In The Cult of More

Blessed are those that hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

The first time I remember feeling really angry, I was probably seven.

After obediently listening, bargaining, and not screaming at the dentist under my mom’s wishes, I could finally download Minecraft on a cracked iPad with a laggy Wi-Fi signal. As I watched what others had done on YouTube, I started my journey with a little wooden hut. I was very proud of it.

So, I began adding different kinds of wood: birch, oak, jungle, and whatever I could find. I placed torches inside and carved out little windows. I crafted a sign over the door that said “Home.” It was simple, but it was mine.

Then I watched another YouTube video. I saw a castle with secret rooms, lava moats, pistons, hidden staircases, and working redstone elevators. Compared to that, my little hut looked like a cardboard box. It made mine feel small. Like it didn’t matter anymore.

The next thing you know I am in the bathroom staying up late collecting diamonds, studying redstone mechanics, downloading texture packs I didn’t understand. But no matter how big my world got, someone else’s world was bigger. More blocks. More style. More something. It always felt like something was missing in my home. That desire haunted me. I began questioning myself, Why was I even building in the first place?

In elementary school, it was Pokémon cards. I only had a couple decent ones. Other kids had binders full of holographics. I’d trade my lunchables, or lie about the rarity of mine, just to feel less behind. I kept chasing more because I thought if I just caught enough, I’d finally be satisfied.

But the problem wasn’t that I didn't have enough. The problem was that hunger had no end. The hunger to want more. More hustle. More likes. More apps. More money. More friends. More followers. More awards. More responsibilities. More hacks. More mindfulness. More fame. More manifesting. More pressure. More love. I could go on with more. Just more of more.

Eventually, I realized this wasn’t just a personal problem: it was cultural and spiritual. The Scriptures is full of warnings about this kind of hunger, the kind that keeps growing even as we feed it. Adam and Eve had everything. They lived in a paradise designed to be more than enough. But that single seed of doubt, that craving for more knowledge, more power, more control led to their fall. Not because the apple was evil. But because of the desire behind it. They wanted to be like God. The unlimited in a limited world.

And just like the Garden of Eden, we still find ourselves hiding afterward. Behind our busyness. Behind our achievements. Behind the curated versions of ourselves we show the world. All because of our unconscious addiction to more. As consumers, we are taught to worship it. If you don’t have more, you’re not enough. If you slow down, you’re lazy. If you rest, you’re falling behind. Even healing becomes a race.

I see our hunger seeds scattered everywhere. Even after reaching my most ambitious goals, I should feel satisfied, but I just feel this void inside. Like I needed to prove myself again. And again. I'm still searching for something more in a modern-day world of gluttony, not of food, but of validation. We keep consuming because we think that the next title, next purchase, next post will fill the hole. But it never does.

At some point, I had to stop and ask myself: What am I chasing? Who told me I needed to be this efficient? This optimized? And more importantly: Who am I if I stop? I had to unlearn the belief that I am only as good as my last output. The reality is that is not what God designed us for. On the seventh day, He looked at all He had made and called it good. Not perfect. Not infinite. Not optimized. Just good. And He stopped. Not because He was tired, but because the pause was part of the design.

Even if we ever reach the step after more; when AI can automate our schedules, writes our thoughts, and anticipates our needs before we speak them; when 3D printers create homes overnight, and automation promises to free us from labor; when humans spread across planets, mining asteroids, terraforming Mars, and mapping stars; when we become conquerors of the galaxy, inventors of endless abundance, masters of the universe with every resource at our fingertips; when will it be enough?

Because if we haven’t healed the hunger in us, the need to prove, the need to be seen, the need to be more, we will only carry that void into the stars. We’ll build empires on other planets with the same emptiness we had in our bedrooms, our classrooms, our hearts. We’ll make faster rockets, smarter machines, more beautiful illusions but still wonder: Why am I still not full?

We keep imagining that the next advancement will finally fix the ache. But maybe it’s not an achievement problem. Maybe it’s a soul problem. A spiritual sickness disguised as ambition. Because God didn’t create us to be infinite and perfect. He created us to be whole and human. The greatest act of rebellion in our modern world racing toward more is to stop. To look at your life, in its humble, unfinished, imperfect form and say, "This is enough."

Maybe that’s the truest kind of efficiency. Not because it’s everything. But because it’s enough.