Claims about what justice “requires” and the “requirements” of justice are pervasive in political philosophy. However, there is a highly significant ambiguity in such claims that appears to have gone unnoticed. Such claims may pick out either one of two categorically distinct and noncoextensive kinds of requirement that we call 1) requirements-as-necessary-conditions for justice and 2) requirements-as-demands of justice. This is an especially compelling instance of an ambiguity that John Broome has famously observed in the context of claims about other requirements (notably the requirements of rationality and morality). But it appears to have been overlooked by political philosophers in the case of claims about the requirements of justice. The ambiguity is highly significant inasmuch as failing to notice it is liable to distort our normative thinking about politics and make us vulnerable to certain kinds of normatively consequential errors: both mistakenly drawing inferences about what justice demands of us from claims that certain states or societies are not just; and mistakenly drawing inferences about what states or societies are or would be just from claims that justice does not demand of states or societies that they do certain things. Paying greater attention to the distinction between these two different kinds of requirements and the ways in which they come apart is helpful, not merely in avoiding these distortions and errors, but also in resolving, or at least clarifying, a number of other notoriously murky meta-normative debates, especially various important debates about realism and idealism in political philosophy.

Collective action can be motivated in many different ways. Here I point to a new and perhaps surprising one: by, in effect, telling people that the group is powerful and likely to achieve its goal, precisely because each of them is an inessential, interchangeable part in it. Given people’s desire to be part (even if a superfluous part) of a winning group, that can be a powerful motivator for people to join in a collective action.

There are many reasons you may want to make your contributions to public debates anonymously, and there are many reasons you may want to act in solidarity with others. Why might people engaged in social movements want to do both at the same time? “Anonymous solidarity”—symbolized by a great many protestors wearing one and the same iconic Guy Fawkes mask—signifies not only solidarity (“we are as one”) but also multiplicity (“we are many”) and interchangeability of each for the other (“for every one of us who falls, ten more will take our place”). The latter two features make a movement more likely to succeed, the former by rendering it stronger and the latter by rendering it more robust. A raft of evidence shows that people are more likely to participate in collective action that is more likely to succeed, even if their own participation is in no way essential for its success.

Among moralists and social critics of several stripes, it is not enough that the right thing be done: they also insist that it be done, and be seen to be done, for the right reasons. They are anxious to know whether we are sending food to starving Africans out of genuinely altruistic concern, or merely to clear domestic commodity markets, for one particularly topical example. Or, for another example, critics of the Brandt Commission’s plea for increased foreign aid more generally say, in stinging rebuke: ‘Many of those who support the proposal... do so out of genuine humanitarian concern about... poverty. But it is doubtful whether this is the main concern of its authors, and it certainly is not their only concern. ... They are, instead, primarily concerned with the preservation of the existing world economic order.’

What is common to all such cases is an attempt at motive differentiation. Any particular piece of behavior might have sprung from any of a number of different underlying motives; commentators (moralists, social critics) want to know which was the real motive. Here I shall show that this characteristic quest for motive differentiation is misguided. In most of the standard social situations, it makes no material difference to agents’ actions whether they act from one sort of motive or another. And in such circumstances, pressing the motivational issue will usually lead only to mischief, of both a pragmatic and a moral sort.

For cosmopolitans, global democracy is valuable both in itself and as a means to global justice. Their preferred principle of political enfranchisement is the All Affected Principle which, given global interdependencies, means that virtually everyone should have a vote virtually everywhere. Anti-cosmopolitans want to resist that conclusion. They try to do so by appealing instead to the All Subjected Principle. But you are subject to a law whenever it claims to apply to you, and in contemporary practice states typically claim authority to make many laws that apply even to non-nationals abroad. On the All Subjected Principle, they too should have a vote over those laws. The All Subjected Principle would thus have similarly expansionary implications for the franchise as the All Affected Principle, contrary to the fondest hopes of anti-cosmopolitans.

Theories of deliberation, developed largely in the context of domestic politics, are becoming increasingly relevant for international politics. The recently established Universal Periodic Review (UPR) operating under the auspices of the UN’s Human Rights Council is an excellent illustration. Our analysis of responses to its reports and recommendations suggests that the deliberative processes surrounding the UPR do indeed evoke co-operative responses even from countries with poor human rights records. Its highly inclusive, deliberative, repeated-play and peer-to-peer nature can serve as a model for how international organizations more generally can enhance deliberative capacity across the international system.

Solidarity is supposed to facilitate collective action. We argue that it can also help overcome false consciousness. Groups practice ‘epistemic solidarity’ if they pool information about what is in their true interest and how to vote accordingly. The more numerous ‘Masses’ can in this way overcome the ‘Elites,’ but only if they are minimally confident with whom they share the same interests and only if they are (perhaps only just) better-than-random in voting for the alternative that promotes their interests. Being more cohesive and more competent than the Masses, the Elites can employ the same strategy perhaps all the more effectively. But so long as the Masses practice epistemic solidarity they will almost always win, whether or not the Elites do. By enriching the traditional framework of the Condorcet Jury Theorem with group-specific standards of correctness, we investigate how groups can organize to support the alternatives truly in their interests.

WHAT FOLLOW ARE LESS ‘THESES’ THAN ‘CONJECTURES’, speculations both tentative and disjointed. Like a mathematician's conjectures, however, they admit of being systematically ordered into a larger theory as well as being elaborated more fully, one-by-one. Here I shall, without elaboration, at least sketch the outlines of that larger theory.

The general tenor of all these conjectures is to query an ethos, prevailing for the past two centuries or more, effectively encapsulated in the slogan, ‘Every state a nation, every nation a state’. Starting with the American and Latin American revolutions and continuing through the twentieth century's own wars of national liberation, the continuing motif has been one of freeing ‘a People’ from ‘alien rule’. Champions of ‘political unification’, from Mazzini's Italy to Kohl's Germany, have likewise taken as their rallying cry the uniting of a single people under a single government. That is the ‘every nation a state’ side of the story.

There are many different ways of responding to wrongdoing: person-centered or object-centered, victim-centered or perpetrator-centered, and fault-oriented or not. Among these approaches, requiring innocent beneficiaries to disgorge the fruits of historical wrongdoings of others is attractive because it is informationally the least demanding. Although that approach is perhaps not ideal, at least it is feasible where other responses are not, and doing something is better than doing nothing in response to grievous historical wrongdoing. Depending on circumstances, disgorgement can be in whole or in part, in kind or in cash. Even without the full information that disgorgement itself requires, general redistributive taxation might be justified as a tolerably close approximation.

Environmental degradation can no longer be handled by means of traditional local remedies in the face of the current global environmental crisis. The author outlines specific ways to overcome the crisis through international means, obliging each individual nation to reduce its own hazardous production, while enjoining a collective effort to confront the challenge of global environmental deterioration. Only through policy-making based on the recognition of shared danger and international commitments to reduce damage can we achieve a shared moral responsibility for environmental protection.

From British debates over the 1832 New Poor Law to the near present, the notion of “desert” has long had a clear referent in discussions of social welfare policy. The designation “deserving poor” was reserved for those with legitimate grounds for not supporting themselves through paid employment. Invariably among them were the very young, the very old, and the mentally and physically very disabled—people who literally could not work for a living. Also included were various categories of people who, according to the varying conventions of the day, were socially excused from paid labor—widows in the Victorian era, students in the postwar era, and so on. Anyone who could and should work for a living but refused to do so was traditionally deemed to be among the “undeserving poor.” Those were the people whose “welfare dependency” has long been the target of welfare reformers, most recently Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, Bill Clinton and Tony Blair.

We know that we can learn much from the reports of multiple competent, independent, unbiased observers. There are also things we can learn from the reports of competent but biased observers. Specifically, when reports go against the grain of an agent’s known biases, we can be relatively confident in the veracity of those reports. Triangulating on the truth via that mechanism requires a multiplicity of observers with distinct biases, each of whose reports might be one-way decisive in that fashion. It also presupposes that all observers share the same fundamental epistemic standards.

In A Constitution of Many Minds Cass Sunstein argues that the three major approaches to constitutional interpretation – Traditionalism, Populism and Cosmopolitanism – all rely on some variation of a ‘many-minds’ argument. Here we assess each of these claims through the lens of the Condorcet Jury Theorem. In regard to the first two approaches we explore the implications of sequential influence among courts (past and foreign, respectively). In regard to the Populist approach, we consider the influence of opinion leaders.

The Federalist, justifying the Electoral College to elect the president, claimed that a small group of more informed individuals would make a better decision than the general mass. But the Condorcet Jury Theorem tells us that the more independent, better-than-random voters there are, the more likely it will be that the majority among them will be correct. The question thus arises as to how much better, on average, members of the smaller group would have to be to compensate for the epistemic costs of making decisions on the basis of that many fewer votes. This question is explored in the contexts of referendum democracy, delegate-style representative democracy, and trustee-style representative democracy.

Lawyers talk of the common law offence of ‘perverting the course of justice’ by bribing or intimidating judges or jurors, lying to the police or court, concealing or destroying or fabricating evidence. This article argues that the same things are wrong, and wrong for the same reasons, politically as judicially: they prevent people from knowing and applying for themselves the rules by which they are ruled. The sort of excuses typically offered for those perverse practices in politics – that ‘it made no difference’, that ‘they could and should have resisted’ or that it is merely a matter of ‘fair adversarial competition’ – would be laughed out of a court of law, and they should be shunned politically for the same reasons as judicially.