Let’s just get into it.

Morals Without a Master

I’m at the dinner table, sitting with Immanuel Kant, Niccolò Machiavelli, and Albert Camus. The vibe of the dining room is uniquely San Franciscan: part Victorian, part modern, with chandeliers, candlesticks, and sleek black quartz finishes with LED light panels. It’s dim but not quite dark—mirroring the city’s fog-covered aesthetic.

Me: ”Gentlemen, here is tonight’s menu. We have three unsigned customers. An investor call is in 48 hours. If I write ‘three active pilots’ on the slide, I probably close the seed round. If I write ‘three pending pilots’, I probably don’t. What do I do?”

Kant straightens his powder wig, voice clipped. “A slide is a speech act. If you knowingly misstate, you will it as acceptable for every founder. Investor trust collapses. Say ‘pending’. Anything else is a lie.”

Machiavelli flicks a crumb off his sleeve. “Seed funding is not about truth. It’s about narrative control. You’re not lying—you’re casting a spell. Say ‘active.’ Then make it true. The lie becomes retroactive truth if you move fast enough.”

Camus lights a cigarette he didn’t have a second ago. He smiles, not with humor, but with recognition. “They offer you rules for a game that has none. One sells purity, the other victory. Both are phantoms to shield you from the truth: nobody is coming to tell you what to do. The universe doesn't record the choice, only that a choice was made. The rest is just the story you tell yourself afterwards. So, which lie will you choose? The lie of purity, the lie of victory, or the lie that it doesn't matter? The only truth is in the choosing.”

Me: I swirl my glass. My runway is a countdown clock in my head. My conscience is a high-frequency buzz in my ears. My desire for this to mean something is a dull ache in my chest. I stare at the empty slide on my laptop screen, the title "Our Traction" stares back, mockingly. The cursor blinks. Blink. Blink.

The investor call is in two days, but this dinner is timeless. The guests are ghosts I've been entertaining for years, the personification of a lifelong war. Their arguments are the soundtrack to every meaningful decision I've ever had to make.

There's the unyielding, demanding Morality, a voice that sounds suspiciously like my lovingly disciplinarian grandmother's, but armed with the unsparing logic of Kant. There is the seductive, pragmatic whisper of Effectiveness, a Machiavellian urge to win at all costs. And then there is the hollow laugh from the corner, from the shadows of Meaning, where Camus reminds me that the universe doesn't care about my slide deck or my soul.

This essay is an attempt to map that battlefield. It is a dispatch from the war between the person I ought to be, the person I must be to succeed, and the nagging fear that neither of them truly matter.

0. Prologue

My mom and my grandmother are some of the most idealistic and righteous people I know. Through nature and nurture, their principles are deeply embedded in me:

Never lie. Respect everyone.

Be kind to everyone.

Hard work speaks for itself.

I accepted these as the basic terms and conditions of being a decent person.

My grandmother, a school principal and disciplinarian, never yelled or threatened; she simply expected, and I behaved. Math problems after school, classical music lessons, and unwavering moral expectations were the texture of daily life. My mother, while gentler in approach, carried the same ethical gravity. She had clear ideals and values she wanted to instill in me. She didn’t want me to just follow rules—she wanted me to believe in them.

Ideals of righteousness coursed through the marrow of my bones. I thought Superman was cooler than Batman precisely because, and not in spite of, him being a goody-two shoes. Hell, I even avoided killing innocent civilians when I played Grand Theft Auto.

For both my grandma and mom, the foundation of goodness was obvious: we must be good because God. But God was dying in me long before I declared apostasy. I looked on evil—war, strife, the suffering of innocent children—and I questioned divine benevolence. Scientific theories like the Big Bang and evolution by natural selection made God’s creation powers seem redundant. But the most lethal cut was the fact of human myth-making. It is the understanding that humans have always had a proclivity for creating fantastic stories to explain their environment—and that divinity is one of the most common literary devices. This made it obvious to me that God, of the myths and stories, was a human invention, not a Truth about the universe.

By seventeen, God was irrefutably dead. And without God, I did not have a good justification for why I had to be good. But since goodness was conditioned into me, I still felt guilty when I couldn’t abide by it. Almost imperceptibly at first, but then completely, my foundation for being good became guilt—and shame.

“I feel guilty about everything, all the time,” I said to Julie, my first date since moving to the US. It was pleasantly warm in San Diego and we were at a cute ice-cream shop. I was 22. She blinked and nodded, “Why do you feel that way?” “I… don’t really know,”

I felt a gut punch, and a tightening in my chest, every time I was even a minute late to a meeting. If I’m late, I don’t respect them or their time, so I must be a horrible person. Even for something that trivial, I’d feel ashamed hours later. Maybe if I had God, I might have asked Him for forgiveness and offloaded some of my burdens. But I just had raw guilt. I felt guilty about everything I did not do flawlessly and felt constant shame about being a person who was so flawed.

This unmoored guilt became intolerable; I needed an anchor, and in the absence of God, I began searching for a system—any system—built on a foundation that couldn't die.

1. Morality

“Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.”

- Immanuel Kant, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals

In the midst of my rudderless guilt, I found Kant and his categorical imperative.

It was like discovering a law of physics for the soul. The campers’ rule—leave it better than you found it—is a great example. If you could will your personal rule as a universal rule for everyone without creating a contradiction, it was moral. If you couldn't, it was not.

But as I looked deeper, I realized this was only the entry point. The universal law was the litmus test for a deeper, underlying principle. It is captured in Kant's second, more profound formulation of the categorical imperative: to treat all of humanity, in yourself and others, never merely as a means to an end, but always as an end in itself.

This was the revelation. The Universal Law was the cathedral's architecture, magnificent and logical. But the Humanity Principle was what it was all built for—the sacred altar of human dignity. Lying wasn't just logically inconsistent, it was an act of violence against another person's rational soul. It was using them as a tool. I now had a system that was not only rational but also deeply humane. I clung to it like a man overboard clings to a spar.

It wasn’t just an armchair philosophy for me. I strove to live it and build with it. Almost like a rite of passage, one of my previous startup ideas many months (feels like years) ago, was an AI-powered dating app. I know. The premise seemed simple enough: the AI would help users improve their profiles and conversations. Applying the categorical imperative, helping someone take better profile pictures felt like a universal good—it would create a better, higher-quality dating pool for everyone. But what about coaching a user on what to say? Is providing the "perfect line" an act of helpfulness, or is it a deception? Would I be willing a world where all romantic connection is built on a script? This was a “real-world” product design dilemma, and Kant's logic was paralyzing.

And the paralysis was a revelation. That dating app question wasn’t a unique edge case, it was the template for a thousand daily choices. To will a world where all romantic connection is scripted felt monstrous. Yet to deny users a tool that might ease their crippling social anxiety felt like a violation of a different, more human imperative. The system offered no answers, only a perfect, elegant, and totally unworkable dead end. It was a philosophy for angels, not for founders.

Kant’s beautiful, rigid cathedral of reason had no room for human messiness. It offered no absolution. In fact, it was a harsher master than the God I’d abandoned. Viewed through Kant’s unforgiving lens, even a reflexive white lie was to will a world where truth has no meaning. The guilt I felt before was a murky fog; this new guilt was a blade, sharp and precise. I hadn’t escaped my prison—I had merely rationalized its walls and handed the key to a colder warden.

I had to create an updated system to survive. I called it my "relaxed categorical imperative"—an attempt to build a little chapel of human exceptions onto the side of Kant’s grand cathedral. This was a place where kindness could override truth, where context could finally matter. It was a system that permitted the lie to save a life, or the assurance to an anxious relative that "everything will be fine." It was an appeal to my own judgment, honed over a lifetime, to make appropriate compromises. But each compromise, each exception, chipped away at the foundation. The clear lines of reason blurred into the murky grey of self-justification. It wasn’t enough.

Kant had given me a ruler to measure my own soul, and the act of measurement itself became a new and constant source of torment. I had a moral system, yes, but it was a system that stood in the way of a life that worked. The voice of "Ought" was clear and loud, but I began to hear a new whisper: "Win."

2. Effectiveness

“Where the willingness is great, the difficulties cannot be great.”

- Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

Something I thought I’d never do is play calculated bluffs to get ahead. For example, we’ve told investors we had a few letters of intent (LOIs) when some of them were signed by supportive friends at other startups. Was this really a problem? They were still legitimate LOIs signed by legitimate startups. We’ve presented a case study that was hypothetical to help customers visualize our product's potential. We never claimed that the customer was real. This was fine, right? The boy who loved Superman would have been appalled at this refraction of the truth. He would see only the lie.

But the current me understands the bootstrap paradox: you must project the reality you wish to create to get the resources to create it. I deploy these hacks while still being grounded in principles. Even though I showed a hypothetical case study, I’m honest about it being hypothetical, in the details and if asked. Similarly, I’m honest about the letters being signed by friends, when asked. Is this a self-serving loophole or a necessary ethic for anyone trying to build something from nothing? Is relying on someone not asking the right question truly a stable ethical position? I wrestle with this question daily.

I started building my startup after I quit my job two months ago. Startups demand ruthless execution, often clashing with strict ethical ideals. I won’t necessarily defend the reckless “move fast and break things” ethos of Silicon Valley. But the reality is, the most effective path isn’t always the most ethical. Those willing to bend the rules often gain an edge. This, at least, hasn’t changed much since the time of Machiavelli.

Machiavelli’s name evokes manipulation, but he wasn’t about evil for its own sake. His primary focus was virtù—effectiveness above all. He was amoral. Critics argue Machiavellian tactics backfire long-term, but this misses the point. True Machiavellianism optimizes for the long game, ethics be damned. By this measure, leaders like Mark Zuckerberg or Sam Altman embody a modern Machiavellian spirit, prioritizing results over ideals.

Even as I find compromises I can live with, a deep unease remains. In this state, I watch the public trajectory of Elon Musk and feel a disturbing tremor of recognition. I see a man who has achieved a level of worldly effectiveness that is almost mythological, the ultimate embodiment of "Win." And yet, he seems trapped in a feedback loop of impulsive actions and chaotic consequences, forever at war with a world he has ostensibly conquered.

Stories are powerful. They are the core meaning-making machinery of any person. From the story of who you are, of who you want to be, of who you were and where you came from, you emerge. Ambitious people tend to over-index on stories of where they want to be, or even deserve to be. But ambition can be dangerous when it totally captures the person—to the point where they are no longer the author of their story, but a character trapped within it.

The narrative of “The Founder,” “The Visionary,” or “The Disruptor” demands constant performance. Every action, every tweet, every conversation becomes a piece of character work. The risk is that after years of performance, there is no one left behind the curtain. The mask becomes the face.

As such, Elon has become a haunted mirror for my own ambition. Looking at him forces me to ask a more terrifying question than the ones Kant or Machiavelli pose. It is not, "Am I good?" or "Am I effective?" It is, "What will be left of me once I have won?" The pursuit of power, I am learning, is a fire that can forge a new world or consume the one who wields it. That, above all, is why I refuse to worship at the altar of absolute effectiveness. The point of this war is not merely to win, but to ensure the person who crosses the finish line is still, recognizably, me.

3. Meaning

“Live to the point of tears.”

- Albert Camus, Notebooks

This fear of becoming a character isn't just an abstract terror I feel when looking at billionaires. It ambushes me in the trenches of the mundane. “There’s nothing quite like endless drudgery,” I thought, after sending my 482nd LinkedIn connection request for my new startup, “to surface existential dread…” I was executing on my cold outreach plan to find customers for my new startup when it hit me: This feels demeaning. What’s the point of this? What’s the point of anything? This startup thing was supposed to be my golden ticket to “meaning.”

The dread that hit me wasn't just about boredom. It was the violent cognitive dissonance between the story I was telling—”I am a Visionary Founder building the future”—and the reality of my actions: I was spending more time sending LinkedIn connection requests and messages than actually building cool shit. Intellectually, of course, I understood that talking to potential users and customers was extremely important, and that building in the dark was a trap, especially in the early stages. But couldn’t shake off the feeling that the cold outreach was somehow beneath me.

Was the grand Visionary Founder story just a lie I'm telling myself to endure? What if the mundane is all there is?

Kant’s grand categorical imperative has nothing to say about the morality of data entry. Machiavelli’s “Win” is useless; there is no opponent here, no tactic, no strategy that can conquer the sheer, soul-crushing volume of the mundane.

My go-to defense was to intellectualize it, to cast myself as a student of Camus rebelling against a meaningless universe. Hell, I even wrote a blog post about it, convinced myself of my own absurd heroism.

But the 483rd connection request calls my bluff. My fingers hover over the keyboard, the cursor a blinking indictment. The "Visionary Founder" in my head is screaming. This isn't building. This isn't creating. This is digital panhandling. The story I tell myself—the myth of the Disruptor—is a universe away from the reality of this text box. The dissonance is a physical weight, pressing my shoulders down.

And then, something shifts. Not a grand epiphany, but a quiet surrender. I give up trying to make the task fit the myth. I stop fighting. I let the "Founder" ego dissolve into the background noise. My focus narrows from the imagined summit of "closing a pilot" to the rocky texture of the immediate ground. Click. Find a name. Type it. Hi [Name]. Copy the template. Paste. Scan their profile for one, just one, authentic detail to add. "Your modernization approach with templates and AI is really interesting." It's not a grand gesture. It's a small act of craft in a sea of repetition. Delete a word. Add another. Hit "Send."

And I prepare for the 484th.

That is the rhythm. It isn’t a beautiful melody; it’s a dull, hypnotic beat. Click. Copy. Personalize. Send. A tiny, perfect loop of action, divorced from outcome. This is the motion that Camus was talking about. It’s not a rebellion of thought, but of muscle memory. In that moment, I am not "The Founder," a noun heavy with the burden of future success. I am simply sending, an anonymous verb. And in this, I find a strange defense against the very loss of self I fear. Victory is not getting a reply. Victory is hitting "Send" and not being destroyed by the pointlessness of it all. Sisyphus is not defined by the peak, because the peak is a fiction. He is defined by the push. By anchoring myself to the verb—building, selling, connecting—I find I cannot be broken by the failure of the noun.

4. Epilogue

I walked home from the Muay Thai gym... drenched in sweat, sore, tired... I had made no progress that day... But there was this strange clarity in the cold. Nothing mattered—not the 484 requests I'd sent, nor the rocket-ship success I dreamed of. Both the drudgery and the destination were cosmically meaningless. All that was real was the cold wind, the tired muscles, and the choice to walk home and do it again tomorrow. It was a burden I had freely chosen. And in that choice, free from the weight of both the mundane and the myth, I felt like myself. It was a brief ceasefire in a lifelong war.

I'm back at my desk.

The empty slide glows. "Our Traction." The cursor blinks. Blink. Blink.

And the ghosts are here again. Not at a dinner table, but standing watch in the dim light of my monitor. Kant, rigid and expectant, a silhouette of pure principle. Machiavelli, a shadow leaning against the doorframe, a glint of victory in his eye. Camus is by the window, a curl of smoke obscuring his face as he looks out at the city lights, profoundly unimpressed.

For years, I waited for their verdict. I sought a unified theory of action that would satisfy the judge, the general, and the jester. But looking at them now, tired to the bone, I see the truth. There is no verdict. There is no unified theory. There is only the blinking cursor. There is only the choice.

Their voices are still there—Is it universal? Will it win? Does it matter?—but they are no longer a firing squad. They are the dissonant chords of a song I am learning to write.

I lean forward. My fingers hover over the keyboard, not with hesitation, but with the deliberateness of a hand placing a stone at the bottom of a hill, ready for the push. I begin typing.

Thanks so much , , , , , and ! The essay has come a long way from its first shitty draft and your feedback was critical.

I used to think I was above it all—above the petty politics of corporate life. Fresh-faced and brimming with confidence, I landed my first job at Big Tech. I told myself, "I refuse to play these petty status games.”

I watched how senior colleagues jockeyed for visibility, how subtle power plays determined who got praised and who was sidelined. It disgusted me. I felt like an outsider in an environment filled with strange, unspoken rules about who was "winning."

Around that same time, I stumbled on Naval Ravikant’s ideas about status games. His words resonated so deeply that I practically devoured them. Here’s an excerpt:

“The problem is that to win at a status game, you have to put somebody else down. That’s why you should avoid status games in your life because they make you into an angry combative person. You’re always fighting to put other people down, to put yourself and the people you like up.”

“Hell yeah!” I thought. “Go, Naval!”

But my initial excitement soon gave way to a quiet hesitation. Could I really opt out of status games altogether? At first, I believed I could—I just had to keep my head down and excel at my work.

Yet the more I insisted on this path, the more friction I felt. Each time I told myself, “I refuse to play these stupid games,” I realized, ironically, that I was playing my own virtue status game. By labeling myself morally superior for not competing, I was still seeking recognition—just in subtler ways, playing a “corporate discontents” status game. Instead of escaping the game entirely, I’d entangled myself in a new version of it.

One morning at standup (a morning meeting, for the non-tech folks), as usual, my manager at the time profusely praised everyone even for the most banal and basic work. “Ugh, here’s the daily dose of flattery again,” I thought to myself. But then it hit me: in silently condemning him for “playing the game,” I was boosting my own ego. I was telling myself, “At least I’m above that nonsense,” which was just another, more private form of status-striving.

Eventually, I had an epiphany: status games are inescapable. You exit one only to find yourself in another. They’re so deeply wired into us, so fundamental a drive, that it’s impossible to eliminate them. Even Naval was playing a status game, where the high-status move was to claim not to play status games at all.

But where did that leave me? I was a naive idealist, someone who loved the Camus-esque idea of “revolting” against impossible foes like death and existential meaninglessness. I wasn’t about to embrace corporate status games solely because they were inescapable.

There had to be a way, I needed a resolution. This led to three years of searching. Sometimes I’d think about it in passing; other times, I’d reflect more intentionally—especially while figuring out my future career and writing this essay.

To even stand a chance to arrive at a resolution, I needed to be clear about what I was trying to resolve. Being a philosopher at heart, there was no way I was going to tackle something as tricky and loaded as status games without defining basic terms. So that's where I started.

II. What is status? What is a game?

At its core, a game is any activity with objectives and rules. It can be competitive (UFC) or cooperative (Minecraft), or a mix of both (Soccer). It might be a one-time event (the Prisoner’s Dilemma) or iterative (long-term foreign relations). Some games are finite (sports), while others are continuous (your career). Their objectives and rules may be crystal clear (official leagues) or hazy (relationships). Participation can be voluntary (chess) or involuntary (office politics), and the setting public (televised wrestling) or private (the score in your head).

Next, what is status? Status arises from how others perceive and value an individual, shaping interactions and the allocation of resources and responsibilities.

Sometimes, status is crystal clear—like when a CEO outranks a junior engineer in a corporate hierarchy. But it can also be highly context-dependent. Outside the office, that same CEO might have “lower” status than the junior engineer in their local soccer league, especially if the engineer happens to be the star striker. In other situations, status shifts moment by moment, dictated by whoever naturally steps into a leadership role. Think of a house party: one friend pairs their phone with the speaker and suddenly becomes the unofficial DJ. No vote is taken, yet everyone else simply accepts them as the evening’s arbiter of music. In each case, status isn’t just about titles; it’s about who we, as a group, collectively decide to follow—even if only for the night.

Status is a mechanism to reduce conflict and foster cooperation in groups. Instead of continually fighting over resources, established hierarchies allowed communities to function more efficiently. Yet in our modern world—especially with AI and social media—status dynamics have become more volatile, and their impact on our lives can be profound and unpredictable.

My fascination with status grew as I noticed it everywhere. Across all cultures and even remote tribes, evolution has hardwired the pursuit of status into our DNA. In The Status Game, Will Storr calls it an “ultimate” drive—a deep evolutionary motivation behind many of our beliefs and behaviors. We’re driven by myriad desires—sex, power, wealth, altruism—and status, as Storr notes, is “the golden key that unlocks other dreams.” Achieving higher status often paves the way for fulfilling these other desires. This underlying drive shapes countless aspects of our lives, usually without our conscious awareness.

III. What are status games?

Status games are social activities or interactions where people compete or collaborate to gain or maintain social standing within a group. These games have objectives and rules—sometimes explicit, sometimes implicit—and one’s standing depends on how well they navigate them. Status games determine perception, respect, influence, and the distribution of resources and responsibilities.

IV. Why exactly are status games inescapable?

Everything we do triggers approval or disapproval, admiration or contempt. Even when we’re alone, we imagine how others might judge us, adjusting our self-image accordingly. This reflex is embedded in our psychology, making status-seeking inevitable.

What did I do when I didn’t like the corporate status game (where rank often hinged on tenure and “visibility”)? I jumped into the “corporate discontents” status game. I told everyone about my plans to start a business and soaked up the admiration that came with that. Just like Naval, who played the “I’m rejecting status” status game, I found I couldn’t actually rid myself of status-seeking. I was just shifting its shape.

V. Now what?

So there I was: fully aware of status games yet determined to avoid the corporate variety. It felt like a paradox. If status was inescapable, was I doomed to wander from one game to another, forever chasing or rejecting social approval? This is where my story became a search—a quest—for a better way to live and work without feeling trapped in somebody else’s rules.

I started confiding in friends and mentors who shared my frustration with office politics. Their experiences painted a vivid picture, with cautionary tales of burnout and unfulfilled promises in Big Tech. As I listened, I noticed three common strategies for navigating status games:

1. Play the game: Some embraced the system, insisting, “It’s just how the world works. Accept it and climb the ladder.” Talking to them often felt like staring into the abyss. Was I overcomplicating a natural social instinct? Or, were they so deeply entrenched in their own status games that they couldn’t see beyond them?

2. Rebel against it: My self-proclaimed “anti-status” friends prided themselves on rejecting competition altogether. They openly mocked corporate jargon like “visibility” and “circle back,” yet their disdain often felt performative—a competition to prove who could avoid status games the most.

3. Opt out: Then there were the “IDGAF” types, who just wanted to do their work, get paid, and go home. They dismissed my concerns as overthinking, but their apathy seemed to mask a resignation that status games were inescapable.

None of these approaches felt right. Each conversation, however, revealed an underlying truth: everyone was grappling with status, whether they admitted it or not.

However, within these discussions, I noticed a pattern. People who thrived in corporate settings often designed their own sub-games. They carved out niches—becoming the go-to person for a particular skill or type of advice—and gained status on their own terms. They didn’t reject the system outright, nor did they fully surrender to it. Instead, they created a space where they could succeed without sacrificing their principles.

VI. My “sub-game” at Apple

So I decided to give it a shot. I joined a company hackathon, aiming to build something cool—an internal product everyone at the company could use. Long story short, I succeeded. I teamed up with like-minded folks, and we won first place in multiple categories. Many of us wanted to continue our hackathon project and develop it into an official internal tool—which we did.

Fast forward eight months, we presented our product at a company-wide summit and launched it successfully. I also became the “go-to guy” for AI and LLM (large language models) in my team. Four months after that, I was promoted, thanks largely to the product I’d built.1

I should have been on top of the world, but I wasn’t. I had just “conquered” the status game problem. I should have felt satisfied, but I didn’t.

VII. Resolutions

I had built the internal product mostly on my own time, on my own terms. I’d tasted the autonomy of entrepreneurship, and there was no going back. My regular tasks felt incredibly dull in comparison. I tried to persuade my managerial chain to champion the product I’d built—after all, I believed it was good for the company. But guess what got in the way? Politics, of course. Sigh.2

Finally, I arrived at a resolution: first, I realized that escaping status games wasn’t just impossible—it was undesirable.

Let’s run a quick thought experiment: What if we could architect a world without status games? Imagine a society where no rank is ever assigned—everyone is perfectly equal, and you get the same social recognition whether you work 2, 5, or 50 hours a week. Actors, Olympic athletes, Nobel laureates are treated no differently than anyone else.

Except for the few who are motivated purely by intrinsic drive, what would push us to excel? “You ran 100 meters in 15 seconds? Great job. Ten seconds? Great job.” Would you really want to live in that world? I wouldn’t.

I’m not saying the status games we have today are perfect; history has shown how dark and brutal they can become. Yet these games have also fueled our greatest achievements.

My second realization—my resolution—can be boiled down to one word: agency. As simple as it sounds, the key isn’t eradicating these games; it’s about having more say in which games we play and how we play them.

VIII. Choosing which status games to play

So, how do we decide which games to play? In short, we pick games whose objectives and rules—stated or unstated—align with our values and long-term goals.

But identifying which games align with our values requires a deep understanding of what those values and goals truly are. I realized that autonomy (ability to craft my own vision), freedom (no one imposes restrictions), and independence (self-sufficiency) are very important to me. In contrast, Big Tech offered limited autonomy, especially during my early career. I wanted to play in realms where independence and personal decision-making are core features. That’s why I’m now drawn to entrepreneurship and indie software development.

You should consider whether you want to spend time with the other players of the game. If you dislike them or don’t wish to become like them, maybe it’s not the right choice. Though things have improved over time, certain sectors like entertainment and finance can still be notoriously toxic. In Big Tech, “visibility”—making sure your work is seen by the right higher-ups—is crucial for climbing the ladder. Sometimes this fixation leads people to act selfishly, undermining others.

One senior engineer on my team played a dominance game—often using her position, rather than rational discussion, to dictate what the team would focus on. This borderline bullying got her the visibility she needed, and she was even promoted. It left an awful taste in my mouth and was just one of many unpleasant political situations I encountered.3

Of course, it isn’t all bad, but I’d rather opt for a career path with incentives better suited to my values.

Finally, consider the ambition-sacrifice tradeoff. Ask yourself how much status you truly want and whether you’re willing to pay the price. Building a successful startup, for instance, will likely yield a high level of status—if you succeed—but demands enormous sacrifice. Becoming a competitive salsa dancer is also ambitious and requires a different type of sacrifice. I’m willing to invest in the former, not in the latter. I’m content being “good enough” at salsa.

IX. How to play

Besides choosing which games to play, you can also decide how to play them. Apply overarching strategies that turn status games into engines for personal and collective flourishing.

First, we must keep them from destroying us. Enter Rule One: Always remember that status games are illusions, and never let them take over your entire reality.4

Some of history’s worst atrocities occurred when entire groups were consumed by a status narrative. Think of Nazi Germany, certain communist regimes’ famines, terrorist suicide bombings, and cult disasters like Heaven’s Gate. In each instance, people became wholly caught up in the story of their chosen game—often leading to horrific outcomes.

On a personal level, I’ve sometimes let a single aspect of life—like academia or career—consume most of my self-esteem. The job I now can’t wait to leave was once my dream, and any failure there felt deeply personal. Eventually, I realized that basing my identity on one role was like putting all my eggs in a rickety basket. I’ve since learned to guard against that “monism,” the trap of focusing too narrowly on one game.

Avoiding over-investment in any single game brings us to Rule Two: play a hierarchy of games across various parts of your life.5 A plurality of games provides balance and keeps any single one from hijacking your entire mind. A hierarchy clarifies the priority each game holds in your life.

Right now, my career game is at the top, and other areas have lower immediate priority. That doesn’t mean they’re less important; I remain deeply committed to family, friends, health, and personal passions. (If you’re reading this, Mom, Dad, bro, friends: I love you.) I also carve out time for writing, working out, dancing, and martial arts—all of which enrich my life. Meanwhile, I’ve realized I’ve been single for far too long; it’s time to invest energy in building meaningful relationships (cue “Hide the Pain Harold” meme).

As you choose which games to play and prioritize them, it’s crucial to aim for a “positive-sum” approach—where success doesn’t come at others’ expense. Thus, Rule Three: avoid dominance, play fairly, and practice competence.6

Dominance might work in the short run, but it often creates resentment and hostility, damaging trust and cooperation. Eventually, it can backfire, leaving you isolated. Dominance isn’t the same as leadership: a true leader voluntarily shares status and welcomes feedback, while a dominator suppresses it.

No one likes a rigged game; fair play fosters collaboration. By respecting shared rules and treating people well, you build strong relationships and a positive environment that motivates everyone. Practicing competence means developing real skills and bringing genuine value to the table. Respect earned through merit outlasts coerced compliance and elevates not just you, but the entire group. The more each player grows, the more the game itself becomes a generator of collective value—a truly positive-sum scenario.

Lastly, balance your focus on collective good with personal meaning. Rule Four: express yourself. “Be authentic to escape competition” (another Naval-ism?) may sound cliché, but like most clichés, it’s true. Doing so can help you create your own games. Writing (in public) is a great example.

As my writing improves, I gain recognition. Yet it’s not just about technical skill or following Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style to the letter. It’s about injecting my personality and unique worldview into the work. Great writers aren’t typically revered for flawless grammar; they’re known for their distinctive voices. The same applies to artists, musicians, and other creatives.

Additionally, similar to status, self-expression seems like a fundamental human need—and also happens to be at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.7 There is something intrinsically joyful about using creative acts to project our internal worlds onto the external realm. By blending status pursuits with self-expression, you can satisfy both the drive for validation and the need to share who you truly are.

Epilogue: A world where most play “good” status games

A younger, more idealistic me vowed never to get involved with status games again after witnessing the darker side of corporate culture. But I’ve come to realize there’s no need to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Status games are unavoidable, and trying to escape them entirely might even be counterproductive.

I don’t see myself lingering much longer in my current Big Tech job. Instead, I’m gravitating toward building businesses, startups, and products that provide genuine value. I may fail—somewhat or spectacularly—but I refuse to keep playing a game I no longer believe in. I’d rather invest my energy in games I truly care about, played on my own terms.

I also find myself dreaming of a world where most people choose healthy, meaningful games—where we minimize dominance and foster spaces that reward real effort, moral courage, and creativity. Call me an idealist, but I think it’s possible. If enough of us consciously decide to share status instead of hoard it, we might inch closer to an “anti-tyrannical” future.

Ironically, that future looks a lot like what Naval hinted at: “Be free, think critically, create your own path.” Perhaps he and I aren’t so different after all. In the end, we’re both playing a game—hoping more people will choose better ones.

Many thanks to those who helped shape this essay:

• Andrey Lepekhin for early discussions on status games.

• or feedback on the outline and emphasizing the “moral drama.”

• for reading the first (shitty) draft—sorry and thanks!

• Akshat Naik for challenging the thesis.

• for helping me cut the fluff.

• for the final review and the confidence to hit publish.

My night-shifted monitor, with its orange glow, displayed the email I had been waiting for. I finally had a job. My first ever job. Not just any job, but a job at the most valuable company in the world: Apple.1

However, fast forward six months into my job, and my internal monologue had shifted to a counterpoint:

“Job at Apple? So what? Isn’t it better to build your own successful company instead of being employed at one?”

I had acclimated to my elevated status—from that of a grad student to Apple software engineer—but I wanted more. I wanted to feel like I was somehow above a mere garden-variety, big-tech software engineer.2

When I was a student, I was in awe of Apple (or big-tech) software engineers. Now, being one myself, I did not feel very awe-worthy. I felt like I wasn’t enough—I needed to be more, much more.

This wasn’t the first time I felt like this. Before getting into grad school, I was very impressed by people who scored in the 95th percentile or higher on the GRE. Using some unconventional methods for test prep, I scored beyond the 99th percentile. Instead of feeling great, my internal monologue had transformed again.

“Oh, I crushed the GRE. So what? What are test scores even good for?”

I can drudge up many more examples like this: from my experience with dating apps to workout PRs. I looked up to something; then I got it; then I looked up to it no more.

But this is more than just “moving the goalpost” or even hedonic adaptation. I’m also capable of feeling great about past achievements.

Sometimes I reflect on all the hard work it took to snag my job, and I remember how a past version of me would have killed to be in my shoes. These moments give me a slight ego boost. Or when I notice a subtle change in posture—how others measure me up—when I mention where I work or share my test scores, I feel a surge of self-assurance.

It’s not that I always adjust to my accomplishments and end up with low self-esteem. Rather, it's an erratic fluctuation—between feeling very self-assured and feeling inadequate—that’s truly unsettling. I keep flip-flopping between assigning too much or too little value to the things I’ve achieved. This variability and instability is the crux of my struggle.

I’m tired of assigning my self-worth to transient metrics. Last week, I felt super confident about myself because I got lots of matches on Hinge. This week, I feel insecure because most of them stopped replying (aside: is this normal?). Or last week, I absolutely nailed some problems at work and felt great about myself. But the weeks before that, I was stuck and felt a little bit like I was a loser.

This essay, then, is a way for me to discover a more stable source self-esteem. I don’t expect to have all the answers by the end of it, but I hope to be just a little bit wiser. As usual, I hope this process of discovery also helps someone out there. Let’s begin.

Exploring Self-Esteem

In an ideal world, all self-worth and self-esteem would be intrinsic. I would have the same level of self-esteem even if, three months later I became fat, homeless, and unemployed. But that is not reality. For most humans, self-esteem is never entirely intrinsic.

But what even is self-esteem? There are many perspectives from which we can come at it.

From a psychological perspective, self-esteem is a subjective sense of our overall value and capabilities.

Philosophically, it is a balance between intrinsic self-worth—our inherent value as individuals—and extrinsic validation, reflecting how we see our place in the world and our significance in the grand scheme of things.

Sociologically, self-esteem is partly a social construct shaped by cultural, societal, and familial influences, often molded by norms, expectations, and comparisons with others.

Culturally, different societies place varying levels of importance on individualism (emphasizing personal achievements) versus collectivism (valuing social harmony and group success), creating diverse notions of self-esteem.

I will borrow from each of the above perspectives to build a more robust concept and subjective narrative around self-esteem.

By being mindful of cultural and sociological effects on self-esteem, one can begin creating a stable philosophical foundation for self-worth, which then shapes the psychological perspective. This mindfulness allows us to understand how external factors influence us, and from this place of awareness, to consciously create a more stable and positive self-esteem.

I will use myself as a case study.

Sociological and Cultural Perspective

During my early years, up until high school, the culture around me valued intelligence and academic achievement above all else. I was naturally good at those things and generally felt good about myself.

However, this natural talent led to complacency, which ultimately hindered my academic performance during college and beyond. As my academic performance declined, so did my self-confidence.

Moving to the US for grad school presented a new challenge. I found myself in an environment where intelligence and academic achievement were no longer the most important measures of success. Coupled with my academic abilities falling short of my expectations, my self-esteem nosedived to an all-time low.

After college, I worked hard on my fitness and becoming an excellent software engineer. I also focused on becoming more well-rounded by improving my social skills, learning improv, and taking up the violin. Over time, I saw my self-esteem rise.

From this perspective, competence in areas highly regarded by yourself and your culture significantly impacts your self-esteem. Conversely, feeling insecure or incompetent in these areas can severely undermine your self-esteem.

This understanding highlights two crucial points:

1. Awareness and Choice of Values: It is essential to be aware of the values upheld by your culture and to consciously decide what you personally want to value. In other words, it’s important to value the “right” things for yourself.

2. Continuous Improvement: It is vital to keep working on those valued areas, either by excelling in them or by being on the path to improvement. Mastery or progress in these areas can greatly enhance your self-esteem.

Philosophical Perspective

Do all humans have intrinsic value?

From one perspective, no. We are just bags of flesh living on a speck of dust we named Earth in a disinterested universe. There is no cosmic assigner of value saying that each human is worth 500 brownie-verse points.

But from another perspective, humans must have value a priori. It is a sort of belief or premise that you begin with. If human life has no value, then nothing we do can have any value because almost everything we do is for humans, self or other.

Another way to say this is that if humans are not valuable then virtually nothing is. Because if something is valuable, the natural question arises: “To whom?“ If it is valuable to a human, then that human must necessarily also have value.

Psychological Perspective: Tying it All Together

Self-esteem is fundamentally a psychological phenomenon, shaped by your thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.

My psychology is the interface between my self-esteem and the philosophical, sociological, and cultural realms. Sociology and philosophy are irrelevant independent of underlying psychology. In other words, for the purpose of self-esteem, the cultural, sociological, philosophical perspectives are only useful insofar as they help me tell a better story about self-esteem.

Having a mathematical bend, I will use an equation to illustrate this story:

Here, a is a “life area”. Let’s break the equation down into its three parts:

Intrinsic Worth. The first part of the self-esteem equation is your intrinsic worth. As I mentioned before, intrinsic value is an a priori belief. If you strongly believe that humans, including you, have substantial intrinsic value, then your baseline self-esteem will be high. A benchmark for this is the Dalai Lama. He truly believes that all human beings have immense value. Whatever you may say about him, you can't say he lacks self-esteem.

Extrinsic Worth. The second part is your extrinsic worth: the sum total esteem derived from all the external things you value. It is a product of how much you believe in something and your level of success or proficiency at that thing. For example, if I believe that being good at origami is super important and my papercraft game is killer, then my origami skills will boost my self-esteem. Conversely, if I highly value math proficiency but am not great at math, that will pull my self-esteem down. If I don't value, say, making fart noises using my armpit, then being either really good or bad at it won't have much effect on my self-esteem.

Random Influences. The third part doesn’t need much explanation. Random events in life can also affect self-esteem. The death of a loved one, getting a new job, being intoxicated, etc., can temporarily boost or inhibit how you feel about yourself.

Putting it in Practice

The self-esteem equation gives us four levers that we can pull to bolster our self-esteem.

1. Cultivating a belief in your intrinsic worth. If you don’t already somewhat believe that humans—including you—are valuable, then this might not be a worthwhile pursuit. But if you do, then practices like metta meditation, reflecting on your qualities and worth, will help to build this up.

2. Valuing the “right” extrinsic things. Before even building competence to gain confidence, it is important to value the right things. Valuing things like status or fame for their own sake is a recipe for disaster. Getting validation from the number of likes on dating or social media apps is a common trap that can leave you feeling unsatisfied.

3. Working towards getting better at the “right” things. Once you know what external things are important to you, you can set realistic expectations and work on getting better at those things.

4. Being more robust against random influences. Investing in self-awareness by practicing meditation, practicing gratitude, and cultivating a support network of friends and family can help you guard against the transient feedback from external events.

This essay isn’t the be-all and end-all of building a stable foundation for self-esteem. It is only a flag in the ground; it is a start. I will continue to refine my story of self-esteem, but this essay has been an important checkpoint along the path.

Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts, so please feel free to hit reply or add a comment.

If there is one thing I have learned working as a software engineer at Apple, it's the value of focus: ruthless prioritization in the service of a better product. This high level of focus, applied at all levels in the company, has undeniably been a cornerstone of its success.

Such focus isn't exclusive to the tech world; it's just as pertinent to our personal lives. How do we discern and concentrate on what truly matters in today's information-dense era?

In the previous edition on the Future of the Extended Mind, I mentioned an impending age of information saturation — with a deluge of content with answers at every turn. But are we not already immersed in this reality? In such a world, curation, filtering, and focus — and posing the right questions — becomes crucial.

This emphasis on discernment and direction suggests that we might benefit from a personalized "information strategy." This week’s idea — favorite problems — is a critical component of such a strategy.

Idea: Favorite Problems

When thinking of how to better focus and prioritize your life in a world brimming with choices, the Favorite Problems framework is one of my favorites. The core idea is simple: have a set of "problems "or questions at the forefront of your mind, ready to be deployed should an appropriate situation arise.

With these questions or "problems" alive in our minds, we create a cognitive filter to continuously scan our experiences, interactions, and even seemingly unrelated information for insights or pieces of wisdom that could bring us closer to an answer. It's not about harboring unsolvable conundrums but nurturing curious inquiries that encourage us to delve deeper, think harder, and stay persistently open-minded.

In my essay Future of the Extended Mind, I wrote, "Questions and filters serve as guides, limiters, and guardians of our attention" in an age of information saturation. In a world with answers for almost everything, asking the right questions becomes indispensable. Thus, the Favorite Problems framework is a critical component of your "personal information strategy."

I first read about the Favorite Problems framework in Building a Second Brain by Tiago Forte, and it is often associated with the renowned physicist Richard Feynman. The precise number of problems doesn't really matter as long as it's not too small to be limiting and too large to be overwhelming. Eight to fifteen is a good ballpark.

Some example questions:

• How can I build lasting courage and confidence?

• How can I achieve tranquility and equanimity of mind?

• How can we be parents that bring out the best in our children?

• How can I become a world-class writer and thinker?

• How can I be a leader that can inspire others (to act)?

Picture this: "How can I build lasting courage and confidence?" is one of your favorite problems consistently lingering in your consciousness. As you go about your day, this question serves as a catalyst, nudging you towards bolder decisions. For instance, during a negotiation with your boss, this quest for courage emboldens you to assertively voice a differing opinion. Instead of passively agreeing when your boss suggests a one-week project delivery, you confidently propose a more realistic timeline. Over time, these consistent, courageous decisions accumulate, and you may find that your inherent confidence has grown substantially.

Take another scenario: Holding the question "How can I achieve tranquility and equanimity of mind?" close to your heart can become a protective shield against unproductive habits. Instead of succumbing to the allure of mindless scrolling or engaging in self-destructive behavior, you find yourself drawn to introspection and mindfulness. This quest might also prompt you to reevaluate deeply ingrained beliefs. Such introspection may lead to a more nuanced understanding of the religion or philosophy you were raised with, enabling you to discern its core values from mere dogma, ensuring a more harmonious alignment with your personal values.

The beauty of the Favorite Problems lies in their ability to focus our thinking without narrowing it. They act as anchors for our curiosity, ensuring that while we explore a world teeming with information, we are not swept away by the current of data overload. Instead, we're grounded in themes and questions that genuinely resonate with our life's quest. These problems become the themes of our personal narratives, the ongoing stories we tell ourselves as we navigate the complexities of life, encouraging a synthesis of experiences through a very personal and profound intellectual odyssey.

Finally, many of you, especially if you are driven and have a zest for life, already have some variation of the Favorite Problems software running on the operating system of your mind. It may manifest as goals, objectives, or specific processes you've set for yourself. These problems, then, are complementary to your existing processes. Unlike definitive goals, questions are inherently open-ended. This invites our minds to engage in diffuse thinking over extended periods, often yielding deeper insights than if we were merely outlining steps toward a particular objective.

Crafting Your Favorite Problems

So how do you get started? I suggest carving out a dedicated period — perhaps 1-2 hours — in the upcoming week. This will give you enough time for your thoughts to simmer and your subconscious to weave its magic.

When you sit down for this, some problems/questions may come to you quickly — they will just "feel" right. Trust your intuition on those. For more elusive questions, reflect on your core values and aspirations. Referring to a vocabulary of values might help to better structure this introspection. Remember, it's okay if your first list isn't perfect. Life changes and your questions might, too. 

Keep this list somewhere you'll see it often. We aim for the opposite of "out of sight, out of mind." Furthermore, consider revisiting and refining your list periodically—perhaps every few months. Update it in response to new experiences, insights, or shifts in your life priorities.

A Personal Anecdote

I have been using the Favorite Problems framework for over a year. A few months ago, when I returned to the first set of questions I wrote for myself in August 2022, I was astonished to find that most of the questions/problems on the list were now “resolved.”1 I had expected the problems would be my companions for many years.

One of the questions on the list was, "How can I become totally financially independent at the earliest?" It propelled me into an odyssey of research, of cultivating habits, of engaging in deep conversations with friends and family, and even exploring my thoughts in reflective circling sessions.

All of that made me vividly realize that financial independence was not the destination but rather the vessel—a means to chart a course toward what truly mattered.

It was a means to spend more time on meaningful projects. Things like writing this blog, improving at software engineering and AI, pushing my fitness limits, reading and pondering philosophy, and much more. It was possible to reorganize my life in the present to make more time for those meaningful projects. 

The pursuit of financial freedom still resonates with me; however, it's no longer a precondition to living a fulfilling life. I learned I could architect my present to accommodate these pursuits, breaking free from the self-imposed constraints that financial fixation often brings. This framework didn't just help me solve problems—it reshaped my understanding of what constitutes a meaningful problem to begin with.

I’d like to thank Michael Shafer, , Simoun Redoblado, and Clare Chika for their feedback on the draft. The piece is substantially better because of it.

Question: If I gave you a million dollars to stop using the Internet forever, would you do it?

What about 10 million dollars? A billion dollars?

(no cheating, like hiring an assistant to do your “internet work”)

I'd love to hear from you…

What are some of your favorite questions?

Is the Internet almost priceless for you?

Or anything else at all. Just hit reply.

Welcome to the third and final part of the 16th edition of Anticynical! Over the last two weeks, I sent out parts one and two of the series on the extended mind, where I talked about what the extended mind is and the evolution of the extended mind.

In summary, for part one, the internal parts of our mind, along with cognitive tools (like computers and calculators) and extensions (like language and culture) together, can be called the extended mind.

And for the second part, we explored a theory of cognitive evolution based on three major transitions, or stages of culture, in the way humans process and store information.

1. Mimetic Culture: The mimetic culture stage began around 1 to 2 million years ago. During this stage, Homo Sapiens and their ancestors used gestures, mimicry, and imitation for communication and to represent knowledge.

2. Mythic Culture: The Mythic Culture stage began around 50,000 to 100,000 years ago. This phase is characterized by the invention of spoken language and the creation of myths and shared narratives.

3. Theoretic Culture: The Theoretic Culture stage began with the invention of writing systems. Although the earliest known writing systems, like cuneiform in ancient Mesopotamia and hieroglyphics in ancient Egypt, emerged around 3500-3000 BCE, the full blossoming of theoretic culture, with widespread literacy and the development of institutions dedicated to analytic thought (academies, libraries, and scientific societies), took longer and varied from one civilization to another. This is our current stage with external symbolic storage and the analytic processing (writing, computers) associated with it.

Again, links to the essays if you’d like to read them: part one and part two.

In this part, I want to address the following question I brought up in the previous parts: What will the future of our extended minds look like in a digital age (and how can we be better prepared for this future)?

Idea: The Extended Mind - Part 3: The Future of the Extended Mind

We're on the brink of something big in the tech world. The cost of a wide array of technologies is dropping exponentially, at the same time their availability and efficacy is increasing exponentially. Our extended minds? They're evolving at a pace we've never seen before. Between software eating the world, the omnipresence of smartphones, and the rise of powerful AI systems like Large Language Models, we're reshaping the potential of our extended minds.

We may be entering a new fourth, post-Theoretic stage, which can be aptly named the “Information Saturation Culture.” We can speculate about some ways in which our extended minds will evolve.

Prediction 1: Filtering and Curation will be more important than ever

We already live in a world saturated with content and information. In many instances, the challenge isn't the absence of information but rather its efficient discovery and utilization.

Kevin Kelly, in his book Inevitable, identifies 12 pivotal technological forces. Among these, Filtering and Questioning are particularly salient when discussing our data-saturated future and the evolution of our extended minds.

As we grapple with an ever-expanding digital cosmos, effectively filtering information becomes paramount. Beyond mere filtration, there's an emergent need for sophisticated, personalized curation to align with individual needs. As we rely more on these filters, there will be an ongoing need to refine and improve them, ensuring that they serve us effectively without narrowing our worldviews excessively.

Similarly, when there is an information overload, having access to answers isn’t the final frontier. Instead, it shifts the emphasis toward the ability to ask the right questions. This is what Kelly means by the Questioning trend. In many ways, a well-formed question can be more valuable than an immediate answer, as it can direct and guide research, innovation, and deeper exploration. We already see a glimpse of this value of questioning when interacting with LLM interfaces, where asking the right questions or writing the right prompts can be like magic spells that unlock key information from the LLM.

We can expect Questioning and Filtering to become a more and more fundamental aspect of how we interface with reality. The fraction of reality we can effectively attend to gets smaller as the amount of information saturates. Questions and filters serve as guides, limiters, and guardians of our attention.

Prediction 2: Rapid learning and skill acquisition will be more important than ever

The accelerating pace of technological change implies that knowledge and skills can become obsolete with alarming rapidity. An "always in beta" mindset will be crucial for personal and professional growth. In the Information Saturation Culture, adaptability becomes a prized asset. It's no longer just about what you know, but about how quickly you can learn, unlearn, and relearn.

Effective use of AI offers a representative example. The adage “AI won’t take your job, but a person using AI might” applies. As AI systems become increasingly integrated into diverse sectors — from healthcare to finance to arts — professionals will need to understand not just the basics of AI, but how to co-work with these systems to optimize results.

On one hand, professionals must remain agile, continuously updating their knowledge and skills. On the other hand, they must never lose sight of the inherently human aspects of their roles — empathy, ethics, and the unique insights that come from lived experiences. This dual competence — technical acumen coupled with deep humanity — will define the most successful professionals of this new era.

Prediction 3: We will need ethical and philosophical maturation

The rise of powerful technologies will usher in complex ethical dilemmas. Societies will be compelled to deeply reflect on topics like the value of privacy in an interconnected world, the ethical boundaries of AI and genetic engineering, and the rights and responsibilities associated with digital identities.

As we delegate more cognitive functions to AI, how do we ensure that these systems make ethical decisions? How do we balance efficiency and morality? AI ethics will become an essential part of the curriculum, not just for computer scientists but for all citizens.

Focusing on another view, as genetic engineering becomes more advanced, we face moral dilemmas about selecting traits for our offspring or even potentially "curing" aging. What are the ramifications of humans playing god with our own evolution?

There may emerge a new class of ethicists and philosophers specialized in navigating the moral quandaries of our digital extensions. Just like legal experts in cyberlaw today, we may need "digital sages" to guide society.

Prediction 4: There will be a revaluation of "being offline”

As we deepen our understanding of the long-term effects of social media and the deluge of information on our well-being, we will devise more effective strategies to moderate and balance our digital consumption.

A surge in 'digital detox' movements will emphasize the value of periodic disconnection from digital devices and online platforms. Retreats, workshops, and vacations catering to 'unplugging' will gain popularity as they promise rejuvenation by encouraging participants to engage with the physical world without digital interruptions.

In a sea of distractions, philosophies that are focused on depth and focus will rise in popularity. Deep work is one such example in the professional or work domain.

Takeaways and Preparing for the Future

The relationship between humans and their extended minds is an intricate dance of coevolution. Each step, each technological advance, doesn’t merely add tools to our arsenal; it reshapes the very core of our cognitive fabric. From gestures to myths, from the written word to digital extensions, our journey has been one of increasing symbiosis with our cognitive extensions.

In a world that is fast becoming digital-first, it's easy to get lost in the cacophony of innovations and feel overwhelmed. But the heartening reality is that humans have always been adaptable, always evolving in tandem with our tools. The extended mind, whether rooted in primitive gestures or in the vast realm of the digital, is a testament to our unparalleled ability to extend our cognitive horizons.

Drawing from the historical progression of our extended minds and potential future trajectories, there are proactive steps we can take now to ready ourselves for what lies ahead.

1. Embrace Continuous Learning

Given technological change will happen faster and faster, it makes sense to invest in continuous learning. In addition, you should try to cultivate judgment to separate the latest fad from truly useful skills and tools and focus on the latter.

2. Design with Humanity in Mind

We should emphasize user-centric design in technology, ensuring that tools enhance human capabilities without diminishing our inherent qualities. We should encourage curricula that merge technology with humanities, emphasizing ethics, philosophy, and social sciences. Working through the ethical challenges of AI and other emerging technologies will require more than just technological sophistication.

3. Develop a Personalized Information Strategy

The information saturation culture comes with a near-endless amount of content. It’s easy to mindlessly lose oneself in it. Developing personalized curation, filtering, and limiting strategies will be a key piece of prioritizing mental and emotional well-being. This strategy can include limiting content exposure and allocating time for “offline” activities.

4. Develop an Awareness of the Extended Mind

As our cognitive tools become more pervasive and intertwined with our lives, there's an increasing need for mindfulness. Being aware of how and when we utilize these extensions can help us use them more effectively and prevent them from controlling or overwhelming us. Just as one practices mindfulness to become aware of one’s internal thoughts and emotions, a similar approach can be taken with our cognitive tools to use them optimally.

…

In conclusion, the journey of the extended mind is an exciting testament to the evolutionary ingenuity of humanity. As we sail further into the digital age, it's our responsibility to shape our cognitive extensions in a way that augments our humanity rather than diminishes it. By being proactive, ethically aware, and continuously adaptable, we can ensure that our extended minds serve us well, leading to a future of immense potential and harmonious coexistence with our digital extensions.

I want to thank Akshat Naik for his initial thoughts and introducing me to the term “extended mind.” Thank you Shanece Grant and for your feedback on the draft.

Question: Curation or filtering of information can go wrong in many ways. What can we do to prevent the worst?

We already see a glimpse of this in the form of echo chambers and information bubbles on social media. Beyond that, there is also an over-reliance on the gatekeepers — people or algorithms that do the filtering.

I'd love to hear from you…

Your thoughts on the future of the extended mind.

How can we do information filtering more in a more discerning way?

Welcome to part two of the 16th edition of Anticynical! Last week, I sent out part one of the series on the extended mind, where I talked about what the extended mind is.

In short, the internal parts of our mind, along with cognitive tools (like computers and calculators) and extensions (like language and culture) together, can be called the extended mind.

Head over here if you’d like to read the first part.

For part two, let’s explore how our extended minds might have evolved over time. It’s fascinating how we went from primitive “psycho-technologies” like mimicry and imitation (apes aping apes) to written language and other symbolic systems, including computers.

Idea: The Extended Mind - Part 2 - Evolution of the Extended Mind

For the history of evolution of the extended mind, I will lean on Origins of the Modern Mind by Merlin Donald. Donald outlines a theory of cognitive evolution based on three major transitions, or stages of culture, in the way humans process and store information.

Stage 1: Mimetic Culture

The mimetic culture stage began around 1 to 2 million years ago. During this stage, Homo Sapiens and their ancestors used gestures, mimicry, and imitation for communication and to represent knowledge.

I like to imagine my great^28,600 grandmother signaling towards a berry and then dramatically pretending to collapse, illustrating the berry's lethal nature. While this form of communication might appear rudimentary to our modern sensibilities, it held groundbreaking significance back then. Much like how computer programming empowers us today by extending our capabilities, these early mimetic acts were the vanguard of human communication, not yet hardwired into our neural circuitry.

The mimetic phase expanded on the basic representational skills of our great ape ancestors, allowing early hominins to develop ritual, dance, and shared social actions that are more advanced than those seen in other primates.

Thus, during this stage, the bleeding edge of our extended mind consisted of gestures, mimicry, and imitation for information representation.

Stage 2: Mythic Culture

The Mythic Culture stage began around 50,000 to 100,000 years ago. This phase is characterized by the invention of spoken language and the creation of myths and shared narratives.

Myths, produced by combining mimetic gestures and language, became central to cultural transmission. They allowed humans to create shared narratives and explanations for phenomena in the world around them.

I like to think of myths as being similar to those old, nearly full floppy disks. Weird analogy? Let me explain. 

Imagine an entire city or tribe dependent on one single floppy disk to pass on wisdom to future generations. Here’s the twist: the floppy disk is already brimming with insights from the generations that came before. How do you cram all the new knowledge gained into a medium that already is chock full of cryptic wisdom from the generations that came before? You’d have to get creative with some compression, reinterpretation, and synthesizing past wisdom with new knowledge. This iterative process of encoding, refining, and layering birthed myths possessing profound depth and intricacy.

Thus, akin to these almost-bursting floppy disks, myths became vessels, preserving layers of collective insights for subsequent generations.

Stage 3: Theoretic Culture

The Theoretic Culture stage began with the invention of writing systems. The earliest known writing systems, like cuneiform in ancient Mesopotamia and hieroglyphics in ancient Egypt, emerged around 3500-3000 BCE. 

However, the full blossoming of theoretic culture, with widespread literacy and the development of institutions dedicated to analytic thought (academies, libraries, and scientific societies), took longer and varied from one civilization to another. In general, though, the shift into a theoretic mode of cognition can be seen as aligning with the rise of early civilizations and their complex societal structures, roughly 5,000 years ago.

This is the stage of external symbolic storage and the analytic processing associated with it. With the advent of written language and other symbolic systems, humans began to offload much of their cognitive processing onto external storage devices (like books). This externalization of memory enabled more complex, abstract thought and underpins modern scientific reasoning and other advanced cognitive processes.

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In today's interconnected world, the tapestry of our cognitive evolution remains palpably present. Each successive cognitive stage didn't replace its predecessor; rather, it built upon it, integrating and synthesizing the capacities of earlier stages. Whether you're using a metaphor to elucidate a complicated scientific idea, employing gestures to accentuate a point, or delving into abstract theoretical constructs, you're drawing from the vast reservoir of cognitive tools honed across these evolutionary stages. The modern extended mind weaves together mimetic, mythic, and theoretic threads, creating a rich mosaic of communication and understanding.

Moreover, many aspects that might have been “outside” of our ancestors' brains — like mimicry and imitation — two million years ago have been now encoded into our DNA over years of evolution. The “external” aspects of our extended minds have also shaped our neural and physical architectures over the years. For example, early hominins likely relied more on vocalizations and gestures for communication. Over time, our facial muscles and neural networks have evolved to automatically produce and interpret a wide array of facial expressions, conveying emotions and intentions without conscious thought.

I want to thank Akshat Naik for his initial thoughts and introducing me to the term “extended mind.” Thank you Shanece Grant and for your feedback on the draft.

Question: If a fourth cognitive stage were to emerge, what might it look like?

I’ll share my thoughts on this in the next part, next week.

I'd love to hear from you…

What did you think about the three stages of cognitive evolution?

Fourth cognitive stage?

Or anything else at all. Just hit reply.

Welcome again to the 16th edition of Anticynical! In the last edition, I wrote about an analogy between self-doubt and the grandfather paradox.

Two weeks ago, I sent out an email (the original 16th edition) with an essay on the idea of the The Extended Mind.

The extended mind idea is really fascinating, and I believe that essay was one of the most interesting essays I’ve ever sent out.

However, in spite of that, the response and reader stats of the essay were disappointing. I suspect the main reason was the length of the essay: it was almost 3000 words long, which is almost 3-4 times longer than my usual essays.

Thus, I've decided to re-do the Extended Mind essay as a series. Over the course of this week and the next two, I'll be releasing it in three digestible parts, aiming to provide clarity without the overwhelming length. This way, the essence of the concept can be appreciated in bite-sized reads. Enjoy!

Idea: The Extended Mind - Part 1: What is it?

In an age where our smartphones and computers feel like an extension of ourselves, I’d like to delve deeper into the nature of this extension. The intrinsic parts of our mind, along with cognitive tools and extensions, together can be called the extended mind.

The term "extended mind" was popularized by a seminal paper titled "The Extended Mind" written by philosophers Andy Clark and David Chalmers in 1998. The main thrust of the paper is a philosophical argument asserting that objects in the external environment can become part of an individual's mind when they play the right kind of role in one's cognitive processes.

The question, “Where does the mind stop and the rest of the world begin?” is the first line from the paper by Clark and Chalmers. They champion the idea of active externalism, suggesting that when a human and an external entity form a coupled system, they should be viewed as a collective cognitive unit. Removing the external component would impair the system's competence, akin to removing a part of its brain.

These entities in the external environment can be physical—phones, computers, and notebooks—or abstract—language, writing, and culture.

It’s easy to see why a physical tool like my smartphone could be considered a part of my extended mind. My smartphone augments my thinking via enhanced information storage and retrieval, searching through immense information, and much more.

Why would language be considered an extension of our cognitive faculties? Think of it this way: language provides us with frameworks to break down, analyze, and communicate complex ideas. Without the vocabulary and structure of language, many thoughts would remain nebulous, fleeting, or even unreachable. Just as a calculator extends our mathematical abilities, language extends our capacity to think, reason, and share knowledge.

Similarly, culture serves as a vast repository of shared knowledge, norms, and practices. It's a collective database that we tap into, both consciously and unconsciously, to navigate our world. When we follow a cultural norm or use a cultural reference, we are, in essence, offloading our cognitive processing to the collective wisdom accumulated over generations. It's like accessing a cloud-based storage system where societal learnings and nuances are saved.

Thinking over the idea of the extended mind over a few weeks, I realized that there were two questions I wanted to explore:

1. How have our extended minds evolved over time?

2. What will the future of our extended minds look like in a digital age (and how can we be better prepared for this future)?

I will address the first question in the series's next part, part two, and the second question in part three.

Stay tuned as we journey through the evolution of our extended minds and ponder their future in the subsequent parts of this series.

I want to thank Akshat Naik for his initial thoughts and introducing me to the term “extended mind.” Thank you Shanece Grant and for your feedback on the draft.

Question: What are some tools or entities that feel like a part of your mind?

The keyboard of my computer feels very much like a part of my mind. I don’t think about what keys to press. I think in words or phrases and they just “magically” appear on the screen.

Another example: Python, the programming language, is an abstract entity that feels like a part of my mind. Over years of practice, my familiarity is at a point that I no longer think according to various language constructs; I just think about the problem I’m trying to solve and the code just flows out of me.

I'd love to hear from you…

Your thoughts on the extended mind idea.

Things that feel like a part of your mind.

Or anything else at all. Just hit reply.