Purpose

I’m not here to offer you pre-packaged beliefs while telling you what’s wrong with everyone else’s.

You already have philosophers, authors, and commentators doing that for you—and I’ve no desire to add to the collage.

I’m taking the opposite approach: one of quiet subtraction. A process of elimination. My goal isn’t to give you the answers, but to help you start asking the kind of questions that lead you to your own.

If anything I write helps someone sharpen a definition or spot a lazy excuse hiding as meaning, then perhaps we’ve done something useful: Made the gray a little harder to hide. Because the more clearly we see things, the harder it becomes to lie to ourselves—or be lied to by others.

Clarity doesn’t just cut through confusion—it protects us from it. To the skeptics, cynics, nihilists, existentialist, absurdist, covert sophist,  and champions of ambiguity—the ones who insist there are no absolutes with absolute certainty—I say only this: one must admire the consistency of their contradiction. To believe in nothing or anything with such conviction is still belief.

They’ve made doubt their doctrine—and follow it religiously.

Im not here to convert or proselytize you, Im here to remind you that you don’t need credentials to ask good questions. You just need a reason to care—because when things are clearer, it’s harder to twist them, and harder to be twisted by them.

Clarity protects more than ideas—it protects people.

In one home, a 13-year-old girl comes back pregnant. Her parents say “We love you,”and then throw her out unto the streets to “learn the hard way.”

In another home—on the other side of the world or more ironically, right next door—the same scene unfolds. The same age. The same situation. The same words: “We love you.”

But this time, they open the door. They say, “You shouldn’t have been doing that—but you’re still our daughter. We’ll get through this.”

Same word. Same scenario. Two entirely different worlds.

That’s the danger of leaving meaning undefined:

When anything can mean “love,” anything can be justified in its name.

And this is still happening—in 2025—while we walk around with supercomputers in our pockets, train machines to mimic thought, and pat ourselves on the back for being “the most advanced civilization in history.”

We’ve mapped the human genome, digitized our desires, and built satellites that can photograph a grain of sand from space—

but somehow, we still can’t agree on what love should mean to a child.

That’s not just sad. That’s pathetic.

And if that doesn’t bother you, maybe you’ve gotten too comfortable in the gray.

Making the Gray Smaller is the practice of narrowing the space where confusion, contradiction, and moral vagueness hide. It means refusing to accept fuzzy definitions, half-truths, and convenient excuses as substitutes for clarity. It’s not about oversimplifying the world—it’s about stripping away the ambiguity that people use to avoid accountability, dodge truth, or justify harm. When we make the gray smaller, we make it harder to lie—to others, and to ourselves.