It’s been a minute.

This is not going to be like my previous essays.

I’m just going to explain where I’m at as a writer on Substack, why it’s been a while since I posted, and what the future of my time on this platform may look like.

This essay contains fairly vulnerable insight into the depths of my life that I hope will be interesting to read and, more importantly, beneficial to the soul of the reader.

Lettuce begin.

I discovered the social media platform formerly known as Twitter. If you have X and you want the much less polished (and much more succinct) side of my writing, you should follow me there, too.

Posting unpolished thoughts on there is a lot lower-friction than writing entire essays here, so I’ve naturally found it hard to dedicate my time and effort to the higher-friction activity.

There is, of course, something valuable about condensing an idea down to 280 characters, but sometimes that’s not possible. Sometimes there is only so much distillation that can happen.

You might have a complex web of ideas that needs to be understood as a whole for it to be really understood.

Or you might need to tell a story to get your point across, and stories should not be told in as few words as possible. In fact, they should probably be verbose and include unnecessary details.

Anyway, I’ve not completely given in to the lower-friction activity.

There is another thing that has kept me from writing essays. I have been really wrestling with what are, in my view, the most important questions a person can ask (—what these are, I’ll get to in a minute).

That being the case, writing essays on topics that I find interesting but not existentially pressing has become difficult.

I have a tendency to wrestle with these most existentially pressing questions. It’s what I’ve spent most of my life doing, even from all too early in my childhood.

But there are seasons where I find myself given to interesting, relatively important, but non-essential questions.

Or maybe non-essential isn’t the right word. Maybe what I find myself doing is using interesting questions to distract myself from my failure to resolve the most important problems.

Or, rather, having reached what feels like a dead-end regarding the most important problems, I shift my incessant need to problem-solve to lesser, more solvable problems in an effort to feel productive and like I have at least some control over my life.

Okay, allow me to be less vague.

When I started posting essays in December of last year, I was thinking about questions like, how do I make a living? what do I love to do? what do I think about wealth? what is fatherhood? what place do my emotions have in life-well-lived? who am I?

These are not trivial questions, obviously.

The issue, though, is that I have this underlying, nagging problem that I just cannot solve, and everything else revolves around it. So, while those other questions are important and fun to think about, spending time and energy thinking about them while leaving the main thing unresolved really is putting the cart before the horse.

That nagging problem is my relationship with God.

I cannot think of a more important issue, nor a more pervasive one, than relationship with/to God.

Here is the journey I’ve been on regarding that question:

I’ve never not believed in the biblical conception of God. The truth of the Gospel is the Truth, as far as I’m concerned, and I have very little doubt about that.

There came a point where I started to see the very conspicuous differences between my life and the ideal life as portrayed by the Bible.

After that, I started to see, for the first time in my life, examples of Christians who seemed to be living out genuinely biblical Christianity in the present age.

These two things in combination set my expectations very high for what relationship with God could and should entail—specifically, a very tangible, heart-transforming, intimately loving relationship with God, and frequent engagement with the miraculous as a natural result of that relationship.

Having grasped a vision of my ideal, I embarked on a quest to realize it.

That quest was over a decade long, full of extreme highs and lows, and ultimately fruitless by almost every metric. Given that God is a person, and relationship with Him is not formulaic, I truly don’t know what I could have done better. I was very far from perfect, for sure, but God saw the desperation of my heart—and if my heart was impure, it was so in a way that was apparently beyond my control.

I simply could not cause myself to love God (let alone with all of my heart, soul, strength, and mind), nor, apparently, could I persuade Him to intervene in my life in a way that would cause me to do so.

So I accepted defeat and decided I would have to build my own ideal life—namely, a life as pleasing to God, honorable, and subjectively pleasant as possible—by an act of psychology, philosophy, discipline, and brute force.

Having finally reached this conclusion and experiencing a strange sense of accompanying peace, I, of course, immediately had a wrench thrown in my plans.

That wrench was the testimony of a once-extremely-close childhood friend who had recently gone through a life-changing, qualitatively transformative experience with God.

I had never disbelieved the testimonies of the seemingly “special” contemporary Christians I looked up to, but I had eventually concluded that those were their stories and I should temper my hope for anything similar for myself.

But that was much harder to do when the story came from someone who was once my best friend, who had a story similar to my own, and who, by the logic of the previous two points, was not a “special” Christian.

And that’s just about current.

The relationship-with-God problem is still completely unsettled, and I have very little idea what to do or even what to think.

I do have a few ideas for ways I can broaden my hitbox for spiritual breakthrough, but I must say, I oscillate multiple times every minute between desperately hopeful and utterly hopeless (on the question of temporal relationship with God, that is—not about life in general).

Now you may understand why an essay titled “taking down looksmaxxing: to be rather than to seem to be” (which is a real, half-finished essay in my drafts), as interesting and marginally important as it may be to me, has not been able to compel me to write, and why the much lower-friction distraction of tweeting on X has become my go-to. Forgive me.

Sorry if that was a downer—it was honest. I hope it wasn’t a waste of your time and I’m grateful to you if you read it all. Good Machinations (the name of this Substack publication, btw) may begin to follow this essay’s lead for the foreseeable future, or maybe it won’t, who can say?

I think I’ll end this abruptly now.

Allow me to present an allegory.

Imagine a king who needs to find a champion to represent him. To accomplish this, he decides he’ll have a contest of all the best warriors in the kingdom, and whichever warrior prevails will be his champion. His stated aim is to find the warrior most proficient in battle to represent him.

During the selection process, there are certain warriors that, despite their objective proficiency in battle, are passed over for reasons having to do with the personal preferences of the king.

The contest is had and the king’s champion is found.

Question: Did the king find the most proficient warrior?

Answer: We don’t know—and neither does the king. It’s possible that the champion of the contest really is the most proficient warrior in the entire kingdom; it’s also possible that one of those not selected to participate would have won the contest had he been allowed to compete.

This is a picture of selective truth-seeking—preemptively imposing constraints on what the truth is allowed to be.

There may be certain truths that are uncomfortable, inconvenient, offensive, painful, or for any other reason undesirable. Sometimes it may just be that the truth shatters the current paradigm, which is an experience that apparently carries with it physical pain.

I realized recently that, though I’ve considered myself a dedicated truth-seeker, in my supposed pursuit of the truth there have been many instances where, for emotional reasons, I refused to consider certain options. These are the passed-over warriors that may have won the contest—the potentialities that may be the actual truth.

The problem with doing that is that truth, per se, is infinitely valuable and cannot be neglected if one is to live a meaningful life. (There’s a big value judgment there that I would need an entire essay to elucidate and will therefore assume for now.) Thus, it is a mistake to neglect any option based on its undesirability.

I’ve found that when I make this mistake, the “truth” I arrive at never truly satisfies me or serves my needs. Either I have a subconscious instinct that it’s not actually true, which means I’ve gotten nowhere, or the “truth”, when applied to the world, doesn’t pan out. The latter might be referred to as the pragmatic view of truth: if an idea breaks down when it comes into contact with real life, it’s not true.

Speaking of pragmatic, that’s the angle I’m coming at this from. There are many deeper philosophical and religious reasons to seek the actual truth, which are good and true—but I’m simply saying that doing so ends up working out better.

If, for example, there is something in my life that is really not serving me, and yet I’m continuing to allow it to exist and I’m trying to figure out why that is, being open to all explanations—even the ones that may bruise my ego—is the only way to get to the bottom of the problem, fix it, and live a better life. If, on the other hand, I settle for a comfortable explanation that happens to not be true, the problem will stubbornly persist, and I will continue to suffer.

It’s not an easy thing to do, though.

The ego is famous for its ability to stay intact, as unhelpful as it sometimes is. Put differently: the human psyche tends heavily toward the path of least resistance, and in cases where the genuine truth of a matter carries with it greater resistance than an alternative but untrue explanation, we find siding with the genuine truth to be an act of extreme exertion of the will, which it would be much easier not to make.

“The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off” is a Pharrell line in a song I love, which, I just learned, is a quote from second-wave feminist icon Gloria Steinem (—honestly never imagined I’d be quoting a second-wave feminist icon, but it’s a good quote). It’s also a fairly philosophically heavy statement, especially the first half—which, as you may know, are the words of Jesus (which, to some, may appear to be in nearly comical juxtaposition with second-wave feminism—but that’s neither here nor there), and, therefore, also carries religious and spiritual depth.

Nevertheless, the statement as a whole is practical and true (although the truth only sometimes pisses off—sometimes the truth is actually quite pleasant in every sense). The truth sets us free from the unnecessary suffering caused by a worldview that is incongruent with reality and therefore causes us to behave unwisely.

Naval Ravikant (ever the pragmatist—e.g., defining intelligence as “getting what you want out of life”), has his own version of the above sentiment: “The search for peace is really the search for truth.” When you understand and believe the essential truth of a situation, you automatically act in accordance with that truth, and that accordance brings a peace that was unavailable while the truth was unknown or unacknowledged.

I feel I need to concretize these rather nebulous statements with an example.

Regarding addictions: If an addict is open to the truth, he may come to realize that his addictive behavior is not, in fact, satisfying in the slightest, and that a life that does not include the behavior at all would be better in every way—but this may be a painful possibility to consider given that he has wasted so much of his life on something so valueless, given that he’s developed an irrational emotional connection to his addiction, and given that the victimhood narrative he’s told himself has somewhat comforted him.

Nevertheless, having fully imbibed this truth, the addict may find it relatively easy to recover from his addiction.

On the other hand, if said addict is unwilling to see the full truth of his situation, he may never overcome his addiction, regardless of any number of rehabilitative techniques employed.

Regarding vocational decisions: Imagine you are considering your options, vocationally. You’ve got to consider all variables—pay, schedule, travel, the nature of the work itself, etc. This is a form of truth seeking, and the “truth” you’re seeking is what occupation will be best for you.

Maybe there are options that are just “too risky” to even consider. Maybe there are other options that seem too embarrassing, low-status, disappointing-to-your-parents, or otherwise precludable.

If one of these precluded options tugs on your heart despite your most “pragmatic” intentions, it may be that it’s actually the right option. In other words, the truth may be that the vocations you thought you wanted are not actually suitable, and one or more of the vocations you believed you ought not desire would actually fulfill you (and even pay well enough, if done right).

That was just two examples, but I believe they point to a rule of reality: that seeking and—having once found it—accepting the actual truth is an essential ingredient to human flourishing.

There is another side to this coin which is telling the truth. I mention this in more detail in a previous essay:

Making it a personal rule to always tell the truth, especially when that truth might be inconvenient or unpopular to the hearer, creates, in the words I used in the above essay, “the opportunity for positively transformative alignment with reality”, meaning when you choose not to hide from reality behind a lie, you are forced to adapt to however reality actually is.

But this essay is less about telling the truth and more about imbibing and accepting it inwardly and privately—telling the truth to yourself.

Self-deceit is arguably the ultimate deceit, and yet also the most common form.

“The first principle is that you must not fool yourself—and you are the easiest person to fool”

— Richard Feynman

I’m ultimately finding it hard to articulate with any clarity why exactly it’s so important to put no constraints on truth (and maybe that’s not something a writer on Substack should admit to, but there, I did). It may be because although it is experiential and empirical, it’s also largely abstract and instinctual. It feels like the kind of thing that may be better expressed by a painting, a song, or a story of some kind, rather than in the format of an essay.

And yet I feel so strongly about it, and I’m dying to convince you to put it into practice in your life. I could maybe have left you with just the allegory in the beginning, though I think that would have been incomplete, so here’s a story:

The story is of a man who is learning to genuinely seek the truth in the depths of his heart and accept it when it is found, no matter the consequences it brings.

As he does so he notices a sense of adventure invading his consciousness even as he traverses the mundanity of daily life,

He notices an ever-deeper sense of self-respect growing within him, resulting from the awareness of the bravery required to confront reality as it really is,

And he notices, bubbling up from the very essence of his being, a deeply gratifying serenity that comes only as the result of an intimately personal knowledge of the Truth—that same Truth which is God.

I am that man.

Thanks for reading, I hope you’re in some way better off than before you read.

As those of you who read my last essay will know, I recently became a father. I also—not quite as recently—got married (two and a half years ago).

Those two things, along with the experience of going from adolescent male to adult male, have caused me to think a lot about masculinity and manhood.

Currently, the subtopic under manhood that I’m constantly ruminating about is emotional intelligence and the need for it. The following is an essay about why it’s necessary and how to exercise it.

Emotional stoicism is a trait that I (along with almost everyone else, apparently) grew up believing to be extremely befitting of manly men, to the point of being nonnegotiable. That belief hasn’t changed, exactly.

What has changed is my understanding of what emotional stoicism actually entails.

Until somewhat recently, I assumed that being “emotional” was the opposite of emotional stoicism, and therefore a problem. The solution? Suppression.

I thought in order to be stoic (and therefore manly), one must feel emotion less. I believed emotionality itself to be fragile and feminine. For a man, emotion bad—logic good.

Therefore, I treated feeling an emotion as a bad sign that something was wrong—and in response, the obvious answer was to suppress that emotion, attempting to not feel it.

Where did I learn these beliefs? It was a combination of things.

• Popular media did (and still does, largely) inculcate this view of the relationship between masculinity and emotion.

• Previous generations of men lived lives that were, to the observer, largely devoid of emotion, and were celebrated for it.

• I noticed an apparent connection between my own emotions and the undesirable outcomes they seemed to cause.

To elaborate on that last bullet, I believed in a false dichotomy where the only two options were be led (astray) by my emotions or ignore them completely.

I noticed that being led by my emotions never seemed to work well for me, so surely ignoring them completely was the logical response. It was harder to see the pattern when employing the second option, but I eventually realized that ignoring (or attempting to ignore) my emotions was not serving me well at all, either.

Having realized this, I doubled down on the belief that emotions were simply bad. It then began to seem like my options were be led (astray) by my emotions or attempt to ignore them, have them come back with a vengeance, and be led astray by them despite my attempts to ignore them.

Faced with the (apparently) inevitably negative and pervasive nature of emotions, I became desperate to find any way to stop feeling the damn things.

. . . I never found that way.

I’ve certainly engaged in my share of maladaptive addictive behaviors that were intended to be an escape from my feelings, but those work poorly while engaging in them, and make it much worse afterward and overall.

It turns out there is an established psychological theory having to do with this exact failed-suppression phenomenon, called ironic process theory, which can be fairly summed up by the cliché, “what you resist, persists”. I was falling heavily prey to this phenomenon. The more I tried to not feel certain feelings, the more desperately and violently those feelings made themselves known.

There is an interesting comparison here. People, when they are attempting to communicate some idea they find to be very important, and feeling ignored or taken less than seriously as they do it, tend to get louder and more exaggerated in their attempts to get their point across (which, by the way, ends up being anti-persuasive and having the opposite effect). 

Something similar seems to be happening with emotions. When an emotion is felt, but an attempt is made to ignore or suppress it, it tends to get louder and louder until it is finally acknowledged and taken into account. 

Emotions can be like a check engine light that gets brighter and more obnoxious every time you try to turn it off without fixing the underlying issue. 

Now, thankfully, what this does not mean is that it’s hopeless and the only option is to be led to and fro by emotions, hoping they don’t lead you too astray.

Like I said, it was a false dichotomy. There is a third way.

I’ve been to two therapy sessions in my life. They didn’t do much for me.

Still, I’m not opposed to therapy in general, and I believe it can be extremely useful and helpful in certain situations.

What I am opposed to is the over-therapization of literally everything, which has been taking over the culture in recent years. I’m not the only person to notice that— has definitely covered it, has talked about it at least tangentially, and wrote an entire book about it, to name a few.

Having said that, I have found many of the principles of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and specifically acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT) (the latter of which being a branch or derivative of the former, as I understand) to be very helpful in dealing with feelings. . .

Which leads me to what will hopefully be the resource I benefit the most from, a book called Dealing with Feeling by Marc Brackett (founding director of the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence).

I confess that, in my excitement about the topic, I haven’t bothered to finish the book before writing this essay. I’m halfway through. But, having consumed plenty of Marc’s other content, and having already gathered so much from the first half of the book, I couldn’t wait to start writing.

One thing I have already learned (which originally comes not from this book but from some of Marc Brackett’s earlier work at the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence and from an earlier book of his, Permission to Feel) is how exactly emotional intelligence ought to be defined. He defines it according to an acronymic framework called R.U.L.E.R. It stands for the following:

• Recognize

• Understand

• Label

• Express

• Regulate

The last R, regulate, is what Dealing with Feeling covers in much greater detail, and is a bit more emphasized in this essay, but the other four letters are equally important and are prerequisite for regulation to be possible.

Now, before I delve into my understanding of how to be emotionally intelligent, I first need to talk more about why it’s an essential ingredient for manhood.

Why.

Emotions are valuable signals that ought to be paid attention to.

As it turns out, emotions can be quite useful, and—although that may be obvious to the more naturally emotionally intelligent among you—it turns out that’s a pretty profound insight for someone who never saw it that way before. A real Plato’s cave kind of revelation for me.

Whether we say humans evolved to have emotions, or were designed with them (or both, as I might say), we can assume that they have purpose and meaning.

As I alluded to earlier, emotions are like indicators on the dashboard of consciousness. Different emotions tell us different things.

Emotions can also be wrong about what they’re telling us. Like in the case of a tire pressure light on a car dash, in which case the problem could be a flat tire but it could also be a broken sensor, we can feel emotional signals that are unaligned with reality, as is the case with so many chronically anxious modern people, to name one example.

That said, emotions are always saying something. They’re never random and meaningless.

They’re also not purely psychological—they’re physiological too, which means that if you’re always anxious, it’s not just psychologically painful, there are also physical things going on inside the body and brain that have real (in this case negative) effects.

(I didn’t mean to encourage meta-anxiety about anxiety, just there.)

The point is, emotions need to be listened to. To not do so is to miss out on vital information. And, like I said earlier, they tend to get louder when ignored anyway.

But listening to emotions is different from letting them rule over you.

“Emotions make excellent servants, but tyrannical masters.”

—John Seymour

Or, it might be more accurate to replace “servants” with “messengers”.

Emotions are like the runner bringing news to the king, which the king then decides how to respond to—important and necessary to lend the ear to, but certainly not the captain of the ship either, to use yet another analogy.

Wise decision-makers gather information from all relevant sources before they act, and emotions are among the most indispensable of those sources.

Continuing the discussion of why emotional intelligence is inextricably part of manhood.

Gender roles are good and natural—evolutionarily, religiously, historically, pragmatically, and otherwise.

It was necessary to say that at the outset. If you disagree with that idea, I suppose you could choose to be angry with me and leave a nasty comment, or you could have an intelligent and cordial conversation with me about it—either way, it’s the foundational premise that the rest of this section rests upon.

That said, one of the roles of men, especially within a household but also at large, is supposed to be equanimity—i.e., composure, emotional stability, executive function, levelheadedness, etc., especially in difficult, high-pressure situations, allowing for rational, non-reactive decision making.

The manliest men of literature, film, and even history are characterized almost exclusively by equanimity more than anything else. Aragorn, from Lord of the Rings is pop-culture’s quintessential example, but we could also think of Marcus Aurelius, George Washington, Sherlock Holmes, Optimus Prime, Yoda, every meditative sensei/Kung-Fu master type ever, etc.

Now, the temptation, for me, at least, is to conflate equanimity with a lack of emotion in the first place. But let us not make that mistake. The point of the masculine role of equanimity is not a lack or suppression of emotions—far from it; the point is being alive to the emotionality of any given situation, yet without reacting emotionally to it.

In fact, part of what a manly, equanimous man ought to be doing in any given situation is empathizing with the people around him, which will be very difficult to do if he is not aware in the first place of what he, himself, is feeling.

Further, a lack of emotion is a disadvantage, as strong emotions (think love, anger, fear) can be very strong motivators of necessary action.

Jesus, as always, is the perfect example (of everything a human ought to be). In his earthly life, He was an apparently very emotional man, especially by the standard of first-century Jewish men.

He expressed His love often; He wept at the grave of Lazarus; He flipped tables and brandished a whip in righteous anger; and most profoundly of all, we have the moment in the Garden of Gethsemane, just before He is betrayed, tortured, and crucified, which I must quote directly:

‘And He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done.” [Now an angel from heaven appeared to Him, strengthening Him. And being in agony, He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground].’

Luke 22:41-44

That bit about sweating blood is a legitimate, diagnosable medical condition called hematidrosis, which is often triggered by extreme stress (physical or emotional), and has been documented in soldiers before battle and death-row prisoners before their execution.

There is another verse that I believe might be connected. It’s addressing Christians in general, and it says:

“You have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood in your striving against sin”

Hebrews 12:4

Now, this “shedding blood” could mean torture and/or martyrdom. It could also mean having been subjected and yet not giving in to temptation so severe that, in the striving against it, the capillaries in the skin literally rupture from the emotional stress, causing the shedding of blood through the sweat glands.

Whichever interpretation, Jesus did both.

He did so not by suppressing the emotion, but by feeling it and giving it full vent—and yet making the right decision despite the emotional force attempting to drag Him in the wrong direction.

This may be the ultimate example of the manly emotional intelligence and equanimity I’ve been professing.

By means of that example, I mean to suggest that men ought to “go and do likewise”.

Allow me to describe another reason for men to value and practice emotional intelligence.

There’s a phenomenon I’ve been calling vagal authority, though very recently I’ve come to realize that the term is pop-psychology and fairly pseudoscientific.

Some better terms for the phenomenon I’m getting at are co-regulation, emotional contagion, and limbic resonance—I’m going to stick with co-regulation for the sake of simplicity, but the latter two phrases also add interesting nuance.

Semantic deliberation aside, the phenomenon itself is how, in the context of interaction between two or more individuals, the nervous systems and emotional states of those individuals tend to begin syncing up.

More pertinently, a sufficiently regulated nervous system in one individual can strongly positively affect even a very dysregulated nervous system in another individual—i.e., co-regulation.

It will be helpful, at this moment, to describe what "regulation" actually is. It's a bit complicated. Essentially, a regulated person is one who has high autonomic flexibility and resilience——i.e., has the capacity to dynamically balance arousal and calm without being perpetually captured by either one. 

The regulated person experiences emotions at levels appropriate to the context. 

In our modern Western context, when we talk about a regulated person, we tend to mean someone who is calm and not chronically stressed, anxious, and irritable (hyperarousal)——which is the normal condition of the modern Western person. The opposite——hypoarousal——which looks like numbness, dissociation, and an inability to get excited, is just as much dysregulation, it should be noted. 

In so many fewer words, to be regulated basically means to be able to handle one's emotions, rather than to be handled by them.

In the context of being a father and/or husband (or a male member of society in general), this ability to co-regulate becomes immensely important.

Regulation (or dysregulation) tends to have a net flow that is stronger in one direction. For example, a child can regulate his parent, but generally the flow is in the other direction. Similarly, for reasons that are beyond my ability to elucidate, but that nonetheless exist, the flow of regulation (or dysregulation) tends to be in the husband → wife direction (though that tendency is weaker than in the case of parent → child).

I’m not just saying that, by the way (although it would be my intuition, I admit)—it is a well-studied scientific finding.1

Because the above is true, husbands and fathers have a responsibility to be effective co-regulators.

The same is true, by the way, if you want to be any kind of an effective leader in general.

In order to be an effective co-regulator—able to remain calm during stressful circumstances, able to non-judgmentally absorb the emotions of the people around you (in my case, especially my wife and son), able to maintain your own regulation—you’re going to need to be emotionally intelligent.

Two of the quickest routes to dysregulation are ignoring (and/or suppressing) your emotions, and being led entirely by them.

Those two routes are, as I’ve said, emotionally unintelligent routes to take.

Having hopefully convinced the reader of the nonnegotiability of emotional intelligence for manhood, we can finally discuss the all-important how, because although becoming convinced of the importance is half the battle, to leave it at that would be an incomplete and unfair treatment of the subject.

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How.

As mentioned earlier, emotional intelligence can be defined according to the R.U.L.E.R. framework.

The way I see it, the first four letters have to do, basically, with giving oneself permission to feel emotions, acknowledging the reality of those emotions, putting language to them, and learning to understand what they mean and where they’re coming from. This is the essence of acceptance and commitment therapy (A.C.T.).

Beyond RULER (which I’ll remind you stands for recognize, understand, label, express, and regulate), we can think in more strictly A.C.T. terms. Here are the core processes of A.C.T.:

• Acceptance: Actively allowing uncomfortable feelings and thoughts to exist without trying to fight or avoid them.

• Cognitive Defusion: Learning to observe thoughts as just “words” or “mental events” rather than absolute truths or threats.

• Being Present: Focusing on the here and now with curiosity and openness.

• Self as Context: Observing oneself from a detached perspective, realizing you are more than your thoughts, feelings, or roles.

• Values Clarification: Identifying what is most important to you, such as personal growth, relationships, or health.

• Committed Action: Taking concrete steps toward your values, even when difficult emotions are present.

This, in itself, is quite a task, but is unavoidably the foundation for regulation.

When we learn to observe ourselves and our emotions from a third-person perspective without feeling immediately threatened by them, we automatically shift from “lower-brain” processing to “higher brain” processing (think amygdala → prefrontal cortex, which is neurologically an oversimplification but a helpful image nonetheless), and are better able to respond with reason and thoughtfulness, rather than emotionally charged reaction.

This ability is prerequisite to regulation . . .

. . . which we are now moving on to, and which happens to have its own five-letter acronym, also coined by Marc Brackett: P.R.I.M.E. Here’s what this one stands for:

• Prevent an unwanted emotion

• Reduce a difficult or intense emotion

• Initiate an emotion you want to feel

• Maintain an emotion you want to keep

• Enhance an emotion you want to strengthen or amplify

Having observed, acknowledged, felt, and given proper attention to our emotions, it’s time to regulate, if necessary.

PRIME is not only how to regulate, it’s also what regulation is. The definition of emotional regulation is being able to prevent, reduce, initiate, maintain, or enhance any given emotion as desired.

This is, by the way, such a helpful skill in literally any context you can imagine; and, by way of reminder, as I’ve already made the argument for, it’s an essential skill for anyone desiring manhood in its fullness.

You’ll notice that none of the letters in PRIME stand for ignore or suppress. While prevent and reduce are in there, those are very different from ignoring or attempting to not feel an emotion that is already happening.

The specific how of each of point ends up coming down to either contextual manipulation or reframing, and this can be in the acute or the chronic.

Contextual manipulation means changing the context (which includes but is not limited to people, situational dynamics, and one’s own mental and physical state); reframing means thinking differently about that context.

For example, if you’ve got some work to do that you’re really not looking forward to, you might want to reduce the dread you feel, and initiate some excitement. You might achieve these two ends by bringing to mind the ultimate payoff of the dreadful work (reframe), and you might take a very cold shower in order to skyrocket your dopamine (contextual manipulation).

This is a small glimpse of the power of emotional regulation, which is part of emotional intelligence, which is (not actually so unfortunately) part of proper manhood.

I hope I’ve convinced you of the value of emotional intelligence, and specifically emotional regulation (for men and women alike, although, for the reasons I gave above, especially for men striving for true manhood).

I’ve also attempted to equip you with a fundamental understanding of how to practice these things.

Let me know in the comments about your valuation of emotional intelligence, what your experience with it is, or if you have any advice for exercising it.

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If you made it this far, thanks for reading. It was a long one. 3420 words. You’re a hero. I salute you.

81 days ago, I became a dad.

I’m not saying that in the last 81 days I’ve become a shining example of everything good a person can be (or that I understand, in 81 days, everything there is to understand about fatherhood). And yes, the title is intentionally cheeky.

The point I’m trying to make is that, given the right personal constitution, becoming a dad (or mom, I’m sure—but my experience is that of a dad) causes a psychological shift that leaves a man qualitatively different than before he was a dad.

Someone said there are two kinds of people in the world: parents and non-parents, and I’m beginning to grasp what that person meant.

The things that I believed, in theory, to be true about life have now become real to me in a deep, emotional, instinctual, obvious kind of way.

All the superficial things that used to consume my thoughts—like if people like me, what clothes I should wear, etc.—have now faded into tranquil ambient noise. And that produces a peace and confidence that might otherwise take years to develop.

Yet, at the same time, everything begins to matter more now, and forces me to get serious. How I live my life has always mattered, but now how I show up in every moment of every day has my son’s present and future wellbeing riding on it.

Part of my duty to this child is being the example for him to emulate.

If you want to teach virtue, practice virtue. Be the person you want your kids to actually turn into, and, generally speaking, they will become that person.

— Arthur Brooks1

How I show up as a husband has always mattered, but now loving my wife also means everything for my child.

As dad, you’ve got one job: love her. If you want to raise successful kids—especially boys—you have one job: love his mom.

— (also) Arthur Brooks2

Being emotionally competent was always important, but now I have “vagal authority”3 over the development of my son’s nervous system and psychology. To the extent that my nervous system is regulated or dysregulated, my family will inevitably be affected in that direction—which matters a lot as a husband, but matters even more as the father of a child whose developing nervous system is entirely at the mercy of his emotional environment (i.e., the other nervous systems he is most frequently exposed to).

My income mattered little when I was single, mattered more when I got married, and now that I have a child depending on me, is of dire importance.

My own understanding of life obviously matters for me, but now that I have a child who is inevitably going to be asking me all the deep questions about life, it matters that much more (more on this point later).

I’ve always cared about my health (although least so after getting married and realizing I no longer needed to impress potential mates and therefore maintain a Greek-god-like physique)—but now the extent to which I’m healthy and fit is the extent to which I can show up as a dad.

The community of family and friends that we choose to keep the company of has of course always mattered, but now it’s also the people that my son will grow up around and be influenced by.

Even smaller things that seemed relatively unimportant or like matters of preference have now become imperatives, like:

• the part of town we live in

• the way we spend our weekends

• the hobbies we participate in

• the books we read

• the movies we watch

• the music we listen to

I could go on and on about all the things. The point is, the stakes are inestimably higher and the deadline is now. Granted, men don’t suddenly become perfect people the moment they become dads, but there is 1) a greater and deeper motivation, and 2) a sense of urgency. There can be no more waiting around and no more half measures.

The other option is for the pressure to crush a new dad, and for him, in his overwhelm, to run from fatherhood—into a bottle or some other cope addiction, or to literally run away.

Though I’ve landed in the “speedrun personal growth” camp because of my lifelong desires to be the best person I can be and to live the most meaningful life possible, I now have understanding (but not leniency) for the “dad that goes to get milk and never comes back” archetype.

The archetype of the runaway dad describes a man who was not prepared for all this responsibility, and was selfishly unwilling to do the difficult work necessary to be a good dad. And you know what?—he might even have run because his standard of what it means to be a dad is so high that he felt like he’d never live up to it. The pressure was simply too much for him to handle. Still not an excuse, because just being present is half the job, but a tragic mistake that I now have a few drops of empathy for…

—and also at the same time all the more condemnation of. I didn’t know what it felt like to love a father’s love before, but now that I do, it’s utterly unthinkable that I would ever abandon my child. Sure it’s a big job to be a good dad, but it’s a big job that I could never resign from, and which has a reward 1000x the difficulty. Being a dad is hard, but abandoning your family is harder.

So, if you’re kind of a p.o.s. and have little intention of changing, becoming a dad isn’t for you, and you’ve probably (hopefully) struggled to find a woman willing to marry you and have your kids anyway.

Regarding personal growth, it rarely occurs on a beach in Cabo. It usually occurs during the difficult times.

Part of the reason becoming a dad is a cheat code for personal growth is that it’s hard… at least relative to being a totally free, no-responsibility-having, lackadaisical, single man—or even a childless married man. Fatherhood turns up the difficulty knob. But that’s why it’s so prone to cause growth in anyone who chooses to partake in it.

One of the best pieces of advice for anyone looking to grow as a person: do hard things on purpose. Another one: choose your suffering, and make it meaningful.

There is a Bible verse for that: “…we also celebrate in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope;” (Romans 5:3-4). Fatherhood can hardly be considered tribulation—especially considering that the context of that verse is mortally dangerous religious persecution—but the principle applies.

Choose the hard thing called fatherhood, which is hard, and therefore capable of causing growth, but which is even more full of joy—to the extent that it would be worth it even if there was no personal growth involved. When I put it that way, it feels like a no-brainer, no?

Lastly, there will come a point when my kid(s) will begin to ask me the obvious but usually unspoken questions about life, like:

What is death?

What is God like?

Where did I come from?

And also:

Why, why, why, why, why? (all the way down, till, if I’m patient enough, my kid’s persistence will have actually helped me get to the very foundation of some question).

They say if you can’t explain it to a 5-year-old, you don’t really understand it; so if I am to honor my child’s questions—which I will—I’d better plan on having a fairly comprehensive, well-thought-out micro-philosophy that I can impart to him, and that takes a lot of work—i.e., deep thinking and personal development in the real world.

Similarly, there will (hopefully) come many points when my child(ren) will come to me for advice, especially so the older they get. If I want them to actually come to me with those questions in the first place, and if I want to have something meaningful to say in response, I’d better have already lived a life worth consulting—and the deadline for beginning that process was the moment my son was conceived in the womb.

So, if you’re an imperfect person dedicated to growing and living meaningfully, the acceleration your personal growth and purpose will experience is one of the many upsides that heavily outweigh the proclaimed-but-illusory downsides of becoming a dad.

I, at least, would recommend, and the time-tested wisdom of every tradition concurs.

Well, it depends on which kind we’re talking about. There is hedonism in the axiological sense, the psychological sense, and the ethical sense. Axiological hedonism is basically the view that pleasure is the only intrinsic good, and all other goods are instrumental; in other words, pleasure is the only thing that is inherently valuable, and all other things are valuable only insofar as they lead to pleasure. Similarly, psychological hedonism is the theory that all human behavior is motivated solely by pleasure-seeking (and pain-avoidance).

Ethical hedonism, then, building on the axiological and psychological angles, posits that pleasure is the ultimate “good”, and pain is the ultimate “evil”. That feels a bit arbitrary and circular to me; just because humans do behave a certain way doesn’t mean humans ought to behave in that way. I can’t see why pleasure is innately better than pain other than that it “feels” better (arbitrary) and it’s the thing we naturally seek (circular). Yet, despite my initial feeling about it, I really struggle to find a sounder or more effective ethical framework.

Now, when I was getting my undergrad degree (which included a minor in philosophy), I scoffed at the idea of so-called “ethical” hedonism. Hedonism seemed like the opposite of ethical. Morality, as I conceived of it, has to do with what one ought to do, regardless of how it makes one feel. Because I found the idea of ethical hedonism so obviously preposterous, I never bothered to read anyone who argued in favor of it—and I still haven’t. I’m sure the case for ethical hedonism has been made far better than I will make it here, and I could’ve just read that and referred you to it. Instead, I arrived at these conclusions the hard way, that is, by just thinking really hard for a really long time. You, the reader, might also scoff initially at the idea of hedonism in any or all of its three senses, but be comforted by the fact that I was a scoffer initially and yet I’ve now come around all on my own, through no one’s persuasion. Once you see what I’m really saying (and also what I’m not saying), the idea will, at the least, seem much more reasonable.

What I’m going to try to do is argue for a combination of psychological and axiological hedonism, namely that all we do is pleasure-seek and pain-avoid because pleasure is the only value there is. Then, having done that, I’m going to argue for ethical hedonism on the bases that 1) the people we consider to be the most moral are the people who are the most effectively hedonistic, and 2) hedonism is consistent with perfect morality because God Himself, who is morally perfect, is also utterly hedonistic in His motivations (I know—the scandal of that second one, but don’t throw any stones yet).

Okay.

First we need to understand what pleasure is. One definition is: the sensation of “feel good”. That might seem too vague to be a definition, but I think it can’t be defined otherwise without losing some of the breadth of its meaning. Additionally, it seems to me that we all have an intuitive sense of what pleasure is: whatever it actually means for something to “feel good”—we all intuitively understand what that is, and that’s pleasure.

Another definition of pleasure, which might feel a bit cheeky, is: that one and only thing that humans value and are always seeking. That’s yet to be proven, of course, but a definition nonetheless.

We can also think of pleasure in terms of what it is not:

• Fundamentally, pleasure is not pain—which, by the way, is not to say that pleasure and pain are mutually exclusive in an individual person in an individual moment of time; it is to say that the two are opposites, and insofar as we know what pain is, we have an inverse knowledge of what pleasure is.

• Pleasure is not just instant gratification. Many people hear pleasure and hedonism and word-associate only with the shorter-term flavor of pleasure; although that is pleasure, it is only one of many forms, and is certainly not the whole picture.

• Pleasure is also not just the shallow kind, the addictive kind, the creature comfort kind, etc. Peace, inner tranquility, gratitude, fulfillment, love, joy, hope, etc. are all forms of pleasure.

As far as I can tell, pleasure can be categorized according to two axes: time horizon and depth. You might visualize a graph like this:

By time horizon I mean the length of time considered in the calculation—this will make more sense in a minute. By depth I mean something like: depth, fullness, impact, pervasiveness. I’ll give a few examples to concretize the idea:

• *eats a piece of chocolate*: short-term, shallow pleasure.

• *watches soon-to-be-wife walk down the aisle*: short-term, deep pleasure.

• *contributes biweekly to Roth IRA*: long-term, shallow pleasure.

• *raises a child*: long-term, deep pleasure.

All different kinds of pleasure, but all pleasure nonetheless. We’ll be revisiting this concept later on.

I think that was a sufficient description of pleasure. Now I need to make the case that it is the only intrinsic good and that the pursuit of it is the sole motivating force for all human activity.

If you tell me something you do, I’ll ask you why you do it; you’ll explain to me the motivation, and I believe in every case I could show you that the motivation can be boiled down to the pursuit of pleasure or the avoidance of pain. Some cases are more obvious than others. If you eat a piece of chocolate, the motivation is most likely pretty simple: the pleasure you would feel from eating that piece of chocolate. If, on the other hand, you forego a Dr. Pepper and have water instead, the root motivation for that decision might be a few layers deeper, and I would argue that ultimately it ends up being maximization of pleasure or minimization of pain.

There is a concept called the 5 Whys which is a tool used to uncover the root cause of a problem. Basically you keep asking “why?” until you get to bottom of a problem. There is also a psychological application of the 5 Whys where it’s used to uncover the root motivation for behaviors. This is essentially what I would be doing as I probe for the root motivation of the water > Dr. Pepper decision (or any other behavior). I believe that if you haven’t arrived at a conscious or subconscious calculation of pain versus pleasure, then you haven’t arrived at the root motivation of a behavior.

This is where the depth and time horizon visual from earlier comes in handy. You might think: drinking water is less pleasurable than drinking Dr. Pepper; therefore, that decision was motivated by something other than pleasure. Wrong. It’s not that something else motivated the decision, it’s that your calculation of pleasure was too narrow. Consider: the satisfaction of resisting temptation, the physical pleasure of being hydrated and healthy, the pride in taking care of oneself—all pleasures that were sought in the decision. Consider also: the negative impact of Dr. Pepper on your sleep, the jitteriness you might’ve felt, the sour mouth-feel afterward, etc.—all pains that were avoided. There was a fairly complex subconscious calculation that led you to drink the water, and it was based entirely on pleasure and pain. You need only to broaden your field of view and lengthen the span of time considered to see that you drank the water because you were convinced it would bring you more pleasure than the Dr. Pepper. If you had instead drank the Dr. Pepper, it would have been because you were convinced that drinking the Dr. Pepper would bring you more pleasure than the water. The mind, conscious or subconscious, seems to love doing these calculations, and is doing so constantly in every moment of life.

What I’m not saying, by the way, is that we’re perfect at making these calculations. It’s the attempt to maximize pleasure and minimize pain that motivates everything we do, but we often get it wrong and suffer accordingly. More on that later.

Let’s look at a few more examples because I’m sure some of you are still highly skeptical of the idea that every action taken by humans is unavoidably motivated by pleasure-seeking and pain-avoidance. I don’t blame you.

1. An ascetic monk who has renounced pleasure in favor of enlightenment. Well, he may have renounced shallow, short-term, unfulfilling pleasures, but only in favor of the deeper, more fulfilling, and longer lasting pleasures associated with “enlightenment”. Also, he avoids all the pains associated with “unenlightened” life. His pleasure-to-pain ratio gets subjectively much better by his new lifestyle.

2. A committed nihilist who is so committed that he commits suicide. Where is the pleasure in that? This is a case that may completely lack pleasure-seeking, but is instead motivated entirely by pain-avoidance. The pain he feels as he contemplates the apparently unchangeable existential meaninglessness of life makes his pleasure-pain ratio skewed so far in the direction of pain that death is preferable, as it will (theoretically) neutralize the ratio—zero pleasure and zero pain is better than little pleasure and much pain. And maybe, if I am to be cynical, he gets some satisfaction from the idea that he’s the kind of person who understands the meaninglessness of life and is courageous enough to act on it; although that would be a bit philosophically inconsistent of him.

3. The case of a person who says, “I know I’d be happier if…” but doesn’t make the change. This seems like a case where someone is blatantly acting against their own pleasure, but the unspoken and often mentally unarticulated second half of that sentence is, “but the process of getting there would be too painful.” The in-your-face pain of change feels bigger than the distant and more vague pleasure of changedness. A slightly different angle would be, “I know (rationally) I’d be happier if… but it doesn’t feel (emotionally) like that’s really the case.” The longterm reward, though something we cognitively believe in, is not really real to us, and thus is not something we can calculate for. It’s very possible to know something to be true and yet not act on it because our emotions haven’t gotten on board. Hence, it’s still a calculation of pain and pleasure, just a misinformed one.

4. Jesus Christ of Nazareth Himself. (If you’re not a Christian, just imagine that Jesus is who Christians say He is, and hear the following out as a theoretical example, for the sake of the argument.) Jesus, “who, as He already existed in the form of God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied Himself by taking the form of a bond-servant and being born in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death: death on a cross” (Philippians 2:6-8). This doesn’t sound like a move inspired by the pursuit of pleasure—but it continues: “For this reason also God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee will bow, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:9-11). Elsewhere it says Jesus “for the joy set before Him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2). Someone is going to try to have me burned at the stake for this, but I’m saying Jesus, who lived the most selfless (and moral, by the way) life, was ultimately and completely motivated by hedonism. I mean it says it right there: for the joy. Jesus acted to maximize His own pleasure, and He did so perfectly. He maximized depth of pleasure and He calculated on an eternal time horizon. I really think it’s true logically, and I also think it’s biblical, and therefore I challenge any of my fellow Christians who are preparing a stake for me to be burned at: show me biblically (or otherwise) how Jesus was ultimately motivated by anything other than His own pleasure. The only objection I can think of is in the Garden of Gethsemane when he said in prayer to the Father, “not as I will, but as You will” (Matthew 26:39). Isn’t that an example of Jesus acting not in His own interest, acting against His own will? Well, I would say it’s Him understanding that the urge He felt to avoid the suffering ahead of Him was a misguided urge caused by His human psyche that failed to see the bigger picture, and that trusting the Father to know what was best for Him was the wisest move, regardless of how He felt about it in the moment. Have I said enough to convince you? Either way, I have to mention that the implication here is that if Jesus was motivated hedonistically, then so is God, seeing as how Jesus is God (according to Christian orthodoxy, which I subscribe to). And if that’s true, and God created everything, then hedonism in all three senses begins to make a lot of sense.

My radical claim is that every single action ever taken by humanity was motivated by ultimately hedonistic reasons, even the most apparently altruistic and self-sacrificing. Is this a kind of egoism as well? Technically yes, but not consciously, and it’s not really worth thinking of it that way. Altruism is still altruism in that we genuinely desire the good of the other person, but I’m just saying that the reason we want their good is because their good makes us feel good, and having acted on behalf of their good also makes us feel good. I’m saying that we wouldn’t do anything, including selfless acts (that can appear to be of no benefit to us), if we didn’t believe it would make us feel good (or allow us to avoid feeling bad).

We’ve established axiological and psychological hedonism as indisputable facts of reality, yes? (joke). We’ve also indirectly begun to argue for ethical hedonism, and now we will continue that, directly.

We’ll start by looking at how, in general, the people that we tend to think of as moral exemplars are actually just the people who did the most accurate pleasure-pain calculations. Then we’ll move on to how the metaphysical structure of reality is hedonistic. Buckle up for that second part because, frankly, I didn’t start this essay with that at all in mind, and it’s only coming to me now as I write, and my mind is kind of being blown.

Okay.

The people we think of as the most moral happen to also be the people who calculated for their own pleasure most accurately.

Think of any historical figure people consider to be a moral exemplar—Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, the Buddha, etc.—or think of the people in your life who you consider “good people”, and I believe I could show you that they were/are, relative to the circumstantial cards they were dealt, exceptionally good at maximizing their own pleasure, similarly to how I did above regarding Jesus. I believe that perceived morality and pleasure-maximization are correlated 1:1 in any given individual. That’s not to say, by the way, that they will appear to be the happiest people—that may have more to do with personality and circumstances—but they will at least have a much more pleasureful life than they would have had they behaved differently.

But this doesn’t accomplish much. So far it’s just an observation that morality and pleasure-maximization are correlated, but it doesn’t explain why they are, nor does it prove that morality is pleasure-maximization. For that, we will have to get metaphysical.

I adhere to the Christian Orthodoxy’s view of metaphysics, namely that God created everything and that He is reflected in His creation, especially humanity, which was made “in His own image” (Genesis 1:27). Again, if you don’t adhere to that view, bear with me and keep reading as I think you’ll find this part of the essay interesting and important nonetheless, at least as a thought experiment.

I’m going to lay out this metaphysical argument for ethical hedonism in the form of logical/deductive argument (which is a kind of mathematical framework that really gets to the bones of an argument, i.e. a series of premises that logically lead to a conclusion). Here it is:

First I have to prove that God is hedonistically motivated.

1. Jesus is God.

2. Jesus is hedonistically motivated.

   Therefore,

3. God is hedonistically motivated.

I could also cite various verses from the Bible that seem to affirm that God’s ultimate motivation is hedonistic, but I think the logical argument above is sufficient for our purposes.

I can imagine the following objection: Jesus may be God, but the man Jesus is not everything that God is, and God is not everything that Jesus is. For example, God cannot be tempted (James 1:13), but Jesus was tempted (Hebrews 4:15). How do we know that Jesus’ hedonism wasn’t a product of His humanity and therefore doesn’t apply to His divinity? Well, I would argue that Jesus’ decision to become a human—while not yet a human—was hedonistically motivated, and from that we can see that it was not a product of His humanity. Additionally, when it says Jesus is “the image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15), we know it doesn’t mean in every sense, as has been pointed out. This gets a bit theological, but my view is that what that verse means is that Jesus is the perfect image of God’s moral character. Fundamental motivation, in this case hedonistic, is part of moral character.

Now, assuming the above argument is sound, we can move forward with proving that hedonism is moral.

1. God is entirely hedonistically motivated (i.e. He acts based on the maximization of His own pleasure and minimization of His own pain).

2. God is morally perfect, i.e. perfectly good.

   Therefore,

3. Hedonism is consistent with moral perfection.

Now what makes God morally perfect? Isn’t that just arbitrary? Well, to use an ontological argument, God is moral by definition—otherwise He wouldn’t be God, He’d be something less than God. God is subject to nothing other than His own character. So there is nothing we can ground morality in other than God Himself. God is the origin of everything, including morality. Now you might ask what the origin of God is, which is a question worthy of more than an entire essay of its own, but suffice it to say that God needs no cause or origin as He is the First Cause, the uncaused cause, and is Existence Itself.

If you don’t believe in God, then obviously this all falls entirely apart. At that point, I’d admit that any argument for ethical hedonism is indeed arbitrary and circular, but I can’t see a way where any ethical framework isn’t arbitrary, circular, or groundless outside of God. I become a bit of a nihilist when try to imagine a world where God doesn’t exist, and I struggle to find not only meaning but also any real basis for morality. I know all kinds of atheists and agnostics ground morality in all kinds of things, and I can kind of understand the arguments in a pragmatic and theoretical way, but ultimately I end up wondering what is even meant by words like “should” and “ought” in a world with no ultimate meaning, nothing transcendent, and nothing that lasts. That, too, is a topic that deserves more than an entire essay of its own, so I’ll drop it for now.

If you don’t believe in God, I will say this about ethical hedonism though: to the degree that it is executed well, it will result in maximal pleasure for the individual practicing it, and for the people that individual comes into contact with. It is a positive-sum ethical framework. And if it is the case (as it is in my view of a world sans God) that pleasure is the highest and only good, then obviously the “moral” thing to do is to maximize it.

I will also say this: all the other ways you could attempt to ground morality will ultimately end up being ethical hedonism, or will fail as a system. The best atheistic moral grounding, in my opinion, is that morality is evolved adherence to mutually beneficial social contracts; that, like I said, is ultimately every individual maximizing their own pleasure, which ends up maximizing everyone’s pleasure.

If you do believe in God, and you’ve been convinced by my arguments, you’ll see that even in a world that does include God, pleasure is in some sense still the highest and only good (if it is indeed the thing God seeks above all else), and thus ought to be maximized. You’ll also find that to the degree you succeed in maximizing your own pleasure, you will also have maximized God’s pleasure in you; or if you want to focus on pleasing God (which sounds much nobler), you’ll find that your own pleasure gets maximized. And either way, you’ll end up looking a lot like Jesus in the process.

I will consider the case for all three kinds of hedonism sufficiently but not exhaustively made. This is an essay, not a book. I would love to know what you think.

Are you persuaded?

Are you skeptical?

Are you well read on the subject and have some reading to suggest?

Let me know.

Thanks for reading.

He has an idea called “parental attribution error” (which I will do my best to explain in a moment).

The following essay will take the form of a publicly-available DM to Chris in response to that idea (but with context added for the readers that aren’t Chris). I’ve chosen the form of a DM because it makes the most sense to me as I write.

Frankly, I have no idea how likely he is to see this, but it would presumably be very good for me if he did. Therefore, if you’re a real one, you’ll DM this essay to him or mention him in a restack of it, and tell him specifically that “it stinks of him” as he, himself, is so fond of saying.

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Also, even if you’re not Chris Williamson, I think you’ll find this discussion interesting.

Without further ado.

Hello, Chris.

If you are, by some miracle, reading these words, I implore you to read on, and if you like this essay, you might very well like this essay as well—it stinks of you (and something you and the guys covered a bit in the Christmas episode).

I’d also like to say, with either praiseworthy self-belief or utterly brazen hubris, that this is your opportunity to be a Cassandra (i.e., right but extremely early) about me and my writing.

Now for the meat of this essay.

What is “parental attribution error”?

Here is my understanding of it.

It is an idea based on “fundamental attribution error”—the asymmetry with which we attribute the poor behavior of other people to character flaws, but our own poor behavior to the influence of our circumstances.

Parental attribution error, then, is the asymmetry with which we lay those aspects of ourselves that are dysfunctional at the feet of our parents, but take credit for those aspects of ourselves that we take pride in.

You (Chris) say it’s unfair to blame our parents for our faults but credit ourselves for our strengths.

You say that many of the dysfunctional aspects of ourselves, that can be rightly attributed to our upbringings, also have a functional flip-side, which ought also be attributed to upbringing.

Some examples (of my own invention mixed with some I’ve heard you say):

• Conflict avoidance due to a childhood filled with unhealthy conflict—that also produced a talent for deescalation and a well-tuned emotional radar.

• Perfectionism and neuroticism due to too much pressure to succeed in school—that also produced drive and a strong work ethic.

• An overly keyed up nervous system due to an unpredictable home—that also produced perceptiveness and quick-thinking.

• Emotional guardedness because feelings weren’t taken seriously growing up—that also produced emotional stability in times when others would fall apart.

You say that we can either attribute both our weaknesses and our strengths to our upbringings, or we can take responsibility for both—but we don’t get to selectively attribute the good to ourselves and the bad to our parents.

Have I fairly accurately understood the idea? I know you said it far better yourself, but I hope I’ve mostly got the essence correct.

I largely agree with something like the essence of the idea, by the way. The error itself seems like a cheap, blame-shifty way to eat one’s cake and have it too. If you want to claim responsibility for your positive attributes, you also have to claim responsibility for the negative ones—right?

Here’s where I think the idea is slightly off, or could at least use some caveats:

(By the way, it should go without saying that having an original insight about the world is far more impressive than being able to nitpick said insight, so let my tone not seem condescending as I now proceed to nitpick your original insight.

I should also say that I’m coming at this from the perspective of a son but also of (as of very recently) a father, so if it seems like I’m coming down hard on parents, know that I’m setting the standard of judgment for myself as well. I’m in no way advocating for bitterness and resentment toward our parents—they probably did the best they knew how to, and even if they didn’t, bitterness and resentment benefit no one.)

The overcoming/redeeming of a dysfunctional trait developed during upbringing is the responsibility of the individual, but the fact that it’s there in the first place is the responsibility of that individual’s parents.

…at least in the cases we’re talking about, of course.

Children are the most vulnerable and impressionable of all people and are entirely at the mercy of their parents (or whoever is responsible for their upbringing). Because of this, there is a standard for parenting that is skewed almost entirely to the positive side, and rightly so.

Intention matters.

In my experience, people tend to be fairly comfortable crediting their positive attributes to their parents when those attributes were intentionally cultivated by good parenting.

“I’m generous because I grew up watching my dad be generous.”

“I’m kind because my mom was so kind to me.”

“I love deeply and unconditionally because I was loved as such.”

(It may not be often that we hear things like these, due to the fact that parenting is so hard and so easy to mess up—but it’s also not never.)

People even seem fairly capable of recognizing the two-sidedness of various traits they developed during childhood. This is very common in the case of overachieving children of pushy, overbearing parents; e.g., “I may have developed the unhealthy belief that love has to be earned, but I also wouldn’t have graduated top of my class at Harvard Law if my dad hadn’t pushed me as hard as he did.”

On the other hand, the positive traits that people tend not to attribute to their parents are those traits that were acquired despite bad parenting. In other words, when a positive trait is the redeemed side of a negative one, it’s often the case that that positive trait came as a result of the individual’s ability to take what was negative and use it for good.

If, for example, there was an abundance of violent conflict in my home growing up (there wasn’t), I need not thank my parents for the fact that I became a proficient mediator, as that was in no way the intended effect of the environment I grew up in; in addition, I can rightly blame my parents for the fact that I developed a chronic aversion to disagreement—it is, after all, their fault (—again, hypothetical and not a true story).

The explanation for this apparent double-standard lies in shifting our focus to the quality of the parenting.

• Good parenting with positive results can be credited for positive results.

• Bad parenting with positive results cannot be credited for positive results.

• Bad parenting with negative results can be blamed for negative results.

Here’s an extreme example:

Dad abuses child. Child becomes world champion martial artist. Dad did not intend for this to happen (as much as he might try to take credit in hindsight)—dad was just a bad father. Dad can be blamed for any negative result of his bad fathering and cannot take credit for any inadvertent positive result of his bad fathering.

Or, if I fail in some way as a father, but my son becomes something positive because of my failing, that’s entirely to his credit, not mine.

Now, I admit that there comes a time in adulthood where one’s character becomes entirely one’s own responsibility. At some point, if we still have dysfunctional traits and habits, it’s our own fault for not having done what’s necessary to overcome them.

This is the agentic (and therefore better) way to look at it.

But, by way of conclusion, if those dysfunctional traits and habits are the result of bad parenting, it’s still not our fault that they’re there in the first place, and if we do overcome or make something positive of them, it will be to our credit.

I hope, Chris, that poking holes in one of your bigger recent ideas wasn’t the worst possible strategy for garnering your respect, but I’m not too worried, as you seem to be very intellectually humble, and you seem to have a great appreciation for the earnest discussion of ideas.

I also very well could have misunderstood and/or misrepresented the idea and been poking holes in a straw man this whole essay, which would be very unfortunate, and in which case I would wish you could’ve corrected me before I spent all this time writing this…

Thank you, Chris, for reading.

Thank you, also, to everyone reading this who is not Chris Williamson—which is most likely everyone. Was it weird of me to write an entire essay in second-person to someone who will likely never see it? Possibly—but I hope it was interesting and valuable to you nonetheless.

P.S. I saw this meme and thought of your “shame of simple pleasures” essay:

P.P.S. The Dwarkesh episode + your bit on procrastination really being fear + Sheehan Quirke saying that someone told him, “you don’t lack ideas—you lack deadlines” = why I finally started posting my essays rather than leaving them in my drafts. So, thanks.

We need ambition and gratitude.

In America, the default inclination might be ambition for more.

In many philosophies and religions, the apparently moral position is gratitude for that which is already had.

The two are frequently portrayed as being in opposition, but I think it’s a false dichotomy. I think we can have both at the same time, and I think we ought to. It’s not impossible to hold the two thoughts in one’s mind at the same time. I can 1) be truly grateful for what I have, and 2) also want more. It’s not as if ambition necessarily precludes gratitude, or vice versa. I believe that insofar as the two are considered to be mutually exclusive—and therefore a false choice between the two is forced—we miss out on the greatest possible outcomes, both internally and externally. That is what this essay is about.

***

Now, as a bit of an aside, I would argue that as more of one’s aspirations are met, one can and maybe should index more heavily on gratitude, and less on ambition, but that some level of both should always exist simultaneously.

For example, a destitute 18-year-old orphan who just aged out of foster care would do well to be highly ambitious; but even he would be well served to be grateful for the few good fortunes he does have, like his life, his age, the opportunity in front of him, the functionality of his mind, etc. On the other hand, a 70-year-old with two houses, a pristine ‘66 Chevelle, and 17 grandchildren ought to be cashing in mostly gratitude; but even he would do well to maintain some level of purposeful ambition for, say, the passing down of his wisdom to the younger generations.

For another example, take me. I have much to be grateful for: my wife, my son, my friends, my ability to pay rent, etc.—and I am grateful for those things. Yet I also want a house, financial freedom, more kids, and a fulfilling and enjoyable career, among other things—and I believe I’m not wrong for that.

Contentment vs satisfaction.

If the two words can be used in the following way, the idea I’m trying to get at is being content but not satisfied. For the sake of the concept, I’m defining the two words as follows:

Contentment: Acknowledgement that what is had is enough, and genuine gratitude for it.

Satisfaction: Desiring nothing more.

Food is a good analogy to describe the difference. If I am served one serving of soup and a slice of bread for dinner, I can be content with that—I’ve had enough—I’m grateful for it, and I’m not complaining. At the same time, I won’t be satisfied until I’ve had a serving and a half of soup, two slices of bread with butter, and a bit of cake for dessert, after which I will want nothing more. Now, with food, it’s certainly possible and good to become satisfied (unless, of course, you’re eating ultra-processed food, in which case it’s literally impossible to ever reach the point of satisfaction because it’s been engineered that way… but that’s beside the point). It’s up for debate, though, whether, in life, one should ever become satisfied in the sense I’ve described it.

***

To come back to the discussion of ambition and gratitude:

Discontentment = ambition but no gratitude.

Contentment = a healthy level of both.

Satisfaction = gratitude but no ambition.

I guess it’s a Golden Mean kind of thing. I would argue that both discontentment and satisfaction are unhealthy and sometimes immoral. Contentment is the virtuous and healthy middle road.

You might be discontent because you legitimately do not have enough. Your basic needs are not being met, thus you are unhealthy—both for the very fact that your basic needs are not being met, and because psychologically you are aware of that fact. In a different scenario, maybe your basic needs are met to a level that contentment is possible, but for whatever reason you’re not content—you still feel like you’re lacking something necessary, and therefore to your brain you are lacking something necessary, which has a real negative effect on your health.

This is a good point: unnecessary discontentment occurs when wants become needs.

I would also argue that it’s immoral. Now, it’s easy to see the immorality in, say, a man whose only dream is to sleep with his celebrity crush, and because of the impossibility of that dream, becomes a bitterly discontent incel who intentionally provides no value to the world.

On the other hand, take a woman whose highest dream was to marry and have kids, but who has reached menopausal age, isn’t married, and has no kids. While it might be true that the moral (and healthy) thing to do would be to make the best of the situation and find meaning and purpose by another route, I’m going to find it very hard to come down on her “immoral behavior” if she languishes in depressed grief at the loss of her dream.

(The point, I guess, is that although it is always immoral and unhealthy to be discontent despite met needs, cases vary in their blameworthiness.)

If you are discontent, first make sure your basic needs are being met, and if they are, make sure you’re not treating your wants as needs, and practice gratitude for what you already have.

Now, I should acknowledge: some of the most legendary ambition ever was most likely motivated by discontentment. I think the best example might be Michael Jordan. The guy is, to this day, obviously deeply discontent. Whatever the underlying cause, it surfaced as a desperate need to win. And that is exactly the issue: it’s not a real need, but to him it was/is, and it seems that because of that he’s not happy, not healthy, and not exactly a moral exemplar either. Did his discontentment lead him to be (indisputably) the GOAT? Yes. But was it worth it? Well, depends on the goal. If the goal is success at any cost, including personal peace and joy, health, intimacy with loved-ones, etc., then I suppose yes, it was worth it. But is that the kind of goal that any of us would actually set for ourselves if we could look at the situation objectively? This is a real problem. So many people set goals for themselves that 1) are ever-moving goalposts, and 2) wouldn’t be at all fulfilling if they ever were to be reached. Michael Jordan’s goal was to win, but no amount of winning would have ever been sufficient, and even if there was an amount that would have been “enough”, would that have been a deeply gratifying goal to have achieved?

This is why discontentment is to be avoided, even if it is the fuel for legendary ambition—it aims at the wrong targets.

As an antithesis to the MJ-esque energy, an example of legendary ambition done healthily with contentment, check out this now legendary speech from world #1 golfer, Scottie Scheffler.

Now, why would “satisfaction” be unhealthy and immoral?

Immoral because, in this life at least, there is always more good to be done. There never comes a point where you’ve maxed out the good that you can do, and thus you should never be satisfied. You can max out on the amount of steak you can eat in one sitting, at which point you become satisfied, which is a good thing—but that doesn’t apply to life.

Unhealthy because we are meaning-based, dopaminergically-driven human animals; if you become satisfied in life, there will be nothing to get you out of bed in the morning—psychologically but also literally in that dopamine is required for physical movement.

If you feel satisfied with life, you probably need an injection of meaningful ambition. Now, let’s say your life is chock full of meaning and you say to me, “I’m satisfied with my life.” I’d respond, “no, you’re content, and every day of your life is driven by the ambition to continue doing whatever it is that is so meaningful.”

By the way, even the desire for another day of life is still a desire for more. In fact, here’s another way to think of the difference between contentment and satisfaction:

Contentment: “If I die today, it will have been enough and I will die happy—I don’t need tomorrow to come, but I still want it to.

Satisfaction: “I don’t want tomorrow to come. I’ve had enough. Take me now.”

The satisfaction example feels a bit extreme but I think it makes the point. Most people never reach the “take me now” stage, but many can probably relate to achieving some life goal and feeling the post-victory dopamine crash—satisfied, yes, but empty and unmotivated, thinking, “what’s the point now?” This is where that injection of meaningful ambition is necessary—a new something to aim at.

The synergistic combination.

We have now seen that it’s not optimal to have ambition sans gratitude or gratitude sans ambition, which in itself is a case for practicing them both simultaneously. Now we shall explore what happens when you do that.

We can think of ambition as the lever for external outcomes like impact, success, achievement, etc.

We can think of gratitude as the lever for internal outcomes like peace, joy, fulfillment, etc.

The ideal person is one who has maxed out on both—who is cranking out positive external outcomes at a rate that seems superhuman and simultaneously has a mental state that resembles a placid mountain lake at dawn.

The way to be this person, at least within the ambition-gratitude realm, is to aim absurdly high externally but have your wellbeing grounded in something unchanging that you are grateful for. I’ll use Christians as an example, who (hot take) are capable of being extremely good at this. They aim to literally change the course of eternity by populating heaven with as many souls as possible, but their wellbeing is grounded in God’s love for them (which they are grateful for). They have a high level of ambition—but not at the cost of gratitude (inner wellbeing); and they have a high level of gratitude—but not in a way that hinders their ambition (external achievements).

Further, a lack of one is likely to negatively affect the other. A person with a perfectly peaceful psyche but who is accomplishing nothing in life is missing out on even greater levels of gratitude via the good he or she could be doing. On the other hand, a person with a ton of ambition but a lack of peace is missing out on the external outcomes that would come with gratitude like clarity in goal setting, ability to connect with people, etc.

I’m arguing that max ambition plus max gratitude is the formula for an optimally effective and fulfilling life. I would also argue that it’s the moral way to live (which might just be the same thing as “effective and fulfilling”—but I’ll cover that in a future essay).

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How to…

It’s one thing to believe that ambition and gratitude, practiced in harmony, are essential to a well-lived life; it’s another thing to actual act this practice out.

The first two steps are fundamental:

1. Know that the combination of gratitude and ambition is desirable.

2. Intend to enact it.

But it’s not as simple as just being grateful or ambitious, these are traits that must be practiced and cultivated.

When it comes to gratitude, one of the best pieces of advice I’ve heard on practicing it was from , the essence of which I will now reproduce in my own words as best as I can remember it:

Think of something you figure you ought to be grateful for. Now imagine that the next time you experience it will be the last time you ever get to experience it. Do you now cherish that thing as you didn’t before? You’ve just successfully practiced gratitude for that thing.

I’ve found it difficult to just be grateful for this or that thing that I know I ought to be grateful for, but the above framework has been very helpful. That’s for the individual instances, the micro, you might say. For the macro, implementing a literal gratitude practice is the way. Just spam gratitude every morning and soon you’ll find that you’ve become something of a grateful person.

As far as ambition goes, you’ve simply got to figure out what it is that you want to accomplish in life, what would feel meaningful and fulfilling. Simply, that is, but not necessarily easily. It’s actually a huge question. Ambition of course isn’t limited to the objectives of the stereotypically ambitious person, i.e. money, fame, success, etc. One could very well have an ambition to live a quiet, humble life, and that would be ambition all the same. In this sense, almost everyone has ambition, it’s just a matter of locating it, stoking it, and directing it. (If you’re a nihilist who desires nothing and thinks there is no meaning, this essay wasn’t for you.)

You may have heard of the Japanese concept ikigai—I’ve now mentioned it in three of my four total essays... It means something like “reason for being” and has to do with 1) what you are good at, 2) what you love to do, 3) what the world needs, and optionally 4) what you can be paid to do. Another way to translate ikigai is “what gets you up in the morning”.

Tangentially, there’s also a French phrase you might have heard, raison d’être, which also means “reason for being”, but has a slightly different slant—more existential and philosophical and also more narrow and singular, as opposed to the more practical, day-to-day, and broad slant of ikigai. Funny how we love to borrow phrases from other languages and imbue them with an imagined depth much greater than their parallels in native language—so much so that we’ve popularized two phrases from two different languages that have nearly identical meanings.

Anyway, if you figure out your ikigai and/or your raison d’être, you’ve figured out what to apply ambition to. All that’s left to do is build a lifestyle in line with your ambition. This basically looks like goal setting, decision making, habit formation. If you need help with that, it’s so cliche at this point, but just read Atomic Habits by James Clear.

The “how to” for ambition could be its own essay, but I feel I’ve laid a sufficient foundation for you to build upon, if you so choose.

In conclusion:

• Ambition and gratitude are not mutually exclusive, and are both necessary for a well-lived life.

• Contentment is a healthy balance of ambition and gratitude—the Golden Mean between discontentment and satisfaction.

• The combination of gratitude and ambition leads to the best outcomes, both externally and internally.

• To practice gratitude, imagine lacking the things you cherish, and do that daily.

• To practice ambition, figure out what gets you up in the morning, and apply yourself strategically and holistically to it.

Thanks for reading. I hope you feel encouraged and enabled to exercise both ambition and gratitude to a greater extent.

I grew up thinking any pursuit of material wealth beyond the bare necessities was utterly vain and worthless, and even sinful, and therefore I smugly suppressed any financial ambition I might have had, thinking myself wiser and holier for it. I’ve changed my mind. Yes, I understand that past a certain level of income and wealth, marginal returns on happiness begin to diminish; yes, I acknowledge that many have spent their lives thinking, “just a little more money and all my problems will be solved”, never to be satisfied when they get it; and yes, I am aware that it’s possible to be extremely happy in the midst of poverty. My point is just that wealth, used correctly, is capable of improving happiness. Here’s how:

Financial stress inhibits happiness. Money is a remedy.

Financial stress comes from material insecurity and lack. There are essentially two ways that one might remedy financial stress:

1. You could sell everything you own, renounce the desire for material possessions, move to a mountain somewhere, and live an ascetic lifestyle.

2. You could earn enough money and acquire enough wealth that you no longer need to worry.

Option one is a real option, but not one that many find attractive, especially in America. Although, it is worth saying that no matter the option, one will eventually have to decide what constitutes “enough”—which is the essence of option one, just taken to a less severe extent. The richest person in the world could still have his or her happiness inhibited by an insatiable desire for more. Nevertheless, the desire for some reasonable level of material abundance seems acceptable, and even commendable.

Of the two paths to financial peace, we will consider option two the superior option for all the reasons following.

Money is buying-power for real value.

Here are two cultural proverbs: “health is wealth” and “time is money”. These sayings are meant to convey the fact that there are things more valuable than money, namely health and time. Ironically, health and time are similar in that they can both (to an extent) be bought with money.

Health makes everything better. If I only have enough money to buy the lowest quality food, I can’t afford a gym membership, my house has mold in it, and I’m stressed about finances—I’m not going to be very healthy. Money can solve all of those problems; and not only can it make a baseline level of health possible, it can allow one to invest in radical health above and beyond what is considered normal (think sauna, cold plunge, hyperbaric chamber, wellness retreats, high-quality supplements, etc.).

Similarly, if I’m spending 40+ hours a week doing a job that isn’t fulfilling and barely pays the bills, that’s a depressing amount of time spent extremely sub-optimally—a problem that could be solved with the right amount of money. If I can invest some time and effort on the front end to accumulate sufficient wealth, it frees me to spend the rest of my life using my time however I actually want to. I can spend my time doing the things that actually bring me happiness (like quality time with loved ones, purposeful work, cultivation of passions, connection with God, etc.). Also, if you’re uber-rich, you can do things like hire a private chef so you never have to spend time cooking (if you don’t want to spend your time cooking, that is—which some people very well might); and that’s just one example of many in the same vein (driver, assistant, housecleaner, etc.). I know the concept in the previous sentence may sound pretentious, and it could be, but it’s not necessarily so—it could be a simple value calculation: if there are things that you need done, and you don’t want to do them, and you aren’t that good at doing them, and you can afford to pay someone who is good at them to do them, it makes perfect sense to do so.

Abundance allows for generosity.

Jesus said, “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35), and many, both inside and outside the Church, have testified to the truth contained in these words. Giving feels good. The problem is, in order to be able to give, one has to first have, and most of us (naturally) prefer to have more than we need before we become willing to give. Therefore, in order to participate in the blessedness of giving, one has to first do what is necessary to have, i.e. accumulate an abundance of income and wealth.

Money makes having kids more possible and enjoyable.

My first child was born very recently, and I concur with the consensus that raising children is one of the greatest joys in life. But it takes money.

To have kids, ideally you’ll be married first. It’s hard to get married if you can’t afford to move out of your parents’ house. Assuming marriage is accomplished, most people prefer to raise kids in a house they own, rather than an apartment they rent, and many people prefer to establish a level of financial security before having kids (both of which are luxury preferences these days). Further, in order to raise a kid, a couple has to either pay for childcare or lose a significant portion of their household income, and still cover the additional expenses that come with the kid.

It takes money to have kids. It also takes money to enjoy raising them. One way to enjoy raising kids is to feel like you’re doing a good job at it, which implies giving the task of parenting adequate attention, and giving your actual children adequate attention—both of which are severely inhibited by a draining profession paired with financial stress. Another way to enjoy raising kids, which also has to do with doing a good job, is simply spending time with them. Returning to a previous section, time invested into children has a great ROI on happiness (for all parties involved), and the more money one has, the more time can become available.

Lastly, with money, you can purchase for your kids whatever you want to purchase, and that’s just nice. Also, with money, you can set them up for future financial success to whatever extent you deem most beneficial, and that, too, is nice.

Money is leverage.

If there are things you want to see happen in the world, it’s infinitely easier to make them happen with an abundance of resources at your disposal; resources like time and health (which, as I said, can be somewhat purchased with money), and of course money itself. Whatever cause you care about, the impact you will be able have will almost certainly go up in proportion to the resources you have dedicated to it. I feel like this one is fairly self-evident, so I’ll leave it there.

Money lets you buy stuff.

I am NOT a fan of stuff, generally. But sometimes you just want a thing, and it’s pretty nice to be able to go ahead and buy said thing. It’s pretty nice to not have to deprive yourself of the material goods you want. Obviously this is a slippery dopaminergic slope, but I’m saying reasonably and healthily, being able to buy what you want is just nice.

***

The above list of ways money can buy happiness is not exhaustive, but sufficient to make the argument, in my opinion. Have I convinced you? Or maybe you were already on board and I’ve been preaching to the choir. Either way, if you agree with me that some reasonable level of material abundance is beneficial for happiness, you might be thinking something along the lines of:

“Good to know… but it’s not as simple as just deciding to be wealthy.”

If it were, almost everyone already would be. Good point.

I would absolutely love to be a wealthy finance guru telling you the story of how I went from two dollars in my bank account to two million, but my bank account is significantly closer to two dollars than two million.

On the other hand, I’ve consumed many hours of content along these lines, which means I have a decent amount of theory in my head that I’m attempting to employ in my life, which I’ll now share with you to consume at your discretion.

1. Naval Ravikant’s How to Get Rich tweetstorm. If you don’t already know Naval, he’s one of those big-time investor types, but not the cringe kind, and he’s also something of a philosopher. Much of this essay was inspired by him, frankly. Super wise on building income-generating wealth that produces financial freedom.

2. All things Dave Ramsey. I’ve not actually read any of his books but I’ve consumed a lot of his stuff via podcasts and such, and while I don’t agree with all aspects of his philosophy, the general principles are “duh”-obvious but so under-applied and foundational. Here are some free Ramsey resources.

3. Rich Dad Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki. This is the book that first opened my eyes to the ideas discussed in this essay. One, I thought wealth was bad, but this book made a strong argument on the contrary; and two, I thought being wealthy meant working a lot of hours at a high paying job that you don’t like that much, but this book showed me that there are far more efficient and fulfilling ways to build wealth.

If I could sum up my wealth-accumulation strategy, developed largely based on the above three sources but in combination with plenty of other content to do with the general subject, it would be this:

• Live below your means. To do this, you’ll likely need a budget. I prefer a system called “zero-based budgeting”, where you can only budget money you currently have rather than based on predicted income. The most popular software for this is called YNAB (literally, You Need A Budget).

• Focus on passion + value—what you love to do that also adds value to the lives of others. This could be entrepreneurial or in the context of employment.

• Have no bad debt—like car payments, personal loans, and credit card debt. Good debt (meaning debt that is leveraged toward greater wealth), on the other hand, can be great; examples of good debt can include business loans, a decent mortgage on a house that will appreciate more value than you will pay in interest, and some student loans.

• Develop a portfolio of income-generating assets that free you from reliance on a highly taxable salary. This could be real estate, a business or businesses, intellectual property, stocks and bonds, etc.

• And lastly, incorporate gratitude for what you already have. This is different than the others, obviously. Gratitude for what you have is how you actually achieve happiness with the things money buys you. With no gratitude, you will always be wanting more. With gratitude, when you use money in the ways I described in this essay, it actually makes you happy. This last bullet point happens to be the main idea for next week’s essay about the need for both ambition and gratitude…

  Subscribe if you want that essay in your inbox next Wednesday.

This was not an essay on how to get rich; it was an essay on why a reasonable level of material abundance used correctly can actually buy happiness in some ways—but I thought I ought to give us something actionable, assuming I convinced you on the first front.

Thanks for reading.

Feel entirely free to share this with anyone you know who might enjoy it.

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“I made it my top priority to be polite and candid with everyone; after all, no one can demand more of me than that.”

—Prince Myshkin, the main character of The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

I was actually halfway through a rough draft of this essay when I read that line. I actually said, “whoa!” out loud when I read it because, well, it was a sentence in a book written a century and a half ago that perfectly put into words the exact concept I was actively thinking and writing about.

I’d previously read Crime and Punishment, and Notes from Underground by Dostoevsky, and I’d noticed that much of the dialogue in these books was extremely candid in a way I’d never experienced, either in real life or in literature. It was, for me, thrilling to read, and I wondered why the dialogue was like that. I thought maybe people in the 19th century spoke more candidly than we do today; or maybe it was just a particular feature of Dostoevsky novels. After a few minutes with Grok, I learned that Russian discourse is known to be particularly candid, and Dostoevsky fairly accurately captures what conversation amongst 19th-century Russian aristocracy and intelligentsia would have been like.

Before I’d ever read Dostoevsky, I had begun to acknowledge in myself an obsessive admiration for people who were courageous enough to say what they really thought. So you can imagine when I began reading Dostoevsky, I was like this:

The point is, the candor of the dialogue in Dostoevsky is thrilling to me, and resonates with a deep desire of my own heart to be similarly candid. The quote in the beginning, specifically, resonates so deeply that I could easily imagine having said it myself.

That was just a bit of a backstory to this essay. So far I’ve only touched on the candor aspect of the quote, because the candor of the dialogue was what so thrilled me. Yet, as I’ve been thinking about the concept, I’ve realized that politeness is an essential ingredient in the style of self-expression I am professing, and I value it as such. More on both of these later.

***

First I must briefly recount one more moment, which preceded the first. Years ago I read The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. In the foreword (written by Eric Metaxas) was a short biography of Bonhoeffer which included a certain line that struck me. Just now I picked up the book to find the quote and I opened immediately to the page in question (indicating that I’d previously had the book open to that page long enough to crease the binding as such), and the line itself was highlighted.

“In the Bonhoeffer home one was taught to know what one thought and never to speak unless one had something to say, and then to say it precisely and well.”

I can’t say whether this line will have struck any of you like it did me. The idea seemed noble and old-fashioned, like a lost art that I desperately wanted to recover.

First of all, the natural state of my mind is indiscernible chaos, but the idea of “knowing what I thought” was a challenge I was eager to accept. It spoke to my desire to know my authentic self, which, as someone who is naturally a social chameleon, is not something that comes easily.

Second, I don’t naturally take up much space in a conversation, but even so, I’ve felt that what I do say is often superfluous, rarely an accurate depiction of what I really believe, and almost never articulated in a way that clearly conveys my intended meaning.

And so, since the moment I was first struck by that line, to know what I think and to be able to express it became one of the core aims of my life. Except, over the years it has evolved into: to know who I am and to be willing and able to express myself. It feels like I’ve hardly made any progress since then, but I think it may just feel that way relative to how far I apparently still have to go.

Now for the meat of this essay.

What is candor, and how to do it?

The Oxford Languages definition is: “the quality of being open and honest in expression; frankness.” I like that definition. The example given is: “a man of refreshing candor.” I like that example, too. Candor is quite refreshing. That will be a sufficient definition, but some other words I might throw in to round out the picture would be sincere, genuine, honest, and authentic.

As I see it, there are three aspects to candor, and they are sequential.

1. “Know thyself.”

2. Make the decision to express “thyself” authentically.

3. Have the skill to do so effectively.

Candor is impossible without all three of these aspects in order.

One. I said thyself rather than yourself because know thyself is a kind of cliché of ancient Greek philosophy that is said to be the foundation of wisdom and even of effective communication. I might argue that this first aspect is the most essential and also the most difficult, but it seems that for the people who excel at candor most naturally, it’s the default setting, which means it’s not something they have to try to do. Their authentic thoughts are translated into words in one step, with little to no introspection necessary. Likewise, their authentic emotions are “worn on their sleeves” effortlessly. But for those of us for whom it does not come naturally, the process of intentionally becoming acquainted with our authentic selves is a necessary and unending step we must take in the pursuit of candor.

Two. Once I have an understanding of myself, I have to decide if I’m going to express it to other people. It’s a decision that may require a great deal of courage for people like me. Later in the essay I’m going to attempt to persuade you of the precious value of candor, and why you should decide to live accordingly.

Three. Just because I’ve successfully come to know myself and decided on candor, it does not follow that I’ll automatically be able to do so effectively. I have to learn the necessary skills.

Now, all three of these aspects are ongoing and interrelated. The more effective you becoming at expressing yourself, the more willing you’ll be to do so, and the better you’ll get to know yourself. Often, knowing comes from articulating. It’s a continual, cyclical process of engaging in all three aspects—contemplative introspection followed by courageous willingness followed by iterative sharpening. The better you get at the process, and the more consistently you engage in it, the more candid you will be.

So why choose candor?

Having come to understand what candor is, you may not need to be convinced of its value. You may have an intuitive sense, based on its very definition, that candor is something you ought to employ in your life. If this is the case for you, the following will be an attempt to put words to what you are sensing.

Maybe, on the other hand, you’ve made it this far and you’re thinking, “So what? Why should I engage in the process of candor? It doesn’t sound pleasant.” This is where I try to persuade you.

Let us try to think of all the ways candor can benefit you.

• There is a peace that comes from having expression of self be consistent with who that self actually is. As successful as we may be in suppressing the gnawing sensation that comes with incongruence, to not have that sensation at all is much better. It can also be confusing, feeling one way but behaving another, not knowing what’s authentic and what’s an act—I speak from experience.

• Candor leads to purpose, which leads to a meaningful life. You can never discover what you were put in the world to do if you never interact with the world. There is a Japanese idea called ikigai, referring to one’s unique purpose in life. The ikigai of your socially performative persona will never be fulfilling to you.

• If you’re candid, and people like you, it’s actually you that they like. If you put on a persona to get someone to like you, and it works, they don’t actually like you, they like the fake persona you created, which then is likely to perpetuate itself. When we perform for social approval, the associated good feelings never get deeper than the skin because we know it’s fraudulent.

• Candor attracts people you actually want to be around. If you convey a false persona, you attract people you don’t actually click with.

• Candor makes self-growth possible. If you’re not honest with yourself and others, you’ll miss the opportunity for positively transformative alignment with reality. When we project a false persona that fits the need of the moment, we leave the true self hidden, unchanged. If, on the other hand, you’re authentic in your expression of self, you are allowed to see what can be improved. Self-growth, by the way, is acted out in the arena of real life. It’s not something that happens solely internally.

• Candor simplifies life, freeing up the mind for more meaningful activity. No need to be constantly pre-editing your words in light of how you think they might be received and how that reception might affect your status. Just say what you think.

• The more candid you are, the more people begin to realize they can trust you. Also, it’s something of a Kantian categorical imperative. What I mean by that is that if everyone were totally insincere all the time, if all communication of self was instrumental, strategic, and manipulative, no one could ever trust anyone, and so much of what holds humans together would crumble.

• Candor leads to adventure. When you don’t try to control outcomes by censoring yourself, life becomes much less predictable and more interesting. Control is overrated. Life is not nearly as dangerous as our biology thinks it is. Ostracization from the group no longer means you get eaten by a predator, it just means you find a new group that’s more aligned with your values. And even if group after group ostracizes you, you still don’t die, you just learn, “huh, maybe it’s a me-problem and I’ve got some things to take care of in myself”—back to the self-growth idea. Yes, it hurts to be rejected, but a few rejections are far better than a life of inauthentic acceptance. And by the way, unless you’re in junior high, you probably won’t be ostracized for saying what you believe. People tend to like that, even when they don’t agree. Take the adventure.

Are you persuaded? I actually want to know.

Leave a comment

I can imagine some potential objections because I have them myself.

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

I agree. It is. But satisfaction and enjoyment are often products of hard work. The more effort you invest into any good endeavor, the exponentially larger your ROI becomes.

“It’s just not my personality to be candid.”

It may not be your natural strength, true, but I think there is a misconception about personality. A lot of the things we think of as unfortunate but unchangeable personality traits are actually undeveloped skills. Sometimes we even use that idea to justify low expectations of ourselves and excuse ourselves from the difficult process of growth. Candor is definitely not my default setting, and yet I’ve grown in it; and I certainly don’t feel inauthentic in my pursuit of authenticity.

“I don’t want to be rejected.”

Fair. No one does. But if you make the courageous decision to employ candor, and you’re rejected, two positive things have happened: first, you’ve undergone exposure therapy and become more rejection-tolerant; second, you’ve either found someone you’d do better to leave behind or something about yourself you’d do better to leave behind—a win either way. Also, as you courageously express yourself even in the face of rejection, you develop self-approval. You start to approve of yourself to such an extent that you’re not nearly so reliant on the approval of others for your mental and emotional wellbeing. BIG win.

What about politeness?

I didn’t forget. It is true that candor is the main thing I wanted to discuss in this essay, but like I alluded to earlier, I realized that politeness is crucial if candor is to go well.

I struggled to decide between the words tact and politeness. I think of tact as instrumental skill in communication so as to avoid causing offense—which is great and necessary. Politeness, then, is all of that, and in addition, a genuine respect and courtesy for the people involved—which I believe is also essential. So, I went with politeness. Now, keeping with the theme of the entire essay, the respect and courtesy has to be authentic, otherwise it becomes something like manipulation, which negates the whole exercise of candor.

It is a bit of a tricky balance, but it’s not the case that politeness and candor are at odds with each other. You don’t have to compromise your candor in order to be polite. It is very much possible to be perfectly candid, yet in a way that is polite, considerate, and graceful; it is also possible to be candid in a way that is offensive and off-putting. The former is better, not only because it’s less painful for everyone involved, but it’s also more practical—if your audience isn’t offended by your candor, it’s much more likely that they will be receptive to it. Scottish clergyman John Knox apparently once said, “You cannot antagonize and influence at the same time.” Agreed. Further, politeness is something you’re going to have to develop if you want to live candidly. A lack of respect and courtesy is one of those things you may come to realize is a you-problem that you need to address if you don’t want to be repeatedly ostracized. Or maybe you don’t think it’s a problem and you’re okay with the results it gets you—more power to you if so, I guess. But that’s not most of us, and thus for most of us, politeness is an essential ingredient to a life lived candidly.

***

I hope I’ve informed you of the value of candor and politeness well enough to convince you to employ them to a greater extent in your life. If I haven’t, I hope I’ve at least exercised your mind in a way that was meaningful and enjoyable.

Thanks for reading.

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• I am (as of writing) a 26-year-old husband and father.

• I have a 9-5 job.

• I have a BA in Christian Studies with an emphasis in Philosophy. I wish I hadn’t spent so much time and money going to college, but it is what it is and to spend time regretting it would be unproductive anyway.

• I believe Jesus of Nazareth was raised from the dead and is God.

• I lean libertarian, politically, but I swear it’s not due to a lack of empathy—I just think something like anarcho-capitalism would be a better system than the one we currently have in America, for everyone. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

• I was born and raised in the same house in Boise, Idaho, USA, and I currently live in the Boise area. My parents grew up in Wyoming and my mom lived on a ranch, so sometimes I think I’m a cowboy deep down, even though I’ve never ridden a horse nor roped a steer and I don’t even drive a truck (yet).

• I’m racially off-white, and by that I mean my genetic heritage is Celtic, Anglo-Saxon, and Slavic, but my complexion and features have caused many to assume I’m part Latino (I’m not). My wife is Mexican though, which means I have successfully tainted my pure genetic heritage (joke).

• I’m a polyphilomath, which is a word I made up. It’s a combination of polymath and philomath, and it means someone who loves to learn about a broad spectrum of subjects.

• I seem to be allergic to the status quo in every area of life. You might say it’s a personality quirk, but I think it’s just that the status quo generally sucks, and I’ve noticed.

• I attribute extremely high value to honesty and authenticity (much like many of my Gen-Z peers, apparently). Years ago I read a short biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and he and his childhood family were described as people who always said only and exactly everything they meant; which is to say, they were honest and they spoke their minds, but they were cautious against careless, superfluous language—they spoke the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The moment I read that description, I immediately decided I needed to be like that…

• BUT, I’m naturally conflict-averse and a social chameleon, and being myself in public opens the door for some significant subset of people to disapprove of and/or disagree with me—which is obviously the worst thing that could ever happen to a person. So, I’m a work in progress in this regard, which is actually part of the intended purpose of this newsletter (more on that below).

Why I’m starting a Substack:

I spend a lot of time thinking about everything—from existential philosophy to entrepreneurship to music theory to anything in between and beyond. Yet I’ve never had an outlet for all these thoughts other than to write them in a journal or my Notes app (which is overflowing at this point). So when I discovered Substack, I asked myself, “well, why don’t I just publish all these thoughts?”, and myself had no good answer, so publish them I will.

Also, writing is one thing that can put me into so-called “flow state”, which is quite fun, and I’m of the opinion that, in life, when you find something that can do that for you and that is beneficial to yourself and other people, you should probably consider dedicating a large portion of your time and energy to it. In other words, it’s the Japanese concept known as ikigai, or “reason for being”, which can be discovered by observing 1) what you are good at, 2) what you love to do, 3) what the world needs, and optionally 4) what you can be paid to do. I’m not saying writing essays is my sole purpose in life, but I do like it, I think I’m good at it, maybe I can add some value to people’s lives, and maybe I can even get paid in the process.

Lastly, I want to put my honest thoughts out into the world so people can disagree with them if they so choose, and iron can be allowed to sharpen iron.

What will this Substack be comprised of?

Well, to some extent, that’s yet to be seen even by me. But I can make some guesses. Expect content along the lines of:

• Practical wisdom

• Casual philosophy

• Theology/spirituality

• Self-improvement

• Art and literature

• Anthropology

• Health and wellness (physical and mental/emotional)

Again, polyphilomath here—there’s almost nothing off-limits.

Why you shouldn’t be interested in what I have to say:

• I don’t really have any credentials.

Why you might be interested in what I have to say anyway:

• You’re thoroughly sick of doomscrolling TikToks, Reels, or Shorts and want to read things instead.

• You want to broaden the range of subjects you have some knowledge of. Unless you’re uncannily similar to me in your knowledge base, I can pretty much guarantee I’ll cover something you’ve never thought about.

• You mostly stick to the status-quo, but you’re starting to realize maybe that’s not the optimal way to live, so you want to challenge some of the presumptions your culture has handed you. Well, turns out my status-quo allergy is contagious, and I’m willing to share it.

• You already are status-quo allergic, and you want your allergy to get even more severe. I can help.

• You, too, are conflict-averse, and you’re looking for some exposure therapy. I intend to cover such a range of topics (many of which will be controversial) that it will be impossible for any one person to avoid deep disagreement with me at least once or twice. Further, I want to make this highly conversational, so I intend to be very responsive to comments and replies of all sorts.

• You like the JRE and/or the Modern Wisdom podcasts. I feel like Joe Rogan and Chris Williamson are both polyphilomaths like me. Common wisdom says you have to find a niche if you want to succeed; I think better wisdom says obsessively pursue whatever you’re passionate about and there will be some large enough subset of people on the internet who share your passion that will find your stuff. Joe Rogan and Chris Williamson are two big data points in support of that idea.

• You want pithy. Nietzsche (who I’ve never actually read, I admit) has a line in one of his books that (loosely) says, “it is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others do not say in a book.” I don’t set quite as lofty a standard for myself, nor do I think as highly of my own writing ability as Nietzsche apparently did of his, but I resonate with the spirit expressed in the quote. Thus, in the spirit of Nietzsche and of Bonhoeffer, I will do my best to cut the fluff and capture the essence of whatever it is I’m trying to communicate, concisely and succinctly.

• You have, for whatever reason, come to think that the contents of my mind are interesting. I intend for this to be as accurate of a cross-section of my mind as I can manage, without too much regard for what is most likely to sell.

What now?

If you’re interested in hearing more from me, hit the subscribe button below, and you’ll be emailed all my essays as they come out. The first one will be this Wednesday, and then every Wednesday thereafter (that is, until my backlog of already-written essays runs out, at which point the frequency will most likely come down).

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If you’ve made it this far, thank you. And if you subscribed, double thank you. This publication is a passion project that is very fun for me, but it’s orders of magnitude more fun if people actually read it. On that note, you can also share it if you can think of other people who might be interested.

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Again, thanks for reading—I really am so grateful. Have a blessed day, week, holiday season, life.