Why Un-Inventing Evil Isn’t as Simple as It Sounds

If I could un-invent something, what would it be?

“The real problem isn’t the invention. It’s us.”

I have to give WordPress credit for this one. This is one of those deceptively simple questions that looks easy on the first pass, then quietly refuses to let go of your brain for the rest of the day. At first, the answers line up neatly, almost too neatly. The atomic bomb. Pornography. Heroin. Social media. Pick your poison. Each one feels obvious, righteous even, like a moral reflex rather than a thought.

But the more I sat with it, the more uncomfortable it became. Because the real problem isn’t the invention. It’s us.

Every one of those things—every destructive force we point to—comes from the same source as the most beautiful things we’ve ever created. Free will. That’s the uncomfortable truth hiding under this question. Without free will, none of those horrors exist. But without free will, neither do art, compassion, sacrifice, curiosity, faith, or love. You don’t get to surgically remove the darkness without also killing the light.

Take the atomic bomb. It’s easy to say that’s the answer. A device built for annihilation, capable of ending cities in seconds. But the same scientific path that led there also gave us nuclear medicine, cancer treatments, power generation, and a deeper understanding of the universe itself. The knowledge wasn’t evil. The choice was.

Pornography feels like another easy target. I’ve lived long enough to watch it evolve from a hidden magazine under a mattress to a global, instant, infinite stream. It distorts intimacy, rewires expectations, and cheapens something deeply human. And yet sexuality itself isn’t the problem. Desire isn’t the problem. Again, it’s choice—how far it’s pushed, how it’s exploited, how it’s consumed without restraint or responsibility.

Heroin? Same story. A chemical derived from medical research, once marketed as a solution, later revealed as a monster. Pain relief turned into pain multiplication. The molecule didn’t wake up one day and decide to ruin lives. People did, often starting with good intentions and ending in tragedy.

That’s what keeps circling back for me. Free will is the engine behind everything. It’s why someone can invent a tool to heal and another person can use that same tool to destroy. It’s why two people can stand in the same circumstances and make radically different choices. It’s why history is filled with both saints and monsters, sometimes in the same person.

I think about everyday examples too, not just world-ending ones. A car can take you to see your grandchildren or be used recklessly and end a life. Money can build hospitals or fuel greed. Technology can connect families across continents or isolate people sitting in the same room. Even words—the simplest invention of all—can heal a relationship or burn one to the ground forever.

If I’m honest, what I’d really like to un-invent isn’t a thing at all. It’s the illusion that we can create something without responsibility. That inventions exist in a moral vacuum. They don’t. They never have. Every tool carries the fingerprint of human intent, and that intent doesn’t stop once the thing is built.

Free will is dangerous. It always has been. It’s the reason history is messy, violent, and heartbreaking. But it’s also the reason it’s meaningful. Remove it, and you don’t just eliminate evil—you eliminate courage. You eliminate growth. You eliminate the ability to choose good when bad is easier.

So no, I don’t think I’d un-invent the atomic bomb, pornography, drugs, or any single object. As tempting as that sounds, it feels like dodging the real issue. The harder truth is that free will demands something from us. Accountability. Wisdom. Restraint. Humility.

That’s not a comfortable answer. It doesn’t fit neatly into a comment box. But it feels honest.

And maybe that’s exactly why this prompt works so well.