human nature

The Fragile Overlay: Morality, Rationality, and Human Need

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Language isn’t reality. Morality likewise is an overlay. Even rationality itself does not arise from the substrate. Mathematics is probably our best 1:1 analog to something objectively real, and even that breaks down at the edges of reality.  It is important we work through until we find the substance of what matters.

We all have our reasons for what we do. It is often good from our perspective. But we have a perspective limited by our ability to accurately model the world based on what we know and extrapolate from that. Faulty information and assumptions will lead to bad reasoning and the suboptimal outcomes we wish to avoid.  That’s what this essay is about—explanation of what is truly moral and sustainable.

Moral reasoning is about human desire. It is an extension of our biology and part of an effort to survive—even thrive—in the environment we’re in. Morality is about a set of rules, and a good rule is one that produces optimal results. In the words of Anton Chigurh—a sort of force of nature and psychopathic antagonist featured in No Country for Old Men—mocking Carson Wells: “If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?”

Morality doesn’t exist “out there” separated from human need. It is negotiated between us, like language, where we all have a say (to a point), along with culture and tradition (essentially our moral programming), in setting the standard. The “Golden Rule” works as a code because most people have the same natural aims that we do. Morality is about mutual benefit or the win-win situation. And this can break down at the edges, in zero-sum games or times when one believes they can get away with harming another and lacks a true conscience to stop them.

Disproportionate power and differences of language are fracture zones. Reciprocity, as a rule, generally only works with those who are at the same economic level or have a voice. The reason we don’t care about the Armenian genocide of 1915 to 1923 is that we were never told to care. Our morality only applies when we can identify with the other person and see them as an equal. Conflicts arise when we don’t consider what is good from the perspective of another person and they lack the means to stop us.

What is the reason for morality?

To protect ourselves by respecting the right of others to exist as we want to exist.

What causes violence?

  • Low intelligence: If you don’t understand cause and effect or how what goes around comes around, then you’re more likely to do ‘bad’ things without ever fully considering the consequences. You want X, he stands in the way, so you murder him because you are strong enough to do it. This is the law of the jungle.
  • Low exposure: It’s hard to fool me into thinking that other races are subhuman. I have met them in real life. People living around the world may see the U.S. as a nation of school shooters and OnlyFans girls based on what they know of us. But the reality is we’re just a nation obsessed with violence and immoral sexuality. And yet, seriously, ignorance isn’t bliss—it is a propagandist’s haven and what allows them to convince otherwise good people to kill people who don’t look exactly like them or speak their language.
  • Low empathy: Some intelligent people are just psychopaths. They are part of the social contract (although they will pretend to be) and see their own needs as the only ones that are important. They can’t “walk a mile in another man’s shoes” without some innate ability to feel what other people feel and imagine their pain. Empathy is natural and also taught. Yet not all have the same capacity to show empathy or care. If you see other people the same as you do a fly, you won’t hesitate to exploit or kill them if there’s a low risk of consequences.
  • Low trust: We can recognize that others are human, no different from us, and yet still choose to kill them. Why? Well, if there is a fear that others will do violence to us, there’s an option of preemption. It’s also why men kill the guy in the opposite trench in a war—it is me or him. If we see another person as a potential threat, there’s a primitive impulse to eliminate the other before they act. This is how war is sold to the masses: violence as an answer for uncertainty and anxiety over not knowing what they may do.

The problem with violence is that it creates a cycle of violence. And if it doesn’t do that, it still comes at a cost. To prevent this, we must get ahead of the causes. Education, diplomacy, and building relationships are an ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure. Sure, violence can be a winning strategy in the game. However, violence turns what is possibly a win-win scenario into a zero-sum game with unpredictable outcomes. It may be possible to exploit trust and murder your way to the top, yet eventually it catches up to you—eventually someone bigger, smarter, and nastier comes along.

The highest form of morality must therefore serve the ultimate good. A tribal morality, or one where only people like you gain, is risky. It means chaos and conflict. Whereas with a universal morality that serves all, there is a possibility of peace, harmony, or stability. This is why consistent non-violence is the intelligent option. Innocent people are hurt in war. Violence begets violence. So if we want to maximize our own chances or those of our loved ones, then we must respect the rights of all others. Apathy and indifference are not a choice either—we must be united in opposition to violence and abuse of others if we want others to care when it is our turn to face down true evil.

Only in the most extreme circumstances is it moral to use force. Self-defense, or one of the very narrow circumstances where there is no other reasonable option, is a possibly justified exception. Of course, not a “right to defend” that tramples the rights of other people.  Unfortunately, we live in a world of propaganda where the most aggressive and disproportionate acts of revenge can be construed as defense—where unwanted words can be called violence. A clear standard can very soon be rationalized away to the point where defenders are made the aggressors while actually being the victims who are attacked.

This is the problem with any moral system we create. The overlay can be shifted, the language manipulated, and soon we end up back at square one fighting tribal wars over irrational fear of the other. This is why we cannot ever assume that our ideal is being transmitted perfectly in words. This is also the risk of making any exceptions.

Moral conscience must be built and passed on. We need to address the ignorance and show people how history is full of examples of unintended consequences. A war rarely goes as planned. We need to minimize the fear of the ‘other’ by encouraging positive interactions. Humanization is a natural byproduct of good relationships. It is past time to stop putting psychopaths in positions of power. We must resist those who manipulate us to fight wars for their financial or political gain.

We also need to equalize power so that all are represented and all are accountable. If we make some kings and others pawns—some “more equal” like the pigs in Animal Farm—it leads to endless conflict. Wealth inequality is a problem when it means that a few can buy their way out of morality. The Epstein-class—those who believe the law doesn’t apply to them as special people—will come to us in many forms when we let financial or political power concentrate into fewer hands. Morality is all about identifying with the other, and it is only possible when we are all at a similar level of status.

This is a Christian moral teaching:

Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality. At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. The goal is equality, as it is written: ‘The one who gathered much did not have too much, and the one who gathered little did not have too little.’

(2 Corinthians 8:13-15 NIV)

Morality is about considering others to be equal in value to ourselves. And that is easier when they basically are equal in terms of their social status and power. This is why the writers of the New Testament put so much emphasis on the elimination of special social status or favoritism. We are supposed to “submit to one another” rather than enforce our own advantage. We’re told God is impartial. We are told the greater should serve the lesser, to share “all in common” so none are ever in need. The Great Leveler (Galatians 3:28) is a confrontation of identity politics and only fighting for those like us.

It’s interesting how many people want the U.S. to be a Christian nation when it comes to their own sexual mores or religious customs, and yet don’t want to treat the foreigner as the native born (Leviticus 19:33-34) or love their ‘neighbor’ as Christ defined the term. They seek to accumulate power for themselves and impose rather than serve. This is false morality; it is just legalism and hypocrisy—forcing others to apply a morality we do not fully live out ourselves. Being truly moral is about what we consistently live, not merely what we claim about ourselves.

Which brings us to the final point. Morality needs to be consistent in logic and application. We can’t carve out exemptions or have double standards because it destabilizes the entire structure we’re standing on. Moral integrity is about rooting out our contradictions and being the same person in all circumstances. If you lie in one context, for example, eventually this habit is bound to bleed over into another. And if we enable our leaders to violate others, who (or what) will stop them from violating us? This is why we must battle against expediency math that violates consistent application of a moral rule. It is better to take the cost of maintaining these critical principles upon ourselves than risk their end.

Morality is an abstraction. A construct. But it is a very important one to get right.  Good morality is about aim more than it is about perfection.  And like driving when you look where you wish to go rather than at the edges.

Built for Scarcity: Why I Won’t Give My Son Everything He Wants

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I’ve tried to give my son everything he needs to succeed. But that doesn’t mean I will give him everything he wants. There’s a reality in any pursuit: to be excellent, you’ll need to put in the work or delay gratification to reach your full potential. If a parent gives a child everything they want, there’s no incentive for them to learn and improve.

To a child, everything provided for them is a given, and every task required is an injustice. Why should they have to wash the dishes? The grumbling or attempts to negotiate last longer than the time it would take to finish the chore. And, honestly, the easy route is just to do it ourselves. But that deprives a child of the opportunity to learn all those transferable life skills—at the very least, to get a little practice being helpful rather than entitled.

In the West we already have abundance and the result is atrophied muscles and dull minds.

If we shower children with abundance, they will never appreciate what is given nor ever be satisfied. It seems that no matter what we have, we always want more. If given the moon, we’ll want the other planets and the stars as well—and then we still won’t be happy with that. The greatest satisfaction comes through work and accomplishment. Playing video games all day or scrolling social-media feeds may trip reward centers, but it amounts to empty calories and can’t replace substance.

I’ve watched spontaneous interviews with very wealthy men, and nearly every one of them says that their abundance did not bring happiness. At least one admitted he was suicidal despite millions in assets. Our peak enjoyment in life comes when we invest time, effort, and resources and eventually reap the fruit of our labor. Sure, going to the gym may be difficult, but the endorphins are addicting and the muscles are a reward.

Built for Scarcity—Not Utopia

I watched a video about the problems with utopia, and the framing of capitalism as a system built for scarcity was correct. We would need a radically different way of ordering ourselves if the things we wanted just grew on trees. If you could have whatever you wanted without effort, why would you pay for anything or even care who owns it? My property rights only matter because it costs something to acquire or replace the things I own. If everything we wanted was free and completely abundant, we wouldn’t need to value it at all.

The presenter, who seemed intelligent enough, made a critical flaw while talking about providers of generative AI. He claimed that those charging for the service were creating artificial scarcity “because the code is open-source or whatever.” But this totally ignores the immense computing power that’s required—the powerful microchips, massive amounts of energy, and the staff needed to keep it all running. So no, that isn’t an example of abundance.

I’m used to naïve takes coming from the religious side, but it’s fascinating to see secular thinkers stumble over the very same things. Yet it touches directly on the human condition. We are not wired for abundance. Ultimately, even if we could reduce human labor to zero, our brains were created for scarcity, and when faced with unnatural abundance we don’t actually do very well.

Wall-E is probably the best depiction of a world of abundance that goes well.  It could go in many directions, unhealthy ease the better of the many scenarios.

Material wealth, to start with, is never a cure for boredom or lust. If anything, those who have all their physical needs met are often left with a void of purpose. Their abundance never creates fulfillment or a reason to be in the world. And some appetites are basically insatiable: a man can have all the sex he wants and still desire the one he cannot have. It is often the ultra-wealthy—those who have everything we imagine would make us happy—who are also the most perverse and dissatisfied.

It reminds me how young-earth creationist (YEC) types often portray entropy as purely negative when it is as necessary for life as order. Fertile soil, for example, contains organic compounds that come from dead plants and animals. This is part of a cycle—neither good nor bad—like the weather. The same forces that bring a spring shower can also leave behind a swath of destruction. Creativity itself often lives at the edge of order and disorder. You may not enjoy a messy room that needs cleaning, but without it your life would probably feel pointless.

Furthermore, social hierarchy would be the only game left if we completely removed the need for productivity and occupation. If AI replaced all jobs, the result might be material abundance, but not utopia. As the saying goes, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” and some people with nothing to do will create drama. Boredom is good when it provokes us to create something new, but bad when the “new thing” is us causing trouble for others for lack of something else to do. It is better when we need to do something productive to survive, because we’re primed for it.

Consider how an overly sterile environment can trigger autoimmune disorders; similar problems would arise in a world where struggle was fully removed. It wouldn’t solve our environmental or energy problems—there would still have to be limits and rationing to keep from stripping the planet bare. Some people will never be content with the base level of property and possessions. There will still be scarcity even if human labor is no longer a cost. Advantages will still exist. At that point a new hierarchy will form—perhaps one based solely on beauty or charisma—where many have no path to “level up.”

In capitalism, while there’s an advantage to those who go first, there are multiple paths to success. Sure, there is cost-cutting at the expense of quality (see the Campbell’s Soup controversy), but there is also genuine efficiency and a system where nothing need go to waste. Bad actors create opportunities for others. If Enzo Ferrari hadn’t been a pompous jerk, we wouldn’t have Ford’s GT40 legacy or Lamborghini. Ferrari’s rude remarks were the provocation that pushed others to build cars capable of beating his. In a free market there is a profit motive to share rather than hoard. In a post-labor AI world where elites no longer need human workers or customers, would they have any incentive to distribute limited resources?

Abundance, Unearned, Robs Good Character

The video is correct that abundance won’t lead to utopia—yet it misses the deeper reason why. It isn’t just that we’d get bored or turn to status games (true as that is). The real problem is that abundance without cost quietly deletes the only proven mechanism we have for turning a human being into a person worth becoming. 

When everything is given for free, nothing is cherished.  When nothing is earned, nobody is grateful.  When no one is grateful, no one is generous.  When no one is generous, society stops being a community and it becomes a zoo with really nice cages: no material need unmet, the trough always full, and yet we are no different from a lion removed from its natural habitat.

That’s why I won’t hand my son the life he thinks he wants. I’ll give him everything he truly needs: enough security to take risks, enough scarcity to make victories sweet, enough resistance to grow muscle around his soul. I’ll let him wash the dishes, wait for the game he saved up to buy, lose the race he didn’t train hard enough for, feel the sting of “not yet” and the glory of “I finally did it”.

That feeling of a hard fought win cannot be artificially produced.  In a world where AI leads the way can there be human thriving?

Because the cruelest thing a parent can do isn’t to let a child struggle.  The cruelest thing is to raise him in a world so padded, so instantly gratifying, so artificially abundant that he never discovers the one truth every happy adult eventually learns: The joy was never in finally getting the thing.  The joy was in finally becoming the kind of person who could get it—and still know it wasn’t the point.

Scarcity isn’t the enemy of human flourishing.  It’s the narrow gate we have to squeeze through to find out who we actually are.  And I want my son on the other side of that gate—tired, scarred, proud, alive, and deeply, durably grateful—not because he was given the universe, but because he earned his small, yet irreplaceable and fully human corner of it.