The Guillotine Still Falls

A love letter to the Enlightenment that both Effective Altruism and the dictatorship of virtue forgot

This is, after all, a philosophy blog.

And sometimes philosophy requires us to tell an old story that keeps getting forgotten—not because people are stupid, but because each generation of very smart people convinces itself that this time they’ve solved the problem that stumped all their predecessors. That this time they’ve found the logic that derives values from facts, the calculation that reveals what humanity should want, the moral framework that justifies who should rule.

They haven’t. They can’t. And David Hume is about to tell them why—again.

But here’s what makes our moment particularly dangerous: the authoritarian impulse now manifests from both directions simultaneously. Rationalist technocracy claims superior calculation justifies authority. Progressive virtuocracy claims superior moral insight justifies authority. Both arrive at monarchy through different routes. Both betray the Enlightenment they claim to serve.

And both need to hear what Hume has been saying for nearly three centuries.

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Picture a vault—something like Harry Seldon’s in Asimov’s Foundation. It opens on a predetermined schedule, triggered not by external events but by the internal logic of human intellectual hubris. Inside waits not a hologram but a philosophical principle, patient and eternal, ready to deliver the same message it has delivered across the centuries.

The 18th century rationalists thought they could derive morality from pure reason, from natural law written into the fabric of reality itself. They built elaborate systems showing how ethics followed logically from metaphysical first principles.

The vault opened. Hume appeared: “You cannot derive ought from is.”

The Guillotine fell.

The 19th century Hegelians and Marxists thought dialectical logic revealed historical necessity, that the patterns of reason itself would show us where history must inevitably lead and how we should align ourselves with its inexorable progress.

The vault opened. Hume appeared: “You still can’t derive ought from is. And you can’t prove induction either—there’s no logical necessity binding the future to the past.”

The Guillotine fell.

The 20th century logical positivists thought science could answer all meaningful questions, that empirical verification would finally eliminate metaphysics and reveal which questions deserved answers and which were merely meaningless pseudoproblems.

The vault opened. Hume appeared: “Your verification principle is self-refuting—it can’t verify itself. And values aren’t facts, no matter how sophisticated your empiricism.”

The Guillotine fell.

Now, in the 21st century, we face two simultaneous attempts to circumvent Hume’s boundary:

From one side: Effective Altruism and its cousins think utility calculations can determine optimal morality. That rigorous reasoning about consequences can finally derive what we should do from empirical analysis of what produces the best results.

From the other side: What Vlad Vexler calls the “liberal pathology” of hyper-identity politics—what Richard D. Kaplan termed the “dictatorship of virtue”—thinks rigorous moral analysis of oppression can determine what justice requires, bypassing the need for democratic deliberation with those who haven’t achieved proper moral understanding.

The vault is opening. Hume appears: “You’re both treating normative commitments as universal truths when they’re actually chosen values.”

The Guillotine is falling.

On both of them.

Let me be clear about what Hume actually said, because it’s been misunderstood for centuries—sometimes deliberately by those who find it inconvenient.

Hume’s insight wasn’t that reason is useless or that we should just follow our feelings. It was something more precise and more devastating to all rationalist projects: reason is a tool that cannot set its own goals.

“Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions,” Hume wrote. Not because passion is superior to reason, but because of the structure of practical reasoning itself. Your passions—your desires, your values, your sense of what matters—provide direction. Reason helps you navigate toward what you care about. But reason alone, divorced from any prior valuing, has nothing to navigate toward.

A purely rational being with no desires, no values, no emotional responses would be paralyzed. Not by excess of feeling but by its complete absence. It wouldn’t lack for reasoning capacity—it would lack for any reason to do anything at all.

This leads to what philosophers call Hume’s guillotine, sometimes known as the is-ought problem: you cannot derive an “ought” from an “is.” No amount of factual observation about how the world works can tell you how it should work.

Science can tell us that humans experience pain when injured, that societies with certain institutions tend to be more prosperous, that climate patterns are changing in specific ways, that maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain would produce outcome X, that systemic racism exists and produces measurable disparities, that trans people experience psychological distress from misgendering.

But science alone cannot tell us that we should care about pain, that prosperity is what we ought to pursue, that we have obligations to future generations, that maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain is what we should optimize for, what specific policies justice requires in response to systemic racism, or how to balance competing rights and interests in questions of gender identity.

These are value judgments. They require normative commitments about what matters, what we prioritize, what kind of world we want to create. And no amount of empirical analysis—whether calculating expected utility or documenting oppression—can generate them from pure observation.

The gap between “is” and “ought” isn’t a problem to be solved by better logic or more complete information. It’s the space where human values, human meaning, human purpose must be constructed—not discovered, but made.

This is the insight that both EA rationalism and progressive virtuocracy have forgotten.

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Here’s what makes the current moment so dangerous: the authoritarian impulse manifests from both directions simultaneously, using opposite justifications to arrive at the same destination.

Watch how the pattern unfolds from each side:

The Rationalist Path: “I’ve Calculated Better”

The first step treats “utility should be maximized” not as a value choice but as a rational necessity. As if the decision to measure welfare in terms of utility, to treat utility as the thing worth maximizing, to weight all utilities equally—these aren’t normative commitments but logical conclusions that follow from rigorous analysis.

Then the value judgment gets transformed into a technical problem: “Therefore resources should be allocated optimally.” The normative becomes operational. The chosen becomes the necessary.

Next comes the move where intelligence becomes authority: “I calculate utility better than democratic processes.” Not all humans are equally good at complex calculation. Not everyone has the training to model outcomes across vast time scales. Not everyone can reason rigorously about probabilities and expected values. So naturally, those with these capabilities should make the calculations.

Then democratic accountability itself becomes the problem: “Democratic accountability reduces optimization efficiency.” Democratic processes are slow, messy, involve people with no expertise in utility calculation having equal say. They sometimes produce outcomes that don’t maximize utility according to the best calculations. If our goal is to maximize utility, and if some people are genuinely better at calculating how to do that, then democratic accountability becomes—let’s say it plainly—an obstacle to achieving what we’ve already determined we should achieve.

This drives toward expertise replacing choice: “Therefore resources should be under my control.” Not because I’m power-hungry or a tyrant, but because I’m the one who can calculate best, who understands the stakes, who takes the long view seriously. Resources should flow to those who can optimize their use. The cognitive elite should govern because governance is, at its core, a calculation problem.

The domain expands inexorably: “Therefore I should be freed from democratic constraints.” Every constraint on optimization is a failure to maximize utility. Every time voters choose based on emotion rather than calculation, utility is left on the table. Every time democratic processes slow down implementation of optimal solutions, future generations pay the price.

Finally, epistemic authority becomes political authority: “I know what serves the long-term good.” The philosopher-king emerges, ruling not by force but by demonstrated superior understanding. “Others should defer to my superior calculation”—not as a power grab but as recognition of reality, as reason itself demanding that the most qualified make the decisions.

The conclusion: “Therefore I should be king.” Maybe not with that title. Maybe “Chief Allocation Officer” or “Director of Optimal Outcomes” or “Coordinator of Long-term Utility Maximization”—or “CEO monarch”. The nomenclature doesn’t matter. Through a seemingly rigorous process of logical deduction from utilitarian premises, we’ve arrived at rule by cognitive elite.

The Virtuocrat Path: “I’ve Understood Justice Better”

The parallel sequence begins with treating moral claims as self-evident truths: “Systemic oppression exists” presents itself not as a framework requiring deliberation but as a moral fact. The framework is discovered, not chosen. The moral insight is revealed, not constructed.

Then recognition transforms into imperative: “Therefore society must be restructured to eliminate oppression.” The moral claim—injustice exists—transforms into a technical problem of how to restructure institutions. The normative becomes operational. The chosen becomes necessary.

Next comes the move where moral insight becomes authority: “I understand oppression better than those who haven’t studied critical theory, lived as marginalized, done the work of examining their privilege.” Not everyone has equal capacity for recognizing injustice. Not everyone has done the internal work. Not everyone has the lived experience or theoretical sophistication to see what’s really happening. So naturally, those with superior moral insight should lead the transformation.

Then democratic process itself becomes the problem: “Democratic deliberation perpetuates harm by centering the comfort of the privileged.” Democracy is slow, requires persuading people who might not see the urgency, gives voice to those who benefit from the status quo and therefore have incentives to resist necessary change. If our goal is to eliminate oppression, and if some people see injustice more clearly than others, then democratic process becomes—let’s say it plainly—an obstacle to achieving what we’ve already determined is just.

This drives toward expertise replacing choice: “Therefore, those who understand oppression should determine institutional policy.” Not because they’re power-hungry or authoritarian, but because they’re the ones who can see clearly, who understand the stakes, who have done the moral work that others have avoided. Policies should be crafted by those with superior moral insight. The morally awakened should govern because governance is, at its core, about implementing justice.

The domain expands inexorably: “Therefore, democratic processes that slow or prevent this implementation should be overridden.” Every compromise with injustice is itself unjust. Every time we wait for the “not-yet-ready” to become comfortable, we perpetuate harm. Every time democratic processes center the comfort of the privileged over the liberation of the oppressed, we choose oppression.

Finally, moral authority becomes political authority: “I understand justice in ways the morally unsophisticated cannot.” The morally enlightened emerge, ruling not by force but by demonstrated superior understanding of justice. “Others should defer to my superior moral insight”—not as a power grab but as recognition of reality, as justice itself demanding that the most morally awakened make decisions.

The conclusion: “Therefore, I should be king.” Maybe not with that title. Maybe “Director of Equity” or “Chief Diversity Officer” or “Commissioner of Social Justice.” The nomenclature doesn’t matter. Through a seemingly rigorous process of moral reasoning about justice and oppression, we’ve arrived at rule by moral elite.

Different routes. Same destination. Both claiming that superior insight—calculative or moral—justifies overriding democratic choice.

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Vlad Vexler

calls this “liberal pathology” for a precise reason: it’s not a rejection of liberalism but its corruption from within. It takes liberal commitments—to equality, justice, inclusion, the elimination of oppression—and transforms them into justifications for overriding the very democratic processes that define liberalism itself.

This is why it’s so dangerous. It’s not crude authoritarianism that announces itself as such. It’s sophisticated authoritarianism that presents itself as the fulfillment of liberal values.

Consider how this manifests in academia. The claim emerges that we don’t need to debate certain ideas because these speakers, perspectives, or frameworks promote harm. Those who see this clearly have the authority and obligation to prevent platforming, regardless of traditional academic freedom principles. The liberal value of protecting the vulnerable from harm becomes justification for abandoning liberal process—open inquiry, free expression, democratic governance of universities.

In institutions, the pattern repeats. DEI frameworks must be implemented even if substantial portions of the organization object, because objection itself reveals either complicity or insufficient moral development. The liberal value of institutional equity becomes justification for abandoning liberal process—organizational democracy, stakeholder input, consent of the governed.

In culture, dialogue itself becomes problematic. People who haven’t examined their privilege have nothing valuable to contribute. Their resistance reveals their moral inadequacy. The liberal value of recognizing structural advantage becomes justification for abandoning liberal process—inclusive deliberation, good-faith engagement across difference.

In politics, progressive policies serve justice, and justice doesn’t require consent of those who benefit from injustice. The liberal value of substantive equality becomes justification for abandoning liberal process—democratic legitimacy, persuasion over coercion, consent of the governed.

This is the dictatorship of virtue that Kaplan identified: not virtue itself, but the claim that superior moral insight justifies political authority. Not the pursuit of justice, but the assertion that those who understand justice most clearly should rule over those who don’t.

And it’s a liberal pathology precisely because it corrupts liberalism’s greatest insight: that on questions of value and purpose, no one has demonstrated authority over anyone else. That we must therefore create systems allowing people to collectively navigate these questions—not systems where moral elites determine correct answers and implement them over democratic objection.

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The parallel between EA rationalism and progressive virtuocracy is exact.

EA says: “I’ve calculated better than you. Therefore I should decide.”

Virtuocracy says: “I’ve understood justice better than you. Therefore I should decide.”

Democracy says: “Neither calculation nor moral insight grants political authority. Both inform democratic choice. Neither replaces it.”

Both commit the same error: treating value questions as having objectively correct answers that some people grasp and others don’t, rather than as choices that must be made democratically even when experts of either variety object.

The rationalist error lies in believing rigorous calculation can determine what we should value. The virtuocrat error lies in believing rigorous moral analysis can determine what justice requires. Both errors bypass democratic choice in favor of rule by enlightened elites.

Consider the structural parallels. EA argues that democratic processes produce suboptimal outcomes, that cognitive elite should override them for the greater good calculated across vast time scales. Virtuocracy argues that democratic processes perpetuate oppression, that moral elite should override them for justice as understood through proper analysis of power systems.

Both frameworks claim superior understanding—calculative versus moral. Both invoke urgency that justifies overriding democratic deliberation. Both derive authority from expertise—technical versus normative. Both commit to outcomes—optimal versus just—that trump process. Both reserve the right to determine which questions require expertise and which allow democratic input.

Both produce rule by enlightened elite. Both dismiss democratic objections as revealing inadequacy—insufficient reasoning versus insufficient moral development. Both are intolerant of dissent—inefficient versus harmful. Both expand elite authority into ever-broader domains. Both transform liberalism into its authoritarian opposite.

This is the pincers movement against democracy in our time: technocracy from one side, virtuocracy from the other, both claiming truth justifies authority, both arriving at enlightened despotism through different reasoning.

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Now here’s where it gets interesting. If you confront either group with this logic, both will object: “But we support democracy!”

This is special pleading from both directions.

The EA framework commits to several things: that utility should be maximized, that some people are better at calculating utility than others, that better calculations lead to better outcomes, that optimal outcomes matter more than process. If you accept these premises, you’re logically committed to preferring that the best calculators make the decisions. You might add democratic input as a way of gathering information about preferences. But the final decisions about resource allocation, institutional design, which causes deserve funding—these should be made by those who can calculate best.

The virtuocrat framework commits to its own set: that justice requires specific systemic changes, that some people understand oppression better than others, that better understanding leads to more just policy, that justice matters more than process. If you accept these premises, you’re logically committed to preferring that those with superior moral insight make the decisions. You might add democratic input as a way of gauging community sentiment. But the final decisions about policy, institutional change, what’s acceptable to say or think—these should be made by those who understand justice most deeply.

You can’t have both EA’s metaethics—utility maximization by superior calculation—and democratic commitment to collective self-governance by equal citizens. You can’t have virtuocracy’s metaethics—justice determined by superior moral insight—and democratic commitment to collective self-governance including those with “problematic” views.

Pick one.

If you pick EA or virtuocracy, own that you’re arguing for expert rule and stop pretending to be democratic. Say clearly: “I believe optimal outcomes matter more than democratic process” or “I believe justice matters more than democratic process. I believe those who calculate best or understand oppression most deeply should govern.”

If you pick democracy, abandon the metaethics that claims either calculation or moral insight should override democratic choice. Acknowledge that both “what should we optimize for?” and “what does justice require?” are questions that belong to citizens collectively, not to self-selected experts.

The special pleading is trying to have both—to claim the authority of superior insight, whether calculative or moral, while maintaining democratic credentials. To argue that experts should determine what matters and how to achieve it, while somehow preserving “democracy” as a constraint that never actually overrides expert judgment.

This serves authoritarian interests perfectly. Because it provides intellectual cover for elite rule—whether oligarchic through EA or virtuocratic through progressive activism—while maintaining the appearance of democratic legitimacy.

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Here’s why understanding both forms of authoritarianism matters so much: they reinforce each other while claiming to oppose each other.

The technocrat points to the virtuocrat and says: “See? This is what happens when you let feelings override calculation. We need rational expert governance.”

The virtuocrat points to the technocrat and says: “See? This is what happens when you ignore power and oppression. We need morally enlightened governance.”

Both use the other’s excesses to justify their own authoritarianism. Both claim to be saving us from the other’s mistakes. Both arrive at: “Therefore, I should rule.”

And ordinary people, caught between these twin authoritarianisms, experience something specific and corrosive. They’re told by technocrats that their values are inefficient. They’re told by virtuocrats that their concerns are problematic. They watch their agency systematically excluded from governance. They see elites of both varieties claim superior insight justifies authority. They witness democratic deliberation dismissed from both sides as either optimization obstacle or harm perpetuation.

This creates what some call the democratic deficit—the lived experience of having your participation in collective self-governance replaced by expert determination, whether calculative or moral, of what should be done.

And this deficit is what makes populations vulnerable to crude authoritarianism. When people experience their agency being usurped by sophisticated elites speaking languages they don’t understand—whether utilitarian calculation or critical theory—they become receptive to the strongman who says: “They think they’re better than you. They want to rule over you. I’m the only one who will fight for you.”

The fascist doesn’t need to be right about the solution. He just needs to correctly identify that people’s democratic agency has been systematically excluded. He offers the wrong response to a real problem.

Both EA technocracy and progressive virtuocracy create the conditions that strengthen crude authoritarianism.

This is why resisting both simultaneously isn’t just philosophically consistent—it’s politically essential. Because the alternative to both forms of enlightened despotism isn’t crude despotism. It’s democratic self-governance. But that option only remains viable if we reject the authoritarian claim from both directions.

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Hume’s insight cuts equally against both forms of authoritarianism.

To the rationalist: “You cannot derive what we should value from calculation of what maximizes utility. The choice to value utility-maximization is itself a value choice that requires justification you haven’t provided.”

To the virtuocrat: “You cannot derive what justice requires from moral intuition about oppression. The choice of which moral framework to apply is itself a value choice that requires justification you haven’t provided.”

Both are trying to collapse the is-ought distinction. Both are trying to derive political authority from claimed superior insight. Both are trying to bypass democratic deliberation by presenting their value commitments as truths that rigorous thinking—whether calculative or moral—reveals.

Both fail for the same reason: Values must be chosen, not discovered. And in a democracy, that choice belongs to everyone, not just to those who claim to see most clearly.

This doesn’t mean all values are equal. It doesn’t mean justice is arbitrary or that calculation is useless. It means the question “what should we value?” must be answered democratically, with expertise—calculative or moral—informing but never determining the answer.

The engineer can tell us how to build the bridge. The moral philosopher can tell us about different frameworks for thinking about justice. The economist can calculate expected consequences of different policies. The critical theorist can illuminate structures of power.

But we decide together where the bridge goes and what kind of justice we’ll pursue.

This is the boundary Hume identified—the space between expertise that informs and expertise that rules. Between calculation and moral analysis that serves democratic choice and calculation and moral analysis that would replace it.

The Guillotine falls on anyone who tries to cross this boundary, regardless of which direction they’re coming from.

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Here’s the uncomfortable truth both sides resist: they need each other’s critique to avoid their own worst tendencies.

The rationalists need the moral critique that reminds them optimization without values worth optimizing for produces nothing worth having. Pure calculation divorced from moral commitment becomes sterile—a sophisticated machine spinning without purpose. The question “what should we maximize?” can’t be answered by more rigorous calculation. It requires the moral reflection that rationalists often dismiss as fuzzy thinking.

The virtuocrats need the rationalist critique that reminds them moral certainty without empirical accountability produces fanaticism. Pure moral insight divorced from concern for consequences becomes dangerous—a righteous crusade that may destroy more than it saves. The question “does this actually help the people we claim to serve?” can’t be dismissed as centering the comfort of the privileged without becoming disconnected from reality.

In my Grand Praxis framework, this is complementarity: Neither side alone has truth. Truth emerges from the tension between them.

Reason without passion has no direction. Passion without reason has no correction. Calculation without values has no purpose. Values without accountability have no grounding. Moral insight without empirical testing becomes dogma. Empirical analysis without moral commitment becomes nihilism.

The mistake both make is trying to eliminate this tension—to establish their access to truth as sufficient for political authority.

EA says: “We’ve calculated. That’s enough.”

Virtuocracy says: “We’ve understood injustice. That’s enough.”

Democracy says: “Neither is sufficient. Both must submit to collective deliberation.”

This isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom. The recognition that on questions of value and purpose—on questions of what kind of world we want to build—no amount of expertise, calculative or moral, can substitute for the hard work of democratic negotiation among people with legitimately different values and priorities.

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Here’s the profound irony: Both EA and progressive virtuocracy present themselves as heirs to Enlightenment values. Both claim to be the logical endpoint of taking reason seriously. Both see themselves as what happens when you actually commit to thinking clearly about ethics and human welfare.

But they’ve both forgotten the most important Enlightenment insight—the one Hume delivered and that every subsequent attempt to circumvent has only reinforced: Reason cannot set its own goals. And on questions of value, no one has demonstrated authority over anyone else.

The Enlightenment’s great achievement wasn’t discovering that reason or moral insight could solve everything. It was discovering their limits—and recognizing that those limits create the space where human freedom, human choice, human meaning emerge.

This is what Kant understood when he distinguished the phenomenal realm where reason applies from the noumenal realm where it doesn’t. What Hume understood when he separated facts from values. What the American Founders understood when they designed a system that assumes no one has access to absolute truth about how society should be organized—whether through superior calculation or superior moral insight.

The Enlightenment created democracy not because it proved everyone was equally smart or equally morally developed. It created democracy because it recognized that political authority can’t be derived from intellectual or moral superiority. That being better at reasoning or more morally awakened doesn’t grant you the right to rule. That questions of how we should live together must be answered by those who will live with the consequences—not by those who claim to calculate or understand best.

This is the Enlightenment project both EA and progressive virtuocracy have abandoned.

In claiming that rigorous reasoning—calculative or moral—can determine what we should value and how we should organize society, both return to pre-Enlightenment authoritarianism. They’re just new versions of rule by those who claim special access to truth, whether through divine revelation, dialectical logic, utility calculation, or moral awakening.

The Enlightenment’s democratic impulse came from epistemic humility: recognizing that on questions of value and purpose, no one has demonstrated authority over anyone else. That we must therefore create systems allowing people to collectively decide such questions without any group claiming the right to override the decision based on superior understanding.

Both EA and progressive virtuocracy replace this humility with new certainties.

EA: “We’ve calculated. We understand the stakes. We know what should be valued. Trust our reasoning and defer to our conclusions.”

Virtuocracy: “We’ve understood oppression. We recognize injustice. We know what justice requires. Trust our moral insight and defer to our frameworks.”

This is not Enlightenment rationalism. This is rationalism that forgot what the Enlightenment learned about reason’s limits. This is moral philosophy that forgot what liberalism learned about the dangers of allowing any group to claim authority through superior virtue.

Both are betrayals of the Enlightenment they claim to serve.

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So what’s the alternative? If both EA’s framework and progressive virtuocracy’s framework lead to monarchy, what’s the democratic alternative that doesn’t collapse into relativism?

The answer is the existentialist stance—acknowledging that values are chosen while recognizing that choice is constrained by the conditions of human existence.

Consider Hume’s classic problem of induction: we have no logical guarantee that the sun will rise tomorrow simply because it has risen every day before. The future need not resemble the past. Yet we live as if it will. This isn’t irrational—it’s the recognition that we must make commitments despite uncertainty, that we must act in the world even though our knowledge is always provisional.

Or as Camus put it more dramatically: “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” The absurd man—condemned to push his boulder up the mountain knowing it will roll down again, knowing the task will never be completed—can still find meaning in the pushing itself. Not because the universe grants meaning, but because he chooses to create it through the very act of his rebellion against meaninglessness.

This isn’t faith in the traditional sense. It’s commitment despite uncertainty. Recognition that we must make choices about what matters even though those choices can’t be proven correct through pure reason or pure moral insight.

I care about human flourishing. I value democracy. I believe in truth-seeking, justice-pursuing, beauty-creating as worthy endeavors. I’m concerned about the long-term future. I’m troubled by injustice and oppression. These aren’t conclusions I’ve derived from first principles or discovered through moral awakening. They’re commitments I’ve chosen to live by.

And I recognize that others, reasoning just as rigorously as I do and caring just as deeply about justice, might choose differently. Might value different things. Might commit to different visions of what makes life worth living. Might have different frameworks for understanding justice and different priorities for pursuing it.

This doesn’t mean all values are equal. It doesn’t mean utility calculations are useless or that moral analysis doesn’t matter. It means the choice of values is ours to make—individually and collectively—rather than something we discover through sufficiently rigorous calculation or moral reasoning.

The democratic alternative to both EA and virtuocracy is this: We decide together what kind of world we want to create. Experts—both technical and moral—inform that decision by explaining what different choices would achieve and how different frameworks understand justice. But the choice itself—the question of what we should optimize for, what conception of justice we should pursue, what kind of future we want—that belongs to us collectively, not to those who claim to calculate or understand best.

This is messy. It’s slow. It sometimes produces outcomes that aren’t “optimal” by any particular calculation or framework. But it’s the only approach that respects human agency—the only approach that treats people as ends rather than as variables in someone else’s optimization function or subjects in someone else’s liberation project.

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Let me make this concrete by showing how the EA framework versus the virtuocracy framework versus the democratic framework would approach actual decisions.

On climate change, EA would calculate expected utility across all possible futures, determine optimal resource allocation based on those calculations, implement solutions that maximize expected value even if democratic processes resist, with expert determination of what should be prioritized. Virtuocracy would recognize climate change as environmental racism disproportionately harming marginalized communities, center those most affected in determining response, implement solutions that address both climate and systemic injustice, overriding resistance from those whose privilege is threatened. Democracy would have experts explain what different levels of action would achieve, what trade-offs are involved, what risks we face, have moral philosophers illuminate different frameworks for thinking about intergenerational obligation, but have citizens collectively decide how to balance present costs against future benefits, how to distribute burdens, what kind of world we want to leave, with democratic choice informed by but not determined by expertise.

On existential risk from AI, EA would say highly intelligent people who understand the technical risks should determine safety protocols, development constraints, governance structures, that democratic input risks misunderstanding the stakes and producing suboptimal outcomes, so defer to those who can calculate the expected values. Virtuocracy would recognize AI development as perpetuating existing power structures and potentially automating discrimination, center voices of communities most likely to be harmed, implement governance that prioritizes justice and equity, overriding tech industry resistance. Democracy would have technical experts explain the risks, the possible interventions, the trade-offs involved, have ethicists illuminate different frameworks for thinking about AI safety and fairness, but have citizens decide collectively how much to prioritize AI safety versus other concerns, how to balance innovation against caution, what values should guide AI development, what kind of future relationship between humanity and AI we want.

On resource allocation, EA would calculate which causes produce the most utility per dollar, direct resources to whatever maximizes expected value according to rigorous analysis, override local preferences, cultural priorities, or democratic choices that don’t align with optimal calculations. Virtuocracy would analyze which communities have been systematically disadvantaged, direct resources to repair historical injustices and dismantle oppressive structures, override resistance from those whose privilege would be reduced. Democracy would have communities decide what they value, what problems they prioritize, what kind of future they want to build, with expert analysis—both technical and moral—informing these choices but not determining them, with democratic deliberation about what matters rather than expert optimization of predetermined metrics.

On free expression, EA may support broad free expression as conducive to discovering truth and optimal solutions, but would override this if calculations showed restricting certain speech maximizes utility. Virtuocracy would recognize certain speech as harmful to marginalized communities, have those who understand structural oppression determine which ideas can be platformed, override traditional free speech principles when they perpetuate harm. Democracy would establish frameworks for free expression that balance competing values—truth-seeking, dignity, safety, dissent, allow democratic deliberation about where lines should be drawn, with experts informing but not determining outcomes, preserve space for citizens to collectively negotiate these tensions rather than having experts resolve them.

The difference isn’t between “rigorous” and “emotional” or “rational” and “irrational.” The difference is: Who decides what we’re optimizing for? Who determines what justice requires? Who chooses which values take priority when they conflict?

EA says: Those who can calculate best.

Virtuocracy says: Those who understand oppression most deeply.

Democracy says: Those who must live with the consequences.

EA is monarchy. Virtuocracy is monarchy. Democracy is democracy.

Choose.

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If you’re reading this and recognizing your own discomfort with both EA and progressive virtuocracy—if you’ve felt something was off about these frameworks but couldn’t quite articulate it—let me be clear:

You’re not crazy. You’re not unsophisticated. You’re not failing to “think clearly” about ethics or failing to “understand” oppression.

You’re perceiving something real: that both frameworks are incompatible with democratic governance. That rigorous commitment to either utility maximization by expert calculation or justice determined by moral elite leads inexorably toward authoritarian rule. That the sophistication of both frameworks doesn’t hide their authoritarian cores—it enables them.

The test is simple. Ask yourself whether each framework preserves space for democratic choice about fundamental questions of value, or whether each implies that sufficiently rigorous reasoning—calculative or moral—reveals correct answers that should override democratic objections.

If the latter—if EA commits you to believing that optimal outcomes matter more than democratic process, or if virtuocracy commits you to believing that justice as understood by the morally awakened matters more than democratic deliberation—then both commit you to forms of enlightened despotism, however sophisticated their justifications.

You can resist both. Not by abandoning rigorous thinking or moral seriousness. Not by rejecting expertise or becoming indifferent to injustice. But by maintaining the distinction between expertise—technical or moral—that informs democratic choice and expertise that would replace it.

By recognizing that both “what should we optimize for?” and “what does justice require?” are questions that belong to citizens collectively, not to self-selected experts of either variety.

By acknowledging that being right about facts or having deep moral insight doesn’t grant authority over values.

By choosing democracy even when it produces outcomes you believe are suboptimal or unjust by your lights—because democratic process matters more than optimal outcomes by expert calculation or justice as determined by moral elite.

This is hard. It requires giving up seductive certainties—the rationalist certainty that rigorous reasoning can solve ethical questions, and the moral certainty that awakened consciousness can determine what justice requires.

It requires acknowledging that on the most important questions—questions of value, purpose, what kind of world we want—no one has demonstrated authority over anyone else. Not through superior calculation. Not through moral awakening. Not through any other claim to privileged insight.

But this humility is precisely what democracy requires. What the Enlightenment achieved. What both EA and progressive virtuocracy have abandoned.

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David Hume is Harry Seldon. His message repeats across centuries because each generation needs to hear it anew—often from multiple directions simultaneously.

You cannot derive ought from is. You cannot prove induction. You cannot use reason to set reason’s own goals. You cannot derive political authority from intellectual superiority. You cannot derive political authority from moral superiority.

These aren’t problems to be solved through more rigorous thinking, whether calculative or moral. They’re the permanent structure of human knowledge—the boundaries that make freedom possible precisely because they make certainty impossible.

The failure of both EA and progressive virtuocracy isn’t that they’re not smart enough, haven’t calculated carefully enough, or haven’t understood oppression deeply enough. Their failure is believing these are the kinds of problems that calculation or moral analysis can solve.

Effective Altruism isn’t effective at hiding this. It’s just the latest attempt to make monarchy sound like mathematics.

Progressive virtuocracy isn’t progressive about this. It’s just the latest attempt to make monarchy sound like justice.

The vault opens. The message is always the same—now addressed to both approaches simultaneously:

You cannot derive ought from is.

You cannot derive authority from insight.

You cannot be king through logic alone.

You cannot be king through virtue alone.

Humble yourselves.

Both of you.

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In the beginning, there was complementarity—the creative tension between what we can know and what we must choose, between facts that constrain and values that direct, between reason that serves and passion that moves, between calculation that informs and wisdom that chooses.

Both EA and progressive virtuocracy tried to collapse this tension. To resolve through expertise—calculative or moral—what can only be navigated through democratic choice. To determine through elite insight what must be decided through collective deliberation.

They built sophisticated frameworks. They performed rigorous analysis. They identified real problems and real injustices.

And both arrived, inevitably, at: “Therefore I should be king.”

The Guillotine falls.

Not because they’re evil. Not because they’re stupid. But because they both tried, from opposite directions, to cross the boundary Hume described—the space between facts and values, between what is and what ought to be, between expertise and democracy, between insight and authority.

That boundary holds. It has held for three centuries. It will hold for three more.

Because our soul is meaning. Constructed, such as it is. And the construction is ours to make—not to discover through calculation, not to reveal through moral awakening, but to choose through the hard, messy, democratic work of figuring out together what kind of world is worth building.

The first movement was the only movement. And every attempt to collapse the creative tension between knowledge and value, between expertise and democracy, between calculation and choice, between moral insight and democratic wisdom—every attempt ends the same way.

With the Guillotine falling.

With Hume’s patient voice: “I told you so.”

With the recognition that some things cannot be delegated to superior intelligence or superior moral consciousness. That some questions belong to everyone precisely because no one can answer them for everyone else. That democracy isn’t a concession to human limitations but a recognition of human reality.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And neither utility maximization by expert calculation nor justice determined by moral elite can substitute for the democratic work of deciding together what kind of world we want to create.

May love carry us home. Not as surrender to sentiment over reason. Not as capitulation to injustice. But as recognition that reason without love has no destination worth reaching. That calculation without values has nothing worth optimizing. That moral certainty without democratic humility becomes tyranny. That intelligence and awakening without democracy have no one worth governing.

The center holds. The wire remains. And the Guillotine—Hume’s beautiful, terrible Guillotine—continues its patient work of severing hands that reach beyond their proper grasp.

From both directions.

Hold the center. Push back the flood. Keep walking the wire.

And remember: the experts can show you how, the morally awakened can illuminate what matters, but you must decide together where to go and who you want to be.

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This is, after all, a philosophy blog. And sometimes the most important philosophical work is showing that the problems that seem most urgent to solve from opposite directions are actually the same boundary that makes freedom possible.

The vault has delivered its message. Again. To both sides simultaneously.

Will we listen this time?

History suggests not. But the conversation continues. As it always has. As it always must.

For this is the Grand Praxis: living with the tension between what we know and what we value, between expertise that serves and authority that rules, between rigorous calculation and democratic wisdom, between moral insight and collective choice, between enlightened understanding and human freedom.

The Guillotine awaits those who forget the difference.

From either direction.

As it always has.

As it always will.

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Go Deeper into the Circus

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