The Foundation's Test
John Rawls was born in Baltimore, Maryland, on February 21, 1921 — though not John Rawls the famous liberal philosopher. This is John Rawls the alcoholic.
He was twelve when Prohibition ended. He dropped out of school the following year, supporting himself through odd jobs, petty crime, and handouts. By age 41, he committed a less-petty crime: killing a man in a bar fight. Though he fled without consequences, it turned him paranoid. The handouts grew smaller as the Salvation Army closed shop, the YMCA pivoted to physical fitness, and even local churches became less charitable.
One day, he ran into a volunteer at the Salvation Army.
"You haven't heard?" the volunteer asked. "None of the rich people donate to us anymore. They're all giving to this group called the John Rawls Foundation. If you're in trouble, you should talk to them. They're swimming in money!"
The alcoholic obtained their address and headed to their office. He was met by a psychologist who introduced himself as John Rawls — "Not the one the foundation is named after, just a funny coincidence, haha!" The psychologist explained that the foundation would help, but only after a screening process involving an experimental drug and hypnotic induction.
"Like a truth serum?" asked the alcoholic.
"Sure, let's say like a truth serum," said the psychologist. "When will the screening process be?"
"How about immediately?"
So the alcoholic found himself lying on a bed in what looked like a medical examination room, as the psychologist shone a piercing light into his eye.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Just a routine examination, don't worry — your eyes look fine." He handed over a vial of colorless liquid. "Now, this may taste a little bitter…"
The Banker
Like our other characters, John Rawls the banker was born February 21, 1921. His parents were middle-class with good Protestant values and taught him the value of hard work. By age 51 he was president of First Civic Bank and the richest man in Baltimore.
John Rawls Banker always turned down invitations to charity luncheons — why couldn't everyone else work hard, the way he did? — but he was tickled to get a call from the John Rawls Foundation. Of course, it wasn't really named after him; he assumed it had something to do with the famous liberal philosopher, whose hand he had shaken once at a country club.
The lunch turned out to be a table for two at Baltimore's swankiest restaurant. His counterparty was also named John Rawls — "not John Rawls the famous liberal philosopher," but rather "a distant relative." He described himself as a "visionist" poised to "disrupt the charitable space," though the banker had never heard the word "disrupt" used in quite this way before.
"My theory of charity," said John Rawls Visionary, "centers on nine words: there but for the grace of God go I. Society is a contract where we agree to help the less fortunate, knowing that if the shoe were on the other foot, they would help us in turn."
"You have a rosy view of human nature," said the banker, in the same tone of voice he might use to say You have a bug on your face.
A waiter came by and brought each of them a glass of expensive wine.
"I don't," said John Rawls Visionary, "and that's exactly what I bring to the table. My theory of charity is that we should only give to those poor people who, in the counterfactual where they were rich and we were poor, would give to us. I've been working on a pharmacological solution to the problem."
He held up a vial of colorless liquid.
"Here. Take it as a souvenir. It's one part sodium thiopental, one part LSD, and one part calea zacatechichi — the lucid dreaming herb of the Chantal Indians — plus a secret ingredient of my own devising. When a person drinks it, they enter a highly suggestible state. If a trained psychologist provides hypnotic keywords during their trip, they can sculpt an immersive dream where the patient lives an entire lifetime in a situation of the hypnotist's choosing. The patient narrates their experience, letting us extract information. You can see the utility. When poor people ask us for money, we induce the trance and make them think we are poor, they are rich, and they're being asked to donate to us. Then, we give money only to those beggars who would help us if the roles were reversed."
"Astounding," said John Rawls Banker. "Can I pencil you in for a starting donation of $100,000?"
"I'm afraid not," said the banker. "I am certainly impressed with what you've accomplished, but it doesn't change my fundamental position that the poor should work to better their own lives."
"Mmmm," said John Rawls Visionary. "I suppose we could add this to the test. If they'd been born with more resources, would they have been able to lift themselves up—"
"I appreciate your commitment to your methodology," said the banker, "but the answer is no."
"I mean no offense," said John Rawls Visionary, "but perhaps you fail to consider the philosophical implications of your position. You're saying that even though every one of our clients would reach out to help you if you needed it, you refuse to reciprocate. Isn't that something of a betrayal? Nobody wants to be a moocher, but I see no other way to interpret your view that even though these people have each agreed to help you, you would do nothing for them."
"No offense taken," said John Rawls Banker. "It's an interesting philosophical problem, but the difference, of course, is that this isn't a betrayal — not the sin of refusing to help a benefactor in need — unless they actually helped me. Which they haven't't. I lifted myself by my own bootstraps."
"I don't see what difference the reality makes," said John Rawls Visionary. "Yes, by pure luck, you've never needed their help. But we judge the moral character of a would-be-murderer whose gun jams at the last moment the same as a successful murderer. And a drunk driver who by coincidence hits and kills a happy family is no better or worse than a drunk driver who by good luck makes it home without incident. My theory of charity merely extends this intuition: it is foolish to credit someone for the luck of actually being your actual benefactor, rather than for merely having the sort of character that ensures they would be."
"The implications are absurd," said John Rawls Banker. "One would owe favors to half the world."
"And be owed favors by the same," said John Rawls Visionary. "The equilibrium is not so bad. One might even say it would be Heaven on Earth."
"The conversation has been bracing," said John Rawls Banker, "but I'm afraid my answer is final."
"Before you entirely finalize your answer, I do have one more, rather unorthodox argument in my armamentarium that I wonder if you might let me deploy, if you have a few moments."
"Let me guess," said John Rawls Banker. He listened attentively, as if genuinely interested to hear his theory.
"You're going to say that I can't prove that I'm not actually a poor person who's taken your drug, and who merely thinks he's a banker. That for all I know, I might be being evaluated by your charity at this very moment, and if I refuse to give, then I will have proven myself unworthy, and the real rich bankers will refuse to help me, and I'll starve to death on the street. Have I gotten it right?"
"Mr. Rawls, you have a reputation as the shrewdest negotiator in the financial world, and I would never presume to rub your face in so obvious a consideration. I'm happy to let it remain a background assumption of our conversation. Besides, if you were being tested, I think it would defeat the point to tell you so. I find it aesthetically unappealing to divulge any information that reduces morality to immediate self-interest. No, my stratagem is something quite different."
"Very well, I'm all ears."
"I think you should take my drug," said John Rawls Visionary, "and live the life of a poor person. Maybe you would lift yourself up with your own bootstraps, maybe you wouldn't. Either way, I expect one of us would learn something interesting."
John Rawls Banker examined the vial on the table in front of him.
"It's a tempting offer," he said, "but you'll forgive me for being reluctant to try an untested psychedelic I've never heard of. No offense meant, of course, I'm sure you're excellent at what you do."
"No offense taken," said John Rawls Visionary, "and I am excellent at what I do. The dose I put in your wine ought to be taking effect around now."
"What? You're joking, right? When did you even get a chance…"
"Just ease into it… there we go… theeeeeere we go. Now listen…"
The Rejection
"Why don't I try the Rawls Foundation? I'll tell you why I don't try the Rawls Foundation! They rejected me!"
John Rawls Alcoholic paced back and forth across the floor of the church. Most of the religious groups had given up on charity now, content to leave it to the ever-growing Rawls Foundation. Here, St. John's Church, was one of the last that would still give him the occasional warm meal. The priest — ironically, named Father Rawls — probably thought he was being kind in also offering a listening ear, although John Rawls Alcoholic considered their occasional sessions just another hoop he had to jump through.
"They told me," continued John Rawls Alcoholic, "that they would only help good, charitable people. The kind of people who would help the rich dipshits who give them money, if it were the other way round. Pardon my language, Father. Then they gave me some drug, and based on what I said on the trip, they said they could tell I wouldn't have helped."
"But you think they were wrong?" asked Father Rawls.
"Hell no," said John Rawls Alcoholic. "If I get rich, you think I would share it with those millionaire dipshits in Guilford and Roland Park? Hell no! That shrink might be a piece of shit, but his mind-reading drug got my number."
"So…?" asked Father Rawls, not really knowing what to say.
"Are you gonna cut me off too, Father? You think I don't deserve charity because I wouldn't donate to your church if it were in need? I wouldn't, either. You don't have to drug me, I admit it."
"Hmmm…" said Father Rawls. "There's a famous saying, that the Church is not a country club for saints, but a hospital for sinners. So I think you're good. Still, I notice I'm confused. Even if you had enough, you wouldn't want to give anything to the less fortunate?"
John Rawls Alcoholic shook his head.
"Nobody ever gave anything to me," he said, as the priest refilled his soup bowl and added an extra slice of bread. "It's a harsh world out there, and I take care of me and mine. Sorry Father. That's just who I am. Can't change it."
"Not even if changing would get you the Rawls Foundation's money?"
"I asked the shrink about that. He said that in the trance, you might not even know the Rawls Foundation exists, or that you need money for it. You have to do good out of the… the kindness of your own heart."
Father Rawls thought, then thought a little more.
"There's a story about a man who came to the Pope saying he was afraid of Hell, but just couldn't bring himself to sincerely believe in God. He asked if he should fake it. The Pope told him to go to church without belief, and do good deeds without belief, and pray without belief, and eventually, belief would come to him. Nowadays we call it fake it 'til you make it. I think that's my advice to you. You should try to be a good person for bad reasons — because you want the Rawls Foundation to give you money — and maybe, eventually, you'll become a good person for the right reasons, and actually get the money."
"Easy for you to say, Father. You're comfortable and happy. I'm not. All I've got is my pride. I'm not going to spend the few shitty years I have left training myself to be some rich person's bitch."
"Have you considered that pride is a mortal sin?"
"Oh, here it comes. The discussion of…"
The philosophical debate about whether one should perform supererogatory acts — acts that go beyond moral duty — has rarely been more concitely presented than in this story. Rawls the banker argues that helping others is optional; those who refuse to help are not acting immorally, merely choosing not to perform virtuous deeds. Critics might note that his position relies on assuming the poor could lift themselves up by their bootstraps if given resources — an assumption the story suggests ignores structural barriers to mobility.
The alcoholic's counterargument is simpler: nobody ever gave anything to him. The harsh world takes care of itself and its own. Still, Father Rawls offers a final observation: perhaps one should "fake it 'til you make it" — perform good deeds without believing in them, pray without belief, until belief arrives on its own.
The story ends with the alcoholic refusing to become a rich person's bitch. Whether he finds charity elsewhere remains unresolved — but the question lingers: can morality be trained through repeated performance, or must it emerge from genuine conviction?