What Holds Society Together — and What Is Pulling It Apart?

 

FOREWORD

On an ordinary day, everything seems to run by itself.

The train arrives on time. The light turns on when you flip the switch. You open your phone and, within seconds, see what is happening all over the world. In the supermarket, products from every corner of the earth sit side by side on the shelves.

It feels as if this is simply the normal course of things.

As if society just exists.

But ask yourself one question: what actually holds all of this together?

Behind this everyday sense of self-evidence lies a web of relationships, systems, and choices. People who have never met one another work together. Decisions made in one place have consequences in places that seem far away. What appears stable turns out to depend on structures that are constantly in motion.

And sometimes, this becomes visible.

When a crisis breaks out.

When systems seize up.

When trust declines.

Then we suddenly see that what seemed self-evident is not self-evident at all.

This book begins with that observation.

Not with grand theories or abstract models, but with a simple realization: societies do not function automatically.

What we often regard as background is, in reality, the result of continuous interaction between people, institutions, and structures. Emotions determine what receives attention. Stories give meaning to events. Power and inequality influence outcomes. The economy organizes dependencies. Technology determines what becomes visible. Ecological limits set the conditions for what is possible.

Together, these elements are not separate parts, but an interconnected whole.

A process.

Within that process, people are shaped by the society in which they live. At the same time, consciously or unconsciously, they contribute to maintaining or changing that very same society.

This means that living together is never neutral.

It has direction.

Not because there is one single plan, but because choices accumulate, structures reinforce themselves, and patterns repeat.

Some of these patterns make cooperation possible. They create trust, stability, and room for development. Other patterns undermine those same conditions. They increase inequality, intensify divisions, and make it harder to address problems collectively.

Often, this does not happen consciously.

That is precisely why we need to look at it.

This book is an attempt to do so.

Not by offering one single explanation, but by bringing together different dimensions: how people relate to one another, how meaning emerges, how power works, how systems function, and how they come under pressure.

The aim is not to provide simple answers.

The aim is to make visible what often remains invisible.

Because once it becomes visible how societies work, the question we ask also changes.

Not only: “How is it put together?”

But also: “What do we contribute to it?”

And ultimately: “If societies are made, what kind of society do we want to make?”

This book is an invitation to take that question seriously.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Vital E.H. Moors works as a lawyer within the Dutch central government, where he deals with issues in the fields of legislation, constitutional law, and housing. His work focuses on the ways in which legal and institutional structures shape social order. This includes matters such as property law, spatial planning, and the right to housing, as well as the role of government in protecting public interests within a democratic constitutional state.

His work is situated at the intersection of law and society. Legal rules do not function in a vacuum, but within a broader context of social, economic, and political relations. Questions concerning housing policy, spatial development, and fundamental rights are therefore not merely technical or legal in nature; they also touch on fundamental issues of justice, distribution, and collective responsibility.

Moors studied law at Maastricht University and combines legal analysis in his work with reflection on this broader context. Central to this approach is the question of how fundamental rights — such as the right to property and the right to housing — relate to democratic decision-making and the public interest. In this view, law is not seen merely as a system of rules, but as a structure that helps determine how societies function and which outcomes become possible within them.

Alongside his work in government, he is developing an interdisciplinary research programme centred on questions concerning conceptions of the human being, social coexistence, and institutional design. This research examines how implicit assumptions about human behaviour and development shape policy, law, and social institutions. The way people are assumed to act — as autonomous individuals or as relational beings — has direct consequences for how systems are designed and for the forms of social life that emerge from them.

This approach brings together insights from various disciplines, including law, philosophy, sociology, anthropology, and political theory. Its aim is not simply to place these perspectives side by side, but to understand how they jointly contribute to the ways in which societies give shape to values such as freedom, equality, responsibility, and solidarity.

An important starting point is that human development cannot be understood from the perspective of an isolated individual. It unfolds in relation to others and within social, cultural, and ecological contexts. From this perspective, institutions can be viewed differently: not only as structures that regulate behaviour, but also as conditions that either enable or constrain human flourishing.

This leads to questions that recur throughout his work. How can institutions contribute to a society in which people are able to develop? How can conflicts be regulated without escalating? And how can social order take account of the ecological limits within which it exists?

In addition to his legal and academic work, Moors regularly publishes essays and analyses on democracy, justice, and the future of the rule of law. Through social media, he reaches a broader audience, connecting current developments with underlying questions about social coexistence and what it means to be human. This approach seeks to bridge the divide between technical policy debates and fundamental reflection.

The underlying premise is that these two cannot be understood separately.

How societies are organized is connected to how human beings are understood.

And how human beings are understood shapes the systems they build.

Through this work, Moors aims to contribute to a society in which justice and human development are central, within the limits of what is ecologically sustainable. Not by offering simple solutions, but by making visible the underlying structures and assumptions that shape social life.

In this way, this text connects to the central idea of this book: that societies do not emerge by themselves, but are made — and can therefore also be made differently.

ABSTRACT

This work examines society as a relational, historical, and ecological process rather than as a fixed or self-evident structure. It argues that social life does not function automatically, but emerges from continuous interaction between individuals, institutions, systems, emotions, narratives, power relations, economic structures, digital infrastructures, and ecological limits. Human beings are understood not as isolated autonomous individuals, but as relational beings whose identities, choices, vulnerabilities, and possibilities are shaped by the contexts in which they live.

The central claim is that societies are continuously made and remade. They reproduce knowledge, norms, inequalities, and opportunities across generations, while also remaining capable of change when they can recognize tensions, absorb conflict, maintain trust, and correct their own failures. Conflict, inequality, and systemic pressure are therefore not accidental disturbances, but structural features of social coexistence. The key question is whether institutions can organize these tensions productively, rather than allowing them to harden into polarization, distrust, or exclusion.

The analysis connects everyday experiences with broader structural dynamics: the economy organizes dependence and value; ecological boundaries define the conditions of long-term survival; digital systems determine visibility and influence; and institutions shape both behaviour and meaning. Together, these dimensions reveal that societies have direction, even when that direction is not consciously chosen.

Ultimately, the work argues that the future is not predetermined. It is shaped by the systems, choices, and priorities we build today. The question is therefore not only how society functions, but what kind of society we want to create: one that strengthens cooperation, trust, justice, and sustainability, or one that reproduces inequality, fragmentation, and ecological vulnerability.

UNDERSTANDING SOCIAL COEXISTENCE

At first glance, our society seems to function on its own. The train runs, the light turns on, information is instantly available, and organizations operate according to established patterns. Much of what surrounds us in daily life feels stable and predictable.

But when we look a little more closely, that sense of self-evidence proves deceptive.

Behind the everyday functioning of societies lies a complex whole of relationships, structures, and processes. People cooperate, but they also have conflicting interests. Systems make life possible, yet at the same time they can reinforce tensions and inequality. What appears stable turns out to depend on fragile balances.

This book begins from a simple but fundamental idea: societies are not a given, but a process.

They emerge from interactions between people, from the structures they build, and from the ways in which they give meaning to the world around them. This means that societies are shaped not only by rules and institutions, but also by emotions, stories, power relations, and shared beliefs.

Anyone who wants to understand societies cannot rely on a single perspective.

It requires an approach in which different dimensions come together:

• how people relate to one another

• how meaning emerges

• how power and inequality are organized

• how systems function and change

In this book, social coexistence is approached as a relational, historical, and dynamic process. This means that individuals cannot be understood apart from the context in which they live, and that structures are not static, but are continuously formed and re-formed.

This approach shifts the focus.

Not only to what people do, but to the conditions under which they do it.

Not only to outcomes, but to the processes that lead to them.

Not only to stability, but also to change and vulnerability.

Through this lens, it becomes clear that much of what seems self-evident is the result of complex interactions. Cooperation is necessary, but never automatic. Conflicts are inevitable, but not necessarily destructive. Systems provide structure, but they can also constrain. And what works today may come under pressure tomorrow.

This book explores these dynamics in several steps.

It begins with the foundations of social coexistence: the interdependence between people and the role of emotions and meaning. It then examines how identities, power relations, and structures emerge and develop. The focus then shifts to the systems that shape everyday life, such as the economy, ecology, and digital infrastructures. Finally, it explores what makes societies stable, when they come under pressure, and how they can adapt.

Through this structure, a coherent picture emerges.

Not a collection of separate theories, but a way of seeing.

A way that reveals that societies do not merely function, but also have direction.

And that this direction is not fixed.

In this sense, this book is not only descriptive, but also invitational.

It invites us to look differently at what appears self-evident, to recognize underlying structures, and to reflect on the role that people — individually and collectively — play in shaping their society.

Because ultimately, understanding social coexistence leads to a question that is not only analytical, but also normative:

If societies are made, what kind of society do we want to make?

SOCIAL COEXISTENCE AS A FOUNDATION

1. You Never Live Alone

There is a persistent idea, deeply embedded in the way we understand ourselves: that human beings are, in essence, independent individuals. We make choices, take responsibility, and build our own lives. This image underlies not only everyday beliefs, but also many of our institutions. Economic systems assume rational individuals, policy presupposes personal agency, and success is often attributed to individual effort.

And yet, this image increasingly conflicts with reality.

Anyone who looks at current developments can see that individual choices rarely exist apart from context. Take the housing market. The ability to buy a home is often presented as a matter of financial discipline or smart decision-making. In practice, access to the housing market depends heavily on factors such as parental wealth, regional scarcity, and policy choices. What appears as individual success or failure is, in reality, embedded in broader structures.

A similar dynamic is visible on social media. Platforms such as TikTok, Instagram, and X are often seen as spaces where individuals express themselves and make their own voices heard. At the same time, algorithms shape which content becomes visible, which emotions are amplified, and which perspectives become dominant. What people think, feel, and share emerges in interaction with systems that help shape their behaviour.

These examples reveal something that often remains implicit: human beings never function apart from others or from the structures in which they live.

This is not incidental, but a fundamental feature of being human.

From the very beginning of life, dependence is unavoidable. Without care, language, and social interaction, a human being does not develop. But this dependence does not disappear once someone becomes an adult. It changes form.

Adults depend on:

• economic systems for income and security of existence

• social networks for recognition and support

• institutions for education, care, and protection

Even seemingly simple actions — working, communicating, consuming — are only possible within complex networks of cooperation.

Yet this mutual dependence is rarely explicitly acknowledged. Instead, the dominant idea remains that individuals primarily stand on their own, and that dependence is an exception, something that becomes visible mainly in situations of crisis or vulnerability.

The coronavirus pandemic revealed how limited that image is. Health turned out not to be merely an individual matter, but something dependent on collective behaviour, public infrastructure, and mutual trust. Individual decisions had direct consequences for others, and vice versa. The functioning of society proved to be based on a fragile balance of interdependencies.

A similar insight emerges in discussions about climate change. Individual choices — flying less, consuming differently — are often emphasized. At the same time, it is becoming increasingly clear that these choices take place within systems that encourage certain behaviours and discourage others. Energy infrastructure, economic incentives, and political decision-making largely determine which options are actually available.

These examples show that the idea of the autonomous individual is not entirely wrong, but it is incomplete. People make choices and bear responsibility, but they always do so within contexts that shape their possibilities.

Vulnerability plays a central role here.

Human beings are not fully self-sufficient creatures. They are vulnerable to illness, loss, social exclusion, and economic insecurity. This vulnerability is not an anomaly, but a structural feature of human existence. Precisely because human beings are vulnerable, cooperation becomes necessary.

Cooperation is therefore not only efficient, but essential.

Without cooperation:

• no healthcare

• no education

• no economy

• no collective security

But cooperation is not neutral. It is organized through institutions, rules, and power relations. The way cooperation is structured determines who has access to resources, who carries risks, and who has influence.

This gives dependence a double meaning.

On the one hand, it makes social life possible. People can achieve more together than alone. On the other hand, dependence can lead to inequality and power differences. Someone who depends on work, care, or information is not in the same position as someone who controls access to them.

This becomes visible in current debates about platform economies. Workers depend on platforms for income, while those platforms determine the conditions under which work takes place. Formally, there is individual freedom of choice, but in practice there is an asymmetrical relationship in which dependence and power are unequally distributed.

The core point is that dependence is not the exception, but the rule.

This has consequences for how we understand responsibility. When people are understood entirely as autonomous individuals, the emphasis falls on personal choices. When dependence is acknowledged, the analysis shifts to the interaction between individual and system.

Problems such as debt, unemployment, or health inequalities then appear not only as individual issues, but also as outcomes of structural conditions.

This does not mean that individual responsibility disappears, but that it must be understood in relation to context.

The question therefore changes fundamentally.

Not only: “What is this individual doing?”

But also: “Under what conditions is this individual doing this?”

And: “How do those conditions contribute to the outcome?”

This shift touches the core of how societies function. As this work argues, institutions are not merely frameworks within which people act, but structures that actively contribute to the formation of behaviour and identity.

People build systems, but those systems then shape people.

Anyone who takes this reciprocity seriously can no longer maintain that social coexistence is an optional context within which individuals operate. Social coexistence is a constitutive condition of being human.

This means that no one stands entirely apart from others.

Even when someone is alone, language, norms, beliefs, and possibilities remain the result of earlier interactions. The other is not an addition to the individual, but a condition of the individual’s existence.

The implication is simple, but far-reaching: you never live alone.

And this raises a question that echoes throughout the rest of this book: If human beings are fundamentally dependent on the structures in which they live, what kinds of systems are we actually building?

Systems that support cooperation and make development possible, or systems that turn dependence into inequality and exclusion?

The answer to that question begins with recognizing a simple, but often forgotten reality: The individual never stands alone, but always emerges within a web of relationships, structures, and meanings.

2. Why We Feel Before We Think

In many discussions about human behaviour, it is implicitly assumed that people are, first and foremost, rational beings. We gather information, weigh arguments, and then make decisions. In this view, emotions appear as disturbances — something that clouds thinking and should ideally be limited as much as possible.

And yet, reality tells a different story.

Anyone who looks at how people actually respond can see that emotions are often not the endpoint of a thinking process, but its beginning. They direct where attention goes, how situations are interpreted, and which choices feel self-evident.

This becomes visible in everyday situations, but also in major social dynamics.

Take the speed at which news spreads. An event, an incident on the street, a statement by a politician, a fragment from a debate, can reach millions of people within hours. Not all messages receive the same attention. What stands out is that content which evokes strong emotions like indignation, fear, anger, tends to spread the fastest.

This is no coincidence.

Social media are not only information networks, but also emotional systems. Algorithms select and amplify content that provokes reactions. Not necessarily because platforms deliberately seek polarization, but because emotion generates engagement. What touches people is shared. What is shared becomes visible. And what becomes visible, in turn, influences how people think and feel.

In that dynamic, the boundaries between individual emotion and collective mood become blurred.

An example of this can be seen in the way incidents develop into national debates. A short video of a confrontation can, within hours, lead to thousands of reactions in which people take sides, pass judgment, and identify with one of the parties involved. Often this happens without full context. Yet for many people, their reactions feel immediate and convincing.

What happens here is not an exception, but a structural pattern.

Emotions function as a kind of shortcut in human information processing. They make it possible to respond quickly in complex situations. Fear signals danger, empathy makes involvement possible, and anger can prompt action against perceived injustice.

Without emotions, action would become slow and uncertain.

At the same time, this means that emotions are not neutral. They direct attention, emphasize certain aspects of reality, and push others into the background. What someone sees as a threat, as injustice, or as an urgent problem is shaped to a significant extent by what they feel.

This becomes visible in social debates on issues such as migration, security, or climate. The same facts can lead to entirely different reactions, depending on the emotional charge attached to them. For one person, an event symbolizes a loss of control or safety; for another, it represents injustice or exclusion.

Facts matter, but they acquire meaning within emotional frameworks.

Empathy is a clear example of how emotions connect. When people see images of natural disasters or humanitarian crises, there is often an immediate impulse to help. Donations, volunteering, and public support are rarely the result of abstract analysis alone. They are carried by the ability to imagine oneself in the position of others.

But empathy is selective.

People often feel more strongly for individuals or groups who are close to them — geographically, culturally, or socially — than for abstract or distant others. This means that the same emotional force that makes solidarity possible also creates boundaries. Who is seen as “us” and who is seen as “them” influences where empathy arises and where it does not.

Alongside empathy, fear plays a central role.

From an evolutionary perspective, fear is a protective mechanism. It enables people to respond quickly to potential threats. In a complex society, however, that function can shift. Threats are often less directly visible and harder to assess. Uncertainty can then lead people to search for clear explanations and recognizable opponents.

In political and social contexts, this is sometimes deliberately exploited. Simple stories that reduce complex problems to clear causes and identifiable culprits align with emotional needs for clarity and certainty. Fear thereby becomes not only a reaction to reality, but also a factor that helps shape that reality.

Anger serves a different function.

Where fear is oriented toward protection, anger is oriented toward correction. It often arises when people experience injustice and can become a powerful engine of change. Protest movements, social reforms, and political mobilization are frequently driven by collective indignation.

At the same time, anger can also escalate.

When groups structurally feel unheard, indignation can turn into enemy-thinking. The other is then no longer seen as an interlocutor, but as an opponent. At that stage, the function of emotion shifts: from mobilization to polarization.

Social media intensify this dynamic.

Because people organize themselves around shared emotions and beliefs, networks emerge in which certain perspectives become dominant. Within such networks, emotions are confirmed and amplified, while dissenting voices become less visible. Discussions harden, not necessarily because people are irrational, but because they operate within different emotional and interpretive frameworks.

Here, a fundamental tension becomes visible.

Emotions are indispensable for social life.

They make involvement, solidarity, and action possible.

But those same emotions can also lead to:

• the oversimplification of complex problems

• the intensification of divisions

• a decline in mutual understanding

In other words: emotions both connect and polarize.

This means that the question is not whether emotions play a role in societies — they inevitably do. The question is how they are formed, amplified, and directed.

As argued earlier in this work, institutions do not function merely as neutral frameworks, but as structures that help shape behaviour and experience. The same applies to emotions. Media, politics, and digital platforms influence which feelings are activated, how they are interpreted, and in which direction they are channelled.

Emotions therefore do not stand apart from systems; they are part of them.

This insight also changes how we understand rationality.

Thinking and feeling are not separate domains in which one must correct the other. They are intertwined. Emotions determine which information seems relevant, while thinking helps to structure and evaluate that information. When either one is absent, a distorted image of reality emerges.

The challenge, then, is not to suppress emotions, but to understand their role.

That begins with a simple observation: people do not first respond rationally and then feel something; they often feel first — and then think within that framework.

The implications of this are far-reaching.

If emotions shape how people see the world, then they also shape how societies function.

And this raises the next question: if emotions play such a central role, who or what determines which emotions are amplified?

3. We Live in Stories

When people speak about reality, it often seems as though they are referring to something objective and unambiguous. Facts are presented, figures are shared, events are described. In theory, that should be enough to arrive at shared understanding.

In practice, something else happens.

The same event can lead to entirely different interpretations. What one person sees as the logical consequence of certain developments appears to another as evidence of the opposite problem. Discussions stall not because there is no information, but because that information is understood differently.

This points to a deeper mechanism.

People do not respond to events themselves, but to the meaning they attach to them.

That meaning does not arise on its own. It is shaped by stories.

Take a current example: protests in a city. Images show demonstrators, police intervention, tensions. The facts — there is a demonstration, there are confrontations — seem relatively easy to establish. Yet different interpretations emerge almost immediately.

For some, the images confirm that public order is under pressure and that firm action is necessary. For others, the same situation shows that fundamental rights are being restricted or that there is an abuse of power.

The event is the same.

The story about it differs.

These stories are not random inventions. They build on existing beliefs, values, and experiences. People place new information within frameworks that are already present. Those frameworks determine what seems relevant, what appears credible, and which conclusions feel logical.

In this sense, stories are not additions to reality, but a way of making reality intelligible.

Without such interpretations, the world would be too complex to grasp. Stories organize information, provide structure, and make action possible. They connect separate events into a meaningful whole.

But precisely because stories give meaning, they also exert influence.

This becomes clear in debates on issues such as climate change. The scientific facts are extensively documented, but their interpretation differs sharply. For one person, climate change is an urgent collective problem requiring immediate action. For another, it fits into a story about economic interests, political agendas, or exaggerated threat.

Here, facts do not disappear, but they acquire different meanings depending on the narrative in which they are placed.

This explains why facts alone are often insufficient to change beliefs.

When information clashes with the story someone uses, it is not automatically accepted. On the contrary, it may be ignored, doubted, or reinterpreted so that it fits within the existing framework. What at first appears to be irrational behaviour often turns out to be a form of consistency: people try to keep their worldview coherent.

Narratives therefore function as filters.

They determine:

• which information is noticed

• how that information is interpreted

• which conclusions are seen as plausible

This mechanism is intensified in a digital environment.

On social media, people mainly encounter information that aligns with their existing beliefs. Algorithms select content on the basis of previous interactions, causing certain stories to become more visible while others fade into the background. Within such environments, narratives can deepen and harden.

Groups develop their own explanations of how the world works:

• what the main problems are

• who is responsible

• which solutions seem logical

As these stories grow further apart, it becomes harder to arrive at a shared reality.

Here it becomes clear that stories do not merely describe; they also guide.

They influence how people behave, how they see others, and which choices they make. In this sense, narratives possess a form of power.

That power is often implicit.

Whoever determines the dominant story largely determines:

• what is seen as a problem

• which solutions become imaginable

• who is recognized as a legitimate actor

This is visible in economic debates. When economic growth is placed at the centre as the measure of success, policy choices are evaluated differently than when well-being, sustainability, or equality form the point of departure. The underlying narrative determines which goals appear self-evident.

A similar dynamic occurs in political communication. Terms such as “crisis,” “security,” or “freedom” are not neutral. They evoke specific associations and place events within particular interpretive frameworks. Through language and framing, stories acquire direction.

This means that power lies not only in making decisions, but also in determining meaning.

At the same time, narratives are not entirely manufacturable or controllable. They emerge through interaction between people, media, institutions, and lived experiences. They change over time, are contested, and can shift when new events or perspectives appear.

This makes societies dynamic, but also vulnerable.

When shared narratives disappear, collective decision-making can become difficult. Without a minimally shared understanding of reality, institutions lose legitimacy and distrust increases.

On the other hand, an overly dominant narrative can lead to the exclusion of alternative perspectives. When one story prevails, space for nuance and criticism disappears.

Here, once again, a tension emerges.

Stories make social coexistence possible, but they can also intensify differences.

They connect people around shared meanings,

but they can also draw boundaries between “us” and “them.”

The question, then, is not whether we live in stories, we inevitably do.

The question is which stories become dominant, who shapes them, and how open they remain to correction and other perspectives.

As became clear earlier, institutions do not function only as structures that regulate behaviour, but also as systems that produce and disseminate meaning. Media, politics, and education play a central role in shaping the narratives that determine how people understand the world.

This means that stories are not a marginal phenomenon, but a core component of societies.

Anyone who wants to understand why people do what they do, cannot look only at facts or incentives, but must also look at the stories through which those facts acquire meaning.

And this leads to the next step in the analysis: if emotions guide what we feel, and stories determine how we understand the world, what then determines which stories become dominant and who has influence over them?

HOW SOCIETIES ARE FORMED

4. Who Are You Without Others?

The idea that identity is something that exists entirely within the individual is deeply embedded in the way we think about ourselves. We speak of “who I am,” as if this were a fixed whole that stands apart from the world around us. Characteristics, beliefs, and choices seem personal — something that comes from within.

Yet this image becomes less self-evident once we look at how identity actually develops.

Take language. Without others, no one learns to speak. Words acquire meaning through interaction, correction, and repetition. But language is more than a means of communication. It shapes how we think, how we order the world, and how we understand ourselves. Without language, there is no complex self-image.

The same applies to norms and values. What someone considers “normal,” “right,” or “successful” does not arise in isolation. It is formed in families, schools, media, and social environments. Even beliefs that feel personal are embedded in broader cultural patterns.

Identity, then, is not an internal possession, but a process.

A process that develops in relation to others.

This becomes visible in everyday interactions. The way someone sees themselves is constantly influenced by how others respond. Recognition, criticism, expectations, and labels shape self-image and behaviour. A student who is consistently seen as “talented” often develops different ambitions than someone who is repeatedly confronted with shortcomings.

These processes are rarely explicit, but their effects are profound.

Identity arises not only from what someone thinks about themselves, but also from how that person is seen.

This does not mean that people are completely determined by their environment. They can reflect, resist, and choose new directions. But even those possibilities emerge within a relational context. Even the ability to go against expectations presupposes that expectations exist.

The question “who are you?” therefore cannot be separated from another question: “Within which relationships and contexts did you become who you are?”

This relational nature of identity is further deepened by culture.

Culture can be understood as a shared system of meaning. It includes language, symbols, norms, stories, and habits that guide how people interpret the world. Culture determines not only what is visible, but also what appears self-evident.

What is normal in one context may be strange or even unacceptable in another.

Consider differences in how societies deal with:

• individualism versus collectivity

• hierarchy versus equality

• expression versus restraint

These differences are not merely superficial. They form the frameworks within which people understand themselves and determine their place in the world.

In a strongly individualistic culture, the emphasis lies on personal choice and autonomy. Identity is seen as something you shape yourself. In more collective contexts, identity is more strongly connected to family, community, and social roles.

Neither approach is complete, but they place different emphases.

This tension between individual and community is also visible in current social debates.

On the one hand, there is a strong emphasis on people making their own choices and taking responsibility for their lives. On the other hand, there is a growing awareness that social conditions, inequality, and cultural context have a major influence on those choices.

Debates on issues such as diversity, inclusion, and identity politics show how complex this relationship is. For some, individual freedom is central: the right to determine for oneself who one is. For others, the emphasis lies on the recognition of group identities and structural inequality.

These positions sometimes appear to stand in opposition, but they arise from the same underlying tension: how does the individual relate to the community in which they emerge?

Social media make this tension more visible. People present themselves as individuals — with their own opinions, preferences, and identities — but they do so within platforms that depend heavily on social recognition. Likes, comments, and followers function as signals of appreciation and influence how people present themselves.

Here, identity becomes literally visible as a process between individual and audience.

At the same time, these dynamics can reinforce group formation. People seek connection with others who share similar beliefs or experiences. This can lead to recognition and belonging, but also to demarcation from other groups.

Here again, a double movement becomes visible.

Relationships and culture make identity possible, but they can also impose limits.

They provide:

• language and meaning

• recognition and belonging

But also:

• expectations and norms

• exclusion and pressure to conform

Identity therefore emerges within a field of tension.

On the one hand, there is the need to be oneself; on the other, the necessity of relating to others.

This tension cannot be resolved, but forms a structural part of being human.

As became clear earlier, institutions do not function only as structures that regulate behaviour, but also as frameworks that help shape meaning and identity. Education, media, work, and politics all contribute to the ways in which people understand themselves and others.

This means that identity is not only personal, but also social.

Who people are is connected to:

• the relationships in which they live

• the culture in which they find meaning

• the systems that structure their possibilities

The question “who are you without others?” therefore receives a clear answer.

Not because individual difference does not exist, but because that difference can only emerge within relationships.

Without others:

• no language

• no self-image

• no meaning

The other is not an addition to the individual, but a condition of the individual’s existence.

This leads to the next step in the analysis.

If identity emerges between people and culture determines how we give meaning, what happens when those meanings collide and differences grow into conflict?

5. Why Conflict Is Inevitable

Social coexistence is often imagined as something that, ideally, unfolds harmoniously. Differences can be bridged, interests aligned, and conflicts resolved. In this view, conflict appears as a disruption, something that arises when systems fail to function properly or when people do not behave reasonably.

Yet reality shows something else.

Conflicts are not exceptions, but structural features of societies.

A society without conflict does not exist. The question is how we deal with it.

This has to do with a simple fact: people differ.

They have divergent interests, beliefs, values, and positions. In a complex society, these differences inevitably come into contact with one another. Wherever resources are scarce, interests collide, or interpretations diverge, tension arises.

That tension is not necessarily problematic.

Indeed, conflict can fulfil an important function. It makes visible where interests diverge, where systems fall short, and where change is needed. Much social progress from labour rights to civil rights, has emerged from conflicts in which existing relations were challenged.

To understand conflict, it is necessary to look at power.

Power is not an exceptional phenomenon found only in politics or government. It is present in every social relationship in which people depend on one another. Those who have access to resources, information, or decision-making occupy a different position from those who depend on them.

These differences are often not immediately visible, but they shape how societies function.

Take the labour market. Employers and employees depend on one another, but that dependence is rarely symmetrical. Employers often determine the conditions under which work takes place, while employees depend on income. This asymmetry influences bargaining positions, choices, and outcomes.

A similar dynamic is visible in digital environments. Large technology companies largely determine which information becomes visible, how interaction takes place, and which rules apply. Users participate in these systems but have limited influence over their design. Here too, a relationship emerges in which power is unequally distributed.

Power does not only mean that someone can force something to happen, but also that someone can determine:

• which options are available

• which information is visible

• which interpretations become dominant

In this sense, power is woven into the structures in which people live.

Inequality plays a central role here.

Not everyone has access to the same resources, networks, or opportunities. Differences in income, education, social position, and access to institutions translate into differences in influence. These inequalities are partly visible, but they often also operate implicitly.

When certain groups structurally have more influence than others, tensions arise.

Those tensions can take different forms.

Sometimes they remain latent: dissatisfaction is present, but does not immediately come to the surface. In other cases, they become explicitly visible, for example in protests, political mobilization, or social conflicts. The form conflict takes depends on the space available to express and address differences.

Here it becomes clear that conflict does not arise only from individual differences, but from structural relations.

This also means that it is not enough to understand conflict as a communication problem or as a matter of misunderstanding. Although miscommunication can play a role, the core often lies deeper: in conflicting interests, unequal positions, and different interpretations of what is just.

Conflicts become destructive when these underlying tensions are not acknowledged, or when there are no mechanisms for dealing with them.

This can happen in various ways.

When groups structurally feel unheard, distrust can grow. Institutions lose legitimacy when they are unable to represent interests in a balanced way. In such situations, conflict can escalate: from disagreement to polarization, and in extreme cases to open confrontation.

Social media can intensify these processes.

Through the rapid spread of information and emotions, conflicts can accelerate. Positions are formulated more sharply, oppositions are magnified, and nuance recedes into the background. Groups organize around shared beliefs, increasing the distance from other perspectives.

What begins as difference can grow into opposition.

But conflict does not have to be destructive.

Under certain conditions, it can actually contribute to stability and development. When there is room for different perspectives, when institutions are able to mediate between interests, and when there is trust in procedures, conflict can be transformed into dialogue and change.

Democratic systems are, in essence, designed to deal with conflict. Elections, debates and the judiciary offer ways to articulate and channel differences without allowing them to escalate. They implicitly recognize that conflict is inevitable but try to guide it.

This makes clear that the question is not how conflict can be avoided, but how it is organized.

As became clear earlier, institutions do not function merely as neutral frameworks, but as structures that help shape behaviour, meaning, and relations. The same applies to conflict. The way institutions are designed determines:

• which conflicts become visible

• how they are interpreted

• which outcomes are possible

When systems provide space for participation and correction, conflict can contribute to adaptation and improvement. When that space is absent, conflict can accumulate and eventually discharge in ways that are difficult to control.

This is the core point.

Conflicts do not arise because social coexistence has failed, but because social coexistence takes place under conditions of difference and inequality.

That makes conflict inevitable.

At the same time, the way societies deal with conflict determines whether it leads to:

• correction or escalation

• cooperation or polarization

• development or stagnation

The challenge, therefore, is not to eliminate conflict, but to create conditions in which conflict can become productive.

And this leads to the next question: if conflict arises from differences in power, interests, and meaning, how do we ensure that those differences do not grow into fault lines within society?

6. What We Pass On — and Why It Matters

When we look at societies, it often seems as if each generation begins anew. New technologies, new ideas, and changing norms create the impression of constant renewal. Yet that renewal is always embedded in something that remains.

Societies do not begin again.

They build on what already exists.

Societies reproduce themselves.

This does not happen in one place, but through a network of processes in which knowledge, norms, opportunities, and inequalities are passed on.

One of the most visible mechanisms is upbringing.

From an early age, people learn how the world works. Not only through explicit instruction, but especially through implicit signals: what is rewarded, what is disapproved of, what is seen as normal. Parents, caregivers, and the immediate environment form the first framework within which a person learns to understand themselves and others.

But upbringing does not stand alone.

Education plays a similar role. Schools do not only transmit knowledge, but also expectations, norms, and perspectives. They largely determine which skills are developed and which opportunities are opened up or limited.

This becomes visible in differences between educational contexts. Access to good education, support, and networks is unequally distributed. As a result, pupils grow up with different starting positions, which influence their further development.

What begins as a difference in environment can grow into a difference in life course.

Media form a third channel.

Through news, social media, and culture, people are presented with images of what matters, what counts as success, and what is considered desirable behavior. These images influence not only how people see the world, but also how they position themselves within that world.

In a digital environment, these processes are intensified. Information spreads quickly, but it is not neutral. Algorithms determine which stories become visible, which perspectives are repeated, and which fade into the background. In doing so, they indirectly influence how new generations learn to understand reality.

These different channels — upbringing, education, and media — together form a system of transmission.

They ensure that knowledge, values, and structures continue to exist across generations.

But what is passed on is not only positive.

Inequality is reproduced in similar ways.

Differences in income, education, and social position affect the opportunities people receive. Children grow up in different circumstances, with different forms of support and different expectations.

These differences are not always immediately visible, but they have long-term effects.

Those who have access to networks, stable living conditions, and quality education develop different possibilities than those who grow up in insecurity or with limited resources. What at first appears to be individual difference often turns out to be the result of inherited structures.

This mechanism makes inequality persistent.

Not because individuals do not change, but because the conditions in which they develop differ.

Alongside material and social factors, something less tangible also plays a role: collective memory.

Societies carry stories about their past. Wars, colonial history, economic crises, or periods of growth and stability become shared points of reference. This history influences how people see themselves and others.

Collective memory is not neutral.

It determines:

• which events are remembered

• how they are interpreted

• what lessons are drawn from them

In some cases, the past becomes a source of connection. In other cases, it remains a source of tension.

This becomes visible in debates about historical responsibility, identity, and inequality. Different groups can experience and interpret the same past in very different ways. What is closed history for one person may continue to shape the present for another.

Here, collective memory touches on trauma.

Trauma is not only individual; it can also be collective. Experiences of violence, oppression, or exclusion can reverberate across generations. Not always directly visible, but through stories, behaviours, and institutional structures.

Research shows that such experiences can influence trust, expectations, and social relationships. They form a background against which new experiences are interpreted.

What is passed on, then, is not only what is visible, but also what remains implicitly present.

These different forms of transmission make clear that societies have continuity.

New generations do not move through an empty field, but through a structure that has already been formed.

At the same time, this does not mean that everything is fixed.

Transmission is not a copy, but a process. What is passed on is also interpreted, adapted, and sometimes challenged. New generations can reproduce existing patterns, but they can also break through them.

This makes societies dynamic.

But that dynamism always takes place within existing frameworks.

As became clear earlier, institutions do not function only as structures that regulate behavior, but also as mechanisms that transmit knowledge, norms, and possibilities. They play a central role in what is preserved and what changes.

This leads to an important insight.

What people become depends not only on their own choices, but also on what they inherit.

And what they inherit is the result of earlier choices, structures, and events.

The question, therefore, is not only what we do today, but also what we pass on to the generations after us.

Because in that transmission lies the continuity of societies.

And with it, their inequalities, their possibilities, and their tensions.

This raises the next question: if societies reproduce themselves, under what conditions can they truly change?

STRUCTURES THAT SHAPE OUR LIVES

7. The Economy Behind Your Everyday Life

The economy is often presented as something abstract. Figures on growth, inflation, or unemployment dominate the news, while economic models speak of markets, supply, and demand. It seems like a domain separate from people’s everyday lives.

Yet the opposite is true.

The economy is not something outside society.

It is the way society is organized.

From work and income to housing, care, and consumption — almost every aspect of daily life is interwoven with economic structures. But to understand this, we need to see the economy not as a collection of transactions, but as a relational system.

A system of interdependencies.

Take a simple action: doing the groceries. What at first appears to be an individual choice turns out to be part of a complex network. Products have been produced, transported, processed, and sold by countless people and organizations. Prices are shaped by global markets, policy, and logistics.

Behind every purchase lies a chain of relationships.

This applies not only to consumption, but also to labor. Work is often seen as an individual achievement; someone provides labor and receives wages in return. In reality, labor is embedded in broader structures of cooperation, organization, and dependence.

Employees depend on employers for income. Employers depend on employees for production. Both depend on markets, regulation, and infrastructure.

This mutual dependence is fundamental to how the economy functions.

But that dependence is not evenly distributed.

Inequality is a structural feature of economic systems. Differences in income, wealth, and access to resources create asymmetrical relationships. Those who possess capital, networks, or scarce skills occupy a different position from those who depend on labor under limited conditions.

This becomes visible in current developments.

The growth of flexible work and platform labor has created new forms of dependence. Workers formally operate as self-employed individuals, but in practice they are often dependent on platforms that determine rates, access to work, and conditions. What appears as flexibility can simultaneously mean insecurity and limited bargaining power.

A similar dynamic is present in the housing market. Access to affordable housing is no longer self-evident for many people, but depends on income, wealth, and policy. Homes function not only as places to live, but also as investment assets, meaning that economic logic directly intervenes in basic social needs.

These examples make clear that the economy is not only about production and consumption, but also about the distribution of power and dependence.

At the same time, an important part of economic activity often remains invisible.

Care, upbringing, and emotional support form the foundation on which societies function, yet they are not always recognized as “economic.” Domestic work, informal care, and volunteer work contribute to well-being and stability, but rarely appear in economic statistics.

This does not mean they are less important, quite the opposite.

Without these forms of labour, the economic system could not function. People must be raised, cared for, and supported in order to participate in work and society at all.

In addition, emotional labour plays a growing role.

In sectors such as healthcare, education, and services, people are expected not only to perform tasks, but also to regulate emotions: to be friendly, show understanding, and demonstrate involvement. These forms of labour are essential, but difficult to measure and often undervalued.

What is visible in the economy is not always what is most decisive.

This leads to a broader tension.

On the one hand, the economic system makes large-scale cooperation possible. It creates production, innovation, and prosperity. It enables people to function in complex societies and fulfil needs that would be impossible to meet individually.

On the other hand, that same system imposes limitations.

It determines:

• who has access to resources

• which forms of labour are valued

• which choices are actually available

In this sense, the economy shapes not only possibilities, but also boundaries.

The economy enables and limits at the same time.

This tension becomes visible in debates about work and economic security. On the one hand, the economy offers opportunities for development and self-realization. On the other hand, many people experience insecurity, performance pressure, and dependence on systems over which they have limited influence.

What appears as individual choice for example, the choice of a job, is often strongly shaped by circumstances such as education, networks, and available options.

As became clear earlier, institutions do not function merely as neutral frameworks, but as structures that help shape behaviour and possibilities. This is especially true of economic institutions. They determine how value is created, distributed, and recognized.

This means that the economy cannot be separated from broader questions of justice, power, and social coexistence.

The way economic systems are organized influences:

• how people cooperate

• how dependencies are structured

• which forms of life become possible

The economy is therefore not the background of society, but one of its central structures.

And this raises the next question: if the economy determines both our possibilities and our limitations, how can we ensure that these structures contribute to cooperation rather than reinforcing inequality?

8. We Live on a Finite Planet

Much of how societies function is based on an implicit assumption: that growth is possible without clear limits. Economies must grow, production can be scaled up, and consumption is seen as the engine of prosperity.

Yet this image increasingly collides with reality.

The Earth on which societies exist is not unlimited.

We live on a finite planet.

That sounds simple, but its implications are profound.

Ecological systems — climate, biodiversity, water, soil — form the conditions under which human life is possible. They provide food, energy, and raw materials, and regulate processes that are essential for stability. Without these systems, no economy, no society, and no future can be imagined.

At the same time, these systems are under pressure.

Climate change is the most visible example. Rising temperatures, more extreme weather, and changing ecosystems show that human activity affects planetary boundaries. What was long seen as an external background turns out to be an integral part of social dynamics.

This makes clear that ecology and society do not exist separately from one another.

Economic activity — production, transport, energy use — directly intervenes in natural systems. Conversely, changes in those systems influence how societies function. Droughts, floods, or the loss of biodiversity have direct consequences for food supply, migration, and stability.

The relationship is reciprocal.

Yet this reciprocity is not always fully taken into account in the way systems are designed. Many economic processes are based on short-term efficiency, while ecological effects often manifest themselves over the longer term. Costs are shifted across time or space, making them less visible in immediate decision-making.

This creates a tension.

What seems rational in the short term, can become problematic in the long term.

Take energy use. Fossil fuels have made economic growth possible, but at the same time they contribute to climate change. The benefits are immediately visible, while the disadvantages are often dispersed and delayed. This makes it difficult to make choices that do justice to both dimensions.

A similar dynamic applies to consumption. Products are available globally, but their production involves the use of raw materials, emissions, and waste. These effects are often not visible to the consumer, yet they are part of the system.

Here it becomes clear that ecological limits are not only a technical issue, but also a social and institutional one.

Who bears the costs of environmental damage?

Who benefits from production and consumption?

And how are these trade-offs made?

These questions touch on responsibility.

Climate change and ecological pressure are the result of collective processes, but their consequences are unequally distributed. Some regions and groups are affected more severely than others, often without having contributed to the problem to the same extent.

This makes the question of justice unavoidable.

The future and responsibility are closely connected.

Decisions made today have long-term consequences. Infrastructure, energy policy, and economic choices help determine the conditions in which future generations will live. At the same time, those future generations have no direct voice in today’s decision-making.

This creates a fundamental tension between the short and the long term.

On the one hand, there is the pressure of immediate needs and interests.

On the other hand, the necessity of taking into account limits that will only fully manifest themselves later.

As became clear earlier, institutions function as structures that help shape behaviour and choices. The same applies here. The way the economy, policy, and technology are organized strongly influences how societies deal with ecological limits.

When systems are oriented toward unlimited growth without taking ecological effects into account, pressure on those limits increases. When they take the long term and sustainability into account, they can contribute to stability.

The question, then, is not only what is possible, but also what is sustainable.

This requires a different way of looking.

Not only: “How can we grow?”

But also: “Within which limits is that growth possible?”

And: “What responsibility do we bear for its consequences?”

The core point is that ecology is not an external factor separate from society and the economy.

It is the foundation on which both rests.

This means that choices about production, consumption, and organization are always also ecological choices, whether they are made explicit or not.

And this leads to the next question: if our systems depend on a finite planet, how can we organize them so that they continue to function within those limits?

9. Who Determines What Becomes Visible?

Access to information is often seen as one of the greatest achievements of modern society. With just a few clicks, almost everything is available: news, opinions, knowledge, and images from all over the world.

At first glance, this seems like a form of freedom.

Everyone can search, share, and respond. Information appears open and accessible.

Yet this image is incomplete.

Not everything that exists becomes visible.

And what becomes visible is rarely neutral.

The question is not only what exists, but who determines what you see.

Digital systems play a central role in this.

Platforms such as social media, search engines, and streaming services operate through algorithms. These algorithms select and organize information. They determine which posts appear at the top, which videos are recommended, and which topics become trending.

This does not happen randomly.

Selection is based on patterns of behavior: what people click on, share, and watch. Information that attracts attention receives more visibility. Information that generates little interaction fades into the background.

Attention therefore becomes a scarce and valuable factor.

And that attention is actively steered.

This has consequences for how people experience the world.

What is visible feels important.

What is repeated feels true.

When certain topics appear constantly, the impression arises that they are dominant. Other topics, which are less visible, disappear from collective awareness — regardless of their actual importance.

Here it becomes clear that information provision is not a passive process.

It is actively structured.

This can be seen in the way news spreads. Messages that evoke emotions — indignation, fear, anger — often gain greater reach. Not because they are necessarily more important, but because they generate more reactions.

Algorithms amplify this dynamic.

What touches people becomes visible.

What becomes visible influences what people think and feel.

In this way, a feedback loop emerges.

Information influences behaviour, behaviour influences selection and selection once again influences information.

This process makes it difficult to speak of a fully neutral flow of information.

Alongside selection, personalization also plays a role.

Digital systems adapt to individual preferences. Two people entering the same search term can receive different results. Their previous behaviour determines what they are shown.

In this way, information spheres emerge that are partly separated from one another.

People move through environments in which their existing beliefs are more often confirmed than challenged. This can deepen perspectives, but it can also close people off from alternative views.

The result is that shared reality fragments.

Not because facts disappear, but because they are presented and interpreted differently.

This opens the door to manipulation.

Once it becomes clear that attention can be steered, it becomes possible to use that steering deliberately. Political campaigns, commercial actors, and other parties can try to present information in ways that influence behaviour.

This does not always happen directly or visibly.

It can involve:

• subtle framing of messages

• strategic timing of information

• targeted advertising aimed at specific groups

The boundary between informing and influencing thereby becomes less clear.

Power shifts in this process.

Traditionally, power was often linked to formal positions: government, institutions, media. In a digital environment, another form of power emerges: power over visibility.

Whoever determines what becomes visible influences what people believe to be important.

This power is not always concentrated in one place.

Technology companies play a central role, but users also contribute. By clicking, sharing, and responding, they reinforce certain patterns. Power is therefore both centralized and dispersed.

That makes it less visible, but not less influential.

As became clear earlier, institutions function as structures that help shape behaviour and meaning. In this light, digital systems can be seen as new institutions: they organize information, structure interaction, and influence how people understand the world.

This has consequences for societies.

When information is filtered and steered, it changes:

• how people inform themselves

• how they form opinions

• how they relate to one another

The question of truth thereby becomes more complex.

Not because truth disappears, but because access to it is mediated.

Here, a new tension emerges.

On the one hand, digital systems offer unprecedented access to information.

On the other, they structure that access in ways that are not always visible.

Freedom and steering exist side by side. The core question therefore shifts.

Not only: “What information is available?”

But also: “How is that information selected, presented, and amplified?”

And ultimately: “Who has influence over that process?”

Because in a world where attention is steered, visibility becomes a form of power.

And this leads to the next step: if power shifts toward control over information and attention, what does that mean for how societies function and for who truly has influence?

STABILITY, CRISIS, AND CHANGE

10. Why Societies Sometimes Derail

Societies are often seen as stable systems. There are institutions, rules, and structures that organize daily life. People work, communicate, and participate in social and political processes. From that perspective, stability seems self-evident.

Yet history and the present as well, shows that societies can shift.

What appears stable can come under pressure.

What feels self-evident can suddenly turn out to be fragile.

The question is not only how societies function, but also why they sometimes derail.

The first clue lies in polarization.

As became clear earlier, differences in perspective, interests, and interpretations are inevitable. Under healthy conditions, those differences can coexist. There is room for debate, correction, and nuance.

Polarization arises when that space becomes smaller.

Positions harden, groups come to stand opposite one another, and the willingness to understand other perspectives declines. The other is no longer seen as someone with a different point of view, but as someone who is fundamentally wrong or even as a threat.

This process becomes visible in political debates, but also in broader social contexts. Issues such as migration, climate, or economic inequality lead not only to different opinions, but to deeper dividing lines.

Polarization is therefore not merely a difference of opinion, but a difference in reality.

Distrust plays a central role here.

Societies function based on trust:

• trust in institutions

• trust in information

• trust in one another

When that trust declines, the dynamic changes.

People begin to doubt the legitimacy of decision-making, the reliability of information, and the intentions of others. In such a context, cooperation becomes more difficult. Every decision becomes suspect; every source is called into question.

 

Distrust reinforces polarization, and polarization reinforces distrust.

In this way, a self-reinforcing process emerges.

This becomes visible in debates about politics and media. When groups feel that they are not represented or heard, trust in institutions may decline. At the same time, an abundance of conflicting information can create uncertainty about what is still credible.

In such an environment, the focus shifts from content to intention: not only what is being said, but above all who is saying it and why.

Alongside polarization and distrust, systemic pressure plays an important role.

Societies consist of complex systems — economic, social, political — that are intertwined. These systems function within certain limits. When those limits are reached or exceeded, pressure arises.

That pressure can take different forms:

• economic insecurity

• social inequality

• ecological strain

• institutional overload

Individually, these factors may seem manageable. In combination, they can reinforce one another.

Take, for example, the combination of economic insecurity and social inequality. When groups feel structurally disadvantaged while uncertainty increases at the same time, their willingness to trust and cooperate may decline. Political tensions rise, and space for nuance disappears.

A similar dynamic is visible in digital environments. The speed with which information and emotions spread increases the pressure on public debate. Reactions follow one another rapidly, positions harden, and reflection becomes more difficult.

Systemic pressure means that tensions accumulate.

Not always visible on the surface, but present within the structure.

When this pressure becomes too great, systems may struggle to adapt. Mechanisms that normally provide stability such as institutions, rules, and procedures, lose effectiveness. Decision-making slows down or becomes blocked, while problems continue to develop.

At that point, fragility becomes visible.

 

 

What previously seemed stable turns out to depend on fragile balances:

• between trust and distrust

• between difference and cohesion

• between stability and change

When those balances shift, a relatively small event can have major consequences. An incident, crisis, or political decision can act as a catalyst, bringing underlying tensions to the surface.

This makes clear that derailment is rarely the result of a single cause.

It is usually the result of converging processes:

• increasing polarization

• declining trust

• rising systemic pressure

These factors reinforce one another.

As became clear earlier, institutions function as structures that help shape behaviour, meaning, and relations. When these institutions come under pressure or lose legitimacy, it becomes more difficult to regulate tensions.

This means that stability is not a fixed given, but an ongoing process.

Societies continue to function as long as they are able to:

• accommodate differences

• maintain trust

• absorb pressure and adapt

When that capacity declines, the risk of derailment increases.

The core issue, therefore, is not avoiding tension, but dealing with it.

Conflicts, differences, and pressure are inevitable. The question is whether systems are flexible enough to respond to them without breaking.

And this leads to the next question: what actually holds a society together, even when differences are great and pressure increases?

11. What Holds a Society Together?

When differences increase, tensions rise, and systems come under pressure, a fundamental question emerges: what prevents societies from falling apart?

At first glance, institutions seem to be the answer. There are laws, rules, and organizations that structure behaviour and regulate conflicts. They provide order, coordination, and continuity.

But institutions alone are not enough.

Without something underlying them, they lose their effect.

That underlying element is trust.

Trust forms the foundation of every society.

Without trust, social coexistence becomes difficult.

People must be able to rely on the fact that:

• agreements will be honoured

• rules will be applied consistently

• others will behave in a reasonably predictable way

Without that trust, friction arises in almost every domain.

In traffic, for example, people trust that others will follow the rules. In the economy, parties trust that transactions will be honoured. In politics, citizens trust that decisions are made in a legitimate way.

When that trust is present, systems function relatively smoothly.

When it is absent, problems arise.

Controls increase, procedures become more complex, and interactions slow down. Energy shifts from cooperation to limiting risks. In extreme cases, distrust can lead to paralysis: no one acts without certainty, and that certainty is difficult to obtain.

Trust is therefore not an abstract concept, but a practical condition for functioning.

Yet trust is not a given.

It emerges and develops through interaction.

There are different forms of trust:

• interpersonal trust, between people

• institutional trust, in systems and organizations

• systemic trust, in the functioning of the whole

These forms are interconnected.

When trust in institutions declines, this can affect how people approach one another. Conversely, a lack of mutual trust can undermine the functioning of institutions.

Institutions play a crucial role in this.

They function as structures that make behaviour predictable and stabilize expectations. By establishing rules and organizing procedures, they reduce uncertainty. People do not have to renegotiate basic agreements each time, because those agreements have been institutionally secured.

But institutions only work as long as they are experienced as legitimate.

Legitimacy arises when people feel that:

• rules are fair

• procedures are just

• outcomes are acceptable, even when they are not in their favour

When that feeling disappears, the system loses its stabilizing effect.

This becomes visible in current debates about politics and governance. When groups feel unrepresented or believe that rules are applied unequally, trust can decline. Decisions are then judged not only on their substance, but also on presumed intentions and interests.

In such a context, the basis of stability shifts.

It is no longer rules themselves, but belief in those rules, that becomes decisive.

Here it becomes clear that stability does not arise from control alone.

Too much emphasis on control can even have the opposite effect. When systems rely heavily on oversight, sanctions, and distrust, this can further undermine the trust beneath them. People begin to act out of caution or self-interest, rather than cooperation.

Stability emerges instead from a balance between:

• rules and room for discretion

• control and trust

• structure and flexibility

When that balance is present, systems can function without being under constant pressure.

This does not mean that conflicts or differences disappear.

On the contrary, as became clear earlier, they are inevitable. But within a context of trust, they can be absorbed and processed. People are more likely to accept outcomes when they trust the process that produced them.

As argued earlier, institutions do not function only as frameworks that regulate behaviour, but also as structures that shape meaning and relationships. They contribute to the ways in which trust is built or broken down.

This makes clear that trust is not merely an individual feeling, but a collective achievement.

It is produced through interactions between people and through the way systems are designed.

When systems function transparently, predictably, and fairly, trust can grow. When they are inconsistent, opaque, or unequal, trust declines.

The core point is that societies are not held together by coercion alone,

but by shared trust that makes cooperation possible.

That trust is fragile.

It can be built slowly, but it can also be broken down relatively quickly. And once it has disappeared, it is difficult to restore.

That is why the question is not only how systems function, but also how they generate and maintain trust.

Because ultimately, it is trust between people and in institutions that determines whether a society remains stable, even under pressure.

And this leads to the next question: if trust is so decisive, how do societies ensure that they can correct themselves when that trust comes under pressure?

12. How Societies Learn or Fail

Societies are constantly confronted with change, tensions, and unexpected events. Economic shocks, technological developments, social conflicts, and ecological limits put systems to the test.

The question is not whether mistakes are made.

They inevitably are.

The question is whether societies are capable of learning from them.

Strong societies are not perfect, but corrigible.

Corrigibility means that systems are able to recognize mistakes, discuss them, and adapt. It presupposes the existence of mechanisms that detect signals and translate them into change.

A central element in this process is feedback.

Feedback arises when information about the consequences of actions returns to the system. When policy does not work as intended, when inequality increases, or when trust declines, these signals must become visible in order for adjustment to be possible.

This sounds self-evident, but in practice it is complex.

Not all signals are picked up equally well. Some problems remain below the radar for a long time, for example because they affect certain groups more severely than others, or because they develop gradually. Other signals are seen, but are not acknowledged or taken seriously.

Feedback is therefore not a neutral process. It depends on:

• who is heard

• what information is available

• how that information is interpreted

Institutions play an important role here.

As became clear earlier, institutions structure not only behaviour, but also the way information circulates and is processed. They determine which signals are picked up and how responses are formulated.

Democracy can be understood in this light as a system of organized feedback.

Elections, debate, journalism, and civil society organizations form channels through which signals from society can influence decision-making. Citizens can express dissatisfaction, propose alternatives, and influence direction and policy.

 

 

This does not mean that democratic systems always function well. They depend on:

• access to information

• citizen participation

• trust in procedures

• space for criticism

When these conditions come under pressure, the feedback function weakens.

This becomes visible in situations where certain groups structurally feel unheard, or where information becomes heavily filtered or polarized. In such contexts, signals can be distorted or fail to reach decision-making altogether.

The result is that systems become less capable of correcting themselves.

Mistakes persist or grow larger because they are not effectively recognized or addressed.

Learning from mistakes is therefore not an automatic process.

It requires not only that mistakes become visible, but also that there is space to acknowledge them. This is not always easy. Acknowledging mistakes can clash with interests, reputations, or existing beliefs. Resistance to change may arise, especially when systems are strongly designed to preserve existing structures.

This creates a tension.

On the one hand, stability is necessary for societies to function. On the other, change is necessary to correct mistakes.

Too much emphasis on stability can lead to rigidity. Systems continue to function as they are, even when they no longer correspond to reality. Too much emphasis on change, by contrast, can lead to instability, leaving no firm basis on which to build.

Corrigibility requires a balance between the two.

It requires systems that are stable enough to function,

but flexible enough to adapt.

This becomes visible in the way societies deal with crises.

During the coronavirus pandemic, for example, governments and institutions had to act quickly on the basis of incomplete information. Decisions were made, adjusted, and sometimes reversed. In some cases, this generated trust — when adjustments were seen as learning. In other cases, it generated distrust — when changes were experienced as inconsistency.

The interpretation of correction therefore plays an important role.

Is adaptation seen as strength or as weakness?

This depends on the extent to which systems are transparent about their own limitations. When mistakes are acknowledged and explained, this can contribute to trust. When they are denied or concealed, it can undermine trust instead.

This makes clear that learning is not only a technical process, but also a social and political one.

It is not only about information, but also about interpretation, legitimacy, and trust.

Societies fail when these processes become blocked.

When signals do not get through, when mistakes are not acknowledged, or when systems are unable to adapt, problems can begin to accumulate.

This connects to earlier insights into systemic pressure and fragility. When correction mechanisms fail to function, the risk increases that tensions will escalate.

The core therefore lies in the capacity for self-correction.

Not as an incidental response, but as a structural part of how systems are designed.

This means that societies need mechanisms that:

• make deviations visible

• provide space for criticism

• make adaptation possible

Without those mechanisms, stability becomes an illusion.

With those mechanisms, stability becomes dynamic.

Strong societies are not perfect but corrigible.

And this leads to the next question: if the capacity to learn is so decisive, under what conditions do societies remain open to correction instead of becoming trapped in their own structures?

FUTURE AND CHOICES

13. The Future Is Not a Given

The future is often presented as something that simply comes toward us. Developments follow one another, technology changes, and societies adapt. In this view, the future seems like a continuation of the present, perhaps faster, perhaps more complex, but essentially inevitable.

Yet that image is misleading.

The future is not fixed. It is shaped by the choices made today.

The future is not a given.

This becomes visible when we look at how societies develop across generations.

As became clear earlier, societies constantly pass something on: knowledge, structures, inequalities, and possibilities. What exists today forms the starting point for tomorrow. But that transmission is not a neutral process. What is passed on is the result of priorities, interests, and decisions.

In this sense, every generation is connected to the next.

Not only through what it leaves behind, but also through what it makes possible or impossible.

This touches on intergenerational responsibility.

Decisions made today have consequences that extend beyond the present. Investments in education, infrastructure, and technology shape long-term opportunities. At the same time, choices aimed at short-term benefits can lead to long-term problems.

Climate change is the most direct example of this.

Today’s emissions influence tomorrow’s living conditions. Rising temperatures, sea-level rise, and biodiversity loss develop over long time scales, but they are the result of cumulative choices. Future generations inherit the consequences without having been involved in the decision-making.

This makes clear that sustainability is not an optional theme, but a structural condition for survival.

Sustainability is not only about the environment, but about whether systems can continue to sustain themselves over time. Economic, social, and ecological dimensions are interconnected here. A system that is efficient in the short term but causes depletion in the long term undermines its own foundations.

Here, a tension arises between the short and the long term.

Many decisions are made within immediate frameworks:

• electoral cycles

• quarterly figures

• urgent needs

These frameworks encourage short-term action. At the same time, issues such as climate, infrastructure, and social inequality require a perspective that reaches further.

Long-term thinking is therefore not a self-evident part of decision-making.

It requires explicitly taking into account consequences that are not yet directly visible. This means dealing with uncertainty, complexity, and interests that are not directly represented.

This is not only a technical issue, but also a normative one.

Which future do we consider desirable?

And what responsibility are we willing to bear in order to make that future possible?

These questions become visible in current debates.

In energy policy, for example, short-term costs collide with long-term benefits. Investments in sustainable energy require resources and adaptation, while the benefits manifest themselves over a longer period. The trade-off is not only economic, but also moral: to what extent should the interests of future generations weigh in current choices?

A similar dynamic exists in social systems. Inequality that is not addressed today can deepen across generations. Opportunities that are not created remain absent. What is neglected forms the boundaries within which others must operate.

As became clear earlier, institutions function as structures that help shape behavior and choices. This also applies to the time horizon of societies. Institutions can reinforce short-term thinking, but they can also provide mechanisms to safeguard long-term interests.

Examples include:

• regulation that encourages sustainability

• investment in public services

• agreements that limit future risks

These structures make it possible to look beyond immediate interests.

But they depend on public support.

Long-term thinking requires trust: trust that investments and sacrifices today will lead to benefits tomorrow. Without that trust, it becomes difficult to make choices that reach beyond immediate interests.

This brings us back to the core point.

The future does not arise by itself, but from the sum of choices, structures, and priorities.

What is passed on determines what remains possible.

This means that responsibility extends through time.

Not only: “What are we doing now?”

But also: “What are we leaving behind?”

And: “What room are we leaving for those who come after us?”

The future is therefore not an abstract idea, but a concrete consequence of action in the present.

That makes it uncertain, but also influenceable.

And this leads to a final, overarching question: if the future is shaped by what we build today, what kind of society do we want to leave behind?

14. What Kind of Society Are We Building?

When we look back at the previous chapters, it becomes clear that societies do not consist of separate parts, but of interconnected processes. People do not live in isolation, but in relationships. Emotions shape what receives attention and how situations are experienced, while stories determine what meaning is given to those experiences. Identity emerges through interaction with others, and within those interactions power and inequality play a role in the distribution of resources and influence. Economic structures organize dependencies, ecological limits determine what is possible, and digital systems shape what becomes visible and, therefore, what is experienced as important.

Conflicts arise where differences collide, trust determines whether systems function, and the capacity for correction determines whether they can adapt when they come under pressure. What becomes visible here is not a collection of separate themes, but an interconnected whole. A society is not a static system, but a dynamic process in which people shape systems, and those systems in turn shape people.

This reciprocity is fundamental. It means that choices, structures, and interactions continuously affect one another. What is built today influences how people think, feel, and act tomorrow, and that behavior then shapes new structures in turn. Societies are therefore self-reinforcing, both in positive and negative ways.

This makes the central question unavoidable: what kind of society are we actually building?

That question does not operate on one level only, but on several at once. In economic structures, it concerns whether systems strengthen cooperation or deepen inequality. In digital environments, it concerns whether they promote understanding or intensify divisions. In political and institutional contexts, it concerns whether systems remain open to correction or close themselves off from it. In social interactions, it concerns trust: is it being built up or undermined?

Across all these domains, the same underlying dynamic returns: which patterns are being strengthened, and which are being weakened?

Societies do not develop randomly. They acquire direction through the accumulation of choices, structures, and interactions. That direction is rarely explicit, but it nevertheless shapes outcomes. Some systems make cooperation easier, strengthen trust, and create space to bridge differences. Other systems increase inequality, reinforce distrust, and make it harder to address problems collectively.

Often, this does not happen consciously. Systems can create prosperity and deepen inequality at the same time, make information accessible and intensify polarization, increase efficiency and heighten vulnerability. This is not a mistake, but a consequence of complexity. It means that every structure has multiple effects, and that those effects do not always move in the same direction.

That is why it is not enough to look only at intentions. The question is not only what systems aim to do, but what they actually do. This requires a way of seeing societies not as something that simply exists, but as something that is continuously being made.

This also changes the question of responsibility. If systems shape people, then the design of those systems is not a neutral matter. It determines who receives opportunities, how differences are processed, and which futures become possible. Responsibility then lies not only in individual behavior, but also in the structures and institutions that shape that behavior.

At the same time, the individual remains part of this whole. People contribute to systems through their choices and interactions, but they do so within frameworks that influence their possibilities. Change therefore emerges in the interaction between individuals and systems, between behavior and structure, and between the short and the long term.

This makes change complex, but not impossible. Societies can adapt, provided they are able to detect signals, acknowledge mistakes, and adjust their structures. Whether this happens depends on trust, openness to criticism, and the space available for different perspectives. Without these conditions, systems can become stuck; when they are present, room for development emerges.

This brings the core of social coexistence into view. It is not a self-evident process, but a continuous search for balance between stability and change, between difference and cohesion, between individual freedom and collective dependence.

Within that process lies a fundamental choice, not as a one-time moment, but as an ongoing direction: do we strengthen the conditions for cooperation, or do we undermine them?

That choice is not made only in major political decisions, but also in everyday interactions, institutional structures, and the way systems are designed. The direction of a society is not fixed. It emerges from what people do, from what systems make possible, and from what is collectively maintained.

That is why the question is ultimately not only descriptive, but also normative. Not only how society works, but also how it should work.

And so everything comes together in one final question: what kind of society do we want to build and are we willing to create the conditions that make it possible?

AFTERWORD

At first glance, our society seems to function on its own. Trains run, lights turn on, shelves are stocked.

But behind that apparent self-evidence lies something fundamental: cooperation.

At the same time, we see that many of the systems that make cooperation possible also place it under pressure. Think of inequality, climate change, and the concentration of power.

The core question is therefore: are we building a society that strengthens cooperation, or one that slowly undermines it?

In this piece, I explore how the economy and institutions shape that direction.

👉 Read the full research here: Foundations for a Just and Sustainable Society: https://www.academia.edu/166007747/Samenleven_als_relationeel_historisch_en_ecologisch_proces