The Shifting Standards of Good and Evil
In our previous essay, we explored the Jekyll-Hyde duality and how survival instincts often override moral considerations. However, the deeper question we must now address is this: What are the actual standards by which we define good and evil? More importantly, do these standards change over time, and if so, what drives those changes?
The answer is complex. Standards of morality are not absolute—they shift with historical context, cultural values, and institutional frameworks. What was considered virtuous in one era may be deemed corrupt in another. A medieval king’s brutal conquest was celebrated as glory; today, it would be classified as a war crime. A 19th-century industrialist’s ruthless labor practices were praised as enterprise; modern societies regulate them as exploitation.
Yet beneath these shifting surface standards lies a more fundamental constant: the framework of law and morality itself. Good and evil exist within the boundaries of ethical norms and legal structures. When these structures break down or are circumvented, the game changes entirely. And like all games, it follows predictable rules that game theory can help us understand.
Game Theory and the Equilibrium of Moral Behavior
Game theory, pioneered by John Nash and others, reveals a surprising truth: moral behavior is not primarily driven by virtue, but by equilibrium[web:3][web:5]. A Nash equilibrium occurs when each player’s strategy is optimal given the strategies of all other players. No rational actor can improve their outcome by unilaterally changing their behavior[web:3][web:7].
Consider traffic at a stoplight. Each driver benefits from others obeying the red light because it increases safety and reduces congestion. Yet each individual driver is tempted to run the red light if they think no one is watching. The Nash equilibrium—everyone stops at red lights—works because it is a self-enforcing rule[web:13]. If you announced to all drivers “I will now obey traffic laws,” nobody would have reason to deviate. The system is stable.
Moral systems function similarly. The rule “do not steal” creates a Nash equilibrium when most people follow it. Everyone benefits from a society where property is protected. Each individual might gain a temporary advantage by stealing, but the system only works if enough people follow the rule. The equilibrium is robust: people don’t need constant police surveillance to maintain it—most people internalize the rule because they understand its collective benefit.
However, this equilibrium is fragile. When institutional safeguards weaken, or when a powerful actor believes they can break the rules without consequence, the equilibrium collapses.
The Prisoner’s Dilemma and Why Evil Has an Advantage in Zero-Sum Games
John Nash’s most troubling insight came through the Prisoner’s Dilemma—a game that reveals why rational self-interest can produce collectively irrational (and immoral) outcomes[web:8].
In the Prisoner’s Dilemma, two prisoners are arrested. Each can either confess or remain silent. If both remain silent, they each serve 1 year. If one confesses and the other remains silent, the confessor goes free while the silent one serves 5 years. If both confess, they each serve 3 years.
Rational analysis shows that confessing is the dominant strategy. No matter what the other prisoner does, confessing yields a better outcome for you. Yet if both follow this logic, both serve 3 years—worse than if both had remained silent[web:8].
This is the paradox that reveals why evil has an advantage in survival games: When actors behave selfishly and without regard for others’ welfare, they often achieve better short-term outcomes than those who cooperate. The cheater gains 5 years of freedom while the honest cooperator serves 5 years in prison.
Applied to real-world morality: In a corrupt system where everyone is self-interested and amoral, the person willing to compromise their ethics the furthest often wins. They become wealthier, more powerful, more influential. This is why Trump represents such a clear illustration of this principle—he openly violates norms that others feel bound by, gaining advantage as a result[web:24][web:27][web:30].
The problem is that as more actors adopt the “evil” strategy (defect, cheat, prioritize self-interest), the overall system degrades. Everyone ends up worse off. The Prisoner’s Dilemma becomes a race to the bottom.
Finding the Balance Point: Where Good and Evil Equilibrate
Yet societies don’t collapse entirely. There is a balance point—an equilibrium—where enough people behave morally to maintain the system, while enough people exploit the system to gain personal advantage.
This balance is precarious. It depends on several factors:
- Institutional strength: Strong legal systems, transparent governance, and effective enforcement make it costly to cheat. This shifts the equilibrium toward cooperative behavior[web:11].
- Trust and reciprocity: Humans evolved to be somewhat cooperative. We expect fairness and reciprocate generosity. This creates a cultural equilibrium where moderate self-interest is acceptable, but extreme selfishness triggers punishment[web:15].
- Information asymmetry: When the powerful can hide their behavior or manipulate information, they can behave immorally without triggering the enforcement mechanisms. This shifts the equilibrium toward exploitation.
- Leadership credibility: When leaders visibly follow the moral rules they impose on others, it reinforces the equilibrium. When they openly violate these rules, it signals that the equilibrium is collapsing and others can exploit it too.
The Critical Question: Is the Trump Equilibrium Sustainable?
Donald Trump’s political career illustrates a fundamental game-theoretic question: Can one player consistently defect from the moral equilibrium and still maintain the system?
Trump’s strategy has been to violate norms that bind others—norms against self-dealing, against attacking institutions, against shameless deception. Initially, he gained significant advantage. He enriched himself and his family, consolidated power, and attracted a political movement.
However, game theory predicts an eventual outcome: If defection becomes widespread and visible, the entire equilibrium unravels. Other actors observe Trump’s success and begin adopting the same strategy. Institutions weaken. Trust declines. Everyone becomes worse off, but especially those who defect least.
This is why the question is not whether Trump is uniquely immoral. Rather, the question is whether the institutional guardrails of democracy are strong enough to prevent the defection strategy from becoming contagious[web:11].
If institutional strength erodes sufficiently, the game shifts from a cooperative equilibrium with some selfishness to a defection equilibrium with little cooperation. The payoff matrix changes entirely. Good loses its advantage because the system no longer rewards it.
Conclusion: The Game Theory of American Democracy
The concept of good and evil are not metaphysical absolutes. They are equilibrium concepts embedded within institutional structures. When institutions are strong, cooperation (what we call “good”) yields better outcomes. When institutions weaken, defection (what we call “evil”) becomes advantageous.
Trump does not violate the rules of the game; rather, he exposes how fragile the equilibrium is. He demonstrates that if enough power accrues to one actor, and if that actor shows willingness to violate the traditional rules, the system cannot constrain them.
The critical question facing America is not: “Is Trump moral?” Rather, it is: “Are the institutional rules strong enough to maintain the cooperative equilibrium against sustained defection?”
If the answer is yes, the equilibrium will be restored and violations will be punished. If the answer is no, America faces a transition to a new equilibrium—one where defection is normalized, institutions are hollowed out, and the balance between good and evil tips decisively toward the latter.
The rules of the game are not written in stone. They are only as strong as the collective commitment to maintain them. When that commitment falters, the game changes, and with it, the definitions of morality itself.