The Anthill

A man woke to find himself in a room, slumped against the middle of the wall. He knew that he should have some memory about how he got there, that he should have memories at all, but he couldn’t seem to bring any to mind. When he tried to recall, he only felt a sense of sending queries into the empty depths of his mind, with not a trace of response, residue, or reflection. It was as if he had been hollowed out. 

With his slow recognition that he wouldn’t be able to recall anything about his history, his distress was replaced by an interest in the room in his surroundings. On a table in the center of the room there sat a rotary phone. Although unaware of the current year or era from whence the phone came, he had the sense that it originated from a bygone era. Where he expected to find concrete information about the world around him were vague feelings, intuitions. 

Behind the phone there was a window with the shades drawn down, sunlight peaking between the blinds. The man felt a sense of panic rise within him when he thought of what he might find if he opened the blinds. He put this thought out of his mind and continued to explore the room with his eyes.

In a corner across from him he saw a small pile of dirt. 

The man had not yet dared to move anything but his eyes. He felt some need to collect his thoughts before he made any movement. But what was there to collect? Without his past, all he had was some small understanding about the objects in the room with him, the barest facts about them. The phone could be used to call people, and people could call him. He shuddered at the thought. 

The man sat for what felt like hours, thinking the same thoughts until they began to drive him mad. That’s it, he thought, I can’t just keep sitting here, or I’ll lose what precious little mind I have. So he stood up, half expecting the world to come crashing down around him as he raised himself up. He was surprised how good it felt to be on his feet, his body sighing of relief after his period of immobility. 

Now what? he thought. What else was there to do but take a closer look at the anthill? His thoughts of the phone produced an anxiousness within him–would someone be calling him? Was someone impatiently waiting for his call? There was no way he would dare approach the window.

As he knelt down next to the anthill, he was surprised to notice that it really was an anthill. How did these ants find their way into such an empty, sterile room? With nothing else in the room with which to busy himself, he decided to lay on his stomach and observe them as they went about their work. 

The first thing the man noticed was that the ants don’t stray far from the hill. They only moved around near the entrance to the structure, entering and exiting but never leaving the mound of sand that makes up their small palace. Wow! They seem to have such a strong sense of themselves, as if they had been assigned their tasks by some divine being, some ant in the sky. The contrast between the man’s and ant’s position felt to the man quite stark. The recognition of this fact caused the man’s feelings of solitude and emptiness to swell. The ants have no awareness, no care about the man hovering above them. He sensed they had no regard for his internal state, nor the admiration he had for them. The man imagined that even if they had, it wouldn’t have made any difference to them. They’d have laughed it off as some inane observation of an obvious fact; Yes, we have a clear sense of our task and purpose, but this is no great wisdom. Now, let’s get back to work.

Eventually, the man decided that maybe he could satisfy himself with the work of the ants, the lack of viable alternatives leaving him little choice. Putting himself to work would help him put the phone, the window, and his general sense of hollowness out of mind. So he began to pick up the tiny stones as soon as the ants left the entrance of the hill and place them in whatever position he thought best, inspired by the work he had been watching them do over his hours of observation. The ants were perpetually confused by this theft of their burden, but with nothing to carry, they quickly returned to their dwelling to find a new one to move. 

The man noticed that the speed of construction was much increased thanks to his help, as the ants had less distance to travel, and the time that he saved them added up across hundreds of trips. He would sit in the corner of the room whenever the room got dark, as bereft of sleep as the ants. He often wished he could continue working, but there was not enough light to see what he was doing and he was afraid he might crush one of the ants by mistake.

But after days of this routine, he became tired. He realized that as much as he wished he could, he could never operate with the single-minded focus that the ants exhibited. As much as he would try to remind himself to focus on his task, his fellow workers serving as his ideal, his mind would inevitably find itself drifting to other things. And with no memories of his past, there was very little for his mind to drift to but the phone, the window, and the man’s place in all of this. He started to worry that maybe he had some purpose just like the ants, but that, unlike them, he failed to recognize and follow through with it. 

What else could he be meant to do? He was worried it had something to do with the phone, that there was someone on the other end of the line disappointed that he had not yet called. He began to imagine the phone as a conscious entity all itself, sitting in silent judgment while the man moved pebble after pebble. Time compounded his fear, and he eventually avoided even glancing at the phone. He knew that it had no eyes, but he came to believe its power made this fact irrelevant. 

Thinking of the window was an even worse alternative. He felt no assurance that there weren’t eyes beyond the blinds. What would someone think if they saw him? Would they look in the window, see him moving small pebbles around and laugh? Would they bring their friends to show them this strange exhibit? Maybe whoever was out there would be even worse than this. Maybe they would try to hurt him, or destroy his anthill. 

Thoughts of this kind gave the man a second wind in his work. He found new ways to build up the anthill, adding towers around its periphery. He experimented with making small mazes that he would watch the ants explore while he took breaks from his work. The satisfaction this provided was limited by the fact that the ants would almost always find their way back to the entrance of the hill by climbing over the obstacles that he tried to place, but he was at least able to enjoy imagining what it might be like to be in the maze himself, attempting to find his way out through its twists and turns. He loved being able to create these patterns in the sand, something to look at besides the blank walls of the room. 

Although the various ways of making his day-to-day routine more interesting contributed greatly to his ability to continue with his work, they could only ever delay his sense of boredom. As days and nights passed, creating the designs became less and less interesting. As his boredom increased, so did his inability to keep his thoughts off the phone and window. He frantically tried everything he could to make things more interesting, but there was only so much he could do with the tiny pebbles the ants brought up from under the crack in the  floor. 

One morning he awoke from his slumber and recognized that he could not bring himself to go back to making patterns in the sand. He knew there was no way he could force himself to do what he had done for weeks on end. He paced back and forth in the room for what felt like hours, thinking of what to do next. Could it be called thinking when so few options existed in his mind? It might better be described as an anxious reshuffling of the same few thoughts.

Finally, he stopped pacing to sit by the anthill. Perhaps sitting there and watching them calmly go about their work would bring some relief. Maybe they’ll even help me, give some advice about what to do. When the man thought this, he felt a flicker of anger flash across his mind. What used to appear to him as tranquility, a dutiful and peaceful march of the ants, now seemed a smug and careless activity. Were the ants grateful for all the work he had done for them? Of course they weren’t. What had he been thinking, to imagine that he was providing any meaningful value to the ants? He felt their lack of appreciation, and his resentment for them grew in proportion to his feeling of embarrassment. 

At last, the man felt something like a snap in his mind. He knelt near the hill, reached down, and instead of picking up one of the ant’s pebbles like he had thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of times before, he squeezed an ant between his fingers and held it to his face, the pebble it carried falling to the hill as it squirmed for its freedom. The man felt great satisfaction in seeing the ant frantically writhe between his fingers. No longer did the ant appear poised and purposeful. 

The man watched for some time, until he realized that the ant’s squirming was just as automatic and purposeful as its activity of transporting pebbles. This realization enraged him. He had hoped that somehow the ant would have registered that it was being held at his mercy, that it was being punished. He somehow imagined that it would beg him for forgiveness. Instead it behaved as if it did not care what he did, and didn’t care what it had done. 

The man cooled at the recognition that what he was doing was for himself alone. Resigned to the selfishness of his act, he reached for one of the ants legs. He would pull it off, and the rest of its legs, and all the legs of all the ants in the colony. If they could not appreciate his help, then they would at least fail to accomplish what he had spent so long to try to help them achieve. He would destroy what no longer provided any fulfillment.

He grasped one of the tiny legs between his thumb and forefinger and prepared to pull. But just as he grimaced in preparation for this mutilation, he heard a high, harsh sound. The man thought maybe the ant was finally admitting its wrongs and begging for mercy. But he realized it was coming from behind him. He immediately dropped the ant and spun his head around, eyes wide with fear. 

The phone continued to ring as he stared, his body still frozen with terror below his turned head. Imagining someone must have known what he was doing, he felt a surge of embarrassment. All of his ideas about the phone must have been true after all, it must have been listening and aware, judging his every action, ready to announce his condemnation or absolution. 

He knew now that he had failed, and wondered how he might have done better. What could he have done to gain the approval of the phone? He did not yet know what would become of him, but he was ready to face his punishment. It was difficult to imagine it being much worse than what he had suffered so far. He even felt a certain sense of relief, that things were about to finally change, that he’d no longer be stuck in this room with nothing to do. 

The phone still rang as he processed all of this. Finally, he stood and walked over to the phone, placing his hand on the receiver as he had placed his fingers on the ants leg moments before. He yanked it up to his ear and stuttered:

“Hel… Hello?”

“Hi there, is this Mr. Sanford?”


Surprised that the phone hadn’t immediately pronounced some judgment, or known exactly who he was and what his crimes were, he nonetheless concluded that he must be who they asked about. Who else might they have been meaning to reach at this phone?

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Wonderful. I’m Sarah Cranstead calling on behalf of Crawford and Sons tire service. I just wanted to let you know that we’re offering a 20% discount for you this month since we saw that your wife had her tires rotated around six months ago with us. We usually recommend that people rotate them every six months, so we like to offer a discount to help bring people back in.”

The man stood motionless with the phone up to his ear, unsure about how to respond to this bewildering onslaught of words.

“You’re telling me… So, this isn’t about the ant?”

“Sorry, what’s that? No, this is Sarah Cranstead calling on behalf of Crawford and Sons…”

The man heard her voice drifting up from the phone that he was already moving towards the receiver. He felt as if the ants had finally dug out the floor from under him and he was falling through it. 

He turned to look at the window behind him, squinting at the light shining in between the blinds. It was the first time that he had been able to look at it without immediately averting his gaze.   

He knew that he would no longer be able to withstand the tedium of the room, and the feeling of anticlimax and relief he felt at discovering that the phone did not contain or represent some omniscient or judgmental being led him to consider the fact that maybe what was outside the window wasn’t as fearsome as he had always imagined. 

He walked to the window and took hold of the cord that he somehow knew would lift the blinds. Pausing for a moment to consider what he was about to do, he recognized that there was not much to ponder beyond the fact that there was nothing left in this little room to occupy him, and that the only potential for something new must lie beyond that window. He wasn’t willing to wait around for another pointless phone call, and he knew he could no longer be satisfied with his work for the ants. 

He became aware that he now felt what he always imagined the ants felt when he watched them go about their work. He recognized that whatever he was meant to do could not be done in this room. The ants could be completely fulfilled by moving pebbles here and there, but the man could not. To face the unknown, to open the blinds and discover what lie beyond them, was what he had to do. 

He pulled the cord and the blinds lifted. 

After blinking away the overwhelming light, his eyes landed on various objects outside like predators on prey. He saw that he was in a valley, filled with trees and surrounded by tall mountains, as if he had been shrunk and placed within one of the structures that he had made for the ants. He suddenly felt a peculiar feeling in his face before recognizing it was a wide smile. 

He opened the window, threw his legs over the windowsill, and made for the nearest mountain peak.

Exploring Criticism: Self-Communication

On my run today I realized that for a long time I had been somewhat duped by the hype around hard work. That is not to say that there is no benefit to working hard in pursuit of your passion. The problematic conception of hard work is that it is difficult to motivate yourself to do it in the first place. I was convinced that joining the military and going to college were important pursuits because they would teach me how to get myself to do the things I should do but don’t want to do. As I was running, an activity that I originally largely pursued for the same reason, I recognized this and began to take a whole different approach to the run. It wasn’t about some end goal of fitness or disciplining myself, so I began to enjoy it more. I explored the motion of my body as well as the world around me, taking interesting paths requiring more complicated footwork and stopping when I felt like it in order to enjoy a view or the sound of the creek I was running alongside. This playful attitude contributed to my quick and playful response to a woman asking me what I was running from: “I don’t know! Life, I guess.”

The benefits this attitude has contributed to my happiness and openness alone have been worth the change, but there are also other important reasons why this view is important. One of the biggest contributors to my taking this attitude seriously was modeling my mind in a new, more community-like way. I recognize that there is probably only one mind in my brain, but there are a variety of different inputs that can, I think, be usefully modeled as individual personalities. As social animals it makes sense that our minds would contain models of a variety of personalities. We must create working models of others in order to interact and cooperate with them. While the models are largely shaped by interaction with books, movies, music, and direct interaction with people, they don’t disappear when we are alone. To the contrary, one could think of thinking itself as the attempt of these various models to resolve their disagreements and explore new possibilities.

While the sub-personalities in our minds do begin as models of others, the word “model” implies something too inanimate to describe the resulting phenomenon. This is why I, for now, choose the somewhat awkward “sub-personalities.” They aren’t themselves a personality, but as part of a community of sub-personalities constitute one. However, just as the artist’s pallet shares colors with her painting, so do sub-personalities share qualities with the whole. They are not models in the usual sense, as they have desires and complex traits. Whether or not these sub-personalities exist as described, I’m interested in exploring the model of a community of sub-personalities and feel it may be useful to do so, even if it is just an analogy.

Why was it wrong for the Catholic Church to censor and imprison Galileo in his house? From our perspective, there are a variety of reasons, including that they were imprisoning him for saying something closer to the truth than Church doctrine. But I think that there are more fundamental reasons, ones that don’t rely on Galileo’s being right or wrong (in fact, he was wrong in the end). The reason it is wrong to censor speech is because it cuts knowledge creation off from sources of criticism and knowledge creation can’t happen without sources of criticism. Criticism in its various forms is what creates the problems that motivate the creation of new ideas that are intended to solve them. Let’s say that the church was actually more correct than Galileo. There are, of course, a variety of moral arguments that would bring one to the conclusion that it was wrong for the Church to do what it did. But there is also an argument for why it was bad *for the Church* to do what it did. Admittedly, key members would have to be convinced of some important facts of epistemology, but if they were, it seems the rational thing to do would have been to keep Galileo free. This is because the theory that Galileo created should be addressed and refuted in order to strengthen the doctrine of the church. The strength of a theory is based on its ability to survive where its rivals cannot. If the Church’s ideas are actually strong, it is necessary to use them to refute other ideas. In no other way could their strength possibly be shown.

How does this tie into the model of the mind as a community of sub-personalities? Often, there are specific sub-personalities that we stereotype as being consistently wrong, lazy, mean, mopey, worried, etc. People commonly believe that the correct response to this is to repress these sub-personalities in the same way that the Church suppressed Galileo. Like the Church, they worry that if they let their lazy sub-personality speak it will infect the rest of its community. To a certain degree I believe they are right in being worried, but only in the same way that the Church was right to be worried about Galileo. Additionally, it is likely that long repressed aspects of ourselves will not be very good members of their community in the same way that an overly-sheltered child will not be well developed in their ability to manage their emotions and engage with others. Continuing to shelter a child or repress parts of oneself is wrong. While it is possible to restrain and confine a sub-personality, this can’t be done away from the public eye. The rest of her community can see her in the stocks, and they will become either hardened and lose their compassion, malevolently rejoice, or feel empathetic and depressed by the sight. None of these possibilities are good for you, for the whole, nor for the actual community of people you are a part of.

While you don’t have to do everything your newly released prisoners tell you to do, you have to be able to explain to them why you won’t. In doing so they will develop into better citizens. They will begin to be able to offer more thoughtful and pertinent criticisms and contributions. For example, having released the lazy prisoner from his stocks, you might hear him tell you to stay in bed all day. Several other members of the community of your mind will likely protest this action, but you can’t let them force him back into the stocks. You have to help resolve the disagreement between all community members by coming up with new, creative solutions. Perhaps everyone will be on board with sleeping for another hour and then getting up for the day, or taking a nap later, or maybe there will be a good reason to get up right now that the lazy one will understand. It’s unlikely that this will go smoothly the first time around, but the process is worth starting sooner than later.

We are often convinced of our ideological framework that preaches the quelling of certain parts of ourselves just as the Catholic church was convinced of the dogma that convinced them to imprison Galileo. As a result, we cut ourselves off from some of the most important sources of criticism we have. While listening to their contributions is the all-important first step, the hard part is *communicating* with the various aspects of your personality. It is in this way that conceptualizing these aspects as agents, as sub-personalities, is helpful. If you were working on a team and someone said “I’m not sure we really have to do this task, why don’t we skip it and head home” it would (usually) be wrong to tell them to shut up and do the task anyway even if what they are saying is incorrect. So it is also (usually) wrong to tell the lazy part of you to shut up when it asks what the point of a task is. Instead of shutting down your sub-personalities unwanted suggestions, communicate in order to get on the same page. You’ll often find “the lazy one” has something important to contribute.

To return to the idea of hard work and what you should do vs. want to do, your ideal should always be to strive to make them identical. You could always be wrong about what you should do, and it is important to listen to the part of yourself that is telling you it doesn’t want to take part in some activity just as you should listen to the team member who doesn’t want to play a game anymore. It seems to me there are few greater goals than creating a world in which each person enjoys taking part. You can start by developing a mind in which each aspect “enjoys” taking part in the whole.

Abstractions and Morality in Religion

The problem of faith based religion is not unique to theist religion. The problem also exists in other philosophies, such as Marxism and Nazism. What is the common thread that ties these different, dangerous ideas together?

One of the important differences between the arguments for and against the existence of God is that the theist attempts to convince the atheist to believe in something they do not currently believe in. The task for the theist is even more difficult when it comes to arguments between different theistic religions because in order to be convinced by another theist, a theist must first renounce a belief and then accept another. A Christian who sets out to convert a Muslim must not only get the Muslim to abandon Allah, he must then convince him to take up a collection of beliefs held about the Christian God. The task of an atheist, on the other hand, is to convince the theist only to abandon a certain set of beliefs. Is this really so? Are not atheists committed to a series of beliefs that the theist must then adopt? I do not think that this is the case.

One interesting aspect of humanism is that it consists of a series of beliefs that a vast majority of people already hold to some extent or other. The Christian who holds God as more important than anything else in life still loves their friends and family. They still experience the sadness empathy conveys when they see a stranger suffer. It is for this reason that humanist arguments can still reach theists without causing them to abandon their religion. It speaks to those aspects of human life that are universal. Religion, on the other hand, attempts to introduce an abstraction on which a variety of truths should be based.

There is an extent to which abstractions can be beneficial. Companies, governments, and other institutions do not actually exist in the sense that they are physical entities. They exist only in our collective imaginations. This does not prevent them from being important. It is thanks to our faith in institutions such as governments and markets that we are able to maintain the level of freedom and peace that exist today. However, it is important to note that the benefits they provide should be measured by the effects they have on individual people (or other conscious beings), not the benefits accrued by the imaginary entities themselves. While money (another abstraction) can confer a variety of benefits on people, a government or company is not benefited by the accrual of money because it is not a physically real or conscious being. Abstractions are tools to be used for the benefit of conscious creatures, they should be used as means to an end and not treated as ends in themselves.

One of the problems that religions and other harmful ideologies share is that they treat abstract entities as ends in themselves. In religion this end is God, in Marxism and Nazism it is the concept of humanity. In both cases, they consider abstractions as morally more fundamental than individuals. This prioritization allows for the destruction or oppression of people in order to please God or benefit “humanity”. The problem with assigning moral value to abstractions like this is that it is very difficult to come to agreement on how to understand these abstract entities.

Because these abstractions are based on a multitude of controversial texts written by fallible human beings, it is nearly impossible to come to a consensus as to what they tell us to do. Communists and Nazis held the benefit of humanity to be the greatest good but disagreed about what that was. Muslims and Christians agree about the importance of God but disagree about which texts are fundamental. There is no basis for criticism that will be accepted by all of these groups.

A falsificationist approach to this problem provides some interesting results. First, it helps shed some light on what exactly the problem with these dogmas are: none of them are formulated in such a way that they are falsifiable. They are bad explanations in that they are easy to vary and can explain almost any normative or empirical truth. The ways in which a literal interpretation of holy texts can be refuted do not sway the position of the believer. Faith, instead of being seen as an aspect of our intellectual life that should be mitigated to whatever degree possible, becomes an explanatory tool without limits. God is not a bad explanation in that it explains too little, but that it explains everything. The origins of the universe, good luck, and beauty are all often attributed to God because this is a realm where better explanations do not yet exist (or so some believe).

Second, in intending for a belief system to be maximally falsifiable, the impact it has will naturally expand because the best explanations will be those that are accepted by the widest range of conscious beings. For a historical example, as people realized more and more what they had in common with people of other races, they began to expand the degree to which they allowed others to criticize their moral beliefs. Moral systems that allowed for the suffering of people of other races began to appear to be inadequate explanations of what is right and wrong. Currently, the moral sphere is beginning to expand to the non-human realm as we begin to formulate our moral theories in such a way that the suffering of animals is considered a serious criticism of our theories.

In contrast, the dogmatic nature of non-falsifiable ideologies restricts the reach of their explanations. Criticisms from belief systems which hold different fundamental truths from those of religions are not often accepted. Religions seek justification of their beliefs instead of criticism.

The moral progress that has been made since the enlightenment even among religious people is a testament to the power these sorts of criticizable explanations hold. However, while most religious people have been influenced by these arguments, there are still ways in which they are unwilling to abandon certain normative positions laid out in their holy texts. This is due to a difference in what is considered intellectually fundamental. The religious person will not accept that what they believe in is an abstract idea. What motivates this difference?

There are roughly two motivations for becoming religious. The way that is likely the most common is having been raised in a certain tradition. Belief in religion is accepted as the status quo. Because someone in this situation is unlikely to be presented with opinions that shed doubt on their religious beliefs, they do not see any need to second guess what they consider to be fundamental.

The second path is the religious conviction that is found after a deeply meaningful spiritual/religious experience. This may lead one back to a religion that they were raised with or to something new. The steps that one takes in this journey are what I would like to focus on here.

The initial event is obviously the experience itself which has been described in a variety of different ways by people of different belief systems. What some describe as a feeling of oneness with the universe, others might describe as a feeling of invulnerability or communion with God. I must say that I believe that those that hold the latter are imputing ideas onto the event that were not actually aspects of the experience itself. Having experienced moments like this, I was likely to explain them in a way that was in accordance with the spiritual framework with which I was familiar. My first experience, while meditating, I would describe as an experience of dissolving barriers between me and the outside world, a shrugging off of the concepts that I usually attach to external objects. The influence of the Buddhist beliefs that undergirded my practice are evident in this interpretation of events and are, in my opinion, very precise descriptions of the experience. However, I must admit that they are not necessarily fundamental to the experience itself. Any description of such an event is inevitably a rationalization of an experience that cannot be communicated in words. A similar rationalization likely occurs with those whose only spiritual education is based in a theistic religion.

This step, in which one attempts to place the spiritual experience in some context, is the most crucial. It is here that a whole system of beliefs consisting in a variety of fundamental tenets may be adopted. For some, this step is never taken. Instead, one might see the truth that a variety of religions point toward, or explain the experience through more secular means such as science or other cultural beliefs. What is the difference between these two reactions? This question is certainly impossible to answer conclusively here. However, I do believe it is plausible that one of the significant factors is the degree of self-criticism that is practiced by the individual. This makes each step of the process from religious experience to religion less likely to happen. For instance, the science of these sorts of experience indicates that these states are correlated with certain physiological changes. Someone who is critical of the meaning of their experience is more likely to consider the fact that what they experienced (or certain aspects of it) are in effect illusions caused by changes in states of the brain and do not have metaphysical implications.

Another aspect that may be even more important is the degree to which one values being able to find common ground with others. Some may be satisfied with the fact that the explanations they have come up with to understand their experience cannot be understood by others. Others may consider the communication of the experience important, valuing feedback on the ideas communicated. If this is the case, they will structure their thoughts in such a way that a common understanding can be reached by others. The system of beliefs they end up holding should be structured in such a way that they can be falsified.

Humanist values have superseded religious values in the common discourse in a multitude of ways. Even religious people often trust current scientific explanations over religious explanations of the same data. While there remain many ways in which religious people hold their own normative beliefs, many of their beliefs have been influenced by secular morality. However, secularists have yet to come up with an adequate response to the monopoly on spirituality that religion holds. While those who have grown up in religious households may change their minds about religion when exposed to criticisms later on, it seems less likely that those who have religious experiences will be convinced by them. A framework in which these kinds of experiences can be rationalized in such a way that the explanations can be expressed and critically considered by an expanding number of sources is needed.

The connection to God that many theists feel is what grounds their belief that God is not an abstract concept. They may feel his presence so strongly so as to consider him as real as a human being standing before them. The degree to which rational argument may affect such a believer is likely small. However, the degree to which arguments based on a high degree of faith in the wider discourse are accepted could have a large influence on the willingness to take up or continue to hold such beliefs.

Having pointed to some of the flaws in religion and other ideologies, we can now begin to consider what would be desirable in a religion. First, abstractions should only be assigned moral value to the extent that doing so affects conscious beings. For instance, it may be moral to maintain certain institutions because of the positive effect they have on individuals. Institutions should be changed if they do not fulfill this purpose and abandoned if they cause significant harm to individuals. Second, all normative and spiritual beliefs should be formulated in such a way that reasonable conditions may be met to successfully criticize them. Ad hoc hypotheses should be added whenever possible to make theories more and more falsifiable.