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When Calgary City Hall raised the Palestinian flag on November 15, it wasn’t merely a ceremonial gesture. It instantly became a national controversy—one that shows why municipalities need a clearer, more restrained approach to foreign-flag displays.
The event, organized by the Palestinian Community Association to mark the 1988 Declaration of Independence, drew several hundred attendees who described the atmosphere as one of “pride and hope.” But the reaction was immediate and intense. The Calgary Jewish Federation called the raising “disappointing and alarming,” warning that it deepened “unprecedented levels of fear and antisemitism” among local Jews at a moment already charged with global tension. Mayor Jeromy Farkas quickly proposed changes to the city’s flag policy to prevent similar events, arguing they “unintentionally heighten tensions here at home.”
This dynamic—the celebratory intent and the equally real sense of threat—is exactly why public institutions need neutrality, not symbolism that comes preloaded with geopolitical baggage.
Public Institutions Aren’t Arenas for International Disputes
Canadian civic buildings exist to represent a shared political community. They are meant to be the places where everyone should be able to walk in and feel the institution belongs to them. When City Hall becomes a platform for international symbols representing deeply contested conflicts, that neutrality disappears.
People don’t see a gesture of cultural recognition; they see their city taking a side. And the effects go beyond feelings—these symbolic acts consistently spill into local tensions, protests, counter-protests, and strained inter-community relations. Calgary is not alone: Regina shelved a similar proposal last year, Toronto now faces more than 20,000 signatures against its own planned raising, and B’nai Brith Canada has condemned the practice nationwide.
The details of the Israeli–Palestinian conflict aren’t the point here. The point is that a municipal flagpole is too narrow and too prominent a place to plant the symbols of any conflict that divides Canadians at home.
The Palestinian Flag Carries Political Luggage That Can’t Be Wished Away
Supporters of the flag raising framed it as recognition of Palestinian peoplehood. Critics saw something entirely different: a symbol long tied to the Palestine Liberation Organization, whose founding charter called for the destruction of Israel as a Zionist entity. While amendments were pledged during the Oslo years, credible observers—including the Anti-Defamation League—argue that its core rejectionist elements were never formally removed.
That history is not merely historical; Hamas, which governs Gaza and uses the same colours and iconography, still explicitly calls for Israel’s eradication. You don’t need to subscribe to either side’s narrative to understand why many Canadians saw the raising as more than a cultural celebration.
Even if activists insist the flag “means something different” in a Canadian context, public institutions don’t operate on activist reinterpretations. They operate on widely understood meanings—and those meanings are contested, volatile, and inseparable from global politics.
Neutrality Isn’t Cowardice. It’s Civic Responsibility.
Some will argue that refusing foreign-flag raisings amounts to silencing communities. But this misunderstands what’s being protected.
People are free to wave any flag they like on private property, at rallies, or in public demonstrations. That freedom is intact.
What’s restricted is the official endorsement that comes from hoisting a flag on municipal grounds—a distinction our institutions must preserve if they’re to serve a pluralistic society.
Canada already recognizes this principle in its federal protocols: foreign flags may be flown with the Maple Leaf, but only in specific diplomatic or ceremonial contexts and only with the national flag taking precedence. These guidelines are narrow for a reason—they prevent exactly the sort of domestic polarization Calgary just lived through.
When municipalities improvise their own ad-hoc symbolism, they abandon that safeguard.
A Simple, Clear Standard
Calgary—and every municipality—would benefit from a straightforward rule:
On public buildings and grounds, fly only Canadian, provincial, and municipal flags.
That is not censorship. It is neutrality.
It is the institutional equivalent of staying out of a heated argument so you can continue serving everyone fairly.
This approach:
- avoids endless debates about which diaspora group gets access;
- eliminates the perception of favouritism;
- prevents local flare-ups rooted in global conflicts;
- reinforces shared civic identity.
Multiculturalism works only when no group feels the state is endorsing another’s cause at their expense. Sometimes the most inclusive action is restraint.
Calgary now has a chance to lead. Mayor Farkas’s proposed changes should be adopted quickly, and Ottawa should consider harmonizing national guidelines to end these high-risk symbolic battles across the country.
Canada has enough challenges at home. We don’t need to import more.
Quick Sources / References
- Calgary Jewish Federation statements on the flag raising (2025).
- City of Calgary Flag Protocol (2016).
- Government of Canada – Rules for Flying the National Flag (Federal Heritage).
- Anti-Defamation League assessments of PLO charter revisions.
- B’nai Brith Canada public statements on municipal flag raisings (2024–25).
- City of Toronto petition data (2025).
I am an atheist. I do not believe in God, miracles, or an afterlife. Yet I am convinced that without Christianity, the West as we know it would be in deep trouble. This is not a plea for conversion; it is a historical and institutional argument about causation, moral capital, and societal resilience. Christianity supplied the ethical vocabulary, the metaphysical glue, and the organizational scaffolding that transformed a patchwork of tribes into a civilization capable of self-correction and sustained progress. Remove it, and the structure does not stand neutral—it tends toward fragmentation and moral erosion.
Conceding the Objections
The historical record contains horrors: the Inquisition, the Crusades, witch-burnings, and biblical endorsements of slavery and stoning. The Spanish Inquisition executed 3,000–5,000 people over three and a half centuries (Henry Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition, 1997). The Crusades may have claimed 1–3 million lives across two centuries (Thomas Madden, The New Concise History of the Crusades, 2005). Leviticus prescribes death for adultery and homosexuality. These human costs cannot be denied.
Yet scale and context matter. The secular French Reign of Terror executed over 16,000 in a single year (1793–94). Twentieth-century atheist regimes accounted for roughly 100 million deaths in six decades (The Black Book of Communism, 1997). The same biblical canon that justified cruelty also contained the seeds of reform. Jesus’ “let him without sin cast the first stone” (John 8:7) and Paul’s “the letter kills, but the spirit gives life” (2 Corinthians 3:6) inspired Christian abolitionists to resist literalist cruelty. Christianity, unlike pagan or purely rational codes, possesses an internal dialectic capable of moral self-correction.
The Pre-Christian Baseline
The world Christianity inherited was ethically limited. Rome was an administrative marvel but morally parochial: one in four newborns was exposed on hillsides (W. V. Harris, 1982), gladiatorial combat entertained hundreds of thousands, and slavery was normalized by Aristotle and unchallenged by Cicero. Pagan philanthropy existed—evergetism—but it was episodic, tied to civic prestige, not universal duty.
Christianity introduced a transformative idea: every human being, slave or emperor, bore the image of God (imago Dei). Gregory of Nyssa condemned slavery as theft from the Creator in 379 CE. Constantine’s successors banned infanticide by 361 CE (Codex Theodosianus 3.3.1). These were not Enlightenment innovations; they were theological imperatives that eventually rewrote law and custom.
Institutions That Outlived Their Creed
The West’s institutional DNA is stamped with Christian influence:
- Literacy and knowledge: Monastic scriptoria preserved Virgil alongside the Vulgate. Cathedral schools evolved into Bologna (1088) and Paris (1150)—the first universities, chartered to pursue truth as a reflection of divine order.
- Care systems: Basil of Caesarea built the basilias in the fourth century, a network of hospitals, orphanages, and poor relief. No pre-Christian society systematized charity on this scale.
- Rule of law: The Decalogue’s absolute prohibitions and the Sermon on the Mount’s inward ethic created trust horizons essential for complex societies. English common law, the Magna Carta (1215), and the U.S. Declaration’s “endowed by their Creator” trace their lineage to Christian natural-law theory.
Secular analogues arrived centuries later and proved fragile without transcendent accountability. The Soviet Union inherited Orthodox hospitals but could not sustain them after purging “idealism.”
The Borrowing Fallacy
Many modern atheists condemn Leviticus yet insist on universal dignity. That norm is not self-evident; it is a Christian export. Nietzsche saw this clearly: the “death of God” would undo slave morality and return society to master morality (Genealogy of Morals, 1887). When we demand compassion from power, we are smuggling Christian principles into a secular argument. Strip away the premise, and human relations default to “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must” (Thucydides).
Contemporary Evidence
Secularization correlates with institutional and social atrophy. Europe’s fertility rate hovers at 1.5, and marriage and volunteerism track church attendance downward. The World Values Survey shows that religious societies retain higher interpersonal trust. The West exports human rights grounded in Christian-derived universality; competitors offer efficiency without reciprocity.
Some argue secular humanism could replace Christianity. Yet historical experience shows moral innovation without transcendent accountability is fragile: Enlightenment ethics, while intellectually powerful, required centuries of reinforcement from religiously-informed social norms to take root widely.
A Charitable Conclusion
Christians must acknowledge their tradition’s abuses alongside its capacity for self-correction. Atheists should recognize that our moral vocabulary—equality, compassion, rights—was not discovered by reason alone but forged in a crucible we no longer actively tend. The West lives off borrowed moral capital. When the account empties, we will not revert to a benign pagan golden age; we will confront efficient barbarism dressed in bureaucratic language.
Christianity is not true, in my view. But it was necessary. And it may still be.
References
- Harris, W. V. (1982). Ancient Literacy. Harvard University Press.
- Kamen, Henry. (1997). The Spanish Inquisition: A Historical Revision. Yale University Press.
- Madden, Thomas F. (2005). The New Concise History of the Crusades. Rowman & Littlefield.
- Popper, Karl. (1972). The Open Society and Its Enemies. Princeton University Press.
- The Black Book of Communism: Crimes, Terror, Repression (1997). Stéphane Courtois et al. Harvard University Press.
- Nietzsche, Friedrich. (1887). On the Genealogy of Morals.
- Thucydides. History of the Peloponnesian War. Trans. Rex Warner. Penguin Classics, 1972.
- Codex Theodosianus. (438 CE). Codex of the Theodosian Code, Book 3, Title 3, Law 1.
- World Values Survey. (2017). “Wave 7 (2017–2020) Survey Data.” Retrieved from https://www.worldvaluessurvey.org.
(TL;DR) – Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France warned that abstract ideals, once severed from tradition, devour the civilization that birthed them. Against the arrogance of rationalist utopia, Burke offers a philosophy of gratitude: reform through inheritance, freedom through reverence, and wisdom through time.
Edmund Burke (1729–1797), the Irish-born British statesman and philosopher, published Reflections on the Revolution in France in November 1790 as an open letter to a young Frenchman. Written before the Revolution’s worst excesses, the work is less a history than a prophetic warning against uprooting inherited institutions in the name of abstract rights.
At a time when Enlightenment rationalists sought to rebuild society from first principles, Burke defended the British constitution not as perfect but as the tested fruit of centuries of moral and political experience. Against the revolutionary attempt to remake society on metaphysical blueprints, he argued that true political wisdom rests in “prescription” (inheritance), “prejudice” (habitual virtue), and the moral imagination that clothes authority in reverence and restraint. Reflections thus became the founding text of modern conservatism, grounding politics in humility before the slow wisdom of civilization (Burke 1790, 29–55).
1. The Organic Constitution versus the Mechanical State
Burke likens a healthy commonwealth to a living organism whose parts grow together over time. The British settlement of 1688, which balanced liberty and order, exemplified reform through continuity—“a deliberate election of light and reason,” not a clean slate.
The French revolutionaries, by contrast, treated the state as a machine to be disassembled and reassembled according to geometric principles. They dissolved the nobility, confiscated Church lands, and issued assignats—paper money backed only by revolutionary will. Burke foresaw that such rationalist tinkering would require force to maintain: “The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded.” The predictable end, he warned, would be military dictatorship—the logic of abstraction enforced by bayonets (Burke 1790, 56–92).
2. The Danger of Metaphysical Politics
The Revolution’s fatal error, Burke argued, was to govern by “the rights of man” divorced from the concrete rights of Englishmen, Frenchmen, or any particular people. These universal abstractions ignore circumstance, manners, and the “latent wisdom” embedded in custom.
When the revolutionaries dragged Queen Marie Antoinette from Versailles to Paris in October 1789, Burke saw not merely a political humiliation but a civilizational collapse: “I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult.” The queen, for him, symbolized a moral order that elevated society above brute appetite. Once such symbols are desecrated, civilization itself is imperiled (Burke 1790, 93–127).
3. Prescription, Prejudice, and the Moral Imagination
For Burke, rationality in politics is not the isolated reasoning of philosophers but the accumulated judgment of generations. “Prescription” gives legal and moral title to long possession; to overturn it is theft from the dead. “Prejudice,” far from being ignorance, is the pre-reflective moral instinct that makes virtue habitual—“rendering a man’s virtue his habit,” Burke wrote, “and not a series of unconnected acts.”
In his famous image of the “wardrobe of a moral imagination,” Burke insists that society requires splendid illusions—chivalry, ceremony, religion—to clothe power in dignity and soften human passions. Strip away these garments and you are left with naked force and the “swinish multitude.” Culture, in his view, is not ornament but armor for civilization (Burke 1790, 128–171).
4. Prophecy Fulfilled and the Path of Prudence
Events soon vindicated Burke’s warnings: the Reign of Terror, Napoleon’s rise, and the wars that consumed Europe. Yet Reflections is not an “I told you so” but a manual for political health. Burke accepts reform as necessary but insists that it must proceed “for the sake of preservation.” The statesman’s duty is to repair the vessel of society while it still sails, not to smash it in search of utopia.
Reverence for the past and distrust of untried theory are not cowardice but prudence—the recognition that civilization is a fragile inheritance, easily destroyed and seldom rebuilt (Burke 1790, 172–280).
5. Burke’s Enduring Lesson
Burke’s insight extends far beyond the French Revolution. His critique applies wherever abstract moralism seeks to erase inherited forms—whether through revolutionary ideology, technocratic social engineering, or the cultural purism of modern movements that prize purity over continuity. The temptation to rebuild society from scratch persists, but Burke reminds us that order is not manufactured; it is cultivated.
In an age still haunted by ideological utopias, Burke’s prudence is an act of intellectual piety: to love what we have inherited enough to reform it carefully, and to mistrust those who promise perfection by destruction.
References
Burke, Edmund. 1790. Reflections on the Revolution in France, and on the Proceedings in Certain Societies in London Relative to that Event. London: J. Dodsley.
Glossary of Key Terms
Assignats – Revolutionary paper currency secured on confiscated Church property; rapid depreciation fueled inflation.
Latent wisdom – Practical knowledge embedded in customs and institutions, inaccessible to abstract reason.
Moral imagination – The faculty that clothes abstract power in elevating symbols and sentiments.
Prejudice – Pre-reflective judgment formed by habit and tradition; for Burke, a source of social cohesion.
Prescription – Legal and moral title acquired through uninterrupted possession over time.
Swinish multitude – Derisive term for the populace once traditional restraints are removed.
“We Remember Them,” composed by Susan LaBarr in 2017, is a poignant choral work for SATB voices and piano, drawing from a Jewish liturgical prayer of remembrance by Rabbis Sylvan Kamens and Jack Riemer. Its text unfolds as a meditation on grief and continuity: “When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them… In the laughter of a child, in the flush of a lover’s kiss, we remember them.” The refrain anchors the piece—”As long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them”—evoking the enduring presence of the departed in the rhythms of the living. LaBarr’s melody, with its contemporary ballad sensibility and accessible harmonies, renders the work suitable for concerts, memorials, or funerals, transforming solemn reflection into a shared act of renewal.
On this Remembrance Day, let us pause amid the shortening light to honor the fallen, whose silent valor secured the fragile edifice of our freedoms. In their names, we pledge not mere recollection, but resolve: to guard against the tempests of division and the sirens of forgetfulness, so that their sacrifice endures not as echo, but as foundation.
Lest we forget.
In the Stoic tradition, Marcus Aurelius reminds us in Meditations that the soul finds balance not by bending the world to its desires, but by living in harmony with the rational order that shapes it. Both essays—The Scales of Society and The Horseshoe’s Convergence—speak powerfully to this truth. When we trade reality for utopian dreams, we don’t advance; we regress. Realism, seen through a Stoic lens, is the practice of knowing what’s within our control—our judgments, our virtues—and what isn’t: the stubborn facts of nature and history. To pursue idealism as if the world must yield to our will is to fight against nature itself. Epictetus would call this a form of slavery to externals—an endless, exhausting battle to remake what cannot be remade. The metaphors of the scale and the curve become lessons in humility, urging us to weigh our convictions not by how righteous they feel, but by how true they are.
The danger of extremes, as both essays show, comes from losing that grounding in reality. The far left and far right don’t meet by coincidence; they curve toward each other under the same gravitational pull of unchecked passion over reason. Stoicism teaches that the will, when misdirected, can turn virtue into vice. The search for purity—whether egalitarian or hierarchical—often becomes self-righteousness, and self-righteousness turns easily into cruelty. Seneca warned that anger devours its host first, and here we see that on a societal scale: politics consumed by outrage, discourse replaced by denunciation, and myth elevated over evidence. The “horseshoe” is more than a metaphor—it’s a mirror reflecting our inner collapse when moral certainty replaces humility. The more we cling to our certitudes, the less we see of truth. In that blindness, we reproduce the very coercion we claim to oppose. Stoicism reminds us that true power is never about conquering others—it’s about mastering our own thoughts and reactions.
Yet the Stoic path is not one of despair but of quiet renewal. We can rebuild the crossbar of realism through daily discipline—by anchoring ourselves in what is, not what we wish would be. As the essays conclude, tolerance doesn’t survive through ideological victory but through shared respect for evidence and for limits. That’s a civic form of amor fati—a love of fate—that turns polarization into friction that sharpens rather than burns. When we learn to accept what’s beyond our control and focus on the integrity of our own actions, the scales find balance again, the horseshoe stays open, and reason’s republic endures. Not by force, and not by fury, but by quiet fidelity to the logos that connects us all.
When the extremes meet, the center collapses. (TL;DR)
When the Horseshoe Hangs from the Scales explains why the far left and far right increasingly resemble each other—not in ideas, but in methods. Drawing on the metaphors of the scale and the horseshoe, this essay argues that both totalitarian idealism and populist reaction stem from the same metaphysical error: the rejection of objective reality. Only realism—humility before truth—can keep Western society from closing into a circle of coercion.
Political language often obscures more than it reveals. The familiar left–right spectrum suggests linear opposition—progressives facing conservatives across a straight divide. Yet history and experience show something stranger: as ideologies radicalize, their behavior begins to mirror one another. The further the extremes move from reality, the closer they become in method, rhetoric, and moral psychology.
In The Scales of Society (published yesterday), realism anchored the crossbar, and idealism dragged the pans downward into totalitarianism. The horseshoe adds a complementary image. Viewed from above, the scale’s pans curve toward each other like the ends of a bent spectrum. The metaphysical collapse becomes social convergence. Both metaphors describe a single process: when realism breaks, the poles of idealism meet in coercive symmetry.
The Geometry of Political Collapse
The horseshoe theory proposes that the political spectrum bends upon itself, bringing the far left and far right into proximity. Communism and fascism, though ideologically opposed, resemble one another in practice: one abolishes private property, the other subordinates it to the state; both demand absolute obedience. Each claims to redeem humanity through purity—of class or of nation—and each regards dissent as treason.
The scale explains why this happens: both extremes spring from idealism detached from reality. The horseshoe shows how it manifests: through behavioral and institutional mimicry. One describes the metaphysical axis, the other the social. Together they form a complete model of ideological deformation. The vertical collapse of realism generates the horizontal convergence of fanaticism.
From Difference to Sameness
Political polarization masquerades as difference, but when stripped of surface content, the ends often converge in identical impulses:
- Moral totalism. Each side claims moral monopoly—an absolute vision of justice or order that sanctifies any means.
- Friend–enemy logic. Politics becomes warfare. Dialogue is betrayal; neutrality, complicity.
- Collectivist ethics. The individual dissolves into the movement, valuable only as a vehicle for ideological ends.
- Epistemic closure. Truth is no longer discovered but declared; narrative replaces verification.
Arendt observed that totalitarian movements, regardless of ideology, replace empirical reality with “a fictitious world” sustained by propaganda. Popper saw the same pattern: the closed society begins when ideas become sacred and unfalsifiable. Whether draped in red flags or eagles, the architecture is the same.
What begins as opposition ends as resemblance. The revolutionary who abolishes hierarchy and the reactionary who enforces it both deny human limitation. Each demands transformation rather than reform, purity rather than compromise. The further they stray from realism, the more they mirror one another’s methods—purges, censorship, mythmaking, and ritual denunciation.
Convergence in the Contemporary West
The horseshoe is no relic of the twentieth century; its shape defines the present. In the West, the rhetoric of liberation and the rhetoric of restoration increasingly share an authoritarian grammar.
Cultural absolutism. On the progressive extreme, morality is redefined as the enforcement of inclusivity. Dissenting speech becomes “harm,” and linguistic deviation, “violence.” On the reactionary extreme, purity is national or moral rather than social, but the logic is the same: deviation equals corruption. Each side builds orthodoxy around identity.
Information control. The progressive insists on regulating “disinformation,” policing language for moral safety. The populist right responds with its own echo chambers, treating factual correction as conspiracy. Both distrust open discourse, substituting propaganda for persuasion. Truth is no longer common ground but a weapon.
Purity politics. Cancel culture and culture-war purges are functional twins. One excommunicates for heresy against equality, the other for heresy against tradition. Each side frames punishment as virtue, enforcing conformity by shame or exclusion. In both cases, moral capital accrues not from good deeds but from the public destruction of sinners.
The psychological mechanism is identical: belonging through denunciation. The horseshoe’s curve tightens as participants draw moral comfort from collective outrage. When opposing extremisms adopt the same tactics, the distance between them is illusion.
The Horseshoe Meets the Scale
The two metaphors illuminate one another. The scale shows the metaphysical error: idealism’s detachment from realism. The horseshoe shows the social consequence: the return of opposites through behavioral convergence. The result is not diversity of belief but monoculture of method.
Imagine the scales viewed from above: the crossbar of realism forms the straight backbone, but as the pans descend into idealism, they bend toward one another, forming the curve of the horseshoe. The more society abandons truth, the closer its extremes approach in both temperament and technique.
When realism—objective verification, moral humility, and factual accountability—fails, politics becomes a contest of myths. The question is no longer “what is true?” but “whose truth will rule?” In that struggle, the difference between revolutionary and reactionary becomes decorative. Both invoke moral crisis to justify compulsion; both see coercion as salvation.
Why the Center Cannot Hold Without Realism
Critics often lament the “vanishing center,” as if centrism itself could rescue political sanity. But moderation is not a position; it is a discipline—an adherence to external reality over internal fervor. The true counterweight to the horseshoe’s closure is not neutrality but realism.
Realism anchors discourse in verifiable truth: data, evidence, experience, and the acknowledgment of limits. It permits disagreement without dehumanization because it recognizes a shared world beyond ideology. Realism turns enemies into interlocutors by subjecting both to the same facts.
Idealism, by contrast, makes conflict existential. When truth depends on belief, contradiction becomes evil. The desire to perfect the world leads to the compulsion to perfect others, and the moral imagination becomes the tool of tyranny. Only realism—accepting that the world corrects us—keeps the curve of politics open rather than collapsing into a circle of extremism.
The Moral Psychology of the Horseshoe
The convergence of extremes is not merely institutional; it is psychological. Both sides attract personalities drawn to certainty, purity, and moral theater.
The late political theorist Eric Voegelin described this as “gnostic revolt”—the refusal to accept human limitation and the longing to recreate the world in one’s own image. Arendt called it “world alienation.” Each formulation captures the same impulse: the substitution of idea for reality. The horseshoe is the social geometry of that spiritual rebellion.
When entire populations internalize this mindset, societies lose the ability to distinguish moral conviction from metaphysical arrogance. Activists and autocrats alike begin to speak in the same register—of awakening, purity, and necessary sacrifice. The vocabulary of utopia is universal; only its symbols differ.
The Path Back to Reality
Escaping the horseshoe requires reattaching it to the scales—recovering realism as the crossbar that holds political difference in balance. This means restoring institutions that mediate between belief and fact: open science, free inquiry, due process, and honest journalism. It means accepting that error, not heresy, is the normal state of human reason.
Humility, not ideology, is the civic virtue realism demands. The realist admits uncertainty, revises judgment, and learns from failure. Such modesty is not weakness but strength—the discipline that prevents conviction from hardening into cruelty.
Conclusion: The Shape of Sanity
The geometry of political life reflects our metaphysics. When truth stands above us, the scales stay level and the horseshoe remains open. When truth becomes a tool of power, the scales tilt, and the horseshoe closes into a circle—opposites united in coercion.
The West’s present turbulence is not a clash of left and right but a crisis of realism. Both sides, in their extremes, are tempted by the same illusion: that belief can replace being, that will can dictate truth.
If freedom is to endure, it will not be because one ideology triumphs but because reality reasserts itself—quietly, stubbornly, as the only ground capable of bearing the weight of difference.
References
- Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1951.
- Burke, Edmund. Reflections on the Revolution in France. London: J. Dodsley, 1790.
- Haidt, Jonathan. The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion. New York: Vintage, 2012.
- Lukianoff, Greg & Haidt, Jonathan. The Coddling of the American Mind. New York: Penguin, 2018.
- Popper, Karl. The Open Society and Its Enemies. London: Routledge, 1945.
- Voegelin, Eric. The New Science of Politics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1952.
- Ortega y Gasset, José. The Revolt of the Masses. New York: W.W. Norton, 1932.
Why do societies slide toward tyranny when they pursue utopia? (TL;DR)
The Scales of Society argues that the real divide in politics isn’t left versus right, but realism versus idealism. When truth yields to belief, coercion follows. From communism and fascism to modern moral crusades, history warns that abandoning objective reality tips civilization toward totalitarianism. The balance must be restored—anchored in realism, humility, and truth.
In the landscape of political philosophy, metaphors serve as intellectual scaffolding—structures that help us grasp dynamics too intricate for direct depiction. The familiar political compass, with its left–right and liberty–authority axes, sketches ideological positions but fails to reveal the deeper fracture driving modern polarization. A more illuminating image is that of a balance scale. Its crossbar represents philosophical realism—the recognition of an objective reality—while the suspended pans embody the idealist extremes of communism and fascism. This model captures not just polarization but the gravitational descent into totalitarianism that occurs when societies abandon reality for utopia.
The Core Divide: Realism vs. Idealism
Realism begins with the premise that reality exists independently of human will or perception. The wall remains whether one believes in it or not, and collision has consequences indifferent to ideology. This external order imposes limits: progress requires trade-offs, and perfection is impossible. The realist accepts these constraints, submitting theories to verification through evidence, reason, law, and experience. Responsibility and competence—not vision or zeal—earn authority.
Idealism inverts this relationship. It treats reality as a projection of consciousness, imperfect but malleable. If perception shapes the world, then changing minds can remake existence. Truth becomes what society collectively affirms. This impulse, when politicized, leads toward social constructivism and, inevitably, coercion: those who refuse to affirm the “truth” must be re-educated or silenced. A contemporary example can be seen in gender ideology, where subjective identity claims are enforced as social fact through compelled speech and institutional conformity. The point is not about gender per se but about the pattern: belief overriding biology through social pressure rather than persuasion.
The Platonic ideal—perfect, transcendent, and abstract—becomes the new absolute. The imperfect, tangible world must be reshaped until it conforms. Once utopia is imagined as possible, coercion becomes inevitable, for someone must ensure that all comply with the ideal.
The Scale and Its Balance
The realist crossbar allows for movement and balance. One may lean left toward egalitarianism, right toward hierarchy and tradition, or find equilibrium between the two. Disputes are adjudicated by verifiable standards: evidence, empirical data, or, for the religious, revelation interpreted through disciplined exegesis. Justice is blind, authority is earned, and failure prompts responsibility rather than revolution.
From that crossbar hang the chains leading to the pans—communism on the left, fascism on the right. Each represents idealism in a different costume. Descent is gradual, a shimmy downward from realism into partial idealism, then freefall into extremism. The pans have no centers: in a world of pure ideals, moderation cannot hold.
Communism imagines a belief-driven utopia—re-educate humanity into “species-being” beyond property or conflict, and paradise will emerge. Fascism demands obedience to a mythic hierarchy—sacrifice self for the community’s glory, and unity will prevail. Both subjugate reality to ideology: when facts resist, facts are crushed. From the perspective of either pan, the realist crossbar appears as the enemy’s support beam. Each seeks to destroy it, believing that only by breaking the balance can truth be realized.
Polarization and the Descent
As tension mounts, the scale begins to swing. Idealists radicalize when realism resists persuasion—utopia seems attainable but for “obstructionist” constraints. In frustration, anti-fascism justifies communism; anti-communism, fascism. The center thins as factions define themselves by opposition rather than truth. The political becomes existential: the other side must be destroyed, not debated. The mechanisms of verification—law, science, journalism, reasoned discourse—collapse under pressure. Force replaces evidence; propaganda replaces persuasion.
History confirms the pattern. The twentieth century saw communism outlast fascism, not because it was less violent but because it sold coercion through promises of emancipation. Fascism, with its naked appeal to dominance, exhausted itself; communism cloaked tyranny in moral idealism. Both ended in mass graves.
Left and Right: The Limits of Tolerance
The realism–idealism axis cuts deeper than the traditional left–right divide. The left tends toward anti-traditionalism and radical egalitarianism, seeking liberation through the dissolution of hierarchy and norm. The right inclines toward tradition and hierarchy, valuing stability and inherited order. Each contains wisdom and danger.
Tradition carries epistemological weight: customs that survive generations have proven utility—Chesterton’s fence stands until one understands why it was built. Yet tradition can ossify, defending arbitrariness or prejudice. Egalitarianism corrects injustice but becomes destructive when it denies the functional necessity of hierarchy. Even lobsters, as Jordan Peterson once observed, form dominance orders; structure is not oppression but biology. When hierarchy is treated as sin and equality as salvation, society drifts from realism into moral mythology.
The Peril of Idealism
Idealism’s danger is not merely its optimism but its refusal to recognize limits. When imagination detaches from reality, coercion rushes in to bridge the gap. The ideal cannot fail; only people can. Those who resist must be “re-educated” or “deprogrammed.” What begins as moral vision ends as total control.
The cure is humility—a willingness to let facts instruct rather than ideology dictate. Repentance, in the philosophical sense, means returning from illusion to reality, subordinating theory to evidence and loving wisdom without claiming omniscience. Realism requires courage: to see, to accept, and to act within the bounds of what is possible.
Lessons from the Twentieth Century and Beyond
The horrors of the last century—gulags, purges, and genocides—were not aberrations but logical conclusions of idealism unmoored from realism. Communism and fascism both promised transcendence from the human condition; both delivered degradation. Today, similar impulses reappear in moralized movements on left and right that treat disagreement as heresy and consciousness as the final battleground. These are not new phenomena but recycled idealisms—different symbols, same metaphysics.
In an era of manufactured crises and moral crusades, the scales remind us: cling to the crossbar. Only realism—anchored in evidence, bounded by humility, and guided by verifiable truth—permits tolerance, adaptation, and progress. When the crossbar breaks, society plunges into the abyss, and one pan’s triumph becomes delusion for all.
References
- Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1951.
- Burke, Edmund. Reflections on the Revolution in France. London: J. Dodsley, 1790.
- Chesterton, G.K. The Thing: Why I Am a Catholic. London: Sheed & Ward, 1929.
- Lewis, C.S. The Abolition of Man. London: Oxford University Press, 1943.
- Lindsay, James. Left and Right with Society in the Balance. New Discourses Lecture, 2025.
- Peterson, Jordan B. 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos. Toronto: Random House, 2018.
- Popper, Karl. The Open Society and Its Enemies. London: Routledge, 1945.
- Voegelin, Eric. The New Science of Politics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1952.
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