Are We Really Civilized If We Still Punish Those Who Fail at the Game?

Civilization. What a grand word. It rolls off the tongue with pride and superiority, as though it alone is the badge that separates us from those who lived before. But peel back the layers of this word we revere so deeply, and what do you find? A more polished, more systematized, more ruthless version of the hunt.
We tell ourselves we’re better than the hunter-gatherers who roamed this Earth in scarcity, surviving on what little nature could provide. We mock their "primitive" ways, their lack of sophistication, their endless struggle for survival. Yet here we are—millennia later—playing a game that’s far more cunning, far more brutal, and infinitely more destructive. And the cruel irony? Many among us don’t even know the rules.
This modern game—call it capitalism, call it survival in the age of plenty—is not about spears or berries. It’s about money, bills, credit scores, deadlines, and the endless race to accumulate. We’ve traded one form of survival for another. But in doing so, we’ve added layers of complexity that only a few have the privilege to understand, let alone master.
Think about it. The hunter-gatherer knew their enemy. It was hunger, predators, the elements. But for us? The enemy is a paycheck that doesn’t stretch, a landlord who doesn’t care, a bank that laughs at your late payment. It’s a system so convoluted that missing one step can send you tumbling down a pit so deep, it takes years—or a lifetime—to climb out. And if you don’t know how to play this game? If you don’t understand the unspoken rules, the hidden codes, the "right" moves to make? Society discards you like you were never part of the plan.
Let’s not mince words here. We treat those who fail at this game—the broke, the homeless, the paycheck-to-paycheck survivors—with contempt. We call them lazy, irresponsible, stupid. We look at them as if their inability to "succeed" in this system we’ve designed is a personal failing, not a reflection of how unforgiving and arbitrary the rules are.
But let me ask you this: What does it say about us—this so-called advanced civilization—that we let people fall through the cracks of a game they were never taught to play? What does it say about our moral progress that we mock and shame those who stumble, instead of questioning the system that made them stumble in the first place?
We like to think we’re better than the hunter-gatherers. But are we? They lived in scarcity because nature provided little. We live in scarcity by choice. Think about that for a second. We have the resources to house everyone, feed everyone, educate everyone. But instead, we hoard. We build systems that ensure only a select few get the golden ticket while the rest scramble for crumbs. And then we have the audacity to call it meritocracy.
Meritocracy. What a joke. It’s the perfect smokescreen for a rigged game. Sure, we hold up stories of those who climbed from rags to riches, as if they’re proof the system works. But for every one success story, there are millions who tried just as hard—harder, even—and failed. Why? Because the game isn’t about hard work. It’s about knowing the rules, knowing the right people, starting in the right position. And if you’re born into the wrong circumstances? If no one teaches you the moves? Well, good luck.
Here’s the thing no one wants to admit: Civilization isn’t about progress. It’s about power. It’s always been about power. The hunter-gatherers knew this, but their battles for dominance were physical, direct. Ours are veiled in contracts, algorithms, and fine print. We’ve taken the raw fight for survival and dressed it up in suits and ties, but it’s the same fight. The stakes are just as high.
And let’s not forget the mental toll. The hunter-gatherer fought for food and shelter, but they didn’t have to pretend they were happy about it. They didn’t have to post curated pictures of their struggles to convince others (and themselves) that they were thriving. They didn’t have to fake it for likes, followers, or a LinkedIn profile. But us? We’re drowning in bills, burnt out from the grind, and still smiling for the camera because admitting defeat is the ultimate taboo.
What’s worse, this game is not just soul-crushing—it’s unsustainable. The hunter-gatherer knew the limits of their environment. Take too much, and the land won’t provide tomorrow. But us? We’re plundering this planet at a pace that’s almost comical in its recklessness. Why? Because the game demands it. Growth at all costs. Profits above all else. Never mind that the finish line is a cliff.
And yet, we cling to this idea that we’re better. More evolved. More humane. But humane would mean creating systems that lift people up, not tear them down. Humane would mean recognizing that not everyone starts from the same place, with the same tools. Humane would mean asking ourselves why we’ve made survival so damn complicated when it doesn’t have to be.
We have the technology. The resources. The knowledge. If we wanted to, we could create a world where everyone has a fair shot, where the game isn’t rigged, where losing doesn’t mean you’re left to rot. But we don’t. Because deep down, we’re still those hunter-gatherers, clinging to what’s ours, afraid that sharing means scarcity.
So, are we really civilized? Or are we just playing a more sophisticated version of the same old game? And if that’s the case, what’s the point of all this progress? What’s the point of skyscrapers and smartphones and space travel if we’re still as cutthroat, as selfish, as blind to each other’s struggles as we were when we lived in caves?
Civilization should mean more than just survival. It should mean compassion, equity, and justice. It should mean creating systems where everyone can thrive, not just the lucky few who know the rules. Until we do that, let’s stop patting ourselves on the back for being "better" than those who came before us. Because the truth is, we’re not.
We’ve just swapped spears for spreadsheets. And the hunt goes on.