Mind the Economy/Justice 164

Raimo Tuomela and the grammar of ‘we’

A just policy cannot merely aim to foster a sense of belonging

by Vittorio Pelligra

2 August 2026

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Versione italiana

Key points

The hidden subject of choice
In the same boat
When nobody’s looking
The Dark Side of Us

9' min read

Translated by AI

Versione italiana

Two citizens pay the same tax. From the authorities’ point of view, their behaviour is indistinguishable. But the first does so because he fears an audit, a fine or damage to his reputation. The second, on the other hand, regards the tax as his contribution to the process of funding a common endeavour. The action is identical, but the motivation behind it is not. The first thinks from a ‘private’ perspective. The second, by contrast, acts as a member of a group. It is in this distinction – invisible to those who observe only external behaviour – that the fundamental distinction proposed by the Finnish philosopher Raimo Tuomela between ‘I-mode’ and ‘we-mode’ lies. In recent weeks’ Mind the Economy columns, Margaret Gilbert has shown us how certain individuals can come to form a plural subject through a joint commitment. Tuomela now shifts the question. Once a ‘we’ has emerged, what does it mean to reason and act from its perspective? What is the difference between doing something together with others and doing it as members of a group?

The hidden subject of choice

Not every form of cooperation presupposes a ‘we-mode’. Two companies may collaborate because each stands to gain from it. Two motorists choose to coordinate their actions to avoid an accident. Two neighbours shovel snow together to share the effort. Each takes the other into account, anticipates their moves and adapts their own accordingly. Yet, despite this interdependence, their actions can remain like two parallel lines: close together, coordinated, but drawn from points that remain separate. Thinking in a ‘private’ way, in I-mode, does not necessarily – as Tuomela explains – mean thinking out of self-interest. One can be generous, loyal and even willing to make sacrifices whilst continuing to think from an entirely individual perspective. I might help a stranger in the street out of a sense of humanity, or forgo an advantage so as not to harm a colleague. These are examples of what the philosopher calls ‘pro-group I-mode’. The good of the group features amongst my aims, but as an aim that I personally hold. The group is the object of my intention, not yet the subject of deliberation. Tuomela describes this position as that of someone who acts ‘as a “private” person but also, at least in part, for the good of the group’ (Social Ontology: Collective Intentionality and Group Agents, Oxford University Press, 2013, p. 6).

If we were to confuse ‘we-mode’ with altruism, the distinction would concern only what people desire: some would pursue their own advantage, others the well-being of others. For Tuomela, this is not the central point. What really changes, however, is the very grammar of deliberation. The question does not simply receive a more benevolent answer. The pronoun underpinning it changes. “First-person reasoning (I-reasoning) in a decision-making situation asks: ‘What should I do?’, whilst collective reasoning (we-reasoning) fundamentally asks: ‘What should we do as a group?’” (p. 7) – the philosopher continues. Only after identifying what “we” must do does the individual return to asking what part of that action falls to them. The subject to whom we attribute the choice has changed.

In the same boat

Acting in ‘we-mode’ means adopting a goal as the group’s goal and treating it as an authoritative reason that motivates and justifies the members’ choices. If a hundred commuters wish to be able to travel on a punctual train, there is a convergence of their wishes, but not a collective intention. Each person might continue to want punctuality for entirely private reasons, without recognising the others as participants in a shared endeavour. To enter ‘we-mode’, however, people must see themselves as members of a practical unit and be prepared to play their part in achieving the goal that this unit has adopted as its own. ‘We-mode’ comprises three constituent elements. The first is the ‘group rationale’, that is, the aim, value or norm that the group recognises as its own and which authorises the actions carried out in its name. The second is ‘collective commitment’. This means that it is not enough to endorse the aim; one must participate in its realisation and expect a similar willingness from others. The third is the ‘condition of collectivity’, which Tuomela illustrates with the image of being ‘necessarily in the same boat’. A crew cannot be divided into sailors who reach port and sailors who, on the same ship, do not. The outcome is achieved interdependently for everyone. It is the team that wins, and through it, the individual players also win. These three elements are mutually supportive. The group rationale sets the course, collective commitment binds each person to their part, and the condition of collectivity prevents the outcome from being broken down into a sum of individual successes. This is why the direction of justification also changes. In ‘I-mode’, the process moves from the bottom up. From individual motivations, one seeks to reconstruct the joint action. In ‘we-mode’, the movement is the reverse. The group’s purpose provides members with reasons to carry out their respective roles. The group is not a mind hovering above the individuals, an additional consciousness floating in the room. It exists solely through what the members believe, decide and do. Yet, once formed, it offers them reasons that can no longer be described as a mere aggregation of private motives.

Things get really interesting, however, when personal interest and the common good diverge. If I cooperate because it is in my own interest, a new incentive structure could make defection a rational choice. If I act as a member, on the other hand, the common good remains a valid reason even when I would gain by opting out. In the ideal ‘we-mode’, explains Tuomela, ‘conflicting private reasons are completely set aside and, consequently, there is no incentive to behave as a free-rider’ (p. 8). This does not mean that every claim made by the group takes precedence. It simply means that the member does not treat their own contribution as a price to be paid as long as the calculation remains favourable.

When nobody’s looking

Let us return to the case of the two taxpayers. Penalties, audits and reputation encourage tax compliance, and no institution can, of course, rely solely on virtue. However, as Tom Tyler, a legal psychologist at Yale, shows, the fear of punishment on the one hand and the internalisation of the norm on the other establish different relationships with the rule. In the first case, the rule remains external to the individual and is factored in as an expected cost: how likely is an audit? How severe is the fine? How much can I gain by breaking it? Compliance lasts as long as breaking the rule remains disadvantageous. The required behaviour can be achieved, even if the rule is not recognised as valid.

In the second case, however, the rule crosses the boundary between the outside and the inside. The citizen recognises a reason to comply that does not depend on the presence of a supervisor. Tyler distinguishes between two possibilities here. I may obey because I consider that specific rule to be just, and this is a form of personal morality. Or I may obey because I recognise the authority’s right to lay down binding rules. This, on the other hand, is the recognition of legitimacy. When citizens deem compliance with a rule to be appropriate – writes Tyler – “they will voluntarily assume the obligation to abide by the law” (Why People Obey the Law, Princeton University Press, 2006, p. 3). The difference becomes particularly apparent when no one is watching – that is, when the likelihood of a breach being discovered and punished is very low. An order based on threat, in fact, must monitor every behaviour through surveillance, procedures and penalties. An order based also on internalised norms, on the other hand, can rely on citizens who continue to behave appropriately even when the police officer has left, the CCTV camera is switched off and the likelihood of being caught is close to zero.

Legitimacy, in Taylor’s sense, and Tuomela’s ‘we-mode’, however, are not synonymous. I can recognise an authority’s right to command without, however, conceiving of myself as an active member of the group. I can respect a law as a morally conscientious individual without regarding it as an expression of a ‘we-ness’. Tyler clarifies the transition from external reasons to internalised reasons. Tuomela introduces a further distinction within the latter. It is one thing, in fact, to obey for a reason I personally recognise; it is quite another to act for a reason I adopt as a member and from the group’s perspective. The second taxpayer interprets the payment as a contribution to an action of the political community. Tuomela uses precisely this example: ‘There is a common goal that we, in this country, are pursuing or ought to be pursuing, and that is why we ought to pay taxes’ (p. 165). He is not claiming that every tax is just or that citizens should abandon critical judgement. He argues that the duty to pay tax can be understood within the context of a shared purpose and not merely as a response to coercion.

This raises a crucial issue of institutional design: the question of how incentives, sanctions and controls can, in certain cases, shape individual motivations. Assuming, for example, that in the absence of controls and sanctions, citizens will inevitably behave opportunistically may actually reinforce the very line of reasoning that the law is intended to discourage. Samuel Bowles observes that people may act ‘more selfishly in the presence of incentives than in their absence – and concludes that – incentives alone cannot form the basis of good governance’ (The Moral Economy: Why Good Incentives Are No Substitute for Good Citizens, Yale University Press, 2016, p. 2). In the famous Haifa nursery experiment conducted by Ury Gneezy and Aldo Rustichini and discussed in this context by Bowles, the introduction of a fine for parents who arrived late did not reduce lateness: it doubled it. What might previously have been experienced as a moral duty towards teachers forced to wait is reinterpreted as a service that can be purchased. In this case, the penalty does not merely add a cost; it changes the very nature of the situation. Where the question might previously have been ‘what do we owe others?’, the introduction of the penalty transforms it into ‘how much does it cost to be late?’ (pp. 4–5).

Incentives and sanctions remain necessary because those who choose to cooperate must be protected from the opportunism of free riders, and no community can assume that everyone is always motivated by civic considerations. But institutional mechanisms do more than simply alter the price of actions; they also signal to people what sort of situation they are facing and what sort of individuals they are called upon to be. If every contribution is portrayed as a levy wrung from a reluctant individual, the scope within which it is understood as part of a collective endeavour may be narrowed.

Here, the link with Margaret Gilbert’s position becomes clear. This shared commitment explains their mutual claims. Tuomela sheds light on the deliberative aspect of this very experience. The citizen adopts the perspective from which their contribution appears as their share of an activity that belongs to us all. Relational obligation and group reason do not coincide, but they can support one another.

The Dark Side of Us

It would be dangerous to elevate ‘we-mode’ to an unconditional virtue. Even a criminal or totalitarian group can inspire identification and self-sacrifice. The ‘rationality of the we’ explains how a group acts as a unified whole, not whether its aims are morally right or wrong. Tuomela acknowledges that the paradigmatic case is that of a ‘democratic and autonomous (free from external domination)’ group, but that it may nevertheless be ‘internally unfree’ (p. 17).

A just policy cannot merely seek to foster a sense of belonging. It must ask who has been involved in defining the common goal, who might challenge it, who bears the costs of cooperation and who reaps the benefits. It must leave open the possibility for a member to say ‘we’ without losing the right to say ‘I disagree’. Otherwise, the group’s viewpoint is transformed from a source of shared reasons into an instrument of domination. Nevertheless, the core of Tuomela’s insight remains. A society cannot be explained – and perhaps not even held together – by imagining only individuals who react to rewards and punishments. Incentives may make compliance convenient, but they cannot, on their own, make institutions our own. The distance between obeying a rule and recognising oneself as a co-creator of a shared practice is the same as that which separates moving in the same direction from going somewhere together. It is within this distance that the ‘I’, without disappearing, learns to act as part of a broader ‘we’.