Ben Burgis cuts through the abstract fog of political philosophy to ask a question that feels urgent for anyone trying to design a post-capitalist world: Can a society be just if it still relies on paying people more to do dangerous or stressful work? This piece is notable not for its theoretical gymnastics, but for its refusal to treat the "Veil of Ignorance" as a final answer, instead using it as a starting point to dissect the messy reality of worker-owned cooperatives and the moral limits of efficiency.
The Rawlsian Floor and the Cohen Ceiling
Burgis begins by grounding the reader in John Rawls's famous thought experiment, where rational agents design a society without knowing their own place in it. He explains that under this "Veil of Ignorance," designers would reject apartheid or gender apartheid but might accept some economic inequality if it raised the floor for the worst-off. "Rawls thinks that, as long as inequalities pass this test, and the better-off positions are available to all under conditions of 'fair equality of opportunity,' there's nothing unjust about the resulting distribution of resources," Burgis writes. This framing is effective because it isolates the core tension: is a system just if it helps the poor, even if it rewards the talented?
However, Burgis quickly pivots to G.A. Cohen, whose critique suggests that Rawls's framework lets too much inequality slide. The author notes that while Rawls and Cohen might vote for the same practical reforms today, their internal moral compasses differ. Burgis highlights that Cohen's "luck-egalitarianism" views inequalities as unjust to the extent they stem from factors outside an individual's control, like innate talent. "Cohen thinks that inequalities are unjust to whatever extent they're outside of the control of whoever's left worst off," he observes. This distinction is crucial; it shifts the debate from what institutions can do to what individuals should do within those institutions.
Justice is the first virtue of social institutions, as truth is of systems of thought.
Burgis points out that the friction lies in how this principle is applied. While Rawls focuses on the "basic structure constraint"—the idea that justice applies to laws and institutions, not individual choices—Cohen rejects this boundary. He argues that if talented people demand higher pay to work, they are effectively holding society hostage, akin to a kidnapper demanding ransom. Burgis writes, "Cohen analogizes agreeing to pay people with useful natural talents more to entice them to put those talents to use to work for the common good to paying ransom to a kidnapper so he returns your child." This analogy is powerful, forcing the reader to confront the moral cost of "efficiency" arguments that justify wage gaps.
The Blueprint and the Limits of Utopia
Moving from theory to practice, Burgis discusses his upcoming book, The Blueprint, co-authored with Bhaskar Sunkara and Mike Beggs. The authors propose a market socialist model where worker-owned firms rent means of production from public banks. Burgis admits that even in this idealized future, some inequality will persist to incentivize people to take on difficult jobs or rare skills. "We'd worry about the extent of inequalities between more and less lucrative sectors of the economy, between different firms within sectors, and even within firms," he notes. This is a refreshing admission of realism; unlike many utopian proposals, Burgis acknowledges that human nature and logistical constraints won't vanish overnight.
He draws a parallel to historical attempts at socialism, noting that while the Mondragon Corporation offers a glimpse of successful worker cooperatives, they still maintain wage scales that aren't perfectly flat. Burgis argues that in a world without capitalist competition for talent, wage compression would be significant, but not absolute. "Different people value different things, or weigh how much they value each thing differently, so different packages of goods like physical comfort and safety, higher consumption, or more free time might give everyone exactly as much of what each person values," he paraphrases. This nuance is vital. It suggests that justice might look like a complex trade-off rather than a mathematical equation of equal dollars.
Critics might note that Burgis's reliance on "state labor boards" and "grant payments" to limit inequality assumes a level of bureaucratic competence and political will that has historically been elusive. The transition from capitalist incentives to socialist ones is rarely smooth, and the risk of new forms of elite capture in the public sector remains a legitimate concern.
The Personal and the Structural
The most distinctive part of Burgis's commentary is his personal reflection on why he disagrees with Cohen's moralism regarding individual wealth. Burgis recounts his upbringing in a working-class communist home, where the focus was always on structural injustice, not the moral failings of individuals. "I was taught, as a child, to concentrate my judgment on the unjust structure of society, and away from the individuals who happen to benefit from that injustice," he writes. This perspective aligns him more closely with Rawls's "basic structure constraint," even while he admires Cohen's rigorous egalitarianism.
Burgis challenges the idea that wealthy individuals are the primary villains in the story of inequality. He suggests that Cohen's focus on individual morality can be a distraction from the harder work of changing the rules of the game. "Some of my family members were also involved in the socialist Left in one form or another at different times," he reflects, noting that his family would have "rolled their eyes" at Cohen's moralizing about personal wealth. This historical context, echoing the debates of the 20th-century analytic philosophy scene between Oxford and Harvard, adds depth to the argument. It reminds us that the definition of justice has always been a battleground between structural reform and personal virtue.
The comrades back in Montreal would have been on Rawls's side. In a less philosophically well-articulated way, they all basically accepted the basic structure constraint.
Bottom Line
Burgis's strongest contribution is his ability to hold two seemingly contradictory truths: that we must strive for a world where luck doesn't dictate destiny, and that we must accept imperfect, transitional systems to get there. His biggest vulnerability is the assumption that the "Blueprint" model can be implemented without the same bureaucratic failures that plagued previous state socialist experiments. Readers should watch for how this tension between ideal theory and practical implementation plays out as the authors move from philosophy to policy design.
This piece is a necessary corrective to the tendency to treat political philosophy as an abstract puzzle; Burgis forces us to see it as a guide for the difficult, incremental work of building a better world.