I began studying AI in the mid-1980s. Unusually for a computer scientist of that era, my interest was entirely in information, not in machines. I became obsessed with understanding what it meant to live during the transition from the late Industrial Age to the early Information Age.
What I learned is that computers fundamentally alter the economics of information. We now have inexpensive access to more information, and to higher quality information, than ever before. In theory, that should help individuals reach better decisions, organizations devise improved strategies, and governments craft superior policies. But that’s just a theory. Does it?
The answer is “sometimes.” Unfortunately, the “sometimes not” part of the equation is now poised to unleash devastating consequences.
Consider the altered economics of information: Scarcity creates value. That’s been true in all times, in all cultures, and for all resources. If there’s not enough of a resource to meet demand, its value increases. If demand is met and a surplus remains, value plummets.
Historically, information was scarce. Spies, lawyers, doctors, priests, scientists, scholars, accountants, teachers, and others spent years acquiring knowledge, then commanded a premium for their services.
Today, information is overabundant. No one need know anything because the trusty phones that never leave our sides can answer any question that might come our way. Why waste your time learning, studying, or internalizing information when you can just look it up on demand?
Having spent the past couple of years working in higher education reform and in conversation with college students, I’ve come to appreciate the power—and the danger—of this question. Today’s students have weaker general backgrounds than we’ve seen for many generations because when information ceased being scarce, it lost all value.
It’s important to recall how recently this phenomenon began. In 2011, an estimated one-third of Americans, and one-quarter of American teenagers, had smartphones. From there, adoption among the young grew faster than among the general population. Current estimates are that over 90% of Americans, and over 95% of teenagers, have smartphone access.
Even rules limiting classroom use cannot overcome the cultural shift. Few of today’s college students or recent grads have ever operated without the ability to scout ahead or query a device for information on an as-needed basis. There’s thus no reason for them to have ever developed the discipline or the practices that form the basis for learning.
The deeper problem, however, is that while instant lookup may work well for facts, it’s deadly for comprehension and worse for moral thinking.
A quick lookup can list every battle of WWII, along with casualty statistics and outcome. It cannot reveal the strategic or ethical deliberations driving the belligerents as they entered that battle. Nor can it explain why Churchill fought for the side of good while Hitler fought for the side of evil—a question that our most popular interviewers and podcasters have recently brought to prominence.
At least, lookup couldn’t provide such answers until recently. New AI systems—still less than three years old—are rushing to fill that gap. They already offer explanations and projections, at times including the motives underlying given decisions. They are beginning to push into moral judgments.
Of course, like all search and pattern-matching tools, these systems can only extrapolate from what they find. They thus tend to magnify whatever is popular. They’re also easy prey for some of the most basic cognitive biases. They tend to overweight the recent, the easily available, the widely repeated, and anything that confirms pre-conceived models.
The recent reports of Grok regurgitating crude antisemitic stereotypes and slogans illustrate the technological half of the problem. The shocking wave of terror-supporting actions wracking college campuses and drawing recent grads in many of our cities illustrate the human half.
The abundance of information has destroyed its value. Because information—facts and data—are the building blocks upon which all understanding must rest, we’ve raised a generation incapable of deep understanding. Because complex moral judgments build upon comprehension, young Americans are also shorn of basic morality
We are rapidly entering a world in which widespread access to voluminous information is producing worse—not better—decisions and actions at all levels. We have outsourced knowledge, comprehension, and judgment to sterile devices easily biased to magnify popular opinion. We have bred a generation of exquisitely credentialed, deeply immoral, anti-intellectuals on the brink of entering leadership.
When the ubiquity of instant lookup evolves beyond basic facts and into moral judgments, banal slogans and mindless cruelty will come to rule our lives.
Is there a way out of this morass? Perhaps the only one that the ancients discovered back when information, understanding, and morality all retained immense value: faith in a higher power. Because the path we’ve set on our own is heading into some very dark places.
Bypass Big Tech Censors
Two Storms, One Harvest
Every food crisis in living memory has been a one-shock event. The 2008 price spike was a commodity bubble. The 2020 shortages were a logistics failure. The 2022 grain scare was a war on one exporter’s ports. Each time, the system bent, adjusted, and recovered, and each time the experts assured us afterward that global markets are simply too big and too diversified to fail.
What nobody in Washington seems eager to discuss is that 2026 is shaping up to be something the modern food system has never actually faced. Two independent shocks, one climatic and one geopolitical, are converging on the same harvest cycle at the same time. Not sequentially. Simultaneously.
Start with the weather. The Pacific Ocean is currently building toward what forecasters now openly call a record event. NOAA’s Climate Prediction Center puts the odds of at least a strong El Niño near 88 percent, with roughly two in three odds it reaches “very strong” status, the tier reserved for perhaps three or four events in the entire satellite era. Every major global model now projects a median peak in Super El Niño territory, and most of them project it exceeding the 2015-16 event, which until now held the modern record. Sea surface anomalies were already brushing the super threshold in mid-July, months before these events normally peak. The atmosphere has already shifted into El Niño mode, and the event is forecast to crest in late fall and early winter.
This is not about “climate change.” It’s about the standard cycles of weather, and the cycle we’re currently in is one that has likely devastated societies in the past. We’re better prepared as a society today, but not all Americans are equally prepared.
Serious households have started doing the quiet math on their own. Grocery bills tell part of the story, and the forecast maps tell the rest, which is why long-term food storage has moved from fringe hobby to mainstream line item in the family budget, with established suppliers like Heaven’s Harvest seeing demand from people who five years ago would have rolled their eyes at the idea. That instinct is not paranoia. It is pattern recognition, and the pattern is worth walking through carefully.
Editor’s Note: Heaven’s Harvest IS a sponsor, but the warnings of this article are real and would be written even if we didn’t have a survival food sponsor. With that said, those who take advantage of what they offer can use promo code “Patriot” for 15% off.
The Fertilizer Clock Is Already Running
While the Pacific warms, the second shock has been unfolding in the Strait of Hormuz. The conflict with Iran turned the world’s most important energy chokepoint into a contested waterway, and the consequences reach far beyond the gas pump. Roughly a third of global fertilizer trade moves through Hormuz, and the disruption sent urea prices up 86 percent year over year by March, with a 53 percent jump in a single month.
The World Bank projects energy prices rising about 24 percent in 2026 and fertilizer about 31 percent. By its own accounting, fertilizer prices ran 35 percent higher in the first five months of this year than the same period last year.
Here is the mechanism the nightly news will not explain. Fertilizer is not a grocery item. It is a time-delayed input. The nitrogen a farmer in Iowa or Punjab could not afford to apply this spring does not show up as a problem this spring. It shows up as a thinner harvest six to twelve months later.
The World Bank’s own food security brief concedes that the effects of reduced applications earlier this season “are likely to become visible only later in harvest outcomes.” Translate that from institutional language into plain English and it means this. The damage is already done, it is already in the ground, and we are simply waiting for it to arrive on the shelf.
Now check the calendar. Six to twelve months from the spring planting season lands us squarely in late 2026 and early 2027. Which is precisely when the strongest El Niño in the instrumental record is forecast to peak, bringing its signature droughts to Southeast Asia, Australia, southern Africa, northern Brazil, and South Asia, the very regions that grow the world’s rice, sugar, and oilseeds.
The World Bank warns openly that a strong El Niño “could disrupt multiple crop belts simultaneously” on top of the conflict-driven input costs. Their baseline projection assumes the Middle East disruptions ease by autumn. What in the last two years of Middle East history suggests that assumption is safe?
The System Has No Slack Left
The comfortable answer is that global markets always adjust. But adjustment requires slack, and the slack is gone. Global cereal production is expected to decline from last year’s records even before El Niño does its work. The UN World Food Programme, hardly a den of right-wing preppers, is calling this the most significant disruption to its supply chains since Covid and the invasion of Ukraine, and its supply chain director put the stakes bluntly.
Today’s supply chain challenges are tomorrow’s hunger crisis.
There is also a political dimension that markets cannot price. When food gets scarce, governments do not behave like economists. They behave like politicians. Export bans, hoarding mandates, and panic buying at the national level turned the modest rice shortfall of 2008 into a global crisis, and analysts are already warning that import-dependent nations are the first dominoes.
The 2015-16 Super El Niño, a far weaker event than what is now forecast, threw tens of millions into food stress across Africa and Asia. This one is projected to be stronger, and it arrives with fertilizer already rationed by price and shipping lanes already contested by missiles.
What Joseph Knew
Scripture does not treat preparation for lean years as faithlessness. It treats it as wisdom delivered in advance to those willing to act on it.
Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all the land of Egypt: And there shall arise after them seven years of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt.
Joseph did not respond to that warning with a hashtag or a committee. He stored grain during the years of abundance, and when the famine came, Egypt stood while its neighbors begged. The lesson is not that famine is certain. It is that the time to prepare is precisely when preparation still looks optional.
Nobody who filled a pantry in a year of plenty has ever regretted it, and nobody standing in an empty aisle has ever been glad he waited for certainty.
None of this calls for panic, and panic is the enemy of sound judgment anyway. It calls for the same unglamorous prudence our grandparents considered ordinary. Keep some cash margin, know your local growers, and put real food in deep storage while it is cheap and available, because the entire arc of this story is that cheap and available is a closing window.
Families looking for a straightforward place to start can visit Heaven’s Harvest and use promo code Patriot for 15 percent off long-term storable food. The forecasts may yet soften, the strait may yet reopen, and we should pray they do. But hope is a fine thing to hold and a foolish thing to eat.
