Jealousy, greed, fear. We're all full of these things. But also

"Jealousy, greed, fear. We’re all full of these things. But also love and compassion. If you saw a drowning baby, it wouldn’t matter if you were wearing a tuxedo on the way to your own wedding. You’d jump in to save him." These words, spoken by John McAfee, the brilliant yet troubled pioneer of the digital age, hold within them the eternal paradox of the human heart. In this single reflection, McAfee pierces through the illusions of morality and philosophy, reaching the core of what it means to be human: that we are creatures of contradiction, torn between darkness and light, between selfish instinct and divine compassion. His words remind us that while our souls are clouded by jealousy, greed, and fear, there exists within us a spark of love so pure and instinctive that it transcends reason itself.

John McAfee’s life was a mirror of this duality. A man of great intellect, innovation, and charisma, he also walked through the valleys of excess, suspicion, and chaos. His quote emerges not from the calm meditations of a saint but from the reflections of one who had wrestled with his own demons. He saw in humanity both its brilliance and its brokenness. To him, good and evil were not distant forces warring outside of us—they were twin rivers flowing within the same soul. And yet, he believed that even amidst the storm of our failings, there remains something incorruptible: the instinct to protect the innocent, the capacity for compassion that defies logic or self-interest.

The image McAfee paints—the man in a tuxedo leaping into the water to save a drowning child—is more than metaphor. It is a vision of humanity’s higher nature, that divine impulse that needs no deliberation. In that moment, one does not weigh reputation, comfort, or consequence; one acts, because love commands it. This is the mysterious glory of man—that from a heart burdened with greed can arise generosity, from a spirit haunted by fear can spring courage. The same being who envies his brother may, without hesitation, die for a stranger. Compassion, McAfee reminds us, is not learned—it is innate. It dwells in the marrow of existence, deeper than thought, older than creed.

History offers countless witnesses to this truth. When the city of Hiroshima lay in ruins after the atomic blast, doctors and nurses—some themselves wounded and starving—rushed into the flames to save the living. They had nothing left to gain, no reason to hope, yet love and compassion drove them. Or think of Oskar Schindler, a man who began the war as a profiteer, moved by greed and ambition, yet ended it saving hundreds of lives at the cost of his fortune. In him, McAfee’s words are made flesh: a flawed man, full of fear and vanity, yet capable of redemption through compassion. Such stories reveal that within even the darkest souls, the divine still breathes.

The ancients, too, spoke of this duality. The Stoics taught that every man is born with the seeds of both virtue and vice, and that life’s task is to cultivate the one and restrain the other. Buddha said that suffering arises from desire, yet also that compassion is the path to enlightenment. Even the Scriptures speak of this eternal balance: “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” McAfee’s reflection echoes these timeless teachings but in modern language, forged not in monasteries but in the chaos of the modern world. His insight carries the same wisdom as the philosophers of old—that the greatness of man lies not in purity, but in the struggle between his instincts.

To acknowledge that we are filled with jealousy, greed, and fear is not to despair, but to be honest. For only through awareness can one rise above the shadows. The man who pretends to be pure is blind; the man who knows his corruption can begin to master it. And this mastery, McAfee reminds us, is not achieved through denial, but through action born of compassion. When love compels us to leap into the water—to save, to serve, to protect—we become more than our flaws. In that instant, humanity transcends its imperfection and touches eternity.

Let this, then, be the teaching carried forward: acknowledge your darkness, but do not let it define you. Understand that you are made of the same clay as tyrants and saints alike, but that every moment offers a choice—to act in fear, or to act in love. The tuxedo may symbolize your pride, your comfort, your ego—but when the cry of another reaches your ear, cast it aside without hesitation. For the measure of a soul is not its purity, but its compassion. As John McAfee taught, the human heart is a battlefield of conflicting forces—but in the final reckoning, it is our capacity to leap toward love that redeems us. And that leap, spontaneous and selfless, is what makes us truly human.