We are hungry ghosts

A variable-ratio positive reinforcement schedule rules the world and rules motivation in every respect. That’s why casinos glitter with wealth, and gamblers stay hooked not on the payout, but the maybe.

It’s the uncertainty that seduces us, the thrill of not knowing when the reward will drop, only that it might. Every refresh of a screen, every swipe, every scroll is a spin of the slot machine, a prayer for dopamine.

Social media thrives on this same logic—likes, shares, the hope of going viral—rare enough to feel earned, frequent enough to keep you chasing.

Children learn to beg for candy not when they always get it, but when they sometimes do. Lovers stay entangled in toxic loops, hearts clinging to the unpredictability of tenderness meted out like crumbs. Workers push harder when praise is inconsistent, mistaking neglect for a challenge, for a game they haven’t yet won.

Religion, too, can mirror the schedule—miracles random, blessings rare, faith made addictive by holy unpredictability. Even the stock market spins its roulette, pulling fortunes from chaos, rewarding the gambler disguised as an investor. What is motivation if not hunger made habitual, hope shaped by randomness?

We are all rats in Skinner’s box, pressing levers of desire with trembling hands. And the world, wired for reward without pattern, keeps feeding our obsession.

We are hungry ghosts.

We are Preta (प्रेत)