Does Freedom Remain?

In the previous episode, we discovered with the ring of Gyges that the tyrant is not a distant person sitting on a throne, but a small decision we make every day. Every time we remain silent about injustice, we have worn the ring. And Al-Farabi described for us 'The Corrupt City,' where its people know the truth and ignore it, so silence became the most dangerous form of evil. But, as we said at the end of the episode, there is a more dangerous question that imposes itself: if evil creeps in this simply, and if the new tyrants know how to make us obey without feeling, then are we truly free? Imagine that you are in a prison, a prison with no walls and no locks. No guards knocking at the door, no fences separating you from the world. You walk freely in the street, you go wherever you wish, you sit in the café, you talk to your friends, you smile at photos on your phone. And yet, you are a prisoner. Because freedom, as we shall see, is not merely the absence of chains, but the absence of constraints you cannot see. And this type of prison, where the prisoner believes he is free, is the most severe and the most remote from eyes. In the eighteenth century, the English thinker Jeremy Bentham designed a terrifying imaginary building. He called it: the Panopticon, meaning 'sees everything.' Imagine a circular building. At its center is a tower up which a single guard ascends. Around the tower are cells with transparent walls. Every prisoner knows that someone is watching him, but he does not know who. He does not know whether he is under surveillance at this moment or not. And from this constant doubt, the prisoner begins to discipline himself alone. He behaves properly, and corrects his actions with his own hands. And after days, he forgets that there is a guard at all. Good behavior becomes a habit that needs no monitor. And this, exactly, is what happens to us today. Not with a tower or cells, but with algorithms. Do you not write other than what you truly think? Do you not lower your digital voice so as not to provoke the anger of the crowds? Do you not drop a post expressing your conviction, lest friends disown you? You do this not because someone ordered you, but because you sense that someone is watching, even if there is no one there. And this is precisely what Michel Foucault said when he drew inspiration from Bentham's experiment: the strongest power is not the one that punishes, but the one that makes you punish yourself. And if the system can make you discipline yourself, it will not need a jailer to guard you. You are the guard and the prisoner at once. Consider how this connects to Plato's cave that we explored in the second episode. There, the cave dwellers were deceived by the shadows on the walls. And here, we have been deceived by the feeling that we are free. The cave evolved, but it remained. And wherever the image is, the result is one: whoever manufactures what you see possesses more than you suppose. Why Do We Obey Willingly? And here comes a deeper question: Why do we accept these constraints in the first place? Why do we surrender our freedom willingly? The German thinker Erich Fromm answered this question, he himself fled Nazi Germany when he saw the people destroying everything the European mind had built. Fromm wrote a pioneering book he called 'Escape from Freedom', in which he presented a disturbing idea: freedom is painful. Yes, painful. Because it means responsibility. It means choosing, and bearing the burden of your choice. It means facing the world alone, without masks, without a group to hide behind, without a 'we' in which to dissolve your 'I.' And for this reason, Fromm says, many flee from freedom. They flee into obedience, into imitation, into consumption, into everything that relieves them of the weight of being a free individual. Fromm likens this escape to a child clinging to his mother, not only out of love, but out of fear of the world. Consider how Foucault and Fromm connect to Plato and Al-Farabi: the cave dwellers returned to the shadows because the true light pains them. And the people of 'The Corrupt City' remained silent about injustice because confrontation pains them. And we, in the age of Foucault, have come to obey without anyone commanding us. Why? Because obedience is more comfortable. And consumer culture serves comfort on a platter: you need not think, 'just buy.' You need not ask, 'just watch.' You need not analyze, 'just move to the next topic.' Everything is designed to keep you occupied, but not thinking. Comfortable, but not free. How Do We Preserve Our Freedom? So what is the solution? How do we exit this digital Panopticon? I propose to you three steps, but I begin with the most important: First: Say 'no', alone. The small 'no' in the face of the majority is the greatest manifestation of freedom. To refuse a post inciting hatred, 'no.' To refuse a belief that belittles others, 'no.' To stand alone among a large crowd, and say: I do not agree. And this, according to Fromm, is to be truly free: to endure your solitude, for the sake of truth. And this, exactly, is what the cave dwellers of Plato did: the one who left the cave and saw the sun and returned to tell the truth, did not surrender to ease and did not fear isolation. Second: Read with two critical eyes. Do not believe a piece of news because it is widespread. Do not reshare because it is 'trending.' Always ask yourself: Who benefits from this news? Who placed it? And why did they place it now? Three questions, three seconds, rescue you from the bondage of illusion. And this, exactly, is what Ibn Rushd taught us: to use reason to distinguish, not to be among the cave dwellers who surrender to every shadow that passes them by. Third: Accept disagreement with civility. You do not have to agree. You must listen. And listening to an opinion that differs from yours is not weakness, but strength. A mental strength that indicates that your mind is greater than to be broken by a word. And one who can listen to his opponent with respect, and this is the greatest thing a human being carries, is one who never wore the ring of Gyges in the first place. For the owner of the ring of Gyges does not need to hide from eyes, because he is confident that he knows the truth and knows that the truth may be on the other side. Freedom, friends, is not a street you walk freely in. It is an internal battle you wage every day. A battle between being yourselves or being an echo of others. Between thinking with your own minds or being a megaphone on which passersby play. And before we conclude, let me ask you a question that connects everything preceding. If we are asking ourselves about freedom and about evil and about truth, have you ever wondered about the instrument we use to ask: the word? Are the words we speak merely tools with which we describe the world, or are they creators of the world? Do we possess language, or does language possess us? This, and more, is our appointment in the next episode. And before we return to our lives, let the wisdom of this episode settle within you for a moment; for nothing is more powerful than an idea that has taken root in the heart, and nothing more beneficial than a truth that has illuminated a path. If what you have heard has touched your minds, then share it with those you love; for who knows? Perhaps someone is in need of this voice and does not realize it. This was Ahmed Ali, and until we meet again, Insha'Allah.