“Once at the center of political and social theory,” writes Russell Muirhead, “work now stands at the margins” (p. 13). A simple observation, but an astute one. While the constitution of “identity” has become a focal point for contemporary political theorists, few go beyond discussions of cultural affiliation. Yet most of us spend the majority of our waking hours at some form of work. That our relationship with our productive activity was a crucial component of our identity was a key theme of Marx's writings, while Hegel, among others, noted how our need to work also shaped our social maturity. Why, then, do we now spend so little effort at thinking about whether our work is well suited for us or not? And how ought one go about evaluating the justice of “work” in the first place?

While Just Work focuses directly upon the latter question, it gives a more thorough answer to the former. The strength of the book is more exegetical than argumentative, but it is an exegesis of the highest order: reflective, informed, and provocative. The classical conception of justice as proper fit between the individual and his or her place in the social order, notes the author, was overturned by the liberal ideals of freedom and equality; thus, the just nature of work for modern society became less an issue of “fit” and more a question of whether one had consented to the work. Yet, as Muirhead notes, the “obligatory character of work is in tension with the liberal ideal that citizens should be free (not only formally but effectively) to form and act from their own conception of the good” (p. 27). Consent, in other words, is never “perfectly free,” and, given the exigencies of the modern economy, it fails by itself to show that the work we agree to do is necessarily just.

Muirhead suggests that we revisit the Aristotelian conception of “work as fit,” but to go beyond “imputing social purposes to persons regardless of what they would choose or endorse” to a more modern conceptualization that “asserts that each person, by the particular nature he or she bears, has a claim that justice cannot overlook” (p. 50). This “fit” must be a balance between “social fit,” or the way in which our particular abilities meet the needs of our societies, and “personal fit,” or the way in which a particular job can develop our specific character and potential. In this way, we can think about the “fittingness” of work without holding to the idea that individuals have a fixed natural identity.

But why should we worry about fit at all? Why could we not simply argue that as long as the conditions of work are not grossly inhumane (by modern standards), as long as there is some choice in the selection of employment, and as long as there is some degree of “equality of opportunity” in the workforce, the distribution of work (like, say, the choice of hobbies) is independent of issues of fit? The answer, replies the author, is that just as our allegiance to democratic values “rejects the idea that anyone could entirely belong to another,” so too does it hold that justice “cannot tolerate arrangements where some are used simply for the sake of others” (p. 71). And, at a minimum, this requires that work be limited or bounded, even if this means constraining the role of consent.

Because liberal democracy affirms the equal right to a minimal level of human dignity, and because work is a central locus for the development (or denial) of dignity, justice requires us to think about how, or whether, we can achieve dignity through our work. One way of so doing, Muirhead suggests, is by looking at the idea of a “calling.” The Protestant work ethic, as Max Weber explained, was a way of life that underscored one's recognition of one's moral duty and devotion to God. But modern work ethics are driven more by other values—such as competition or consumerism—as well as by necessity or simple habit. And in these cases, the fulfillment one derives from hard work (committing the aptitudes given to us by God to His service) is largely lacking; we fail to find meaning and purpose simply in working hard for work's sake. How, then, can we find a secular form of fulfillment for all individuals (and not just those at the top of the social or intellectual hierarchy)?

One response is that liberal democracy simply ought not to go beyond protecting negative liberties in order to concern itself with quality-of-life issues. On this account, democracy is an effective means for permitting individuals to choose for themselves what they want to do with their lives: how they decide to achieve fulfillment or, as even Mill realized, whether they wish to seek a deep sense of fulfillment at all. If a thoroughgoing consumerism were all that some should desire, then who is to say that they really ought to be seeking a more authentic form of fulfillment? Liberal democracy has never really reconciled itself to Mill's rejection of swinish pleasures, nor, argue many, is it the proper role of liberal democracy to do so.

Yet many others will find Muirhead's position quite sensible. Much depends on the conception of democracy that one brings to the reading of the book. Many will agree with the author that to the extent that liberal democracy is grounded upon an equal baseline of dignity, and to the extent that our workplace is a vital aspect of our daily life, we should think about the former within the confines of the latter. But even if he is correct, many vexatious problems still arise from his account. If, for example, a well-paid assembly-line job supports a fulfilling hobby, what are the demands of justice then? How much of the dignity one finds (or fails to find) in the workplace is due to the interpersonal relationships between managers and employees, or among employees themselves, rather than inherent in the type of job itself? And if justice demands that one have a good fit with one's work, who exactly owes what to whom? What, beyond sensible limits on working conditions (such as no obligatory unpaid overtime), are the policy measures that follow? And who must pay for them? Employers? Well-paid employees with fulfilling jobs? Finally, how is it possible to accommodate the immense subjectivity that governs the evaluation of “fulfillment”?

Yet the questions that arise do so because the author asks a provocative question in a clear and thoughtful manner. Consent remains the overriding criterion of justice in employment, even as the conditions within which consent is given have, for many, worsened. It is time for liberal democrats to reevaluate the way in which they make sense of our relationship with the structure of productive employment, and Muirhead's account is a reasonable place to begin.