This analysis is interesting, but I think there’s a small self-reference problem hidden in it: what exactly counts as an “impossible goal,” and who gets to decide that?
It’s obviously true that some people chase almost “fantasy-level” ambitions. But for most of us, the reason we keep going is that, somewhere in the background, we still believe our goals are possible, possible enough to justify the time, effort, and even psychological pain. If some external standard comes along and declares “this is impossible, you should give up,” that can reduce stress in the short term, but it may also plant a long-term regret that keeps growing with age.
Looking back on my own life, the goals I abandoned for internal reasons (“this no longer fits who I am / I don’t want to pay this price anymore”) are the ones I can live with. I learned from those failures and even feel a bit stronger because of them. The painful ones are the goals I dropped mainly because someone else convinced me they were impossible. Those still feel like open loops.
So maybe the more useful takeaway isn’t “giving up is good,” but: keep reassessing your goals realistically as you grow. If, after a sober look at your skills and constraints, you still feel a goal is worth the cost, then commit and try. At least when you’re old and sitting in a chair somewhere, you’ll be less haunted by “I never even gave it a shot.”
My child was just saved by AI. He suffered from persistent seizures, and after visiting three hospitals, none were able to provide an accurate diagnosis. Only when I uploaded all of his medical records to an AI system did it immediately suggest a high suspicion of MOGAD-FLAMES — a condition with an epidemiology of roughly one in ten million.
Subsequent testing confirmed the diagnosis, and with the right treatment, my child recovered rapidly.
For rare diseases, it is impossible to expect every physician to master all the details. But AI excels at this. I believe this may even be the first domain where both doctors and AI can jointly agree that deployment is ready to begin.
Indeed, it took me many years to learn to incorporate silence as a form of face-to-face feedback, and even to this day I still cannot use it skillfully.
As a heavy user, I feel that when GPT-5 was first launched, its anthropomorphic system might have been down-weighted due to cost or technical reasons. Within just two hours of its release, I realized its level of logic had improved a lot, but its tone felt similar to the 4o model where I had explicitly turned off the anthropomorphic system. Recently, however, it seems to have improved significantly.
Haha, true, but I’m really interested in political theory and philosophy. So occasionally when I come across some very in-depth original content on Bluesky, it feels great. I’ve even made some friends there with whom I can have long-term conversations, for example, discussions on Bayesianism, rationalism and empiricism, as well as Spinoza’s Ethics.
I’m not really interested in topics about the Democrats or Republicans, Biden or Trump.
You’re right: the rot is deep, debt, money in politics, gerrymandering, media capture. I don’t deny any of that.
But precisely because corruption runs so deep, structural anchors are more essential, not less. You say it’s deckchairs on the Titanic, but isn’t the better analogy to ask whether we can refine them into lifeboats? Otherwise, collapse is the only destination.
If we abandon the search for resilient anchors, then democracy becomes exposed to only two paths: slow erosion into dysfunction, or a dangerous temptation toward authoritarian shortcuts. Structural anchors may not be perfect, but without them, there’s nothing left to resist the slide.
I agree with you that since the 2010s, money and social media have profoundly distorted the democratic process. In fact, that distortion is one of the reasons I began thinking about how legitimacy can be safeguarded. If information channels themselves are manipulated, then the institutional design must provide stronger redundancy and anchoring.
But where we differ is on the role of referendums. I do not see referendums as inherently democratic; their scope must be strictly limited. Using referendums to decide day-to-day policy (Brexit being the obvious case) is dangerous, because it allows short-term passion and financial influence to reshape a country’s direction. By contrast, referendums that are narrowly restricted to constitutional amendments carry a different weight and legitimacy.
This is why I emphasize that the “upper triad” (constitutional state, symbolic sovereign, and referendum) must remain separate from the “lower triad” (executive, legislature, judiciary). When they couple vertically, the results are destructive: a monarch deciding executive affairs becomes dictatorship, while referendums deciding legislative matters become tyranny of the majority. Only when the two dimensions are kept apart does democracy gain true resilience.
As for the United States: yes, the Supreme Court has historically played a quasi-sovereign role. But unlike the common view, I would argue its credibility has come from greater restraint—speaking only on the most fundamental constitutional questions, not by becoming more entangled in daily legislative and administrative disputes. The increased politicization since Citizens United shows how quickly resilience erodes once the symbolic anchor is dragged into ordinary partisan combat.
Civil society and media absolutely matter. But they are always active participants in daily contestation. What my model requires is at least one symbolic institution that stands above politics—its authority latent, not constant. That distinction is crucial for long-term stability.
The same reasoning applies to political figures. Even someone like Trump should certainly be allowed to explore different executive strategies. But the system must never allow him—or anyone else—to undermine state sovereignty, trigger populist plebiscites on ordinary policy, or erode the separation of powers. Flexibility in policy and rupture in constitutional order must remain categorically distinct.
I do not deny the corrosive influence of money and media platforms. On the contrary, that is my starting point. My point is simply this: because we cannot fully control these forces, democracy must be designed with either sufficient redundancy, or strong institutional anchors—and ideally both—while still allowing individuals in society to voice diverse perspectives. Without such architecture, democracies that look stable in calm times will appear dangerously fragile when the storm comes.
And for ordinary citizens, if dark money and social media manipulation become a systemic cancer, resilience still exists in layers. At the shallowest level, you can “vote with your feet” by moving to a clearer state environment. Deeper, you can keep appealing to the Supreme Court as a constitutional guardian. At the state level, you still defend your values with one person one vote. And at the very last resort, the people themselves remain the ultimate guarantor that democracy cannot be permanently hijacked.
Yes. Building on the separation of powers, I hypothesize that democracy’s legitimacy rests on three sources: a constitutional state, a ceremonial sovereign, and the popular referendum. These three must be tightly coupled in order to achieve the greatest stability of democracy.
But the reasoning does not stop there. The most important additional constraint is that these three sources of legitimacy must never be coupled with the lower triad of separation of powers at the federal level. If they are, the result is destructive: for example, a monarch deciding executive affairs turns into dictatorship, while referendums deciding legislative matters become tyranny of the majority—the clearest case being Britain’s 51% vs. 49% Brexit vote. Only when the upper and lower dimensions remain uncoupled does democracy become highly resilient.
I believe Britain has not done well in resisting this vertical coupling, while the United States has yet to fully develop the concept of a ceremonial sovereign. What I am sketching is a somewhat complex six-dimensional model of democratic tension. If it takes shape, it might provide an optimal solution to democracy, building on Lijphart’s two-dimensional model—but I have not yet reached a full conclusion.
At present I am writing a comparative study of constitutional monarchy in Britain and Japan. I am deeply grateful for your help and inspiration. Recently I have been studying everything from Britain’s last royal veto in 1708, to modern European referendums, to the unique features of Japan’s constitutional text. This is time-consuming work, but thanks to AI, my efficiency has already improved greatly.
Unlike the internet and mobile internet, the spread of AI doesn’t require additional hardware devices, so its conversion into productivity is happening much faster. I believe that even if the AI bubble bursts, it won’t be as destructive as the internet crash of the 2000s. Still, it’s clear that the market is showing signs of overheating.
As a practitioner, I think the best strategy is to accumulate as much capital as possible during the upcycle while enforcing strict spending discipline.
China is working on it: whether hydropower, solar, onshore wind, or offshore wind, it ranks first in the world — and the cost of generation has already fallen below coal. If the world’s fastest-growing industrial nation can rely on renewable electricity, I can’t see any reason why other countries wouldn’t.
I can’t thank you more. This is my first time using HN, and since every title I clicked took me to an external link, I completely misunderstood the meaning and purpose of HN. After communicating with the moderator, I’ve gained a better understanding, and I’ll make sure to spend more time reading and joining discussions. I really appreciate your comment.
For me, if you can tolerate a more blue-leaning political climate, Bluesky feels better than X. It may not explode as fast, but the long-tail effect is real. Anonymity is also a bit stronger there.
I believe it absolutely should be, and it can even be applied to rare disease diagnosis.
My child was just saved by AI. He suffered from persistent seizures, and after visiting three hospitals, none were able to provide an accurate diagnosis. Only when I uploaded all of his medical records to an AI system did it immediately suggest a high suspicion of MOGAD-FLAMES — a condition with an epidemiology of roughly one in ten million.
Subsequent testing confirmed the diagnosis, and with the right treatment, my child recovered rapidly.
For rare diseases, it is impossible to expect every physician to master all the details. But AI excels at this. I believe this may even be the first domain where both doctors and AI can jointly agree that deployment is ready to begin.
I have not yet finished my paper on Britain and Japan. My current project is an attempt to go beyond the traditional separation of powers by proposing three additional dimensions of democratic resilience: the Constitutional State, the Popular Referendum, and the Ceremonial Sovereign. My argument is that only when these dimensions are deliberately coupled can democracy gain both legitimacy and resilience.
The first two essays explain what these new dimensions are, with the second focusing on the logic of coupling. The third essay, which I am still working on, turns to detailed case studies.
If you are interested in reviewing or analyzing my arguments, I would be deeply grateful. I’ve attached my Medium link below and would very much welcome any feedback or criticism.
It’s obviously true that some people chase almost “fantasy-level” ambitions. But for most of us, the reason we keep going is that, somewhere in the background, we still believe our goals are possible, possible enough to justify the time, effort, and even psychological pain. If some external standard comes along and declares “this is impossible, you should give up,” that can reduce stress in the short term, but it may also plant a long-term regret that keeps growing with age.
Looking back on my own life, the goals I abandoned for internal reasons (“this no longer fits who I am / I don’t want to pay this price anymore”) are the ones I can live with. I learned from those failures and even feel a bit stronger because of them. The painful ones are the goals I dropped mainly because someone else convinced me they were impossible. Those still feel like open loops.
So maybe the more useful takeaway isn’t “giving up is good,” but: keep reassessing your goals realistically as you grow. If, after a sober look at your skills and constraints, you still feel a goal is worth the cost, then commit and try. At least when you’re old and sitting in a chair somewhere, you’ll be less haunted by “I never even gave it a shot.”