When the Survival Instinct Eats Its Own
How the survival instinct misfires and why the Pursuit of Grace is one of its quietest casualties.
As I sit in a hotel room at the Hilton LAX, solving problems for clients back in Australia and slowly crunching through the 1790 London setting of my intergenerational memoir, the news hums in the background.
Today’s loop — as news channels do love a loop — is the protests, riots, and disruptions unfolding in Minnesota. Pro and anti voices clashing over the latest chapter in the immigration saga.
I’m not picking sides. That’s not the point.
What struck me wasn’t the politics — it was the pattern.
The tribal instinct.
Which, as I’ve come to understand, is just a sub‑instinct of something older and deeper:
the survival instinct.
And when that instinct misfires, it doesn’t just cause chaos.
It starts to consume the very things it was designed to protect.
The survival instinct is ancient. It kept our ancestors alive through winters, predators, famine, and migration. But in the modern world, that same instinct can misfire — not because it’s broken, but because the environment has changed faster than the instinct has.
When the survival instinct doesn’t have a real threat to latch onto, it finds a substitute.
And that’s where things start to eat themselves.
1. Tribal instinct replacing purpose
When someone lacks mission, purpose, or grounded belonging, the tribal instinct steps in and says:
• “Belong to us or you won’t survive.”
• “Adopt our outrage.”
• “Adopt our enemies.”
• “Adopt our moral certainty.”
It feels like meaning, but it’s a substitute — a survival instinct trying to fill a spiritual void.
2. Fat‑storage instinct in a world of abundance
Once, storing fat meant surviving winter.
Now, a single 1,900‑calorie Fatburger meal turns that same instinct into a liability.
The instinct hasn’t changed.
The environment has.
And the instinct begins to harm the body it was designed to protect.
3. Migration instinct in the wrong season
Pioneers once moved west for food, sun, and opportunity.
But if you misread the season and push too late, the same instinct that promised survival can lead to:
• snowstorms
• starvation
• freezing
• death
Again — the instinct eating its own.
Where the Pursuit of Grace Fits In
Grace requires:
• mission
• purpose
• connection
• humility
• discernment
• tuning into people
• tuning into God’s creation
But when the survival instinct misfires, grace becomes one of the first casualties — not because it’s weak, but because it’s invisible.
It doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t demand.
It doesn’t recruit.
It doesn’t offer tribal belonging.
Grace is quiet.
The survival instinct is loud.
And when the loud instinct overwhelms the quiet one, people drift away from:
• family
• community
• generational responsibility
• grounded purpose
• spiritual connection
…into the mission of the tribe, even if the tribe’s mission has nothing to do with their actual life.
In a Nutshell
When people lose mission and purpose, the survival instinct looks for a substitute.
If it latches onto tribal identity instead of family, faith, or community, it begins to consume the very things it was meant to protect — including grace.
About Jason Bresnehan
Jason is a writer and recovery advocate whose work explores the intersection of Catholic faith and the lived experience of addiction. His books and essays weave scripture with the rhythms of everyday life, showing how grace can surface in the most ordinary encounters.
Through A Catholic Gospel Journey – Through the Lens of Alcohol Recovery and related projects, Jason offers reflections that connect the Sunday readings to the struggles and victories of recovery. His approach is rooted in clarity, rhythm, and respect for tradition, while remaining accessible to those navigating the challenges of addiction and renewal.
Founder of the Hadspen Foundation, Jason is committed to building frameworks for spiritual recovery that are both repeatable and personal. His writing is guided by discernment, narrative cadence, and the belief that doctrine should support—not overshadow—the human story.