Poetic Injustice:

How Narratives Can Lead Us Astray

By

Lester H. Hunt

University of Wisconsin – Madison

In Poetic Justice Martha Nussbaum undertakes to explain how “story-telling and literary imagining” can supply “essential ingredients in a rational argument” and thereby improve public discourse regarding important ethical, political, and legal issues.[1] The particular sort of ingredient she investigates is supplied by “the realistic novel,” which she claims works on us, in significant part, by appealing to capacity that Adam Smith called “sympathy,” a certain ability to enter into the thoughts and especially the feelings of others. The paradigm case of this effect is the reaction a sensitive white reader will have to the opening scene of Richard Wright’s Native Son, in which Bigger Thomas, the poor black protagonist, gets out of bed one morning and, before he can begin his day, must do battle with a very large rat, a rat that puts up a determined fight until it is crushed by an iron skillet.[2]

No doubt, many readers encountering Wright’s book for the first time have felt the scales fall from their eyes. One feels that one has gained an insight into how it is to live a life radically different from one’s own. Most importantly, this insight seems morally valuable, and it does modify our moral understanding of Bigger Thomas later in the story, when he murders two women. Throughout Poetic Justice Nussbaum contrasts this sort of “empathetic imagining”[3] with another way of attending to the problems of life, with what she calls the “cruder forms of economic utilitarianism.” What makes these forms of economic analysis crude, apparently, is the fact that they are uninformed and unchecked by empathetic imagining, so that they alienate us from the particularities of individuals’ lives and encourages us to view them as interchangeable tokens subsumed under an abstraction.[4] Though it can be very useful politically and economically, such analysis has a powerful tendency to be morally corrupting whenever it leaks out of the realm of the political and economic and into the realm of moral judgment. Since the problems of public policy themselves often raise moral issues, the possibility of this sort of contamination is omnipresent. This makes it all the more important that such analysis be checked and limited by empathetic imagining. On the other hand, there is no need to use this sort of analysis to check and limit the workings of empathy. In this way, the relations between these two ways of thinking are entirely asymmetrical. Sympathetic understanding always brings to our attention features of the world that are morally relevant, while the sort of analysis that is represented by economics is marked by a seductive tendency to blind us to these very same features.[5]

I will do my best in what follows to convince the reader that this position is not true. I do not deny that literature often appeals to our powers of imaginative sympathy, nor that such appeals have potentially enormous value in making our lives better. I do, however, wish to undermine the peculiar position of moral privilege in which Nussbaum places them. Indeed, there are many cases in which empathetic imagination may be morally inferior to a process that seems in relevant respects to resemble economic analysis.

In order to make the point that I wish to make, I will present the reader with an example of another sort of story, a sort that contrasts sharply with the sorts of narratives that Nussbaum has in mind. Indeed, it differs so profoundly from them that it might be argued that it is not type of narrative at all. I will call quasi-narratives of this sort “scenarios.” For convenience, I will use “stories” as a generic term to refer both to these scenarios and to the clearer instances of narration.

The particular “scenario” upon which I will focus my attention is one that I borrow from the economist James Buchanan.[6] It describes the actions of two “players,” named for the time being A and B, who are interacting in situations having the payoff structures represented in a game-theoretic matrix that can be seen in Figure 1. Player B has two options, represented by columns 1 and 2, while player A’s options are represented by rows 1 and 2. Depending on which row and column are chosen, they will get the results in cell I, II, III, or IV. The results that befall each player are represented by the two Arabic numerals in the cells, with the left one going to A and the right one going to B. The results for each player are ranked, by that player, 4>3>2>1. The players make their choices solely on the basis of expected results. The situation is conceived as an “iterated game,” with both players having a series of chances to make choices. At any point, either player may bring about another play of the game simply by choosing another option. For instance, if for some reason they find themselves in cell III, A can, if he[7] notices this opportunity, move both players to I by choosing row 1. He would thus improve his outcome by changing it from 3 to 4, incidentally giving B a result of 2 (which is worse than B’s former result of 4). On the other hand, B will not depart from cell III by choosing column 2, because that will saddle him with a payoff (namely, 3) that is worse for him than his result in cell III.