Preface: The Road to Shemot Begins in Nantes
On Coherence, Control, and the Limits of Reason
Shemot is personal journey through dysfunctional systems. It reveals incompetence is not accidental—it is engineered. So what, if anything, can still save us? A new mental operating system. An upgrade in thinking and a migration path. That’s Shemot.
There is a pattern I've come to recognise in writing platforms like Substack: the rise of confident incoherence. People write philosophy pamphlets with no scrutiny, no argumentative structure, and no consequence. When challenged, they rarely respond with logic—only with more metaphor. It's a system that produces nonsense and protects it with politeness.
Recently, I commented on an article that made this grand claim:
"The idea that we can understand, control, and optimise complex systems is an illusion born of hubris."
This is not deep. It's a category error. Complexity does not mean unknowability. We may not be able to predict every outcome in a non-linear system—but we can model, understand, and govern them better or worse. That's the point of systems thinking.
But the author responded by saying, essentially,
"Language is reductive, so of course I'm being reductionist."
But he justified one category with a new category error without realising or admitting he made now two errors. I tried to explain it differently—saying we can understand system behaviour, but we do not necessarily select leadership by being most knowledgeable about system behaviour. This was an attempt to explain again why understanding does not equate to an ability to predict its outcome.
He answered by saying:
"So you admit that even if we can explain systems, we cannot explain leadership behaviour within systems" translate: and hence I am right after all.
That is another category error, making an invalid inference. Three comments within a short period, each repeating the same type of error in critical thinking across different domains, even though he is generally aware of the relevant domain vocabulary.
The Irony of Academic Critique
The irony is deeper than this. One recent article warns against the sloppy use of "paradigm shift" by counting how often the word appears in abstracts—suggesting that if it appears often, it means authors probably haven't read the primary source. But this is the same mistake in reverse.
Counting words is not evidence of conceptual misuse. It's correlation mistaken for comprehension. Ironically, the paper warning about misuse of paradigms becomes an example of what it critiques: a shallow analytical technique posing as epistemic insight.
That's the trap: a self-exempting narrative. The moment critique becomes its own exception, it ceases to be critique—it becomes unscientific nonsense.
This isn't irony. It's a tragedy—and a structural one. The article in question begins by stating a clear epistemic rule:
"The first expected action should be 'verify', 'verify', 'verify'… any statement which is used as a basis for the reasoning that follows."
But then it makes exactly the kind of unverified assumption it warns against: that the use of the word paradigm in many abstracts indicates a failure to understand Kuhn. That is neither verified nor verifiable. It's speculation dressed as insight. And it reveals a deeper failure: we have no method. No controls. No process to distinguish between superficial coherence and actual comprehension.
The more science we do, the more incoherence we inject into already complex systems—and that's not self-correcting. That's instability. It cannot be solved from within the current 'paradigm'. Ironically, that too is a misuse of the term.
The Structural Danger of Modern Platforms
That's the first problem: platforms like Substack—and sometimes even academia—are not filtered for truth or coherence. They are filtered for popularity or prestige. And that creates a strange feedback loop where superficial writing gets rewarded not because it's good—but because the system cannot tell the difference.
This is what makes platforms like Substack—and much of social media—so structurally dangerous. Rational argument is not checked for irrationality. In fact, it is penalised. Investing in coherence has no reward unless incoherence is already popular.
So the platform overproduces nonsense, not because of malice, but because of design.
We claim to teach critical thinking. We even research it. But what we often practice is not thinking at all—it's categorising. We train people to recognise the names of fallacies without understanding how they work. It's like learning anatomy without ever understanding how to diagnose disease. We equip ourselves with terms like "confirmation bias" and "post hoc fallacy" but apply them like incantations—not as tools for truth, but for self-congratulation.
This is a critique of the ignorant and we are all ignorant including those who study the problem—and still make the same mistake. That should terrify us. It shows how deep the issue runs: even science, the one method designed to detect error, cannot avoid the trap when it becomes the object of its own analysis.
To clarify why these kinds of logical leaps are flawed, consider this: These arguments rely on associative leaps: two valid statements are presented (A and B), but then an unjustified inference is made—like saying "because A, therefore not B" or "A causes B"—without explaining why that should follow. This is like seeing thunder and lightning and claiming one causes the other without understanding the underlying mechanism. The form of the argument feels plausible, but it's structurally empty. That's why it's invalid.
And the error is easily preventable if you know the meaning of what you're expressing. Authors who make category mistakes often don't. Otherwise they would not write such nonsense like this—and it would not slip through peer review:
"Simulations… mimic the behaviour of reality without trying to propose an explanation of that behaviour."
This lumps simulation models with superstition by implying both are naive attempts to control reality. The difference between simulation and superstition is methodological accountability. Voodoo has no falsifiability; simulations do.
This kind of argument asserts the impossibility of truth-seeking while preserving the authority of doing it. Otherwise, why would they write an article?
And in doing so, it claims humility but blocks critique and tries to control what a reader is allowed to say.
It's a highly manipulative form of aggression-very common in Substack writing.
Saying "There is no truth" is not a useful epistemic statement unless you say what kind of truth you're rejecting (e.g. absolute, metaphysical, binary). Otherwise, it's just semantic noise posing as insight.
Mathematical Models
VaR (Value at Risk) and Monte Carlo simulations are the opposite of superstition. They're structured, probabilistic tools grounded in mathematics, even if imperfect or based on assumptions.
Monte Carlo methods generate thousands of possible outcomes based on probability distributions. They're grounded in statistical inference, not magical thinking.
VaR quantifies the worst expected loss over a time period at a given confidence level. It is a quantitative risk measure, not a talisman.
Fundamental Differences
Simulations test the consequences of structured assumptions; superstition assumes consequences follow from symbolic manipulation without structure or feedback.
To equate these is like saying:
"Since both a weatherman and a rain dancer try to influence expectations about rain, they're the same."
That's rhetorically clever, but epistemologically false. That is the dominating form of discourse produced by Substack.
This is where Nantes comes in.
The Nantes Incident
My recent endeavours in this area helped me to understand myself better because it taught me why I sometimes experience a rage that I can barely control and that leads me to behaviour that seems absurd to any bystander—and even to myself. But I found an explanation. At least, that's what I think.
My worst-ever episode, I think, took place in Nantes, France. I was travelling with some friends and we wanted to buy some water at the supermarket before picking up the car we had left at their parking facility. At the till, the salesperson asked to peek into my bag. I had noticed whilst waiting that she asked everyone if their bag was over a certain size, but not if under a certain size and if the bag could be opened and wasn't 'sealed' with plastic tape. When it was my turn she said something in French, so I played stupid and pretended I didn't understand.
Don't laugh—that was my peace offering, to help her de-escalate without needing the green monster to come. But no. She decided to escalate and called a colleague, and he called my bluff:
"You muz let 'er see een-side ze bag."
So I thought: Fine. I will sacrifice my comfort and wellbeing in order to bring this crisis to a peaceful resolution. I said that I no longer wished to purchase anything and put the water bottle back on the conveyor belt and said “Bonne journée!” and walked off.
Now I became a flight risk to the French prison system—one that, unbeknownst to me, is operated under the brands of Carrefour, Intermarché and the like. Aldi doesn’t have this, Tesco doesn’t have this, and neither does Walmart or 7-Eleven. All shop assistants stormed over and blocked the exit. I had not even been accused of wrongdoing. My crime was lacking proof of my innocence when there wasn’t even a reported crime—there were no missing water bottles.
I don’t know what the French law is here, but I cannot believe it creates a right for supermarkets to hold customers hostage. The polyglot staffer pointed to small signboards on the wall in French and said the law gives them this right, and that I had agreed to bag inspection by entering the premises. Since they had a sign, I could have known, and we wouldn’t have this problem.
That statement unleashed the Hulk. I made it very clear: whatever will happen next, nobody will get to look inside my bag as long as I am still able to prevent it. I didn’t see the sign, I could not understand it even if I had, and regardless of what the French law says—I did not agree to this. It violates my privacy to protect a water bottle. The law doesn’t force the supermarket to exercise their right, it’s arbitrarily and ineffectively applied, and it is highly improbable that I travelled all the way from Germany to steal a snack—but decided I would nevertheless pay for my bottle of water.
And I walked. Thinking: Surely, the Hulk can run down the escalator with a French shop assistant clinging to each arm and leg. Well, he can’t. But he can hold tight to his bag and scream “Police!”
Liberté is 'egal' (irrelevant) in Nantes
This went on for quite a while, while my friends were waiting, since we shared a car. Their mediation strategy was to convince me to give in. This could all be over in 1 second. Problem solved. With a stern look: “Why do you have to be you when we are waiting for you?”
And of course I knew how ridiculous and stupid this was and how much it embarrassed my friends. But my thinking was this: they called the police because I told them it would be the only way for me to open my bag.
They came—maybe within an hour. During this time it needed four or five of their staff to prevent me from breaking free. And now two police officers came, looked inside the bag, and said: It’s empty.
Zwergenaufstand (literal = dwarf uprising, meaning fuss about nothing) over.
But they didn’t understand why they had been called. And I told them why: because Carrefour held me in prison against my will. They thought ‘false imprisonment by supermarkets’ was outside their mandate—only “supermarket prison escapes” was in their job profile.
Liberté, égalité, fraternité—but not in Nantes.
They gave me the name of the responsible police department.
Our next stop was Bordeaux, where I then tried to find a police officer in this capacity who speaks English. Doesn’t exist. But there is a translator service—but I had the impression they were more like volunteers, English high school teachers. He spoke English but didn’t have the vocabulary to translate how I was fending off supermarket shop assistants trying to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on me. His translation was mostly based on my gesture and reenactment which for strange reasons he didn’t describe just in French words. Instead, he was committed to a reenactment of my previous performance—but this time with dramatic FRENCH voiceover and repeated slow-motion scenes and him making noises pretending to choke himself.
But I was not watching something absurd—I was participating in happiness. The translator found a workaround to do good, to help, which was heartwarming. And I felt empathy from the police officer who I could not communicate with directly. Both cared that I could say what I needed to say without taking sides. That mattered to me more than anything. Even if I spend half a day on it—an official record, and a signal to the system that says:
“This cannot be right.”
It was only then I stopped being angry. And I was so angry. About everything. My friends. This stupid, stupid situation. And I was angry at myself. But walking outside after filing the report was a relief.
The cost of maintaining such a law—or out-of-control implementation of said law—would not be sustainable if there was even one person per day saying "Non." How often does police have to check empty bags before they decide they won't show up anymore?
What then? Overnight imprisonment by Carrefour? Or will the employees say: "I wanna go home and be with my family."
If they all can go home—why can't I go?
It's because we are still showing up. Such control only works because we let it control us. It can overpower a single person. But what if five people each decided they don't wish to purchase a bottle of water? Twice a day. Do this for a week, and the law is toast.
If you don't experience freedom, then I can't offer any statement that makes this stance more relatable.
My exploration here and my findings so far gave me confidence that I can look at the episode and recognise why I did what I did. I acted not just out of anger or stubbornness. The situation was a violation—that is how I experienced it. And it is how I think about random police stops today. I cannot accept it for police—but I will tolerate. But I will not let Carrefour have that power over me. And I will reenact my part as often as it takes. Other people may choose differently. But my behaviour wasn't irrational. At least, I cannot think of a rational argument that says otherwise.
If we don't distinguish between truth and coherence, we lose the ability to judge at all. That's what my story from Nantes shares with systems theory denial: Nobody questions the basis. Nobody questions the mechanism. The bag search is never: "Why did they insist on checking a foreign tourist's bag, when the risk is infinitesimal?"
It's always: "Why did you resist?"
Truth or coherence—what difference does it make? Everything.
Organised nonsense like this must not be left unchallenged. Again, it is the (unfortunate) right of France to have stupid laws—but the law didn't force Carrefour to implement it this way. Carrefour chose to. Carrefour, not Macron. Not the people of France. One person did who runs this outlet.
And Macron can be blamed for allowing the structure in which this abuse can take place, but he doesn't demand it. Carrefour did.
A pdf download is available from this link.
#myndOS #Shemot #MyDigitalTruth
