Posts Tagged ‘Identity’

“Geographies of Survival”

December 2, 2025

*

Ricardo Morín
Still Thirty-seven: Geographies of Survival
Oil on linen & board
15″ x 12″ x 1/2″
2012

Ricardo F. Morín

November 2025

Oakland Park, Florida

Author’s Note

This essay examines how human groups respond to instability when the conditions that once sustained them begin to fail.  Its focus is not on specific crises, events, or regions, but on the structural pressures that compel populations either to relocate or to defend their ground.   I approach the subject without moral interpretation and without attributing virtue or fault to the choices communities make under duress.  The aim is simply to describe the grammars of behavior that arise when survival becomes uncertain and to trace how identity, claims to legitimacy, and patterns of continuity reorganize themselves under those pressures.  The essay does not propose solutions or anticipate outcomes; it observes the patterns that emerge when stability dissolves and the land itself ceases to offer guarantees.

Abstract

Geographies of Survival explores two fundamental responses to instability: migration and entrenchment.   When climate disruption, scarcity, or civic breakdown exceed a community’s capacity to endure, populations seek stability either through movement or through defending their position.   Migration reorganizes identity through adaptation to new conditions; entrenchment intensifies identity to preserve continuity in place.   These responses arise from the same pressures and function as parallel strategies for survival rather than opposing moral positions.   The essay examines how claims to legitimacy, patterns of identification, and the search for continuity are reshaped by these pressures, and how the friction between movement and resistance reflects structural forces rather than cultural incompatibility.   Its purpose is to illuminate the conditions under which these survival grammars emerge and the ways they transform the meaning of land, stability, and collective life.

1

Migration is often described as the movement of people from one place to another, but this description obscures the deeper forces at work.   Migration is not merely geography in motion; it is also the expression of a survival grammar that becomes visible whenever a community faces conditions it can no longer absorb.  Climate shifts, failing economies, collapsing states, and persisting insecurities create pressures that exceed the capacity of existing structures.   Under these pressures, a population confronts a choice so fundamental that it precedes ideology:  to move or to entrench.

2

These are not parallel options.   They are opposing responses built from the same materials—fear, instability, and the search for continuity.   Migration seeks stability by relocating; entrenchment seeks stability by confronting the agents of instability directly.   Neither response is superior.   Neither is voluntary.   Both emerge from conditions that compress judgment, narrow possibility, and force communities to defend themselves against forces too large to negotiate.

3

Migration begins when a group concludes that the geography that sustained it can no longer guarantee survival.   The land fails, or institutions collapse, or the future narrows.   Movement becomes the only remaining form of protection.   Yet movement does not dissolve identity—it reorganizes it.   A migrating population must redefine its internal coherence in relation to unfamiliar surroundings.   Identity becomes adaptive not by preference but by necessity.   Adaptation is not reinvention; it is survival.

4

Entrenchment moves in the opposite direction.   When a group chooses to remain in place, it must defend what movement would surrender:   territory, memory, continuity, and the stability that comes from rootedness.   Entrenchment therefore intensifies identification rather than loosening it.   Boundaries become rigid.   Narratives harden.   Conflict becomes a strategy rather than an interruption.   A community that fights to remain where it is must believe that displacement would erase it.   Confrontation becomes a method of preservation.

5

Cultural confrontation arises most sharply when a migrating population settles on land that another group interprets as an extension of its own continuity.   To the migrant community, the land represents safety, possibility, or relief from pressures that made departure unavoidable.   To the entrenched community, the same land represents memory, inheritance, and the boundary that protects its historical coherence.   Each group sees the other as the agent of potential erasure:   migrants perceive exclusion and hostility; entrenched populations perceive encroachment and loss.   Conflict escalates not because either group seeks domination, but because each interprets survival through a different grammar—adaptation for one, preservation for the other.

6

Policies adopted in countries such as Denmark and the United Kingdom illustrate how entrenched societies respond when migration is perceived as a threat. For many asylum seekers, these deterrent measures narrow the distance between the pressures that forced them to leave and the pressures they encounter upon arrival, a condition that makes stability difficult to distinguish from exclusion.   Governments frequently defend entrenched policies by arguing that the resources needed to support asylum seekers are limited, and that extending those resources further would risk weakening existing systems of welfare, housing, and public order.

7

These responses of movement and entrenchment seem incompatible, yet they describe a single reality:   populations under pressure behave according to the survival strategies available to them, not according to idealized accounts of culture or volition.   When migrants and entrenched populations come into contact, each sees the other through the lens of its own pressures.   Migrants see protection; the entrenched see threat.   Migrants carry adaptation; the entrenched carry defense.   Each posture misreads the other because each is responding to different forms of danger.

8

Climate change intensifies these divergent responses, not by determining them but by tightening the conditions under which communities must choose.   Climate does not produce conflict by itself; it alters the margins within which stability is possible.   Regions once predictable become irregular; resources once continuous become intermittent.   As these margins narrow, some populations interpret movement as the only viable safeguard, while others interpret remaining in place as the only defensible continuity.   The same pressure exposes different vulnerabilities, and each community responds according to its own history, capacity, and thresholds of endurance—rather than to climate alone.

9

The friction between these grammars—movement and entrenchment—should not be mistaken for a clash of civilizations.   It is a collision between two interpretations of threat.   One group treats survival as relocation; the other treats survival as resistance.   Both postures emerge from instability; both use identity as a tool shaped by circumstance rather than as a fixed inheritance.   Identity becomes an instrument of continuity, shaped by conditions that leave little room for negotiation or reflection.

10

The world often interprets these collisions through moral, ideological, or geopolitical frames, but such interpretations obscure the deeper movement:   instability reorganizes identity faster than identity reorganizes the world.   When geography shifts, populations adapt.   When populations adapt, meanings shift.   Collective life becomes contested not because cultures are inherently antagonistic, but because survival pressures force groups into patterns they would not otherwise choose.

11

If there is a universal character to the present century, it is this: the pressures that produce migration are the same pressures that produce conflict among those who refuse to migrate.   To understand one without the other is to misunderstand both.   Movement and entrenchment are not opposites but consequences—expressions of the structural instability that now shapes every region, every culture, every claim to continuity.

12

The question that follows is neither predictive nor ideological.   It is simply the next step in the logic of this analysis:   What forms of stability become possible when migration and entrenchment are understood not as opposing moral positions but as parallel responses to the same changing world?   The answer is not yet visible, but the conditions that will shape it already are.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Essays, Civic Ethics, Global Dynamics, Structural Analysis | Leave a Comment »

“The Myth of Rupture:

September 30, 2025

Continuity as the Enabling Condition of Change”

Ricardo F. Morín
Untitled #6
Watercolor
2003

BY Ricardo Morin

September 30, 2025

Bala Cynwyd, Pa

Nothing human begins from nothing.   Institutions, languages, belief systems, and works of art all arise from what preceded them.   Creation is not the rejection of inheritance but the transformation of it.   Every act of making draws upon accumulated perception, memory, and experience.   This insight is crucial to understanding contemporary culture, where claims of unprecedented change often conceal deep continuities beneath the surface of novelty.   Human beings, bound by temporality, cannot detach themselves from what has been; they can only reorder and reinterpret the materials already available to them.

The notion of invention is often described as a break with the past, a leap into the unknown.   Yet even the most radical departures are shaped by what came before.   The ideals of modern democracy, for example, did not emerge spontaneously.   They were built upon classical Greek ideas of citizenship as a shared civic responsibility, rooted in isonomia—equality before the law—and in the belief that legitimate authority derives from the deliberation and participation of free citizens.   They also drew deeply on Roman conceptions of law as a universal and rational order capable of binding diverse peoples into a common political framework, and on the Roman principle of res publica, which conceived the State as a public entity oriented toward the common good rather than the will of a single ruler.   These foundational ideas, adapted and reinterpreted over centuries, provided the intellectual architecture on which modern democratic institutions were constructed.   Perception frames invention.   It provides the vocabulary, assumptions, and conceptual tools that make new ideas possible.   What seems entirely new still carries the imprint of what it sought to move beyond.   On closer examination, the products of creativity are not isolated acts of originality but reconfigurations of existing structures.   Evolution, rather than spontaneous emergence, governs how ideas, institutions, and cultures take shape.

Memory underlies this process.   It is not a passive record of events but an active medium through which possibilities are conceived and action becomes intelligible.   Imagination draws its material from memory; it combines and redirects memory toward conditions not yet realized.   This is nowhere more evident than in the idea of freedom, a concept that resists simple definition yet has long carried two complementary meanings.   The first, articulated most clearly in the classical Greek tradition, understands freedom as eleutheria—the condition of living without domination or external constraint, a state in which individuals are not subject to arbitrary power.   The second, rooted in the Roman legal and civic tradition, conceives freedom as libertas—the capacity to participate actively in the governance of a political community and to shape its laws and institutions.   Both meanings reveal how deeply freedom depends on historical precedent:   it requires language to articulate its claims, institutions to guarantee its exercise, and collective memory to frame its significance.   Far from existing apart from what has been, freedom is shaped and enabled by what has already been conceived, argued, and enacted.   Prior experience supplies the references and alternatives against which choices acquire meaning.   Without that reservoir of knowledge, novelty would lack coherence and direction, and the exercise of freedom would collapse into arbitrary impulse.   Human beings do not invent in a void; they work within the continuity of time and adapt what has been lived and learned into forms suited to what is yet to come.

This same dynamic defines the formation of identity.   Selfhood is not an isolated act of invention but a continuous negotiation with what has been received.   The very idea of the self has itself evolved through history:   in classical philosophy, it was often conceived as a psyche—an inner essence shaped by reason and virtue and embedded within a larger cosmic order.   Christian thought reinterpreted this understanding through the notion of the soul as a unique bearer of moral responsibility, oriented toward salvation and defined by its relationship to God.   Early modern thinkers such as John Locke then transformed this inheritance by grounding personal identity in memory and consciousness — a conception that would later inform modern ideas of individual autonomy.   Even the impulse to define oneself against the past relies on categories inherited from it.   Identity is therefore neither static nor wholly self-created; it is a process of reinterpretation through which the individual positions what is given in relation to what is chosen.   Human beings exist in the tension between inheritance and aspiration, between the weight of memory and the desire for renewal.   That tension is not an obstacle to authenticity but its condition, for without the framework provided by the past there would be nothing from which to depart.   Continuity and change are not opposing forces.   Without continuity, there is no ground on which to become.   Without change, continuity hardens into mere repetition.   The act of becoming depends on the dynamic between the two.

Viewed from this perspective, the human condition is defined less by pure invention than by the capacity to transform.   What is called “new” is the familiar reorganized with new intentions, the established redirected toward new purposes.   Recognizing this does not diminish creativity.   It clarifies its nature.   Humanity’s most significant achievements—in politics, art, science, and thought—are not escapes from what has been.   They are deliberate reinterpretations of what has been, shaped to answer new questions and confront new circumstances.   In the sciences, paradigmatic shifts often described as revolutions still follow this pattern.   Einstein’s theory of relativity did not erase Newtonian mechanics; it incorporated and extended its principles, a revision that revealed their limits while preserving their usefulness within a broader understanding of space, time, and motion.   This same principle governs artistic innovation.   The Renaissance revival of classical forms did not merely reproduce antiquity; it reinterpreted ancient visual languages to express the spiritual and humanistic concerns of a new era.   The evolution of digital communication and artificial intelligence reflects a comparable continuity.   The internet did not replace human interaction; it expanded its reach and scale, a transformation that altered how language circulates, how memory is archived, and how collective knowledge is formed.   Similarly, artificial intelligence—often portrayed as autonomous or unprecedented—rests on centuries of linguistic, mathematical, and conceptual developments.   These systems extend rather than supersede the cognitive inheritance from which they originate.   The future is built in this way:   not in its rejection of the past but in its continuous interaction with it.

Resistance to this understanding persists wherever the idea of evolution is denied.   Such resistance is rarely a matter of evidence alone.   It reflects a desire for permanence—for a beginning that is untouched by change and a truth that stands apart from time.   It offers certainty where process allows none and promises stability in place of adaptation.   Yet even this resistance is shaped by the forces it seeks to escape.   Languages evolve, beliefs adjust, and traditions adapt, even as they proclaim their immutability.   Those who defend what is fixed do so with concepts and arguments that themselves have been shaped by historical change.   The very doctrines that claim timeless authority — such as the medieval conception of divine sovereignty, once invoked to legitimize monarchies and later transformed into the principle of popular sovereignty in modern constitutional systems—reveal this dependence:   they persist not by remaining unchanged but by being continually reinterpreted to meet new contexts.   The contrast, therefore, is not between evolution and its absence, but between recognition and refusal.   The reality remains:   existence unfolds through transformation, and humanity, whether consciously or not, participates in that unfolding—a truth with profound implications for how societies remember their past, shape their present, and imagine their future.

Further Reading:

  • Arendt, Hannah: Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought. New York: Viking Press, 1961.
  • Kuhn, Thomas S.: The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962.
  • MacIntyre, Alasdair: After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981.
  • Floridi, Luciano: The Philosophy of Information. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011.
  • Koselleck, Reinhart: Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time. Translated by Keith Tribe. New York: Columbia University Press, 2004.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »

“The Colors of Certainty”

August 23, 2025

*

**

~

Author’s Note:

This essay is the first part of a trilogy that explores how human beings approach reality through certainty, doubt, and ambivalence. It begins with certainty—how the desire for stability drives thought and belief, even when what appears secure is already open to change. Though written from personal inquiry, its scope is broader: the question of certainty concerns not one life but the fragile conditions of shared reality. The trilogy continues with The Discipline of Doubt and concludes with When All We Know Is Borrowed.

Ricardo Morín, Bala Cynwyd, Pa. August 23, 2025

~

The Colors of Certainty

We live in an age unsettled by division. The subtleties of thought that once allowed us to pause, to weigh, and to distinguish are increasingly swept aside by the demand for immediate clarity. Everything is urged toward opposites: yes or no, ally or enemy, awake or asleep. The pace of public life, accelerated by technology and amplified by conflict, leaves little patience for nuance. Contradiction, which once signaled the restless work of an honest mind, is now treated as treachery. In this atmosphere, to admit complexity is to risk mistrust, and even the smallest hesitation is judged as weakness. We are asked, again and again, to define ourselves as though identity were a single stroke, not a layered drawing made across time.

Symbols flourish in such a climate while they reduce complexity into consumable images. Few have proven more enduring than the pill metaphors drawn from The Matrix film. When it appeared in 1999, the scene of choosing between a red pill and a blue pill was a cinematic device, which dramatized the tension between reality and illusion. Its influence grew gradually, as the film became a generational touchstone. Over the decades that followed, the pills slipped into online communities and political rhetoric only to harden into modes of thought that now shape how we imagine truth and the identity of belonging. To take the red pill became a declaration of awakening, access to hidden truths. To take the blue pill was to be mocked for complacency. Eventually the darker black pill emerged into both despair and fatalism embraced as destiny.

Once this logic takes hold, the world itself is reduced to a theater of absolutes. Disagreement becomes disloyalty, and belonging is measured not by shared life but by categorical allegiance. I have felt this even in conversations with people I have known for decades. In one such exchange, I remarked that I was appalled by Noam Chomsky’s recent habit, even in his nineties, of opposing Western hegemony over Russia as though that stance could excuse the war in Ukraine. Yet in another context, I expressed admiration for Chomsky’s earlier work on linguistic relevance in science four decades ago, which continues to illuminate how language shapes knowledge. To my interlocutor, these two statements seemed incompatible, as if they could not both be true. The expectation was that my judgment had to be seamless: either I rejected Chomsky entirely or endorsed him wholly.

Why must one justify such distinctions, as though every judgment were required to form a single line of allegiance? The contexts are not the same—one belongs to the 1980s, another to the present; one to the realm of linguistics, another to geopolitics. Yet in today’s climate, the demand for congruence is relentless. It reflects the pill logic that has seeped into our speech and habits of thought: one is either awake or asleep, aligned or opposed, consistent across every domain or untrustworthy in all.

That same craving for certainty also gave us Infowars—the radio podcast. Founded in 1999, the very year The Matrix was released, it became a commercial theater of the red pill metaphor. Infowars thrived on dramatizing crisis, telling its audience that elites, governments, or hidden forces manipulated events at every turn. What institutions explained as complexity, Infowars simplified into betrayal. The clarity it offered was intoxicating: good versus evil, freedom versus tyranny, awake versus deceived. It was not simply ideas being sold, but certainty itself—packaged with survival kits, supplements, and slogans. In seeking to liberate its audience from illusion, Infowars created a new one, offering not understanding but a permanent performance of awakening.

The narrowing of discourse is not only about politics and ideology, but it also extends to who is permitted to speak. I was reminded of this in a private exchange, where writing itself was dismissed as the work of an “armchair liberal” or a “limousine socialist.” According to this view, only those directly scarred by battle may speak of war, only those who have suffered prejudice firsthand may give voice to injustice, and to write as an observer is to mock the reality of struggle. It is a charge meant to discredit, as though the act of “fighting with a keyboard” were less real than hand combat in a bloodied field. Yet such suspicion denies what writing has always been: a means of bearing witness, of preserving memory, of shaping the conversation through which societies recognize themselves. The pen has never replaced experience, but it has always transformed it into something shareable and durable. To demand firsthand suffering as the sole qualification for speech is to reduce witness to autobiography and to strip dialogue of the breadth that comes when voices join from different vantage points.

Another difficulty lies in language itself. Writers who seek precision—who stretch language to its sharpest edge—often find that what emerges are metaphors. Even when grounded in substantiated terms, description requires figures of thought, images, and analogies that can never be wholly exact. The question is how precise language can ever be. Even the most brilliant minds struggle with definitions, because in their best formulations they remain presumptive theories. To acknowledge this is not to diminish language but to recognize that our dependence on tropes is not weakness but necessity. Story lines and metaphors are the bridges of comprehension, without which complexity would dissolve into noise. To lean on metaphor is not necessarily to abandon truth but to approach it by way of what can be shared.

What began as a film’s conceit has become a method of thinking, and in many ways a prison. The Matrix offered its audience a vision of awakening through choice, but our culture has taken that image and turned it into a grid of loyalties, where every stance is measured by whether one has swallowed the right capsule. Infowars amplified this posture; it dramatized the hunger for certainty until conspiracy became a substitute for thought. Suspicion of the writer’s position narrowed it further while it mocked reflection as inauthentic and demanded that speech bear the scars of direct experience before it could count as legitimate. And beneath it all lies the frailty of language itself: its inability to define with absolute precision, its reliance on metaphors that shape the very realities they describe.

To speak today of red pills, blue pills, or black pills is not only to reference a film or a subculture; it is to acknowledge the grip of a society that prefers binaries to dialogue, antagonism to complexity, performance to reflection. To resist that grip is to remember that thought is not a pill to be swallowed but a conversation to be carried, a conversation sustained in the fragile medium of language itself. However uncertain, however provisional, it is in that ongoing act of speaking and listening that culture remains alive—where friendship can endure, where witness can be honored, and where the truths no single color can contain still find their voice.

*

About the cover image:

Newsprint Series Nº 9, 2006, by Ricardo Morín (47” × 74”): Translucent dyes, ink, white-out, and blotted oil paint on newsprint.

This image belongs to a series that transforms fragments of printed matter into layered fields of color and erasure, this piece speaks to the instability of certainty itself. The pigments veil and expose in turns, while the newsprint beneath reminds us that truth is mediated, provisional, and never free of interpretation. As with language in the essay, meaning emerges only through contrast, through what resists containment.

Annotated Bibliography

  • Cialdini, Robert B. Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion. New York: Harper Business, 2006. (A classic study in behavioral psychology showing how persuasion exploits binary choices and authority cues, useful for understanding the appeal of pill metaphors and the certainty promised by conspiracy movements.)
  • Lakoff, George, and Johnson, Mark: Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003. (A foundational text on metaphor in cognition and language, relevant to the essay’s argument that even the most precise use of language depends on tropes and figurative structures for human comprehension.)
  • Marwick, Alice, and Lewis, Rebecca: Media Manipulation and Disinformation Online. New York: Data & Society Research Institute, 2017. (This analytical report documents how conspiracy narratives spread through online ecosystems; it highlights the role of platforms in amplifying symbolic binaries such as “red pill” awakening.)
  • Pew Research Center: “Public Trust in Government: 1958–2023”. Washington: Pew Research Center, 2023. (Presents longitudinal data on the decay of institutional trust in the United States and offers a data-driven context for why audiences turned to alternative voices such as Infowars.)
  • Southern Poverty Law Center: “Male Supremacy”. Montgomery: SPLC, 2019. (A report classifying the Incel subculture and related groups within the larger “male supremacist ecosystem,” cited in connection to the black pill ideology and its links to violence.)
  • Sunstein, Cass R., and Vermeule, Adrian: Conspiracy Theories and Other Dangerous Ideas. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2014. (This book explores why conspiracy theories flourish and frames them as efforts to create certainty in moments of social disorientation. It is highly relevant to the discussion of Infowars as a commercial theater of the red pill metaphor.)
  • Taguieff, Pierre-André: The New Culture Wars. Paris: CNRS Éditions, 2020. (This book is a political-philosophical treatment of identity politics and binary antagonisms in Western democracies: it offers a perspective on how pill metaphors entered the broader theater of culture wars.)
  • Tversky, Amos, and Kahneman, Daniel: Judgment under Uncertainty: Heuristics and Biases. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. (A landmark in cognitive science explaining why people reduce complex realities into simplified binaries; it anchors the essay’s meditation on the lure of certainty.)

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »

“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.)

Tags:, , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »

“Lines That Divide: …

July 21, 2025

… Rethinking Identity and Belonging in Civic Life”

By Ricardo Morin

July 2025

Ricardo Morin
Silence III
22’ x 30” 
Watercolor, graphite, gesso, acrylic on paper 
2010

Abstract

This essay explores the moral and civic tensions between identity and democratic belonging. While the affirmation of cultural, ethnic, or political identity can offer dignity and solidarity, it can also harden into exclusionary boundaries. The essay argues that liberal democracies must find ways to acknowledge difference without allowing it to erode shared commitments to equal rights, mutual recognition, and the rule of law. Drawing on historical reflection and philosophical insight, it calls for a civic imagination that resists reductionism and makes space for the full complexity of human life.

*

“Lines That Divide: Rethinking Identity and Belonging in Civic Life”

The idea of a people signifies more than shared humanity—it evokes a sense of belonging, shaped by culture, memory, and mutual recognition. At its best, it names the bonds that tie individuals to communities, traditions, and aspirations larger than themselves. Yet when the phrase my people becomes a marker of separation or proprietary ownership over culture, suffering, or truth, it risks reinforcing the very divisions that our civic and legal frameworks aim to overcome. What begins as a declaration of identity can easily become a posture of exclusion. We hear it in moments of pain, pride, or fear: “You wouldn’t understand—you’re not one of us.” Sometimes that is true. But when the language of belonging hardens into a refusal to listen or an excuse not to care, it stops being a refuge and becomes a wall.

Throughout history, group identities—whether national, racial, religious, or political—have served both as sources of solidarity and as instruments of division. While identity offers a means to reclaim dignity and assert visibility in the face of marginalization, it also contains the seeds of separation. The line between affirmation and alienation is perilously thin. The same identity that uplifts a community can harden into a boundary that isolates others. It is a double-edged sword: capable of healing or harming, depending on how it is wielded.

The modern democratic project rests on a delicate balance: it must recognize difference while upholding equality. Liberal democracies are premised on the idea that all individuals, regardless of group affiliation, possess equal rights under the law. It’s a principle taught in early childhood, often before it’s fully understood: the sense that rules should be fair, that being left out or judged before being known feels wrong. That early moral intuition is echoed in constitutional promises, which exist not just to reflect majorities but to protect the dignity of each person, especially when they are in the minority—of belief, background, or circumstance.

The goal is not to erase identity, but to prevent it from becoming the sole axis along which rights, value, or participation are measured. When identity becomes the primary currency of belonging, we risk turning citizenship into a competition of grievances, where recognition is awarded only at the expense of others.

This problem is not abstract. We see it daily in public discourse, where appeals to identity often overshadow appeals to principle. The phrase my people can be used to claim historical injury, moral superiority, or cultural authority—but it can also suggest exclusion, as if others are not part of that moral circle. The danger lies in what is left unsaid: who is not included in my people? Who becomes them?

Such binaries—us versus them—flatten the complexity of human relationships and obscure our mutual dependence. In truth, no community exists in isolation. Our economies, institutions, and ecosystems are inextricably linked. The law is designed to reflect that interdependence by granting rights universally, not tribally. Yet when identity becomes the filter through which justice is demanded or denied, the rule of law suffers. Justice ceases to be blind and becomes instead a servant of factional interests.

This does not mean we should abandon the language of identity. Cultural and historical specificity matter. Erasing them in the name of unity risks another form of injustice: the silencing of lived experiences. The solution is not to reject identity, but to contextualize it—to understand it as one part of a broader human condition, rather than the totality of a person’s worth or moral standing.

To move forward, we must ask a hard question: Can we acknowledge identity without allowing it to calcify into division? Can we affirm cultural or historical differences while building institutions and relationships that are capacious enough to include those unlike ourselves?

Doing so requires more than tolerance. It demands a civic imagination—one that envisions solidarity not as uniformity, but as the commitment to coexist with dignity across lines of difference. It means seeing others not primarily as representatives of a group, but as individuals with rights, needs, and aspirations equal to our own. It means remembering that no one can be fully known by a single trait, history, or belonging—not even ourselves. We each carry contradictions: tenderness alongside prejudice, loyalty tangled with resentment, the need to be seen and the fear of being exposed. To honor our shared humanity is to make space for that complexity—not to excuse harm, but to understand that moral life begins not with certainty, but with humility.

Ultimately, the challenge of our time is not merely to recognize difference, but to live with it constructively. The real test of a pluralistic society is not how loudly it proclaims diversity, but how equitably it distributes belonging. To succeed, we must shift from my people to our people—not as an erasure of identity, but as a deeper, shared commitment to the fragile experiment of coexistence.

*

Annotated Bibliography

Appiah, Kwame Anthony: The Lies That Bind: Rethinking Identity. New York: Liveright, 2018. (Explores how identities such as race, creed, and nation are constructed, sustained, and misused—calling for a more flexible, cosmopolitan ethics.)

Arendt, Hannah: The Human Condition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958. (Analyzes the nature of political life and plurality, grounding civic belonging in the shared space of action and speech rather than fixed identities.)

Benhabib, Seyla: The Claims of Culture: Equality and Diversity in the Global Era. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002. (Defends universal human rights while acknowledging the legitimacy of cultural claims—proposing a model of democratic iterations.)

Fukuyama, Francis: Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resentment. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2018. (Traces the rise of identity politics globally and its impact on democratic institutions, arguing for a re-centering of shared civic values.)

Glazer, Nathan, and Daniel P. Moynihan: Beyond the Melting Pot: The Negroes, Puerto Ricans, Jews, Italians and Irish of New York City. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1963. (Classic sociological study showing how ethnic identities persist across generations and shape urban belonging in complex, often contradictory ways.)

Hooks, Bell: Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics. Boston: South End Press, 1990. (Critiques exclusionary forms of identity politics and calls for forms of solidarity that cross boundaries of race, gender, and class.)

Ignatieff, Michael: Blood and Belonging: Journeys into the New Nationalism. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1994. (Personal and political reflections on nationalism in the post–Cold War era, warning of the moral danger in defining belonging through ancestry.)

Rawls, John: Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. (Presents a theory of justice grounded in overlapping consensus rather than shared identity, advocating for stability in a pluralist society.)

Taylor, Charles: Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition. Edited by Amy Gutmann. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. (Argues that recognition of cultural identity is vital to individual dignity, but must be balanced within a just liberal framework.)

Wiesel, Elie: Nobel Peace Prize Lecture. Oslo: Nobel Foundation, 1986. (A deeply moral reflection on human solidarity, memory, and the responsibility to resist indifference—invoking identity without exclusion.)

Tags:, , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »

“A Table Between Us”

February 16, 2025

*

~

Silent Diptych
by Ricardo Morín
Medium: Oil On Linen
Size: 18 by 28 by 3/4 inches
Year: 2010

~

*

Prologue

Silent Diptych is not an illustration but a resonance—a meditation on silence, not as emptiness, but as a state of receptivity.     It is the space where judgment dissolves, where human connection lingers between words, where meaning is felt rather than spoken.     In its stillness, it holds what remains unresolved.     Some silences are quiet.     Others are filled with history.

RFMT

~

*

Our early dinner followed a matinee of “Parade”, a musical steeped in history, in indignity, in the weight of a life taken and a verdict that still hung unresolved.     At the table, we spoke of Leo Frank, the Jewish man lynched in Georgia a century ago–pardoned decades later but never absolved.     His true killer never pursued.

Three of us were Jewish.     They understood, in ways the rest of us could only acknowledge but never quite embody, the particular pain of being made a scapegoat.     The others sympathized but could not feel the same alienation—not in the marrow, not in the inherited way history imprints itself on some more than others.

It was a conversation of weight, but not of sorrow.     We spoke with the clarity that comes when facts are long settled but their reverberations remain.

Then came the interruption.

The woman at the next table turned to us with a question, her voice cutting easily through our discussion.

“Where are the girls?”

I glanced at my companions, the six of us settled comfortably into the familiarity of one another.

“What girls?” I asked, not unkindly.

She blinked, as if expecting the answer to be self-evident.

“We’re already married to each other,” I said.

She turned away without another word.

There was no need to dwell on it.     The moment was familiar.     A minor encounter, the sort that barely registered after years of knowing exactly how the world could tilt in response to our presence.

To shift the conversation, I said, “Freud might say that all relationships are attempts to resolve unfinished business with our parents.”

Someone smirked. A fork was set down.     A momentary silence, not of discomfort, but of consideration.

“Men with their fathers, women with their mothers,” I continued.

The responses were mixed.     Agreement.     Deflection.     A shift in tone.     Some spoke of failing to meet their fathers’ expectations.     Some spoke of hatred.     Some of detachment.     Some of nothing at all.

I mentioned my father.     His certainty that we, his children, would not know how to survive without him.     He meant economically, of course.     His generation had its own understanding of what it meant to endure.

“How many siblings do you have?” someone asked.

“Five,” I said.     “Including my younger sister, who just passed away.”    A pause.    “She was angelic.”    “Sixty-nine.”        

There was sympathy, warm and immediate.    A moment held just long enough.

And then, as if on cue, the conversation shifted—easily, instinctively.     To theater.     To Tony Awards.     To the life and talent of voices long gone but forever recorded.

At the next table, the woman was laughing now, the moment between us already forgotten on her end.

And we, too, were laughing—at something lighter, something that did not ask to be examined too closely.

The moment stayed, unnoticed, but not forgotten.

~

*

Epilogue

Like the painting, the moment lingered—not demanding resolution, but waiting, quietly, to be understood.   The weight of history, the subtleties of belonging, the pauses in conversation where truth is felt but not spoken.   Silence, in the end, is never empty.   It is the space where everything remains.

~

Ricardo F. Morín Tortolero

February 16, 2025; Oakland Park, Florida

*

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »