For years, we've been force-fed the same sickening story. Young Americans aren't getting married because they simply can't afford to. The economy is disastrous, wages are too low, and housing costs require selling a kidney.
If we could just inject another thirty grand into everyone’s bank accounts, young lovers would magically sprint down the aisle. It’s a beautiful, thoroughly victim-centric fairy tale that makes everyone nod along. It’s also absolute nonsense.
Government handouts and cultural decay have combined to tell men that effort is for suckers.
A recent report from the Institute for Family Studies dismantles the narrative. The data reveals that the slow-motion suicide of American marriage has less to do with stagnant pay and much more to do with a mind virus that has convinced an entire generation they are too poor to love.
We love blaming the system because it absolves us of our crippling neuroses. But the numbers don’t lie, even if our Instagram feeds do.
Inflation-adjusted median earnings for young men recently hit a near 50-year high. Meanwhile, marriage rates continued their downward spiral. If money were the magic libido potion that many claim it is, these trends should move together. Instead, they look like two bitter, screaming divorcees tearing away from a shattered home in opposite directions.
Young men today generally out-earn the idealized pipe-smoking fathers of the 1960s and '70s. Those mid-century men somehow managed to marry and breed without first acquiring quartz countertops, stainless-steel appliances, or a diversified stock portfolio. They didn't postpone children until they could afford a five-star Disney excursion. Instead, they embraced the brutal reality of starting with absolutely nothing, expecting to build a life with someone they could love and trust.
Contrary to conventional wisdom, today's married 30-year-olds own homes at roughly the same rate as their counterparts in 1970. And those homes are massive, bloated monuments to excess, full of technology that would have looked like witchcraft a few decades ago. Somehow, grandparents survived the unbearable trauma of raising kids without an automated espresso maker, a smart home cinema system, or three streaming subscriptions to numb the existential dread.
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Somewhere along the line, the classic vow "for richer or for poorer" was replaced with "call me when your credit score hits 800." Marriage is no longer the launchpad for adulthood, but the prize handed out at the end of an exhausting corporate obstacle course. You don’t get married to build a life any more; instead, you do it to signal to your peers that you have successfully conquered capitalism. What was once the beginning of a life is now a form of social proof.
We can thank Hollywood and Silicon Valley for this psychological castration. For decades, pop culture has glorified permanent adolescence and consequences-free swiping. Algorithms have transformed regular, middle-class existence into an agonizing, daily comparison against 20-year-old crypto-millionaires who rent private jets for 10 minutes to take a selfie. When every engagement announcement looks like a royal wedding funded by an oil cartel, an ordinary life feels like an insult.
The sickness runs deeper than mere vanity, though. We are also witnessing a strange strike among prime-age men who have voluntarily withdrawn from the workforce to master video games in permanently darkened rooms. Government handouts and cultural decay have combined to tell men that effort is for suckers. Why bother putting on a pair of pants and clocking in when you can just opt out entirely and vape in peace?
Meanwhile, modern relationship advice reads like a venture capital prospectus. Young women are bombarded with articles treating courtship like a hostile corporate takeover. "Know your worth," the influencers scream. "Never settle. Demand a partner who matches your tax bracket." And if you find him, make sure he can cook, make you laugh, and respond to texts immediately.
It sounds empowering, but it’s actually a recipe for dying alone with 12 cats. A dependable plumber making a healthy living is discarded because he doesn’t match the lifestyle of a fake TikTok entrepreneur posing next to a Lamborghini he almost certainly doesn’t own. Reality cannot compete with a manufactured version of it.
The ultimate irony is thick enough to choke on. The richest, safest, most pampered generation in human history genuinely believes it is too destitute to commit to another human being. We’ve systematically dismantled every single rung of the societal ladder and are now standing around scratching our heads, wondering why the birth rate resembles a flatline on a hospital monitor.
Until young Americans recognize that a good marriage is built on character rather than curated luxury, churches will remain empty, dating apps will remain an endless purgatory, and cats will eventually inherit more apartments than children.
It’s known as the Easterlin paradox.
Though rising wealth at early stages in the lives of individuals and countries fosters greater happiness, perpetually rising wealth does not make individuals or countries perpetually happier. At some point, economics Professor Richard Easterlin of the University of Pennsylvania and USC discovered, more wealth engenders less happiness.
Private capital mindfully allocated can both do well and do good.
This paradox may be best illustrated with U.S. data. Total U.S. household wealth exceeded $182 trillion at the end of 2025, up 466% from an inflation-adjusted $39 trillion in 1980. Yet in 1980, 82% of Americans described themselves as satisfied versus only 44% of Americans today — a decline of nearly half. Similarly, in 1980, only 20% of Americans described themselves as lonely. Today, it’s 40%.
Paradoxically, more American wealth has made Americans less happy and fostered an epidemic of loneliness. Why is this, and what can be done about it?
According to the Human Flourishing Program at Harvard University, happiness and life satisfaction are only partly material in nature. Work and basic housing, health care, and material attributes are important, of course — but no more so than family relationships and friendships, community engagement, and religious affiliations.
These factors are best promoted through nurturing homes, quality education, and supportive work environments. Character formation is essential for personal meaning and purpose.
Harvard scholars clearly derived much of their insight from Aristotle. In his “Nicomachean Ethics,” Aristotle observed that multiple civic virtues were essential for eudaimonia (his term for flourishing or happiness). These include temperance, magnanimity, courage, generosity, modesty, proper ambition, sincerity, and justice.
Inculcating these virtues throughout society requires commonality of purpose, excellent education, strong families, and enlightened leadership.
One way wealthier people could foster greater happiness — their own and that of others — is to use a portion of their wealth to promote greater human flourishing.. The best way to do this is to invest in companies and funds that authentically support and multiply greater inclusivity, wholesome products and services, and higher civic virtue.
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In short, private capital mindfully allocated can both do well and do good — that is to say, earn reasonable risk-adjusted returns while simultaneously resolving humanity’s material, educational, environmental, social, and inclusivity challenges.
Fortunately, a lot could be accomplished with relatively little. My research shows that all of the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals could be achieved in under a decade if ultra-high-net-worth investors allocated no more than 1.6% of their total investable assets a year to verified impact investment strategies; the other 98.4% could continue to be spent or invested however they wish.
Replacing material-driven misery with abundant happiness is an idea whose time has come. If wealthy investors spent a little more effort understanding what their investments could do as opposed to only what financial returns they make, they would help co-create a world of optimal wealth, purpose, and fulfillment. And instead of being a partial cause of their growing discontent, successful investing could become an integral part of the cure.
Material abundance can directly foster rather than undermine human flourishing.
Editor's note: This article was originally published by RealClearPolitics and made available via RealClearWire.
In “Politics,” Aristotle explains that political rule comes in three basic forms: rule of one, rule of the few, and rule of the many. Each form has a healthy and a degenerate expression. Monarchy and tyranny describe rule by one. Aristocracy and oligarchy describe rule by the few. Polity and democracy describe rule by the many.
What separates the good from the bad in each category is not structure but motive. A king governs for the common good. A tyrant governs for himself.
Despite the millennia that separate us from Aristotle, the philosopher’s portrait of tyranny feels uncomfortably contemporary.
Aristotle does more than classify regimes. He explains, in cold and unsentimental terms, how tyrants preserve power once they seize it. His warnings, written more than 2,000 years ago, read less like ancient theory and more like a field manual.
The tyrant begins by eliminating rivals. He fears competition, especially from men of spirit and competence. Anyone admired for virtue, courage, or leadership poses a danger because excellence inspires imitation. Such men are removed through exile, execution, or disgrace.
Next the tyrant attacks institutions that allow citizens to form bonds. Aristotle lists common meals, clubs, educational gatherings, literary societies, and discussion groups. Any shared practice that fosters trust, loyalty, or independent thought threatens despotic rule. Organization creates solidarity, and solidarity creates resistance.
The tyrant also forces citizens to live publicly. Privacy breeds conspiracy. Public life enables surveillance. Aristotle describes rulers who compel their subjects to remain visible so that dissent never escapes notice. Long before Bentham’s panopticon, Aristotle understood that constant observation disciplines behavior.
Surveillance alone does not suffice. Tyrants cultivate networks of informers to uncover thoughts that cannot be seen. Citizens learn to treat one another as potential threats. Suspicion replaces trust. Speech becomes guarded. Silence becomes safety.
Aristotle could not have imagined digital surveillance, but he would have recognized its function. Technology merely perfects a strategy the ancients already understood.
Social bonds must then be weakened. The tyrant sows discord between neighbors, friends, and families. These relationships form the first line of resistance to centralized power. When trust dissolves at the most intimate level, organized opposition becomes nearly impossible.
Poverty also serves the tyrant. Aristotle observes that despots deliberately exhaust their populations with endless labor. The goal is not productivity but distraction. Citizens too busy to rest or reflect lack the energy to conspire.
He cites the construction of the Egyptian pyramids as an example of forced labor designed less to achieve a purpose than to consume a people’s strength. The task glorifies the ruler while leaving the population depleted.
War further strengthens despotism. Constant external threat convinces citizens that they need a strong ruler to survive. Crisis suspends normal limits. Emergency justifies control. Under perpetual conflict, organization becomes treason.
Aristotle claims that tyranny, the degenerated rule of one, borrows from the worst features of democracy. Despots empower groups unlikely to organize independently against them. He mentions women and slaves not as moral judgments but as political calculations within the ancient world.
The logic remains familiar. Tyrants elevate those dependent on the regime and hostile to existing social hierarchies. Dependence fosters loyalty. Resentment supplies enforcement.
Flattery plays a crucial role. Tyrants surround themselves with sycophants who inflate their ego and confirm their righteousness. Men willing to abase themselves rise quickly. Men of honor refuse to flatter and therefore remain dangerous.
Flattery becomes a sorting mechanism. Those who value dignity exclude themselves. Those who crave favor advance.
Aristotle adds that tyrants prefer foreigners to citizens. Citizens possess memory, tradition, and moral expectation. They know how things once were and how they ought to be. Foreigners lack these attachments, and they are happy to flatter the ruler who elevated them.
This arrangement benefits both sides. The tyrant gains enforcers without local allegiance. The foreigner gains status, wealth, and protection. Without the ruler, he has nothing.
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Despite the millennia that separate us from Aristotle, his description of tyranny feels uncomfortably contemporary. Surveillance now operates through algorithms and cellphone cameras rather than forcing everyone to live at the city gates, but the purpose remains unchanged. Security replaces liberty. Total observation replaces trust.
Our institutions remove ambitious and virtuous individuals while elevating compliant managerial drones. Debt binds the population to endless labor. Work consumes life without building independence. Citizens remain busy, anxious, poor, and isolated.
Cultural and political authorities weaken family, denigrate religion, and discourage independent association. Community dissolves into administration. Loyalty transfers from neighbors to systems.
Ruling classes increasingly rely on populations with little connection to national history or tradition. These groups have no reason to defend inherited norms and every incentive to please those who grant them status.
Some details differ but the formula for tyranny does not. Aristotle understood tyranny because he understood human nature. His analysis endures because the same impulses govern power in every age.
There is nothing new under the sun.
Popular culture loves its image of Norsemen shivering in fur pelts, raiding British monasteries, and braving the icy North Atlantic. Yet while Vikings struggled to survive on the thawing margins of Greenland, a far richer and more formidable maritime power flourished thousands of miles away in the tropical warmth of southern India.
That power was the Chola Empire.
A modern golden age remains within reach — provided we do not cripple ourselves with fear of the very conditions that have so often underwritten human prosperity.
At its height between 985 and 1044 A.D., the Cholas projected force on a scale that made Viking longships look like backyard skirmishers. Their ships were technological marvels — floating fortresses capable of transporting cavalry, infantry, and weeks of provisions across vast distances.
The Cholas mounted a major naval expedition against the Srivijaya Empire, a dominant maritime power based in what is now Indonesia and the Malay Peninsula. This was an amphibious assault conducted thousands of miles from home ports, a logistical achievement comparable to modern naval operations. The Cholas toppled rulers, secured the vital Malacca Strait, and guaranteed safe passage for merchant guilds trading from the Middle East to China.
On land, they maintained a standing army that included thousands of war elephants.
Their wealth also found expression in stone. The Great Living Chola Temples — now recognized as UNESCO World Heritage sites — stretch across southern India and neighboring islands. Built without modern machinery, these monumental structures relied on elephants to haul massive stones from distances of up to 60 miles.
Chola society possessed abundant labor, food, and wealth. The question is why.
What enabled a civilization to generate the immense caloric and economic surplus required to build stone monuments and launch armadas across the Indian Ocean? A large part of the answer lies in climate — specifically, global warming.
The rise of the Chola Empire coincided with the Medieval Warm Period, which lasted roughly from 900 to 1300 A.D. This relationship between warmth and human flourishing is inconvenient for the modern climate-industrial narrative, which treats rising temperatures as an unqualified catastrophe.
Warmth strengthens tropical monsoons, the lifeblood of agrarian economies like the Cholas’. Recent scientific research confirms that fluctuations in the Indian summer monsoon shaped agricultural output and the rise and fall of major dynasties. Indian civilization flourished during the Roman Warm Period, fractured during the Dark Ages Cold Period, and reached new heights under the Cholas during the Medieval Warm Period.
The Chola Empire was sustained by the very kind of warming modern activists describe as an “existential threat.”
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In the Cauvery Delta — the empire’s heartland — this favorable climate transformed the region into the “Rice Bowl of the South.” Three harvests a year became common. Granaries overflowed. Revenues surged.
That surplus freed labor from subsistence farming and redirected it toward imperial ambition. Chola trade guilds thrived, exporting textiles, spices, and grain to the Chinese Song Dynasty — another civilization that prospered during this warm epoch.
Today, we find ourselves in another warming phase, emerging from the depths of the Little Ice Age that ended in the mid-19th century. Global crop yields have repeatedly reached record highs. India has re-emerged as a major grain exporter. The planet is experiencing a measurable “greening” effect as higher atmospheric carbon dioxide levels fertilize plants and warmer temperatures expand cultivable land.
Yet, we are told to feel guilty.
Coal, oil, and natural gas — fuels that protect humanity from the elements and power modern economies — are vilified. Environmental extremists implicitly argue for a colder world, despite the historical record showing that colder periods brought famine, disease, and social collapse.
The Chola Empire stands as a reminder of what human ingenuity can achieve when the climate cooperates. Its ships sailed on prosperity sustained by warmth. Its temples rose from a society rich in calories and confidence. Its civilization commanded respect across continents.
We face a similar opportunity today. A modern golden age remains within reach — provided we do not cripple ourselves with fear of the very conditions that have so often underwritten human prosperity.
Thanks to prolonging an inevitable end through expensive interventions, younger generations may see little of the money their parents and grandparents saved.
Let's stop letting perpetually miserable people define the moral terms of our lives. It's time to make generational ambition honorable again.
Just imagine how much it would help the middle class to enjoy access to America’s wealth engines again.
A dollar at 25 can change a destiny. A dollar at 55 barely moves the needle.
These days, a million-dollar 401(k) doesn’t guarantee a cushy retirement.
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