Fairness (Why We’re All Terrible at It)

Picture the scene. It’s the end of a birthday party. There’s one slice of cake left. It’s a glorious slice: a perfect ratio of sponge to frosting, crowned with an ornate, sugary rose. Two people, let’s call them Alice and Bob, both want it. A conflict, as old as time itself, is brewing. How do you ensure it’s divided fairly?

You could let them wrestle for it, but that seems a bit dramatic. You could cut it yourself, but then they’ll accuse you of favoring one over the other based on a microscopic difference in width. No, the elegant, time-honored solution is this: one person cuts, the other person chooses.

Alice is given the knife. She knows that Bob will get to pick his piece. What does she do? She painstakingly, with the precision of a brain surgeon, divides that slice of cake into two absolutely, mathematically, spiritually identical halves. She has to. If one piece is even a crumb larger, she knows Bob will snatch it, leaving her with the lesser portion. Her self-interest forces her to be perfectly impartial.

Congratulations. You’ve just used a philosophical tool so powerful it has the potential to solve everything from workplace disputes to global inequality. This simple "you cut, I choose" principle is a miniature version of one of the 20th century's most brilliant thought experiments: John Rawls's Veil of Ignorance.

If the Ship of Theseus made us question what things are, the Veil of Ignorance makes us question what things should be. It’s a grand, audacious mental model for designing a just and fair society. And, just like the cake problem, it all starts with a little bit of strategic amnesia.

The Ultimate Reset Button: Designing a World from Scratch

John Rawls, a Harvard philosopher who looked exactly as thoughtful and tweed-clad as you’d imagine, published his landmark work, A Theory of Justice, in 1971. He was wrestling with a fundamental question: What are the principles that a truly just society should be based on? Not a perfect utopia, but a workable, fair system for a bunch of flawed, self-interested humans.

He knew that if you got a group of real people in a room to design a society, it would be a disaster. The rich guy would argue for lower taxes. The healthy person would see no need for massive public health funding. The person from the dominant ethnic group might not see the importance of minority rights. Everyone would argue from their own corner, advocating for rules that benefit themselves.

So, Rawls devised a clever thought experiment. He asked us to imagine a group of people in what he called the "Original Position." These people are the founding architects of a new society. They have to decide on all the fundamental rules: the constitution, the economic system, the laws, the social structures.

But there’s a crucial catch. These architects are behind a Veil of Ignorance.

As they’re making the rules, they are temporarily afflicted with a specific kind of amnesia. They have no idea who they will be in the society they are creating. They don’t know their:

• Social Status: Will I be rich or poor? A celebrated CEO or a garbage collector?

• Natural Talents: Will I be a brilliant athlete, a mathematical genius, or someone with severe learning disabilities?

• Physical Attributes: Will I be tall, short, able-bodied, or will I have a chronic illness or disability?

• Demographics: Will I be a man or a woman? What will my race or ethnicity be? What about my sexual orientation?

• Beliefs: Will I be a devout Christian, a Muslim, an atheist, a Buddhist? What will my political views be?

You know you’ll be someone, you just don’t know which lottery ticket you’re holding in this great cosmic raffle of birth. You are a disembodied, rational mind, tasked with creating the best possible rules for everyone, because you could end up being anyone.

Why This Amnesia is a Stroke of Genius

This is where the magic happens. The Veil of Ignorance is a powerful tool for forcing empathy and impartiality. When your own self-interest is rendered useless (because you don’t know what your interests are), you have to think from a universal perspective.

Let’s say you’re debating slavery. From behind the Veil, would you ever vote to allow it? Of course not. There’s a chance—however small—that you could end up being a slave. The potential benefit of being a slave owner is dwarfed by the catastrophic horror of being enslaved. It’s a terrible gamble. Therefore, you would ban slavery. Instantly.

What about basic rights? Freedom of speech, religion, assembly. Would you create a society where one religion is ruthlessly persecuted? No, because you might be born into that religion. You would, therefore, guarantee robust protections for religious freedom and freedom of conscience for all.

Rawls argued that any rational person behind the Veil would operate on a principle he called "maximin,"which stands for "maximizing the minimum." It sounds technical, but it’s simple: you design the society so that the worst-off person is still doing as well as possible. In mathematical terms, you’d want a society where min(U)→MAX, where 'U' represents the well-being or resources of any given person. You would design the social safety net as if you were the one who was going to fall into it, because you very well might.

This leads to two core principles of justice that Rawls believed everyone would agree on from the Original Position:

1. The Liberty Principle: Everyone should have the most extensive set of basic liberties compatible with similar liberties for others. (Things like free speech, the right to vote, etc. are non-negotiable.)

2. The Difference Principle: Social and economic inequalities are acceptable, but only if they are (a) attached to jobs and positions open to all under fair equality of opportunity, and (b) to the greatest benefit of the least-advantaged members of society.

That second one is a bombshell. It doesn’t mean everyone has to be equal. It’s okay for a surgeon to earn more than a cashier. But that inequality is only justified if the system that allows for it (e.g., incentivizing people to become skilled surgeons) ultimately benefits the poorest person in society (by, for example, ensuring there are enough highly skilled doctors to provide care, funding social programs through taxes, etc.).

Designing Fictional Worlds: The Hogwarts of Ignorance

To really grasp this, let's apply it to worlds we know and love. Let's step behind the Veil and redesign the wizarding world of Harry Potter.

Right now, you don’t know if you’ll be a Pure-Blood wizard like Draco Malfoy, a Muggle-Born like Hermione Granger, or a Squib (a non-magical person born to magical parents) like Argus Filch. You don’t even know if you’ll be a human, a house-elf, or a goblin.

What rules would you make?

First, you'd immediately dismantle the entire "blood purity" ideology. The terms "Mudblood" and "Pure-Blood" would be banished. Why? Because you might end up being a Muggle-Born, and you wouldn’t want to be subjected to systemic prejudice. You'd create iron-clad laws guaranteeing equal rights and opportunities for wizards of all ancestries.

Second, you'd start a house-elf liberation front. The idea of being a sentient, powerful being bound to a life of unpaid servitude and self-harm would be horrifying. You'd vote for wages, holidays, and basic rights for all magical creatures, because you might be Dobby.

Third, you’d reform the Ministry of Magic and Azkaban. A justice system that uses soul-sucking demons as prison guards? And doesn't seem to bother with proper trials (poor Sirius Black)? No thank you. From behind the Veil, you’d design a system with fair trials, humane punishments, and robust legal representation, because you might be the one who gets falsely accused. Hogwarts would be a much safer, fairer, and probably more boring place.

The Office of Ignorance: Re-designing Your 9-to-5

Let’s bring it closer to home. Imagine you and your colleagues have to redesign your entire company's policies from behind a Veil of Ignorance. You don’t know if you’ll be the CEO, a mid-level manager, an unpaid intern, the person who cleans the offices at night, a new parent, or someone with a disability that requires accommodation.

What does the new company policy look like?

• Salary: You’d likely institute a much fairer pay structure. The vast chasm between the CEO's salary and the janitor's would shrink dramatically. You'd want to ensure the lowest-paid worker still earned a living wage, because that worker could be you.

• Parental Leave: You’d champion a generous, paid parental leave policy for all parents. Why? Because you might be the one needing to care for a newborn, and you wouldn't want your career to be derailed or your family to suffer financially.

• Healthcare and Sick Days: The healthcare plan would be comprehensive, and the sick day policy would be flexible and generous. The thought of being sick or injured and having to choose between your health and your paycheck is a nightmare you'd design the system to avoid.

• Remote Work & Flexibility: You'd probably create policies that allow for maximum flexibility. You don’t know if you’ll be a caregiver, have a long commute, or simply work better from home. You'd want options.

Suddenly, all those things that can seem like "perks" or "accommodations" become essential foundations of a fair system. The Veil forces you to design for the most vulnerable position because vulnerability is a possibility for you.

The Internet of Ignorance: Can We Fix This Mess?

The digital world is a chaotic mess of wonder and toxicity. What if the architects of our major social media platforms had used the Veil of Ignorance? Imagine designing Facebook, X (formerly Twitter), or TikTok without knowing if you would be:

• A viral superstar with millions of followers.

• A teenage girl being relentlessly cyberbullied.

• A member of a marginalized group facing targeted harassment.

• An artist whose work is stolen and reposted without credit.

• A senior citizen falling for misinformation campaigns.

The entire architecture of the internet would change. You’d prioritize robust anti-harassment tools over unbridled "free speech" absolutism because you’d be terrified of being the target. You’d design strong data privacy controls because you wouldn’t want your personal life exploited for profit. You would build systems that fiercely combat the spread of harmful misinformation, because you might be the person whose life is ruined by it. The "engagement-at-all-costs" algorithm would be replaced by one that prioritizes well-being, truth, and safety.

The Grumbling in the Back of the Class: Criticisms of the Veil

Now, Rawls’s idea isn't without its critics. Other philosophers in the hypothetical classroom were waving their hands, eager to poke holes in the theory.

Some, like the philosopher Robert Nozick, argued that the Veil of Ignorance completely ignores history and what people deserve. It focuses only on the final "pattern" of distribution. What if someone got rich through incredibly hard work and brilliant innovation, and someone else is poor because they made a series of terrible decisions? Does the hardworking person not deserve to keep more of their wealth? The Veil, by focusing only on the end-state, ignores the process of how people got there.

Others questioned the "maximin" principle. Are humans really that risk-averse? Maybe some people behind the Veil would gamble. They might vote for a society with extreme inequality, hoping they’d end up as a billionaire and accepting the risk they’d end up destitute. "Go big or go home!" they might yell from behind the Veil.

And some feminists and communitarian critics have argued that the very idea of a disembodied self, stripped of its identity, gender, and community, is a flawed starting point. They argue that we are our relationships, our history, our identities. To pretend we can shed them, even in a thought experiment, is to miss what it means to be human.

Lifting the Veil in Your Own Life

These criticisms are valid and important. You can’t build a perfect society on a thought experiment alone. But that doesn’t mean the tool is useless. Far from it.

We can’t actually induce collective amnesia. But we can use the Veil of Ignorance as a daily practice—a tool for radical empathy.

Before you post a snarky comment online, ask: "What if I were the person receiving this?" Before you vote on a policy that affects the homeless, ask: "What if I were the one sleeping on that street?" Before you dismiss a colleague's request for an accommodation, ask: "What if I had their struggles?"

The Veil of Ignorance gives us a framework for answering the question, "What is fair?" It encourages us to step outside of our own privileged, biased, and limited perspective and to view the world from a place of shared vulnerability.

It all comes back to that slice of cake. The rule "you cut, I choose" works not because it makes Alice a morally better person, but because it creates a situation where her own self-interest is perfectly aligned with the principle of fairness.

And that’s the genius of Rawls’s idea. He understood that we are all self-interested. The Veil of Ignorance doesn't ask us to become saints; it asks us to be clever. It channels our innate desire to protect ourselves into a system that protects everyone. It’s a philosophical life hack that, if we dared to use it, might just be the recipe for a better, fairer, and more just world for us all. And everyone would get an equal piece of the cake.