Posts Tagged ‘authority’

“Fabricated Authority”

January 21, 2026
Ricardo F. Morín
Irrationality, Propaganda, and Tribalism
CGI
2026

Ricardo  F.  Morín

January21, 2026

Oakland Park, Fl. 

1. A political claim ordinarily enters public life through institutions.  A law is debated, enacted, interpreted, contested.  A speech is delivered from a known office, before a defined audience, subject to reply and record.  Authority, in these cases, arises from responsibility and constraint.  

 

2. The text examined here satisfies none of these conditions.  

 

3. The text attributes to an unnamed broadcast the power to alter legal status.  The text presents a speaker not as a citizen who speaks, but as a conscience that pronounces.  The text declares effects that no statute, no executive order, and no court possesses the authority to produce.  The text announces national assent in the absence of any forum capable of granting assent.  

 

4. No enactment appears.  No interpretation occurs.  No review is possible.  

 

5. Nothing in this sequence is argued.  Nothing in this sequence is demonstrated.  Nothing in this sequence is capable of verification.  

 

6. Authority is not derived from office, law, or responsibility.  Authority is assigned by narrative arrangement.  

 

7. The speaker is granted moral standing by recognition alone.  The law is displaced by spectacle.  The audience is positioned as witness to a verdict that precedes deliberation.  Silence is treated as confirmation.  Stillness is treated as consent.  

 

8. What appears as denunciation functions as substitution.  

 

9. The place of institutions is occupied by a voice.  The place of argument is occupied by proclamation.  The place of judgment is occupied by reaction.  

 

10. The result is not persuasion.  The result is conversion.  

 

11. Citizens are not addressed as agents capable of contesting claims.  Citizens are addressed as spectators invited to receive a moral scene whose meaning has been fixed in advance.  

 

12. When invented testimony is received as political record, the boundary between event and wish disappears.  When spectacle is treated as verdict, correction loses authority.  When conscience is produced as performance, no institution remains capable of constraining conscience.  

 

13. This is not misinformation in the ordinary sense.  

 

14. This phenomenon is the replacement of judgment by fabricated authority.  

 

15. Authority ordinarily attaches to an office before authority attaches to a voice, because office supplies the limits under which speech can claim consequence.  A court exists, so a judge speaks.  A chamber exists, so a legislator speaks.  An administration exists, so an executive speaks.  In each case standing precedes utterance, and the public can locate responsibility by locating the forum in which the claim is made.  

 

16. The text examined here reverses that order.  The text presents a voice whose standing is not grounded in any office that can be named, any jurisdiction that can be defined, or any forum that can be recognized.  No delegation is stated.  No mandate is visible.  No responsibility is assumed.  Yet the voice speaks as if entitled to pronounce on matters whose force depends, in ordinary civic life, on enactment, interpretation, and review.  

 

17. This reversal matters because office establishes the scope under which a claim may operate, jurisdiction fixes the reach of effects, and procedure subjects both scope and reach to contest and record.  A claim that arises through these constraints can be challenged because standing can be challenged.  The claim here does not arise through constraint;  the claim arises through reception.  Standing depends on recognition rather than jurisdiction, and recognition is not a civic category that admits examination.  

 

18. One can dispute a mandate.  One can deny a court’s jurisdiction.  One can invoke procedure and require reply.  Recognition offers no equivalent instrument.  Recognition confers authority without specifying scope, and recognition allows a voice to present itself as conscience without accepting the obligations that make conscience accountable in public life.  

 

19. The effect is not merely that a voice speaks outside office.  The effect is that the role of office is replaced.  In a system where standing precedes speech, speech can be limited because the forum can be limited.  In a system where standing follows speech, speech expands until something external imposes a boundary.  

 

20. The text relies on no such boundary.  The text presents moral standing as complete at the moment of utterance, and the text treats reception as confirmation.  The audience is positioned less as a public capable of contest than as a witness to a pronouncement whose authority is presumed rather than earned.  

 

21. In that arrangement the claim to speak carries consequence without jurisdiction, and authority appears where no institution can be identified as a source of authority.  

 

22. Authority that does not arise from office cannot rely on procedure.  Procedure requires forum.  Forum requires jurisdiction.  Jurisdiction requires mandate.  None is present here.  

 

23. The claim therefore does not proceed by sequence.  The claim proceeds without premises, without grounds, and without anticipation of reply.  The statement does not argue.  The statement announces.  

 

24. What would ordinarily require enactment is declared complete.  What would ordinarily require interpretation is pronounced settled.  What would ordinarily require review is presented as final.  Verdict precedes forum.  

 

25. This reversal alters the function of speech itself.  Speech no longer seeks assent through reasoning.  Speech produces assent by declaration.  Judgment no longer follows deliberation.  Judgment is installed before deliberation can occur.  

 

26. Once proclamation is received as verdict, proof becomes irrelevant.  

 

27. Once argument is removed from the sequence, assent no longer arises from judgment.  Assent arises from recognition.  The claim does not ask to be examined.  The claim asks to be received.  The force of the claim depends less on what the claim establishes than on whom the claim addresses.  

 

28. The audience is not invited to consider whether the verdict follows from law, or whether the authority invoked possesses standing to pronounce.  The audience is invited to recognize the audience in the verdict.  

 

29. This shift alters the function of agreement.  In deliberative settings, assent follows contest.  One accepts a conclusion because one has weighed a claim against alternatives.  Here, assent precedes any such weighing.  The verdict arrives already formed, and reception supplies confirmation.  

 

30. Agreement no longer signals conviction, but affiliation, a posture defined less by conviction than by position.  

 

31. Recognition, in this arrangement, performs the work that argument once performed.  To accept the claim is to affirm membership in a moral position already defined.  The verdict does not bind because the verdict is correct.  The verdict binds because the verdict identifies.  

 

32. Those who receive the verdict do not do so as judges of coherence, but as participants in the posture the verdict confers.  The claim succeeds not by persuading opponents, but by consolidating those already disposed to accept the claim.  

 

33. This function explains the absence of procedure.  Deliberation would introduce fracture.  Contest would introduce differentiation.  Review would expose divergence.  None serves the purpose at hand.  

 

34. The claim therefore bypasses every stage at which disagreement could appear.  The claim offers instead a completed judgment whose primary effect is to sort recognition from refusal.  

 

35. The result is not belief in the ordinary sense, but affiliation, a posture defined less by conviction than by position.  To assent is to take position within a moral alignment whose boundaries are drawn by reception itself.  Those who accept are confirmed.  Those who hesitate are marked.  

 

36. Authority, in this form, does not govern through law.  Authority governs through identification.  

 

37. Once standing is conferred by reception, the remaining limits cannot hold.  

 

38. Once authority is produced in this manner, substitution becomes unavoidable.  In this arrangement office yields to presence, jurisdiction yields to recognition, procedure yields to proclamation, and judgment yields to reaction, until no limit remains capable of arresting the expansion that follows.  

 

39. Each replacement removes a limit.  Each replacement widens scope.  Each replacement dissolves responsibility.  

 

40. What remains is a form of authority that cannot be contested because no forum remains in which contest can occur.  

 

41. The consequence for citizenship follows directly.  A citizen ordinarily participates in judgment by weighing claims, contesting standing, and invoking procedure.  Here, that role disappears.  The citizen is no longer positioned as a participant in deliberation.  The citizen is positioned as a recipient of verdict.  

 

42. Agency yields to reception, judgment yields to alignment, and responsibility yields to loyalty, until disagreement itself can no longer appear as a civic act.  

 

43. In this posture disagreement ceases to be a civic act.  Disagreement becomes a breach of affiliation.  Hesitation becomes disloyalty.  Correction becomes defection.  

 

44. Once judgment is displaced in this way, repair becomes impossible.  Correction presupposes a forum.  Review presupposes jurisdiction.  Reply presupposes standing.  None remains available.  

 

45. A verdict that arrives without forum cannot be recalled to contest.  An authority that arises without office cannot be subjected to review.  A claim that governs through recognition alone cannot be corrected without threatening membership itself.  

 

46. The persistence of fabrication follows not from confusion, but from function.  Fabrication endures because fabrication stabilizes alignment.  Fabrication circulates because fabrication confirms position.  Fabrication resists correction because correction would dissolve the posture fabrication sustains.  

 

47. Authority, once detached from office and constraint, does not disappear.  Authority reappears in altered form.  Verdict is separated from forum.  Conscience is separated from responsibility.  Assent is separated from deliberation.  

 

48. What remains is a claim to govern without jurisdiction.  

 

49. This is not the corruption of judgment.  This is displacement.  

 

50. Judgment is no longer exercised.  Judgment is produced.


Domains of Action

January 14, 2026

A diagnostic study of how public life continues to function when judgment is limited and conditions remain unsettled



Mantra: Domains of Action
21” x 28.5”
Watercolor, graphite, wax crayons,
ink and gesso on paper 
2003

Note:

Nothing I say belongs to the painting.

The painting does not need words.

It already speaks in its own medium, to which language has no equivalent.


By Ricardo F. Morín

December 18, 2025

Oakland Park, Fl

This work was not written to advance a position or to resolve a debate.   It emerged from sustained attention to conditions that could not be ignored without distortion.   Writing, in this sense, is not an expression of purpose, but a consequence of awareness.

The pages that follow do not claim authority through expertise or urgency.   They proceed from the recognition that judgment must often act under incomplete conditions, and that clarity, when it appears, does so gradually and without assurance.   What is offered here is not a conclusion, but a continuation: an effort to remain faithful to what can be observed when attention is sustained.

This study does not proceed from constitutional expertise, institutional authority, or professional proximity to governance.   It proceeds from observation.   Its claims arise from sustained attention to how public life continues to function under conditions in which judgment is constrained, information remains incomplete, and decisions must nonetheless be made.

In fields where credentialed knowledge often determines legitimacy, writing from outside formal authority can invite dismissal before engagement.   That risk is real.   Yet the conditions examined here are not confined to technical domains.   They are encountered daily by citizens, officials, institutions, and systems alike.   Judgment under uncertainty is not a specialized activity; it is a shared condition.

The absence of formal expertise does not exempt this work from rigor.   It requires a different discipline:   restraint in assertion, precision in description, and fidelity to what can be observed without presuming mastery.   The analysis does not claim to resolve constitutional questions or prescribe institutional remedies.   It examines how governance persists when clarity is partial, when authority operates through multiple domains, and when continuity depends less on certainty than on adjustment.

If this work holds value, it will not be because it speaks from authority, but because it attends carefully to how authority functions when no position—expert or otherwise—can claim full command of the conditions it confronts.


This work clarifies a confusion that appears across many political cultures:   the tendency to treat “republic” and “democracy” as interchangeable ideals rather than as distinct components of governance.   The chapters observe how political arrangements continue to operate when inherited categories no longer clarify what is taking place.

The method is observational.   Political life is described as it is experienced:   decisions made without full knowledge, terms used out of habit, and institutions that adjust internally while keeping the same outward form.   The analysis begins from the limits of judgment as a daily condition:   people must act before they fully understand the circumstances in which they act.

What follows does not argue for a model or defend a tradition.   It traces how language, institutions, and expectations diverge across different domains of action, and how public life continues to operate under conditions that do not permit full clarity.


The Limits of Judgment in Public Life

1

Public life depends on forms of judgment that are uneven and often shaped by the pressures people face.   Individuals arrive at political questions with different experiences, different levels of knowledge, and different conditions under which they weigh what is put before them.  These differences do not prevent collective decisions, but they shape how clearly political terms and arrangements are perceived.   Everything that follows—how authority is organized, how participation is structured, and how each is described—develops within this clarity, which is limited and variable.

2

Political terms remain stable even when they are understood to different degrees.   Words such as republic and democracy have distinct meanings—one referring to an arrangement of authority, the other to a method of participation—yet are often used interchangeably.   The terms carry familiarity, even when the clarity required to keep them separate varies by circumstance.   As a result, public discussion may rely on established language without consistently matching it to the arrangements actually in effect.

3

A republic identifies an arrangement in which authority is held by public offices and exercised through institutions rather than personal rule.   A democracy identifies the method through which people participate in public decisions, whether directly or through representation.   A republic describes how authority is contained; a democracy describes how participation is organized.   Because these terms refer to different dimensions of political life—one structural, the other procedural—a single system may combine both.   The United States exemplifies this combination: authority is institutional and public, while participation is organized through elections and collective choice.

4

Public discussion often relies on familiar terms to describe political arrangements without tracing how authority and participation are actually organized.   Broad references substitute for institutional operation, allowing language to remain continuous even as circumstances shift.   The terms persist not because they precisely describe current arrangements, but because they provide a stable vocabulary through which public life can continue to be discussed as it adapts.

5

Patterns of this kind appear across many societies.   When circumstances are unstable, authority tends to concentrate; when conditions are steadier, participation often widens.   The direction is not uniform across countries or periods, but the pattern is recognizable:   authority gathers or disperses in response to conditions rather than to the language used to describe political life.   What varies is how clearly a society distinguishes between the structure that contains authority and the method through which participation occurs.

6

This movement between concentrated and dispersed authority appears differently across national contexts.   In Venezuela, references to the republic have often accompanied periods of strong executive direction, while appeals to democracy have not consistently been supported by durable procedures of participation.

In the United States, the emphasis sometimes reverses.   Democratic language is used to affirm broad popular involvement at the point of election, while republican structure is invoked to justify subsequent limits on participation through institutional filtering—nominee selection, confirmation timing, strategic vacancies, and procedural sequencing.   Presidential nominations move from popular mandate into Senate committee review, confirmation votes, and ultimately lifetime tenure, where decision-making authority is consolidated beyond direct public reach.

The terms differ, but the underlying pattern converges:   participation expands symbolically at the moment of selection and contracts structurally in the domains where authority is exercised over time.

7

Public life is easier to follow when the distinction between structure and participation remains visible.   A republic identifies how authority is arranged through offices and institutions; a democracy identifies how participation is organized through collective procedures.   When these terms are used without that distinction, attention shifts from institutional operation to nomenclature.   Debate turns toward language rather than process, and the movement of authority becomes harder to trace.

8

No single combination of structure and participation satisfies all the demands placed on public life.   Concentrated authority allows for speed but limits inclusion; broad participation expands inclusion but slows coordination.   Most governments combine these elements in varying proportions, and those proportions change as conditions change.   The relation between authority and participation becomes clearer in some periods and more opaque in others.

9

When this relation is unclear, people orient themselves by what is most visible.   Some look to executive action; others to representative bodies; many respond primarily to immediate outcomes.   These points of reference shape how the system is experienced even when its formal structure remains unchanged.

10

Public life continues not because its conditions are settled, but because decisions cannot wait for full certainty.   Authority acts while circumstances remain incomplete, and participation proceeds without full anticipation of its effects.   The system endures through this necessity: decisions are made under partial visibility, terms persist beyond their precision, and institutions adjust internally without losing their outward form.   What holds public life together is not clarity, but the need to proceed in its absence.


Executive Action Under Uncertainty

1

Executive action is the domain in which decisions are least postponable.   Unlike deliberative bodies, the executive is structured to act before conditions stabilize.   Time pressure, incomplete information, and competing signals define its operating environment.   This does not make executive judgment exceptional; it renders its limits more visible.

2

Because executive decisions are publicly observable, they often become the primary reference point through which political life is interpreted.   Orders, statements, appointments, and enforcement actions are easier to see than the processes that precede or follow them.   Visibility creates the impression of control even when outcomes remain uncertain.

3

The authority of the executive is often described as personal, yet it is exercised through institutional mechanisms.   Decisions attributed to an individual are carried out through agencies, procedures, and delegated discretion.   This layered execution allows action to proceed while responsibility is distributed across structures that remain largely out of view.

4

Periods of uncertainty tend to compress authority toward the executive.   When coordination slows elsewhere, executive action fills the gap.   This concentration does not require a change in constitutional structure; it occurs within existing forms as responsibilities narrow and timelines shorten.

5

Public judgment frequently focuses on decisiveness rather than conditions.   Speed is mistaken for clarity; repetition for resolve.   The question of whether a decision could have been otherwise is displaced by whether it was made visibly and without hesitation.

6

This focus alters how accountability is perceived.   Because executive action is immediate, it absorbs praise and blame even when outcomes depend on factors beyond executive control.   The executive domain becomes symbolically overloaded, functioning as a proxy for the system as a whole.

7

Over time, this dynamic reshapes expectations.   Executives are asked to resolve conditions that no single office can manage.   When results fall short, dissatisfaction is personalized rather than structural.   Judgment narrows toward figures instead of processes.

8

The persistence of executive action under uncertainty does not indicate failure elsewhere.   It reflects the necessity of action where delay carries its own costs.   The executive does not eliminate uncertainty; it operates within it.

9

As established in Chapter I—The Limits of Judgment in Public Life—the distinction between structure and method remains intact.   Executive authority is one structural component of the republic.   Its prominence under uncertainty does not convert the system into personal rule, nor does it dissolve other forms of participation.   It alters their relative visibility.

10

Executive action continues because decisions cannot wait for conditions to stabilize.   What the public observes is not mastery, but motion.   The domain appears decisive not because it resolves uncertainty, but because it must act while relevant information remains in flux.


1

Administrative action operates at a distance from public attention, not because it is concealed, but because it unfolds through structures designed for continuity rather than visibility.   Rules are applied, procedures adjusted, and priorities reordered within agencies whose work sustains governance without occupying the foreground of political life.   These actions rarely present themselves as discrete decisions, yet they shape outcomes as directly as legislative acts or executive orders.

2

Although the executive branch bears the most visible weight of action, it does not act alone.   Authority moves through a dense internal structure—departments, offices, and administrative hierarchies—that translates executive direction into practice.   Within this structure, different temporal orientations coexist.   Some units respond to the immediacy of political mandates; others operate within constitutional and statutory frameworks intended to secure duration, stability, and institutional memory.

3

What appears publicly as a unitary executive act is, in practice, the visible edge of a distributed process.   Administrative authorities do not replace the legislative function, nor do they interpret law in the judicial sense.   They apply existing statutes, regulations, and precedents to concrete circumstances, exercising discretion only within bounds already defined.   Governance continues through this application not because interpretation expands, but because execution must proceed even when direct legislative action is absent or delayed.

4

Procedural substitution occurs when formal decision-making cannot advance at the same pace as events.   When legislation stalls, or when executive authority reaches its constitutional limits, administrative processes absorb responsibility by adjusting how existing rules are applied.   Guidance is refined, enforcement priorities are reordered, and procedural pathways are recalibrated so that action can continue without altering the legal framework itself.

5

The effect of this adjustment is cumulative rather than declarative.   Procedures acquire force through sustained use across cases, offices, and time.   What matters is not the announcement of a decision, but the establishment of a practice that becomes operative through repetition.   Authority is exercised through continuity of application, not through proclamation or display.

6

Because responsibility is distributed across agencies and routines, public judgment often struggles to locate where change occurs.   Outcomes appear without a single moment of decision to which they can be traced.   This dispersal does not eliminate accountability, but it complicates it. Effects are experienced before their procedural origins are understood, if they are understood at all.

7

Over time, this mode of governance reshapes public expectations.   Citizens may sense that conditions have shifted while remaining uncertain about who acted or how.   Dissatisfaction attaches to the system as a whole rather than to identifiable actors, not because authority is absent, but because it operates through channels that do not align with public narratives of decision and responsibility.

8

Administrative displacement does not signal institutional breakdown.   It reflects the necessity of maintaining governance under constraint.   When formal decisions cannot be taken at the speed required, procedures adapt so that authority continues to function without exceeding its legal bounds.   The system does not suspend itself; it adjusts its pathways.

9

This domain illustrates the separation between form and operation established in the opening chapter.   The constitutional structure of authority remains intact, while its execution shifts in emphasis and sequence.   What changes is not who holds power, but how that power is carried forward under conditions that do not permit explicit resolution.

10

Governance persists through these substitutions because action cannot stop.   Authority moves not by abandoning its limits, but by working within them.   The continuity of public life depends less on visible decisions than on the capacity of institutions to apply existing frameworks to changing circumstances—imperfectly, and without claiming finality.


Electoral Ritual and the Persistence of Form

1

Elections are the most recognizable feature of democratic participation.   They provide a recurring structure through which public involvement is organized and displayed.   Their regularity creates a sense of continuity even as surrounding conditions change.

2

As ritual, elections affirm participation through repetition.   Procedures remain familiar—campaigns, voting, certification, transition—and establish a shared sequence that signals order and legitimacy.   These outward forms sustain confidence in the process, even when outcomes remain uncertain.

3

Elections endure not because they resolve conflict, but because they organize trust at the point of selection.   They do not settle disagreement; they make continued coordination possible by establishing a recognized moment of authorization.

4

Once trust is organized at the point of selection, public attention shifts from the mechanics of participation to the visibility of results.   Winning and losing replace examination of how participation translates into policy, administration, or enforcement.   The ritual satisfies the expectation of involvement, while attention moves away from the pathways through which authority is exercised after selection.

5

This emphasis on outcome reinforces symbolic stability.   As long as elections occur on schedule and results are recognized, the system appears intact.   Questions about how decisions are made afterward—how authority is carried forward, distributed, and constrained—receive less sustained attention.

6

Discrepancies between electoral choice and lived experience are often attributed to individuals rather than to institutional pathways.   Dissatisfaction becomes personalized, while the structural distance between participation and governance remains largely unexamined.

7

Electoral rituals persist because they serve a stabilizing function.   They mark transitions, renew legitimacy, and provide a shared reference point for public life.   Their endurance does not depend on their capacity to resolve underlying pressures, but on their ability to preserve coordination in the presence of disagreement.

8

As conditions change, participation may become more expressive than effective.   Voting signals presence and alignment, even when it does not materially alter administrative or executive trajectories.   Expression remains visible; influence becomes less certain.

9

Democracy, understood as method, remains visible and active.   What fluctuates is the degree to which participation reaches into the domains where decisions are continuously adjusted, and where authority continues to operate after the moment of voting.

10

Public life continues through this arrangement because action cannot pause at the point of selection.   Decisions proceed while conditions evolve, information accumulates unevenly, and responsibility shifts across domains.   What endures is not resolution, but continuity: governance advances through adjustment rather than completion, sustained by institutions that act without claiming finality.


“An Agreement to Disagree”

January 10, 2026

Ricardo F. Morín
An Agreement to Disagree
Watercolor, gouache, whiteout and black ink on paper
14″x20″
2005

Ricardo F. Morín

January 9, 2026

Oakland Park, Fl

Some antagonisms call not for vindication, but for clarity  

*

Our exchange revealed not a disagreement to be resolved, but a misalignment that could not be repaired through further argument.  What initially appeared as an analytical difference gradually disclosed a deeper divergence in how understanding itself was approached.  At that point, explanation no longer clarified and began to obscure.  

There are moments in life when antagonistic relationships must be confronted not to prevail, but to discern limits.  Not every challenge is an invitation to engage, and not every assertion of authority merits reply.  When discourse shifts from inquiry to self-assertion, the task is no longer persuasion, but recognition—of what can be shared, what cannot, and when distance becomes a form of integrity rather than withdrawal.  

Disengagement, understood in these terms, is not an abdication of reason, nor a retreat from rigor.  It is an acknowledgment that intellectual authority does not arise from moral superiority, from the accumulation of sources, or from the insistence on being recognized as correct.  Authority that cannot tolerate limits undermines itself by the very posture it adopts.  

Disengagement, then, is neither silence nor concession.  It is a turning away that carries weight:  liberating and disappointing, real and poignant.  It offers no solace, yet affirms life itself by refusing to persist in distortion.  What remains is not victory, but truth preserved through restraint.  

Authority intolerant of limits succumbs to hubris for its own sake.  

“The Delusion of Authority: …

July 21, 2025

Power, Storytelling, and the Fear of Losing Significance

By Ricardo Morin, July 2025

Ricardo Morin
The Stilobato of Zeus Underwater
CGI
2003

Abstract

This essay examines the human mind’s compulsion to invent stories—not merely to understand reality, but to replace it. It explores how narrative becomes a refuge from the void, a form of self-authorship that seeks both meaning and control. The tension between rational observation and imaginative projection is not a flaw in human reason, but a clue to our instability: we invent to matter, to belong, and to assert that we are more than we fear we might be. At its core, this is a reflection on the seductive authority of story—the way it offers not just identity but grandeur, not just comfort but a fragile illusion of power. Beneath every myth may lie the terror of nothingness—and the quiet hope that imagination might rescue us from the fear of a diminished understanding of our own importance.

.

The Delusion of Authority: Power, Storytelling, and the Fear of Losing Significance

We tell stories to make sense of life. That much seems obvious. But if we look a little deeper, we may find that the stories we tell—about ourselves, our beliefs, our traditions, even our suffering—aren’t just about sense-making. They’re about power. Not always power over others, but something more private and often more dangerous: the power to feel central, secure, and superior in a world that rarely offers those guarantees.

This need shows up in ways that often appear noble: tradition, loyalty, virtue, cultural pride, spiritual clarity. But beneath many of these lies a hunger to be more than we are. To matter more than we fear we do. To fix the feeling that we are not quite enough on our own.

We don’t like to think of this as a thirst for power. It sounds selfish. But in its quieter form, it’s not selfishness—it’s survival. It’s the need to look in the mirror and see someone real. To look at the world and feel part of a story that means something. And when we don’t feel that, we make one up.

Sometimes it takes the shape of tradition: the rituals, the mottos, the flags. These things give us the illusion that we are part of something lasting, something sacred. But often, what they really do is offer us borrowed certainty. We repeat what others have repeated before us, and in that repetition we feel safe. We mistake performance for truth. This is how belonging becomes obedience—and how ritual becomes a mask that hides the absence of real thought.

Sometimes it takes the shape of insight. We adopt the language of spiritual clarity or mystical knowing. We speak in riddles, or listen to those who do. But often, this too is about authority: the idea that we can bypass doubt and land in a place of higher understanding. When we hear phrases such as “listen with all your being,” or “intellectual understanding isn’t real understanding,” we are being invited to give up reason in exchange for what feels like truth. But the feeling of truth is not the same as the hard work of clarity.

And sometimes, this hunger for centrality shows up in identity. We claim pain, pride, or history as a kind of moral capital. We say “my people” as if that phrase explains everything. And maybe sometimes it does. But when identity becomes a shield against criticism or a weapon against others, it stops being about belonging and starts being about authority—about who gets to speak, who gets to be right, who gets to be seen.

Even reason itself is not immune. We use logic, not only to understand, but to protect ourselves from uncertainty. We argue not only to clarify, but also to win. And slowly, without noticing, we turn the pursuit of truth into a performance of control.

All of this is understandable. The world is confusing. The self is fragile. And deep down, most of us are terrified of being insignificant. We fear being one more nameless voice in the crowd. One more moment in time. One more life that ends and disappears.

So we reach for authority. If we can’t control life, maybe we can control meaning. If we can’t escape time, maybe we can tell a story that lasts. But this, too, is a delusion—one that leads to suffering, to isolation, and to conflict.

Because when everyone is the center of their own story, when every group insists on its own truth, when every insight claims to stand above question—no one listens. No one changes. And no one grows.

But what if we gave up the need to be right, to be central, to be superior?

What if we didn’t need to be grand in order to be real?

What if we could tell stories not to control reality, but to share it?

That would require something more difficult than intelligence. It would require humility. The willingness to be small. To be uncertain. To live without authority and still live meaningfully.

This isn’t easy. Everything in us pushes against it. But perhaps this is the only path that leads us out of performance and into presence. Out of delusion and into clarity. Not the clarity of slogans or doctrine, but the clarity of attention—of seeing without needing to rule over what is seen.

We don’t need to be gods. We don’t need to be heroes. We just need to be human—and to stop pretending that being human isn’t already enough.

*

Annotated Bibliography

  • Arendt, Hannah: The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1951. (A foundational study on how ideological certainty and group identity can undermine thought, clearing the way for emotional conformity and mass control.)
  • Beard, Mary: Twelve Caesars: Images of Power from the Ancient World to the Modern. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2021. (Explores how images and stories of rulers are crafted to sustain the illusion of divine or inherited authority.)
  • Frankl, Viktor E.: Man’s Search for Meaning. Boston: Beacon Press, 2006. (Reflects on the will to meaning as a basic human drive, particularly under extreme suffering, showing how narrative can sustain dignity and life.)
  • Kermode, Frank: The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Fiction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967. (Examines how people impose beginnings, middles, and ends on chaotic experience, seeking structure through storytelling.)
  • Nietzsche, Friedrich: On the Genealogy of Morality. Translated by Carol Diethe. Edited by Keith Ansell-Pearson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. (Argues that moral systems often arise from resentment and masked power struggles rather than pure virtue or reason.)
  • Oakeshott, Michael: Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1991. (Critiques the rationalist impulse to systematize human life, warning against overconfidence in reason’s ability to master reality.)
  • Todorov, Tzvetan: Facing the Extreme: Moral Life in the Concentration Camps. Translated by Arthur Denner and Abigail Pollack. New York: Metropolitan Books, 1996. (Offers insight into how identity and morality hold—or collapse—under conditions that strip away illusion, highlighting the limits of narrative.)
  • Wallace, David Foster: This Is Water: Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life. New York: Little, Brown, 2009. (A short meditation on how default thinking shapes our perception and how awareness—not authority—offers a path to freedom.)

“Listening Beyond the Trance: …

July 21, 2025

… Reassessing Krishnamurti in Later Life”

by Ricardo Morín
July 2025

Ricardo Morin
Infinity 6
12” x 15”
Oil and ink on linen
2005

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Abstract

This reflective essay reconsiders the thought of Jiddu Krishnamurti through the lens of aging and evolving philosophical expectations. While Krishnamurti’s teachings once offered inspiration and a path toward inner freedom, they now appear to dissolve into rhetorical mysticism and incoherence. The essay critiques his rejection of “intellectual understanding” and analyzes the contradictions inherent in his style of spiritual discourse. It argues for the necessity of rational clarity, especially in later stages of life when discernment becomes more valuable than inspiration alone. This shift is presented not as a betrayal of earlier insight, but as its maturation.

“Listening Beyond the Trance: Reassessing Krishnamurti in Later Life”

In my forties and fifties, I found great inspiration in the thought of Jiddu Krishnamurti. His emphasis on freedom from authority, his critique of systems, and his call to radical self-awareness spoke directly to a part of me that sought liberation from inherited dogmas and psychological conditioning. He offered, or seemed to offer, a clarity beyond tradition—a voice that felt both universal and personal.

But now, in my seventies, I find myself rereading his words with a different ear. What once felt revelatory now strikes me as elusive, at times incoherent. A recent passage shared by the Krishnamurti Foundation, drawn from a 1962 public talk in New Delhi, crystallized this shift for me:

“There is no such thing as intellectual understanding; you really only mean that you hear the words, and the words have some meaning similar to your own, and that similarity you call understanding, intellectual agreement. There is no such thing as intellectual agreement – either you understand or do not understand. To understand deeply, with all your being, you have to listen”.

This line of thinking—expressed in varied forms across his oeuvre—once felt like an invitation to presence. Now, I hear it differently: as a kind of rhetorical mysticism that dismisses the very faculties we depend on to make meaning. The claim that “there is no such thing as intellectual understanding” is not merely provocative; it is self-undermining. If words cannot convey meaning through reason, then why speak? Why write? Why gather an audience at all?

Krishnamurti’s sharp dichotomy between “intellectual” and “real” understanding collapses under scrutiny. Intellectual reflection is not merely passive recognition of familiar ideas. It is the groundwork of discernment—of logic, dialogue, and ethical clarity. To discard it is to unravel the very possibility of communication. What he seems to offer instead is a kind of pure, undefinable receptivity—“listening with all your being”—a state left vague, idealized, and unexamined.

This tendency is not unique to Krishnamurti. It is a feature of a broader strand of Indian and global spiritual discourse that wraps itself in the aura of wisdom while resisting the discipline of logic. It blurs the line between paradox and nonsense, invoking transcendence but offering no clear ground. What results is not insight but opacity.

None of this erases what Krishnamurti once offered me. His call to question, to observe without prejudice, helped me unlearn many habits of thought. But inspiration and clarity are not the same. The mind that once needed liberation may later need precision.

We change. What moves us at one stage of life may lose its grip as our questions evolve. That does not make earlier experiences false—it simply means that our standards grow. In listening now, I want something more than the echo of profundity. I want coherence. I want meaning that can stand up to thought.

Krishnamurti taught me to listen. That lesson remains. But now, I listen not only with receptivity—but with reason, with discernment, and with the quiet courage to call abstraction what it is.

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Annotated Bibliography:

  • Krishnamurti, Jiddu: The First and Last Freedom. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1954. (A collection of early talks that established Krishnamurti’s core ideas; includes his foundational argument against psychological authority and tradition.)
  • ———: Commentaries on Living, First Series. Madras: Krishnamurti Foundation India, 1956. (Brief philosophical dialogues drawn from real encounters; written in prose that oscillates between clarity and metaphysical opacity.)
  • ———: The Awakening of Intelligence. New York: Harper & Row, 1973. (A comprehensive transcript of public discussions and interviews where Krishnamurti expands his rejection of intellectual systems and explores “pure observation.”)
  • ———: The Wholeness of Life. London: Victor Gollancz, 1978. (A late-career synthesis that juxtaposes technological anxiety with inward freedom; his critique of organized thought becomes more abstract here.)
  • ———: Krishnamurti to Himself: His Last Journal. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1987. (Dictated reflections shortly before his death; his rejection of analysis deepens and borders on mysticism, with lyrical but imprecise language.)
  • ———: The Ending of Time: Where Philosophy and Physics Meet. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985. (Conversations with physicist David Bohm; illustrative of Krishnamurti’s dismissal of conventional logic even when in dialogue with a scientist.)
  • Murti, T. R. V.: The Central Philosophy of Buddhism: A Study of the Mādhyamika System. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1955. (A key work in Buddhist philosophical reasoning; useful contrast to Krishnamurti in that it pursues dialectical rigor rather than mystical generality.)
  • Ganeri, Jonardon: Philosophy in Classical India: The Proper Work of Reason. London: Routledge, 2001. (Challenges the stereotype that Indian thought is mystical or anti-rational; highlights traditions that value analysis and inference over insight alone.)
  • Nussbaum, Martha C.: Cultivating Humanity: A Classical Defense of Reform in Liberal Education Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. (Advocates for clarity, rational argument, and intellectual pluralism; offers a counterpoint to Krishnamurti’s anti-intellectualism.)
  • McGinn, Colin: The Making of a Philosopher: My Journey Through Twentieth-Century Philosophy. New York: HarperCollins, 2002. (A memoir that models the philosophical maturation process; echoes the author’s own shift from inspiration to the pursuit of clarity.)

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“Echoes of a Decanter”

March 5, 2025

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This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 0005.jpg
Decantation [2003], CGI by Ricardo Morín
Decantation [2003], CGI by Ricardo Morín

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The air inside the old factory was thick with dust and conviction.      They had scrubbed the floors, repainted the walls, and reclaimed the space from its past, but the scent of rust and oil still lingered.      It smelled like work—like history.

Emil stood on a makeshift stage, elevated by wooden pallets stacked two high.      His voice carried across the room, each word striking with certainty.

“This is not another failed experiment.      This is not a return to old mistakes.      We are forging a new path—beyond capitalism, beyond the betrayals of so-called socialism.      This time, we get it right.”

Applause.      Nods of approval.      They had heard these words before, but this time, they believed them.

Isolde sat at the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.      She had stood in this same room decades ago, listening to a different voice, hearing the same promise.      The factory, reborn each time, looked different, yet the space was always the same—a decanter of sorts, enclosing the same history, slowly pouring out its essence, again and again.

After the speech, as people gathered in small circles of animated discussion, Emil approached her.

“You don’t look convinced.”

“I don’t mistake passion for direction,” she said.

Emil smiled, as if indulging an elder.      “This time is different, Isolde.      We’ve studied history.      We won’t repeat their mistakes.”

She exhaled, looking past him to the crowd.      The factory hummed quietly behind them, a machine just starting to remember its old rhythms.      “You misunderstand history.      It’s not something you repeat.      It’s something that returns to you, whether you invite it or not.”

He shook his head.      He didn’t believe in ghosts.      But the air, thick with the weight of their past, seemed to hum with the same unspoken inevitability.      It reminded Isolde of something trapped within glass—preserved, yet futile in its attempts to remain unbroken. . .


The first weeks were golden.

Decisions were made by assembly.      Every worker had an equal say, an equal share, an equal stake.      The old machinery roared to life under new hands.      They printed new posters, declaring the rebirth of labor, the death of the boss.

For the first time, they worked for themselves.

But cracks, barely visible at first, began to form.

Meetings dragged for hours, circular debates with no resolution.      Some tasks were more desirable than others—some avoided the heavy lifting, citing ideological objections.      “Why should one person labor while another coordinates?”

“Because someone must,” Isolde murmured to herself.      Unheard.

Then came the first real crisis: a large order, a deadline, a need for efficiency.      The factory moved too slowly.      The assembly stalled.      Arguments flared.

“We need someone to oversee production,” Emil admitted.      “Just temporarily.”

A vote was cast.      A mediator was appointed.      He wasn’t a manager, they told themselves, just a guide.      But the balance had shifted.      The factory, like a vessel caught in an unrelenting tide, began to carry more than it could manage.

Isolde watched, saying nothing.


The mediator, needing to keep things moving, made quick decisions.      The assembly approved them after the fact.      The difference was subtle, but it grew.

Some workers were better at certain tasks, so roles solidified.      Someone had to negotiate with suppliers.      Someone had to ensure deadlines were met.      The mediator took on these roles, because it was easier.

“We need structure,” he explained.      “Not hierarchy, just order.”

Emil, exhausted, nodded.      The structure, which had once felt so free, began to settle into something heavier.      Something permanent.      Like the decanter that holds liquid—only to release it back into the world, though it never truly escapes its confines.

One evening, alone in his office—the office that wasn’t supposed to exist—he flipped through old books.      The words were familiar, but they read differently now.      He found a passage from an old revolutionary text, underlined by his own hand years ago:

“The first illusion of power is that it does not exist.”

He closed the book.      His fingers lingered on the edge of the paper, as though searching for something that had slipped away, like water escaping through a crack.


The next crisis arrived without warning.      A strike—among themselves.      Some demanded higher pay.      “Shouldn’t work be compensated by effort?”      They were equals, but some were more equal in labor than others.

Emil tried to reason with them.      “That’s not how this works.      We’re breaking that cycle.”

“Then why do you sit in the office while we sweat on the floor?”

He had no answer.

Another vote.      A restructuring.      A new proposal:      an oversight committee.      The committee became a board.      Outside investors offered financial stability.      A small compromise.      A necessary evil.

By the end of the year, the factory had become what it swore it never would.

Emil found Isolde in the break room, sipping tea.

“We tried,” he said.      “So did we,” she replied.

Silence.

“Why does it always end this way?” he asked.

Isolde set her cup down.      Her eyes met his, trapped in exhaustion, as though each glance carried the gravity of countless broken promises, like a fractured decanter.

“Because we are human.”


Years later, Emil walked past the factory.      It was thriving.      Not revolutionary.      Not a failure.      Just another business.

Inside, a new group of young activists had gathered.      Their leader, no older than he had been, stood on stacked wooden pallets, speaking with fire.

“We are not repeating the past.      We are forging a new path.      This time, we get it right.”

Emil did not stop to listen.

From the distance, Isolde watched.

“And so it begins again,” she whispered.

~

Ricardo Federico Morín Tortolero

March 5, 2025; Oakland Park, Florida