Every political age tells itself the same comforting story: this time will be different. This time voters will be rational, leaders will be selfless, and policies will be guided by the common good rather than personal gain. It is a lie we repeat not because it is convincing, but because the truth is unbearable.
For thousands of years, the most clear-eyed observers of human behavior—religious teachers, philosophers, economists—have agreed on one unshakable fact: self-interest is the engine of human action. Not greed alone, not cruelty, not corruption—but the persistent, inescapable tendency of people to act first for themselves, their kin, their tribe, their class.
To deny this is not moral progress. It is political fantasy.
Christ himself did not deny self-interest; he framed its outer limit. “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Note the precision: for his friends, not for abstract humanity. Even the highest moral sacrifice is rooted in personal attachment. The exceptional act proves the rule.
Aristotle was blunter. In Politics, he observed, “Everyone thinks chiefly of his own, hardly ever of the public interest.” This was not cynicism—it was diagnosis. Aristotle understood that political systems fail not because people are evil, but because they are predictable. They prioritize what is near, tangible, and personally meaningful over what is distant and collective.
Adam Smith, routinely misquoted and rarely read, made the same point with surgical clarity. We do not eat because the butcher loves us. We eat because it benefits him to sell. Civilization does not arise from goodwill; it arises from aligned incentives. The miracle of markets—and politics when it works—is not virtue, but coordination of self-interest.
And yet modern political discourse is built on the opposite assumption.
We design policies as though voters will study tradeoffs carefully. We write laws as though politicians will restrain themselves once in power. We imagine bureaucracies immune to expansion, elites immune to capture, and movements immune to corruption. When reality intrudes—as it always does—we blame “bad actors” instead of bad assumptions.
This refusal to accept self-interest as the prime mover is the original sin of modern governance.
Rich and poor alike are prone to impulse over reason, to short-term gain over long-term stability, and to narrow conceptions of what benefits them. The poor may seek immediate relief; the wealthy seek insulation and leverage. Neither group is irrational. Both are human.
Yet political ideologies insist on pretending otherwise. The democrats imagines a public that will sacrifice comfort for abstract justice if only properly educated. The conservatives imagines leaders who will wield power responsibly if only given enough of it. Both mistake aspiration for anthropology.
History punishes this mistake relentlessly.
Revolutions that promise equality quickly produce new elites. Welfare systems designed without incentive awareness breed dependency and resentment. Deregulation without power analysis leads not to freedom, but monopolies. Each failure follows the same arc: a system built on idealized humans collides with real ones.
To question the force of self-interest in political life is not moral sophistication—it is moral evasion. It allows us to feel virtuous while building structures that cannot survive contact with reality. It allows leaders to preach selflessness while accumulating power, status, and wealth. It allows citizens to demand sacrifice from others while excusing their own exceptions.
A serious politics does not ask, “What would people do if they were better?” It asks, “What will people do as they are?”
This does not mean abandoning morality. It means grounding it. Systems that endure are those that harness self-interest instead of denying it—that reward cooperation, penalize abuse, limit concentrations of power, and assume corruption will occur unless actively constrained.
The uncomfortable truth is this: democracy does not work because voters are wise; it works when institutions are strong enough to survive voter folly. Markets do not work because participants are fair; they work when rules prevent cheating from becoming dominant. Freedom does not persist because leaders are noble; it persists when leaders are distrusted by design.
The dream of a politics purified of self-interest is seductive. It is also catastrophic.
If we want a society that lasts, we must stop asking humans to be angels and start building systems that function even when they are not. To do otherwise is to refuse to see man as he is—and to guarantee that the world we build will collapse under the weight of our illusions.
Provoking? Yes. But reality rarely asks permission to offend.
Works Cited
Alinsky, Saul D. Rules for Radicals: A Practical Primer for Realistic Radicals. Vintage Books, 1989.
For thousands of years, the most clear-eyed observers of human behavior—religious teachers, philosophers, economists—have agreed on one unshakable fact: self-interest is the engine of human action. Not greed alone, not cruelty, not corruption—but the persistent, inescapable tendency of people to act first for themselves, their kin, their tribe, their class.
To deny this is not moral progress. It is political fantasy.
Christ himself did not deny self-interest; he framed its outer limit. “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Note the precision: for his friends, not for abstract humanity. Even the highest moral sacrifice is rooted in personal attachment. The exceptional act proves the rule.
Aristotle was blunter. In Politics, he observed, “Everyone thinks chiefly of his own, hardly ever of the public interest.” This was not cynicism—it was diagnosis. Aristotle understood that political systems fail not because people are evil, but because they are predictable. They prioritize what is near, tangible, and personally meaningful over what is distant and collective.
Adam Smith, routinely misquoted and rarely read, made the same point with surgical clarity. We do not eat because the butcher loves us. We eat because it benefits him to sell. Civilization does not arise from goodwill; it arises from aligned incentives. The miracle of markets—and politics when it works—is not virtue, but coordination of self-interest.
And yet modern political discourse is built on the opposite assumption.
We design policies as though voters will study tradeoffs carefully. We write laws as though politicians will restrain themselves once in power. We imagine bureaucracies immune to expansion, elites immune to capture, and movements immune to corruption. When reality intrudes—as it always does—we blame “bad actors” instead of bad assumptions.
This refusal to accept self-interest as the prime mover is the original sin of modern governance.
Rich and poor alike are prone to impulse over reason, to short-term gain over long-term stability, and to narrow conceptions of what benefits them. The poor may seek immediate relief; the wealthy seek insulation and leverage. Neither group is irrational. Both are human.
Yet political ideologies insist on pretending otherwise. The democrats imagines a public that will sacrifice comfort for abstract justice if only properly educated. The conservatives imagines leaders who will wield power responsibly if only given enough of it. Both mistake aspiration for anthropology.
History punishes this mistake relentlessly.
Revolutions that promise equality quickly produce new elites. Welfare systems designed without incentive awareness breed dependency and resentment. Deregulation without power analysis leads not to freedom, but monopolies. Each failure follows the same arc: a system built on idealized humans collides with real ones.
To question the force of self-interest in political life is not moral sophistication—it is moral evasion. It allows us to feel virtuous while building structures that cannot survive contact with reality. It allows leaders to preach selflessness while accumulating power, status, and wealth. It allows citizens to demand sacrifice from others while excusing their own exceptions.
A serious politics does not ask, “What would people do if they were better?” It asks, “What will people do as they are?”
This does not mean abandoning morality. It means grounding it. Systems that endure are those that harness self-interest instead of denying it—that reward cooperation, penalize abuse, limit concentrations of power, and assume corruption will occur unless actively constrained.
The uncomfortable truth is this: democracy does not work because voters are wise; it works when institutions are strong enough to survive voter folly. Markets do not work because participants are fair; they work when rules prevent cheating from becoming dominant. Freedom does not persist because leaders are noble; it persists when leaders are distrusted by design.
The dream of a politics purified of self-interest is seductive. It is also catastrophic.
If we want a society that lasts, we must stop asking humans to be angels and start building systems that function even when they are not. To do otherwise is to refuse to see man as he is—and to guarantee that the world we build will collapse under the weight of our illusions.
Provoking? Yes. But reality rarely asks permission to offend.
Alinsky, Saul D. Rules for Radicals: A Practical Primer for Realistic Radicals. Vintage Books, 1989.
