Fiction writer and political commentator Lionel Shriver, in conversation with philosopher Peter Boghossian, framed immigration policy as a choice between societal benefit and charity. But that framing depends entirely on how “benefit” and “charity” are defined. Definitions matter because they set the boundaries of a concept and determine what conclusions follow logically. If terms are used loosely, an argument can shift meaning midstream without anyone noticing.
This is the problem of equivocation. It risks the illusion of a valid conclusion. Once the meanings are clearly distinguished, the reasoning falls apart. I like Shriver a lot, but what she said to Boghossian is a bad formulation of the dilemma (albeit one may suppose that something can be simultaneously beneficial and charitable, and there is really no dilemma here) because she is uncharacteristically careless with her words.
In this essay, I illustrate the importance of using precise definitions in making claims and arguments. At the same time, I use this opportunity to once more advance my position on immigration. My critique here does not undo the overall argument I know Shriver makes in this conversation. I know the argument she makes because I have watched several interviews with her on this topic (Triggernometry, The Winston Marshall Show, and a previous appearance on Conversations with Peter Boghossian). However, since Boghossian uses her dilemma as a clip hook, I couldn’t get past it without opening a blank page on Freedom and Reason and critiquing her use of words.
Framing immigration in terms of what “benefits society” is imprecise because society is not a single experiencing subject but a collection of individuals and groups with divergent interests. Like all capitalist societies, the United States is structured by social class and its dynamics. It may be the case that what benefits the bourgeoisie also benefits the proletariat, but their interests are intrinsically antithetical in myriad ways. Chiefly, the motive of capitalist production is to minimize the costs of variable capital (labor), which conflicts with workers’ interest in securing remunerative employment. What counts as a social benefit often consists of aggregate gains that conceal uneven distribution.
An influx of cheaper foreign labor can lower business costs and reduce consumer prices while simultaneously depressing wages or weakening the bargaining power of native-born workers. Critics might counter that workers benefit as consumers or that net social gains justify the practice. But lower prices rarely offset wage losses for low- and middle-income workers. This is why free trade can produce a downward spiral toward greater inequality, which is associated with a falling rate of profit, which ultimately destabilizes the capitalist mode of production. Framing immigration purely in terms of societal benefit implicitly prioritizes certain interests—usually those of business (even to the detriment of this class)—over others, leaving the normative question of justice unaddressed: what about the worker?
While the question of societal benefit can be debated, the matter of charity cannot. This is to be dismissed entirely. Charity is the voluntary act of an individual—or a voluntary group—giving one’s own resources to those in need without expectation of return. Voluntariness is not incidental; it defines charity. Some may argue that governments, acting democratically, can perform acts analogous to charity. Yet, even when democratically authorized, government action is coercive: citizens do not freely choose the recipient, timing, or transfer. If a man were to give up a room in his house to a homeless person, then he has performed a charitable act. But if the government were to provide housing to those without homes, however much support such a policy would enjoy from the population, it is not charity.
Put another way, moral virtue in policy—compassion, solidarity, welfare—remains distinct from charity, which requires personal choice. Appeals to “collective compassion” dissolve when translated into individual obligation: people may endorse generous immigration policies in principle, but defer responsibility to the state, as we see when pro-immigrant progressives are asked to personally house an immigrant. The reality is that few Americans would allow a stranger to live in their homes. If they are obligated to do so, it would not be voluntary and therefore constitute state coercion.
In both cases, Shriver’s dilemma—again, taking it as such, since it was framed this way—is misleading. One horn relies on a distributively opaque notion of social benefit; the other rests on a moral concept that loses its defining feature under coercion.
A clearer debate requires abandoning these imprecise categories and confronting the concrete trade-offs directly. With charity off the table, the question reduces to benefit, and with competing interests, further narrows to whose interests society prioritizes—businesses or workers. The consumer perspective is often invoked, but workers are frequently consumers themselves; without a remunerative wage, they are impoverished regardless of how cheap goods may be. Moreover, because workers pay taxes, and because those taxes disproportionately burden workers relative to their wages, workers effectively bear a heavier share of the economic costs of immigration.
As I said, the formulation of this dilemma does not negate Shriver’s overall argument. Her arguments regarding cultural and national integrity are correct ones. A nation is not merely a territory; it is a people. If the population of Japan were replaced by Nigerians, Japan would cease to exist as Japan and become Nigeria. The territory might retain the name Japan, but it would no longer be Japanese. This problem exists alongside the consequences for proletarian life chances. Social disorganization and impoverishment are reasons enough to restrict immigration.
Shriver is making appearances on various podcasts to promote her new book, A Better Life, a tale about a Brooklyn family that participates in a government program encouraging residents to host migrants in their homes. The story centers on Gloria Bonaventura, a well-meaning progressive mother who volunteers to take in a Honduran asylum seeker, Martine Salgado. Martine initially appears grateful and industrious, quickly winning over Gloria and her daughters. Gloria’s adult son, Nico—an unemployed engineering graduate still living at home—narrates much of the story and remains skeptical of both the hosting program and Martine herself. As time passes, Martine’s relationships and obligations begin to complicate the household, particularly when members of her extended network start appearing, creating tension within the family.
In this story, a government program and Bonaventura’s charity intersect. Perhaps this is why Shriver put the dilemma as she did. But in a world where consumption of social media content is constrained by time, Boghossian’s choice of clip hook was unfortunate. At any rate, it allowed me to riff about the importance of definitions and reflect once more on the problem of immigration.
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