Yesterday I wrote about the Iliad and how warriors pause fighting when they recognize shared humanity (see post). I claimed that holding space for the enemy makes me feel most alive. Today, I still believe that—and I want to show you what that practice looks like when the gods are screaming at you to pick a side.

I start with a premise: you and I are made of the same things yet experience the world in unique ways. That’s the foundation—shared humanity, different lives.

The next level is sympathetic vibrations. When someone feels harmed, the people accused of causing that harm often feel harmed too—by the accusation, by the conflict, by their own perceived injustices. The “right” and “wrong” parties create effects on each other that amplify and reinforce. It’s a feedback loop.

The last layer is incentives and tradeoffs. I assume every party acts to maximize their interest. I think about what they’re trading to improve their position, what second and third order effects follow, and what brutal compromises they’re willing to make. I ask people for their thoughts. I try to hold space for all of it.

You might observe that I don’t come to firm conclusions. In a world where gods amplify narratives and every issue becomes a loyalty test, I prefer to stay curious. I’ll hypothesize, but I’m willing to change as I learn more. My refusal to give into certainty — that’s the practice of living (for me).

Here’s an example: trans rights.

First principle:

People for trans rights, against trans rights, and I are made of the same material and live unique lives. We’re the same yet totally different.

Vibrational effects:

Pro trans rights people tend to feel their communities are marginalized, unjustly treated, targeted, vilified, unnatural.

Anti trans rights people tend to feel their words, history, traditions, and basic knowledge of existence are threatened. Their children threatened. They’re victims of culture wars. This is unnatural.

I see harm on both sides and I see how the harms reinforce each other, like strings on a piano vibrating sympathetically. I cultivate empathy for both positions.

Incentives and tradeoffs:

Here are two quotes from people I love who are willing to make brutal tradeoffs to strengthen their positions—metaphorical amputation and actual physical confrontation:

• “A doctor would amputate what’s not serving the system.”
• “I’ll absolutely get in a fight with someone.”

The tradeoffs people are willing to make—cutting out parts of society, physical confrontation—show this isn’t about finding an equilibrium of interests. It’s about winning. Zero sum. And when both sides operate from that frame, cooperation becomes impossible.

I feel the weight of this issue. I know readers will want to place me in one camp or another. And I feel that pull too — the desire to resolve the anxiety by picking a side and letting the tribe do my thinking. But that resolution would be a kind of paralysis. The aliveness is in the resistance — in refusing to let amplified narratives be my conclusions, in embracing the nuance even when it’s uncomfortable.

The very fact that I can doubt, question, and cultivate empathy with both sides of a controversial issue — that I can attempt to understand why people hold positions I might oppose—tells me I’m alive. I’m exercising agency. I’m thinking with my own mind versus letting the gods think for me.

You might say this method doesn’t lead to action in the face of injustice. I argue the opposite. Acting from rage produces escalation. Acting from understanding produces resolution. Because if I rage, I see enemies to defeat; while my understanding sees humans in conflict whose interests might, with effort, be reconciled.

The “Iliad” shows us warriors can fight for their positions while still seeing their opponent as worthy of respect, even friendship. I see that as a kind of strategic empathy resulting from how I see the larger system.

I never intend to tell people what to think or believe. My intent is to show another way of thinking: that beneath the surface of every issue are people trying to live with dignity — even when their visions of dignity clash. People wanting to love and be loved in return.

Seeing that simple shared humanity doesn’t paralyze me. I believe it equips me to act effectively — to respond to what’s actually there: humans in conflict, a system that could move towards cooperation if we stopped treating it as a war for total victory.

This practice — holding space, staying curious, refusing to let the gods do my thinking— costs something. It means living with uncertainty when everyone around me has chosen their camp. It means feeling the anxiety of not knowing what to believe or who to believe or if to believe.

But, I rarely do life the easy way — who chooses a musician life style for the ease. And that discomfort, that lack of ease, is the price of consciousness. It’s maintains my humanity. It’s what makes me feel most alive.

Last modified on 2026-01-27