Given what I have said in the video above about language, I will resist the urge to explain what the meaning of these songs are and any emotionally driven language will remain purely provisional. I will even speak with minimal reference to musical theory (which is definitely not because I barely know any). Instead, I wish to explain how, in my view, these songs specifically play up the phenomena I have been describing to this point. This will also be an analysis without consideration for authorial intent, since we are here trying to get to the root of an unconscious world, not conscious motives.

Gojira – Born in Winter

Gojira’s Born in Winter remains one of my favourite songs of all time. It opens with a gentle melody and a drum rhythm with ghost notes (quieter notes played between accented hits). The percussion feels slightly too harsh, as if there is an energy being compressed and repressed. In a similar vein, the vocals are deep and reserved, yet they are subtly accompanied by distant screamed vocals. There is the impression of a controlled, mediating force holding something more chaotic at bay. This dance continues, with the background vocals continually attempting to pierce through with increasing force. Until...

The chorus explodes. Sweeping guitars made to sound alien in tone, heavier drums, and semi-melodic harsh vocals, produce a cacophony which is surprisingly cohesive. Nothing feels small anymore. Nothing repressed. The scale of the chorus is made even larger by contrast to what preceded it.

This section leads into a more aggressive breakdown, using a riff structured in several bars of complexity and energy, a moment of respite, followed by a simple, yet relentless attack. A process of creation, followed by an expulsion of excess energies.

The chorus returns for one last spark, before suddenly dropping back down to the low hum of energy which the song opened with. Unassumingly fading away. The structure mimics a build up of pressure, a powerful eruption, and subsequent dispersion. A reflection of primordial nature in its many affections and modes.

Opeth - The Drapery Falls

The Drapery Falls by Opeth opens with a gentle clean guitar riff quickly built upon with drums and gliding guitar melody. The calm is quickly overpowered by a more threatening riff and heavier instrumentation, before once again being left alone in the first verse. Clean vocals enter, half-whispered, during a calm, but haunting section.

This is followed by the return of the heavier instrumentation, though in a form more restrained and harmonious than before. The vocals battle and strain to stay above the noise using more projection. This first return informs us as listeners that the heavy riff at the start is not vanquished. It is constantly threatening to return and overpower the quiet, introspection of the verses. Such shifts happen multiple times, dancing between heaviness and reprieve.

At the end of one of these fuller sections, the lyrics simply fail to resolve, instead moving into a non-articulated vocal melody (3:56). It is perhaps the most distinct part of the song, even relative to Opeth’s discography, specifically because it resists closure and is allowed to float over the instrumentation without limitation.

This vocal melody leads into an excellent bridge, driven by a solo, weaving into the fabric of the song and heralds a brutal turn in the composition.

Finally, the lurking feeling present throughout is paid off, with a harsh guttural voice entering and the instrumentation made more dissonant than before. The charm is that not only does this by contrast elevate the sinister tone, but the lyrics only occasionally manage to cut through the noise to gain intelligibility. By disconnecting word concepts from their context, more is left to the imagination. More is left to the unconscious.

From here, the song builds on the foundations and atmosphere which have been carefully crafted thus far. It offers twists and turns until reaching a hypnotic outro which drifts gradually further away, as if a distant dream, memory, or nightmare.

Heilung – Traust

Traust by Heilung falls safely into the category of music in an unknown language for most of us, having adopted for its lyrics both Old High German and Old Norse. It also features acapella elements, with the male backing vocals producing a persistent staccato or whirring, wub rhythm. Heilung do occasionally employ English lyrics, meaning that here the words are specifically serving a function of authenticity, rather than trying to guarantee the communication of specific ideas.

The song employs chants and percussion giving it a more natural, earth-bound feel, though the arrangement benefits greatly from certain production elements like reverb. The medium of music lifts the song above its context and explicit themes. Thus, we might imagine a person who has no familiarity with such historical cultures as the Norsemen, still moved and stirred in a way that the words alone would wholly fail to achieve.

While sections may appear repetitive to modern listeners used to traditional structures, the song is willing to embrace this difference. It imitates ritual, producing a trance-like soundscape, and invites us as listeners to disappear into the repetition.

When the most distinct vocal melody arrives (6:47), it lifts the song precisely because of its new-found sovereignty of movement. Listeners are invited to embrace the liberatory spirit which is born within constraints, rather than feeling antagonistic towards them, however this might manifest in their own life.

Honourable Mentions

Strapping Young Lad – Imperial. An apocalyptic introduction to an album with a sound which feels foreign and alien (pun intended for those who know), to anything expressible here on earth.

Bjork - Play dead. Bjork’s vocals play fast and loose with the structure of the song, grounded by the arrangement, but nonetheless willing to break the rules for the sake of expression.

Cult Of Luna & Julie Christmas - Cygnus. The power of contrast is here operative again, with synths, guitars, drums, harsh vocals, and clean vocals, all battling for prominence. A whole human complex resisting unification, yet oddly harmonious.

The matter of parental versus state authority is not a new phenomenon; it is an ever-present question mark in the field of political philosophy, science and ethics. Arguments against parental authority manifest in various modes, and are always logical extensions of certain ideologies. For example, Plato was concerned that any child bound to his or her parents was a less reliable member of the collective, continually torn asunder by the conflicts between familial commitments and social contracts. More recently, the project to democratise education has been forced to contend with the nepotistic substrata associated with privatized institutions.

Countless regimes and philosophies throughout history have attempted to weaponize children, as surveillance drones, or cogs in a machine, or both. This is often where people feel the greatest repulsion at state-run education, as it conflicts with liberal ideals of individual freedoms. I am not of the opinion that the mere association of a certain political strategy or world-view with an “immoral” regime is cause for its disavowal without proper analysis, though it can certainly raise some concern.

Rather, this essay argues for something more fundamental. That an inherent asymmetry is present in the capacity of parents and the state to instruct and enable children to thrive, particularly in domains outside of pure academia. While parental influence tends towards expansive frameworks, evolving alongside the strengths of their children, state influence is far more likely to create suffocating environments that stifle potential.

The very structure of the state is self-effacing. In seeking short term control, it erodes its own foundations and produces a society less capable of sustaining itself over a significant period. State-run systems of education need not be abolished, however the balance is in urgent need of correction.

The Dissolution of Parental Authority

In the 1800s, schools began to institutionalize and normalize the profiling of parents. Neighbours would be questioned about other parents’ activities, the child’s attendance would be closely scrutinized, and there would even be inspections of the household itself to ensure proper cleanliness and order. This power to intercede in the parent-child relationship could not be easily achieved in an unadulterated rhetorical dialogue, for it had to contend with the natural bond within families granted by nature. So, how did this radical reversal occur?

At the dawn of the Enlightenment came an increased emphasis on reifying certain modes of thought through rationality (making abstract ideas appear concrete and real). Through this, a novel discourse was officialized. The new paradigm relegated anything that could not be quantified (turned into a numerical or falsifiable fact) to the realm of mere “subjectivity.” The word concept, “Subjective,” contains a negative connotation, as something artificial, synthetic, and perspectival, while its antithesis, “objective,” is explicitly stated as the highest principle of Enlightenment—a reality that all of us can converge upon and organize around for the common good.

While this was enticing in theory, the thinking of this era turned everything from relationships to feelings into “subjective” aspects of life, thus diminishing them. Given the inferior perception attributed to “subjectivity” in Enlightenment, the importance of parent and child could now be undermined by the “objectivity” of quantization.

School systems, seeing the window of opportunity born out of this era, began seeking to outmatch the parent by documentation, vigilance, and even a monopoly on the child’s time. In doing so, they supposed a quantifiable justification to “prove” that they were the most qualified to make decisions for the child.

In the modern day, this has become a sophisticated art. At the same time schools attempt to gain information on students, they make sure to conceal information from the parents. This is seen in current laws which allow schools a type of student-teacher confidentiality, including in medical decisions. It is also apparent in the structure of society which separates parents and children in three major ways: laws around truancy to ensure parents send their children to school, economic pressures ensuring that both parents are working to survive, and safeguarding rules which prevent parents from entering schools without permission.

All three of these can be justified quite easily, especially when one presupposes good intentions within the educational institutions. Ostensibly: the first ensures children are not deprived of opportunity, the second is excused by deference to economic experts who explain why inflation and financial issues are inevitable, and the third highlights the issue of child-safety. However, these processes also have a destructive side, playing a critical role in widening the knowledge divide between the parents and the institution. By depriving the parent of both contact and the details of their child’s upbringing, the state artificially produces its own weapon: ignorance. The ignorant parent, versus the all-knowing state.

Rethinking the Subjective and Objective Divide

Now, the riposte: I posit that the subjective/objective divide is not the silver bullet which Enlightenment once believed. We continually see that “objectivity” struggles to account for the myriad complexities of life. It functions only when all variables are known and all goals agreed upon. When language operates by consensus and all collaborators agree on the definitions, to whatever degree this is possible.

Unfortunately for those who would like life to be simple, the problems that face us form a vast expanse of unknown variables, and the goals of each individual are even more illusive. One person seeks the satiation of hedonic pleasure, another the triumph of mastery, the other the warmth of charity. Not a single one of these would please every person alive, nor would they guarantee a positive or negative impact on the final analysis. All our scientific progress has failed to dissolve the problem of values and reveal the “good life.” In other words, we cannot use science or rationality to decide our values, only how to achieve them.

But, for argument’s sake, let’s assume that we have all converged on the same answer for how to live and, by some miracle, succeeded in expressing it through mutually comprehensible terms. The state monopoly on authority still runs into a deep problem from a purely rational accounting.

Quantification must necessarily reduce the world into solvable problems, which means cutting away things that are as yet unsolvable. The major problem is that what is removed is likely to contain far more value than what remains. Here, I will transition into mechanistic language, specifically in order to highlight what is lost when action is forced to correlate with solvable problems:

A parent encounters an astronomical number of data points on their children, and their intuition organises them into actionable principles. For example, one determines by observing their child’s facial expressions whether something is being concealed. One anticipates whether their child is about to engage in a harmful or beneficial action based on countless past behaviours in similar situations. One learns to attune oneself to their child’s words, while filtering needs from wants; all of these factors comprise a far higher number of quantities and “if, then” conditionals than any procedural documentation achieved by statistics. However, the state ignores this fact, formalises the quantities it observes, and mocks the parent for having no such documentation; accusing them of holding a series of null values. The state does not account for the informal, intuitive, and nonetheless more complete database contained within the parent’s unconscious and conscious faculties.

This is consistent with neuroscientific revelations. A holistic base of knowledge is not quantifiable, however, Dr. Ian McGilchrist would argue that it is superior. This does not have to be considered a mystical proposition; it is simply an assertion that the right hemisphere of the brain is compiling far more data points, and with greater processing power to do so. In short, the parent tends to have a disproportionate advantage in the assessment of their own child’s needs, due to their concentrated focus and genuine investment in the outcome.

This is in stark contrast to the data points which concern grades, punctuality, and normative behaviour. These classifications are intentionally as disinterested as possible… as universal as possible. Such a metric collapses the child into a unit, rather than a person, inevitably oversimplifying their multi-various needs and often becoming antithetical to the child’s future flourishing.

The Importance of Parental Advocacy

Parental advocacy, such as emerging parents unions, form a bulwark against the State’s natural proclivity to expand its powers. Through action and rhetoric parents can prevent overreach or take back ground from educational institutions in the determination of their children’s future. Even if one prefers a state-organised system of education in general, parent advocacy is a useful part of challenging them to improve. A natural selection pressure. The more competent and effective the actions, the more a school is forced to adapt. The most likely outcomes are that the school attempts to appease parents by increasing the standards of education, or tries to cynically outmanoeuvre the demands. This latter approach is far easier, but only if parents are too passive or incompetent (in the most technical sense) to affect a change. Thus there is a predicament. The same students being filtered through schools are the ones eventually becoming the parents influencing the system. By incrementally making students less competent in areas of true significance, the state gains the upper hand, but robs itself of one of its most valuable selection pressures. This is a lose-lose situation for everyone, except those with extremely short-term ambition.

The situation becomes particularly dangerous when parents become passive spectators. If a parent can be convinced that the ideology present in a school system is culturally or morally aligned, they will be less likely to keep a watchful eye and challenge its authority when it pushes boundaries.* The specialisation of many fields from psychiatry to medicine has helped to produce this passivity: the parent cedes their own power, ashamed by their own “ignorance” in the face of a more competent practitioner—despite having the advantage of proximity and specific details of their child’s life. Such excessive self-doubt leads to an abnegation of parental authority and therefore collapses a core pillar of childhood development.

Conclusion

The average school system’s many failures are very difficult to condense into one article. The danger is that they are not taken seriously until parents are already in a weak position and can no longer influence their children’s education. By critiquing this fundamental flaw in the way we make judgements, namely the use of quantisation in areas far beyond our knowledge base and the surrender to dispassionate assessments, it reignites the possibility of change. The question is not about whether the system is currently making good decisions, but whether it is structurally effective over the long-term.

Parents who want their children to evolve into competent adults should resist capitulating to the machine, with its compulsive desire to churn out data points, and seek a structure more harmonious with reality. This involves learning to trust one’s own observations and intuitions. Letting science and theory be guiding forces, rather than totalising systems. It involves participating in their children’s education, even if things are not yet dire. When parents reclaim their position as competent, active and self-affirming agents, the entire system becomes more effective at nurturing coming generations and is protected against imbalance.

Holding up a false narrative demands ever increasing energy. It must fight against reality at every turn, patching leaks, silencing doubts, and smothering anything that threatens to expose it. Truth does the opposite. It stands quietly. It needs no maintenance. Its foundations are deep and firm.

Truth is the most efficient system because it is aligned with what is real. It does not require theatrics or manipulation. Lies, regardless of how boldly they are spoken, decay under the passage of time. Some fall quickly. Others linger for decades. Yet every lie eventually collapses because reality will not bend forever.

The Complexity of Dishonesty

A dishonest person must carry an impossible burden. They must remember every invented detail, match each lie to previous fabrications, and maintain composure under scrutiny. They live inside an ever expanding network of contradictions, stretched between the world that exists and the world they pretend to inhabit.

The larger the lie becomes, the more energy it drains.

The dishonest person relies on the trust of others. Their reputation becomes a fragile structure, constantly at risk of fracture. The fear of exposure becomes a constant companion. It interrupts sleep, infects relationships, and erodes inner peace. Their power exists only as long as others agree to see the world through their illusion.

Truth requires no such bargain.

Why Deviate From Truth?

People lie for many reasons:

• To avoid consequences

• To gain advantage or status

• To hide shame or fear

• To maintain an image

• To manipulate someone else

• To uphold a narrative that benefits them

Lying is not only a moral decision. It is also an energetic one. The choice to deceive requires a continuous investment of thought, emotional labor, and vigilance.

Truth spoken requires no such maintenance.

When Information Becomes a Weapon

On a personal level, lying is draining. On a societal level, dishonesty has evolved into an industry that trades short term profit for the long term stability and cohesion of civilization.

Technology, media, education, legislation, and algorithms can be weaponized to shape perception and obscure reality. A population can be guided into believing that falsehood is truth simply because the message is repeated with confidence and volume.

If people can be made to focus their attention on a fabrication, it becomes real to them. Not real in essence, but real in effect. A false idea occupies space in their decisions, emotions, and behavior.

The greatest deceptions hide in plain sight.
They do not need secrecy. They need belief.

Sun Tzu wrote, “All warfare is based on deception.” In the modern world, the battlefield is perception. The weapon is narrative. The casualty is our alignment with truth.

Discomfort, Dependency, and the Cost of Belief

Much of human discomfort comes from the tension between what we know at a deep level and what we force ourselves to believe on the surface. Even when we adopt a false narrative because it feels safe, a part of us knows something is wrong. Lies require domination. Truth is a manifestation of trust, faith, and surrender.

Many people remain in artificial realities because those realities offer certainty. Certainty is addictive. Certainty feels like safety, even when it is false.

Attention is the currency of creation. What we give our attention to grows. What we withdraw our attention from withers.

Every moment spent upholding a fabrication is stolen from building something real. Every drop of energy used to maintain illusion drains energy that could go toward growth, healing, or creation.

So I pose this question to the reader:

What would happen if the energy spent preserving false systems was redirected toward systems rooted in truth?

I think we’d change the world.

A Prelude

Only by chisel and hammer will life reveal its reasons. This much has always been true. But we were once easily satisfied, failing to spot blemishes and poor craftsmanship. Our struggle is deeper, for after thousands of years of refining humanity’s aesthetic taste, the slightest imperfection has become intolerable.

Thus, the most skilled artisans are now needed… and to develop the creative instinct, one must first study from life!

1: The demand

Static, crackling in the stomach. An implacable anxiety which robs life of its joy. Such is the mean experience of a whole generation, unbound from instinct and intuition. Constantly invited to weigh every action against a thousand variables, a thousand potential sufferings, a thousand “what ifs?”

2: Productivity unto death

One must have the nourishment of productivity, or else starve. No material condition can bend this law. One need only look to those idlers, who eventually experience the hunger pangs of the psyche: dread, paranoia and contempt. I have felt them too.

3: An Act of Creation

We are not here merely to consume, and then return to dust, but to create! Such is the nature of living things. To abandon this principle makes one ashamed, always stealing from the coffers of life, and giving nothing back. One need not even have a conscience to feel such shame.

4: A Dance with the Abyss

Leisure is an abyss: ever plotting to fuel its own expansion. It tempts with silence, and one must spend time there, or go deaf from life. However, wander too long and one risks becoming lost in its sprawling chasms. In this modern day, leisure has become ever more dangerous: overflowing with webs. Crawling with spiders.

5: An Insurmountable Challenge

All things must be taken in moderation. There is a fine line between health and self-destruction. But modernity has forgotten this balance, dealing only in extremes. It says unto the artist—symbol of the greatest sufferer, who would at times self-mutilate, and lose sleep for his craft, and isolate to the point of madness—“You have not yet suffered enough!”

6: A Story of Purpose

Why does the death of purpose plant such profound sorrow in the mind? Perhaps because it is the shadowy omen of an unproductive life. One becomes lost in seeking, lethargic in pursuit, bloated in idleness, and the instincts wither.

Many rulers throughout history seemed to be immune from this affliction. They invoked the divine right of kings to legitimise themselves, letting purpose spring forth from action, not the reverse. Even the most powerful gods bent to their wills.

Should one wish to be ruler of their own domain, purpose must arise from drives and productions, from habits and proclivities; an artistic flare, rather than the fuel of striving. For what burns brightest, also burns quickest.

7: Resolving Contradictions

The Machiavellian enacts violence to end violence. With resolute and brutal action, he cripples his enemies, to mitigate future revolt. In this way, he overcomes the contradiction by sheer might, making peace a product of violence and not its opposite. However, when one participates in such a contradiction, one incurs a debt: a discordance in the symbology of the mind. The stubbornly persistent contradiction of modern life is the striving towards the very destruction of striving. One works, only so that they might some day retire from work, once again conflating means and ends.

Commandments and categorical imperatives seek to prohibit contradictory means of living, in order to keep the mind in harmony. However, one who builds a cage around reality will be comfortable only until reality becomes too volatile and violent to confine. Contradictions are inescapable, but they do not have to be ugly. Should one dare to be bold, to wager, to test one’s character, one might just match the energy of reality…

This, the musicians know: that a touch of discord, added tastefully, can make a song beautiful!

Anti-natalism is a philosophy most associated with David Benatar, with roots in the pessimism of Arthur Schopenhauer and Philipp Mainländer. Its moral imperative for each individual is to stop having children, with the broader implication that by fulfilling this project humanity would eventually cease to exist and a great deal of suffering with it. When confronted with “objective” assertions of life’s inherent value—as are protected under most religious frameworks—the philosophy falls apart. Indeed, anyone who thinks life is sacred will find the proposition absurd.

However, Anti-natalism gets around this by assuming a consequentialist worldview and subscribing to the measuring of pleasure and pain as the appropriate standard of human value (Utilitarianism).

Benetar’s asymmetry argument begins by assigning pain a negative value and pleasure a positive one. It then relies on an emotive sense of morality to treat the absence of pain as a moral good, while treating the absence of pleasure as morally neutral—a null value as it were. The result is an asymmetry where pain is naturally given more moral significance than pleasure. Any act to reduce pain, even at the expense of pleasure, is therefore deemed moral.

The general intuition behind this idea can be expressed more tangibly as follows:

A first premise goes that to bring a child into the world exposes them to both the potential of suffering and of pleasure. Notably, by virtue of life’s hardships, it is likely that suffering or mere subsistence will be the default modes of life—far exceeding the duration of direct and immediate pleasure.

A second premise is that, statistically, people are unlikely to gamble when there is a 1:1 ratio of wins and losses. For example, most will refrain from betting $20 for the potential of earning $20 and this becomes even less appealing as that number increases. Suffering is naturally weighted more heavily than pleasure in a game of equal odds. This is similar to the economic idea known as prospect theory.

If these premises are accepted, they form the following conclusion. The potential of a negative fate is simply too grave a risk.

This can be more emphatically understood through the Bohemian Rhapsody lyric: “I don’t wanna die, but sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.” This not-having-been-born ideal is more or less inextricable from the philosophy; the bliss of non-existence into which it seeks to deliver future generations.

One’s attitude towards the wager of child rearing may appear subjective, even with the example of prospect theory, yet there is also a convincing evolutionary basis to justify it. The clearest example is that, unless starving, predators will not attack so long as they perceive their prey capable of wounding them; even a small wound carries the threat of infection and possibly even fatality. Life’s most reliable survival strategy is to select situations wherein the benefits of gain greatly outweigh the risk of injury or loss.

Now, before I continue, I wish to make it clear that I am not very partial to this doctrine. My struggle, since I was first exposed to it, is that I could not deny its premises, and only my intuition prevented me from accepting its conclusion. Now, I believe I have the words to express my disagreement…

The Anti-Natalist Contradiction

Since we have been corralled into the intellectual realm, it may be prudent to remain here a while. After all, one ought not let a snake lie in their garden once one becomes aware of it. So, let us accept the aforementioned premises and the material worldview that produces them. However, let us also rise above temporal or spatial biases. For it is above all a failure to fathom scope and deep time which compels one to seed the destruction of their own species. I posit that, contrary to the aim of the philosophy, the long term suffering produced by the anti-natalists would be immense. This is primarily due to selective mechanisms in the following domains: evolution and morality. I shall begin with a discussion of the former…

Nature has already created humanity once, and a range of animals already have the pre-configurations of higher intelligence: theory of mind, object permanence and so on. It is not improbable under the scientific model of convergent evolution that somewhere, in the distant future, a species will arise exhibiting similarly expansive and domineering behaviour.

By eliminating humans, the likelihood of this evolutionary process recurring is greatly increased and greatly accelerated, for at present we act as gatekeepers. Societies hold the most savage and wild instincts of the individual at bay and if any creatures were to begin collectivising and attacking us, they would be dealt with before having time to evolve technologically or strategically. This would, of course, result in some immediate suffering, but it should become clear why the alternative would be worse by that metric. Conversely, without humanity, any future species will have plenty of resources, territories, and uninterrupted developmental periods at its disposal.

This is not to make the claim that humans have an innate right over other species to be the inheritors of the planet. Rather, it is to say that our existence is likely staving a great deal of potential suffering. I remind readers that the history of humanity is a violent and brutal one and that the present, though fraught with problems, has at least produced more sophisticated interpersonal conduct and conscientiousness than was seen in the first of our kind.

Any novel species, especially if similarly constituted, will be forced to repeat the same processes of punishment that Friedrich Nietzsche and Michel Foucault demonstrated were key to social cohesion. A species that will need to squander many lives in order to reach for its ambitions and cultural developments. A species that will suffer plagues and pestilence before it learns the science behind sanitation and medicine.

To destroy our species would throw away our legacy, returning life to a more primitive form which would need to suffer many horrors all over again in order even to contemplate the ethical issues of our present day.

Immoral Selection Pressures

Returning to a more immediate effect, there is the problem of moral selection. Within the anti-natalist framework, the “moral” are those who are willing to forego their desire to have children for “selfless” reasons. Conversely the “immoral” are those who continue to have children. If the issue is not clear: the system intentionally selects its own morality out of the gene pool and allows immorality to remain.

As a philosophy spread through mimesis—which is how Benatar likely intended his project—the problem is clear. Only a state-managed or conspiratorial effort to reduce the population en-masse and without discrimination could solve for this problem. This, of course, brings with it a whole new realm of complications far beyond the scope of this essay.

How Narratives and Meaning Change the Outcome

Now we find ourselves at a more traditional philosophical consideration; re-treading ground, but important ground non-the-less. One of the most systemic objections to anti-natalism is to deny that Utilitarianism is the appropriate framework for human organisation; that a certain confrontation with nature is necessary for the improvement of humanity; that pleasure and pain may be qualitatively different depending on the vitality of a people; and that much of the suffering which is currently experienced is, in fact, caused by value systems which are far too short-sighted. If Utilitarianism is rejected, the anti-natalist philosophy loses a great deal of its staying power.

Scorched Earth

Finally, by following the anti-natalism framework through to its logical conclusion, we stumble upon a particularly dark idea. Consider again: that a managed population reduction would surely inflict suffering on those who remain, and a complete dissolution would cause the evolutionary process to go unchecked. The only option for a confident execution of anti-natalism in the sphere of human influence—without risk of future suffering—is the complete destruction of Earth.

Only by eliminating all potential of life on Earth can one guarantee a net reduction in suffering over the long term. The alternative is a gamble on nature. For we who do not believe this outcome desirable, the anti-natalist project becomes untenable. Thus, it is possible to turn our attention to productive ends once more…

The word “Power” has been vulgarised and disfigured into something rotten: the evil force which drives humanity’s most vile deeds. Many ascetics throughout history have attempted to crush it, to shame it, to make an incision in the collective, and remove all those undesirable organs whose machinations serve power. These compassionate surgeons would even liberate us from our skin, if it meant staving off future disease.

Yet, the act of condemning power only causes it to concentrate underground, where all those exorcised spirits of unwanted ambition find refuge and plot together. Now, we begin to feel the tremors of violent excitation…

Understanding Power

Before proceeding, we must properly define power, in accordance with the greatest utility—this, after all, is language’s use. The most recognised understanding of power is the ability to dominate over others, however this is a crude definition capturing only one aspect of the phenomena. Power is better regarded (and here I posit only a frame of thought, rather than a metaphysics) as the energy required for one’s actions, and by extension, the degree to which they can successfully achieve their goals. It is multifaceted, affected from the outset by material conditions, and then by the relationships of cooperation or competition which naturally arise within them.

The complication is that there are many modes through which power is expressed: politics, art, warfare, religion. All modes require people to assert themselves to some degree, though some disguise themselves behind chastity or humility or meekness, making it unclear which expressions are having the greatest influence on society as a whole. Even a monk, through sheer self-mastery, can shift the perspective of what is moral or immoral, just or unjust, and steer humanity’s actions to align with his or her own values. Thus, to understand the movements of power, one must look past common sense notions and the superficial rhetoric of each faction.

A key factor in this definition is that power itself has no implicit morality. He who is weak shall use power to drive his malice, for he already has notions of vengeance in his mind. He who is strong would prefer to invest it in some project that he has devised for himself; perhaps a work of art, a mountain he wishes to scale, or even the unification of a kingdom.

This definition of power is farther-reaching, and acknowledges the reality that every one of us is dragged this way and that by its tides and undercurrents. To assert that one seeks power whilst another does not, becomes a misnomer, and only serves to obscure reality.

The Dynamics of State and Individual

Modern people often use the word power interchangeably with governance and leadership, since these roles grant the most explicit means of achieving material goals. Those in positions of authority (including here, those who lobby and monopolise) are able to harness the movements of the collective to make changes at the national or even global level. The common error is to assume that government is synonymous with power, rather than dependent on it as an entity with its own ambitions and goals. This distinction becomes evident whenever individuals are able to create pockets of local resistance by drawing power back to themselves, and thereby weakening the stranglehold of the state.

Here, one can see how the energetic understanding of power gives a more comprehensive picture than binary thinking. For all intents and purposes, power is neither created nor destroyed, but transferable within the interplay of agents and systems.

Those within, or conspiring with government, are generally aware that their power is contingent on the legitimacy that they can devise for themselves, and how much individuality they can erase. If the population can be convinced that subservience is either necessary or desirable, the state can continue to thrive.

This awareness likely predates recorded history and was certainly present over 2000 years ago. For example, in The Republic (c. 375 BC), Plato laid out the ideal state through the voice of his teacher Socrates. In this book, he proposed the idea that a state might propagate a “noble lie” to convince the polis that each person was made of a certain metal, from bronze, to silver, to gold. This would allow people to be assigned certain stations in life whilst assuring them that they were in the position that they were divinely destined for. Though there isn’t evidence that this specific regime was implemented, there are many examples of the same overarching theory used in other states. Indeed, few doubt that religion itself has at many times been cynically exploited for social cohesion and control. However, the relative ease in enforcing these beliefs in past times likely made the rulers a little less dangerous and a little more complacent.

But what of the modern day, where citizens are on guard against all convenient myths, and the truly exceptional among them see through both botched and sophisticated guises? The selection pressure upon those who truly hold political power is now more intense, for they must be constantly innovating on their deceptions and systems of control.

What kind of person is created by the adaptations required to thrive in these conditions?

What kind, in fact, will emerge out of this epoch, when nations collapse under the weight of the civilizational cycle?

Presumably, an even more sophisticated type of manipulator.

The Evolution of Punishment

Evidence for this process of control mechanisms becoming more refined over time is outlined in Discipline and Punish (1975) by Michel Foucault. Throughout, he charts the long history of state punishment, which eventually culminates in the modern prison system. Foucault observes that public executions and torture were typically used to make examples of their victims. However, this publicity would sometimes lead to sympathies amongst the crowd, and it was even possible for riots to break out. Problems could be exacerbated by technical failures of the execution mechanisms, which might undermine the sense of right and control held by the authority. This, unsurprisingly, had the potential to undermine legitimacy and lead to political turmoil.

And so, the long, drawn out processes with myriad possibilities of failure was replaced by a simple guillotine, which was subsequently replaced by the gallows. These were even more “humane” by design, creating the illusion of morality and civility at the state level. Eventually, executions were moved to prison systems and there were even prohibitions against anyone attempting to view them. This kept punishment out of sight, in order to avoid public sympathies, whilst still preserving the same threat.

The publicity of early punishments was, in part, intended to dissuade crime. Upon viewing such an event, one’s faculty for remembering rules was heavily engaged in order that they would not transgress laws and meet the same fate:

However, when punishment was hidden in rumours and shadows, the threat was diminished in intensity. As such, new mechanisms had to be put in place to compensate for this loss.

Foucault draws an analogy using the panopticon, a prison design proposed by Jeremy Bentham in the eighteenth century. In the original design, a single guard tower is placed in the centre of a prison, with windows allowing a 360 degree view of every prisoner. No-one can see into the tower, and so there is no way to determine whether or not it is currently staffed. The prisoners must conclude that they are being watched at all times… just in case!

Foucault suggests that the psychological theory behind the panopticon is how the state now continues to enforce its policies. It uses mass media to manipulate social norms (even to the point of encouraging violence against the contrarian), actual or imagined surveillance to create a sense of being constantly watched, and the threat of imprisonment to maintain fear of punishment in the population. One feels exposed at all times, even needing to push down dissident thoughts to avoid the risk that they might one day surface by accident.

Ironically, the moral sentiments of our ancestors, who sided with the punished, were precisely those who made the state more secretive and strategic. They pressured governments to hide their violence: to put on the guise of morality, and feign servitude to the will of the people. “We are just public servants.” They say. But all who have eyes to see, know that this is not so.

Overcoming the Scapegoat

The morality of sympathising with the victim and rejecting violence is largely owed to Christianity and its genealogical antecedents. The religion as a whole has bestowed upon humanity many useful insights and benefits: the improvement of interpersonal conduct between local groups, the sharpening of rationality, the development of awe-inspiring cultural works, and an increased capacity for self-reflection.

However, Christians and cultural Christians face unique problems as regards the viability of universal doctrines, as well as certain mechanisms which may undo their entire project. This can be understood by reflecting on the theories of René Girard, a Christian thinker who made substantial contributions to theology, anthropology, and literary critique.

Mimesis and Sacrifice

Girard is best known for his theory of Mimetic desire, wherein desires are always emulations of other people’s desires. For example, when one sees that their friend wants an item of clothing, one becomes drawn towards that item as well. The desire bounces from person to person, all the while growing in intensity.

Charting this process over the long term, Girard observes that individuals in societies naturally come to desire the exact same signifiers of status, reifying them as their ideal. It is impossible for everyone in a society to acquire these items of prestige, since they are only valuable by virtue of their scarcity and general inaccessibility. The dispossessed, who are not able to obtain what they want or need, eventually seek out a victim to be blamed for all of society’s problems. Then they sacrifice that victim in a type of cleansing ritual.

Girard calls this process the scapegoat mechanism, based on pagan sacrifices which entailed the killing of a goat to expel bad spirits. He emphasises that the victim must, in the moment of the sacrifice, be recognised as guilty of all of the ills and evils that have befallen the community. By this act, all onlookers are alleviated of their resentment and normal life can continue.

Girard says that since Christ is considered an incarnation of God in Christianity and absolutely innocent, his disciples in the crowd naturally oppose his scapegoating. The mob cannot sustain the illusion of a guilty victim since they find themselves staunchly divided on the judgement. By placing this event at the centre of Christian morality and culture, it acts as a constant reminder which makes future scapegoating futile and encourages society to take the side of the victims.

The common-sense, modern view sees this shift as an unambiguously positive development, for no longer is irrational ritual violence permitted. However, Girard also recognises that the scapegoat was once a pressure valve for culture, allowing violence to be released in controlled bursts, rather than going atomic. He explains how culture will eventually be led to literally apocalyptic levels of violence and destruction if it does not deal with this new challenge—an outcome even highlighted in the scripture itself.

Girard’s continued support of Christianity, despite it setting in motion the possibility of apocalypse, stems from the moral stance that ritual sacrifice is never justified. He concludes that fulfilling the Christian project of universal love is the only path to averting disaster, since this eliminates those emotions of resentment (or ressentiment to be more precise) which lead to violent outbursts. The following section will discuss the improbability of this strategy succeeding in practice, and why attempting to employ it may even hasten the collapse.

Morality Enabling Power

Many public intellectuals of far lesser calibre than Girard, believe that Christianity has straightforwardly delivered us into the best societies—”proven by their fruits”—and that we must simply fight to preserve them. However, they must always concede that current societies have at the same time been twisted into something antithetical to their original design. Then, these intellectuals claim that wherever there is discord and decadence, such problems can be blamed on the pathological, psychopathic types or those who wish to overturn society (the Marxists being often targeted under this critique).

Now… a plane is not effective if it is not configured to the physics of the atmosphere. A medicine is counterproductive if it reacts badly with chemicals in the body. Should one blame the environment or human physiology for these failings? Such a claim is preposterous. Likewise, a morality or politics which solves for the ideal, rather than the reality, cannot be called an effective system. And, as in the previous examples, a failure to address actual conditions can be actively harmful in practice. Let us apply this logic to politics (speaking broadly), where the scale of potential harm or benefit is at its greatest.

Governing roles will always offer a confluence of material resources and influence, so they are a tempting goal for ambitious people. Any moral system which blocks off avenues to the higher echelons of a society only ensures that the most stringent adherents of the morality find themselves lacking power. This makes the path to the top far easier for psychopaths and narcissists who are willing to transgress moral and cultural boundaries. Thus, Christian doctrine and its cultural manifestation, instead of diminishing power outright, only concentrates it into those that the religion itself considers immoral.

As one proof of the counter-productive tendencies of this system, the word “politician” has become inextricable from sentiments of corruption, greed and low-cunning. The selection mechanism currently produces a type which neither serves humanity, culture, nor the immediate needs of the population. In this respect it fails by every measure of value which extends beyond the benefit of a handful of individuals.

Contrary to the modern prejudice, the past is not simply a story of rulers abusing their worldly power to serve private interests. Such abuses only imprint a stronger impression on modernity, and break through the noise of history. It is more often when reaping the harvests of culture, that rulers are allowed to settle into patterns of weakness, opulent spending, and totalising self-interest. Therefore, while certain checks and balances against corruption may be necessary, one should be particularly concerned with creating systems and situations which produce leaders of strong character—without the interference of idealistic pretensions.

Conclusion

To restate, the will to leisure and luxury, to consumption and gluttony: these are what really corrupt; power is only the energy which actualises such motivations. That one’s goals should be knotted and twisted is no strike against power. Yet, so much energy has been dedicated to vilifying it that the least compassionate, least concerned with others are the only ones willing to embrace it. The project of universally rejecting power has once and a thousand times been undone by itself, yet this lesson has not been learned.

To become is to endure transformation. Like iron heated white-hot and beaten upon the anvil with relentless, targeted strikes, imperfections are shattered away, forging raw stone into steel. Stagnation is death. If I am not growing, I am shrinking. If I am not choosing to engage, I am choosing to avoid. If I refuse to create, I surrender to consumption. If I do not claim my power, my sovereignty, my choice, then I give it away in fear of who I could become, and fear of the price that becoming demands.

Becoming is not a yoga retreat on a distant beach, nor the complacency of a full belly and a distracted mind. Comfort is the enemy of the unrealized overman, the slow poison that will abandon me to the steep and jagged road. Contentment is the destroyer of vision. Passivity betrays the heart. Be nice? Be tame? Be lame? March with the crowd? No. Rise. Fight until my lungs burn, my legs fail, and my heart pounds so violently that I can no longer raise my fists.

Weak men are the most dangerous of all. They’re deceitful, vicious, and cruel. When they find themselves with power, they wield it to dominate others. The strong wield power to stand sovereign. Weakness festers in the heart. It infects the mind. It is a parasite that begs for pity and consumes those foolish enough to feed it with their shame. Weakness spreads like a virus, and the masses run to it, kneel to it, worship it. We are a people terrified of rejection from a world built for mediocrity, shattered dreams, and broken hearts.

The majority live in madness. They repeat the same cycles, generation after generation; slaves training slaves, preserving the tradition of chains and the stability of bent knees. Boats rot in stagnant harbors, terrified of the sea they were made to sail. Sanity lies only in the impossible: to break from the beaten path, to aim for the unknown, to chart a course where no map exists.

Will I make it? Will you? The odds are against us. Lions, tigers, and bears stalk the edges of the beaten path, ready to devour us. But the broad road leads only to the dragon’s mouth. Better to face uncertainty, to gamble on adventure, than to surrender my life to feeding the beast for false security.

To become sovereign is the ultimate expression of power, and power is the ability to live without compromise; the full embrace of choice, and the means to follow through. Leave the path? I need power to do that. Escape the lions, tigers, and bears? Power. Endure the wilderness long enough to forge myself? Power. Return and slay the dragon? Power, greater than the dragon itself. The odds are I won’t make it nearly that far, but isn’t it worth a try? The more of us go, the better the odds that someone does.

We have been conditioned to despise power, to fear it, to surrender it and pray someone else will wield it for us. Wait to be saved. Wait for God to do our work. “Good slave... good. You already know what happens when you raise your chin. You already know what happens when you rise from your knees. You’re so ‘nice,’ ‘humble,’ ‘moral’. You’re every empty and tamed virtue.” So say the masters. So cries the heart.

Reality does not bend to our narratives. It isn’t fine simply because we convince ourselves that things aren’t what they are. Belief can be a blindfold with a beautiful name, but no wish, no thought, no star can move the rocks that block our path, nor erase the tragedies and pain of our world. Reality is what it is. Rejecting it is a symptom of a worn out soul.

But the pessimists are wrong. Change is real. Things do shift, and they always will. Change is the only constant. Stagnation is death, and we do not live in a dead world. Life itself guarantees transformation. Nothing will ever be the same again, because we are alive. That is our birthright. That is enough. To breathe with a beating heart is all we need, the gift that lets us stand proud and tall. It is up to us to seize reality with eyes wide open, forging our visions with strong hands, steady minds, and open hearts. We are the ones we have been waiting for.

Each life is a testament to the changes we choose to embody. Each action drops color into this vast, ecstatic universe of which we are but a symptom. Our ripples become our stories. We have our moment, our splash, our waves, and then stillness returns, leaving space for the next in line. Our legacy is the inheritance we pass on; the only lasting testament of our existence, our link in the chain of a story which never ends.

And what a story to be a part of!

Never has originality been more aggressively pursued than in modern times. Yet, by esteeming this as a value above all craft and virtuosity, it has plunged not only art, but the whole of culture into the depths of mediocrity.

The modern attitude posits that all unique things are intrinsically worth more by their uniqueness alone. It fails to recognise that the principle of scarcity is born out of practical realities, rather than an end in itself. Not only this, but the proof of work—which ensures nothing can be produced without meeting established standards—has been altogether abandoned. No wonder that civilisation bows with too much weight, and the nausea of disequilibrium has become a daily struggle.

In past ages there was a systemically enforced penalty for abandoning the fundamentals of a given craft. Artisans of cultural works were supported by wealthy patrons, required to be both masters of technique and rhetoric. All accidents risked undermining the work’s intended effect. Therefore, an artist would undergo a high standard of training, first as learner, then apprentice, and finally as the face of the works.

There were also secondary layers of moderation enforced through institutions such as art academies. For example, the Académie des Beaux-Arts, using their monopoly on the public’s attention, were able to boycott any artist who did not adhere to the preordained standards.

This ensured that art which rose to the peaks of culture was naturally a product of traditional education and reverence for history. Intentionality ruled. Forms and lighting were captured meticulously in studio settings. Anatomy was studied in its gruesome detail.

What is often overlooked is that these were all ancillary to a psychological end. A successful artwork’s purpose was to shape societal tastes through mimesis, teaching people to value whatever the patron or academy valued, and denigrate that which they condemned. If a piece coincided with the authoritative valuations—including aesthetic preferences—it was considered “objectively good” and little more needed to be said on the matter.

However, it was this belief in “objectivity” as a most holy relic which made society complacent. One thought that by adhering to it as the highest principle, one would naturally stave off all competition. This was not the case. Indeed, the impressionists overthrew the hegemony of the aforementioned Académie des Beaux-Arts simply by placing themselves in contradistinction to it; impressionists as the freedom-loving, revolutionary underdogs, against the pretentious dogmatism of the academy.

To understand why objectivity failed to carry the weight of culture, one need only examine it as a concept, detached from metaphysical prejudices. Objectivity is a word always contingent on arbitrary measures: realism, drama, beauty or even geometric qualities like conformity to the golden mean. Regardless of the technological capacity to measure any given aspect of a thing, there is always a subjectivity in deciding which of its qualities are valuable. In short, “objectivity” only masks instability and perspective, rather than solving them.

Those under the umbrella term of “post-modernism” were among the only people willing to confront this weakness. Some took advantage of the overreliance on “objectivity,” introducing their own systems in its place. They aimed to pivot culture into the realm of experimental and perspectival value systems, citing with great frequency the spirit of liberation for their goal. It is clear that there were both beneficial and harmful downstream effects of their philosophies.

One of these harmful effects, as I see it, is the propagation of modern abstract art. This art can generally be described as spontaneous and interpretive by design; a spasm of chaos, a minimalist design, or inversely, a blank canvas. This art burdens the audience with a project of free-association, acting like a broken mirror for the psyche.

As regrettable as one may find this state of the creative industry, there is still no objective basis to call it “worse” than what came before. Only “less structured,” “less dramatic,” “less conformant to normativity.”

Now, it may still be unclear why I have spent so much time exploring the subject of artisanal crafts and art, given the sweeping title of this essay. The reason is that modern art lies at the intersection where traditional and progressive worldviews collide in their most superficial manifestation, and therefore provides the most revealing insights about their dynamics. By using it as a case study for these worldviews, one can draw out their flaws, and their merits, understanding how the former allowed and the latter encouraged mediocrity to gain ground.

The strength of traditionalists, arising from unshakeable resolve, is their ability to assert value: a “yes” to this, and a “no” to that. When something appears to demonstrate value, they hold onto it. However they are too timid. They always feel the need to back up their assessments with “objective” or “transcendent” values. This is a self-imposed limitation, which relies solely on the sustained, universal belief in these concepts.

The strength of progressives, arising from unbounded adaptability, is their ability to adopt multiple perspectives and bolster critiques with dizzying scholasticism. However, they know not how first to serve and to be an apprentice, for they have escaped from the tempering fires of tradition. They are far too undisciplined to enjoy their own freedom, and so they oscillate unwittingly between destruction and happy accidents.

In my view, it is now necessary for all to abandon the language of “objectivity,” recognising that one’s values lie at the bedrock of the psyche, and one can dig no deeper to justify them. This venture is admittedly perilous. One must also remain disciplined and studied in the art of discernment, knowing when to strike out, when to defend, and when to rest. With this, the ability to deal with conflict becomes second-nature—even desirable.

Many of the symptoms of modernity arise from the venom and bile of two major forces who are averse to conflict, yet compelled to engage in it. Each sees the other as the source of their ills and evils, and therefore concludes that their enemy is corrupted in spirit. They even refuse to speak the same language. But what if each should learn to enjoy the competition, and even trade advice as a token of good faith? What if they, like the ancient Greeks, should wish that they had a stronger enemy, in order to test their own might? Then they may finally realise just how productive their relationship can become.

Lost in the Chaos

In the sprawling battlefield of the psyche, one army sets itself against the brutality of life, whilst another assails it with primitive fury. Swords clash. Arrows scream. Horses rear and whinny. Both sides fight for the spoils of victory, unaware that they have already been sacked by thieves.

This is the fate of many self-fashioned truth-seekers and philosophers: aimless battles, victories without reward, robbed by life itself. However, there is another path, leading to more profound revelations and transformation… only, it requires a rare type of courage.

Psychological Comforts

All beliefs which radiate warmth and comfort should be regarded with suspicion, for here the psyche has already furnished them for its own advantage. The seeds of ideas and philosophies lurk in the mind long before they are discovered by consciousness, and certainly before rationality—that spinster of propaganda and dogmatism—closes in. If one fails to see that the complete tapestry of existence is severe and unwieldy, a whole host of psychological comforts have likely taken root.

For example, what is really said when one believes the world benevolent, or even this little part of it? In short, that reality has been created to serve us, and the many maladaptive creatures that perished to give way for our species were nothing more than crude material. Suppose instead that the world’s benevolence were reserved only for the lion, whose good it is to sacrifice the gazelle for nourishment. Or for the microbe, so that decay and disease are merely symptoms of the primacy of microbial life. And let us not stop there. If we ourselves are only a bridge to the next evolution, what reason would there be to assume that the universe is designed for us, and not our descendants yet to come?

Verily, so much of what we believe is produced out of a desire for everything to fit neatly in its rightful place; even if it means sanding off rough edges, making incisions here, breaking something there.

To think critically, then, is not only rigid adherence to rational discourse, nor is it a leap into the world of fantasy and intuition, though both may have their place. The essential ingredient is the courage to venture the mountain passes between useful, as-yet-unresolved contradictions—without falling off balance. And that is its grave danger!

In the Face of Adversity

For most, when venturing over great heights the instinct is to cling on with both hands, and even the most daring youth can become nervous with age, retreating into the cold grip of death aversion. Thus, we see the instances of those who at one time break away from the social mores of the majority, only to fall into an equally profound slumber.

Without sufficient courage, one seeks only that which is agreeable. Where one does decide to stalk into hostile territory, one remains at a safe distance, so that only the loudest shouts and laughter are audible. But how can one truly hope to understand an enemy until one has spoken in their language, and even dreamed in it?

The preachers of the status quo so often call upon the malleability of the mind to warn against these trespasses into foreign thought. Does this not instead reveal the problem with any appeal to common sense, intuition, or conviction? When one places a ban on this thought or that, whatever the reason, it serves only to rigidify and calcify the mind. Once rushing rivers reduced to stagnant pools.

Rather, to come to terms with becoming one’s own enemy, then becoming an enemy of that enemy… this is what is needful for critical thought. It teaches us to understand nuances; it teaches us new perspectives and new languages; and it teaches us how to flow with reality, rather than gnashing our teeth against it.

Consciousness is our best ally in this project, for it has granted us theory of mind: not only to simulate the minds of others, but to simulate our own minds projected into the future. Through this mechanism, it is possible to prepare for the transformation ahead.

The Adventurer’s Bounty

So, for you who are genuine in the pursuit of truth, in spite of its danger: dare to agree with an enemy, dare to become an enemy, and seek courage above all. Naturally along this course, you will fill your satchel with gems and relics, until you are forced to discard those of lesser value. Compare this to those who never wander, and have only a couple of muddy rocks which they found outside their house. Perhaps, a relic or two from a distant ancestor. These may suffice. These may provide comfort. These may even weigh less, letting one move lightly. But ask!

”Is this enough?”

Where has our surplus gone?

Human productivity, often measured in macroeconomics as GDP (Gross Domestic Product, the total value of goods and services produced), has steadily climbed in most nations for decades. This is especially true in Western countries, largely spared from the devastation of major wars or extreme foreign interference.

This rise in GDP means goods and services are cheaper and faster to produce. Technological advancements, from mechanical automation to software, system optimization, and now artificial intelligence, have steadily reduced the need for human labor and cognitive effort in many areas. Productivity gains should, in theory, translate into greater abundance, lowering the cost of living as our ability to produce increases.

Yet this is not what we see. If GDP keeps climbing, if buildings are constructed faster, food is grown in greater abundance, and manufacturing becomes more efficient, why is life getting harder? Why does survival in this sanitized, money-centric game feel more stressful, and for many, impossible? Why does it now take two full-time incomes to support a family, when just a few decades ago one salary could buy a home, raise children, and own a car?

The answers are complex and rooted in history, but one truth is clear: the surplus productivity we create is not coming back to us. It is being siphoned away, as if by invisible looters tugging at the very fabric of our lives.

“Money” today is a lie

Money is one of humanity’s most brilliant and timeless inventions. It serves as a metric of value, a common medium of exchange, and a reward system for the most productive members of society. By its nature, it incentivizes collaboration through a decentralized ethic of mutual benefit.

No single person can produce everything they require. We survive and thrive through community. Anthropologists believe Homo sapiens triumphed over Neanderthals because we evolved to collaborate in tribes of up to fifty people, while our prehistoric rivals, though stronger and possibly more intelligent, typically gathered in groups of no more than eight.

Money enabled collaboration on a far greater scale, laying the foundation for civilizations and empires. It provided a shared understanding of value that allowed abundance to grow through trade. At its best, it rewarded productive individuals in proportion to their contributions, fueling prosperity for all.

True wealth creation requires integrity and goodwill. When these exist, both individuals and communities benefit. But what happens when the very foundations of money are built on fraud?

Throughout history, humanity has used everything from fine seashells to round stones to gold as money. Advanced civilizations often relied on minted gold, silver, and copper. Gold, in particular, excelled as a high-value monetary asset because of four universal traits:

• Durability: It withstands time and weather.

• Portability: It carries high value relative to weight and size.

• Divisibility: It can be split into smaller units for precise transactions.

• Scarcity: Its supply is limited by nature or public agreement.

Nations that adhered to the gold standard often became the most prosperous, with trade networks built on a fair, simple, and stable foundation. Many of today’s economic problems could be resolved by returning to such a standard. Yet history shows that even gold is vulnerable to the greed of those in power. In 1933 and again in 1971, leaders abandoned it in favor of unchecked printing, a short-term gain for a few that ultimately seeds long-term collapse.

Ayn Rand’s solution to an impossible problem

A novel that deeply influenced me during a pivotal chapter of my life was Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. First mentioned to me in conversations with my father when I was a teenager, the title kept reappearing until, one bleak winter night in Ottawa, I decided to find it.

After a workout at a gothic gym and pool facility, my small sanctuary amid the city’s drug-ridden streets and harsh disparity, I walked to a tiny, dimly lit bookstore where books were stacked eight feet high, shelves hidden behind teetering towers known only to the shopkeeper.

“Do you have Atlas Shrugged?” I asked as I stepped inside. The clerk looked up from his book, set it down, and walked in a straight, unerring line to the copy I sought. Seconds later, it was in my hands. Ten dollars later, I was on my way home.

Reading it was a revelation. Rand’s fiction mirrored my reality. She wrote of the “producers” (those who create, innovate, and sustain society) being gradually exploited by the “looters.” The producers, knowing that collapse would take them down too, tolerated increasing taxation, red tape, and quiet theft by governments supported by populations that had lost their way. Eventually, the decline became irreversible, and the only recourse was to let the system die.

Rand’s solution was the “strike of the mind,” a peaceful withdrawal from the looters’ game. Let them plunder each other while the treasures of civilization, including technology, culture, and knowledge, are preserved elsewhere. Return only when the old fields have been cleared by self-destruction, ready for a new planting.

She showed that we need not go down with a sinking ship. We can use the time we have to build lifeboats that will spark the next golden age. Those who see such a turning point must find ways to detach from the system’s malignant co-dependency and join with others to build communities on the frontier of the next civilization. No war, no fight. Simply give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and prepare for what comes next.

Civilisations rise, then fall, and no civilisation has yet overcome the weight of its sociological movements. Some reconstitute, buying themselves another two to three centuries, but such a process is costly, and the threat of collapse casts a constant shadow.

Globalisation seems to present a unique challenge to this cycle, depriving it of its oxygen and fuel. But is it the key to escaping our imminent doom, or the breeding process for an even more horrifying monster?

The Power of Asabiyyah

Ibn Khaldun, in his pivotal work The Muqaddimah outlined the mechanisms behind what he saw as the inevitable course of civilisation. His work was grounded in experience, having been a diplomat and advisor to rulers, and has later been vindicated by the more scientifically grounded work of Peter Turchin.

Khaldun hailed from North Africa during the fourteenth century, deriving his insights from the dynamics between desert tribes and civilisations in the Maghreb and wider Muslim world. He observed that warring tribes, forged by the harsh realities of nature, would naturally collect together a communal strength which he labeled Asabiyyah. It could be spurred on by a combination of factors: religious continuity, familial bonds, language, and so on. The essential factor was that the group felt themselves galvanized towards a common goal.

Khaldun recognised that groups that had a powerful feeling of asabiyyah would be more dangerous in combat. Even smaller numbers would reliably defeat larger groups who did not share this advantageous cohesion. Since the desert conditions were so demanding, tribes would naturally feel this group solidarity, else they would likely perish. Conversely, in civilisations which had existed for a great deal of time, the force of asabiyyah would already be waning. Luxury would be eating away at those in leading roles, causing them to command less respect. Khaldun even accused the food and drink of having a softening effect on the physiological constitution of the citizens. With any period of famine, he said, those who were accustomed to gluttonous consumption would be particularly likely to starve, compared to those who had, until that point, survived on scarcer resources.

This disparity between the highly organised and powerful militant force of the desert tribes, and the incoherent, dissatisfied civilisation, would tip the scale in the favour of the former. Eventually the tribes would harness their strength, their adaptability and their strategic prowess to successfully dominate over the civilisation. After this takeover period, a first generation of victors would lay claim to the lands, whilst remaining on guard against threats and signs of revolution. The second generation would receive the cautions and first hand accounts of their parents and grandparents, also understanding the tumultuous nature of their position. However, as further generations passed they would lose this generational wisdom, or else it would fail to create the same impression upon them, having been so distant from the events. They would be more willing to accept new ideas, including those of rebellion, without really understanding what that meant on a visceral level.

Khaldun placed the timeline of a dynasty at around one hundred and twenty years, with some possibility of extending the duration through religious practice. After this time, decline sets in. Once a powerful force, shaped by desert life, the people begin to become complacent. A united front fractionates and the civilisation becomes increasingly vulnerable to other desert tribes. Here, we see the process come full circle.

History as a Science

Peter Turchin’s ongoing work lends credence to much which is found in Khaldun’s Muqaddimah (this is by virtue of the overlapping observations and subject matter, rather than any direct or explicit engagement). Turchin’s ambition is to transform the field of history into a more exact science by applying mathematics to each civilisation’s conception and dissolution. This new field he coins Cliodynamics.

Turchin sees that each great civilisation can be divided into two to three hundred year cycles, before they are forced to reconstitute or come to an end. Each cycle has an integration period, throughout which a civilisation gathers strength and consolidates its power (similar to the dynasty phase outlined by Khaldun). Then, after this golden period, it begins to disintegrate and decay. Political strife gives way to internal conflict and an oversupply of labour widens the gap between classes.

This probable outcome is driven by psychological trends, and economic flows. The nature of an “elite” class is that they cannot be too many; political power must be collected into limited hands else it becomes insignificant. Turchin defines this class primarily by factors such as education and economic status. Those with access to the most prestigious schools, for example, tend to be funnelled into the upper echelons of society.

This “elite” class operates in either the abundance or scarcity which arises from labour. When there is scarcity of labour, those in power are heavily scrutinised for opulent spending. Ironically, this keeps their behaviour more respectable to the general population and instils noble virtues. On the contrary, when labour is oversupplied, wages can be decreased and the number of aspirants to these top rungs of society is allowed to grow. Then, by result of predictable behavioural trends, the people of this class seek to distinguish themselves; copious spending abounds in a battle for status.

As this spending reaches an apex, and huge swathes of the labourers are pushed down into poverty by falling wages, the immense class distinction causes an internal rift. Asabiyyah begins to wane, with the civilisation no longer bound by a mutual goal and weakness taking root. Khaldun’s assessment that reaching luxury is the point of a declining society now appears to be affirmed, though it is less the ultimate cause than an epiphenomenon of the underlying structure.

Globalisation and Falling Asabiyyah

Khaldun and Turchin’s theories seem to have a very unique relationship with globalisation. Especially when we consider them alongside human psychology.

For a moment, set aside all of the associations of deception, conspiracy and individualised interests which appear in discussions of this topic. Instead, focus on the best case scenario: the nations cooperate with the good will of their people, aiming to unify humanity into a single civilisation. With careful effort, they assimilate all disparate factions, dissolve boundary lines, and ensure the continued physical health of the planet and people. Now, there is no desert tribe (nor any other hostile faction) to capitalise on the weakness of a civilisation in decline. No-one seeks asylum, for no nation is at war or under martial law. The catalyst for sociological movements has been eliminated and so the usual cycle does not occur.

Asabiyyah in this world continues to wane at an exponentially increasing rate, for the economy and usual bureaucratic structures are still in effect. With no replacement civilisation to renew this group feeling, nor even the threat of one, assabiyah is reduced to only traces. A people of such dwindling cohesion will be unable to collaborate effectively, turning either to internal conflict, or collective impotence.

In an attempt to rejuvenate asabiyyah, many will continue insisting on space exploration as a collaborative human venture. An intuitive goal, now that much of the planet has been charted and explored. Yet, there will be many who see little purpose in space travel, except where it can be sublimated to tangible scientific advances or territorial expansion. Remember that even a civilisation concerned with the immediate danger of outside threats can become divided, let alone bound by a goal so disconnected from the life of the average person.

This may be better understood by considering a relevant neurological phenomenon: people will not follow cold logic, even if they know it is beneficial, without the fuel of a complementary emotion. This can be observed at the most trivial level, where a lack of activity in the amygdala (responsible for handling fear) means that one will not avoid danger, even if they can actively describe and understand it rationally. This was the case of patient SM who would react without any urgency even in situations where her life was clearly threatened (See Example: under title ‘Fear in SM’s Past’).

Instead, a global goal must be felt deeply and carry a sense of necessity. If space exploration is our monument to the future, it cannot be as some superficial solution to nihilism, but must embody cultural valuations. In times of apparent peace, Western culture in particular values individual experience over the species level legacy, and is thus incompatible with this aforementioned goal. Further, as Carl Jung identified in his analyses of alchemy and astrology, the psychological benefit must remain unconscious to the population for maximum effect.

Humanity Turned Reactive

Having demonstrated how intertwined the movements of civilisations are with human psychology, it is prudent to explore what kind of people would be needed to ensure the success of a globalist endeavour…

The “master” and “slave” in Friedrich Nietzsche’s Genealogy of Morality (1887) are two psychological types which form through social realities. He draws on historical cultures in order to cut past the obscuring shroud of modernity, which he argues has been denaturalised by two and a half millennia of Platonism.

Nietzsche describes the masters as those who have political power, and the assurance of their divine right to rule (this typically refers to nobles). They act in accordance with their nature, letting actions spring forth as an expression primarily of baser drives, be those magnanimous or vicious. Here, more than anywhere in humankind, the master’s affect seems like a mere accident of nature; unrefined and sometimes bestial.

The slaves, often suffering neglect or outright abuse from the masters, find themselves feeling Ressentiment, a type of lingering bitterness arising from their inability to requite harm with harm. They do not have the power to take revenge in the immediate, and so all that remains to them in this matter is long-term planning, deceit and guile. They stage a secret revolution, perhaps even unconsciously, in which they weaponize morality against the masters and turn the noble valuations on their head. Whatever the masters call good, the slaves call evil (even this word carries more venom than the simple “bad” used by the masters). Nietzsche charts this dynamic through an engagement with the etymological roots of words, historical sources and his own philosophical observations.

Gilles Deleuze’s book, Nietzsche and Philosophy (1962), reframes the master and slave moralities by relating them to broader principles of active and reactive forces. The former type creates and makes affirmations, while the latter attempts to negate and invert what already exists. This offering by Deleuze highlights an underlying theme in Nietzsche’s Genealogy, and expands its applicability.

Now, let us return to globalism. The process of dissolving opposition and conflict requires that the population be as reactive as possible. Cohesion is threatened by the active force, for when a reactive subject is injured by a more active subject, ressentiment grows. Each injury sustained by a reactive subject then develops into a festering will to punish.

Globalism therefore gives people in positions of governance a justification, even those operating on good faith, to attempt to eliminate all traces of activity. Ensuring, thereby, that no person harms another by accident of their instinctual drives. This philosophy leads not only to propaganda, policing and social pressure, but human biology itself.

Grotesque “treatments,” such as Lobotomies, were ostensibly a method of eliminating criminality: diminishing the active, instinctual force to ensure socially acceptable behaviour. Since globalism aims, by nature, at cohesion, stability, and predictability, such biological interventions become desirable. Thus, there is a systemic incentive to develop increasingly effective and subtle invasive technologies. One cannot even rely here on universal ethics to prevent such methods, since these are far from a reliable bulwark against grandiose hero complexes, and covert politics.

Conclusion

Along every step towards globalism, the individual must be made less instinctual and more self-conscious. These attributes, for all their benefits when produced in moderation, also correlate with increased neuroticism and reactivity. Thus we may indeed break the traditional civilizational cycle, but at the expense of human character.

The future, inhabited by a humanity plagued with anxiety and other disorders—and without asabiyyah nor affirmative ambition—will be doomed to turn in on itself. A war of all against all, waged through espionage, slander, and backstabbing. Or, more likely, the population shall be preyed upon by whichever ambitious and active subjects remain to take advantage of this vulnerability.

In conclusion, globalisation contains only a false promise of prosperity. For those who would not see humanity take the easy path at the expense of the future, it would be wise to reject this totalising system, turning instead towards new frontiers and horizons.

Acknowledgement

Much of my interpretation of the authors presented in this work was shaped by Keegan Kjeldsen through his spotify podcast, The Nietzsche Podcast, and YouTube channel, Essentialsalts. The views presented here are not necessarily reflective of his position. For more thorough exegesis of these texts, I highly recommend watching his episodes on Khaldun, Turchin, and Deleuze.

The modern attitude posits that all unique things are intrinsically worth more by their uniqueness alone. It fails to recognise that the principle of scarcity is born out of practical realities, rather than an end in itself. Not only this, but the proof of work—which ensures nothing can be produced without meeting established standards—has been altogether abandoned. No wonder that civilisation bows with too much weight, and the nausea of disequilibrium has become a daily struggle.

In past ages there was a systemically enforced penalty for abandoning the fundamentals of a given craft. Artisans of cultural works were supported by wealthy patrons, required to be both masters of technique and rhetoric. All accidents risked undermining the work’s intended effect. Therefore, an artist would undergo a high standard of training, first as learner, then apprentice, and finally as the face of the works.

There were also secondary layers of moderation enforced through institutions such as art academies. For example, the Académie des Beaux-Arts, using their monopoly on the public’s attention, were able to boycott any artist who did not adhere to the preordained standards.

This ensured that art which rose to the peaks of culture was naturally a product of traditional education and reverence for history. Intentionality ruled. Forms and lighting were captured meticulously in studio settings. Anatomy was studied in its gruesome detail.

What is often overlooked is that these were all ancillary to a psychological end. A successful artwork’s purpose was to shape societal tastes through mimesis, teaching people to value whatever the patron or academy valued, and denigrate that which they condemned. If a piece coincided with the authoritative valuations—including aesthetic preferences—it was considered “objectively good” and little more needed to be said on the matter.

However, it was this belief in “objectivity” as a most holy relic which made society complacent. One thought that by adhering to it as the highest principle, one would naturally stave off all competition. This was not the case. Indeed, the impressionists overthrew the hegemony of the aforementioned Académie des Beaux-Arts simply by placing themselves in contradistinction to it; impressionists as the freedom-loving, revolutionary underdogs, against the pretentious dogmatism of the academy.

To understand why objectivity failed to carry the weight of culture, one need only examine it as a concept, detached from metaphysical prejudices. Objectivity is a word always contingent on arbitrary measures: realism, drama, beauty or even geometric qualities like conformity to the golden mean. Regardless of the technological capacity to measure any given aspect of a thing, there is always a subjectivity in deciding which of its qualities are valuable. In short, “objectivity” only masks instability and perspective, rather than solving them.

Those under the umbrella term of “post-modernism” were among the only people willing to confront this weakness. Some took advantage of the overreliance on “objectivity,” introducing their own systems in its place. They aimed to pivot culture into the realm of experimental and perspectival value systems, citing with great frequency the spirit of liberation for their goal. It is clear that there were both beneficial and harmful downstream effects of their philosophies.

One of these harmful effects, as I see it, is the propagation of modern abstract art. This art can generally be described as spontaneous and interpretive by design; a spasm of chaos, a minimalist design, or inversely, a blank canvas. This art burdens the audience with a project of free-association, acting like a broken mirror for the psyche.

As regrettable as one may find this state of the creative industry, there is still no objective basis to call it “worse” than what came before. Only “less structured,” “less dramatic,” “less conformant to normativity.”

Now, it may still be unclear why I have spent so much time exploring the subject of artisanal crafts and art, given the sweeping title of this essay. The reason is that modern art lies at the intersection where traditional and progressive worldviews collide in their most superficial manifestation, and therefore provides the most revealing insights about their dynamics. By using it as a case study for these worldviews, one can draw out their flaws, and their merits, understanding how the former allowed and the latter encouraged mediocrity to gain ground.

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The strength of traditionalists, arising from unshakeable resolve, is their ability to assert value: a “yes” to this, and a “no” to that. When something appears to demonstrate value, they hold onto it. However they are too timid. They always feel the need to back up their assessments with “objective” or “transcendent” values. This is a self-imposed limitation, which relies solely on the sustained, universal belief in these concepts.

The strength of progressives, arising from unbounded adaptability, is their ability to adopt multiple perspectives and bolster critiques with dizzying scholasticism. However, they know not how first to serve and to be an apprentice, for they have escaped from the tempering fires of tradition. They are far too undisciplined to enjoy their own freedom, and so they oscillate unwittingly between destruction and happy accidents.

In my view, it is now necessary for all to abandon the language of “objectivity,” recognising that one’s values lie at the bedrock of the psyche, and one can dig no deeper to justify them. This venture is admittedly perilous. One must also remain disciplined and studied in the art of discernment, knowing when to strike out, when to defend, and when to rest. With this, the ability to deal with conflict becomes second-nature—even desirable.

Many of the symptoms of modernity arise from the venom and bile of two major forces who are averse to conflict, yet compelled to engage in it. Each sees the other as the source of their ills and evils, and therefore concludes that their enemy is corrupted in spirit. They even refuse to speak the same language. But what if each should learn to enjoy the competition, and even trade advice as a token of good faith? What if they, like the ancient Greeks, should wish that they had a stronger enemy, in order to test their own might? Then they may finally realise just how productive their relationship can become.

Die fröhliche Wissenschaft: Aphorism #323 - Good luck in Fate

“The greatest distinction that fate can bestow on us is to let us fight for a time on the side of our opponents. With that we are predestined for a great victory.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche (1882)

Lost in the Chaos

In the sprawling battlefield of the psyche, one army sets itself against the brutality of life, whilst another assails it with primitive fury. Swords clash. Arrows scream. Horses rear and whinny. Both sides fight for the spoils of victory, unaware that they have already been sacked by thieves.

This is the fate of many self-fashioned truth-seekers and philosophers: aimless battles, victories without reward, robbed by life itself. However, there is another path, leading to more profound revelations and transformation… only, it requires a rare type of courage.

Psychological Comforts

All beliefs which radiate warmth and comfort should be regarded with suspicion, for here the psyche has already furnished them for its own advantage. The seeds of ideas and philosophies lurk in the mind long before they are discovered by consciousness, and certainly before rationality—that spinster of propaganda and dogmatism—closes in. If one fails to see that the complete tapestry of existence is severe and unwieldy, a whole host of psychological comforts have likely taken root.

For example, what is really said when one believes the world benevolent, or even this little part of it? In short, that reality has been created to serve us, and the many maladaptive creatures that perished to give way for our species were nothing more than crude material. Suppose instead that the world’s benevolence were reserved only for the lion, whose good it is to sacrifice the gazelle for nourishment. Or for the microbe, so that decay and disease are merely symptoms of the primacy of microbial life. And let us not stop there. If we ourselves are only a bridge to the next evolution, what reason would there be to assume that the universe is designed for us, and not our descendants yet to come?

Verily, so much of what we believe is produced out of a desire for everything to fit neatly in its rightful place; even if it means sanding off rough edges, making incisions here, breaking something there.

To think critically, then, is not only rigid adherence to rational discourse, nor is it a leap into the world of fantasy and intuition, though both may have their place. The essential ingredient is the courage to venture the mountain passes between useful, as-yet-unresolved contradictions—without falling off balance. And that is its grave danger!

In the Face of Adversity

For most, when venturing over great heights the instinct is to cling on with both hands, and even the most daring youth can become nervous with age, retreating into the cold grip of death aversion. Thus, we see the instances of those who at one time break away from the social mores of the majority, only to fall into an equally profound slumber.

Without sufficient courage, one seeks only that which is agreeable. Where one does decide to stalk into hostile territory, one remains at a safe distance, so that only the loudest shouts and laughter are audible. But how can one truly hope to understand an enemy until one has spoken in their language, and even dreamed in it?

The preachers of the status quo so often call upon the malleability of the mind to warn against these trespasses into foreign thought. Does this not instead reveal the problem with any appeal to common sense, intuition, or conviction? When one places a ban on this thought or that, whatever the reason, it serves only to rigidify and calcify the mind. Once rushing rivers reduced to stagnant pools.

Rather, to come to terms with becoming one’s own enemy, then becoming an enemy of that enemy… this is what is needful for critical thought. It teaches us to understand nuances; it teaches us new perspectives and new languages; and it teaches us how to flow with reality, rather than gnashing our teeth against it.

Consciousness is our best ally in this project, for it has granted us theory of mind: not only to simulate the minds of others, but to simulate our own minds projected into the future. Through this mechanism, it is possible to prepare for the transformation ahead.

The Adventurer’s Bounty

So, for you who are genuine in the pursuit of truth, in spite of its danger: dare to agree with an enemy, dare to become an enemy, and seek courage above all. Naturally along this course, you will fill your satchel with gems and relics, until you are forced to discard those of lesser value. Compare this to those who never wander, and have only a couple of muddy rocks which they found outside their house. Perhaps, a relic or two from a distant ancestor. These may suffice. These may provide comfort. These may even weigh less, letting one move lightly. But ask!

”Is this enough?”

Becoming is not a yoga retreat on a distant beach, nor the complacency of a full belly and a distracted mind. Comfort is the enemy of the unrealized overman, the slow poison that will abandon me to the steep and jagged road. Contentment is the destroyer of vision. Passivity betrays the heart. Be nice? Be tame? Be lame? March with the crowd? No. Rise. Fight until my lungs burn, my legs fail, and my heart pounds so violently that I can no longer raise my fists.

Weak men are the most dangerous of all. They’re deceitful, vicious, and cruel. When they find themselves with power, they wield it to dominate others. The strong wield power to stand sovereign. Weakness festers in the heart. It infects the mind. It is a parasite that begs for pity and consumes those foolish enough to feed it with their shame. Weakness spreads like a virus, and the masses run to it, kneel to it, worship it. We are a people terrified of rejection from a world built for mediocrity, shattered dreams, and broken hearts.

The majority live in madness. They repeat the same cycles, generation after generation; slaves training slaves, preserving the tradition of chains and the stability of bent knees. Boats rot in stagnant harbors, terrified of the sea they were made to sail. Sanity lies only in the impossible: to break from the beaten path, to aim for the unknown, to chart a course where no map exists.

Will I make it? Will you? The odds are against us. Lions, tigers, and bears stalk the edges of the beaten path, ready to devour us. But the broad road leads only to the dragon’s mouth. Better to face uncertainty, to gamble on adventure, than to surrender my life to feeding the beast for false security.

To become sovereign is the ultimate expression of power, and power is the ability to live without compromise; the full embrace of choice, and the means to follow through. Leave the path? I need power to do that. Escape the lions, tigers, and bears? Power. Endure the wilderness long enough to forge myself? Power. Return and slay the dragon? Power, greater than the dragon itself. The odds are I won’t make it nearly that far, but isn’t it worth a try? The more of us go, the better the odds that someone does.

We have been conditioned to despise power, to fear it, to surrender it and pray someone else will wield it for us. Wait to be saved. Wait for God to do our work. “Good slave... good. You already know what happens when you raise your chin. You already know what happens when you rise from your knees. You’re so ‘nice,’ ‘humble,’ ‘moral’. You’re every empty and tamed virtue.” So say the masters. So cries the heart.

Reality does not bend to our narratives. It isn’t fine simply because we convince ourselves that things aren’t what they are. Belief can be a blindfold with a beautiful name, but no wish, no thought, no star can move the rocks that block our path, nor erase the tragedies and pain of our world. Reality is what it is. Rejecting it is a symptom of a worn out soul.

But the pessimists are wrong. Change is real. Things do shift, and they always will. Change is the only constant. Stagnation is death, and we do not live in a dead world. Life itself guarantees transformation. Nothing will ever be the same again, because we are alive. That is our birthright. That is enough. To breathe with a beating heart is all we need, the gift that lets us stand proud and tall. It is up to us to seize reality with eyes wide open, forging our visions with strong hands, steady minds, and open hearts. We are the ones we have been waiting for.

Each life is a testament to the changes we choose to embody. Each action drops color into this vast, ecstatic universe of which we are but a symptom. Our ripples become our stories. We have our moment, our splash, our waves, and then stillness returns, leaving space for the next in line. Our legacy is the inheritance we pass on; the only lasting testament of our existence, our link in the chain of a story which never ends.

And what a story to be a part of!

Globalisation seems to present a unique challenge to this cycle, depriving it of its oxygen and fuel. But is it the key to escaping our imminent doom, or the breeding process for an even more horrifying monster?

The Power of Asabiyyah

Ibn Khaldun, in his pivotal work The Muqaddimah outlined the mechanisms behind what he saw as the inevitable course of civilisation. His work was grounded in experience, having been a diplomat and advisor to rulers, and has later been vindicated by the more scientifically grounded work of Peter Turchin.

Khaldun hailed from North Africa during the fourteenth century, deriving his insights from the dynamics between desert tribes and civilisations in the Maghreb and wider Muslim world. He observed that warring tribes, forged by the harsh realities of nature, would naturally collect together a communal strength which he labeled Asabiyyah. It could be spurred on by a combination of factors: religious continuity, familial bonds, language, and so on. The essential factor was that the group felt themselves galvanized towards a common goal.

Khaldun recognised that groups that had a powerful feeling of asabiyyah would be more dangerous in combat. Even smaller numbers would reliably defeat larger groups who did not share this advantageous cohesion. Since the desert conditions were so demanding, tribes would naturally feel this group solidarity, else they would likely perish. Conversely, in civilisations which had existed for a great deal of time, the force of asabiyyah would already be waning. Luxury would be eating away at those in leading roles, causing them to command less respect. Khaldun even accused the food and drink of having a softening effect on the physiological constitution of the citizens. With any period of famine, he said, those who were accustomed to gluttonous consumption would be particularly likely to starve, compared to those who had, until that point, survived on scarcer resources.

This disparity between the highly organised and powerful militant force of the desert tribes, and the incoherent, dissatisfied civilisation, would tip the scale in the favour of the former. Eventually the tribes would harness their strength, their adaptability and their strategic prowess to successfully dominate over the civilisation. After this takeover period, a first generation of victors would lay claim to the lands, whilst remaining on guard against threats and signs of revolution. The second generation would receive the cautions and first hand accounts of their parents and grandparents, also understanding the tumultuous nature of their position. However, as further generations passed they would lose this generational wisdom, or else it would fail to create the same impression upon them, having been so distant from the events. They would be more willing to accept new ideas, including those of rebellion, without really understanding what that meant on a visceral level.

Khaldun placed the timeline of a dynasty at around one hundred and twenty years, with some possibility of extending the duration through religious practice. After this time, decline sets in. Once a powerful force, shaped by desert life, the people begin to become complacent. A united front fractionates and the civilisation becomes increasingly vulnerable to other desert tribes. Here, we see the process come full circle.

History as a Science

Peter Turchin’s ongoing work lends credence to much which is found in Khaldun’s Muqaddimah (this is by virtue of the overlapping observations and subject matter, rather than any direct or explicit engagement). Turchin’s ambition is to transform the field of history into a more exact science by applying mathematics to each civilisation’s conception and dissolution. This new field he coins Cliodynamics.

Turchin sees that each great civilisation can be divided into two to three hundred year cycles, before they are forced to reconstitute or come to an end. Each cycle has an integration period, throughout which a civilisation gathers strength and consolidates its power (similar to the dynasty phase outlined by Khaldun). Then, after this golden period, it begins to disintegrate and decay. Political strife gives way to internal conflict and an oversupply of labour widens the gap between classes.

This probable outcome is driven by psychological trends, and economic flows. The nature of an “elite” class is that they cannot be too many; political power must be collected into limited hands else it becomes insignificant. Turchin defines this class primarily by factors such as education and economic status. Those with access to the most prestigious schools, for example, tend to be funnelled into the upper echelons of society.

This “elite” class operates in either the abundance or scarcity which arises from labour. When there is scarcity of labour, those in power are heavily scrutinised for opulent spending. Ironically, this keeps their behaviour more respectable to the general population and instils noble virtues. On the contrary, when labour is oversupplied, wages can be decreased and the number of aspirants to these top rungs of society is allowed to grow. Then, by result of predictable behavioural trends, the people of this class seek to distinguish themselves; copious spending abounds in a battle for status.

As this spending reaches an apex, and huge swathes of the labourers are pushed down into poverty by falling wages, the immense class distinction causes an internal rift. Asabiyyah begins to wane, with the civilisation no longer bound by a mutual goal and weakness taking root. Khaldun’s assessment that reaching luxury is the point of a declining society now appears to be affirmed, though it is less the ultimate cause than an epiphenomenon of the underlying structure.

Globalisation and Falling Asabiyyah

Khaldun and Turchin’s theories seem to have a very unique relationship with globalisation. Especially when we consider them alongside human psychology.

For a moment, set aside all of the associations of deception, conspiracy and individualised interests which appear in discussions of this topic. Instead, focus on the best case scenario: the nations cooperate with the good will of their people, aiming to unify humanity into a single civilisation. With careful effort, they assimilate all disparate factions, dissolve boundary lines, and ensure the continued physical health of the planet and people. Now, there is no desert tribe (nor any other hostile faction) to capitalise on the weakness of a civilisation in decline. No-one seeks asylum, for no nation is at war or under martial law. The catalyst for sociological movements has been eliminated and so the usual cycle does not occur.

Asabiyyah in this world continues to wane at an exponentially increasing rate, for the economy and usual bureaucratic structures are still in effect. With no replacement civilisation to renew this group feeling, nor even the threat of one, assabiyah is reduced to only traces. A people of such dwindling cohesion will be unable to collaborate effectively, turning either to internal conflict, or collective impotence.

In an attempt to rejuvenate asabiyyah, many will continue insisting on space exploration as a collaborative human venture. An intuitive goal, now that much of the planet has been charted and explored. Yet, there will be many who see little purpose in space travel, except where it can be sublimated to tangible scientific advances or territorial expansion. Remember that even a civilisation concerned with the immediate danger of outside threats can become divided, let alone bound by a goal so disconnected from the life of the average person.

This may be better understood by considering a relevant neurological phenomenon: people will not follow cold logic, even if they know it is beneficial, without the fuel of a complementary emotion. This can be observed at the most trivial level, where a lack of activity in the amygdala (responsible for handling fear) means that one will not avoid danger, even if they can actively describe and understand it rationally. This was the case of patient SM who would react without any urgency even in situations where her life was clearly threatened (See Example: under title ‘Fear in SM's Past’).

Instead, a global goal must be felt deeply and carry a sense of necessity. If space exploration is our monument to the future, it cannot be as some superficial solution to nihilism, but must embody cultural valuations. In times of apparent peace, Western culture in particular values individual experience over the species level legacy, and is thus incompatible with this aforementioned goal. Further, as Carl Jung identified in his analyses of alchemy and astrology, the psychological benefit must remain unconscious to the population for maximum effect.

Humanity Turned Reactive

Having demonstrated how intertwined the movements of civilisations are with human psychology, it is prudent to explore what kind of people would be needed to ensure the success of a globalist endeavour…

The “master” and “slave” in Friedrich Nietzsche’s Genealogy of Morality (1887) are two psychological types which form through social realities. He draws on historical cultures in order to cut past the obscuring shroud of modernity, which he argues has been denaturalised by two and a half millennia of Platonism.

Nietzsche describes the masters as those who have political power, and the assurance of their divine right to rule (this typically refers to nobles). They act in accordance with their nature, letting actions spring forth as an expression primarily of baser drives, be those magnanimous or vicious. Here, more than anywhere in humankind, the master’s affect seems like a mere accident of nature; unrefined and sometimes bestial.

The slaves, often suffering neglect or outright abuse from the masters, find themselves feeling Ressentiment, a type of lingering bitterness arising from their inability to requite harm with harm. They do not have the power to take revenge in the immediate, and so all that remains to them in this matter is long-term planning, deceit and guile. They stage a secret revolution, perhaps even unconsciously, in which they weaponize morality against the masters and turn the noble valuations on their head. Whatever the masters call good, the slaves call evil (even this word carries more venom than the simple “bad” used by the masters). Nietzsche charts this dynamic through an engagement with the etymological roots of words, historical sources and his own philosophical observations.

Gilles Deleuze’s book, Nietzsche and Philosophy (1962), reframes the master and slave moralities by relating them to broader principles of active and reactive forces. The former type creates and makes affirmations, while the latter attempts to negate and invert what already exists. This offering by Deleuze highlights an underlying theme in Nietzsche’s Genealogy, and expands its applicability.

Now, let us return to globalism. The process of dissolving opposition and conflict requires that the population be as reactive as possible. Cohesion is threatened by the active force, for when a reactive subject is injured by a more active subject, ressentiment grows. Each injury sustained by a reactive subject then develops into a festering will to punish.

Globalism therefore gives people in positions of governance a justification, even those operating on good faith, to attempt to eliminate all traces of activity. Ensuring, thereby, that no person harms another by accident of their instinctual drives. This philosophy leads not only to propaganda, policing and social pressure, but human biology itself.

Grotesque “treatments,” such as Lobotomies, were ostensibly a method of eliminating criminality: diminishing the active, instinctual force to ensure socially acceptable behaviour. Since globalism aims, by nature, at cohesion, stability, and predictability, such biological interventions become desirable. Thus, there is a systemic incentive to develop increasingly effective and subtle invasive technologies. One cannot even rely here on universal ethics to prevent such methods, since these are far from a reliable bulwark against grandiose hero complexes, and covert politics.

Conclusion

Along every step towards globalism, the individual must be made less instinctual and more self-conscious. These attributes, for all their benefits when produced in moderation, also correlate with increased neuroticism and reactivity. Thus we may indeed break the traditional civilizational cycle, but at the expense of human character.

The future, inhabited by a humanity plagued with anxiety and other disorders—and without asabiyyah nor affirmative ambition—will be doomed to turn in on itself. A war of all against all, waged through espionage, slander, and backstabbing. Or, more likely, the population shall be preyed upon by whichever ambitious and active subjects remain to take advantage of this vulnerability.

In conclusion, globalisation contains only a false promise of prosperity. For those who would not see humanity take the easy path at the expense of the future, it would be wise to reject this totalising system, turning instead towards new frontiers and horizons.

Acknowledgement

Much of my interpretation of the authors presented in this work was shaped by Keegan Kjeldsen through his spotify podcast, The Nietzsche Podcast, and YouTube channel, Essentialsalts. The views presented here are not necessarily reflective of his position. For more thorough exegesis of these texts, I highly recommend watching his episodes on Khaldun, Turchin, and Deleuze.

1933 marked a pivotal turning point in American and world history. That year, the United States severed the dollar from its foundation as a gold-backed currency and set itself on a path into dark territory. This took the form of an internal rot that it would later export to the rest of the world through the petrodollar system in 1971, and the elimination of international leaders who sought to return to a gold standard. The American people were not to blame. Rather, a small club of parasites, stretching from Washington to London and London to Rome, carved out their share as they steered the Western world and its vassals blindly toward the next collapse.

Why would a nation abandon the gold standard and even confiscate gold from its citizens in exchange for colored paper, if its true motivation were to serve the people? Once we ceased transacting with currency bound by limits, we began trading our finite time for a medium of exchange sustained only by faith. In that moment, a self-appointed “elite” gained the power to play by new rules, while the rest of us were left with another set entirely.

Today, an honest living requires near-impossible effort, and home ownership is rarely attainable without locking oneself into a mortgage (from the Latin mortuum vadium “dead pledge”), paying twice the value of a home over the better part of a lifetime. Meanwhile, those same banks loan out up to 95% of deposits to the next “death-pledged” borrower through fractional reserve lending; a system where banks keep only a fraction of deposits on hand while creating new money out of thin air.

Fractional reserve lending is just the tip of the iceberg in the infinite money glitch that props up the masters of our oblivious slave-colony society. That alone should be enough to prove the point. After all, I’m not writing for the Agent Smiths of the world.

The truth is that the surplus value of our labor is not returning to us. As technology advances and civilization grows more productive, the cost of living still rises; tied to the endlessly inflationary metric of fiat currencies. Costs should be going down, but life only grows harder in this sanitized, money-centric game we call life. But this isn’t what life is meant to be about.

Our time here is so limited. One day, for each of us, the reaper comes knocking. Whether what follows is a magical adventure or infinite darkness, I’d at least like to climb the stairs toward the light without the regret of having wasted my time.

It deeply bothers me that I trade my hours in honest work for the same currency that others conjure out of thin air. It bothers me even more that life has become so unsustainable on this crooked chessboard that I may reach that light sooner because of it. There has to be a better way. Principles are knocking louder every day. The tools exist to be the change.

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Human productivity, often measured in macroeconomics as GDP (Gross Domestic Product, the total value of goods and services produced), has steadily climbed in most nations for decades. This is especially true in Western countries, largely spared from the devastation of major wars or extreme foreign interference.

This rise in GDP means goods and services are cheaper and faster to produce. Technological advancements, from mechanical automation to software, system optimization, and now artificial intelligence, have steadily reduced the need for human labor and cognitive effort in many areas. Productivity gains should, in theory, translate into greater abundance, lowering the cost of living as our ability to produce increases.

Yet this is not what we see. If GDP keeps climbing, if buildings are constructed faster, food is grown in greater abundance, and manufacturing becomes more efficient, why is life getting harder? Why does survival in this sanitized, money-centric game feel more stressful, and for many, impossible? Why does it now take two full-time incomes to support a family, when just a few decades ago one salary could buy a home, raise children, and own a car?

The answers are complex and rooted in history, but one truth is clear: the surplus productivity we create is not coming back to us. It is being siphoned away, as if by invisible looters tugging at the very fabric of our lives.

“Money” today is a lie

Money is one of humanity’s most brilliant and timeless inventions. It serves as a metric of value, a common medium of exchange, and a reward system for the most productive members of society. By its nature, it incentivizes collaboration through a decentralized ethic of mutual benefit.

No single person can produce everything they require. We survive and thrive through community. Anthropologists believe Homo sapiens triumphed over Neanderthals because we evolved to collaborate in tribes of up to fifty people, while our prehistoric rivals, though stronger and possibly more intelligent, typically gathered in groups of no more than eight.

Money enabled collaboration on a far greater scale, laying the foundation for civilizations and empires. It provided a shared understanding of value that allowed abundance to grow through trade. At its best, it rewarded productive individuals in proportion to their contributions, fueling prosperity for all.

True wealth creation requires integrity and goodwill. When these exist, both individuals and communities benefit. But what happens when the very foundations of money are built on fraud?

Throughout history, humanity has used everything from fine seashells to round stones to gold as money. Advanced civilizations often relied on minted gold, silver, and copper. Gold, in particular, excelled as a high-value monetary asset because of four universal traits:

• Durability: It withstands time and weather.

• Portability: It carries high value relative to weight and size.

• Divisibility: It can be split into smaller units for precise transactions.

• Scarcity: Its supply is limited by nature or public agreement.

Nations that adhered to the gold standard often became the most prosperous, with trade networks built on a fair, simple, and stable foundation. Many of today’s economic problems could be resolved by returning to such a standard. Yet history shows that even gold is vulnerable to the greed of those in power. In 1933 and again in 1971, leaders abandoned it in favor of unchecked printing, a short-term gain for a few that ultimately seeds long-term collapse.

Ayn Rand’s solution to an impossible problem

A novel that deeply influenced me during a pivotal chapter of my life was Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. First mentioned to me in conversations with my father when I was a teenager, the title kept reappearing until, one bleak winter night in Ottawa, I decided to find it.

After a workout at a gothic gym and pool facility, my small sanctuary amid the city’s drug-ridden streets and harsh disparity, I walked to a tiny, dimly lit bookstore where books were stacked eight feet high, shelves hidden behind teetering towers known only to the shopkeeper.

“Do you have Atlas Shrugged?” I asked as I stepped inside. The clerk looked up from his book, set it down, and walked in a straight, unerring line to the copy I sought. Seconds later, it was in my hands. Ten dollars later, I was on my way home.

Reading it was a revelation. Rand’s fiction mirrored my reality. She wrote of the “producers” (those who create, innovate, and sustain society) being gradually exploited by the “looters.” The producers, knowing that collapse would take them down too, tolerated increasing taxation, red tape, and quiet theft by governments supported by populations that had lost their way. Eventually, the decline became irreversible, and the only recourse was to let the system die.

Rand’s solution was the “strike of the mind,” a peaceful withdrawal from the looters’ game. Let them plunder each other while the treasures of civilization, including technology, culture, and knowledge, are preserved elsewhere. Return only when the old fields have been cleared by self-destruction, ready for a new planting.

She showed that we need not go down with a sinking ship. We can use the time we have to build lifeboats that will spark the next golden age. Those who see such a turning point must find ways to detach from the system’s malignant co-dependency and join with others to build communities on the frontier of the next civilization. No war, no fight. Simply give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and prepare for what comes next.

Pursuing a vision demands the devotion of a madman. Happiness, relationships, time, and sleep—these are among the offerings laid upon the altar of progress in our quest to become more than we are. From the greatest prophets to the most celebrated innovators in human history, such individuals have often found themselves profoundly, even existentially, alone. Why renounce the comfort of an easy life? Why press forward through the valley of pain and discomfort, while others fall away, to reach a dream yet unrealized?

An unrealized dream is the reason, but it’s the journey, the grind, the proof of work, that gives the vision its weight and worth. When insight joins forces with effort, that’s when the impossible becomes real, and the unknown becomes clear. A million-dollar idea means nothing without million-dollar execution. But here’s the catch: people can sprint full speed in the wrong direction for years, mistaking motion for meaning. As Leon Earl often reminds me, progress for progress’ sake is the moral decay of our age. And what’s more tragic than simple waste? Perhaps only waste that was once full of potential.

The modern world is built on a landscape of distractions and easy escapes. Its underlying architecture, the synthetic scaffolding shaping human experience, was not designed with individual prosperity or collective harmony in mind. It feels as if the bricks were laid at random, and in the gaps between good intentions, greed crept in; corrupting the miracle of our survival.

The cards are stacked against us. Accept it and carry on.

Whether we stride through Utopia or crawl through Hell, a man’s agency begins and ends with himself. The world we inhabit becomes fruitful only through our shared willingness to take responsibility. It is through courageous leadership that the barren can bloom, and tomorrow can hold hope. True leaders don’t step forward to be followed. They rise to set an example. And in doing so, they awaken the same strength in others, calling each of us to meet a higher standard, and to lead by example in our own right.

What’s done to us does not define us, unless we give it the power to. Each of us is the architect of our own life, the sovereign of our realm. And that realm, in all its color and shape, reflects the truths we carry in our hearts. Walk the path of a victim, and manifest a life of shame and self-erasure. Walk the path of a leader, and leave footprints which may carve a trail to a destination that redefines what the world calls “possible”.

A temple where I practice this skill is my small balcony garden, where I’ve been tending to a growing family of plants over recent months. On the days I forget to water them, their leaves droop, and they look visibly sad—especially the chili pepper plant, the most generous member of the community. Within an hour of watering them, I see them lift their leaves as if raising little green hands in celebration. Their silent smiles gratify this small act of care, and from time to time, they return with gifts that nourish my health, as if expressing an unconditional thank you.

I exist in a state of ongoing reciprocity with my plants, and as my attachment to them grows, so do their leaves. My small daily interactions with these simple green beings offer me another clue about the nature of love, as if to say, “Yes, it really is that simple.”

An inanimate object—a small ball of rubber bands I named “Gary”—has been teaching me the same lesson and has become a point of connection between my partner and I. Since I work from home, I rarely come across rubber bands to feed the growing mass that is Gary. A few months ago, my partner noticed Gary, who always sits on my desk, and started bringing me the occasional rubber band home from her days at university. It excites me every time! Each time she does, I cheerfully thank her for the gift, then joyfully find Gary and add the band securely to him.

In a way, it feels like my girlfriend waters me, and then I water Gary. I love seeing it come full circle when I catch her fidgeting with him. There’s this waterwheel of reciprocity between us, flowing through this little conduit object that I’ve personified as a desktop pet.

Simple acts of service for simple beings (and rubber band balls) fit so naturally into my subterranean ecosystem as unquestioned positives. Of course, it’s good to water the plants. Of course, it’s good to feed another band to Gary. There’s no question—I love these things, and their flourishing brings me joy. And yet, it’s not for this joy that I do it—it’s automatic.

But what if I could apply this same unconditional love to people? To my friends, family, and romantic partner? In many cases, I do, but the waters are murkier. The intention behind an act of service becomes unclear—both to them and to me. Receiving such love, too, often comes with suspicion. What do you want from me? What are you buttering me up for? There’s an aura of distrust, as if we’re bracing for punishment, loss, or some meaningless pain to follow at any moment.

Sometimes, when approached by a beggar on the street, a narrative plays in my mind—one that warns that an act of kindness will come with invisible fishhooks, sinking into my skin and tugging at the flesh of my creative energy and emotional reserves, burdened by the weight of unspoken expectations. Even a misplaced smile or a fleeting meeting of eyes seems to carry a silent warning: Don’t.

Half a decade ago, in the latter stages of my teens, I embarked on what felt like a radical experiment: to smile and greet the strangers I passed on my journey. Through this ongoing experiment, I realized I wasn’t alone in the struggle to love openly. Many times, a stranger would ignore me, often looking startled before hastily walking away. Other times, it seemed to break the ice of someone’s day—a smile would emerge, their back straightening slightly as if lightened by the exchange.

At some point, I became like a wild monkey fed by beach tourists, enthusiastically shouting at passing men, “HEY! GOOD AFTERNOON! I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!” Most would respond with a surprised “Thanks, you too,” or a puzzled stare, their expressions a mix of shock and amusement.

What started as a well-intended experiment gradually revealed itself as an act of conditional care, exposing the subtle undercurrent of expectation that fortifies the walls around my own heart.

Friendships that no longer gave back lost their significance, fading from “best friend” status to nothing more than a forgotten contact on a social media platform I no longer have the password for. Family relationships that became too taxing were bookmarked under “he’ll come around.” Past relationships that took more than they gave eventually ended, revealing the extent of love’s conditionality as a partner became estranged. Memories of people I once loved deeply have been reshaped into narratives that no longer welcome them back into my life.

Sitting here now, I reflect on how limiting it is to love so shallowly in contrast to the teachings of Christ, who embodied unconditional love so fully that He blessed and prayed for those who tortured and killed Him. And yet, when I think of my enemies, I don’t dream of blessings—I dream of revenge.

Who among us can truly emulate the love God has for us? Without this elixir of true, unwavering love—one that carries on through fire and flames—what is the purpose of this life? When it does reveal itself, it feels like stepping into perfect harmony, like standing in the eye of a storm and feeling the sun on my face. When it’s absent, life feels desperate, meaningless, and profoundly hopeless. Yet its presence—whether in the quiet resilience of my plants or in the playful moments with my partner as we childishly smile and weave another band onto Gary—provides a kind of nourishment, a reserve of warmth to carry me through the rainy days ahead.

Like the gifts of my plants—growing slowly yet giving back whenever they can—my dance with this skill, or rather, this trust and surrender, unfolds in its own time. My experiences of unconditionality are becoming more abundant; once rare and surprising, leaving me thinking, “What the heck was that?”, they are now more recognizable. Yet, the moment I try to label them, they seem to fade, slipping beyond my grasp.

The Tao of love is much like the Tao of anything—when I move beyond fixation on myself and exist as present-mindedly as the plants on my balcony, love flows in with abundance. Surrendering is like opening the tap, allowing it to pour freely. But the moment I grasp at the process, the “I’m doing it” voice takes over, and my access to the infinite abundance all around me shuts off.

My most powerful state is not one in which I try to harness this power for my own intelligence, but rather one in which I surrender to the will of the Force—for lack of a better phrase. In the movies, they say, “May the Force be with you.” But as I continue along my path, I’m beginning to see that a more fitting blessing is, “May you be with the Force.”

For any team to scale beyond its current capacity, leaders must delegate effectively, entrusting the right tasks to the right people. In doing so, they elevate themselves to a higher vantage point, gaining a broader perspective of the bigger picture. This expanded viewpoint allows them to guide their team toward success.

“The seagull which flies the highest sees the farthest.” — Jonathan Livingston Seagull

However, many leaders fall into the trap of retreating into the comfort of micromanagement, neglecting the broader vision they are meant to steward. While everyone has the same 24 hours in a day, achieving big visions requires effective teamwork. As the saying goes, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” Embarking on this journey demands trust, and discerning whom to trust is crucial.

Trust too little, and a leader risks missing opportunities to activate untapped talent. Trust too much, and they burden themselves and their mission with unnecessary weight. This delicate balance often intimidates entrepreneurs, leaving many stuck in freelancing or small-scale teams. A common refrain is, “I’ve been let down by people all my life. Why trust anybody now?”

If You Want to Lead, Learn to Follow

Not everyone is suited to leadership, nor does everyone aspire to it. Unfortunately, power often attracts individuals with anti-social tendencies—those least qualified to lead and least concerned for the people they govern. This evolutionary quirk has created power vacuums filled by dysfunctional leaders, resulting in systems marked by division, exploitation, and fear.

Those who seek leadership for the sake of control establish tyrannical systems, endlessly extending their reach. Yet no amount of control ever satisfies their insatiable thirst for power. Worse, the systems they create mirror their flawed leadership methods, perpetuating cycles of oppression. Today, we stand on the brink of a new era of digital mass surveillance and centrally controlled digital currencies, driven by leaders whose paranoia feeds their need for absolute certainty.

But the universe is inherently unpredictable. No amount of surveillance or control will overcome this fundamental truth. In their distrustful pursuit of omnipotence, such leaders fail to see that the essence of leadership lies in trust, discernment, and empowering others to take their place.

Dishonest systems require unlimited resources to maintain a monopoly on information and control over infiltrated political structures and kinetic powers. Tyranny may succeed in the short term, but history shows it cannot contend for long with efficient systems built on truth. To sustain their power, corrupt leaders manipulate the monetary systems that once energized the civilizations they exploit. By replacing foundational values like abundance, integrity, and fairness with scarcity, dishonesty, and theft, they erode the cultural ethos. No system, whether organic, mechanical, or civilizational, survives long with "bad blood." Entire civilizations have collapsed, rotting from within due to greed-driven “leadership.”

This Too Shall Pass

I believe in future generations. While the road ahead presents many challenges, I have moved beyond the confusion, busyness, and desperation that once left me in a reactive state, unable to activate meaningful growth within my reach.

As I released my grip on fear and looked to true leaders for inspiration, I felt empowered to show up as myself. Nobody else is more qualified. When I stepped into personal and professional spaces with authenticity and a commitment to radical honesty, I freed myself from imposter syndrome and began making a genuine impact. By showing vulnerability, I gave others permission to do the same. I have cried with passion and power and been seen. In doing so, I have experienced the unconditional love of others, fostering deeper relationships than ever before. I have sacrificed attachment for authenticity, willing to be hated for who I am and unwilling to be loved for who I am not.

What type of man do I aspire to be?
What type of leader am I, and how will I grow?

I am still discovering answers, but here is what I’ve discovered so far: My mind is a powerful tool, but it is a limited master. When I lead with my heart, the sky is the limit.