Seventy-two women sat in the dark at the University of Kansas, their eyes fixed on a flickering television monitor. Through the grainy feed, they watched a fellow student named Jill strapped into a chair in the adjacent room. Jill was participating in a learning task, and every time she made a mistake, 1,500 volts of electricity surged through her body.
The women in the dark could see Jill writhe. They could hear her sharp intakes of breath and her eventual pleas for the experiment to stop. But the experiment did not stop. The observers were told that Jill was being punished for her errors, and nothing they did could intervene. They were forced to witness her suffering continue, mistake after mistake, shock after shock.
Logic suggests that these seventy-two women would feel immense sympathy. You would expect them to feel outrage at the experimenters or deep pity for the girl in the chair. But that is not what happened. As the voltage continued and their powerlessness to stop it set in, the observers’ psychological state shifted. They didn’t get angry at the system. They turned on the girl.
When asked to evaluate Jill’s character later, the observers described her as unlikable. They called her unattractive. They claimed she seemed unintelligent and, most disturbing of all, they concluded that on some level, she must have deserved the pain she was receiving. They rewrote reality in real-time. They vilified an innocent person because the alternative was too terrifying to face.
The Contract You Signed at Birth
If Jill was innocent and still suffering, then the world was chaotic, cruel, and random. It meant that safety was an illusion and that they could be next. But if Jill was a bad person, then her suffering made sense. The equation balanced. The universe was orderly.
This was the discovery of the Just-World Fallacy, the single most dangerous lie your brain tells you to keep you from screaming. It is the psychological reflex that convinces us that people get what they deserve and deserve what they get, a delusion that protects your sanity by stripping you of your empathy and blinding you to the true nature of the reality you inhabit.
We start absorbing this programming before we can even speak. Every fairy tale, every movie, and every moral lesson we are fed as children reinforces a singular, unbreakable rule: the hero triumphs and the villain falls. We are conditioned to believe in a transactional universe where inputs equal outputs. It is a psychological contract signed in the early stages of cognitive development, a promise that chaos can be tamed through good behavior.
The Work Ethic Clause: If you work hard, you will succeed.
The Law Clause: If you follow the rules, you will be safe.
The Kindness Clause: If you are nice, the world will be kind to you.
But reality is not a movie script. It is a place where drunk drivers survive crashes that kill entire families and where corrupt CEOs retire on yachts while their honest employees lose their pensions. When you encounter these moments—events that blatantly violate the contract—your brain enters a state of crisis.
People want to believe that the world is fundamentally just, and that everyone gets what they deserve. This belief allows us to feel that we can control our destiny, but it comes at the cost of blaming victims for their misfortune.
— Melvin Lerner
The cognitive dissonance is physically painful. If that innocent person can lose everything despite doing everything right, then your own safety is an illusion. Your hard work, your morality, and your careful planning are not shields; they are merely superstitions.
The Cosmic Vending Machine
To look into the abyss of true randomness is to admit that you are vulnerable to forces completely outside your control. So, the brain engages in a desperate scramble to restore order. It begins to edit the script. You look at the victim, and you start hunting for the reason. You scan their life for the error that justifies their destruction.
By inventing a flaw in the victim, you retroactively justify their suffering. You turn a tragedy into a morality play. This mental gymnastics allows you to look at a homeless veteran or a bankrupt entrepreneur and feel a secret, smug sense of superiority rather than terror. You convince yourself that their failure is a result of their choices, which implies that your success is a result of yours.
Think of this as the ideology of the Cosmic Vending Machine. We walk through life operating under the tacit assumption that there is a direct, mechanical link between our inputs and the universe’s outputs. We believe that if we insert the coins of hard work, piety, and rule-following, the machine is obligated to dispense the product we desire.
When the machine swallows our money and gives us nothing—or worse, drops the soda on our foot—we don’t blame the machine. We assume we used the wrong coin. We are playing a game where the rules are entirely in our heads, projecting a human desire for fairness onto a cold, chaotic cosmos that has never signed our contract.
Weaponized Karma and Spiritual Materialism
This is the engine behind the modern obsession with meritocracy. It is comfortable for the billionaire to believe his fortune is solely the result of his superior intellect and work ethic, rather than a serendipitous alignment of market trends, inheritance, and timing. By attributing one hundred percent of the outcome to his own character, he builds a fortress of invincibility. He tells himself that he is rich because he is “good,” which logically implies that the janitor cleaning his office is poor because he is “flawed.”
When you scale this delusion from the individual mind to the collective culture, you get a society that essentially criminalizes misfortune. We see this most clearly in the rise of what can be called “spiritual materialism,” or the Prosperity Gospel. Walk into a stadium-sized church or scroll through the feed of a modern lifestyle guru, and you will hear the same seductive message: your bank account is a reflection of your spiritual alignment.
This architecture of victim-blaming bleeds into our legal and political systems with ruthless efficiency:
The Welfare Double Standard: We demand drug tests for welfare recipients to prove they are “worthy” of aid, assuming their poverty is a vice.
The Bailout Exemption: We rarely demand the same scrutiny for CEOs receiving billions in government bailouts, assuming their failure was a systemic glitch rather than a moral failing.
The Grocery Judgment: We scrutinize the shopping cart of the person using food stamps, while celebrating the excesses of the oligarchs as “aspirational.”
In this twisted framework, the poor are not just broke; they are broken. They are treated as defective units in a system that is presumed to be perfect.
The Strategist in the Mud
The ultimate tragedy of this worldview is that it severs the connection between human beings when it is needed most. When a friend is diagnosed with a terminal illness, the Just-World believer subconsciously pulls away out of a superstitious fear of contagion. They say, “Everything happens for a reason,” which is really just a polite way of saying, “I need to believe this is part of a plan so I don’t have to face the chaos that is consuming you.”
It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because we do not dare that they are difficult.
— Seneca
The only way to survive this rigged game is to stop expecting it to play by the rules. You must burn the contract you signed in your childhood. Liberating yourself from the Just-World Fallacy is not about becoming a cynic who believes nothing matters; it is about becoming a realist who understands that the universe does not keep score.
This shift transforms you from a bewildered child into a strategist. A general in the field does not scream at the rain for turning the battlefield into mud. He does not ask if his army “deserves” the disadvantage. He simply accounts for the mud. He adjusts his tactics, changes his footwear, and moves his artillery. He treats the misfortune as a neutral variable, not a moral judgment.
When you no longer need to blame a victim to protect your own fragile sense of safety, you can finally look at suffering with clear eyes. You realize that the world is not fair, but you can be. By letting go of the need for cosmic justice, you free yourself to create actual justice in your own community. You stop waiting for the scales to balance themselves and you start putting your thumb on the side of the vulnerable.
