There are dozens of empathetic arguments in favour of social programs. This can be as simple as: we have enough resources to house and feed everyone, therefore no one should starve or sleep outside. We can make Golden Rule arguments—helping others because it could easily be us in a similar situation. We could give simply because giving feels good.

I’d personally love to see what the world looks like when people are no longer desperate. How does the general mood shift if we’re not terrified of slipping through the cracks of our society? How less en-garde would we be? How many parking lot fights would be avoided? How much easier would it be to be ourselves—openly and honestly? How many more risks would we take? What art and innovation would come of that?

BUT—let’s assume we already went through the altruistic arguments and still haven’t cleared the hurdle of individualism. Someone could always just say it’s a dog-eat-dog world; that they don’t bear personal responsibility for the welfare of anyone else; that competition and the pursuit of individual success are the engines that advanced the human race to where we are today.

I disagree—but let’s go down that path anyway, because it leads where I want in the end anyway.

It’s easy to think social economic policies—programs that give a leg up to those currently struggling in our society—are antithetical to capitalism. You either set up the game and let winners win and losers lose, or you interfere with natural (presumed fair) outcomes to artificially create balance.

It’s also easy to believe anything that smells like socialism is charity—helping people for no other reason than to be nice and neighbourly.

Both of those are untrue. In reality:

Social programs are a necessary part of maintaining the game of capitalism
Social programs are self-serving—even for the those who’ll never use them

Let’s use our favourite capitalist board game for context:

Picture our massive and messy society as a simple, recurring family games night—one where you exclusively play Monopoly.

(The fact of that being an insane thing to do is not the point of this post.)

You’re allowed to approach your family game competitively. You can try to win, even if that means someone has to lose.

Here’s the thing, though: you also need to keep everyone at the table.

Bringing People to the Table

The family game of Monopoly works better when more people play. For one thing: you need them to participate, or the game’s fundamental mechanics fall apart. You need people (with at least some money) to land on your properties and become your customers; you need other people drawing chance cards, trading with you, and building empires of their own. You ever tried to play Monopoly with two people? It’s awful.

Ideally, you want many people engaged and pushing the game forward. You need each family member to experiment so each round plays a little different, you learn new things, and the overall quality of play goes up.

And imagine if, as you keep playing with active players, the board itself grows. Maybe your sister builds an extension to add new properties, or designs new chance cards to spice up the deck. When people want to play, the game evolves in scale and complexity—becoming more fun and rewarding. On the flip side: if no one cares, and you just sit on the same six properties night after night, the game’s barely a game at all.

Beyond just making the game better, you also want people to show up in a good mood to improve the night around the game. You want people to make snacks, throw on music, tell stories, and laugh at your jokes.

You don’t want people showing up tired, depressed, and defensive. You don’t want them to begrudgingly roll dice only because they have to.

You know how things would go if you held your family hostage just to make the game work. If they only play under duress (and despise you while they’re at it), you’d have to be a complete psycho to enjoy game night yourself.

People Don’t Want to Play

At this point in the real-world game, too many people think winning is impossible, they’re having less and less fun, and they feel chained to the table.

Imagine how your younger brother would feel if he only got $50 at the beginning of every game. The cheapest property on the board is $60, meaning he can’t even begin to generate wealth until he rolls his way back to Go to collect his $200. That’s a lot of work required just to start playing the real game of buying properties and building hotels.

To make things worse: his path around the board isn’t free; he has to dodge expenses every step of the way to keep as much of that initial $50 as possible. He’s much more likely to finish that first lap in debt than with an extra bit of cash in his account; so even when he collects his pay, he may only get pennies (if anything at all).

He can try as hard as he wants, playing as smart and frugal as possible, and still spend hours in a game of survival instead of building any sort of wealth. He might just circle the board, collecting his meager wages, only to hand all his earnings over to you.

Meanwhile, you get to start with $1,500 simply because your parents gave you the board and let you play as the bank. You might never have to worry about your brother’s painful experience of scrounging enough cash just to afford Mediterranean Avenue. You don’t have to spend three whole turns in jail if you land on the wrong spot. Instead, you get to buy the first, second, and fourth properties you land on; you easily pay the $50 bail to skip your jail sentence.

And what happens when your brother finally saves up some cash? What if, when he finally turns the corner with $80 in his pocket, all the low-cost properties are gone? What if he did everything right during his trip around the board, but when he shows up for his reward, the goalposts have moved and he now has to do it all over again to save another $80—with no guarantee the same thing won’t just happen again.

Imagine also, that your brother has to spend much of his time playing the game—and a lot of time outside of the game—mentally & physically exhausting himself (maybe he had to do extra chores to pay off the in-game debts he accrued). Imagine he worked and stressed most of the day, then just collapsed when his duties were done. Imagine he slept and ate poorly, and didn’t have the time or energy to step away from the game and figure out a better way to play it.

Meanwhile, he sees you take private lessons with a Monopoly coach. You seem to know all the best properties to buy, when to take on debt—even how to manipulate the dice to get the roll you want. You seem to impose your will upon the game, whereas he’s beholden to chance. You’re active and in control; he’s along for the ride.

And imagine both you and your older sister make a trade agreement that excludes your brother. Imagine you lend each other money when you need it most and give each other special discounts at each other’s properties. Maybe one of you even controls the bank and invents special lending rules—exclusive to your little pact.

Meanwhile, your brother plays the game alone, without any secret income sources, safety nets, or special treatment. He’s charged full-price wherever he lands, and the only loans he can get can add 1000% in interest & late fees over the course of the game.

He sees you playing a team game, and feels abandoned.

A Bad Game Comes at a Cost

Imagine forcing your brother to play the game every day, while pretending it’s fair. With all the little advantages you have over him, you’re barely playing the same game—and his feels futile.

Imagine looking him in the eye and claiming you’re just playing the hand you’re dealt, and it’s his fault he can’t catch up. You say he’s not trying hard or playing smart enough. He could, hypothetically, abuse the same game mechanics as you—he just needs to grind for a while to achieve your status and enjoy the privileges of wealth.

Imagine expecting him to swallow that, play the game by your rules, and thank you for the opportunity. Imagine expecting excitement and engagement out of him.

And imagine being surprised when, one day, he flips the table.

You can’t be. You can only alienate and take advantage of him for so long before you lose him. At that point, he’ll either:

Play dispassionately
Quit the game
Or ruin the game for you as well

None are good for your game.

If he rolls like a zombie, you’ll get any unique or surprising contributions from him. There’s a big opportunity cost to that.

If he quits entirely, the economy of your game starts to crumble. There’s a tangible cost to that.

And if he takes out his frustration—stealing, breaking things, and throwing punches—well…that’s dangerous, and there’s a big cost to protecting yourself from that.

Where to Invest

The way I see it, there are two choices here:

Invest in making the game more fair and enjoyable for your brother
Invest in fighting the fires born from his frustration

You’re going to spend money to keep your game going. There is no path forward where you get to just hoard all your wealth. You’re going to have to spend some money on things that don’t directly improve your own life.

Which one do you think is cheaper?

Giving your brother enough cash so he doesn’t have to worry about surviving his trip around the board, and can instead play a more growth-focused game?
Or paying for full-time security to make sure he doesn’t burn down the bank?

Which one do you think is a more productive use of your resources?

Paying for someone’s education
Installing a barbed-wire fence around your home

Time to Choose

This question of where to invest needs to be answered now. The game we’re playing is getting less and less fair every year and people are feeling more and more hopeless.

A tipping point is coming.

You’re not going to stop hearing about disengaged workers anytime soon; petty theft will expand into more car thefts and home invasions; and, I imagine, a lot more Luigi Mangiones (the United-Health shooter) will flip tables in increasingly violent ways.

There are two ways to deal with these inevitabilities: prevent them, or fight them. You can either enact the programs needed to make the game more fair and worth playing; or you can prepare for war with people who no longer want to play.

You can already see what the latter looks like around the world: high fences around gated communities; armed militias fighting gangs; self-imposed curfews. More and more dystopian societies—fuelled entirely by inequality—are popping up, and the cost of insulating the haves from the have-not’s is only going to increase.

If you don’t want to invest in helping your brother, you best be ready to spend a whole lot more keeping him away from you.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding-heart leftist through-and-through, but to me: one of those makes a lot more sense than the other.