Lesson 85 • The Candle
How to be cast in stark relief in the candlelight.
There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it. — Edith Wharton
The Cambridge Analytica scandal was the first time I understood that Meta—then Facebook—was a graduated threat. It began a kind of kitchen knife: inert, best kept out of the hands of children. But like some eldritch newborn aware and exploring the way it could change the world, affect policy, shape thought, it discovered it could be — then, chose to be — evil: a corporate machine with the power and willingness to undermine the public good.
The evidence is impossible to ignore. Instagram drove teen suicide — especially teen girl suicide — to unseen levels. Algorithms designed to inflame outrage for profit. Misinformation spreading unchecked during global crises. Repeated violations of data privacy, from Cambridge Analytica to ongoing surveillance practices. Each decision reflects a clear disregard for user safety.
And now? Zuckerberg has unilaterally changed policy to remove fact-checkers, funneled millions into a thinly veiled presidential bribe (see: “Inauguration Fund”), and with the board appointment of Dana White—a political ally unfit for serious governance—Meta is no longer just a sharp edge, but a political entity willing to influence government policy to continue harm.
A fraction of this influence exists because of the free content, attention, and time I — and you — traded to Meta. That impact is small, nigh imperceptible, but that’s irrelevant. You either support and bolster policies, institutions, or ideas — or you don’t.
I don’t support Meta.
So, I’ve made the decision to leave. No more attention. No more content. No more quiet endorsement of a system I believe is fundamentally wrong.
No wildfire, but a candle.
There are a number of atrocities more newsworthy, more life threatening. I might have written about Los Angeles. But this—this quiet discomfort—is a candle flitting next to a wildfire. A small light easily ignored.
Stoics endeavor to cultivate an awareness of our emotions — big, small — so that we can exercise our choice about how, or whether, we let those emotions influence our path.
So, I wanted to write about a small emotion, precisely because it’s easy to dismiss: it would be easy for me to wag a finger while still scrolling through Instagram, still posting, still feeding the machine. After all, if as a content creator I need to find a true audience, then obscurity is the first obstacle. I could argue that my art or even my livelihood in some way requires the use of platforms I don’t wholeheartedly endorse. Such is life. C’est la vie. Suck it up. What about the network I’ve built? How will I stay in touch with my aunts? And so on.
But this is where integrity begins to erode. Not in grand, dramatic betrayals, but in the soft, convenient compromises. These are the ways we let ourselves drift. The candle flickers, and we turn away.
How we prove who we are.
Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it. — Epictetus
Stoicism leaves little room for passive belief. It demands alignment between thought and action. We waste much of our time, Seneca wrote to Lucilius, squandering opportunities to live in alignment with what we know to be right.
In today’s world, our choices extend beyond words. Where we spend our time, our attention, and our money—all of these are votes. Every post, every scroll, every click is a quiet endorsement. It is complicit. We often talk about voting with our wallet, but we forget that attention is the primary currency.
Nevertheless, it’s tempting to believe that these small actions don’t affect change — we tell ourselves this lie to avoid discomfort. Small actions change us.
Integrity isn’t measured by impact but by consistent action, particularly in the face of uncertainty. Seneca wrote, “No man is more unhappy than he who never faces adversity. For he is not permitted to prove himself.” Walking the walk, especially when it’s inconvenient, is how we prove who we are. It’s how we build a character that doesn’t fracture under pressure.
I know I can’t control Meta’s influence, I’m a bird pecking at a mountain. I can, however, control whether I contribute to it. In a world built on monetized attention, withholding mine is a deliberate act.
So, fuck ‘em. I choose to withdraw my support. That is my vote. Not because it will change the system, but because it keeps me aligned with the principles I claim to hold.
Every choice is a stroke on the canvas of our character. Over time, those strokes define who we become. To act rightly is to be whole, to be consistent, to be cast in stark relief in the candlelight.
Craft virtuously.
Furbelow
❤ this letter, and comment. Leave a coin in the algorithmic hat.
Leaning into joining you.