Gaudot, Ostolski: Only together can we be free

On today’s problems, we can speak in social terms, saying that we have lost ourselves in consumerism, nationalism, and economic growth. But we can also approach them as personal experiences, as separation and disconnection from our family and friends.

With Edouard Gaudot, author of “Les sept piliers de la Cité” (“The Seven Pillars of the City”) and Adam Ostolski, Jamie Kendrick discusses.

“The Seven Pillars of the City” begins with the observation that we live in a world of collapsing beliefs and a lack of deeper sense of purpose. What prompted you to describe the situation, usually seen as an economic, democratic, or ecological crisis, on a deeper, almost spiritual level?

Edouard Gaudot: At some point in life, each of us encounters a crisis that forces us to ask questions and creates a need to rebuild ourselves. Societies also undertake a similar journey. There are many signs that more and more people are not finding a sense of purpose in today’s world, and as a result, it becomes very difficult for us to build anything collectively.

Shared beliefs are falling apart. Some have been destroyed. The loss of meaning in democratic societies, in my opinion, is key to today’s crisis. I see three paths ahead. The first is to rebuild the beliefs that once united us, to return to our roots. The second is to abandon shared meanings – but nihilism is not a good recipe for building community. The third option would be to change the way of thinking that shapes our political practice. And that is exactly what I am calling for.

Adam Ostolski: My interpretation of this book goes in the opposite direction. What most inspires me in what you write, Edouard, is the invitation not to close ourselves in this overwhelming sense of crisis, but to pay more attention to what we already have. Above all, we are alive, which is too easily taken for granted. We live and share this world. And whether we like it or not, we share many spaces within the world. We have friends and things we care about. We can change and do not have to get stuck in our beliefs. We can doubt malfunctioning institutions and be disappointed in them, but even there, there is great potential. Even on a rubble heap, small plants take root and prepare the ground for new species. I interpret your book as a gesture of openness, a search for creative potential in the current situation, however painful it may be.

EG: That is a lesson from “Star Wars”: whenever it seems that darkness has triumphed, a burst of light appears. Whenever you think good has triumphed over evil, there remains a tiny seed of evil that begins to sprout in the darkness.

Deconstruction – in other words, the crisis we are currently experiencing – was necessary for us to reach the end of this experience and, through it, to learn what we are, where we are, and who we are. It is a journey as essential for the individual as it is for the collective.

We can speak of today’s problems in social terms, saying that we have lost ourselves in consumerism, nationalism, and economic growth. But we can also see them as personal experiences, as separation and disconnection from our family and friends. Such experiences can be incredibly enriching, but they are not a foundation for a collective project. I find a lack of reflection on self-experience in all contemporary currents of political thought. Of course, we need politics for the collective, but we cannot ignore how the collective relates to what is personal.

Your book is not a seven-point program or manifesto. What do you mean by “seven pillars”?

EG: Indeed, programs are for computers, not for politics. In my book, I try to redefine the intellectual, political, and spiritual frameworks within which we practice politics. We need change in three areas. It concerns the political relationship we maintain with ourselves, the political relationship with others, and the political relationship with the planet. That is what my “seven pillars” are about.

The first two pillars set the necessary but insufficient conditions for change. The first – the inalienability of life – means we cannot ignore anything that is alive. We need to change our way of seeing the world and our approach to all living beings – not only humans, but also animals, plants, rivers – moving toward an understanding of the biosphere. The second pillar, stemming from the same sources, requires a change in our perception of ownership. We compete for resources as two fleas arguing over which owns the dog. Yet, it is us who truly belong to the Earth, not the other way around. As the Little Prince would say, we should not only use things but also be useful to what we possess.

Once we change these two perspectives, we can move to the core, which is political change. This concerns the third, fourth, and fifth pillars in the book. The third pillar relates to changing the economy. Currently, we are fodder for a machine that has nothing to do with us. Whether we call it capitalism, neoliberalism, or consumerism, this machine takes control of our lives and does not serve us – we serve it. We need an economy oriented toward life. It’s not just about circular economy or reversing economic growth, but about a more fundamental transformation of how we produce everything, from food to waste and back.

The next step is to change our relationship with others. The political form of otherness can only be democracy. This means we need to find ourselves in equal freedom, equal dignity, and mutual recognition, but also to learn to be “free together,” that is, free “with” others rather than free “from” others. I borrow Carl Schmitt’s phrase here, modifying, however, the uncritical distinction between “friend” and “enemy.” Instead of denying this opposition or constantly focusing on the enemy, we should pay more attention to the friend.

The fifth pillar concerns changing our political relationships, not only with other people and the planet but also with ourselves. I see ecology as a spiritual path. Ecology is not only science; it is also more than politics. It involves changing the way we see the world and ourselves, being part of something larger. Opening up to this can resemble a religious or spiritual initiation. You have a revelation and begin to develop your knowledge, experience complexity. Eventually, you come to see the world as a whole, not as something separate – a merging of science and consciousness.

With a different economy, a different democracy, and a new relationship with ourselves and the world, we reach the last two pillars: anarchist governance and planetary consciousness. By anarchist governance, I mean an organization of institutions where we move from hierarchical power structures to relations of a much more horizontal nature. I do not mean that there should be no institutions, but rather a form of order without centralized power, not limited to one city or place. The culmination of all this is the seventh pillar – planetary consciousness. Following Bruno Latour, I end with a vision of Europe, of the European spirit as a project of reconciliation, based on law and cooperation rather than force.

AO: The greatest strength, and also a certain weakness of your approach, is precisely this focus on spirituality. Spirituality can certainly exist without religion. But then it is not sustainable in the long term because it does not generate tradition. And if it builds communities, they are often small sects.

The tension between spirituality and religion as an institution shaping community is as old as religion itself. In individual experience, spirituality can exist without religion, but then it is not politically significant. In this context, it is also worth examining the concepts of heresy and orthodoxy, and the relationship between them. Both heresy and orthodoxy require a community of people who share certain beliefs but do not agree on how to interpret those shared beliefs.

Returning to matters closer to politics, we live in a world of many religions, which is very good. We do not want this to change. Most people, when discovering some form of spirituality, do so within one of many different traditions. So, if we want to translate this spiritual vision into something more practical, we need – with the necessary delicacy – to think about how to initiate and organize political thinking about religion in a way that advances us.

Some time ago, at a sociological conference, I listened to a session on “alternative lifestyles.” Justyna Kajta presented the results of her biographical research on far-right activists in Poland. One of her findings was that the young men she studied declared that they preferred a useful life over a happy life. I thought then: “Wow, I recognize myself in that. I do not share their political views, but my life is also about something more than myself.” We need spirituality not only to discover and master ourselves but also to transcend ourselves. For the same reason, we need traditional organized religions, with their diverse ways of relating to the public sphere and politics.

EG: Historically, far-right movements in their own way try to reintroduce spiritual values into the materialist world. That’s how I interpret “Fight Club” – both the book and the film have a strong fascist undertone. But what gives them that character is neither violence nor the subplot of a paramilitary organization committing sabotage. The main character, Tyler Durden, gives young men a sense of transcending their limitations and breaking out of a life defined by consumerism and fearlessness. The message is deeply fascist and strongly spiritual.

The far right appeals to this longing for something greater than oneself. Besides it, the only current of political thought appealing to the same desire is ecology. That’s why I believe the 21st century will be a confrontation between ecology, which extends far beyond the Green parties, and the far right. The bright and dark sides of our century are the green vision of the world versus the brown one.

Is there not a risk that this interest in oneself and emphasis on spirituality functions as a form of escape? That when we fail to change the world, we sit under a tree and try to start by changing ourselves? Or perhaps, on the contrary, through striving for utopia – through politics that can change the world – we also change ourselves?

EG: It’s not about “me first,” but about “also me.” We should not confuse utopia with idealism. Ideals, even if unreachable, are as much part of politics as of personal development. What changes a person is struggling with difficulties to achieve something – training in sports, learning a language. The effort matters, not the ultimate goal.

I fully agree that self-transformation, if not linked to some collective project, is only self-development. And honestly, it is not that necessary for the world. On the other hand, political projects cannot ignore the individual. To care for others, we must feel good about ourselves. Someone who does not take care of themselves will not help anyone. It’s like the safety procedure on an airplane: put on your oxygen mask first, then help others.

So yes, self-development must be connected to something greater. History shows that collective projects that neglect individuals ultimately turn out to be extremely bad, often totalitarian. We do not want a collection of individuals who disregard society, nor do we want a society convinced that it knows best what is good for everyone.

AO: For me, the starting point for caring for oneself is noticing others and reaching out to them. Self-transformation does not have to start from within; challenges related to the presence of other people, with whom we may share friendship, antipathy, work, desire, or anything else, can be the catalyst.

The same applies to our collective vision of ourselves as a society. In your book, there is a wonderful passage about secularism, where you explain how this concept has become in France a tool of collective self-affirmation rather than the openness it was originally meant to serve. An embodiment of this is Macron’s politics. His speeches on “Islamic separatism” show how French political elites try to solve a range of problems—from national security through education to foreign policy—using legislation concerning religion. There is deep irony in this, as it happens in a state that considers itself a bastion of secularism.

French troubles are an example of a problem faced today by all Western democracies. We are preoccupied with questions about who we really are, what my true name is, how I can enforce it on the world, and what is the correct name for others. Can it be the name of this nation, this gender, or that other label?

This issue stems from the tradition of Abrahamic religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Concern for the true “self” – on both individual and collective levels – as well as how to correctly name others, has now become central to political struggles on the left and right. Monotheistic religions, especially in connection with spirituality, are necessary and helpful in building the democratic public sphere, but they have their limitations. We also need inspiration from non-Abrahamic traditions as a kind of counterpoint that could loosen this rigid attachment to issues of identity.

The book advocates three principles for contemporary politics. First, the preservation, protection, and restoration of natural balance and conditions of life. Second, the expansion of freedom, provided it does not conflict with the first principle. And third, increasing material well-being, provided it does not contradict the first two principles. But people have already deeply disturbed the “natural order of things” in many ways. Should we not rather accept our agency rather than try to rebuild balance in nature?

EG: Some of our greatest achievements are due to our ability to thoughtfully withdraw from interfering with nature. I think of marine reserves or certain national parks, where we allow wild nature to regain balance on its own. Sometimes, the best form of agency regarding nature is to leave it alone – an example of this thinking is the EU’s Nature Restoration Law. That does not mean we should step back from the world, as deep ecology advocates might want. We are part of this creation and this balance. But we must learn how to avoid disturbing the balance in nature, how to respect and sustain it.

We, humans, are organisms, and every organism is essentially an organization of various processes of balance. The current challenge is to re-engage with the world so that we can shape it as organisms rather than manipulate it as all-consuming mechanisms. This requires “agency,” because retreating is not enough. We need to reform ourselves. That is why I believe ecology is a form of spirituality.

So there is room for human action. It involves withdrawing where possible, but also reforming wherever and whenever possible – provided we are not talking about geoengineering or terraforming Earth.

AO: Humans are also part of the ecosystem. For example, we should not think about withdrawing from territories where the balance of nature depends on human presence. In places where indigenous communities are forbidden from controlled forest burning, the result is often mega-fires.

On the other hand, when we give nature more freedom, we can also relax some expectations of society. We know that much can be achieved simply by letting trees grow or leaving space for the unimpeded development of marine ecosystems. An additional benefit is that we do not have to devote so much attention to convincing everyone to go vegan or to stop flying. This means we could reduce pressure on our lifestyles and the restrictions placed on us as individuals and communities.

Of course, our lifestyles require reform. But we can do this more organically if we do not see it as the only solution. Mechanisms can be repaired, but organisms heal. What can be fixed must be fixed. But we also need to create – both for human communities and ecosystems – the space they need for healing.

What would you like the reader to take away from this book?

AO: Political labels are often used as insults. I think that is a mistake. Conservatism is a noble political tradition, offering a valuable perspective on humans and society, but it also has a dark side. The same applies to liberalism, socialism, feminism, or ecology – each of these traditions brings something valuable to our understanding of humans and society and offers wonderful visions of communal life. But each also has its dark side.

Ecological imagination can enrich our thinking about democracy. Ecological thinking about democracy does not mean improving or fixing others, imposing our way of thinking, and forcing acceptance of only the “correct” solutions. On the contrary, it’s about considering how to include these diverse voices in a way that is not harmful to others. This is a major challenge, given the dark side inherent in every political ideology. But it is also an opportunity to build a shared world.

We should not start from what the law says, what is the truth, or what is the right solution. The starting point should be the question of how I can share this world, this state, this European Union, or this city with people who are different from me. Finding balance is, of course, not the same as stability, contrary to some economic models. In nature, balance is always dynamic, constantly changing.

In my opinion, that is the lesson from this book. We can learn from conservatives, liberals, or any other tradition without losing our own compass. This gives us a chance to build a world in which we can live together. For me, that is precisely the essence of ecology in politics.

EG: I would like to invite the reader to reflect on themselves. I think we should always nurture the ability to doubt and deepen our understanding of ourselves. While the dark side of all worldviews reduces us to dogmatism, introspection involves a desire to be better – not only in the sense of functioning better but of being a better living being. For different people, this will mean different things: participating in a mass, meditating, humanitarian activity, or whatever resonates in their soul. It is no coincidence that one of the greatest lessons of Western philosophy remains the ever-relevant “Know thyself.”

Translated from English by Adam Ostolski.