of the game promise for the exercise of our talents, it is a mistake and a conceit to suppose that we deserve in the first place a society that values the qualities we have in abundance.
Woody Allen makes a similar point in his movie Stardust Memories. Allen, playing a character akin to himself, a celebrity comedian named Sandy, meets up with Jerry, a friend from his old neighborhood who is chagrined at being a taxi driver.
SANDY: So what are you doing? What are you up to?
JERRY: You know what I do? I drive a cab.
SANDY: Well, you look good. You—There’s nothing wrong with that.
JERRY: Yeah. But look at me compared to you…
SANDY: What do you want me to say? I was the kid in the neighborhood who told the jokes, right?
JERRY: Yeah.
SANDY: So, so—we, you know, we live in a—in a society that puts a big value on jokes, you know? If you think of it this way—(clearing his throat) if I had been an Apache Indian, those guys didn’t need comedians at all, right? So I’d be out of work.
JERRY: So? Oh, come on, that doesn’t help me feel any better.23
The taxi driver was not moved by the comedian’s riff on the moral arbitrariness of fame and fortune. Viewing his meager lot as a matter of bad luck didn’t lessen the sting. Perhaps that’s because, in a meritocratic society, most people think that worldly success reflects what we deserve; the idea is not easy to dislodge. Whether distributive justice can be detached altogether from moral desert is a question we explore in the pages to come.
Is Life Unfair?
In 1980, as Ronald Reagan ran for president, the economist Milton Friedman published a bestselling book, co-authored with his wife, Rose, called Free to Choose. It was a spirited, unapologetic defense of the free-market economy, and it became a textbook—even an anthem—for the Reagan years. In defending laissez-faire principles against egalitarian objections, Friedman made a surprising concession. He acknowledged that those who grow up in wealthy families and attend elite schools have an unfair advantage over those from less privileged backgrounds. He also conceded that those who, through no doing of their own, inherit talents and gifts have an unfair advantage over others. Unlike Rawls, however, Friedman insisted that we should not try to remedy this unfairness. Instead, we should learn to live with it, and enjoy the benefits it brings:
Life is not fair. It is tempting to believe that government can rectify what nature has spawned. But it is also important to recognize how much we benefit from the very unfairness we deplore. There’s nothing fair… about Muhammad Ali’s having been born with the skill that made him a great fighter… It is certainly not fair that Muhammad Ali should be able to earn millions of dollars in one night. But wouldn’t it have been even more unfair to the people who enjoyed watching him if, in the pursuit of some abstract ideal of equality, Muhammad