Right Thing, Right Now: Justice in an Unjust World

by Ryan Holiday

Injustice is a kind of blasphemy. Nature designed rational beings for each other’s sake: to help—not harm—one another, as they deserve. To transgress its will, then, is to blaspheme against the oldest of the gods. —Marcus Aurelius

“Virtue” can seem old-fashioned. In fact, virtue—arete—translates to something very simple and very timeless: Excellence. Moral. Physical. Mental.

In the ancient world, virtue was comprised of four key components. Courage. Temperance. Justice. Wisdom.

“touchstones of goodness,” the philosopher king Marcus Aurelius called them. To millions, they’re known as the “cardinal virtues,” four near-universal ideals adopted by Christianity and most of Western philosophy, but equally valued in Buddhism,...

One aim: to help you choose… Courage, bravery, endurance, fortitude, honor, sacrifice… Temperance, self-control, moderation, composure, balance… Justice, fairness, service, fellowship, goodness, kindness… Wisdom, knowledge, education, truth, self-reflection, peace…

The virtues are interrelated and inseparable, yet each is distinct from the others. Doing the right thing almost always takes courage, just as moderation is impossible without the wisdom to know what is worth choosing. What good is courage if not applied to justice? What good is wisdom if it doesn’t make us more modest?

Aristotle described virtue as a kind of craft, something to pursue just as one pursues the mastery of any profession or skill. “We become builders by building and we become harpists by playing the harp,” he writes. “Similarly, then, we become just by doing just actions, temperate by doing temperate actions, brave by doing brave actions.” Virtue is something we do. It’s something we choose.

It’s a daily challenge, one we face not once but constantly, repeatedly. Will we be selfish or selfless? Brave or afraid? Strong or weak? Wise or stupid? Will we cultivate a good habit or a bad one? Courage or cowardice? The bliss of ignorance or the challenge of a new idea? Stay the same…or grow? The easy way or the right way?

While discretion moderates bravery and pleasure provides us relief from excessive self-control, the ancients would point out that there is no virtue to counterbalance justice. It just is. It just is the whole point. Of every virtue. Of every action. Of our very lives. Nothing is right if we’re not doing what is right.

“Justice means much more than the sort of thing that goes on in law courts,” C. S. Lewis would remind listeners in a famous lecture series. “It is the old name for everything we should now call ‘fairness’; it includes honesty, give and take, truthfulness, keeping promises, and all that side of life.”

what are you doing? Stare decisis? Justice stares us in the face. Do we act with it? Not only in big moments of responsibility but the little ones—how we treat a stranger, how we conduct our business, the seriousness with which we take our obligations, the way we do our job, the impact we have on the world around us.

Earlier in this Stoic Virtues series, we defined courage as putting our ass on the line, and self-discipline as getting your ass in line. To continue this metaphor, we may define justice as holding the line—

What you will do. What you won’t. What you must do. How you do it. Whom you do it for. What you’re willing to give for them.

“Love thy neighbor as thyself,” Hillel told the man. “All the rest is commentary.” Care about others. Treat them as you would wish to be treated. Not just when it’s convenient or recognized, but especially when it isn’t. Even when it’s not returned. Even when it costs you.

“Life is not meaningless for the man who considers certain actions wrong simply because they are wrong, whether or not they violate the law,” he once explained. “This kind of moral code gives a person a focus, a basis on which to conduct himself.”

The aim in this book is much simpler, much more practical—following in the tradition of the ancients who saw justice as a habit or a craft, a way of living. Because that’s what justice should be—not a noun but a verb. Something we do, not something we get. A form of human excellence. A statement of purpose. A series of actions.

In a world of so much uncertainty, in a world where so much is out of our control, where evil does exist and regularly goes unpunished, the commitment to live rightly is a redoubt in the storm, a light in the dark.

Do what is right. Do it right now. For yourself. For others. For the world.

The virtue of a person is measured not by his outstanding efforts but by his everyday behavior. —Blaise Pascal

It begins with the decision about who you are going to be. The old-fashioned values of personal integrity, of honesty, of dignity and honor. The basic behaviors in which these ideals manifest themselves: Doing what you say. Doing business the right way. Treating people well. The Stoics said that the chief task in life is to focus on what you control. Injustice and unfairness and outright cruelty may well rule the world, but it is within the power of each of us to be an exception to that rule. To be a person of rectitude and dignity. Whatever the law, whatever the culture, whatever we could get away with, we can choose to adhere to our own code—a rigorous and just code. Some might feel that all this is restrictive. We find that the opposite is true: Our code frees us, gives us meaning, and, most of all, makes a positive difference. We preach this gospel not with words but with actions—knowing that each action is like a lantern that hollows out the dark, each decision to do the right thing a statement that our peers, children, and future generation can hear.

“If it’s not right, do not do it,” Truman underlined in his well-worn copy of Meditations, “if it is not true, do not say it…. First do nothing thoughtlessly or without a purpose. Secondly, see that your acts are directed to a social end.”

We must understand: Justice is not this thing we demand of other people, but something we demand of ourselves. It’s not a thing we talk about, it’s a way of life. Nor must it be always an abstract, cosmic thing. It can be practical, accessible, and personal.

Justice can be… …the standards we hold ourselves to …the way we treat people …the promises we keep …the integrity we bring to our words …the loyalty and generosity we give to our friends …the opportunities we accept (and turn down) …the things we care about …the difference we make for people.

Each time we keep our word, we make a deposit, we add a strand to the rope that binds the world together.

Is there anyone we admire who doesn’t try to live up to their obligations? Who doesn’t keep their word? We keep our word to ourselves—that’s discipline. We keep our word to others because it’s justice.

You said it, they’re counting on you, do it. Even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Even if it’s going to be difficult or painful. We will regret many things in this life. But we’ll never regret being the kind of person who keeps their word. Who swears truthfully with their actions the promises they made with their mouth.

They told the truth. They saw something. They said something.

You’d think that this kind of courage would be appreciated, but it isn’t. While we sometimes come to respect and admire whistleblowers long after the fact, more often than not they are doubted, pressured, criticized, and attacked. Their motives are impugned. Their personal lives are scrutinized.

for all the lip service we pay to the truth, in fact, honesty is often a radical, even dangerous act. It may well be one of the rarest things in the world. How many truly honest people do you know? People who tell the truth even when it’s inconvenient? Who make it clear where they stand? Who don’t equivocate?

“The simple act of an ordinary brave man is not to participate in lies, not to support false actions!” the Soviet dissident Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn would explain. “His rule: Let that come into the world, let it even reign supreme—only not through me.”

There is the old fable about the emperor who had no clothes and the sycophants who didn’t want to tell him. In real life, the emperor Hadrian lorded over a court filled with such people. It was why he saw so much potential in a young boy named Marcus Aurelius, who was drawn early to philosophy and who always seemed to say what he thought, even to the powerful. Hadrian nicknamed him Verissimus, which meant the “the truest one.” Marcus Aurelius, later emperor himself, came to despise those who could not be honest as a policy.

Honesty should not need a preface. An honest person should be like a smelly goat in the room, Marcus would say—you know when they’re there. An honest person keeps their word. They don’t hide behind jargon. They don’t sneak around. If there’s going to be a delay or a problem, they’ll tell you. If they have concerns, they’ll voice them—they won’t nod their head, only to say “I told you so” later. They don’t fool themselves with wishful thinking or the desire to be well received.

Not that they’re a jerk about it. There is a distinction between telling the truth and attacking people, between saying what you think and giving people your unsolicited opinions about how they should live or look or act. “Speak the truth as you see it,” Marcus Aurelius reminded himself, “but with kindness. With humility. Without hypocrisy.”

Will we handle our shit? Or do we expect someone else to? Are we someone who can be counted on? Or not? Are we someone who does a great job…or the minimum? Do we care about the consequences of our actions or just our own self-interest? Who we choose to be affects more than just us. It ripples out into the world. Realizing this is not just clarifying but deeply empowering. What we do matters. We matter.

“It’s your turn to be the centre,” he said, “to give others what was given to you for so long. You’ve got to give security to young people and peace to your husband, and a sort of charity to the old. You’ve got to let the people who work for you depend on you. You’ve got to cover up a few more troubles than you show, and be a little more patient than the average person, and do a little more instead of a little less than your share. The light and glitter of the world is in your hands….” “It is your turn,” he tells her, “to make the fire.” We think it would be wonderful if we didn’t have to do this.

We are responsible. We are burdened but also privileged now. Because from this responsibility comes meaning and purpose—comes intense, life-giving warmth. Which is why we must swear never to refuse it.

It doesn’t matter that we had a good reason. Or if it worked out all right in the end. We have to hold ourselves to a high standard, higher than perhaps even the organization itself. And we have to be brave enough to willingly accept the consequences when we fall short of those standards, in fact, calling them out even when nobody notices.

It’s also how he bound teams together, as an athlete and as a manager—by modeling and never exempting himself from a culture of rectitude and rules. There’s what they’ll let you get away with and there are the standards you hold yourself to.

what would it look like if more people decided to try to see… …who could be the most trustworthy? …who lived a more ethical life? …who helped the most people? …who could forgive the most grievous wrong? …who prevented the battle instead of won it? …who had the smallest carbon footprint, not the biggest house? …who raised the kindest kids, not whose got into the best college?

Justice is greatness, but it’s a different kind. The people we admire for conduct, for their decency—these people aren’t doing these things to get ahead. More often than not, these standards cost them as much as they help them. Which means they’re doing it for a very different reason. Each of us has to make a decision right now about where we are going to put our efforts, what we’re going to work toward. Because what a person measures, goes another expression, gets managed.

“Is there not modesty, fidelity, justice? Show yourself superior in these, that you may be superior as a man.”

do you quantify integrity?

what about being a good teammate? Elected leadership is about who got the most votes…but what gives one the moral authority to lead?

He was good for so long that he became great. History is replete with ambitious, successful people. Decency, honor, kindness, we see much less of this. To be good and good at what you do? This is more than rare. It makes you a unicorn.

In 1630, when John Winthrop spoke of America as a “city on a hill,” he wasn’t speaking of American exceptionalism. He meant it as an admonition. That a city on a hill can’t hide. That the world was watching and that this new country—built around virtue—needed to be a good example. The decision to live and work with transparency serves as a kind of immunization against corruption, dishonor, or dishonesty.

We should strive for the opposite. We want people to see what we’re doing. We want to be the city on the hill. We should be the kind of person who the more they hear about us, the more they respect and admire us. Let us live in a way that makes us proud. Let us act during the day in a way that allows us to sleep at night.

“It seems ridiculous,” Albert Camus wrote, “but the only way to fight the plague is with decency.” This is true for every disaster and enemy and situation: The way to beat it is to prove yourself superior to it, to not let it change your values, to not let it devalue other people, even as the tragedy or virus does precisely that. Decency, he said, “helps men rise above themselves.”

The man had sworn an oath. It didn’t matter that it was dangerous. Or that it was unpopular. He was going to keep it. Sometimes doing your job requires extraordinary measures. Other times it’s very ordinary—but it’s always heroic. We should learn to recognize equally not only the journalist willing to go to jail to protect their source, but also the journalist doing their day-to-day job, insisting on objectivity and fairness, resisting the temptations of clickbait, speaking truth to power.

We do our job whether it’s recognized or appreciated because we signed a kind of oath when we took it. We signed a contract. We put on the uniform. They paid us money. Now we have to hold up our end of the bargain.

Professionalism. Duty. Commitment. Putting the citizens, customers, audience, patients first. And not just in our chosen line when everything is wonderful, but when the chips are down—when the line’s a razor’s edge. This makes you extraordinary. When we do this, when we do our job, we are helping not just the people in front of us but society as a whole. We are elevating that standard. It’s true, maybe nobody will notice. Maybe it won’t make a difference. Maybe you won’t get credit. Maybe you’ll even piss your boss off. But? The alternative should be unthinkable.