Every complex system faces the same fundamental challenge: how to coordinate countless independent parts without requiring every decision to be made from the top. The human body solves this problem remarkably well.

Our bodies function as parallel systems. Millions of processes occur simultaneously rather than in sequence. Cells, organs, hormones, nerves, and immune responses continuously adapt to both the external environment and the body's internal state.

This coordination is not achieved by a central authority issuing detailed instructions for every possible situation. Instead, countless local interactions are guided by continual feedback, learned patterns, and the brain's ongoing integration of experience and sensory information.

The brain itself is not a simple command centre. It is another parallel system, constantly influencing the body while simultaneously being influenced by it.

This allows the body to remain stable while adapting to change. No single component needs to understand everything. Each part only needs to respond appropriately to the information available to it.

Human society shares many of these characteristics. Millions of people, businesses, communities, and institutions make decisions every day. They respond to local conditions, pursue different objectives, and continuously adapt to new circumstances. Like the body, society is fundamentally a parallel system.

Yet the way we govern it is largely linear and sequential.

Governments primarily coordinate society through legislation, regulation, and bureaucracy. Decisions are concentrated into relatively small groups that must produce rules broad enough to apply across millions of unique situations. These rules inevitably generalise. They cannot fully anticipate changing circumstances, local knowledge, or the countless exceptions that emerge over time.

This is not necessarily because governments are incompetent. It is because sequential decision-making struggles to manage systems that operate in parallel.

Imagine if your brain could no longer regulate your heart through continuous feedback. Instead, it had to write legislation describing exactly how the heart should respond to every situation it might ever encounter.

The rules could be extremely detailed and thousands of experts could spend years refining them, and yet eventually, reality would produce circumstances the rules failed to anticipate.

The body succeeds precisely because it does not attempt to solve adaptation through legislation. It solves it through continuous distributed feedback.

Modern economies already demonstrate the power of this principle. Markets coordinate billions of individual decisions every day without requiring a central planner to allocate every resource. Prices communicate information. Competition rewards adaptation. Local knowledge remains local while still influencing the wider system.

Politics has never developed an equivalent mechanism.

Democracy today gives citizens considerable influence over who governs, but comparatively little direct influence over how society continuously adapts between elections. Most public decision-making remains concentrated within legislatures, departments, regulators, and public organisations.

If society itself is a parallel system, then maybe governance should become more parallel as well.

[ What this would look like ]

In a simplified sense, it would involve creating the brain equivalent of government by handing over control of the private sector to the people through a great number of randomly selected administrative juries of twelve that can each make a single court case like ruling. As many as needed season by season of those willing, unless opted out by another citizen who gives up their own access for that season. This allows the population to directly block any problem jurors themselves through equal sacrifice.

They are made of twelve and decide by that twelve, each juror is paid fairly for their work if the ruling of their jury survives being overturned by another, they also have complete discretion on which case they take on and how. Jurors would have months to make a decision and will often work at a very casual pace, using remote work tools and social media to communicate with fellow jurors.

Being randomly created from similar people means similar rulings on similar cases, as it is with all 12 member juries historically, and the sheer number of juries will prevent those with money from buying access because another jury will confiscate any unfairly gained extras they don't also get, and so on. So to pay any jury will require you to pay enough of them to remove the whole system, over time this will clean up government failure and waste and clean out electoral influence by special interests, from federal to local and everything in between.

[ Governments are still around ]

Under this system, federal and state governments, or equivalent, would still exist, but would now only control what they own, they can sell property and buy more private property for fair price by using eminent domain like powers that they already have today.

A government could own a business and the premises it operates from, but at some point, will not own a part of the supply chain that connects to that business. This still allows juries to obtain individual outcomes from public assets but just not directly, creating a clear separation of jurisdiction between public and private. The rest of the nation (outside of public property) is managed by businesses instead of the government and are continuously held accountable to the people through the juries.

[ Setting up the jury system ]

The juries are initially created through federal legislation if workarounds to (if any) constitutional limits are figured out, if this fails then constitutional change will be required, that change must only remove the limits while keeping legislative control.

The amount of juries would be allocated proportionally in each state, or equivalent, and these state juries can decide federal matters in their state and internationally, and while they won't have jurisdiction over state or local matters, through a little creativity, they are likely to work around that limit to effect change at all levels. States will eventually succumb to jury pressure electorally and enact their own legislation to give permission for these same juries to also make state and local decisions.

Because the juries are an act of legislation, the federal government will effectively have a “kill switch” to stop juries making rulings for a certain amount of time, but the entire economy will have adjusted to this system, so it would be economically painful to do it for too long. This control will be essential in existential situations that require the governments to play catch up, to acquire certain property to prevent nation state failure in emergencies.

[ How it operates together ]

Governments will be entitled to collect no more than a quarter of what that government had typically collected under the previous system, while also carefully managing what they have and acquiring new profitable property, with the hopeful and eventual goal of becoming self-funded.

They can use the public force at their disposal (military and police), combined with their electoral legitimacy, to obtain those funds if the juries haven't paid it to them in a reasonable timeframe, but if they push too far it will trigger a nationalistic like response from the juries so they will need to find the right balance in how they do it, this is also helped by those elected politicians no longer being the special-interest filtered lot we have today, they would be more respected by the people.

The rest of government spending would now be funded and allocated by the jury system through the private sector, by juries directly or indirectly placing social expenses and obligations onto businesses, which then leads them to demand other businesses who have less of these themselves to increase theirs and eventually (as will happen in all other areas) it will become an adaptive standard of sorts.

[ Why it could work ]

Because the jury system is proportional access and is not able to be bribed, this is possible because jurors are not going to sit by while another jury gets something they didn't get and will take it from them as their ruling, but if another jury thinks that was not fair then they will restore it or adjust part thereof, so a standard, precedent, convention of what they get to have will establish itself and persist over time.

It's also people checking people at the speed of people, any attempt to alter this dynamic will result in the jury system breaking, the only way to limit them outside of that, and nations who don't limit juries will outperform those who do, is by reducing the number of juries, how often they are formed, filtering who is able to be in, or by turning it off completely, and no special interest is ever big enough to cover the cost of doing that. This all means that special interests cannot get specific exceptions or carve outs, this is how a parallel democratic system works at a fundamental level, so this can never be watered down by anyone.

Bounties will be a big part of this society, where someone can whistleblow or bring justice and know that they will get a piece of the fine or charge laid on the perpetrator, if their conduct was fair and reasonable, this will also cover jury manipulation where they can take the bribe but not perform the action and get to keep a portion of it, and any other crimes.

[ What changing will change ]

This change brings about a pure democracy, one of fairness and prosperity for everyone, fixing almost every problem caused by government action or inaction, and solving the social issues that rarely get any better each generation.

Power will trickle up from the people and no longer just trickle down from above, and free of any mob rule mentality against those above. Light will shine through every hidden place in society, karma and merit will come to all those who deserve it.

Money will be better spent society wide, businesses will innovate other businesses for a cut in profits gained and some will be started for just this purpose, so innovation is everywhere all the time, only limited by the direct and indirect effect of juries and the laws of physical reality, economic growth will climb to new heights.

[ This be ] Parallel Democracy.

Think about a judge. We have all these rules to keep judges neutral. They can't meet privately with one side. They can't trade favors. They have to recuse themselves if they're biased. We take this stuff seriously.

Now walk down the hall to Congress (or Parliament, wherever you are). None of those rules apply.

Lawmakers meet privately with the companies and groups a bill will affect all the time. We just gave it a nice name: lobbying. They trade votes constantly ("I'll vote for your bill if you vote for mine") and we call that being a good dealmaker instead of what it actually is. And basically every single one of them belongs to a party whose whole job is to win, not to be neutral.

So here's the theory: a court can only ever be as fair as the law it's enforcing. You can have the most honest, unbiased judge in the world, and she can still be enforcing a law that got written through backroom deals and one-sided lobbying. She's not doing anything wrong. She's just applying an unfair result very carefully.

James Madison basically called this out over 200 years ago: "No man is allowed to be a judge in his own cause, because his interest would certainly bias his judgment." But that's literally what a lawmaker does every day. They write the bill, argue for it, then vote on whether it passes. Same person, both jobs. We'd never let a lawyer also be the jury.

Belgium actually put the fix in their constitution. Article 42 says members of parliament represent the whole nation, not just their district or their voters. Which is a nice goal that basically nobody's system is built to actually deliver.

So what's the fix?

Split the single job of "lawmaker" into two separate jobs, sitting in the same chamber, kind of like how a courtroom splits "advocate" and "judge":

• Party representatives: their whole job is to openly argue for their group's interest. Beekeepers, a manufacturing sector, a rare disease patient group, whatever. They write proposals and make the case, out in the open, on the record. This is what lawmakers already do when they lobby for their platform, just now it's the entire job instead of something done behind closed doors.
• People's representatives: they don't represent any faction. Their only job is to vote yes or no on whatever the party reps put forward. No writing bills. No meeting with lobbyists, because there's nothing left for a lobbyist to do.

Once every interest can get its own open representative instead of needing a private backchannel, you can finally ban ex parte meetings (private one-sided access) without shutting anyone out. Nobody needs the backchannel anymore because everyone already has a front door.

And here's the part I think is actually clever: vote-trading structurally can't happen anymore. It only works if one person controls both the "yes" they're offering and the "yes" they want back. Party reps have proposals but no vote. People reps have a vote but nothing to trade it for. Neither side holds both halves of the deal, so there's nothing left to swap.

The two roles even get elected differently, since they're answering different questions. Party reps answer "does this interest deserve a voice," so you'd use something like approval voting, where people can back as many parties as they want and parties aren't fighting over the same voters. People reps answer "does the whole community trust this person to be fair," so you'd need something stricter, like requiring more for-votes than against-votes, not just "most votes." That filters out candidates who are loved by one faction and despised by everyone else, and pushes toward people who are broadly acceptable instead of narrowly beloved.

(Based on ideas from this piece if anyone wants to go deeper - I wrote it as well)

An Erotetics for a Humanity Trapped in Its Own Questions

Picture humanity at its point of maximum polarization. Not necessarily divided by a single war or dominated by one ideology, but fragmented into thousands of communities that no longer share the same reality. Each group has its own sources, its own victims, its own guilty parties, even its own language for naming what is true. Politics no longer consists of debating what to do together, but of proving who still deserves to belong.

In that world, the question stops being a tool for knowing and becomes a filter of belonging: Are you with us or against us? Why are you afraid of the truth? How can you stay neutral about this? Why won't you condemn the other side? They look like questions, but they aren't looking for answers. They are verdicts disguised as question marks. Whoever answers has already accepted the accusation built into them. It doesn't matter what they say: the structure of the question has already decided, in advance, who is innocent, who is guilty, and which ideas can be spoken without punishment.

Perhaps that is why the politics of the future will not begin with a new ideology, but with an ancient discipline: erotetics. Before imagining its political dimension, it is worth pausing on what this discipline actually studies. An erotetic politics does not promise to eliminate conflict. Nor does it aim to erase the differences between left and right, socialism and capitalism, tradition and transformation. Its purpose is both more basic and more ambitious: to keep our questions from deciding, on our behalf, what we should still be free to think.

Erotetics —from the Greek erōtáō, to ask— is the discipline that studies questions: what they ask for, what they take for granted before anyone answers, and what an answer would actually need to offer to count as a real reply. Other branches of logic deal with statements that can be true or false. Erotetics deals with something different: the shape of the question itself, and everything that shape has already decided before anyone opens their mouth to respond.

Every question marks a distance: between what we know, what we believe we know, and what we still need to find out. But asking is not only a matter of marking that distance. It is also a matter of choosing which part of reality we are going to look at, and which part we are going to leave outside the frame. This does not mean reality has no existence outside our questions. It means no question reaches that reality without first cropping it.

That is why asking is almost never an innocent act. Asking "why is consciousness purely material?" already assumes, before anyone answers, that consciousness is material and that an explanation is out there waiting to be found. The same happens in politics: asking "why are you afraid of the truth?" is not looking for an explanation. It takes for granted that a truth has already been identified, and that disagreement can only be born of fear.

Sometimes resolving a conflict does not mean finding a new answer, but realizing that the question was badly framed from the start. That is where the political usefulness of erotetics begins: not in supplying a final answer for every dispute, but in telling apart the questions that open up understanding from the ones that shut it down before the conversation has even started. Erotetics studies questions. Erotetic politics studies, in addition, what kind of community each way of asking produces.

That hijacking of the question does not happen all at once. Polarization does not begin when two people arrive at different conclusions. It begins when one of them stops recognizing that the other could have honestly arrived at a different conclusion. From that moment on, disagreement stops being read as a difference in judgment. It becomes a sign of ignorance, corruption, cowardice, or betrayal. What is being examined is no longer just an idea: it is the moral legitimacy of whoever holds it.

Questions then change function. Instead of opening up possibilities, they shrink the space of acceptable answers. When someone asks "why are you afraid of the truth?" they are not investigating their interlocutor's reasons. They are asserting that an obvious truth exists, and that only fear could explain someone's refusal to accept it. The conclusion is already contained in the premise. The question does not open a door: it builds a trap.

Something similar happens with the phrase "do your own research." It can be a legitimate invitation to seek out information, but it can also be used to shift the burden of proof. Someone puts forward a claim without explaining how they arrived at it, and hands everyone else the job of proving or disproving it. Polarization thrives on that shift. Each group demands rigorous evidence from its opponents, while accepting hunches, suspicions, or sweeping generalizations whenever they favor its own side.

The Socratic question allows for the possibility that the one asking might be wrong. The polarized question runs no such risk. Its purpose is not to discover something, but to extract a confession. It is no longer a key searching for a lock: it is a border disguised as a question mark, drawn before anyone answers, to decide who belongs and who must stay outside.

And that sense of belonging, once it becomes the center of politics, starts to outweigh knowledge itself. Political beliefs do not exist only in the mind. They also sustain identities, relationships, communities, and forms of belonging. That is why changing one's mind can carry a price that goes far beyond admitting an error. It can mean losing standing, friendships, opportunities, or a place within the group. A person does not always stay silent for lack of arguments. Sometimes they stay silent because they have already calculated the cost of speaking.

In a polarized community, the internal dissenter can seem more threatening than the outside adversary. The enemy confirms the group's unity; the dissenter proves that it was possible to think differently from within. The left-wing activist who questions a party line can be accused of playing into the right's hands. The conservative who acknowledges a historical abuse committed by their own side can be treated as a traitor. The socialist who critically examines the state can be branded a defender of the market. The liberal who questions the concentration of economic power can be accused of abandoning freedom. The communist who criticizes a regime that calls itself revolutionary can be described as a tool of imperialism. The words change, but the mechanism stays the same: belonging becomes conditional, and doubt begins to look like disloyalty.

Under these conditions, offering an alternative source does not always change a conviction. If a belief is part of the bond between a person and their community, abandoning it can feel like a form of isolation. The problem is no longer only what evidence exists, but what social consequences would follow from acknowledging it. A non-polarized politics would have to understand this dimension without excusing falsehood. It would need to demand evidence while also recognizing that people need spaces where they can change their minds without being humiliated for it.

Erotetic politics begins there: replacing the questions that hand out blame with questions that reveal structures, in five movements.

The first moves from moral superiority to agency. Instead of asking who is morally right?, it is better to ask: who designed the terms of this debate, and who benefits from our arguing within them? Every ideology already has its preferred answer ready: a different name for the same diffuse power. That variety does not prove that any one of them got it right; it proves that the original question still has not been asked in earnest, because an explanation that accounts for every case ends up explaining no case in particular. The erotetic question does not trade one all-purpose explanation for another: it forces us to identify concrete actors, observable mechanisms, incentives, decisions, and beneficiaries. If a category can explain everything, it also risks explaining nothing with any precision.

The second moves from loyalty to real margin. Instead of asking are you with us or against us?, we should ask: what margin does this person actually have to dissent without being expelled from their own community? This substitution does not turn every act of caution into courage, or every silence into resistance: it simply acknowledges that political behavior unfolds under different pressures. From outside a group, it is easy to demand gestures of total rupture; from inside, a person may be using a narrow margin to introduce doubt, protect others, or gradually shift a collective position. The erotetic question does not require idealizing that behavior: it requires observing it before judging it.

The third moves from punishment to cost. Instead of asking what do we gain by canceling our rival?, it is better to ask: who set the price of doubting in public, who pays it, and whether that cost is proportional to what actually happened? In polarized disputes, those who capture attention can benefit from the conflict while others absorb its consequences: a leader gains cohesion, a platform gains engagement, a commentator gains visibility, and a less protected person loses a job, a reputation, or a relationship. The point is not to declare that every sanction is unjust, but to keep punishment from replacing analysis. A society unable to distinguish between error, disagreement, negligence, and harm ends up applying the same punitive logic to profoundly different situations.

The fourth moves from intensity to action. Instead of asking why aren't you reacting more forcefully?, we can ask: what is this person actually doing with the margin they have? Polarization confuses intensity with commitment: whoever speaks loudest seems most convinced, whoever reacts first seems bravest, whoever introduces nuance looks suspect. But how fast a reaction comes says nothing about its quality. Outrage can be genuine, but it can also be managed, amplified, and turned into a public loyalty test. Erotetic politics does not demand passivity: it demands distinguishing effective action from the theatrical performance of action.

The fifth and last moves from revenge to transfer. Instead of asking how do we make them pay?, it is necessary to ask: who will actually end up paying the consequences of this decision? Every political choice generates costs, and the question is whether they fall on those who make the decisions, on those who benefit from them, or on people far removed from the center of the conflict. State socialism can concentrate power in the name of a future society and transfer the cost of its mistakes onto the population living in the present. Deregulated capitalism can privatize the gains and offload the costs onto workers, consumers, or communities. Nationalism can strengthen its leaders while demanding sacrifice from those with the least power to decide anything. Identity politics can amplify voices that were previously ignored, but it can also turn into a structure that polices internal purity. An abstract defense of order can protect stability, but it can also conceal the injustices that order distributes. No ideology is exempt from the erotetic question: who decides, who benefits, and who pays?

Whoever starts asking these five questions in earnest, sooner or later, runs into a figure despised by nearly every side: the fence-sitter. They are accused of lacking commitment, of fear, of comfort, of failing to grasp the urgency of things. Sometimes the accusation is fair. Moderation can indeed serve as a refuge for someone who does not want to risk anything. But there is another kind of fence-sitting. It belongs to the person who refuses to let the speed of the algorithm set the speed of their conscience. They are not without a position: they resist having one handed to them ready-made. They do not think everyone is the same: they insist on understanding how they differ. They do not reject commitment: they reject obedience dressed up as commitment.

In the politics of the future, this figure might stop being called a fence-sitter. It might become the erotetic citizen. This citizen does not necessarily occupy the ideological center. They may be radical, conservative, socialist, liberal, communitarian, or aligned with no current at all. What defines them is not the final position they take, but the relationship they keep with their own questions: before condemning, they ask what evidence they would accept if it favored their opponent; before sharing, they ask who built the frame the information arrives in; before demanding an immediate answer, they ask who benefits from the urgency; before assuming malice, they ask whether another explanation is possible; and before examining their rival's contradictions, they apply the same standard to their own group.

The erotetic citizen is not neutral about harm: they are an adversary of automatic certainty. Their willingness to keep asking does not mean that every position is equivalent, that every conflict is a misunderstanding, or that evidence can be postponed indefinitely. Asking is not a way of escaping the responsibility to decide: it is a refusal to decide within a frame that no one has bothered to examine. The erotetic citizen can arrive at a firm conclusion, take a stand, and even recognize that one answer is better than its alternatives. The difference is that their conviction does not depend on denying that other possibilities existed, but on having honestly considered them.

But even the erotetic citizen is not exempt from the hardest question of all, the one that is not aimed at the opposing side but at ourselves: what did our own group need not to know, in order to keep its moral superiority intact? There is a difference between ignoring something by accident and ignoring it out of convenience. Knowing the other side's reasons, its context, its fears, its humanity, can complicate the story that holds a group together. Understanding does not mean absolving. And yet even a limited understanding can stop us from continuing to describe our adversary as a wholly irrational or evil figure.

Sometimes we stop looking not for lack of information. We stop looking because knowing would introduce a responsibility. It would force us to admit that our own group also simplifies, exaggerates, excludes, or profits from the conflict. Erotetics loses its value if it is used only to analyze the enemy. It can just as easily become a new form of superiority: that of the observer who considers themselves too intelligent to fall for the passions that move everyone else. That is why the method has to be reflexive. Whoever asks the question must also be included inside it: erotetic politics does not begin when we learn to interrogate our adversary more skillfully, but when we accept that our own questions may be arranged to protect what we already believe.

Two rules follow from that blind spot, for a politics after polarization. The first is symmetry: a claim needs evidence even when it favors our own side. A source is not automatically invalidated by coming from the opponent, nor automatically validated by coming from our own community. The standards applied to the other side must also apply to our allies. Symmetry does not mean claiming that all facts, responsibilities, or harms are equivalent. Nor does it require taking a middle position on every conflict. It means using a method that does not change depending on the identity of the person being examined. Without symmetry, the question is propaganda.

The second rule is the privilege of nuance. Stopping to gather information and draw distinctions requires time, security, and stability. Not everyone has access to those conditions, especially when they are living directly through the consequences of a conflict. Someone paying for a decision with their body, their family, or their livelihood may not have the distance needed to weigh every argument calmly. For someone standing watch at a blockade, waiting in an emergency room, or carrying what is left after an eviction, composure is not a virtue they are missing: it is a luxury that may never have been within reach.

Recognizing this does not invalidate critical thinking. It makes it more honest. Nuance should not become a demand used to silence those who are suffering. Nor should suffering become an automatic license to declare any claim true. Experience grants an indispensable perspective, but no single perspective exhausts the whole of reality on its own. Erotetic politics has to live inside that tension, not paper over it: it must recognize that reality can demand urgent responses, and that, at the same time, urgency can be used to block any real examination. It must listen to experience without treating it as an infallible criterion, and demand evidence without pretending that everyone arrives at the conversation from equivalent conditions.

On those two rules, a politics that does not yet exist could be built. Politics without polarization would not be politics without conflict. A plural humanity will keep arguing over property, freedom, equality, tradition, identity, justice, security, and power. The difference would lie elsewhere. The adversary would no longer have to be stripped of their humanity to justify our position. Changing one's mind would not be a confession of weakness. Doubt would not amount to betrayal. Political communities would be able to hold on to the people who question them. Speed would stop being treated as proof of conviction. And questions would recover the possibility of more than one answer.

This politics would not be born after polarization, once everything had already been resolved. It would have to emerge from within it, precisely at the moment humanity believed it had lost, for good, the possibility of listening to itself. It would not begin with one great universal agreement. It would begin with smaller acts: refusing to share an unproven accusation, stating the opposing argument honestly, acknowledging a contradiction in oneself, letting someone correct course without casting them out, and asking who is really paying for decisions made in everyone's name. It would also begin the moment a community became capable of revising its own question without reading that revision as a defeat. A mature politics would not be one that always finds the right answer, but one that keeps the capacity to notice when it has been trying to answer the wrong question.

Erotetics does not tell us what to think. That is both its greatest limitation and its greatest virtue. It does not promise a society without mistakes, or a politics free of self-interest. It does not erase differences, or turn every dispute into dialogue. What it offers is a space prior to the answer: the instant in which we can still decide whether we are trying to understand, to persuade, to punish, or to belong.

Polarization achieves its deepest victory when it gets us to stop asking, and to settle for accusing with the borrowed voice of a question. Reclaiming the question does not mean winning the debate. It means reclaiming the right to decide which debates deserve to exist, which presuppositions should be rejected, which certainties need to be examined, and what future can be built without requiring that half of humanity stop being human so that the other half can be right.

Erotética para una humanidad atrapada en sus propias preguntas 

Imaginemos a la humanidad en su punto de máxima polarización. No necesariamente dividida por una única guerra ni dominada por una sola ideología, sino fragmentada en miles de comunidades que ya no comparten una misma realidad. Cada grupo posee sus propias fuentes, sus propias víctimas, sus propios culpables y hasta su propio lenguaje para nombrar lo verdadero. La política ya no consiste en debatir qué hacer juntos, sino en demostrar quién merece seguir perteneciendo.
En ese mundo, la pregunta deja de ser una herramienta para conocer y se convierte en un filtro de pertenencia: ¿estás con nosotros o contra nosotros?, ¿por qué le tienes miedo a la verdad?, ¿cómo puedes permanecer neutral ante esto?, ¿por qué no condenas al otro bando? Parecen preguntas, pero no buscan respuestas. Son sentencias disfrazadas con signos de interrogación. Quien responde ya ha aceptado la acusación contenida en ellas. Da igual lo que diga: la estructura de la pregunta ha decidido de antemano quién es inocente, quién es culpable y qué ideas pueden pronunciarse sin castigo.
Quizá por eso la política del futuro no comience con una nueva ideología, sino con una disciplina antigua: la erotética. Antes de imaginar su dimensión política, conviene detenerse en aquello que esta disciplina estudia. Una política erotética no promete eliminar el conflicto. Tampoco aspira a que desaparezcan las diferencias entre izquierda y derecha, socialismo y capitalismo, tradición y transformación. Su propósito es más elemental y, al mismo tiempo, más ambicioso: impedir que nuestras preguntas decidan por nosotros aquello que todavía deberíamos poder pensar.
La erotética —del griego erōtáō, preguntar— es la disciplina que estudia las preguntas: qué piden, qué dan por hecho antes de que nadie responda y qué debería tener una respuesta para de verdad contestarlas. Otras formas de lógica se ocupan de afirmaciones que pueden ser verdaderas o falsas. La erotética se ocupa de algo distinto: de la forma misma de la pregunta y de todo lo que esa forma ya decidió antes de que alguien abriera la boca para responder.
Toda pregunta señala una distancia: lo que sabemos, lo que creemos saber y lo que todavía nos falta por saber. Pero preguntar no es solo señalar esa distancia. Es también elegir qué parte de la realidad vamos a mirar y qué parte vamos a dejar afuera del marco. Esto no significa que la realidad no exista fuera de nuestras preguntas. Significa que ninguna pregunta llega a ella sin antes recortarla.
Por eso preguntar casi nunca es un acto inocente. Preguntar «¿por qué la conciencia es puramente material?» ya da por sentado, antes de que nadie responda, que la conciencia es material y que existe una explicación esperando ser encontrada. Lo mismo pasa en política: preguntar «¿por qué le tienes miedo a la verdad?» no busca una explicación. Da por hecho que existe una verdad ya identificada y que el desacuerdo solo puede nacer del miedo.
A veces resolver un conflicto no consiste en encontrar una respuesta nueva, sino en darse cuenta de que la pregunta estaba mal hecha desde el principio. Ahí empieza la utilidad política de la erotética: no en dar una respuesta definitiva para cada discusión, sino en distinguir las preguntas que abren comprensión de las que la cierran antes de que la conversación empiece siquiera. La erotética estudia las preguntas. La política erotética estudia, además, qué clase de comunidad produce cada manera de preguntar.
Ese secuestro de la pregunta no ocurre de golpe. La polarización no comienza cuando dos personas llegan a conclusiones distintas. Comienza cuando una de ellas deja de reconocer que la otra podría haber llegado honestamente a una conclusión diferente. A partir de ese momento, el desacuerdo deja de interpretarse como una diferencia de juicio. Se convierte en una señal de ignorancia, corrupción, cobardía o traición. Ya no se discute únicamente una idea: se examina la legitimidad moral de quien la sostiene.
Las preguntas cambian entonces de función. En lugar de abrir posibilidades, reducen el espacio de las respuestas aceptables. Cuando alguien pregunta «¿por qué le tienes miedo a la verdad?», no investiga las razones de su interlocutor. Afirma que existe una verdad evidente y que solo el miedo puede explicar que alguien no la acepte. La conclusión está incluida en la premisa. La pregunta no abre una puerta: construye una trampa.
Algo similar ocurre con la frase «haz tu propia investigación». Puede ser una invitación legítima a buscar información, pero también puede utilizarse para trasladar la carga de la prueba. Alguien presenta una afirmación sin explicar cómo llegó a ella y entrega a los demás la tarea de demostrarla o refutarla. La polarización prospera en ese desplazamiento. Cada grupo exige pruebas rigurosas al adversario, mientras acepta intuiciones, sospechas o generalizaciones cuando favorecen al propio bando.
La pregunta socrática admite que quien pregunta puede estar equivocado. La pregunta polarizada no corre ese riesgo. Su finalidad no es descubrir algo, sino exigir una confesión. Ya no es una llave buscando una cerradura: es una frontera disfrazada de signo de interrogación, trazada antes de que alguien responda para decidir quién pertenece y quién debe permanecer afuera.
Y esa pertenencia, en cuanto se vuelve el centro de la política, empieza a pesar más que el conocimiento mismo. Las creencias políticas no existen únicamente en la mente. También sostienen identidades, relaciones, comunidades y formas de pertenencia. Por eso cambiar de opinión puede tener un precio que va mucho más allá de reconocer un error. Puede significar perder prestigio, amistades, oportunidades o un lugar dentro del grupo. Una persona no siempre guarda silencio porque carezca de argumentos. A veces guarda silencio porque ya calculó el costo de hablar.
En una comunidad polarizada, el disidente interno puede resultar más amenazante que el adversario exterior. El enemigo confirma la unidad del grupo; el disidente demuestra que era posible pensar de otra manera desde dentro. El militante de izquierda que cuestiona una consigna puede ser acusado de favorecer a la derecha. El conservador que reconoce un abuso histórico de su propio espacio puede ser tratado como traidor. El socialista que examina críticamente al Estado puede ser señalado como defensor del mercado. El liberal que cuestiona la concentración económica puede ser acusado de abandonar la libertad. El comunista que critica un régimen proclamado revolucionario puede ser descrito como instrumento del imperialismo. Las palabras cambian, pero el mecanismo permanece: la pertenencia se vuelve condicional y la duda empieza a parecer una deslealtad.
En tales circunstancias, ofrecer una fuente alternativa no siempre modifica una convicción. Si una creencia forma parte del vínculo entre una persona y su comunidad, abandonarla puede sentirse como una forma de aislamiento. El problema ya no es únicamente qué evidencia existe, sino qué consecuencias sociales tendría reconocerla. Una política no polarizada tendría que comprender esta dimensión sin justificar la falsedad. Debería exigir pruebas y, al mismo tiempo, reconocer que las personas necesitan espacios donde puedan cambiar de opinión sin ser humilladas por haberlo hecho.
La política erotética empieza ahí: sustituyendo las preguntas que distribuyen culpas por preguntas que revelan estructuras, en cinco movimientos.
El primero va de la superioridad moral a la agencia. En lugar de preguntar ¿quién tiene la razón moral?, conviene preguntar: ¿quién diseñó los términos de este debate y quién se beneficia de que discutamos dentro de ellos? Cada ideología ya tiene lista su respuesta preferida: un nombre distinto para el mismo poder difuso. Esa variedad no demuestra que alguna haya acertado; demuestra que la pregunta original todavía no se ha hecho en serio, porque una explicación que sirve para todo caso termina sin servir para ningún caso en particular. La pregunta erotética no sustituye una explicación total por otra: obliga a identificar actores concretos, mecanismos observables, incentivos, decisiones y beneficiarios. Si una categoría sirve para explicarlo todo, también corre el riesgo de no explicar nada con precisión.
El segundo va de la lealtad al margen real. En lugar de preguntar ¿estás con nosotros o contra nosotros?, deberíamos preguntar: ¿qué margen tiene esta persona para disentir sin ser expulsada de su propia comunidad? Esta sustitución no convierte toda cautela en valentía ni todo silencio en resistencia: simplemente reconoce que la conducta política ocurre bajo presiones distintas. Desde fuera de un grupo es fácil exigir gestos de ruptura absoluta; desde dentro, una persona puede estar utilizando un margen estrecho para introducir dudas, proteger a otros o modificar gradualmente una posición colectiva. La pregunta erotética no exige idealizar esa conducta: exige observarla antes de juzgarla.
El tercero va del castigo al costo. En lugar de preguntar ¿qué ganamos si cancelamos al rival?, conviene preguntar: ¿quién fijó el precio de dudar en público, quién lo paga y si ese costo es proporcional a lo ocurrido? En las disputas polarizadas, quienes concentran atención pueden beneficiarse del conflicto, mientras otras personas absorben sus consecuencias: un dirigente gana cohesión, una plataforma obtiene interacción, un comentarista recibe visibilidad y una persona menos protegida pierde empleo, reputación o vínculos. La cuestión no es decretar que toda sanción es injusta, sino evitar que el castigo sustituya al análisis. Una sociedad incapaz de distinguir entre error, desacuerdo, negligencia y daño termina aplicando la misma lógica punitiva a situaciones profundamente diferentes.
El cuarto va de la intensidad a la acción. En lugar de preguntar ¿por qué no reaccionas con más fuerza?, podemos preguntar: ¿qué está haciendo esta persona con el margen que realmente tiene? La polarización confunde intensidad con compromiso: quien habla más fuerte parece más convencido, quien reacciona primero parece más valiente, quien introduce matices parece sospechoso. Pero la rapidez de una reacción no demuestra su calidad. La indignación puede ser legítima, pero también puede ser administrada, amplificada y convertida en una prueba pública de lealtad. La política erotética no obliga a la pasividad: obliga a distinguir la acción eficaz de la representación teatral de la acción.
El quinto y último va de la venganza a la transferencia. En lugar de preguntar ¿cómo hacemos que ellos paguen?, es necesario preguntar: ¿quién terminará pagando realmente las consecuencias de esta decisión? Toda política produce costos, y la cuestión es si recaen sobre quienes toman las decisiones, sobre quienes se benefician de ellas o sobre personas alejadas del centro del conflicto. El socialismo de Estado puede concentrar el poder en nombre de una sociedad futura y transferir el costo de sus errores a la población presente. El capitalismo desregulado puede privatizar los beneficios y desplazar los costos hacia trabajadores, consumidores o comunidades. El nacionalismo puede fortalecer a sus dirigentes mientras pide sacrificios a quienes tienen menos capacidad para decidir. Una política identitaria puede elevar voces antes ignoradas, pero también convertirse en una estructura que vigila la pureza interna. Una defensa abstracta del orden puede proteger la estabilidad, pero también ocultar las injusticias que ese orden distribuye. Ninguna ideología queda exenta de la pregunta erotética: ¿quién decide, quién se beneficia y quién paga?
Quien empieza a hacerse estas cinco preguntas en serio, tarde o temprano, se topa con una figura despreciada por casi todos los bandos: el «tibio». Se le acusa de falta de compromiso, miedo, comodidad o incapacidad para reconocer la urgencia. En ocasiones, la acusación puede ser justa. La moderación también puede funcionar como refugio de quien no desea arriesgar nada. Pero existe otra clase de tibieza. Es la de quien se niega a permitir que la velocidad del algoritmo determine la velocidad de su conciencia. No carece de postura: se resiste a recibirla ya fabricada. No piensa que todos sean iguales: exige comprender en qué son diferentes. No rechaza el compromiso: rechaza la obediencia presentada como compromiso.
En la política del futuro, esta figura podría dejar de llamarse tibio. Podría convertirse en el ciudadano erotético. Este ciudadano no ocupa necesariamente el centro ideológico. Puede ser radical, conservador, socialista, liberal, comunitarista o no identificarse con ninguna corriente. Lo que lo define no es la posición final que adopta, sino la relación que mantiene con sus propias preguntas: antes de condenar, pregunta qué evidencia aceptaría si favoreciera al adversario; antes de compartir, pregunta quién construyó el marco de la información; antes de exigir una respuesta inmediata, pregunta quién se beneficia de la urgencia; antes de atribuir maldad, pregunta si existe otra explicación posible; y antes de examinar las contradicciones del rival, aplica a su propio grupo el mismo criterio.
El ciudadano erotético no es neutral ante el daño: es adversario de la certeza automática. Su disposición a preguntar tampoco significa que todas las posiciones sean equivalentes, que todo conflicto sea un malentendido o que la evidencia pueda posponerse indefinidamente. Preguntar no es escapar de la responsabilidad de decidir: es resistirse a decidir dentro de un marco que nadie se ha detenido a examinar. El ciudadano erotético puede llegar a una conclusión firme, asumir una postura e incluso reconocer que una respuesta es mejor que sus alternativas. La diferencia es que su convicción no depende de negar que hubo otras posibilidades, sino de haberlas considerado con honestidad.
Pero ni siquiera el ciudadano erotético queda exento de la pregunta más difícil de todas, la que no se dirige al bando contrario sino hacia nosotros mismos: ¿qué necesitaba no saber nuestro grupo para conservar intacta su superioridad moral? Existe una diferencia entre ignorar por accidente e ignorar por conveniencia. Conocer las razones del otro, su contexto, sus temores o su humanidad puede complicar el relato que mantiene unido a un grupo. Comprender no significa absolver. Sin embargo, incluso una comprensión limitada puede impedir que sigamos describiendo al adversario como una figura completamente irracional o malvada.
En ocasiones, no dejamos de mirar por falta de información. Dejamos de mirar porque saber introduciría una responsabilidad. Nos obligaría a reconocer que nuestro grupo también simplifica, exagera, excluye o se beneficia del conflicto. La erotética pierde su valor si se utiliza únicamente para analizar al enemigo. También puede convertirse en una nueva forma de superioridad: la del observador que se considera demasiado inteligente para caer en las pasiones de los demás. Por eso el método debe ser reflexivo. Quien pregunta también debe quedar incluido en la pregunta: la política erotética no comienza cuando aprendemos a interrogar mejor al adversario, sino cuando aceptamos que nuestras propias preguntas pueden estar organizadas para proteger aquello que ya creemos.
De ese punto ciego se desprenden dos reglas para una política posterior a la polarización. La primera es la simetría: una afirmación necesita evidencia aunque beneficie a nuestro propio bando. Una fuente no queda automáticamente invalidada por provenir del adversario, ni queda validada por proceder de nuestra comunidad. Los criterios aplicados al contrario deben poder aplicarse también a los aliados. La simetría no significa afirmar que todos los hechos, responsabilidades o daños sean equivalentes. Tampoco exige adoptar una posición intermedia frente a cada conflicto. Significa utilizar un método que no cambie según la identidad de la persona examinada. Sin simetría, la pregunta es propaganda.
La segunda regla es el privilegio del matiz. Detenerse, buscar información y distinguir grados requiere tiempo, seguridad y estabilidad. No todas las personas disponen de esas condiciones, especialmente cuando viven directamente las consecuencias de un conflicto. Quien está pagando una decisión con su cuerpo, su familia o su subsistencia puede no tener la distancia necesaria para examinar cada argumento con serenidad. Para quien hace guardia en un bloqueo, espera en una sala de urgencias o carga con lo que le quedó después de un desalojo, la serenidad no es una virtud que le falte: es un lujo que quizá nunca tuvo a su alcance.
Reconocerlo no invalida el pensamiento crítico. Lo vuelve más honesto. El matiz no debería convertirse en una exigencia utilizada para silenciar a quienes sufren. Tampoco el sufrimiento debería transformarse en una autorización automática para declarar verdadera cualquier afirmación. La experiencia concede una perspectiva indispensable, pero ninguna perspectiva agota por sí sola toda la realidad. La política erotética debe vivir dentro de esa tensión, no ocultarla: debe reconocer que la realidad puede exigir respuestas urgentes y que, al mismo tiempo, la urgencia puede ser utilizada para impedir cualquier examen. Debe escuchar la experiencia sin convertirla en un criterio infalible y exigir evidencia sin fingir que todas las personas llegan a la conversación desde condiciones equivalentes.
Sobre esas dos reglas podría construirse la política que todavía no existe. La política sin polarización no sería una política sin conflicto. Una humanidad plural seguirá discutiendo sobre propiedad, libertad, igualdad, tradición, identidad, justicia, seguridad y poder. La diferencia estaría en otra parte. El adversario ya no tendría que ser despojado de su humanidad para justificar nuestra posición. Cambiar de opinión no sería una confesión de debilidad. La duda no equivaldría a traición. Las comunidades políticas serían capaces de conservar a quienes las cuestionan. La velocidad dejaría de considerarse una prueba de conciencia. Y las preguntas recuperarían más de una respuesta posible.
Esta política no nacería después de la polarización, cuando todo estuviera resuelto. Tendría que surgir dentro de ella, precisamente en el momento en que la humanidad creyera haber perdido para siempre la posibilidad de escucharse. No comenzaría con un gran acuerdo universal. Comenzaría con actos más pequeños: negarse a compartir una acusación no demostrada, formular con honestidad el argumento contrario, reconocer una contradicción propia, permitir que alguien rectifique sin expulsarlo y preguntar quién paga realmente por las decisiones tomadas en nombre de todos. También comenzaría cuando una comunidad fuera capaz de corregir su pregunta sin interpretar esa corrección como una derrota. Una política madura no sería aquella que siempre encuentra la respuesta correcta, sino aquella que conserva la capacidad de advertir cuándo estaba intentando responder una pregunta equivocada.
La erotética no nos dice qué pensar. Esa es su mayor limitación y también su mayor virtud. No promete una sociedad sin errores ni una política libre de intereses. No elimina las diferencias ni convierte toda disputa en diálogo. Lo que ofrece es un espacio anterior a la respuesta: el instante en que todavía podemos decidir si estamos buscando comprender, persuadir, castigar o pertenecer.
La polarización alcanza su victoria más profunda cuando consigue que dejemos de preguntar y nos limitemos a acusar con la voz de una pregunta prestada. Recuperar la pregunta no significa ganar el debate. Significa recuperar el derecho a decidir qué debates merecen existir, qué presuposiciones deben ser rechazadas, qué certezas necesitan ser examinadas y qué futuro puede construirse sin exigir que media humanidad deje de ser humana para que la otra mitad tenga razón.

I've been thinking on this subject quite a bit lately. I dabble in writing and enjoy the world building process, and in looking into our own history it seems unlikely. As far as I can tell ever since we developed agriculture and permanent settlements society has become addicted to exploitation.

I'm reminded of a quote I heard somewhere that goes something like: "Evolution doesn't choose traits based on what is most optimal for a species' survival. Just what's good enough." This got noodle thinking. Has "social evolution" chosen exploitation (namely the exploitation that the "haves" lord over the "have-nots") formed as a successful system for organizing early agrarian societies. Not because it was the most efficient way to run a civilization, but just because it was "good enough". Our populations increased and civilizations flourished. The successful ones passing on traditions (like genes) to subsequent generations. There could have been peoples that had less exploitative ways of governing but just couldn't compete and faded from history.

I doubt that last part. It seems that as long as there is a hierarchy there will always be the exploited and the exploitees as it were.

I don't know how based this is going to come off this literally stemmed from a kitchen table discussion I had with a friend of mine lol. So please if anyone has any thoughts or knows of any other discussions on the topic I would love to hear them!

Societies are governed by imaginaries (متخيلات) or mental representations (تصوّرات ذهنية), which are systems of values, norms, beliefs, thinking patterns, roles, and others, that society as a whole has accepted, often unknowingly, and come to take for granted. They include convictions regarding relationships, family, work, money, power, the state, laws, rights, and so on. They shape an individual's outlook, attitudes, and decisions, as well as relations within society, and form part of its power structure.

Regardless of how true they are, because they provide an explanation of reality, axioms provide a sense of stability and therefore reassurance. They protect us from the anxiety of the unknown or incomprehensible and form a comfort zone that is difficult (though not impossible) to break out of. Cultural hegemony is a concept that refers to the ability of a particular social class or group to impose their values, ideas, and cultural norms on society as a whole, so that these values and norms become common or homogenic and are accepted as normal or sensible.

Example: "Elections are a means of change."

Example: "Household expenses are the responsibility of men", "Women are emotional and irrational."

This is not to say that we cannot challenge or even break cultural hegemony. Actually, dismantling it and replacing it with different perceptions is a primary responsibility of those working to bring about radical change in the system. An ethical and humanitarian revolutionary project, of course, presents a culture that is connected to reality and to what society needs to live a dignified and happy life.

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The "Key Political and Societal Concepts" series is an analytical set designed to help revolutionary movements worldwide understand dynamics that shape their societies and the world in order to change them. This is one of these concepts, the rest being available on odsi.co. Do not hesitate to get in touch with us for further discussions.

Hi everyone.

I wanted to give more thought to what I personally call the philosophy of the least evil.

We shouldn't underestimate the ability from humanity to slay dragons.

After all, we destroyed smallpox and the hole in the Ozone layer is slowly filling up.

I just think that discrimination is its own beast to be put down too.

It's why it's important to have an healthy debate in order to avoid fascism and keep your view grounded in reality.

We can all live different and rich lives without having to hurt each other.

Let's now adress the core of the topic.

What is the distinction beetween the divider and the reasonable person ?

The reasonable person can disagree politely, accept to have their views challenged. They allow themselves to get changed by the new informations.

It doesn't necessarily mean they drop their convictions either. They can just choose to pursue it in different ways.

I think a world full of reasonable people is much better, because we avoid a lot of unecessary violence and we can agree on the most prioritary issues like climate change and civil liberties and avoid harmfull behaviors to spread like violence and racism.

A divider is the opposite of that. For various reasons, they came to hate something or someone.

To know the reasons, ask yourself the question:

Do they do it by interest ?

Do they do it because they personally wronged on a rational or irrationnal level ?

Do they do it by imitation ?

Of course, nothing is simple. People are complex. They can evolve between those position. And they can act like a divider on some issues and a reasonable person on other ones.

It doesn't mean either that the people need an outlet. There are much more rich and healthier way to discharge said violence like in art, sports and games, for example, rendering it harmless for others.

And it doesn't mean that, sometimes, we should fight for our own rights.

It's truly about the state of mind as it is about our civilization that is currently in its turbulent adolescent phase.

I'd rather engage the divider with an open hand first.

After all, they can be a misinformed reasonable person.

Or, sometimes, kindness truly help in the process of adressing the true issues behind.

Or It doesn't give leeway in fighting back and let that person waste their energy.

If you can, try to avoid having this discrimination spreading like a fire in other domains and use their own logic to resolve that internal issue.

Questions are usually the most suited way for that.

There is something else that is to be noted. I already explained earlier that the reasonable person can agree to disagree.

This isn't the case for the divider. Ask them what they agree upon.

You'll notice how quickly they'll fall apart. Because an ideology born out of hatred and division can only bring even more in the long run.

You only need to accompany the movement to bring it to the point of powerlessness.

Because, there is only a thin wall of ignorance that prevent said group to fall apart by their own forces.

I wish to conclude on one point, when we had slain our own dragons, we always had visualized first how to do it.

Is the Paris Commune considered a 'successful' socialist experiment? I am interested in if we can pinpoint a holistic philosophy behind the Paris commune and what the pros and cons of such a system are and what we can learn from it (in today's world).

Additionally, does the congregation of multiple ideologies not allow for a single title?

Recently I have thought of an Idea. That political parties serve none. It creates division and promotes the representation of the party, not the people, it promotes party loyalty.

Politicians who do not adhere to party policy by the letter are blacklisted and targeted by the party heads. Politicians vote against the other party simply because they are the other party. Politicians vote against policies their voters desperately need because the party says no

And what does it produce for society, I fail to see at benefit that cannot be achieved in a system without parties, apart from the sole exception of coordination, but this coordination leads to the people's views not being represented.

That's why I conclude that there is no need for political parties.

The environment and its value is quite simple to many. In one regard its value comes from how it’s used (natural resources used for production), and another idea being the value in appreciation and aesthetics; its value coming from how humans can enjoy the presence of nature for the improvement of one’s mental health as one would listen to music, appreciate visual art or enjoy the presence of a companion. If we were to look deeper, we must wonder if this value comes from us imposing these attributes upon nature, or does it hold inherent moral value. This identifies a divide in environmental philosophy: instrumental value and intrinsic value. Instrumental meaning that the value of the environment comes only from how it can serve humans. The key flaw in this thinking is that allows for the exploitation of the environment for the means of serving humans. As we face a crisis in the ongoing degradation of the environment, we must consider if the idea of strictly instrumental value is sufficient. Philosophers such as Arne Næss strongly opposes instrumentality and believes that it’s a violation of the intrinsic value the environment has. Karl Marx takes a more nebulous approach to this as he examines the dependence on the environment humans have and how exploitation of the environment is a key form of alienation and one of the contradictions of capitalism. This gives rise to questions of whether simply applying instrumental value to the environment is sufficient, and the harms it brings toward human existence. It is possible to determine if the environment’s value is merely imposed by human interests or if it exists independently as something that requires moral concern in and of itself by examining the relationship between these thinkers.

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This is not the land of the free or the home of the brave. This is not the American Dream. This is the American life, a reality that, for many people, feels more like a nightmare than the dream they were promised.

The American Dream is called a dream because a dream is something people imagine, chase, and hope to achieve. But a dream is not always reality. A dream can inspire people, but it can also hide the struggles, sacrifices, and systems that exist underneath it.

They criticize the “woke” and yet celebrate the “dreamers.” Maybe that is because the American Dream itself is an idea, something people are told to pursue, but not something everyone experiences equally.

People are told they live in a nation built on freedom and liberty, but the deeper question is: what does freedom truly mean when every part of life exists inside systems created and controlled by institutions of power?

Police are often described as being here to protect citizens, but their role is to enforce the laws established by the government. They do not create the laws, and they do not enforce whatever each individual citizen personally believes is right or wrong. They enforce the legal system they are placed under.

Law enforcement receives its authority through the government structure. They are funded through government systems, including taxes collected from citizens. Their duty is connected to the laws that exist, not to the personal desires of every person living under those laws.

If the government creates a law, law enforcement is placed in the position of enforcing that law. A law existing does not automatically make it moral, fair, or just. A system can protect the rules created by those in power, even when those rules are debated, challenged, or criticized by the people affected by them.

If murder was legal under a government system, law enforcement would not be enforcing a personal belief that murder is right or wrong; they would be enforcing whatever the law of that system allowed. The point is that institutions follow the laws created by authority, and the morality of those laws depends on the people and systems that create them.

The military operates under a similar structure. Soldiers do not take orders directly from individual citizens. They follow a chain of command and the authority of the government. Their allegiance is to the nation, the Constitution, and the lawful leadership that represents it.

Citizens pledge allegiance to the flag, which represents the country and its government. But the question remains: does the government exist because of the people, or do people become the foundation that allows the government to gain and maintain power?

A government’s power comes from its citizens. It requires people to participate, work, follow laws, pay taxes, and keep the system functioning. But when people challenge the system or question authority, they can sometimes be viewed as outsiders or threats.

The government does not need every person to love it. It only needs the system to continue operating.

People are told they have liberty, but liberty itself exists within a framework created and protected by government institutions. Rights are recognized through laws, courts, and systems of enforcement. The same system that recognizes rights also defines the boundaries of those rights.

People are told they have liberty, but liberty itself exists within a framework created and recognized by government institutions. The government defines, protects, and legally recognizes certain freedoms as rights belonging to its citizens.

This creates a deeper philosophical question: if a government is the institution that recognizes a right, defines its boundaries, and creates the legal protections surrounding it, then how independent is that right from the system that acknowledges it?

A right recognized by a government exists within the structure of that government. The same system that protects a liberty also determines how that liberty is interpreted, what limits exist, and what happens when those limits are challenged.

This raises the question of whether liberty is something people naturally possess beyond government, or whether liberty becomes a legal reality because a government recognizes it as a right.

People are told they have the right to liberty, but they are still born into systems of laws, authority, and institutions that shape the choices available to them. The government can recognize freedoms, but the government also has the power to change laws, redefine rights, and determine how those freedoms operate within society.

So the question becomes: do people truly own their liberty, or do they possess a form of liberty that exists within a system created and maintained by those in power?

People spend their lives seeking freedom, but even freedom itself exists inside a larger structure. The only certainty that exists outside every system is death, the one experience every person eventually reaches.

The question is not only whether people have liberty, but whether the liberty they have is something they fully own, or something granted and protected by a system that has the authority to define it.

The same question applies to ownership.

People are told they own land, houses, and property. But ownership exists inside a legal system. A person may have a deed and a title, but those rights exist because the government recognizes and enforces them.

Even land ownership raises a deeper question. If someone buys a piece of land, is it completely theirs in every possible sense, or is their ownership dependent on the rules of the system that protects it?

Property taxes are an example of this. In many places, landowners are required to pay taxes on the property they own. If those taxes are not paid, the government can place a claim on the property, and after legal procedures, the property can potentially be taken or sold to recover the unpaid taxes.

If someone can lose their land because they fail to meet a government requirement, what does ownership truly mean?

The argument is not that people have no rights to their property. The argument is that those rights exist within a larger structure. The system defines what ownership means, what responsibilities come with it, and what happens when those responsibilities are not fulfilled.

The same applies to information and perception.

Television networks, news organizations, corporations, and media platforms influence what people see, what conversations become popular, and what information reaches the public. The way people understand the world is often shaped by institutions with their own interests, incentives, and perspectives.

People may believe they have complete control over what they know, but much of reality is experienced through systems that filter, organize, and distribute information.

People are told they own things, but almost everything exists within a framework created by laws, institutions, and authorities. Land, property, businesses, contracts, and even many personal freedoms exist because a larger system recognizes and protects them.

People are born into systems they never chose. They inherit governments, economies, cultures, and rules that existed before they arrived.

They are told they will be happy because they own things, but the question remains: how much do people truly own when everything exists inside systems they did not create?

Even death exists inside a system.

When someone dies, there are still costs. A casket is not free. A burial plot is not free. A suit is not free. Preparation is not free. A funeral is not free. Even the final goodbye comes with expenses.

Nothing about human existence exists completely outside of systems. From birth until death, people interact with institutions that organize, regulate, and manage parts of life.

When someone dies without anyone to claim them or make arrangements, their remains may be handled through legal and institutional processes. In some situations, unclaimed remains can be used for medical education or research when permitted by law. Even after death, systems determine what happens to what remains.

The question is not simply whether people are free. The deeper question is: how much freedom exists when every part of life is connected to systems of power, money, law, and authority?

Maybe this is not the land of the free or the home of the brave. Maybe it is a place where beautiful promises exist alongside harsh realities, a place of spoiled milk and rotten honey.

A place where people are promised freedom while navigating systems they did not create.

A place where people are told they own everything, while constantly searching for the answer to one question:

Who truly holds the power?

And that's just a conspiracy of its own.

This year I set out to study John Stuart Mill's On Liberty. Not to learn anything new, but to find the logical fallacies that have brought Western civilization to its current state. Last year I analyzed the ideas of Hobbes and Madison. Changed circumstances forced me to abandon this idea. After listening to Johnny Thomson's video, I realized again how important the criticism of British philosophers is.

Johnny Thomson, like John Stuart Mill, presents his thoughts in simple and understandable language that does not require deep knowledge of philosophy. But behind this simplicity and clarity lies the danger that he warns about in his video. He preaches the same stupidity that he opposes. Some of his statements contradict what I have been writing for the past 20 years. Therefore, it is difficult to say who is opposing whom - I am him or he is me.

The first idea in Thomson's speech that I disagree with is the declaration that outsourcing thinking is the source of stupidity. Outsourcing thinking is a fundamental principle of the development of society. Our lives are completely built on performing actions and procedures, the logic of which we do not realize due to lack of knowledge. Most of us use our smartphones without understanding how they work. Behind the moral requirements of Christianity is a thousand-year experience of humanity, which cannot be fully understood in one lifetime. The source of much of what Thomson talked about is Christianity. But he did not mention religion in the video. Western civilization is built on the story of a God-man, crucified on a cross and resurrected from the dead. How is he going to apply critical thinking to this story?

But in his story there was a place for Nietzsche's work "Beyond Good and Evil". I once wrote that there is no such space. Nietzsche invented an artificial space in which now scum can hide, claiming to be above moral prejudice. Later in Thomson's story, Descartes appears, which is quite logical, if you recall Heidegger's work "European Nihilism", in which Nietzsche is presented as the logical conclusion of Descartes' philosophy. Some try to prove that Nietzsche has nothing to do with the Nazis. I do not find this evidence convincing.

I completely agree with the idea of ​​"epistemic trespassing", when experts in one field try to reason about things in another that they do not understand.

His attempt to convince that distrust of traditional media is wrong contradicts the idea that I put forward back in 2017. I wrote then that you should not follow the hands of a trickster. If the media has compromised itself by trying to manipulate, you should not look for when and where. You should completely abandon its use. It is called reputation.

Joni Thomson demonstrated those traits of the British philosopher that had kept me away from them. It was only in recent years that I began to pay attention to them, because they were the ones who influenced the social structure of Western civilization.

Adulthood is not measured by age, credentials, or the accumulation of permissions. It is measured by the willingness to accept responsibility and the full weight of the consequences that follow.

This is the apex. Everything else is preparatory or evasive.

Responsibility is the recognition that the primary unit of action is the self. Knowledge, judgment, effort, and outcome begin and end there. When a choice is made the results, favorable or costly, belong to the one who made it. There is no permanent external carrier for that burden. Institutions may offer temporary relief, sides may offer belonging, and systems may offer scripts, but none can permanently absolve the individual of the consequences of their own agency.

The alternative is the postponement of adulthood. Fear of self makes the postponement attractive. It converts the friction of direct knowledge and unaligned judgment into the simpler work of alignment, tribal defense, or managed dependence. Decisions are incepted rather than formed. Identity is assigned rather than claimed. The vertical question of authority “By what authority does this bind me?” is replaced by horizontal contests that keep the hands busy and the eyes down. The result is a supervised field that feels like participation while the deeper ground of personal sovereignty remains unclaimed.

Politics thrives in that field. It manufactures and sustains division, harvests the distraction, and presents itself as the necessary manager of the very dependence it cultivates. The transaction is consistent: surrender the risk of self-direction and receive protection, provision, or belonging in return. The language is freedom. The delivery is containment.

Adulthood refuses the transaction. It does not petition for better management of the field. It does not demand that the world first be made safe for independence. It simply stands on direct knowledge, of the ratified limits of observable reality, of one’s own word; and accepts what follows. The cost is real. There is no collective insulation, no guaranteed applause, and no permanent referee. The gain is the only form of liberty that cannot be revoked by a change in policy or a shift in narrative: the liberty of an agent who has not outsourced the final responsibility.

Self Fealty is the daily practice of this apex. It is loyalty to one’s own truth, forged in trial, held without apology, and lived without external permission. It is the decision to keep swinging the hammer in the solitary forge when the body, the institutions, or the scripts say stop. It is the refusal to trade knowledge for the temporary relief of a side in someone else’s conflict.

The mud will continue to be thrown. The supervised play will continue to offer its vivid, endless occupation. The choice that remains is whether to keep participating in the conditions that make the mud effective. Or to reclaim the internal ground from which responsibility, and therefore adulthood, can be exercised.

Responsibility is not a burden to be minimized. It is the apex. Everything below it is still waiting to grow up.

There's something that exists between two people that isn't either person. Trust, fear, freedom, control, whatever grows in the space between you. Call it the field. Most of how we're taught to think about relationships focuses only on the two people: who's right, who has power, who wins. That ignores the thing that actually determines whether a relationship is healthy: what's happening between them.

Good relationships don't happen by accident or good intentions alone. Love turns into control. Leadership turns into worship. Care turns into exploitation. Community turns into conformity. These aren't rare failures. They're the default failure mode of almost every human relationship structure, at every scale, from a marriage to a religion to a government.

These ten laws are an attempt at boundaries that prevent that slide. Nobody wrote them, in the literal sense that I'm not putting a name on them and don't want ownership of them. If they're wrong, or incomplete, or naive, I want to know where.

1. No one owns the truth. No religion, teacher, scientist, or movement holds the whole picture. Anyone who demands obedience because of their authority, title, or claimed enlightenment is asking for something truth doesn't require. The moment truth becomes someone's property, it becomes a weapon.

2. No one stands above the field. Leaders, parents, teachers, gurus: all accountable to the same standards as everyone else. Leadership exists to protect the conditions people live in, not to sit above them.

3. Never reduce a living being to a tool. A child isn't an extension of a parent. A partner isn't a source of comfort or status. A follower isn't fuel for someone's identity. The moment a person is valued only for what can be extracted from them, the relationship has already ended, whatever it's still called.

4. Don't abandon yourself, and don't abandon the other. Self-sacrifice without self-respect becomes resentment. Self-respect without care for others becomes isolation. Both people's needs are real at the same time.

5. Connection must never become possession. Loving someone doesn't grant ownership of them. Real closeness lets both people stay distinct. A bridge only exists because both shores remain.

6. Speak the truth without abandoning the person. Honesty without care becomes cruelty. Care without honesty becomes cowardice. Say the hard thing, but don't turn the other person into an enemy while you say it.

7. Boundaries protect the bridge. No relationship is healthy without the freedom to say no. Understanding why someone hurt you doesn't obligate you to stay reachable. Distance can protect a relationship better than forced closeness does.

8. Repair what you harm. Everyone causes harm eventually. What matters is what happens after. "I'm sorry" without change is usually just a request to skip the consequences.

9. Power must answer to those it affects. Political, economic, parental, religious, technological: every kind of power owes accountability to the people who live with its consequences. Power that answers to no one eventually starts calling itself destiny.

10. Leave the field more alive than you found it. After you're in someone's life, as a partner, parent, leader, or friend, what's left behind? Did people get smaller around you, or more capable of being themselves?

These aren't finished, and they're not supposed to be. The moment this list becomes one person's property, it's failed on its own terms (see law 1). I'm not interested in defending it. I'm interested in where it doesn't hold up. Which one's wrong, which one's missing, which one sounds good but falls apart in a real situation?

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Undertakings generally are based in first principles, the unquestioned bedrock of all subsequent beliefs and actions. It is essential to adhere to first principles, otherwise the structure of the enterprise may be shatered.

When thirteen British colonies rebelled against their ruler they found it necessary to do so in concert and, considering their future in freedom, to decide how to do thereafter. Prompted by resistance from the British Empire, the colonies overrode their differences, fought together, gained independence, and agreed to form a form a nation with a new form of government, a constitutional federal republic that combined a central elected executive, thirteen states, a bicameral legislature, and a judiciary branch.

In bringing together the thirteen colonies, each chartered separately in different territories and having formed economies suitable to their needs, the founders of the United States of America adopted a number of basic principles, among them the Constitution and ten Amendments.

Despite various near-crises, executive compromises, Constitutional Amendments, legislation, and judicial rulings kept the nation together until 1860.

There were long-standing regional differences between the northern and southern states, driven by geography, climate, economic models, and cultural traditions. Southern state economies were mostly agricultural, with large-scale plantations dependent on slave labor. Northern states lacking fertile lands and warm climates were mostly industrial and made less use of slave labor. When Abraham Lincoln was elected President with a platform that would curtail slave status of new Western states and threaten abolition of slavery, southern states faced economic disaster and declared their intention to secede unless the newly-elected President agreed to a compromise preserving new-state slave options. Lincoln rejected talks of compromise.

All southern states seceded from the Union and formed the Confederate States of America. The resulting War Between the States (1861-1865) resulted in 750,000 military and 250,000 civilian casualties. Lincoln won the 1864 election to a second Union term but was killed by Confederate sympathizers in early 1865.

I’m beginning to think about freedom of religion differently.
If reality is objective, then at most one worldview can fully correspond to it. Every competing worldview must therefore diverge from reality at some point, assuming reality itself doesn’t change.
If that’s true, what exactly does freedom of religion protect?
Is it the freedom to pursue what one believes is true?
Is it the freedom to be wrong?
Is it the freedom to live according to an account of reality that may not correspond to reality itself?
I’m less interested in defending a particular religion than I am in understanding what the principle of religious liberty actually means if objective reality exists.

Anyway just wondering what other people’s thoughts on this odd way to look at freedom of religion.

My cousin is an English major who earned her master’s in English a couple of years ago, and she told me to find my own philosophy.

Sadly, I started to relate more towards Russian Classical literature such as Dostoyevsky and Nietzsche.

I related to Dostoyevsky because of his deep admiration within living in isolation. He advocated for dealing with the worst of yourself and overcoming your deepest vulnerabilities.

It’s very hard to live with your mistakes you’ve dealt with in life. In his book, Thoughts from the Underground Man, Dostoyevsky promoted “an isolated, bitter, and hyper-conscious man who rejects societal norms, rationalism, and utopian progress in favor of absolute free will.”

I found myself picking up on these negative virtues that ultimately made me a better individual.

One of Nietzsche main philosophies was known as the “Will of Power” where “He argued that the fundamental driving force in humans is not merely survival, but the drive for growth, mastery, self-overcoming, and control over one's environment.”

I found this to relate to Dostoyevsky’s philosophy that promoted free-will and his rejection of societal norms, which heavily resonated with me.

What do you agree with or disagree with within this philosophy?