Smokescreen of Ethics

I knew Steve Jobs didn’t let his kids use his mobile devices. I, too, worried about their negative impact. Mobile apps are optimized to release the maximum dose of dopamine as long as possible, making the real world feel too boring for kids to engage in.

My concern was also social. My parents had a peculiar philosophy against giving an allowance. All my friends had some money when we played, so whenever we went to a candy store, I had to wait outside. A few times, I shoplifted and pretended I had bought the candy because I didn’t want my friends to buy it for me out of guilt.

I didn’t want my child to feel deprived and socially struggle in the same way. One kid at her middle school wasn’t allowed any mobile devices. She couldn’t keep up with conversations with other kids because they naturally referred to what they saw online.

Now, there are schools where nobody is allowed to have mobile devices at school or home. I hear these schools are popular among Silicon Valley billionaires. Even if I had that kind of money, would I send my kid there? Living in an artificially controlled environment, like a gated community, is different from living in times when the world had those conditions naturally. Not just wealth but other aspects of such schools would likely be heavily skewed or biased, resulting in unintended consequences.

As a parent, it’s tempting to do the “right” thing for your kids, but when you frame parenting in terms of right and wrong, you either have to be dumb enough to be blind to the flaws in your logic or smart enough to solve problems nobody has.

Ethics aims to define right and wrong universally. There is no such thing as personal ethics. If your answer cannot be challenged, the question doesn’t exist. Framing something as right or wrong engages an internalized gaze, like a silent God, which will, in turn, compel you to judge others.

But how does one move beyond good and evil without giving in to apathy? That question will likely haunt me for the rest of my life.