Balance restored. Body respected. Sauce sustained.
🌱 Autophagy: The Inner Fire
Autophagy isn’t a trend — it’s a biological purification system hardcoded into our cells. Literally meaning “self-eating,” it’s how the body clears out broken proteins, damaged organelles, and dysfunctional cellular components. During fasting and intense exercise, insulin drops, and energy sensors like AMPK get flipped on. This tells the body, "There’s no fuel incoming — start tidying up."
What results is:
Cellular spring cleaning
Enhanced mitochondrial efficiency
Decreased inflammation
Potential longevity boosts
My 20-hour fast, followed by kettlebell carnage, was the perfect storm. By stressing the body with fasting + resistance + dynamic movement, I pushed deep into the autophagic zone — breaking down the old so the new can emerge sharper, faster, cleaner.
Even the feast plays a part. It ends the cycle and signals the rebuild.
June was an odd month. It wasn’t especially wet, but the weather was dominated by low pressure, so it was often windy. Most days were overcast, and it never really felt like summer. There were a few hot spells here and there, but they came with the same relentless wind. Like today—I was very cold outside this morning, and as soon as the clouds covered the sun, I felt a chill. By noon, it was very sunny and relatively hot, but that wind never let up.
Pink and red petals scattered across green grass on a windy day.
I’m technically 16 miles (about 26 kilometres) from the coast, but a few years back, I made a conscious decision to treat the garden like it’s a coastal scheme. I don’t have the harsh saltiness of the real coast, but I’ve got the wind, and my plants are always getting battered. Sometimes I wish I could just migrate to central France. I imagine the peaceful, calm, endless summer days, where a gust of wind startles you—whereas here in southern south Ireland, it is always windy.
June looked like autumn, with petals being blown about onto the grass.
A video showing Sambucus branches blowing wildly in the wind on what was supposedly the nicest day of summer.
Dahlia Breeding Update
The dahlias I’ve grown from seed are all in various stages of growth. Some are looking very good—that is, they have very interesting flowers. Some are a bit boring. And a couple look very promising, but I’ll have to wait and see what they’ll look like once they flower properly.
Verrone’s Merlot
A vibrant red star-shaped flower with a golden centre.
This dahlia is particularly interesting. It definitely came from seed I took from Verrone’s Obsidian, but the differences are striking. It has kept the star dahlia form, yet it’s almost a double. The eye stays open, which the pollinators absolutely love.
Close-up of a flower bud opening beside a mature bloom.
It also has that peculiar colour cameras never capture properly. In the photos, it appears crimson. But if you look at the newly opening flower, that’s closer to the real shade—a deep purplish-red, richer than the camera manages to show. Dahlia ‘Tam Tam’ does the same trick, appearing wine red in pictures. Maybe this one inherited a touch of both Verrone and Tam Tam.
Mrs. Popple
A vibrant fuchsia-pink dahlia bloom on a bushy plant.
I’m naming this dahlia ‘Mrs. Popple’, as it has that classic fuchsia-like colour. Two of the plants have nearly identical flowers. One is the first I planted—it’s bushier and seems a bit more vigorous. The second is the first flower that opened, and possibly the start of a new variety worth keeping.
One curious trait: the first flower to open seems to attract aphids and whiteflies just before the petals start to open from the bud. I’ve used a painting brush to remove the little buggers by hand. It’s tedious, but at least it works.
A close-up of a similar flower, the first one that opened on this seedling.
This is a nice type, and I’ll definitely keep it for the future.
Verrone’s Eclipse
A dark, almost black star-shaped dahlia bloom with slender petals and a bright golden centre.
This plant is really interesting. It seems vigorous, with strong growth compared to the others. The first flower that opened from it almost surpasses ‘Verrone’s Obsidian’. The petals are so narrow and open that it looks very dainty, but it’s still quite a large flower overall.
I’m calling it ‘Verrone’s Eclipse’, for obvious reasons.
In container Star dahlia
A deep red star-shaped dahlia flower with a bright yellow centre.
This one isn’t very interesting. It’s similar to the parent, but the flower isn’t as good as the original. I have two plants in containers with this same profile, and honestly, they’ll probably end up in the compost. Sometimes it’s clear early on which seedlings won’t make the cut.
Vicar of Dover
A pale cream flower with hints of pink and red near the centre, set against classic Bishop dark foliage.
There are several plants with the classic Bishop dark foliage, and this is the first one to flower. It’s nothing particularly special, but I’m calling it ‘Vicar of Dover’. The form is slightly double, though the petals don’t seem very symmetrical.
Autumn’s Blush
A bright pink dahlia flower with a uniform colour and a visiting hoverfly at the centre.
There is another plant that has just opened. It’s very similar to Mrs. Popple, but the colour is uniform, whereas Mrs. Popple is variegated. This has some promise. I like the uniform colour on this one—it’s a pinky tone that stands out nicely. I’m giving it the title of ‘Autumn’s Blush’, imagining the slight discolouration of the cheeks. I’m thinking it comes from ‘Verrone’s Obsidian’, but it’s just as likely a hybrid of Dahlia ‘Fancy Pants’.
There is one very interesting plant. It has foliage that is green, and its first flower was an amazing yellow-orange. Unfortunately, the flower came out malformed. Hopefully, it was just a pest that caused that, because the colour was very interesting. I snipped off the flower and tossed it into the compost. I’ll just have to wait and hope the next flowers are not disfigured, as the colour looks fantastic.
Aphids and Whiteflies
I bloody hate aphids, but I really detest whiteflies.
Aphids are tiny, soft-bodied insects that cluster on new growth and suck out the sap. They come in all sorts of colours—green, gray, black—and leave behind sticky residue called honeydew. Whiteflies are even worse. They look like little white moths when disturbed, fluttering up in a cloud. They also feed by sucking sap and can spread viruses between plants.
Now I don’t mind the aphids too much, to be fair. They’re mostly a nuisance. The gray buggers cover my sambucus shrubs early in the season, but I just let them be. A whole host of predators feed off them, and the plant is fine a month later. But when I see them on my dahlias, it pisses me off. I suppose I see my dahlias like children, and I have to remove the buggers by hand.
A paintbrush being used to remove aphids from a closed dahlia flower.
Whiteflies are a real nuisance though. You can wash them away, but they fly back the moment you turn your back. I brush the aphids off and that’s usually it, but whiteflies are tougher to deal with.
Whiteflies clustered along a dried rose stem with webbing.
Both of these little buggers killed the Rose ‘William Morris’ I tried to transplant into a container. I didn’t notice them all over the leaves until it was too late. Now the plant is completely defoliated. I’m sure it’s dead.
What I’m Eating and Why: A Mediterranean Shift
Lately, I’ve been leaning into a more Mediterranean-inspired approach to eating—less out of trend-chasing, more because it just feels good. My meals have become simpler, nutrient-dense, and full of foods with clear, evidence-backed benefits.
A rustic table setting with smoked mackerel, leafy greens, bread, olive oil, and a smoothie, painted in a warm, classic style.
I’ve started including more oily fish like smoked mackerel (“gerookte mackerel,” as I learned—it’s just mackerel smoked, not some exotic subspecies). Mackerel is one of the richest sources of omega-3 fatty acids, which are linked to heart health, brain function, and reduced inflammation. I’m also planning to rotate in sardines and anchovies—smaller fish that pack a serious nutritional punch without the higher mercury levels found in bigger species.
Alongside fish, I’m eating plenty of leafy greens—spinach, rocket, chard—and colourful vegetables like beetroot. They’re rich in vitamins (A, K, C), minerals, and antioxidants that support everything from circulation to digestion. To complement this, I’ve started experimenting with whole grains like couscous (spicy varieties are a favourite) and plan to branch into bulgur, farro, and quinoa.
One of the most significant changes has been embracing high-phenolic extra virgin olive oil as my main fat source. I drizzle it over salads, stir it into oats (strange but delicious), and use it to finish cooked vegetables. EVOO is the cornerstone of the Mediterranean diet, offering anti-inflammatory benefits and helping absorb fat-soluble nutrients.
Fermented foods have made an occasional appearance—like kimchi and non-pasteurized sauerkraut—though I’m learning to balance their bold flavours. And I’m adding whey protein blended with coconut milk into my routine, especially post-hike or as a quick breakfast, to keep my protein intake up.
In essence, this way of eating feels grounded and sustainable. It emphasizes:
Simple, minimally processed foods
Plenty of vegetables and legumes
Healthy fats over refined oils
Seafood as a primary protein
Occasional fermented foods for gut health
Breakfast
Every morning I have a bowl of granola with dried fruit. Then I layer it with ground flaxseed, add walnuts, and slice in one banana. Sometimes I add a handful of blueberries if I can remember to defrost them the night before.
This breakfast is packed with nutrients and beneficial compounds. The granola and dried fruit provide complex carbohydrates and natural sweetness, while flaxseed is rich in alpha-linolenic acid (a plant-based omega-3), fibre, and lignans that support heart health and hormone balance. Walnuts add more omega-3 fats, magnesium, and polyphenols known to protect against inflammation. Bananas bring potassium and vitamin B6, supporting nerve function and energy metabolism. Blueberries are particularly high in anthocyanins and flavonoids—polyphenols linked to improved circulation, cognitive health, and reduced oxidative stress.
Every morning I also make myself a mocha coffee—well, it’s my version. I add 100% cacao. I’ve become addicted to it—it’s so tasty I have it every morning, sipping on it for about an hour.
100% cacao is rich in flavanols, especially epicatechin and catechin, which help support vascular health by improving blood flow and reducing inflammation. It also provides magnesium, iron, and antioxidants that contribute to better mood, focus, and overall cardiovascular resilience. Unlike sweetened cocoa powders, pure cacao offers these benefits without added sugar.
Training and Recovery Routine
Each day before training, I take a carefully balanced stack: vitamin C and zinc for immune support and to enhance collagen formation, collagen peptides to nourish joints and connective tissues, and creatine monohydrate to boost muscle energy and performance. Combined with plenty of mineral water, this routine supports recovery, resilience, and overall vitality—particularly valuable before slow jogging and sprint intervals. Taken about 45 minutes pre-workout, it helps prime my body for sustained effort while promoting long-term joint and tendon health.
I’m watching a lot of doctors and experts on exercise and nutrition on YouTube. I’m becoming more and more bombarded with videos talking about losing “belly fat.” I’ve never had a paunch, but the subliminal nature of these adverts and videos has made me want to fit in and lose belly fat anyway. I feel like I’m being left out—one of those needs from Maslow’s hierarchy: Belonging. So I’ve started working a little more on my abs. This doesn’t actually make you lose belly fat, but the constant messaging has somehow influenced me.
Kettlebell Exercises for Stability and Strength
Due to my chronic shoulder injury, I’m forced to exercise around it. I want to make slow jogging and sprinting my main exercise routine. But I’m also working on stability exercises with kettlebells. Here are the main kettlebell exercises I do.
Russian Twists
This exercise I do after some dynamic stretching of the core. I do a set starting with a 5 kg kettlebell, then in the next set, I move up to 12 kg.
Russian Twists primarily target the oblique muscles along the sides of your abdomen. They build rotational strength and stability, which is essential for keeping your torso steady while jogging and sprinting. A strong, stable core helps transfer power efficiently from your legs through your upper body, improving running form and reducing the risk of injury. The progression from a lighter kettlebell to a heavier one also challenges your balance and grip, further reinforcing trunk stability and control.
Suitcase Carry with Knee Raises
At first I just couldn’t understand how this has an effect on me, but I eventually realized it was a Farmer’s Carry mixed with the knees up, targeting the core. I start with 12 kg, then move to 20 kg, alternating the hand that holds the weight.
This exercise builds lateral core stability and grip strength while also improving balance. The suitcase carry challenges the obliques and deep stabilizing muscles to keep your torso upright as you walk. Adding knee raises forces your hip flexors and lower abdominals to engage, simulating the demands of running—where you’re constantly driving your knee upward while stabilizing your trunk. Alternating hands balances the load on both sides of your body, helping correct any asymmetries and improving coordination important for jogging and sprinting.
Around the World
I really like this exercise with the kettlebells. I start with 12 kg, then move to 20 kg, alternating from clockwise to anticlockwise.
Around the World challenges your entire core and shoulder girdle as you pass the kettlebell around your waist. The constant shifting of weight forces your deep stabilizing muscles—especially the obliques and transverse abdominis—to stay engaged so you don’t twist or lose balance. Alternating directions ensures you build symmetrical control and prevent overuse on one side. This movement also improves coordination and proprioception (your sense of where your body is in space), both of which carry over to running posture and efficient arm swing when you jog or sprint.
Suitcase Carry with Twisting Knees Up
This differs from the other exercise by bringing the knee up, then twisting your left leg past the right leg, like walking sideways. After about 3–4 steps, I alternate the exercise with the other hand holding the weight and the opposite leg raising and twisting.
This variation adds a rotational challenge to the traditional suitcase carry, making it especially effective for training the obliques and hip stabilizers. The twisting knee drive mimics the rotational demands of sprinting and directional changes, improving your ability to control torque through your midsection. It also engages the glutes and deep core muscles responsible for stabilizing your pelvis. Alternating sides ensures balanced strength, which helps prevent overcompensation and keeps your gait efficient during jogging or sprinting.
Step Ups
This is great for targeting the glutes. I do this exercise on a bench, which allows me to explode upwards. I perform it with or without weights.
Step Ups build powerful hip and glute strength, which are crucial for propelling you forward when jogging or sprinting. The movement closely mimics the driving phase of running, where you push off and lift your body weight onto the next stride. Using a bench adds range of motion and forces more engagement from your posterior chain, especially when you focus on an explosive upward push. Performing them without weights helps refine balance and technique, while adding kettlebells increases resistance to develop strength and power.
Single Leg Romanian Deadlift
I really like this exercise. I start with 5 kg, concentrating on technique, then move up to 12 kg, and finally to 20 kg. Once I’m in the 20 kg set, I start to lose discipline, which is why I begin with 5 kg, trying to condition myself so I don’t make mistakes. This is challenging when going to the heavier weights.
Single Leg Romanian Deadlifts are excellent for building posterior chain strength—especially the hamstrings and glutes—while also demanding balance and core stability. This movement strengthens the stabilizing muscles around your ankles, knees, and hips, which helps protect against injuries common in running. The single-leg stance closely mimics the load transfer of jogging and sprinting, training your body to stay aligned as you shift weight from one foot to the other. Starting light allows you to focus on perfect form and proper hip hinging before adding heavier resistance, which is essential because technique tends to degrade under load.
Reverse Lunge
I start with 5 kg to focus on technique, then move to 12 kg. I’m slowly working toward 20 kg, which is difficult, so I do about six each side with the heavier weight.
Reverse Lunges are great for developing unilateral leg strength, balance, and control. Unlike forward lunges, stepping backward places less strain on the knees while still activating the quads, hamstrings, and glutes. This pattern trains the hip and ankle stabilizers essential for running and sprinting, especially when you’re changing pace or direction. Starting lighter allows you to perfect your movement mechanics and build confidence before progressing to heavier loads. The lower rep range with 20 kg ensures you maintain proper form under fatigue.
Squat
Same routine here—working on discipline and technique. I start with 5 kg with sole focus on technique. Then I progress to 12 kg, until the demanding 20 kg. Technique is everything, also breathing.
Squats are a foundational movement for building lower body strength, particularly in the glutes, quads, and hamstrings. They also engage your core and back to stabilize the spine. For jogging and sprinting, strong and well-controlled squats help develop the power you need to drive off the ground and maintain efficient running form. Focusing on technique at lighter weights builds the movement pattern safely and conditions your body to handle heavier loads later. As you progress to 20 kg, maintaining good form and controlled breathing is essential to prevent collapse through the spine or hips.
Kettlebell Swings
I love this exercise, but everything is about technique with this one. You must remember that you’re pushing with your hips and glutes, not your hands. I work on technique moving through the weights until I use the 20 kg kettlebell.
Kettlebell Swings are powerful for developing explosive hip drive, posterior chain strength, and cardiovascular conditioning. The movement trains you to hinge properly at the hips while keeping your spine neutral—skills that directly translate to stronger running mechanics and better posture. Focusing on the hip and glute thrust ensures you’re generating force from your largest muscle groups instead of relying on your arms. Progressing gradually through the weights allows you to refine timing and control before handling the 20 kg load.
Deadlifts
I also sometimes do deadlifts with the 20 kg kettlebell. Not always though, because the weight is not heavy enough to really get the effects, so it’s an aerobic deadlift routine.
Deadlifts build strength through the entire posterior chain—the hamstrings, glutes, lower back, and upper back—all critical muscles for running power and stability. Using a lighter kettlebell turns the movement into more of a conditioning exercise, keeping your heart rate up while reinforcing proper hip hinging and posture. Even without heavy loading, performing controlled repetitions improves muscular endurance and reinforces the pattern of driving through the hips.
Farmers Carry
I use 20 kg and 12 kg kettlebells, alternating arms, and do multiple sets. I carry the weight for about 2 minutes per set, switching arms, for 2–3 sets.
Farmers Carries are a simple but highly effective exercise for building total-body strength and core stability. Holding a heavy kettlebell challenges your grip, shoulders, and traps while forcing your obliques and deep core muscles to keep your torso upright. The extended time under tension builds endurance and reinforces proper alignment—key for maintaining good posture when running. Alternating arms balances the load across both sides of your body.
HIIT
I do all these exercises routinely, but then sometimes I combine a subset of them for HIIT. I also include a dance routine for 5–7 minutes that is actually a bunch of exercises that blows my heart out of my chest—the aim being exactly that. The dancing has moves like base rotations and other explosive patterns, just like a sprint.
HIIT—High-Intensity Interval Training—combines short bursts of very hard effort with brief recovery periods. This approach has been shown to improve cardiovascular fitness, boost VO₂ max, increase metabolic efficiency, and train your body to clear lactate faster. By using kettlebell exercises in a HIIT format, you get both strength and aerobic benefits in a compressed timeframe. The dance routine adds an element of agility and coordination while elevating your heart rate to near-maximal levels, mimicking the demands of sprinting. These explosive movements build fast-twitch muscle fibres, improve reaction time, and enhance your ability to sustain powerful efforts.
Satan Has Five Leaflets: A Confession of War with Creeping Cinquefoil
"The world needs a proper exposé on this insidious root-splitting, soul-fraying, photosynthesizing bastard." — ChatGPT
A photo of cinquefoil popping up through a mulch-covered border, surrounded by soft loose soil and partially shaded.
I hate this plant. It is literally the devil — that’s what I call it when I talk about it to others. Every time I create a new bed or dig a hole, somehow this bloody plant pops up. It only takes the tiniest piece of root left in the soil, and suddenly it snakes its way through your pristine border, thumbing its nose at you in full chlorophyll smugness.
In my newest border — the long border — I’ve been keeping watch for the evil bastard. It popped up two weeks ago. I could’ve removed it then, but instead, I punished it: I laid a stone slab directly over it. As both warning and weakening.
This week, I noticed it sprouting around the stone — undeterred, defiant — so I decided it was time. In loose, fresh soil, it’s simple enough to extract. I start by brushing back the mulch — which the plant treats like soil — making it easier to get a clean grip on the roots.
A woody, long root freshly dug from loose soil — still intact — showing the creeping structure of cinquefoil.
My technique for removing it is simple: grab at the base, then push the hand fork into the soil a few inches away. I lift the soil while gently pulling the root. When it resists, I stop, re-fork deeper, and repeat. If you yank too hard, you’ll snap the root — and that snapped piece will come back with a vengeance. There’s a real technique to getting this bastard out intact.
🌼 Dahlia ‘Veronne’s Obsidian’ — Early Season Powerhouse
Single-flowered dahlia ‘Veronne’s Obsidian’ glowing in full sun, petals deep maroon with a golden centre, buzzing with bees.
Dahlia ‘Veronne’s Obsidian’ is a compact, single-flowered variety that grows to around 60–80 cm tall. The petals are dark — nearly black — with a golden central disc, set against moody, dusky foliage. It starts flowering in June and keeps going until the first frost.
A bumblebee feeds at the golden centre of a nearly black, star-shaped Dahlia ‘Veronne’s Obsidian’ flower, petals curling with deep texture against a soft green background.
It’s one of the first dahlias to get moving, and unlike the fluffier doubles, its simple, open form makes it easy for pollinators to access. It loves full sun, fertile soil, and a sheltered position. Good in borders — excellent in containers or anywhere you want reliable early colour.
I’ve grown it for years. It’s my favourite dahlia — not because it’s the most dramatic, but because it’s the most dependable. Vigorous, balanced, easy to divide. I started with three tubers. Now I have seven plants, all thriving.
Placement changes everything. In the main border, where it sees less direct heat, it’s still bulking up. Lots of promise, but no flowers yet. But up against the bright south-facing wall, the plants are already in full flow. That wall traps heat and throws back light — it gives them a head start of several weeks. The difference is stark. Flowers open cleanly, hold well, and stay busy with bees all day long.
Right now, mid-June, this is the most floriferous plant in the garden. Nothing else is giving this much colour or feeding pollinators so actively — well, apart from the Catmints. If you can give it full sun and a warm, sheltered spot, it will do more than most plants do all summer.
☀️ Sun Returned — Movement Followed
The sun came back today, and with it, a simple urge — go outside, move the body, reset. I drove to a nearby sports ground and stepped onto the grass, ready for my own kind of training session.
I began with slow jogging — not running, not even really jogging as most would see it, but something in between. It’s a low-impact style developed in Japan, popularised by Professor Hiroaki Tanaka, where you move gently, landing softly, keeping effort minimal. You aim to jog at a pace where conversation is still easy — for me, that means about 4–6 km/h. It looks casual but builds endurance in a sustainable way.
I did three slow, steady laps around the field. Then I shifted gears.
Four short sprints — all out, 100 percent effort. The kind that make your heart thump like a bass drum in your ribs. I’ve always fancied myself a sprinter. My legs and hips have real power. Explosiveness is natural to me. Though with my ongoing shoulder injury, I couldn’t quite hit top speed. Still, it felt good to push.
Once my heart rate came back to something manageable, I picked up the slow jogging again — but in reverse. Jogging backwards shifts everything: muscles, balance, focus. At the narrow ends of the field, I pivoted into sideways running, changing direction each time to stay balanced.
Eventually, satisfied and sweat-slicked, I brought it all down with static stretching. I’ve always been a big fan of stretching and yoga-style movement. Back in 2008, I picked up a copy of Stretching Anatomy by Arnold Nelson and Jouko Kokkonen. I still have it — barely holding together, the pages loose, the corners curled. But I use it regularly. It’s a quiet companion to all the louder parts of my training.
I sat in the grass, stretched through the hips and hamstrings, then headed home. Still buzzing, I kept going — 12 kg kettlebell swings, then explosive step-ups. Full effort, focused form.
To finish, I turned to music. Seven minutes of Joris Voorn’s Goodbye Fly.
That track hits something primal in me. Of all the things I do — running, lifting, sprinting — nothing spikes my heart rate and adrenaline like dancing. It’s pure output. No thought, just movement.
⏳ Fasting, Food, and Fuel
Just two hours from completing another 24-hour fast. I didn’t plan it — that’s the point. When your eating habits naturally leave 16 to 18 hours of the day food-free, extending it to 24 isn’t a feat. It’s a rhythm. You look at the clock and realise you're nearly there.
I’ll break the fast with a protein-rich dinner, balanced with some carbs. Fish will be the main. Then oven fries. But the part I really look forward to — the part I can’t seem to stop craving week after week — is the combination of fries smothered with chilli red kidney beans. Simple, filling, outrageously good. The fish and the beans together deliver a strong hit of protein, the fries satisfy the starch craving, and the whole thing feels earned.
I’ve also started adding extra virgin olive oil to every meal — not just any olive oil, but high-phenolic EVOO. These phenolic compounds are natural antioxidants found in premium cold-pressed oils, known for their anti-inflammatory and heart-protective properties. The better the oil, the stronger the peppery bite at the back of the throat — that’s the sign.
I usually go with a tablespoon and a half per meal. Today I’ll drizzle some over the fish once it’s cooked, but most of it will go straight into the chilli. It lifts the dish completely. The richness, the heat, the smooth fat against the earthy beans — it’s become essential.
I. The First Lie: Childhood, Obedience, and the Training of Conscience Reflex Before Reason When the Lie Becomes Known Springtime Compliance From Bunnies to Bibles Ded Moroz and the State Animated Allegiance Learning to Wear the Mask Kayfabe and the Adolescent Mind The Reflex That Replaces Conscience
Author’s Note: The Wise Fool
II. Moral Disengagement: Conditioned Ethics in the Adult World Helen at Work: The Good Citizen with Dirty Hands Case Studies in Collapse: Enron, Theranos, WeWork, FTX The Pavlovian Symphony: Ting Ting and the Sound of Collapse
The Architecture of Disengagement (Bandura’s Eight Mechanisms)
Reflex Atheism: Belief, Doubt, and the Illusion of Rebellion
What if
the moral choices you trust are just habits — conditioned early, rewarded
often, and rarely questioned?
We imagine
ethics as conscious, principled decisions. In reality, much of what we call
morality is conditioned reflex — not reason, but habit.
Diagram illustrating neural pathways of conditioned reflex and habit formation.
From
childhood, rituals like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and early religious
teachings train us to equate obedience with reward. These are not lessons in
virtue. They are exercises in behavioural control. The child who learns to
perform belief for gifts becomes the adult who performs compliance in
workplaces and institutions, often without realising it.
This essay
argues that moral disengagement — the silent complicity behind corporate
frauds, ethical collapses, and institutional failures — is not a failure of
conscience but its replacement. Conditioned compliance mutates, not disappears.
Early reflexes survive in new forms, shaping adult behaviour beneath the
surface.
Drawing on
Pavlovian conditioning, Bandura’s moral disengagement theory, and
organisational psychology, we trace how ethical reflexes are engineered — and
why recognising this hidden architecture is the first step toward true moral
agency.
Illustration of Pavlov’s classical conditioning — bell, dog, food response.
Until
then, what we call a moral compass may be nothing more than a well-tuned
reflex.
In the earliest years of life — roughly from birth to age seven — the human
brain undergoes one of its most impressionable phases. Psychologists refer to
this as the formative period or, in
neurodevelopmental terms, a critical period. During this
window, neural pathways are rapidly established through repetition, emotional
stimuli, and observed behaviour. It is here that the foundational frameworks
for perception, trust, authority, morality, and identity are laid down. Once
set, these early patterns become extremely resistant to change — not because
they’re rationally chosen, but because they’re embedded before rationality even
fully develops.
This is the stage when children absorb far more than they understand. They
imitate tone before content, action before meaning. They accept structures not
because they are true or just — but because they are given.
Photo of a child mimicking an adult’s actions, symbolising learning without comprehension.
The brain prioritises survival and social belonging over logic, and it
learns to associate safety with approval. What is praised becomes “good.” What
is scolded becomes “bad.” This is not ethics. It’s encoding.
The consequences of missing this critical window are profound. In the tragic
case of “Genie,” a child discovered in 1970 after being isolated and abused for
over a decade, the absence of social and linguistic interaction during early
development left permanent cognitive damage.
Artistic representation of a child alone, conveying developmental deprivation.
Though she was later exposed to language, she never fully acquired grammar
or fluent speech. The capacity was not merely delayed — it was lost. This
illustrates how foundational, and how unforgiving, the critical period truly
is. When basic inputs like language, affection, or modelling are absent during
this stage, no later effort can fully compensate.
And yet, during this exact same period — when the mind is wide open,
absorbent, and defenceless — we introduce one of the most potent moral training
rituals masked as festivity: Christmas.
At its centre is the omniscient figure of Santa Claus — a benevolent
authoritarian who rewards compliance and punishes disobedience.
Illustration of Santa Claus with an authoritative but smiling posture, symbolising reward and surveillance.
Wrapped in joy, sugar, and tradition, this seasonal performance is one of
the earliest large-scale behavioural control systems a child will encounter.
Santa Claus is not merely a festive myth; he is a tool of conditioning.
Children are told they are being watched. Good behaviour will be rewarded with
gifts; bad behaviour will result in absence, disappointment — or worse, public
shame (“Santa’s not coming this year”). This is classical conditioning at work:
emotional reward (presents, approval) is tied to obedience, while disobedience
is punished through social and emotional deprivation.
Adults participating in this ritual — parents, teachers, TV specials —
become reinforcers of the system. They do not question its moral validity
because they, too, were conditioned by it. The child learns: morality is
surveillance, reward is compliance, and authority is unquestionable if it’s
benevolent enough. These are not abstract values. They’re habits of mind.
They’re reflexes.
At some point — five, six, maybe seven years
old — the child begins to suspect. Santa Claus might not be real. They hear
whispers from older siblings or catch inconsistencies in the story. The chimney
doesn’t make sense. The handwriting on the tag looks familiar. But here’s where
the conditioning deepens.
The moment of realisation is not one of
rebellion. It’s one of adaptation. Children learn not to challenge the
fiction, even once they recognise it as fiction — because the structure of
reward remains.
Image of a child cautiously pulling back a curtain, representing dawning realisation and suppressed dissent.
They keep pretending to believe. They nod,
smile, write letters, and perform “goodness” not because they still believe in
Santa, but because they understand how the system works.
This is no longer innocence. It is strategic
compliance.
And it’s the first seed of Moral Disengagement.
The child now knows: this is a lie, but
going along with it is rewarded. The psychological switch flips. Ethical
consistency is replaced by social calibration. The lesson isn’t “tell the
truth.” It’s “go along to get along.” Dissonance is buried under tradition,
conformity, and positive reinforcement.
If Christmas conditions through omnipresent
surveillance and obedience to a moral overlord, Easter operates more subtly —
but with the same psychological mechanism. Enter the Easter Bunny: another
invisible, magical figure who dispenses rewards in exchange for compliant
behaviour.
Illustration of a cheerful Easter Bunny subtly holding a clipboard, symbolising reward-for-behaviour oversight.
Again, the myth is presented not as story, but
as truth — and the rewards are tangible: sweets, toys, praise.
Children are encouraged to “be good,” not for
goodness’s sake, but to secure their share of chocolate eggs. The egg hunt
itself is an orchestrated exercise in reward-seeking, training children to
search, collect, and celebrate — all within the rules defined by adults. It’s
gamified compliance, wrapped in innocence.
But the real effect takes hold when, like
Santa Claus, the child realises the Bunny isn’t real. By this point, the ritual
has become a social contract. They understand the game is fiction — yet still
choose to play along. Why? Because they’ve learned that pretending to believe
keeps the system intact. And the system pays off.
This is not mere fun. It’s behavioural
programming.
The child learns to maintain a shared illusion
for the sake of social cohesion and personal gain. They suppress truth in
favour of benefit. They mirror belief to preserve harmony. Another layer of
dissociation is added: the ability to knowingly participate in something false,
while simultaneously benefiting from the rewards of participation.
Conceptual art of a person holding a smiling mask in front of a neutral or blank expression, symbolising dissociation.
By the time the child reaches the age of
deeper cognitive reflection — often around seven to nine years old — they are
introduced to Christianity in a more structured way. Sunday school, scripture
readings, hymns, catechism classes. The tone shifts: from playful myth to
eternal consequence.
But the structure remains identical to
what they’ve already internalised.
In place of Santa, there is God: omniscient,
invisible, always watching.
Artistic rendering of a large eye in the sky watching a small figure below, symbolising divine omnipresence.
In place of the Easter Bunny’s rewards, there is Heaven: eternal bliss,
unconditional love — but only if one follows the rules.
In place of being “naughty” and missing out on presents, there is sin, guilt,
and the threat of Hell.
The mechanisms are the same: surveillance,
reward, punishment. But now the stakes are infinite. The child who once
pretended to believe in Santa for a chocolate bar is now expected to believe
in divine authority for salvation — or at least to act as if they
believe. The reflex has already been trained: compliance = reward, defiance =
isolation.
So they go along with it.
Even if the stories don’t fully make sense,
even if internal doubts arise, the pattern holds. Smile. Recite. Participate.
The church, like the holiday rituals before it, becomes another theatre of external
performance over internal conviction.
Photograph of a traditional church interior, empty and formal, symbolising ritual and conformity.
In this process, children are rarely
encouraged to question — not because religion forbids it outright, but because
questioning threatens the behavioural compact. Instead, they learn to mirror
belief, to mimic conviction, to repeat the right words and display the right
feelings. Even when doubts flicker inside, those are tucked away — buried under
the desire to belong, to be praised, to avoid shame.
This is dissociative morality: the
split between what one thinks and what one performs. A rehearsed ethic. A
learned duality.
And it will follow them into adulthood — into boardrooms, bureaucracies, and
blind obedience to unethical norms.
In 1935, under Joseph Stalin’s regime, the
Soviet Union officially reintroduced Ded Moroz — the Slavic equivalent
of Santa Claus — into public life. But this was not a return to folk religion
or spiritual tradition. It was something more calculated. More ideological.
Ded Moroz was stripped of his religious roots
and rebranded as a secular symbol of state-endorsed virtue.
Historical Soviet poster reimagining Ded Moroz as a secular state figure, symbolising ideological conditioning.
He didn’t deliver gifts from a moralised
heaven. He brought them from the Party’s endorsement. He was no longer tied to
Saint Nicholas or Christian mythology. He was the People's Santa,
delivering joy in the name of socialism — and reinforcing a crucial message: the
system provides, but only if you conform.
This wasn’t accidental. Soviet leadership
understood the psychology: children respond to stories, rituals, and visible
systems of reward. They also understood something deeper — that belief
systems don’t require gods, just repetition, structure, and incentive. The
rebranded Ded Moroz was Pavlovian conditioning in boots.
The child sees a figure of authority. The
figure dispenses gifts. The gifts are tied to behaviour.
No angels. No afterlife. Just compliance and compensation.
It was cultural engineering at its purest. And
atheistic in form — not because it denied spirituality, but because it replaced
it with system logic.
The message: morality is defined by the state, and the state rewards those
who mirror its values.
This makes Ded Moroz a perfect historical case
study of how moral reflexes can be engineered without divine reference.
It wasn’t about belief. It was about participation. Pretend. Perform. Be
rewarded.
Just like Santa. Just like the Bunny. Just like the office.
Illustration of identical toy soldiers marching in formation, symbolising performative conformity.
By the time a child is immersed in television
— typically before school age — they are already conditioned to accept
contradictions. But now, that conditioning deepens through visual storytelling:
cartoons. Talking rabbits, domestic dogs who own houses, cats with jobs, pigs
in suits — a whole universe of anthropomorphised animals living out exaggerated
human dramas.
At first glance, it’s nonsense. Animals
wearing trousers. Mice running corporations. Ducks in police uniforms. But
children don’t reject the absurdity. They internalise it. Not because it makes
sense, but because the system of reward remains intact: laugh, enjoy,
follow the story — and be entertained, included, praised.
What’s actually being trained here is the
suspension of critical thinking in favour of emotional coherence.
This is not just escapism. It’s rehearsal.
Children learn that truth is secondary to
structure. That coherence is manufactured. That consistency is not required
for participation — only belief, or the performance of belief.
Illustration of anthropomorphic animals in a decaying hall, pigs addressing a submissive crowd, symbolising the absurdity and corruption of power through social learning.
Another layer of dissociation is laid down:
what feels right internally can be overridden by what is presented as normal
externally.
Samhain as seasonal programming masked in ceremony.
Conditioned to Perform: The First Theatre
Erving Goffman, in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, argued that human interaction functions like a stage. We present ourselves not as we are, but as we are expected to be. We perform. We manage impressions. And the success of that performance determines our access to belonging, approval, and reward.
Halloween, for children, is an early dress rehearsal for this lifelong performance. The costume may be silly, the chant simple, but the psychological script being rehearsed is far more serious.
The Front Stage: Role Over Self
Children learn early that social success depends less on sincerity and more on role precision. This is not unique to childhood — it’s the foundation of workplace behaviour too. What begins as Goffman’s front-stage performance — crafted for an audience — mutates under pressure into what Irving Janis called Groupthink: the desire for harmony so strong it overrides independent thought. The more tightly knit the team, the more dangerous the performance. Unity becomes illusion; dissent, a threat.
The Mask as Entry Pass
The mask isn’t just accepted — it’s expected. Without it, a child might be left out. Without it, an employee might be sidelined. Studies in organisational psychology show that high group cohesion, especially under pressure, creates conditions ripe for conformity and silence. This isn't just about belonging — it’s about survival within systems where role performance is rewarded and deviation is quietly punished.
Impression Management: Say the Line, Get the Candy
At Halloween, kids don’t have to believe in monsters. They just need to play their part. In the workplace, the principle is the same: follow the script, hit your cues, and you're safe. Deviating — whether by questioning leadership or proposing unpopular ideas — often triggers social penalties: being labelled “not a team player,” left out of conversations, or passed over for advancement. This dynamic mirrors the Groupthink trap: self-censorship, illusion of unanimity, and the quiet burial of critical thought.
Backstage Self: Hidden, Irrelevant
The backstage self — the unfiltered, questioning self — rarely makes it into the meeting room. Over time, people forget it matters. Performance dominates identity. The risk isn’t just burnout — it’s institutional blindness. As Goffman observed, the longer the play runs, the more seamless the act becomes. And as Janis warned, when no one questions the script, bad decisions aren’t just possible — they’re inevitable.
The Audience as Enforcer
Reinforcement doesn’t need to be explicit. The audience — whether peers, managers, or society — signals approval through smiles, silence, and promotions. This tacit enforcement of the norm props up the performance. Groupthink thrives in these quiet nods, these subtle affirmations that discourage deviation. The unspoken rule is clear: don’t break the scene. Don’t question the ritual. Wear the mask.
And in time, they forget it’s a mask at all.
A visual metaphor for conformity, impression management, and the suppression of individuality within institutional settings.
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