The Blade Called Justice — Is My Justice Wounding Someone?

"This is a finding of justice" — the very moment we are convinced of this is when we ought to be most cautious. What comes after "correctness" (Vol. 1) is "justice." Correctness is a matter of cognition; justice is a matter of behaviour. The sharpness of the lifted blade is often proportional to the hardness of the interior of the one wielding it. What this volume puts forward is the fact that justice is essentially two-sided. Nietzsche, Rawls, Sandel, Gilligan, Arendt, Shinran, Laozi, and Solzhenitsyn — eight traditions, in different words, point to the possibility that one's own justice is wounding someone.

01The Allure and the Danger of the Word "Justice"

Justice is a beautiful word. Those who hold it up feel themselves elevated; those who follow it gain reassurance; those who oppose it are burdened with the duty to explain. For just this reason justice has been mobilised in politics, religion, organisations, families — every scene. The field of regulatory review is no exception. "This is for the patient"; "this must not be, ethically" — words of justice strengthen our judgement.

At the same time, justice is also the blade that cuts the other the moment it is lifted. Between the one who speaks justice and the one to whom justice is directed, parity often vanishes. The very structure "you are wrong, I am right" turns dialogue into a one-way street. And in that moment, justice can drift away from its original aim (the benefit of the patient, the ethics of the organisation) and acquire another function — the confirmation of one's own superiority. This volume looks that "drift" in the face, in light of eight traditions.

02Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil — Good and Evil Are Often a Restatement of Power

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), in Jenseits von Gut und Böse (1886), put forward the powerful proposition that the labels of good and evil are not neutral evaluations but, historically, often namings that reflect the interests of a particular group.

"One of the ugliest truths of humankind is this — most of what we call 'good' is merely a restatement of 'convenient to my side.'" — paraphrase of Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil (1886)

Nietzsche's proposition has often been read as nihilism. He himself repeatedly stated that this was not his intention. What he points to is a quieter and deeper place. When you use the words "good" and "justice," continually ask yourself whether what those words point to is truly a universal good or the interest of the group to which you belong.

In the field of regulatory review, when one says "this is for the patient," is the word truly for the patient, or is it for the justification of one's own judgement? When one says "this is for the trust in the organisation," is it truly for the organisation, or for the preservation of one's own position? Nietzsche's question is provocative, but as a tool of self-inspection it is sharp.

03Rawls's "Veil of Ignorance" — Justice Can Only Be Formulated Structurally

The American political philosopher John Rawls (1921–2002), in A Theory of Justice (1971), reconstructed contemporary theories of justice. At the core is the concept of the veil of ignorance.

"To establish the principles of justice, the basic structure of society must be chosen anew from a position in which one does not know who one is — gender, race, class, ability, social position (the veil of ignorance)." — paraphrase of John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (1971)

Rawls's implication is powerful. The "justice" rendered while preserving one's own position frequently contains the bias of advantaging one's own position. Truly fair justice is the principle one would select if one did not know one's own position — such structural formulation is required.

In the field of regulatory review, "if I were in the requester's position, how would I receive this finding?"; "if I were the executive, would this judgement appear sound?" — these questions are applications of the veil of ignorance. By temporarily removing one's position when looking, one can inspect whether one's justice has become position-dependent.

04Sandel — "Justice Cannot Be Reduced to a Single Principle"

The Harvard political philosopher Michael Sandel (1953–), in Justice: What's the Right Thing to Do? (2009), argued the danger of reducing justice to a single principle.

"Justice has at least three different formulations — justice that maximises utility, justice that respects liberty, justice that cultivates virtue. To reduce justice to any one is to lose sight of the other two. Real problems often appear as collisions among the three." — paraphrase of Michael Sandel, Justice (2009)

What Sandel shows is the fact that the right answer of justice often does not settle to one. On the same case, a utilitarian (maximise the welfare of the whole), a libertarian (respect individual freedom as much as possible), and a virtue ethicist (cultivate the good of the community) produce entirely different answers. Each is coherent.

In the pharmaceutical field, "access should be broadened (utility)"; "corporate intellectual property should be protected (liberty)"; "the dignity of medicine should be preserved (virtue)" — these collide frequently in reality. The one who believes "there is one justice" often simply fails to notice other justices. Holding Sandel's taxonomy alone makes it possible to attach the "kind" label to one's own justice and to enter dialogue with the other's justice.

05Gilligan, "the Ethics of Care" — Another Ethic Outside Justice

The American psychologist Carol Gilligan (1936–), in In a Different Voice (1982), showed that, outside the traditional "ethic of justice," there is an ethic of care.

"The ethic of justice centres on abstract principle and right. The ethic of care centres on concrete relation and responsibility. The two are not in opposition but complementary. But for a long time the latter has been hidden in the shadow of the former." — paraphrase of Carol Gilligan, In a Different Voice (1982)

What Gilligan's research showed is that when judgement is rendered by "correctness" alone, what is happening within the relationship becomes invisible. When one judges "this finding is correct in law," what relationship rises between the receiver of the judgement and oneself? Is justice worth pursuing even at the sacrifice of the quality of the relationship? The ethic of care gives a perspective that should be asked again before lifting the "blade" of justice.

06Arendt, "the Banality of Evil" — Rigid Justice Generates Evil

The German-Jewish political philosopher Hannah Arendt (1906–1975), in Eichmann in Jerusalem (1963), observed the trial of Adolf Eichmann — who handled the operational logistics of Jewish deportation under the Nazis — and left a shocking observation.

"Eichmann was no monster. Rather, he had the terrifyingly banal qualities of the cessation of thinking and the faithful execution of duty. This is what I call the 'banality of evil.'" — Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem (1963)

Arendt's proposition has often been misread. She does not absolve Eichmann. The opposite. Vast evil is often born from the conviction that "I am doing my duty correctly." The organisation's rules, the superior's orders, one's own role — the cessation of thinking that believes faithfully following these to be "justice" produces the greatest ethical catastrophe.

In the field of regulatory review, "I am doing it by the rule"; "I am following the organisation's policy"; "I am making the finding as a duty" — behind these words, is one's own halting of judgement slipping in? Arendt's question points to the most silent and deepest snare of justice. Justice that does not continue to think frequently turns into banal evil.

07Shinran's "Non-Duality of Good and Evil" — Even the Good Person Doubts Their Own Good

From the Eastern lineage, the most thoroughgoing proposition. Shinran (1173–1262), in the Tannishō (late 13th c.), thoroughly dismantled the limits of human judgement of good and evil, including his own.

Because I act according to my own heart in all things, it is fitting that I should go to hell.
— Since I behave at the mercy of my own intent, it is only natural that I should fall into hell. (gist from Tannishō, Article 2)

This paradoxical proposition of Shinran is the invitation to doubt to the root the self that believes itself to be "good." It is the extension of akunin shōki (the wicked are the principal object of salvation) touched in Vol. 4 (self-transformation). The very conviction that one is doing "good" is often the thing most to be guarded against — this is the ethical bedrock of the human being Shinran reached.

In the field of regulatory review, in the moment one feels "I am on the side of justice," recalling Shinran's voice once changes the angle of the lifted blade. "Am I truly on the side of good?" — only the one who does not lose this question can truly draw near to justice.

08Laozi's "Heaven and Earth Are Not Benevolent" — The Coolness of Nature Teaches the Crossing of Justice

One more from the East. The famous passage of Laozi's Tao Te Ching, Chapter 5.

Heaven and earth are not benevolent; they treat the ten-thousand things as straw dogs. The sage too is not benevolent; he treats the hundred-surnamed (the people) as straw dogs.
— "Straw dog" (芻狗) is the bound-straw effigy used in ritual sacrifice. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 5)

This passage is extremely easy to misread. To read it superficially as "Heaven is cold toward humans" or "the sage treats the people as objects" — that looks like the philosophy of the void. Laozi's intent is different. Heaven and earth do not claim their own "benevolence" — and for just that reason they sustain all things impartially — this is the direction Laozi points to.

Laozi's implication, surprisingly, points close to Rawls's "veil of ignorance." The more strongly one asserts one's own justice, the more biased that justice becomes. Conversely, when one does not assert one's own justice but treats fact and other equally, truly fair behaviour rises. The blade not lifted is closer to true justice — this is a Laozian paradox, akin to the master's state in the martial arts.

09Solzhenitsyn — "The Line Between Good and Evil Passes Through Every Human Heart"

The Russian writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (1918–2008), in The Gulag Archipelago (1973) — the record of his experience in the Soviet labour camps — left a passage decisive for the ethics of the twentieth century.

"If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?" — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago (1973)

Solzhenitsyn's observation condenses every argument of this volume. Evil is not "on the other side"; it is also in one's own heart. Before swinging the blade of justice at the other, is one prepared for the blade to cut the same line within one's own heart? In the pharmaceutical field, when one calls out misconduct, accuses the organisation's problem, criticises the other — a finding made while recognising the same disposition within oneself, and a finding made while believing oneself unrelated, become entirely different acts.

The latter often becomes self-righteousness, wounds the other, and makes invisible the same problem within oneself. The former can swing the blade carefully and yet sincerely where it must be swung. Only justice prepared to face "the same line within one's own heart" becomes justice that truly reaches. — this is the lesson Solzhenitsyn brought back from the camps.

10Four Practices for Slowly Lowering the Lifted Blade

To bring the same place to which the eight traditions pointed down into daily practice, four practices are set here. Not practices for discarding the blade of justice, but practices for swinging it only when needed, and only as much as needed.

Justice is a beautiful word. But the moment it is lifted, it becomes a blade. Nietzsche, Rawls, Sandel, Gilligan, Arendt, Shinran, Laozi, Solzhenitsyn — eight traditions pointed, in different words, to the same place. They are not saying "discard justice." They are saying, at the moment of swinging justice, stop within oneself.

"This is justice" — when you are convinced of this, ask again. "Whom is my justice about to cut? Is the way of cutting truly necessary?" The moment of asking changes the angle of the blade.