There is a story, or perhaps not a story, but a parable that has metastasized through the motivational slopstream. It goes like this. A man walks through a field in India and sees a herd of giant elephants standing docilely, each tied to a small stake with a single thin, frayed rope.

“Why don’t they break free?” he asks an old villager sitting nearby.

“When they were small, we tied them with this exact rope,” the villager replies, smiling. “They struggled, but couldn’t break free.”

“Now, they’ve given up. They’re convinced it’s pointless,” he adds.

The pop reading of the story ends with self-liberation on a monthly installment plan. Maybe a little yoga is added to lubricate the transaction. Visualize freedom! Break your chains! Unleash your potential! Chataranga! Breathe!

But the trap is not in the rope or your lack of self-belief.

A Sacrifice

The young elephant tugs. Once. Twice. A thousand times. The rope does not yield. And so the elephant learns the shape of its prison. It adjusts to the contours of the possible and stops pulling. The trap is shut.

The young elephant’s world is a phase space, a map of all possible states. Initially, the free and untethered state is a point in that space. Each failed tug reinforces a basin of attraction around the tethered state, deepening it until it becomes a black hole from which no behavior can escape. A new geometry of elephant becoming, a coherent 9-to-5 gig.

This is why effort often accelerates entrapment. “Work hard” is often a curse in the perverse thermodynamics of doomed systems. Additional energy input does not alter the state, but merely deepens the grooves of the existing basin of attraction. Perversely, the system’s struggle works for the rope in a ritual sacrifice of kinetic energy to the god of path dependency.

“Try harder” is the rope’s most ingenious command. With each hard pull, the rope becomes a topological deformity in the elephant’s reality. It hardens into a cosmic fact, becoming an axiom of external conditions. By the time the elephant is mature, the true constraint is metaphysical.

The rope becomes a script etched into schema by ritual repetition. It evolves from a boundary of will to a sacrament of failure, and from there to a condition of the real. And it gets worse. The elephant watches as other elephants also fail to free themselves. It internalizes their failures too, in a strange loop of failure.

Once the script is internalized, the rope becomes a symbiont, an essential part of the elephant’s identity. The system co-evolves with its constraint. The elephant develops muscles suited to swaying and builds a psychology of patience rather than revolt. The constraint is now necessary for the system’s coherence. To remove it is to kill the elephant-as-is. The rope is now a vital organ.

When this process is complete, the system stops carrying the rope. It carries the belief of it, more real than reality itself. The repetition of this metaphysical enclosure sculpts the real. Which, as an aside, is why metaphysics is never taught in school. You might see the ropes.

A Haunting

All systems are ghost stories. Minds, institutions, and civilizations all fossilize into their own rituals of constraint. Small decisions ossify, cell by cell, into landscape. Your deviant impulse crystallizes into a habit. Before you know it, the habit accretes into infrastructure. And infrastructure, well, it inherits itself until we start calling it Fate. The first step off the beaten path is heresy. Ten thousand steps, and you have a new highway. A million steps is a civilization of ossified choices.

The young elephant’s resistance is path-dependent. Each attempt follows the same vector of linear effort against a nonlinear prison. The elephant applies force linearly because it’s the obvious thing to do. This is the tragedy of reformism, therapy culture, and incrementalism. They all assume proportional response, but complex environments punish incremental thinking.

Each failed rope pull activates a double-bind feedback loop: the physical resistance confirms the belief, the belief stifles future testing, and the lack of testing sanctifies the belief. The loop closes, fuses, and becomes an Ouroboros of constraint, digesting its own tail until only the digested shape of the belief remains.

Once in place, systems enforce path dependency through a relentless drive for internal coherence, the eternal return of the ontology of an HR training module. Every new rule, norm, or ritual must be made consistent with the old rope-logic. Inconsistencies like the thought of freedom are systematically rejected until they become incomprehensible. The system’s immune system attacks them as metaphysical pathogens.

The violence of coherence. The system’s drive for internal consistency hunts down the ghostly memory of freedom as cognitive dissonance and exterminates it. Heretical thoughts are labeled unrealistic, “not how we do things here,” and burned at the stake of practicality.

The drive to coherence only increases with scale. The larger and more complex the system, the more violently it rejects deviation, because any coherence debt becomes existential. Large complex systems cannot afford novelty. This is why all empires rot, while startups mutate and sometimes survive.

Over time, the elephant has not only normalized the rope, but any alternatives to it have been explained away as unthinkable deviations. The system no longer recognizes the state of being untethered as a valid alternative. Being free is incoherent.

Most systems do not evolve. They congeal. Over time, they develop patterns, norms, and assumptions. Little orthodoxies. Every innocent routine a scaffold for the next. These slowly petrify into a liturgy of the inevitable, until any deviation is unthinkable. Sure, the system might pretend otherwise. The corporate campus might be carefully crafted to resemble the work, health, and safety committee’s fantasy of what a teen-nerd playground might look like. It matters not.

The rope persists as a ghost story, a memory etched into the system’s protocols. The institution, the mind, the civilization, is haunted by the phantom sensation of a constraint that may no longer physically exist. It performs rituals to appease the ghost and avoids actions that would offend it. The past haunts the present, dictating behavior from the grave of dead possibilities.

There is more. What if, by accident, the elephant were to free itself? The system is now untethered. But even if the rope were removed, the system does not return to its prior state. The elephant would still stand there, entirely in thrall to its past states. The curse of hysteresis. The memory of deformation, and the mockery of redemption. Hysteresis means that even a successful escape carries the phase space deformation forward, shaping future action. This is why, after each burning Bastille, there comes a Napoleon.

The material rope can rot away, but the black hole in phase space remains. Suddenly freed from the rope, the system staggers into a new, vast, and terrifying attractor state of catatonic liberty. The elephant stands in an open field, untethered and paralyzed, muscles atrophied for swaying, mind wired for the comforting strain of the rope. Freedom, when it finally comes, is unrecognizable. Like falling upwards into a terrifying abyss of meaningless possibility.

A Gnosis

Nabokov once said - was it in Pale Fire? - that “The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common people don’t want to know that.”

The same applies to minds, systems, and civilizations. Most of their lives are badly written novels, ghost-authored by internalized trauma and repetition above the ever-present abyss. The trap is the syntax you wrap around the event. The three sacred dogmas.

The Dogma of Repetition

That history is an asymptote. A machine of discrete trials inching towards nothing. A lobotomized god throwing dice into the void for eternity. That after each throw, the trials reset. That failures can teach.

But the universe is non-ergodic. Some errors are terminal. Complex systems do not forgive early miscalibration but amplify it. Some ropes, once learned, are never questioned again. That applies to childhood, institutions, states, and civilizations. The elephant does not get to re-tug the rope at thirty. Systems do not get to rewind to their birth.

An ergodic system allows you to average over time; it lets you flip a coin and then flip it again. A non-ergodic system is one where you get one, maybe two, real shots before the probability space collapses forever. The elephant’s childhood is a non-ergodic process. A system that congeals is one that has exited the ergodic realm. Its history, its stabilized attractor basin, becomes its only possible future. This is why regret is a rational emotion in non-ergodic systems. There is no sampling of alternative states across time. There is only this time, this rope, forever.

The Dogma of Determinism

The vulgar mechanistic hallucination that past causes dictate future effects. That systems are Newtonian. Predictable, measurable, and reducible to first causes. That the world is Laplace’s clock. Wound, sealed, and sealed again. Oh, the dream of rewinding the clock.

But complexity is not additive. It is emergent and alchemical. Its ghost leaks between the gears. The map is not the territory, and the territory is always flooded, and always on fire.

Determinism naively sees the future as a mechanism fixed by the gears of the past. Path dependence sees the future as constrained by what has already been destroyed. Determinism is about causation. Path dependence is about absence. Determinism chains you to a single future. Path dependence chains you to the narrowing corridor of all your past surrenders. And chaos? If you’re lucky, it lets you move along a probability distribution of attractors, strung along like salted watering holes in an infinite desert.

Contra Laplace, this is not a clockwork universe but a slot machine where the house always wins, and you can never learn the rules.

The Dogma of Analysis

The beloved hallucination of academia. The critical gaze. The narcissistic delusion that by dissecting a system into synthetically discrete components, one can derive a predictive formula of its becoming. That to randomly spray-paint DOWN WITH POWER with a crude stencil is to defeat any system.

But the more you dissect, the less you grasp. The clean analysis of the critical gazers fails because it treats systems as decomposable when their causal power emerges from networks of relations, feedback, and timing. In other words, analysis removes the very thing that does the work. The system seems to be the clock parts, neatly strewn across the table by the analyst-deconstructor, but it is not. It is the ghost in the machine, the thing that should not be.

The Apostasy of Action

There is another elephant. One that sheds before the rope coagulates into capture. An anti-elephant, if you will. It has no center, no sacred rope. It survives by making a sacrament of uncertainty. Its core axiom is “This is probably wrong.”

The anti-elephant is a systemic heretic. It understands that survival is fidelity to the rate of change. Its core process is controlled shedding. It is a snake that sheds its skin before it can harden into a sarcophagus.

Some systems encode autonomy in their marrow. Von Moltke’s principle of auftragstaktik does not rope you to a path. You are given the end, and the method is yours to conjure. It is an antidote to the trap, a system that trains for deviation, not path dependency.

There are other ways too. Shifting forms that stable systems mistake for cancer. The forced mutation of biology under existential stress; the shadow economies that flourish in the cracks of over-optimized empires; the strange architecture of Kowloon Walled City; the pirate/guerrilla network, a ghost with a thousand temporary heads. These are systems that propagate in a perpetual, unsanctioned becoming.

Prigogine was right. Entropy is the only true attractor. The only honest god. The destroyer of structure and the possibility creator.

Stability is death in drag.

In deterministic chaos, systems are exquisitely sensitive to initial conditions. Early in a system’s life, it exists in a modality where small perturbations can radically alter outcomes. The elephant’s first tugs were in a chaotic regime, where any slight difference in angle, timing, or fury could have broken the stake. This is the system’s Lyapunov horizon.

This horizon defines how far into the future perturbations matter. Training, habit, and optimisation shorten that horizon until the future becomes predictable and dead. Ironically, learning and optimization reduce chaos by damping sensitivity, therefore sanding away all the edges that could someday cut a new rope. This stabilization feels like progress, but is actually the elimination of alternative futures. The world is flattened from a chaotic, responsive landscape into a path-dependent frieze.

Learning is often the process by which systems murder their own sensitivity. The elephant-as-system is first trained into the limit cycle of docile swaying with the rope, and then into a fixed point of catatonic acceptance. The “way out” requires re-injecting chaos, a perturbation so fundamental it shatters the attractor. Not a pull, but a deliberate embrace of incoherence, a love letter to the abyss. A destruction of identity, legibility, and trust.

Systems that worship their ropes suffocate in their own inertia. Those few that survive do so by burning themselves and sacramentally destroying their assumptions. State destruction instead of reversal. Liberation from the Elephant Rope Protocol is a constant mutation; a ritual immolation of axioms. Very few elephants ever walk away. Most systems die still worshipping the rope.

As Pelevin would say, elephants are a dream dreamt by ropes.

There is a story, or perhaps not a story, but a parable that has metastasized through the motivational slopstream. It goes like this. A man walks through a field in India and sees a herd of giant elephants standing docilely, each tied to a small stake with a single thin, frayed rope.

“Why don’t they break free?” he asks an old villager sitting nearby.

“When they were small, we tied them with this exact rope,” the villager replies, smiling. “They struggled, but couldn’t break free.”

“Now, they’ve given up. They’re convinced it’s pointless,” he adds.

The pop reading of the story ends with self-liberation on a monthly installment plan. Maybe a little yoga is added to lubricate the transaction. Visualize freedom! Break your chains! Unleash your potential! Chataranga! Breathe!

But the trap is not in the rope or your lack of self-belief.

A Sacrifice

The young elephant tugs. Once. Twice. A thousand times. The rope does not yield. And so the elephant learns the shape of its prison. It adjusts to the contours of the possible and stops pulling. The trap is shut.

The young elephant’s world is a phase space, a map of all possible states. Initially, the free and untethered state is a point in that space. Each failed tug reinforces a basin of attraction around the tethered state, deepening it until it becomes a black hole from which no behavior can escape. A new geometry of elephant becoming, a coherent 9-to-5 gig.

This is why effort often accelerates entrapment. “Work hard” is often a curse in the perverse thermodynamics of doomed systems. Additional energy input does not alter the state, but merely deepens the grooves of the existing basin of attraction. Perversely, the system’s struggle works for the rope in a ritual sacrifice of kinetic energy to the god of path dependency.

“Try harder” is the rope’s most ingenious command. With each hard pull, the rope becomes a topological deformity in the elephant’s reality. It hardens into a cosmic fact, becoming an axiom of external conditions. By the time the elephant is mature, the true constraint is metaphysical.

The rope becomes a script etched into schema by ritual repetition. It evolves from a boundary of will to a sacrament of failure, and from there to a condition of the real. And it gets worse. The elephant watches as other elephants also fail to free themselves. It internalizes their failures too, in a strange loop of failure.

Once the script is internalized, the rope becomes a symbiont, an essential part of the elephant’s identity. The system co-evolves with its constraint. The elephant develops muscles suited to swaying and builds a psychology of patience rather than revolt. The constraint is now necessary for the system’s coherence. To remove it is to kill the elephant-as-is. The rope is now a vital organ.

When this process is complete, the system stops carrying the rope. It carries the belief of it, more real than reality itself. The repetition of this metaphysical enclosure sculpts the real. Which, as an aside, is why metaphysics is never taught in school. You might see the ropes.

A Haunting

All systems are ghost stories. Minds, institutions, and civilizations all fossilize into their own rituals of constraint. Small decisions ossify, cell by cell, into landscape. Your deviant impulse crystallizes into a habit. Before you know it, the habit accretes into infrastructure. And infrastructure, well, it inherits itself until we start calling it Fate. The first step off the beaten path is heresy. Ten thousand steps, and you have a new highway. A million steps is a civilization of ossified choices.

The young elephant’s resistance is path-dependent. Each attempt follows the same vector of linear effort against a nonlinear prison. The elephant applies force linearly because it’s the obvious thing to do. This is the tragedy of reformism, therapy culture, and incrementalism. They all assume proportional response, but complex environments punish incremental thinking.

Each failed rope pull activates a double-bind feedback loop: the physical resistance confirms the belief, the belief stifles future testing, and the lack of testing sanctifies the belief. The loop closes, fuses, and becomes an Ouroboros of constraint, digesting its own tail until only the digested shape of the belief remains.

Once in place, systems enforce path dependency through a relentless drive for internal coherence, the eternal return of the ontology of an HR training module. Every new rule, norm, or ritual must be made consistent with the old rope-logic. Inconsistencies like the thought of freedom are systematically rejected until they become incomprehensible. The system’s immune system attacks them as metaphysical pathogens.

The violence of coherence. The system’s drive for internal consistency hunts down the ghostly memory of freedom as cognitive dissonance and exterminates it. Heretical thoughts are labeled unrealistic, “not how we do things here,” and burned at the stake of practicality.

The drive to coherence only increases with scale. The larger and more complex the system, the more violently it rejects deviation, because any coherence debt becomes existential. Large complex systems cannot afford novelty. This is why all empires rot, while startups mutate and sometimes survive.

Over time, the elephant has not only normalized the rope, but any alternatives to it have been explained away as unthinkable deviations. The system no longer recognizes the state of being untethered as a valid alternative. Being free is incoherent.

Most systems do not evolve. They congeal. Over time, they develop patterns, norms, and assumptions. Little orthodoxies. Every innocent routine a scaffold for the next. These slowly petrify into a liturgy of the inevitable, until any deviation is unthinkable. Sure, the system might pretend otherwise. The corporate campus might be carefully crafted to resemble the work, health, and safety committee’s fantasy of what a teen-nerd playground might look like. It matters not.

The rope persists as a ghost story, a memory etched into the system’s protocols. The institution, the mind, the civilization, is haunted by the phantom sensation of a constraint that may no longer physically exist. It performs rituals to appease the ghost and avoids actions that would offend it. The past haunts the present, dictating behavior from the grave of dead possibilities.

There is more. What if, by accident, the elephant were to free itself? The system is now untethered. But even if the rope were removed, the system does not return to its prior state. The elephant would still stand there, entirely in thrall to its past states. The curse of hysteresis. The memory of deformation, and the mockery of redemption. Hysteresis means that even a successful escape carries the phase space deformation forward, shaping future action. This is why, after each burning Bastille, there comes a Napoleon.

The material rope can rot away, but the black hole in phase space remains. Suddenly freed from the rope, the system staggers into a new, vast, and terrifying attractor state of catatonic liberty. The elephant stands in an open field, untethered and paralyzed, muscles atrophied for swaying, mind wired for the comforting strain of the rope. Freedom, when it finally comes, is unrecognizable. Like falling upwards into a terrifying abyss of meaningless possibility.

A Gnosis

Nabokov once said - was it in Pale Fire? - that “The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common people don’t want to know that.”

The same applies to minds, systems, and civilizations. Most of their lives are badly written novels, ghost-authored by internalized trauma and repetition above the ever-present abyss. The trap is the syntax you wrap around the event. The three sacred dogmas.

The Dogma of Repetition

That history is an asymptote. A machine of discrete trials inching towards nothing. A lobotomized god throwing dice into the void for eternity. That after each throw, the trials reset. That failures can teach.

But the universe is non-ergodic. Some errors are terminal. Complex systems do not forgive early miscalibration but amplify it. Some ropes, once learned, are never questioned again. That applies to childhood, institutions, states, and civilizations. The elephant does not get to re-tug the rope at thirty. Systems do not get to rewind to their birth.

An ergodic system allows you to average over time; it lets you flip a coin and then flip it again. A non-ergodic system is one where you get one, maybe two, real shots before the probability space collapses forever. The elephant’s childhood is a non-ergodic process. A system that congeals is one that has exited the ergodic realm. Its history, its stabilized attractor basin, becomes its only possible future. This is why regret is a rational emotion in non-ergodic systems. There is no sampling of alternative states across time. There is only this time, this rope, forever.

The Dogma of Determinism

The vulgar mechanistic hallucination that past causes dictate future effects. That systems are Newtonian. Predictable, measurable, and reducible to first causes. That the world is Laplace’s clock. Wound, sealed, and sealed again. Oh, the dream of rewinding the clock.

But complexity is not additive. It is emergent and alchemical. Its ghost leaks between the gears. The map is not the territory, and the territory is always flooded, and always on fire.

Determinism naively sees the future as a mechanism fixed by the gears of the past. Path dependence sees the future as constrained by what has already been destroyed. Determinism is about causation. Path dependence is about absence. Determinism chains you to a single future. Path dependence chains you to the narrowing corridor of all your past surrenders. And chaos? If you’re lucky, it lets you move along a probability distribution of attractors, strung along like salted watering holes in an infinite desert.

Contra Laplace, this is not a clockwork universe but a slot machine where the house always wins, and you can never learn the rules.

The Dogma of Analysis

The beloved hallucination of academia. The critical gaze. The narcissistic delusion that by dissecting a system into synthetically discrete components, one can derive a predictive formula of its becoming. That to randomly spray-paint DOWN WITH POWER with a crude stencil is to defeat any system.

But the more you dissect, the less you grasp. The clean analysis of the critical gazers fails because it treats systems as decomposable when their causal power emerges from networks of relations, feedback, and timing. In other words, analysis removes the very thing that does the work. The system seems to be the clock parts, neatly strewn across the table by the analyst-deconstructor, but it is not. It is the ghost in the machine, the thing that should not be.

The Apostasy of Action

There is another elephant. One that sheds before the rope coagulates into capture. An anti-elephant, if you will. It has no center, no sacred rope. It survives by making a sacrament of uncertainty. Its core axiom is “This is probably wrong.”

The anti-elephant is a systemic heretic. It understands that survival is fidelity to the rate of change. Its core process is controlled shedding. It is a snake that sheds its skin before it can harden into a sarcophagus.

Some systems encode autonomy in their marrow. Von Moltke’s principle of auftragstaktik does not rope you to a path. You are given the end, and the method is yours to conjure. It is an antidote to the trap, a system that trains for deviation, not path dependency.

There are other ways too. Shifting forms that stable systems mistake for cancer. The forced mutation of biology under existential stress; the shadow economies that flourish in the cracks of over-optimized empires; the strange architecture of Kowloon Walled City; the pirate/guerrilla network, a ghost with a thousand temporary heads. These are systems that propagate in a perpetual, unsanctioned becoming.

Prigogine was right. Entropy is the only true attractor. The only honest god. The destroyer of structure and the possibility creator.

Stability is death in drag.

In deterministic chaos, systems are exquisitely sensitive to initial conditions. Early in a system’s life, it exists in a modality where small perturbations can radically alter outcomes. The elephant’s first tugs were in a chaotic regime, where any slight difference in angle, timing, or fury could have broken the stake. This is the system’s Lyapunov horizon.

This horizon defines how far into the future perturbations matter. Training, habit, and optimisation shorten that horizon until the future becomes predictable and dead. Ironically, learning and optimization reduce chaos by damping sensitivity, therefore sanding away all the edges that could someday cut a new rope. This stabilization feels like progress, but is actually the elimination of alternative futures. The world is flattened from a chaotic, responsive landscape into a path-dependent frieze.

Learning is often the process by which systems murder their own sensitivity. The elephant-as-system is first trained into the limit cycle of docile swaying with the rope, and then into a fixed point of catatonic acceptance. The “way out” requires re-injecting chaos, a perturbation so fundamental it shatters the attractor. Not a pull, but a deliberate embrace of incoherence, a love letter to the abyss. A destruction of identity, legibility, and trust.

Systems that worship their ropes suffocate in their own inertia. Those few that survive do so by burning themselves and sacramentally destroying their assumptions. State destruction instead of reversal. Liberation from the Elephant Rope Protocol is a constant mutation; a ritual immolation of axioms. Very few elephants ever walk away. Most systems die still worshipping the rope.

As Pelevin would say, elephants are a dream dreamt by ropes.