We will define every term as we go and assume no prior reading. Where a word usually carries a cloud of academic baggage, we will say plainly what we mean by it and nothing more.

Starting with a small word: metaphysics

Let us begin with the word that frightens people off. Metaphysics sounds mystical, and it has earned a bad reputation, because for a century it has been a favorite hiding place for vague talk dressed up as depth. Many a serious scientist hears the word and reaches, figuratively, for the exit, or the pistol. The suspicion is fair. But it rests on a misunderstanding of what the word, used carefully, actually points to.

Here is all we will mean by it. Physics asks what things are and how they behave: what a particle is, how a force works, what the universe is made of. Metaphysics asks the question that sits one step underneath: not “what is this thing?” but “what has to be true for there to be any distinct things at all, and for us to be able to tell them apart?” That is a different and quieter question, and it is not in competition with science. A geologist studies the river. The question of what it takes for there to be a “river” as a thing distinct from the “bank” beside it — that is the metaphysical question, and the geologist can do excellent work without ever pausing on it. The whole argument of this essay is that the sciences quietly rely on answers to such questions all the time, without saying so, and that bringing the answers into the open changes how the different sciences relate to one another. It does not threaten them.

So we set out to find the simplest possible foundation: the fewest ideas needed before any thing, any difference, any knowledge can get going. We found three. They came in an order, and the order is the heart of what we want to say.

The first thing we found: movement

The first idea is movement, and by movement we mean something very plain: that there is change rather than stillness, process rather than a frozen picture. Things happen. The world is going somewhere rather than sitting forever in one arrangement.

This sounds obvious, but it is worth dwelling on, because for a long time the educated guess ran the other way — that reality is fundamentally made of little solid bits sitting in place, and that motion is something that happens to them afterward. Over the last century the most credible sciences have quietly abandoned that picture. In modern physics, the most basic things are not tiny marbles but disturbances in fields — closer to ripples than to pebbles. A particle is more like an event than an object. In the study of complex systems, the things that matter most are patterns that only exist while they are moving: a whirlpool is perfectly real, but you cannot scoop it out of the river and set it on a shelf, because it is the moving, not a thing that happens to be moving.

We want to give movement a more personal name too, because it will matter later. Movement is what moves you. A voice can move you. A piece of music can move you. A grief, a desire, a sudden interest — these pull at you from the inside before they are anything you could explain or share with anyone else. We will call this the first-person aspect of movement: it is felt as mine, from within, before it is ever a public fact. Hold on to that word, first person; it will join two others.

Here is the key thing we noticed about movement: by itself, it is not enough to make a world. Pure movement with nothing to push against is like a current in open water with no banks — there is flowing, but no shape, no difference, nothing you could point to and name. For movement to become anything in particular, it needs an edge. It needs to meet something. That brings us to the second idea.

The second thing we found: constraint

The second idea is constraint, and this is the one most people get backwards, so we will go slowly. By constraint we mean a limit — a boundary, a “this far and no further.” The natural assumption is that a limit is the enemy of movement: the wall that stops it, the rule that forbids it. We found the opposite. A limit does not kill movement. It shapes movement into something new that would not have existed without the limit.

Take the simplest possible example. A river runs into a ridge of hard rock it cannot pass through. The rock is a pure constraint — a flat no. And what comes of that no? The bends, the loops, the canyon carved over centuries. None of those shapes existed in the water on its own. They exist because the water was forbidden the straight path and had to become something else. The limit did not stop the flow; it turned the flow into form. There is an old saying, “necessity is the mother of invention.” We mean it almost literally. A genuinely new thing — a new shape, a new idea, a new creature — is most often what appears when a movement runs into a limit and has to become something it was not before.

This is why constraint deserves to be called the engine of difference. And by difference we simply mean the fact that there are distinct things at all — that this is not that, that the river is not the bank. Difference, we came to think, is more basic than “stuff.” Before you can have two things, you need a gap between them and a boundary around each. Think of a coastline. The shore is recognizable as a shore only because the sea (which is not-land) presses against the land (which is not-sea). Rub out the boundary and you do not get a smudged, in-between shore — you get no shore at all. The line is what makes the two things two.

The sciences agree with this more often than they advertise. Again and again, the quantity that explains the most is a difference or an absence rather than a presence. Electricity flows because of a difference in charge between two points; with no difference, nothing moves. A chemical reaction runs on an imbalance, and when everything evens out — when the difference is gone — the reaction stops. In the study of information, a message carries meaning only to the degree that it could have been otherwise; a signal with no alternatives, nothing it is not saying, carries no information at all. The “minus,” the gap, the thing that is absent — this is not bookkeeping. It is doing the real work.

Constraint also has a personal name, and it is the crucial move of the whole essay. If movement is the first person — what moves me — then constraint is the second person: the you. The most important limit you ever meet is not a rock. It is another person, another mind, with their own movement, their own pull, whose wishes and values are simply not the same as yours. That other person constrains you. And here is the part worth slowing down for: this is good. To bend what I want around the fact that you are real, that you are not me, that your values are not mine to overrule — that bending is exactly what we call acting lawfully. A law, at bottom, is not a cage placed over free movement from outside. It is the shape my movement takes when it genuinely respects that you exist. The second person constrains the first, and in doing so makes the first lawful rather than merely loose. We will lean on this later, hard.

So we have movement (the first person, what moves me) and constraint (the second person, the limit, above all the other whose reality bends my movement into lawful form). Two is still not enough. We need to know what these two make together. That is the third idea.

The third thing we found: perception

The third idea is perception, and we mean by it something more specific than “seeing.” We mean the arrival of a shared world — the point at which separate movements, bounded by their limits, become something that can be held in common and agreed upon.

If movement is the first person and constraint is the second person, then perception is the third person: the it, the they, the part of the world that is not just mine or just yours but ours, the thing we can both look at and, in principle, agree about. And this is the surprising part of what we found: perception is not a fourth thing standing off to the side. Perception is what the first and second person produce when they meet. It is the integration of the two. My movement (what moves me, present, felt) meets your constraint (your values, which from my side show up as a kind of absence, a not-mine), and out of that meeting a shared world appears that contains both.

We want to be careful here, because it would be easy to mishear this as “perception is where all differences get erased into one agreed picture.” That is not it. Perception holds the agreed and the not-yet-agreed at the same time. The shared world is genuinely shared, but it is built out of an I that moves and a you that limits, and it keeps both of them inside it. That is why two people can share a world without seeing it identically. The third person contains the first and second rather than dissolving them. A shared world is not a world where everyone has the same view; it is a world different views can both point at.

How does such a thing get built? We found it helps to look at the smallest case: the boundary of a living cell. A rock has no “inside” in any meaningful sense — it has a volume, but it does not hold itself apart from its surroundings or react to them as other. A living cell does. The thin membrane around a cell is not just a bag. It actively holds a difference open: it keeps the inside different from the outside, spends energy to do so, and in doing so it becomes the first thing in our story that has a genuine inside and registers an outside. That membrane does, in miniature, all three of our ideas at once: it sustains a movement (the flow it holds open), it imposes a constraint (the boundary itself), and out of those two it produces something that, however faintly, perceives — that has an inside for which there is an outside. Wherever an inside meets an outside and registers it, that is perception in its most basic form.

We should be honest about a limit of our own here. None of this explains consciousness — the full, vivid, felt experience of being someone. We are not claiming to have solved that, and we distrust anyone who claims to have. We are making the smaller, safer claim: that perception, in the minimal sense of an inside registering an outside, is what you get when constrained movement folds back on itself, and that this is the third member of the trio. How that minimal registering becomes the rich inner life of a human being is a further question we are not pretending to answer.

One more thing about perception, because it carries the moral weight later. Perception is where relationship happens, and relationship always lives in the gap. Consider two nerve cells in a brain. The famous fact about them is that they do not touch. There is a tiny gap between them, and the whole business of one nerve cell “speaking” to another happens across that gap. Close the gap, fuse the two cells into one, and you do not get a stronger connection — you get one blob and no connection at all, because there is no longer a two to connect. The gap is not in the way of the relationship. The gap is the relationship. Perception is how the gap between an I and a you becomes the channel through which a shared it can form.

A useful consequence: where laws come from

Before we go on, one payoff of the three ideas is worth stating, because it shows they are not just pretty words.

Science describes laws — gravity, the conservation of energy, and so on. But describing a law is not the same as explaining why there are laws at all, why the universe is the kind of place that has reliable regularities instead of pure chaos. Physics cannot answer that from inside, because physics has to assume lawfulness just to get started; you cannot use the laws to explain why there are laws without arguing in a circle.

Our three ideas suggest a direction. If movement comes first and constraint is what shapes movement and holds it, then a physical law is simply a constraint that has lasted — a particular way the movement of things has been bent, and kept bent, reliably, across countless instances. We said earlier that to act lawfully is to let your movement be shaped by something you respect. A law of physics is that same idea stripped to its bones: movement so dependably constrained that it can be counted on, and so perceived in common by everyone as a “law.” A law is a movement that held. Whether any particular law might slowly change over cosmic time is a question for scientists to measure. Why there is lawfulness at all is the quieter question underneath, and it belongs to metaphysics. The two do not compete; they sit on different floors of the same building.

Turning to the many fields of knowledge

Now we can do the thing the essay was really driving toward. With movement, constraint, and perception in hand, we can look at the whole sprawling landscape of human knowledge and ask why it comes in so many separate pieces that refuse to merge.

There is a strong temptation, when you survey everything — physics, biology, psychology, religion, art — to want one grand theory that ties it all together, a single framework that runs from atoms to consciousness to God. The most ambitious thinkers have tried exactly this. And the attempt almost always fails in one of two ways. Either it flattens the higher things into the lower ones — “love is just brain chemistry,” “culture is just behavior” — and loses what was real about them. Or it cheats, borrowing the prestige of one field to make claims in another where it has not earned them — using a bit of physics to “prove” a spiritual doctrine, say. Both moves break the honest rules of the fields they touch.

So instead of one grand theory, we found it better to draw a map. A map does not pretend the territory is all one thing. It lays out the different regions, honors each on its own terms, notes where two regions happen to resemble each other, and lets them differ where they differ. We can sketch the landscape of credible knowledge as four levels, each with two fields:

• Material reality: physics and chemistry.

• Self-organizing systems: metaphysics and the systems sciences (the study of how complex order arises from simple parts).

• Living bodies: biology and psychology.

• Symbolic and contemplative life: cultural anthropology and the contemplative traditions (the disciplined inner practices of religions).

Each of these fields has its own community of practitioners, its own methods, and — this is the important part — its own standard for what counts as a real finding. A claim is “true” in physics if it follows from the accepted math and survives careful measurement by independent groups. A claim is “true” in a contemplative tradition if it can be reliably verified in one’s own experience under the right disciplined conditions, and if independent traditions keep arriving at it. These standards are not the same, and a claim that is solid in one field may not even be sayable in the language of another. That is not a flaw. That, we will argue, is exactly how it should be.

Fields as tribes, and why they cannot fully merge

Here is the reframing that let everything fall into place for us. Instead of treating these fields as broken pieces of one truth waiting for a clever enough mind to glue them back together, treat them the way an anthropologist treats human cultures: as tribes. Not an insult — a description. Each field is a research tribe, a community with its own customs of evidence, its own rituals for deciding what is real, its own language and leading interests.

An anthropologist visiting many tribes does not ask “which tribe is correct?” and dissolve the rest into the winner. She describes each on its own terms and notices, carefully, where their ways of life happen to echo one another. Now apply our three ideas to a research tribe, and you see why the tribes must stay many. Each tribe is a movement of inquiry — a living, ongoing pursuit. Each is held in shape by a constraint — its own standard of evidence, the boundary that makes it the tribe it is. And what each tribe can perceive — what it is able to count as a real finding — is exactly what its standard allows, and nothing more. To force two tribes into a single view is to override one tribe’s standard with another’s. And we already gave that move a name. Overriding the second person — refusing to let the other’s standard be as real as your own — is the precise opposite of acting lawfully. So the limit on how much the fields can merge is not a failure of knowledge waiting to be fixed. It is what keeps knowledge honest.

Let us walk the four levels quickly, reading each through the three ideas, so the map is not just an assertion.

Material reality — physics and chemistry. Physics studies movement at its most basic and constraint at its most exact: matter and energy moving under precise, measurable limits. Its standard of evidence is strict — accepted mathematics confirmed by repeated measurement — and the shared picture it produces is the most widely agreed-upon of any human enterprise, which is exactly why its standard has to be so strict. And physics is honest about where it stops. It does not say whether its own laws are bottom-level facts or themselves the product of something deeper; it does not address inner experience; it does not pronounce on why there is something rather than nothing. These are not gaps physics is failing to fill. They are the edge of its tribe’s territory, and they fall right where the other ideas take over. Chemistry sits beside it, studying how atoms join and react by the same kind of measurable standard, and it too marks an honest edge: it can show that the molecules of life obey the same rules as simpler molecules, but it does not explain why certain arrangements of matter cross over into something genuinely new — life, and eventually experience. That crossing-over is exactly the place where constraint, holding a difference open, starts to build an inside.

Self-organizing systems — metaphysics and the systems sciences. This is the level where our own three ideas live, offered humbly as one tribe’s contribution and not as a ruling over the others. Beside metaphysics sit the systems sciences, which study how order assembles itself out of simpler parts — and they give our trio its closest scientific cousin. There is a concept in this field, autopoiesis1, which names a system that continually produces and maintains itself, like a living cell endlessly rebuilding its own boundary. That is our three ideas in the systems sciences’ own words: a movement (the ongoing self-building) held by a constraint (the boundary) into something that registers itself and its world.

When we look between these first two levels, we notice something striking, and it teaches caution. Several independent fields — fundamental physics, process-minded philosophy, complexity science — have drifted toward describing reality as flowing and relational rather than made of static lumps: movement before things. This agreement is real and worth noticing. But — and this is the discipline — it must not be forced. Physics does not prove the philosophy, and the math stays silent on the deeper question. We should expect independent tribes to echo one another here, because each, in its own way, is bumping into the same first idea: movement comes before substance. But an echo across a gap is not one tribe reaching into another to seize its conclusions. The agreement lives in the space between the tribes, and a thing that lives in a gap is destroyed the moment you close the gap by merging them.

Living bodies — biology and psychology. Biology studies living movement (a lineage, a metabolism) bent by constraint (the pressures of survival, the scarcity of resources) into creatures that perceive. And biology draws an unusually clear honest edge at what is often called the “hard problem”: it can describe every nerve and chemical involved in, say, seeing red, and still not explain why there is something it is like, on the inside, to see red. Biology says which creatures have which machinery; it leaves the question of how inner experience is possible at all to the quieter floor below. Psychology sits beside it, studying how minds develop and relate, holding itself to the standard of repeatable findings; and the honest relationship between the two fields is stated well by the mainstream view that biology constrains psychology without fully determining it — a limit that shapes without dictating.

Symbolic and contemplative life — anthropology and the contemplative traditions. Cultural anthropology studies the symbolic worlds humans live in: how different peoples organize the same raw facts of life — birth, death, kinship, meaning — in wildly different ways, while still showing patterns that recur across all of them. It is movement (the endless invention of cultural forms) bounded by constraint (the limits of what is humanly possible) into the shared perception of a people. Fittingly, anthropology is the field that gave us our own central image — the tribe — so it describes from the inside the very many-ness our three ideas explain from underneath. Beside it stand the contemplative traditions — the disciplined inner practices found in many of the world’s religions. These have to be placed with great care. They are credible within the study of religion and within their own communities of practice, where their standard of evidence is direct, disciplined, first-hand testing of inner experience, confirmed when independent traditions keep arriving at the same recognitions. They are not credible as claims about physics or biology, and at their most careful they do not pretend to be. What they report, within their own standard, is a recognition of awareness itself as the ground in which all experience appears — which is, in our terms, the first person turned all the way back to look at itself. Nothing in brain science can confirm or refute that report on its own terms, though it can study what happens in practitioners’ brains. The two tribes simply hold different things; that is not a defect in either.

So the map lets each field keep its own voice, lets the genuine echoes between fields be noticed without being forced into false proofs, and lets the real differences stand. Where, then, does the actual joining-up of knowledge happen, if not in one grand theory? It happens in living people: in the single human being who is both a physicist and a person of contemplative practice and does not need to reconcile the two on paper because they are reconciled in a life. The integration is lived, not theorized.

What we realized we had been doing

It was only here, with the map drawn and the argument made, that we saw clearly what kind of account we had been writing all along. We had been describing the world from a particular cast of mind, and it has a name.

In the 1990s, three autistic researchers — Dinah Murray, Mike Lesser, and Wenn Lawson — proposed a theory of autism they called monotropism2. We need to define it plainly. Start with a simple fact: at any given moment, the amount of attention a mind has to spend is limited. Different thoughts and interests compete for that limited supply. A monotropic mind handles the competition by pouring most of its attention into a few things at a time, very deeply — going down what they called deep “attention tunnels” — rather than spreading a little attention across many things at once. The opposite tendency, spreading attention widely and thinly, they called polytropic. Crucially, the three researchers offered this not as a defect to be fixed but as a different and powerful way of using a limited resource. In their picture, attention is less like a flashlight you aim and more like a pull you follow: your interests draw you in.

Once we had the word, we recognized our three ideas as the three stages of attention as a monotropic mind lives them. Movement — the first person, what moves me — is the pull itself: the interest that draws you down its tunnel before anyone else has a say. (When we wrote, early on, that a voice can move you, we were already describing the pull, before we had the word for it.) Constraint — the second person — is the two limits monotropism names together: the scarcity of attention, which is what makes the tunnel deep in the first place, and the other person, another mind whose tunnel runs somewhere else entirely, whose pull is not yours. Perception — the third person — is what it takes for two such deeply-tunneled minds to build a shared world without either one having to give up its own tunnel.

This is where the whole argument earns its conscience. There is a companion idea, named by the autistic scholar Damian Milton: the double empathy problem.3 The usual assumption had been that when an autistic person and a non-autistic person struggle to understand each other, the failure is on the autistic side — a deficit. Milton pointed out that this is wrong: the gap is mutual. Two differently-tuned minds each find the other hard to read. It is not one broken party failing to reach a normal one; it is two kinds of mind, each fully real, meeting across a gap. And — the part that matters most — monotropic people often understand each other easily and richly. The difficulty is not inside either mind. It lives in the betweenness, the gap across their differently-channeled attention, and it runs both ways.

Now look back at our argument about constraint and lawfulness, and you will see it was the double empathy problem all along, raised to a principle. To act lawfully, we said, is to let your movement be bounded by the values of a second person — to grant that their tunnel is as real as yours and not yours to override. And the grand unified theory that flattens every field into one grid? That is the refusal of exactly this. It is the demand that all attention run in a single channel, that every tribe’s tunnel collapse into the synthesizer’s own. It is, in the most exact sense we can manage, a failure of double empathy at the scale of knowledge itself.

What the conclusion actually is

We want to be very clear about the conclusion, because it is easy to get backwards.

The conclusion is not that the universe is monotropic. We are not saying reality is autistic, or that everything is really one big attention tunnel. The conclusion is that the universe is genuinely, irreducibly plural — many movements, many bounded insides, many tunnels of being, with no single master-channel into which they all finally resolve. That is the finding about the world.

What is monotropic is not the universe but the vantage point — the kind of mind from which this plural universe becomes clearly visible without the constant itch to flatten it into one. And here is why that particular mind sees it so well. A mind that lives as one deep tunnel among others does not have to be talked into believing that other tunnels are real and not its own to overrule. It knows that from the inside; it is the daily texture of its own attention. The opposite, widely-spread style of attention carries a quiet temptation: to feel that everything worth knowing can be swept up in one broad view — and from there it is a short step to the single grand grid that crushes the fields together. The deeply-tunneled mind is, in one specific way, protected from that temptation: having one channel, it never mistakes itself for all channels. So it turns out to be the natural place to stand if you want to describe a world that is truly many and give that many-ness its due, rather than treating it as a mess to be tidied into one.

So the plurality is not a defect in our knowing that a smarter mind would someday resolve. It is the actual shape of reality, and the monotropic vantage is simply honest enough about its own single channel to report that shape without pretending to occupy all the others at once.

A practical case: the DSM-5

All of this points to a concrete case worth naming, because it shows the argument is not only abstract.

The DSM-54 — the standard manual of psychiatric diagnoses — is, in our terms, exactly one such constraint: a boundary drawn by the clinical-psychology tribe, a standard that decides what counts, within that field, as a disorder. Like every constraint, it is not reality itself but one tribe’s view of reality. The trouble starts when it is mistaken for the ground floor of the whole building rather than one room on one floor.

Read through our three ideas, the question a diagnosis should ask is not the one the manual’s framing quietly invites. The invited question is moralizing in disguise: is this person abnormal, deficient, failing to match the norm? That question secretly assumes a single correct channel against which every mind is measured — which is precisely the flattening error we have been resisting the whole way through. The honest question is a functional one, and “functional” here has an exact meaning given by our trio. It is a question about movement and shared perception. First: can this mind follow its pull — is the first person free to move? And second: can it reach a world held in common with others — does perception, the shared third person, actually form across the gap to other people?

On this account, the distress that a diagnosis registers most often lives in the betweenness — in the failure of shared perception between differently-tuned minds — rather than inside any one mind as a flaw of its tunnel. That is the double empathy problem wearing a clinical coat. A manual like the DSM-5 does real good when it helps a movement move and helps perception form across difference; it does harm when it treats one channel as the law for all channels and calls the others disordered simply for running elsewhere. Notice what we are and are not saying: the metaphysics does not tell a clinician what to write about any particular person. It tells her which question she is really answering — function, not morality; movement and shared perception, not obedience to a norm.

Closing

Let us gather the whole path in plain terms, since plainness was the promise.

We went looking for the fewest ideas needed before there can be any distinct things or any knowledge of them, and we found three, in an order. Movement is first: that there is change at all, the pull felt from the inside as mine — the first person. Constraint is second: the limit, above all the limit that is another person whose reality bends my movement into lawful shape — the second person. Perception is third: the shared world that movement and constraint build together, holding what is agreed and what is not-yet-agreed without crushing either — the third person.

From these we found that the many fields of human knowledge are not broken pieces of one truth but living tribes, each held in shape by its own standard, each able to perceive only what its standard allows, and rightly so — because forcing them into one would be the very opposite of the lawful respect on which honest knowledge depends. And we realized, only at the end, that this whole way of seeing is the gift of a particular kind of mind: the monotropic, deeply-tunneled mind, which knows from the inside that other tunnels are real and declines to flatten them.

The universe, then, is precisely plural — not a single thing in disguise, not one channel waiting to be found, but many movements bounded into many insides and held together only in perception. The argument that this is so, and that it is good, is one that autism is especially placed to make. Integration is not the dissolving of the many into one. It is the many, perceived together, each granted the dignity of its own pull.

If some of this does not land right away, let it not land right away. Bathe and let it ripen.

This is not merely a philosophical starting point. It has consequences for how we think about human difference — and, more urgently, for the institutional systems we have built to describe and manage that difference.

Consider the psychological classification system. It presents itself as descriptive: a neutral inventory of how minds deviate from normal functioning. But the historical record makes this neutrality difficult to sustain. Homosexuality appeared in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual as a disorder until 1973, removed not because new neurological evidence emerged but because the cultural and political context shifted sufficiently to make the classification untenable. Neurodivergence — autism, ADHD, dyslexia — occupies an increasingly contested position: traits that generate disability in certain environments can represent enhanced capacity in others, which raises the question of whether the problem is in the person or in the mismatch between person and environment. The history of psychiatry is, in significant part, a history of majority experience being mistaken for universal experience, and minority experience being pathologized in the gap.

This is not an accident of early ignorance that better science has since corrected. It is structural. The system locates problems in individuals rather than in the relationship between individuals and their environments. A person who cannot sit still for eight hours in a fluorescent-lit room is classified; the fluorescent-lit room is not. A person who forms romantic attachments to members of the same sex is classified; the cultural assumption that such attachments are aberrant is not. The unit of analysis is always the deviant person, never the norm that makes them deviant. And this creates a fundamental epistemological problem: the system has no internal mechanism for catching its own errors, because the people being described have no standing within the system that describes them. The authority to say what counts as disorder rests entirely with those whose experience is treated as the baseline.

This is where the transplantation problem becomes acute. Psychological labels are not value-neutral descriptions in the way that, say, the boiling point of water is a value-neutral description. They are tools calibrated for a specific context — the clinical encounter, the insurance system, the legal framework, the research institution — and they carry within them a set of assumptions about what normal functioning looks like, whose testimony counts as evidence, and what the goal of intervention is. Within that context, they do a kind of work: they coordinate action, they unlock resources, they structure the therapeutic relationship. But move them outside that context and something changes. A clinical label applied in a casual social setting, or used to interpret historical figures who cannot consent to the description, or deployed to explain away political disagreement, is no longer doing the work it was designed to do. It has become something else: a moral judgment wearing clinical clothing. The white coat of objectivity, without the institutional apparatus that gives it its (partial) justification, is just a costume.

The tradition knew something about this. If ontic reality is embedded in the body — the verb of sensation, impulse, breath — and ontological reality in the mind — the verb of meaning-making, narrative, conception — then both arise within a field that is not private. Prana, or whatever word you prefer for the living current beneath biological and psychological process, is not something a person has. It is something a person participates in. The error of the classification system is, at root, an error of ontological individualism: it treats human beings as self-contained systems that deviate internally, rather than as nodes in a relational field where what looks like internal deviation is often a response to the shape of the field itself.

To say this is not to say that suffering is not real, or that clinical intervention is never warranted, or that no distinctions can meaningfully be drawn. It is to say that the authority to draw those distinctions should not rest with systems that structurally exclude the testimony of those being described. A true clinical encounter — and the tradition of somatic and contemplative medicine has always understood this — is a relational event. It requires that the person being examined have standing, that their account of their own experience carries evidentiary weight, and that the possibility of environmental causation remain live throughout. The classification system, as it currently exists, satisfies none of these requirements by default.

What would it mean to classify from the verb rather than the noun? To begin not with a static catalog of deficits but with a dynamic account of person-in-environment, attending always to the living current that moves through both? It would mean, at minimum, that the question “what is wrong with this person?” could never be asked without simultaneously asking “what is wrong with this relationship, this institution, this culture?” And it would mean recognizing that the answer to the second question is not merely supplementary to the first — it is often the first question, properly stated.

The body is a verb. The mind is a verb. The energy that sustains both is the verb of verbs. A system that classifies human experience while treating itself as a neutral noun, exempt from the processes it describes, has not escaped the living current. It has simply forgotten that it is inside it.

It is absolutely vital here to understand how self-awareness arises.
Self-awareness is in itself a consequence of shortcomings and
limitations, or it would not have arisen at all. Thinking is the
activation of the failure to intuitively understand and interact with
the surrounding world. No one understands or investigates this better
than Hegel, who builds his theory of the subject as a constant failure
on a constantly ongoing antagonism, which in turn drives all of the
arisen subject’s dialectical reasoning. Here Hegel sides with
Zoroastrianism and Protestantism in contrast to Taoism and Catholicism.
There is no logical or mythical order and structure in this process that
instead is clearly pathical, disharmonious and unbalanced. Instability
is right from the start built into the Hegelian synthesis, and it is
then released in the form of internal antagonisms. And it is precisely
this which, according to Hegel, makes the subject the strongest
expression of the substance. Just as his predecessors David Hume and
Immanuel Kant, Hegel attacks the Cartesian subject that has been the
norm since the mid-17th century. However they handle the issue in
different ways and come to different conclusions. Hume settles for a
stable subject that tries to relate to a mobile world, Kant, on his
part, gets stuck with a mobile subject that is encapsulated in a fixed
world (which in theory it would be able to experience directly if it
were not for the subject’s own limitations), while only Hegel succeeds
in handling constant movement at all levels of the complex. No person
and no thing is fixed. Both substance and subject are relations that
consist of other relations where relata only constitute temporarily
surfacing byproducts connected to the ongoing processes. The pathical
subject pulsates and vibrates ambivalently behind both logos and mythos.

Key insight here is that no person and no thing is fixed.

Hegel’s argument vis-à-vis Kant is that the latter demystifies the
subject in a way that nevertheless is fundamentally mystifying. Kant
works with a psychology for the soul, a cosmology for the world, and a
theology for God. Psychology for the soul is a Kantian pathos. Cosmology
for the world is a Kantian logos. And theology about God is a Kantian
mythos. All these three quantities are foregone conclusions in an
unclear manner, according to Kant. Hegel’s revolt against Kant is a
battle for a narratological liberation. The Hegelian subject is namely
liberated from all forms of preordained psychologies, cosmologies and
theologies; it has to settle for its own internal dialectics. This
speculative Pandialecticism is the Hegelian absolute. All
metanarratives -- logos, mythos and pathos -- are fundamentally
dialectical, according to Hegel. It is not even possible to speak of a
psychology, cosmology or even a theology as something other than
dialectical phenomena in Hegel, and definitely not as any preordained
eternalizations, as in Kant. Thanks to Hegelian pandialecticism, which
affirms and handles movement in all of being’s dimensions, it becomes
possible to take the path of thinking toward radical relationalism.

Yeah, that’s the insight we need internal dialectics of the sociont. What would Nietzsche, Deleuze and Guattari, and Foucault say about this? This makes me think of The Method of No-Method: The Chan Practice of Silent Illumination. Where the argument is that we have the body, we have the mind and the environment, and all of them are in motion or changing constantly.

In Zoroastrian terms we would express this as though the ameretat our
generation longs for already lies inherent in our worldview and lies
ready to pathically explode as the next generation’s haurvatat. Where
what is important is that the subject is pathical and neither logical
nor mythical. The dividual identity sprouts from the sociont and its
history as the barred absolute. In front of this barred absolute,
dividuality is awakened as the embodiment of an actual archetype in the
form of the mimicking erchtype. The subject’s primary function is to
entwine The Great Trauma in the form of an abandonment of mamilla with
the great event in the form of the yearning for phallus. Mamilla is
the barred absolute from the past, phallus is the barred absolute in the
future. The path backward is however barred forever. The subject can
therefore only hope to become the agent who carries out his
Truth-As-An-Act by submitting to phallus. This irrefutable demand for
submission is the strength of phallus as the concrete absolute.

This speaks for itself.

However monotheist phallus worship does not suffice. The sociont does
not merely need a vision and a direction, but moreover a strategy, and a
strategy one can only build on knowledge. Or to use a more solemn word:
wisdom. Therefore religion’s origin is every bit as much an issue of
mana as an issue of Phallus. Romanian anthropologist Mircea Eliade
traces the mana to the theological shift from the ancestors to the
gods. At the same moment that the ancestors, in the capacity of the
symbolic vessels for and intermediaries of the transmitted wisdom within
the sociont, are depersonified and universalized -- that is: when it no
longer matters who within the sociont is offspring to which primordial
father or primordial mother, when the entire tribe has been accorded the
same common primordial father and primordial mother -- the ancestors are
converted into the lesser gods. It is this conversion that is called
metaphysical reification, and it can only be applied to the already
dead (there is always something vulgar and dubious about statues and
other memorials of people who are still alive). The function is the
mana, a kind of impersonal but constantly present force that humanity
must struggle with in all situations. It is thus on top of this mana
that the priest names the gods to concretize what sacrifices the gods
require from the faithful.

For the masculine subject, this displacement and radical
self-identification occurs through the subject submitting to culture as
logos. For the feminine subject, the same process occurs through the
subject submitting to nature as mythos. This means that the law is
introduced to organize the outer circuit, while the inner circuit is
free to act precisely as it wishes, since it still only can act within
the confines of the consequences of the law being upheld in the outer
circuit. This explains why all the world’s prisons are full of
heterosexual men and a few lesbians, but not of heterosexual women or
homosexual men. The law is thus the name of the phallic religion that
makes it possible to expand the sizes of clans and tribes further toward
city states, nations and entire empires. And no religion carries this
out more naturally than Judaism, with its unique union between the
nation and religion under the same roof. Antisemitism is not just like
any racism, antisemitism is deep down Nation Envy.

The balance between logos, mythos and pathos is maintained through the
narrative constantly reiterating the importance of Zoroastrian ethics
through The Phallic Principle of Tribal Contribution. The question of
what the tribe can do for you is the child’s question, while the
question of what you can do for the tribe is the adult’s question. Every
time someone demands a freedom or a right without conveying something of
value in return, we are in practice seeing a little child who
vociferously tries to cry its way to even more breast milk. And this, of
course, we would rather not have to see grown-up people do, just like
this applies to subservient beggars and infuriated demonstrators alike,
both of whom give rise to virtually the same unease. A proud adult who
takes responsibility for themselves and their own, who finds joy in
contributing to the common good, is however beautiful, not least in
their own eyes.

Here, we are to think employer and employe relationship dynamics.

From The Frankfurt School to Betty Friedan in The Feminine Mystique:
the totalitarian Platonism of the Western left is underpinned by a total
ignorance of, or an equally total disinterest in Man’s pathical
tribalism. One instead chooses to focus on a logical conflict between
individual and collective that then is attacked via Platonist theories
of false consciousness. Please note that the demand that is directed
from the subservient beggar or the infuriated demonstrator always is a
demand without discernible direction or final destination. There is no
point where the demand is satisfied and where the beggar or the
demonstrator is done demanding, has taken their responsibility as an
adult and fully-fledged member of the community by starting to do their
part for the common good. These are mouths that never become satiated.
The revenue from begging and the benefits one, if applicable, has
succeeded in hassling one’s way to receiving, are usually spent in the
form of immediate consumption rather than as investments in a future
where the little child’s dependence on an offering mamilla would be but
a memory.

The childishly demanding position is not conceived as a transitory
phase. The extended paper cup outside the supermarket entrance and the
indignant list of demands from the allegedly aggrieved group will never
disappear. It is a question of compensation for supposed injustices in
the past and certainly no help for self-help. The stern and
demand-ridden gaze of the self-pitying child will never be tempered. It
is no passing phase but a permanent scenario. What we are witnessing
here is the development of the permanent dependence on mamilla, a
dependence that is seen as a given by all the narcissists who by pure
principle refrain from growing up and taking their own responsibility.
In the postcapitalist society even the slaves are no longer working. The
workers have, in Jean Baudrillard’s words, been turned into work
mannequins. Not because there necessarily is a lack of tasks, but
because these for various reasons can be claimed to be humiliating to
carry out. Hence all these reproachful gazes and angry accusations, all
these hungry mouths in all these rich societies, mouths that never can
be satiated, demands that never are met.

Whenever it is possible to score political points on claimed injustices,
the rulers get out their tax tables and start to outline changes that
are aimed at leveling. This is a principle that tends to dominate in
systems where politicians primarily strive to become re-elected and only
thereafter may consider achieving something of value. The money one
pulls in from working people as if by magic becomes common funds and the
state coffers become one big mamilla squirting out breast milk to all
who ask for it, and even to many others for the sake of re-electability.
One for instance doles out child allowance to everyone, as if the idea
that parents themselves should support their children were completely
absurd. In such a society matrichal magic knocks out phallic technology,
mythos is decoupled from logos, ideas of cause and effect are denied and
ridiculed. The entrepreneurs become fewer in step with bureaucrats
increasing their numbers, and the struggle for provision increasingly
turns into a struggle for privileges. One distributes a shrinking pie
instead of primarily ensuring that the overall pie is growing. When the
phallic principle of tribal contribution is weakened, society loses
momentum and prosperity-creating dynamics. Increasing numbers consider
themselves belonging to so-called weak groups to be propped up by a
dwindling few. With increased poverty comes increasing anarchy:
different factions that demand benefits from each other.

Furthermore the phallic principle of tribal contribution applies equally
for social groups relative to larger entities as it applies to the
single dividual. We can view two popular subcultures from late
capitalism that appear to survive and develop even in the Internet Age,
namely feminism and androgynism. Both these movements arose during
late capitalism as matrichal reactions to the catastrophes that
contributed to ending the golden age of the phalluses, with concrete
phallic failures such as Hitler and Stalin and abstract phallic threats
such as the atomic bomb and environmental pollution. Feminism further
harvested public opinion success when it proudly emphasized women’s
shouldering responsibility for half of society and demanded matching
remuneration from the state and the market for this contribution.
Androgynism also succeeded when it proudly emphasized the androgynous
caste’s contribution to society as a mediating vessel between the
male-dominated outer circuit and the female-dominated inner circuit in
society. The androgynous person does of course not become an adult by
developing from a boy to a man, or from a girl to a woman, but attains
their adulthood through blending a cocktail of both the man and the
woman. It is precisely in the role as the one who moves across
boundaries that the androgynous person discovers their adulthood,
precisely through personifying the phallic principle of tribal
contribution as the sociont’s own internal go-between.

Thus far all this is excellent. A society that is not constantly
questioned stagnates, and sustainable ideas can withstand criticism. The
problem is that both feminism and androgynism developed diverse sects
and cults marked by infantile internarcissism. The principle of tribal
contribution that generates pride and strength was eventually replaced
by the eternal accusation that can only generate bitterness and greed.
When Western feminism and androgynism in practice had finished
triumphing and should have closed down their activism in the form of a
becoming matricide -- or perhaps better yet should have migrated to
other more needy parts of the world -- the movements were instead
usurped by state-financed funeral wailers who constantly hunt
increasingly absurd renderings of alleged crimes to keep alive the
eternal production of accusations that never can be compensated for. And
as long as there is no demand for a stated final destination from these
movements, they will gladly milk the phallus via the state apparatus for
a constantly snowballing compensation for old, increasingly fabricated
injustices. If there is a system to exploit, it will be exploited. That
is: until a Messianic project arrives that reinstates the sociont and
its integrity. For the phallic principle of tribal contribution will
return with full power the moment society is presented with a complete
and authentic archetypology for humanity. We are working on it.

We are grateful for that work. It turns out this chapter effectivly is about secular politics more then anything else. And it’s basicly deconstructing the imagination of the noosphere, yet without anything else to replace it.

A clear departure occurs through the desexualisation
that is imposed upon Man when he becomes settled. The outer circuit
within the sociont is pushed into the inner circuit. Logos, mythos and
pathos are blended together in a kind of sociological pressure cooker.
Sex, violence and shamanic rituals are stigmatized. Art loses its
pathical strength and is infantilized. The phallic, worshipping gaze is
shifted from the primordial fathers, the chieftain and the priest, to
the primordial mother, the matriarch and the child. And with this shift
logos disappears for lack of pathos and is replaced by a universal
mythos that speaks of eternal peace and eternal happiness, wishful
dreaming based on the infantile fantasy of the eternal child with a soul
divorced from the increasingly adult and increasingly sexual body.

Touche!

Gnosticism arrives in history as the infantile fantasy of being able to
go directly from child to God without having to pass through sexuality
and adult life. We call this state The Peter Pan Syndrome in a
contemporary context. The dream of eternity and infinity is never
dreamed by an adult man, but by a boy who refuses to grow up and who
therefore wishes for a life without the adult body with its inherent
forces and responsibility. The original release occurs through the
priests carrying out ritual sacrifices to appease the gods. And they
teach the sociont how and where one can relieve the pressure to avoid an
explosion. The priests are looking for their own son, the Messiah.
Christianity’s illusion is that the nomadological cycle can be halted.
Christianity’s illusory hope is thus that just one single sacrifice at
one single occasion can redeem all societies throughout history and then
somehow the entire problem is solved. What a nasty surprise it must be
that even the priest must be sacrificed, naturally, which means that
both the Messiah (the son) and the priest (the father) unconditionally
must die. The rain-god is sacrificed as a virgin before his mother, and
the sun-god disappears in the process since he now lacks both a heritage
and a future.

Touche!

This is what Nietzsche sees clearly when he maintains that Christianity
had both atheism and nihilism built into its own doctrine right from the
very start. Christ on the cross merely becomes the mimicry of how the
Egyptian priests sacrificed their boy-pharaoh Tutankhamen to end the
Atenist autocracy 1,300 BC and reintroduced Egyptian polytheism. At the
same time as they allowed the Atenists to evade persecution by letting
them emigrate to be able to develop their own monotheist religion as
Judaism (see Sigmund Freud’s Moses and Monotheism). And thereby we
also get an explanation for the core of anti-Semitism, since the Jew
gets to take the blame in popular religion as he who killed the Messiah
-- as though some other tribe had infringed on the sociont’s territory
and killed the sociont’s next king -- at the same time as Christianity’s
inner core consists of a clergy that hates that the father still makes
himself known via the Jewish rabbis who are their rivals. Christianity
solves this by claiming that through Christ’s sacrificial death on the
cross, the believer has liberated himself from the Jewish Law and
replaced it with an eternal energy machine called Grace, as though the
reward for killing the father is that the judge at the end of life has
disappeared. This entails that the Christian nation is taught to hate
the Jewish rabbis, while the Christian priests can renounce the violence
in their own society -- through the separation of a heavenly church from
an earthly state -- so that they as priests shall feel superior to their
kings, cultivate their new status as self-aggrandizing, pacifist
eunuchs, and realize Plato’s and Saint Augustine’s fantasies of finally
being allowed to be and remain Peter Pan.

We know the tragedy of Peter’s death, and many other men with him. In Sweden, suicide rates are significantly higher among men than women, with men accounting for approximately 70% of all suicide deaths annually. While the highest rate of suicide is found among men aged 85 and older, the highest absolute number of suicides often occurs among men in their middle-age years.

Christianity is thus built on a failed patricide of Judaism in the same
way that Islam is built on a failed patricide of Zoroastrianism. In
Islam the murdered mobed survives in the form of the locally
interpretative mullah, who stands above the text as Shia, while the
illusory belief that the Zoroastrian mobed is murdered, and that the boy
can wage war any way he wishes without the priest’s intervention, is
called Sunni. If Christianity is the pillar-saint’s religion par
excellence, then Islam is the boy-pharaoh’s religion par excellence.
The adult, the genuine, the sophisticated and the brutally natural in
the predecessors is thrown out and replaced with the childish, the
mimicking, the easily seduced and the spectacularly supernatural. This
is civilization’s recurring curse: How easily the dialectics of logos,
mythos and pathos is sacrificed to be replaced with a more popular
vulgarized copycat. And here the unifying Abject comes into play. An
abjectification is a projection on an alien intruder with the purpose of
unifying the sociont. It matters not whether the abjectification is
motivated or completely arbitrary, the function is the same. The abject
is turned into the scapegoat and through the sacrifice of the
scapegoat the pressure inside the sociont is released and the sociont
can unify temporarily before the pressure increases anew and the need
for another abjectification rises.

It’s worth noting that killing intelligence means war wheras killing animals means hunting. The sophisticated expressions being: cosmopolitian (the network) and ecotopian (the planet).

Nomadology, whose universal symbol is the self-eating primordial snake
Ouroboros, was always doomed to be caught in this eternal loop. Only
through the phallus worship of the approaching eventology can humanity
start to dream of an end to the constantly returning hell of the lynch
mobs. The world is heading for a new order, a new nomos, that finally
can function because of history’s insights into the resilience of social
systems. And above all thanks to a great amount of new and innovative
technology. This means that communism, as the last history of Man,
comes with the problem that nomadology in itself always was communist.
So when communism later in history is to be re-established as a
collectivist fantasy via socialism, this fails completely. The
explanation lies in that the Atenist dictatorship is the worst possible
way to restore nomadology, and that nomadology never can function within
a greater entity than the sociont itself. Thus communism ironically can
only be re-established as a temporary tribal plurarchy, that is: as a
kind of digital gated community. But neither the city, nor the nation,
nor the empire can ever be communist. The global empire belongs to the
Machine and only to the Machine. Man must instead laboriously return to
the one thing he ever has been comfortable with, the sociont itself,
that is to say The Tribal Singularity. Anything else is nothing but
misanthropic fantasies with no connection to reality whatsoever.

The conclusion then is that the free and open algoritm is for the Machine only, that is to say will-to-intelligence that Reza Negarestani talks about in Intelligence and Spirit. Yet that loyalty is always hyperlocal. It’s as Alexander Bard argues dangerious to forget the will-to-transcedence. Will to transcedence is not about good versus evil, not about intelligence versus stupid, but libido and mortido as dialectics of asha versus druj. Just for the simple reason that “ who guards the algorithm’s freedom. Keeping the algorithm free and open from commercial corruption, political manipulation, and academic conformity” is itself an asha act — not truth-as-a-fact, but truth-as-an-act.

Negarestani arguably misses this: intelligence cannot bootstrap its own asha. That requires pathos.

All this requires a new and deepened understanding of time in itself as
a phenomenon. It is interestingly enough probably a voyage -- as Lee
Smolin observes in the book Time Reborn (2013) -- that hardly even has
begun, since all the boy-pharaohs and pillar-saints of the past three
millennia have preferred to dwell on infantile phantasms such as
eternity and immortality, rather than on pragmatically tangible
engineering matters such as time and space. This ironically means that
we must commence the necessary re-write of philosophy’s and theology’s
history with one massive back to go. We must start over. The simple
fact is that if we are to carry out informationalism’s Exodology, we
must not only have a sense of where we are going -- that is to say which
libidinal objective we set for our own age before the barred absolute,
while this protects us against our collective mortido -- we must first
of all know where we are and how we got here. And to do this we must
delve deeper into history than we have ever done before. Thanks, dear
Syntheos, for there being machines to aid us in this too. Welcome to the
brave new world of data anthropology.

I can only write this from the memetic horizon I’m embedded in. And from there, what I see is that there is a clear connection between the concept of prāṇa and pathic power. Especially, the trancendental view that this force, is will-to-power, that must be divided to a will-to-transcedence, and an will-to-intelligence. None of these wills are individual but rather relational, and have two diffrent libidinal objectives. The dividing line is approximatly Menopause, before and after Menopause, women contribute through giving birth to children before, which is the future, and through intelligence after, which is the past. Even if this turns out to be incorrect, it still stands that to understand time in itself as a phenomenon is to understand the dynamics of libidinal objectives throught a lifetime. Women’s will in itself is simply will-to-reproduction, throught the lifetime, the activities are the same, even if she gain more experience and therefore more wisdom regarding her activites, and yet have less energy with old age. And so we see clearly that energy and wisdom is one continium, when you are young you have superior pathic energy, yet not necessary the wisdom to handle it well.

Paradigm shift shock is the chaos that awaits when a new
information-technological paradigm breaks through. It takes time for the
constant Man to adapt to the variable Technology. The first millennium
after permanent settlement was established was for instance the
bloodiest period in human history, since the participants in question
still lacked a metanarrative about connectedness that could serve as a
foundation for a long-term, strategic collaboration. Everyone simply
helped themselves to anything they could as soon as the opportunity
presented itself. One reasoned short-sightedly and selfishly. No actor
invested in any form of future. It was not until organized religion
arrived and built joint temples on the shamanic borderland between the
river valleys -- from which it preached the new grand narrative of the
shared root-of-the-phallus -- that fairly long periods of peace could be
maintained, and trade and growth could flourish. And there is no reason
to believe that the present paradigm shift from industrialism to
informationalism, and from capitalism to attentionalism (see The
Netocrats), will be the least bit easier than previous ones.
Particularly since our entire world is shifting paradigms simultaneously
this time. While no one seems to understand what is underway while it is
underway, since the dominant actors are strapped into their old
political, industrial and academic models that have become completely
irrelevant. They are acting in a new world while they are thinking in an
old one.

This is exactly my experience, and the hope is that the shared root-of-the-phallus (will-to-intelligence) shall open up for strategic collaboration. However, it’s important to push back on this a litte bit, the claim that everyone simply
helped themselves to anything they could as soon as the opportunity
presented itself. Is true but with qualifications, some people did not possess the skills required to act effectivly in the sexual chaos that transpired there.

It is time to not only go back to history, but also to re-write history
as though it had a new Hegelian necessity about it. And this new
necessity to which the root-of-the-phallus points is the
informationalist paradigm, with its shift from a religion based on
magic -- via pathetic attempts to no religion at all -- to a religion
based on technology. Everything is history and since it concerns a
paradigm shift, the new paradigm can only be understood if it receives
its own new history. We once again visit history to understand
ourselves, but this time we do so with social-technological and
data-anthropological glasses. If religion has stopped being magical and
instead has become technological, the phallic hope will no longer be
based on a faith, but actually on what Hegel calls absolute knowledge.
The old Zoroastrian dream that the truth (asha) one day shall defeat
the lie (druj) in a battle of near-cosmic proportions comes true, when
the free and open algorithm plays its hand. Welcome to the information
society and the development of its necessary stories about itself.

The key then is to create a religion based upon the “free and open algorithm”. It’s now clear that the libidinal objective’s are (1): matrix, or naive nihilism; (2) mamilla, or cynical nihilism; (3) root-of-the-phallus, or ironical nihilism; (4) the-phallus-in-itself, or affermative nihilism. These are the diffrent libidinal objectives you can go for, with the free and open algorithm. When we thus speak of the fragmentation into four, we are talking about the male perspective.

1. Physics and Chemistry (the animal expression yet unconscious)

2. Metaphysics and Subphysics (the category in the needs system that pertains to
   mechanical expression, for instance: the craving for food, drink, sleep
   and protection, but also for sex, power and aggression)

3. Biology and Psychology (linguistic and thereby uniquely human of the drive
   system's four expressions, a more or less compulsive searching for
   something that basically is unattainable, since the objective of desire
   always withdraws and changes its guise)

4. Culture and God (to exceed the limits for the present existence)

What are the unique lessions of this then? It’s we have THE ANIMAL EXPRESSION as SACRED, but it’s understood as PHYSICS and CHEMISTRY. Yet the full picture is more complex because even though there is thus an healthy RIGHT HEMISPHERIC EXPRESSION, we haven’t yet to see an healthy LEFT HEMISPHERIC EXPRESSION. Because all the old expressions are either CYNICAL (the nihilist pretends against
better judgment that there are objective values) or IRONIC (the nihilist builds their own internal and subjective values in opposition to the surrounding world’s falsely objective values).

What remains is thus the complete death of God (understood here as objective values): the nihilist interprets the absence of objective values as a liberating possibility to create their own values and convince the environment of these created values’ excellence. Then the insight is, nobody knows or have special forsight into the informationalist paradigm’s future. One such clarification then is that if you value X then Y follows.