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Preface The logics of formal rationality, geopolitical abstraction, and American exceptionalism became progressively entangled over the course of the 20th and early 21st centuries—and, in figures like Donald Trump, they culminate in the idiotization of social reality. What began as a set of highly abstract, formalized tools for thinking the world (automata, deterrence, strategic choice) has, through successive degenerations, been embodied in performative forms of power that no longer simulate rationality, but parody it.

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1. The Strategic Turn: Von Neumann and the Formalization of Rationality

John von Neumann stands at the root of this genealogy. In modeling economics, warfare, and even biology as systems of formal logic, he initiated a powerful abstraction: human beings as strategic agents, interaction as games, life as computable pattern. His work birthed game theory and cellular automata, sowing the idea that human behavior could be managed and predicted through mathematical formalism.

This was not merely an intellectual project. It aligned with a national mood: mid-century America, facing the Cold War and commanding planetary scale, needed tools to manage vast complexity without losing control. Game theory offered the illusion of rational mastery, enclosure through comprehension.

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2. Cold Abstraction: Kahn and the Thermonuclear Mind

Herman Kahn extended von Neumann’s logic into the thermonuclear domain. For Kahn, even nuclear war could be modeled, strategized, and won, so long as one remained emotionally detached enough to treat mass death as a variable.

This was the next phase of enclosure: not just mapping the game but inhabiting its cold logic, turning apocalypse into a scenario. American exceptionalism here becomes explicit: while the world might burn, the U.S. could endure.

Kahn’s work reflects a shift from isolationism to strategic exceptionalism: America would not simply retreat, but govern global chaos through calculation. Kahn's posture mirrors the national affect: paternalistic, distant, and singular. (Kahn, notably, served as one of the real-life inspirations for Stanley Kubrick’s character Dr. Strangelove—a parody that may, in retrospect, have undershot the reality it satirized.)

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3. Tacit Signals and Social Systems: Schelling and the Interface of Strategy and Behavior

Thomas Schelling softened this logic, introducing the human back into the model. He studied how agents coordinate not just through commands, but through tacit signals, expectations, focal points, and credible threats. His models of segregation, brinkmanship, and commitment mechanisms made clear how micro-decisions could create macro-patterns.

Schelling’s great insight: even limited preferences, bounded rationality, and social signaling could lead to large-scale enclosures. But he left the political stakes largely unexamined. How these enclosures are legitimated, maintained, or weaponized would fall to future actors.

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4. Homo Economicus Ascendant: Trump as Strategic Idiot

Trump represents the performative degeneration of this trajectory. He is not the rational strategist von Neumann envisioned, nor the detached planner Kahn embodied, nor even the social modeler Schelling portrayed. He is instead a synthetic product of all three: he preserves the outward form of game logic—competition, leverage, advantage—but strips it of coherence, proportionality, and rational structure. His moves are impulsive rather than calculated, improvised rather than strategic, theatrical rather than credible.

In Trump, all interaction is reduced to “the deal”—a hollow transactionalism that desaturates schmooze-level social reality. Where others used game theory as model, Trump treats it as ontology. There are no deliberative processes, no shared frameworks, no community. There are only wins, losses, leverage, and spectacle.

His America is the idiotized imagined community: a national ego wrapped around grievance, projection, and brute negotiation. And at the core of this performance lies a grotesque metaphor: auto-erotic sovereignty. Power is exercised not as responsibility, but as gratification; diplomacy becomes dominance theater; international relations are reenacted in the register of “if you're famous, they'll let you”— with the world cast in the role of the submissive other. The nation becomes not a commons, but an extension of his libido and his brand.

In Trump, Homo economicus is no longer metaphorical. He is the game—and the only rule is him.

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5. Mood and Machine: National Affects as Systemic Drift

This history isn’t just intellectual. It’s affective. Each phase of this genealogy correlates with a national mood:

• Postwar anxiety seeks mastery (von Neumann)
• Cold War fatalism seeks survivability (Kahn)
• Late-century ambiguity seeks coordination (Schelling)
• Post-2008 decline seeks vengeance (Trump)

What binds these is not ideology, but a progressive enclosure of interpretive frameworks into systems of calculation, control, and strategic egoism. Sociality becomes strategy. Meaning becomes leverage. Deliberation becomes posture.

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6. Toward a Counter-Genealogy: Communitaria and the Resaturation of Meaning

The Communitarium Project emerges as a counter-move: not rejecting enclosure per se, but recognizing that it has been captured and idiotized. Rather than surrender social interaction to strategic modeling, the project insists on rebuilding ensembles of mutual interpretation, where meaning is not extracted or computed but co-constituted.

The Communitarium doesn’t long for a lost intimacy or preach anti-rationalism. It proposes a resaturation of schmooze-level sociality through collective deliberation, shared interpretive labor, and contextual moral economies.

In short: to resist the idiotized legacy of von Neumann, Kahn, Schelling, and Trump is not to deny structure or strategy—but to re-embed them in community, where computation serves life, not the reverse.

#TrumpAndMAGA

New_ Public wants better digital communities. So does the Communitarium Project—but it starts further back, aiming not to reform platforms but to form new communities, infrastructures, and counter-realities beyond capitalism. A comparison:

The Communitarium Project shares a family resemblance with the initiative described in New_ Public’s post on a new social product for communities. Both begin with the premise that today's dominant platforms are failing us—not just in terms of functionality or civility, but at the level of purpose. Both seek to center human connection, public good, and communal well-being over engagement metrics and ad revenue. But where New_ Public sketches a more incremental renovation, Communitarium proposes something closer to a reinvention.

This post lays out some of the key similarities and differences, not to denigrate one project or exalt the other, but to make the aspirations of the Communitarium Project clearer to those who sense something is broken and are looking for ways to build anew.

Shared Concerns

1. Platform Capitalism Is Inadequate Both projects recognize that the logic of profit-maximizing platforms corrodes community life. Surveillance, extraction, and gamified attention distort human relationships and prioritize virality over solidarity.

2. We Need Spaces Designed for People, Not Advertisers The notion of a “social product” that nurtures belonging, collaboration, and deliberation—rather than just click-through—is a point of strong agreement.

3. Digital Infrastructure Can Be Designed Differently This is not just about codes of conduct or better moderation. It’s about building the underlying infrastructure—tools, protocols, and norms—that support richer, more humane interactions.

Where Communitarium Diverges

1. From Community Engagement to Community Formation New_ Public’s offering is geared toward existing communities—groups that already have some cohesion or identity—and giving them tools to flourish online. Communitarium is interested in what makes communities possible in the first place. It asks: how can new communities form, take root, and govern themselves in ways that are resilient, ethical, and post-capitalist?

2. A Platform for Autonomy, Not Just Expression Communitarium is not just a space to talk or share—it is an infrastructural commitment to collective autonomy. It is being designed to support deliberation, shared decision-making, mutual aid, and the co-creation of meaning. This requires something more robust than a “product.” It requires a world.

3. Explicitly Anti-Capitalist, Post-Individualist While New_ Public remains within the orbit of liberal reformism, the Communitarium Project draws openly from anarchist and socialist traditions. It rejects the enclosure of knowledge, the commodification of selfhood, and the atomization of digital life. It seeks to erode capitalism not by opposing it in rhetoric alone, but by offering alternate arrangements in which cooperation becomes natural and necessary.

4. More Than Safe Space—A Counter-Reality The goal is not to carve out a tranquil refuge on the internet. The goal is to cultivate sites of counter-power: federated spaces where people not only feel heard but become capable of acting together, deliberating together, and creating together. It is about forming symbiotic ensembles that can extend into material reality.

5. No Federation, No Cosmopolitanism Unlike the Communitarium Project, which is being built with federation and pluralistic interoperability as core principles, New_ Public’s offering appears to center around isolated community instances. While this may suffice for strengthening local cohesion, it lacks the cosmopolitan vision of a federated network of counter-power—communities capable of recognizing each other, deliberating across contexts, and sharing a common informational fabric without centralization.

Points of Contact and Possible Dialogue

Despite these differences, New_ Public and Communitarium aren’t enemies. They may be playing different roles in a broader movement toward reclaiming the social from the grip of technocratic capitalism. If New_ Public is renovating the civic front porch, Communitarium is rebuilding the neighborhood—perhaps even changing the zoning code.

There’s room here for cross-pollination. New_ Public’s focus on user needs, facilitation, and user-centered design may offer practical insights. Meanwhile, Communitarium’s insistence on rootedness, relationality, and emancipatory infrastructure could deepen New_ Public’s philosophical horizons.

Learn More

If you'd like to explore the ideas behind the Communitarium Project in greater depth, you can browse all posts related to it here.

Conclusion

We’re in an age of pervasive enclosure: of time, attention, discourse, even hope. If we are to reclaim what it means to live and think together, we must be willing to go deeper than product design or platform reform. The Communitarium Project is an effort to imagine and build that depth—a re-founding of community itself on different terms.

#TheCommunitariumProject

Class, Myth, and the Obsolescence We Must Design

“Worker” has been a rallying point and a mythic role. But its durability is both a strength and a trap. If the Left is to move forward, we must use the term strategically—while refusing to treat it as permanent. The worker must remain historically specific, ideologically provisional, and ultimately, replaceable.

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The word worker carries a lot of weight. It evokes exploitation, solidarity, class consciousness, dignity, struggle. It calls back to miners, machinists, domestic laborers, union organizers, and precarious service staff. It has anchored the identity of the Left for generations.

And yet, for all its power, worker is a category we must learn to wear lightly. Because as much as it’s been a tool of resistance, it’s also become a conceptual enclosure—a role that subtly dictates what kinds of agency, solidarity, and futures we are allowed to imagine. Left unexamined, it becomes what we might call a teleological trap: the idea that the worker is not just a political subject but the inevitable political subject. That history will unfold toward worker power, and that the shape of that power is already understood.

This assumption has consequences. It constrains the language we use to describe emerging forms of labor, care, and value. It orients the imagination of justice around wage labor and production. It discourages rethinking what social roles we want to preserve or transcend.

From the point of view of the Communitarium Project, this is a problem. Because our aim isn’t to build a better worker-led society—it’s to build the conditions under which people are no longer defined by their function within a labor regime at all.

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Capitalism Needs the Worker Too

It’s easy to forget that “worker” is not just a revolutionary identity—it’s a capitalist one. The worker is the unit of labor. A cost center. A human resource. Even in heroic leftist formulations, the figure of the worker often remains within this same structural role: the one who produces value, and who therefore deserves more of it.

But what if production isn’t always the horizon of value? What if the fixation on the worker prevents us from recognizing other roles and relationships—caregiver, sharer, sustainer, thinker, neighbor, co-inhabitant—as equally central?

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The Mirror Myth: Worker vs. Entrepreneur

One reason “worker” remains so sticky is because it is rhetorically useful. It lets the Left anchor its identity in opposition to the myth of the entrepreneur: the self-made, risk-taking capitalist ideal. But as long as this binary holds, both roles reinforce each other. Each needs the other to stay coherent. One becomes the moral hero of collective labor; the other, the moral hero of individual ambition.

And both risk flattening lived complexity into a role: are you the exploited or the self-starter? Are you a cog or a visionary?

In reality, people are neither. Or rather: they are much more than either.

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Synchronic Utility, Diachronic Obsolescence

We don’t have to throw the word away. In immediate struggles—against wage theft, for labor protections, in organizing campaigns—it remains indispensable. But if we care about what comes next, we have to hold it differently.

The distinction here is between synchronic and diachronic commitments. In the now, “worker” can rally solidarity and clarify antagonism. But across time, we must recognize it as a historically situated term, bound to particular modes of production and particular visions of the social order.

If we reject historical inevitabilism, we must also reject the permanence of our categories. “Worker” is useful, not sacred. It is temporary, not timeless. Its strategic value depends on our ability to eventually let it go.

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Designing Its Obsolescence

To take this seriously means actively planning for its obsolescence. Not its erasure, but its dissolution into richer and more nuanced terms—terms that reflect a world not organized around jobs, employers, wage labor, or linear productivity.

That requires infrastructure: new languages, new institutions, new forms of collective identity that don’t just reward “hard work,” but support people in living well, together, beyond the metrics of employment. This is part of what the Communitarium Project seeks to prototype: spaces where people coordinate, create, and metabolize complexity without being defined primarily by what they produce.

This is not the end of class struggle. It’s the effort to outgrow the categories that capitalism made necessary in the first place.

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Refusing the Final Vocabulary

The Left needs to be capable of strategy without orthodoxy, solidarity without role lock-in. The figure of the worker has done important work, but it cannot be our final vocabulary. If we want a future beyond capitalism, we need terms that don’t just resist its logics but refuse to reproduce them in reverse.

We need to stop imagining the worker as our endgame. And start building the conditions in which the worker, too, can rest.

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#LanguageOfTheLeft

The Communitarium Project isn’t about reviving communes or escaping society—it’s about building transitional, interstitial spaces where people can live, think, and act together differently. Not utopias, but shared infrastructures for sense-making, coordination, and care—without enforcing consensus or closing down difference.

It’s a familiar reaction. Mention “communes” in leftist circles and you’re likely to get a mix of eye-rolls, half-hearted smiles, and uneasy memories. For many, the word evokes a long history of well-meaning but often unsustainable experiments in collective living—some genuinely inspiring, others chaotic, insular, or quietly authoritarian. The skepticism is understandable. And yet, the desire to live differently, to reorganize how we share time, space, labor, and care, hasn’t gone away.

The classic idea of the commune is often structured around a kind of withdrawal. The hope is that by stepping outside capitalism, outside the state, outside inherited norms, people can start fresh. A new society in miniature, designed from scratch. But in practice, the world tends to follow us in. Patterns of domination, resource scarcity, informal hierarchies, and cultural sediment don’t stay outside the gates. They come along for the ride. And when the project buckles under their weight, it’s easy to conclude that the whole idea of living collectively is naïve or doomed.

But maybe the problem isn’t with the desire for a more communal life. Maybe it’s with the model we’ve inherited—and the assumptions it carries about how transformation happens.

The Communitarium Project is not an attempt to revive the commune. It isn’t a separatist outpost, an idealized return to the land, or a lifestyle alternative. It doesn’t promise self-sufficiency, purity, or escape. Instead, it proposes something quieter and more deliberate: we’re not trying to leave society behind; we’re trying to reimagine it in place. We’re not building enclosed utopias where existing rules are suspended; we’re building transitional, interstitial spaces that engage with the world as it is, while gradually reshaping it from within.

The structures we’re experimenting with—whether we call them hubs, nodes, collectives, or something else—are meant to support shared life in a way that remains open, adaptive, and historically aware. They’re designed to hold people in common purpose without collapsing difference, and to support coordination without reproducing hierarchy or burnout. The point isn’t to create a single model for everyone to follow. It’s to cultivate conditions where different communities can generate their own practices, based on their own needs and histories, while still finding ways to communicate and align across differences.

What also distinguishes the Communitarium Project is its emphasis on how we perceive and process the world together. Most collective projects focus on shared outputs—labor, decision-making, provisioning—but the Communitarium emphasizes shared intake as well. It’s designed to help people collectively interpret a world that has become too complex and contradictory to navigate alone.

That said, this is not a call for consensus thinking or interpretive uniformity. On the contrary, multiplicity and divergence are essential to the process. The goal is not to arrive at a common worldview, but to build the capacity to hold different perspectives in active relation—to metabolize disagreement, asymmetry, and partial understandings without collapsing them into a single narrative. The work is not about finding the right line, but about inhabiting the conditions under which lines can be drawn, revised, and challenged in good faith.

This is what makes the Communitarium’s model metabolic rather than doctrinal: it digests contradiction rather than eliminating it. It doesn’t offer ideological security, but the opportunity to participate in collective inquiry that remains grounded in material needs, shared time, and cohabitation with difference.

For that reason, the Communitarium is not meant to be isolated. It is interstitial by design. It exists in the gaps and overlaps between institutions, between geographies, between official narratives and lived realities. It aims to be locally rooted but globally connective, rigorous without being rigid, durable without being enclosed. In this way, it serves not as an escape hatch, but as a set of proto-infrastructures—an evolving effort to build and test the social forms that could support a more just, more livable future.

The word “commune” carries a great deal of historical and emotional baggage. That baggage has often led people to dismiss any attempt at collective living as utopian, impractical, or cultish. But if we let that skepticism become a reflex, we risk shutting down some of the most important work we still have to do. The Communitarium Project doesn’t promise utopia. It offers something more modest, and maybe more useful: a way to begin building shared life differently—not all at once, and not everywhere, but in ways that are attentive, accountable, and capable of change.

So yes, it’s okay to groan a little when you hear talk of communes. But it’s also worth asking whether that groan is doing the work of caution—or just reinforcing a sense of futility. The question isn’t whether we can go back to the commune. It’s whether we can build something forward-facing that’s able to hold us—and help us hold each other—through what’s coming next.

#TheCommunitariumProject

For over a millennium, antisemitism has thrived on grotesque fabrications — a conspiracy theory with no authors, accusing a people with no crime. Jews have been portrayed, in different times and places, as shadowy manipulators of power, hoarders of wealth, global puppet masters, and even sadistic child murderers. These lies, devoid of evidence and rooted in fear and envy, fueled pogroms, inquisitions, expulsions, and ultimately genocide.

What’s striking, in the eerie mirror of modern American politics, is how these very tropes — long used to justify persecution of an innocent people — now find something resembling flesh in the form of Donald J. Trump. Not as a Jew, of course, but as the embodiment of those phantasmal accusations, made real in the actions and ambitions of a single man.

Trump, a man of immense inherited wealth, has flaunted that fortune while refusing transparency, skirting taxes, and using his position to enrich himself. Where Jews were falsely accused of controlling the press or banking, Trump has actively tried to co-opt the Justice Department, weaponize the IRS, and install loyalists at every level of power — not through secret cabals, but through brazen public acts. He has attempted to delegitimize elections, demanded personal loyalty from officials sworn to the Constitution, and encouraged violence from his base — a demagogue openly courting authoritarianism.

Perhaps most disturbingly, where the blood libel myth falsely claimed Jews murdered Christian children, real-world violence often destroyed Jewish families — including children — as collateral in waves of collective punishment. Trump, by contrast, has demonstrated indifference to the lives of actual children: jailing them at the border, ignoring climate threats, and supporting policies that tolerate mass death by gunfire in schools. These aren’t hallucinations. They’re documented.

This isn’t a moral inversion or an act of rhetorical vengeance. It’s a bitter historical irony. Trump is not what Jews are; he’s what antisemitism imagined them to be, and in that tragic irony lies a warning: those who weaponize myths may one day get their monster, not in the people they feared but in the leaders they adoringly follow.

#TrumpAndMAGA