The anatomy of how deviation becomes pathology in interpersonal relati

The arrival of ChatGPT and other artificial intelligence solutions has produced a predictable consequence — people are becoming increasingly ignorant: first, the ability to write disappears, then the desire to read, and finally the motivation to think independently fades. Yet even this phenomenon obeys something, and it becomes even more important to understand it through hierarchies.

Recently, I’ve been defending positions that define clearly predictable relationship dynamics as unsustainable. This too is a phenomenon that is difficult to grasp without context. At the same time, those who do understand it usually cannot un-understand it (at least not until Elon Musk invents time travel and a way to consciously forget the truth).

The postmodern myth of the absence of deviation

Deviation presupposes a norm. We cannot stray from anything unless we are able to recognize a difference between the norm and the departure from it. I believe even the most hardcore supporter of deconstruction could accept this statement axiomatically, at least as a purely technical definition. The next and central question that immediately follows is, of course, about the nature of the norm itself. It may appear simple, yet it is one of the most fundamental questions.

The core idea of postmodernism is essentially very straightforward: the abolition of normative hierarchy. Its aim is not to claim that norms do not exist, but rather that there are no meta-norms — no principles that stand above the rest, hierarchically, to justify one value system over another. As a result, all norms are placed on a horizontal plane: they become local discourses that can be applied according to one’s desire, identity, or context. In such a framework, it becomes impossible to speak of moral deviation in the strict sense, because deviation would require the presence of a higher norm against which someone could behave “wrongly.” Deviation cannot exist, since norms are merely discourses — power constructions, narratives, arbitrary temporary practices.

This is why parental roles can be entirely reversed, partners may be constantly replaced, and the family can become a gender- or role-free body without fixed organs: two mothers may raise children, a father who leaves one relationship may adopt a “mother’s role” in a new one, and so on. The number of possibilities is unrestricted — there will always be a norm to justify them. Figuratively, the logic resembles the Stalinist legal system: “bring me a person, and I will find the appropriate paragraph”; in postmodern norm theory, however: “show me a relationship, and I will find a norm for it.”

The inherent necessity of deviation

F. W. J. Schelling devoted his philosophical life to one central question: how can something emerge that is not fully rationally derivable from an already existing orderly system? For years, I’ve explained his idea of the Weltformel to my students, and usually (if the person’s general intellectual ability allows it and they have enough inner curiosity) there comes a moment when the “lightbulb switches on” and the idea becomes clear. In short — and yes, this is meaningful only to a few — understanding this formula requires rising above the level of mathematics and seeing it through that which mathematics itself obeys. We are not speaking about a numerical division or a quantifiable process, but about a total system that functions thanks to something that cannot be fully solved from within the system itself: deviation, departure, an irrational remainder. This is formulated as one of the components of the Weltformel — not as an error of the system, but as an apparently “faulty” premise that enables the system to function at all.

The same conclusion appears in both Kant and Hegel (though by different approaches). My own sympathy lies primarily with the former. Kant emphasizes that causality as a form of lawful order may indeed possess absolute validity, but human cognitive limitations prevent us from grasping it in its possible absoluteness. Human reason can think causality only conditionally (through the world of appearances), but cannot comprehend its possible unconditional beginning or end. We can think about it, but we cannot confirm it through experience. Our cognition is a limited perspective that does not extend to the level of possible absolute lawfulness. This can be interpreted (metaphorically and sometimes more broadly) as an unavoidable human “deviation” in relation to absolute truth — not as an error, but as a limitation of our cognitive form. We are forced to accept the validity of moral or metaphysical law without knowing its original foundations.

We must align ourselves with a lawfulness that exceeds our cognitive reach—submit to an ideal whose exact boundaries we cannot fully know. That is precisely why we must continually align ourselves with the ideal, because we can never fully realize when and how we stray from it. In essence, this is also the fundamental premise of acknowledging the Christian God: to accept faith in something that can only be understood and interpreted through “indirect evidence.” Yet even the indirectness of that evidence depends on the point of view — God may reveal Himself through any miracle, but a human being can always rationalize the same event with natural explanations (whether in one’s own life or in literal cases of prophets raising the dead). Thus, faith can never become mere proof; and recognizing our cognitive limitation will not convince an agnostic or an atheist if one is unwilling to see that the greatness of truth may indeed remain higher than empirical experience.

Hegel too, extending Fichte’s dialectical structure, shows that every system must contain an internal deviation and contradiction, not as an accidental error, but as a condition of its functioning. Contradiction is not a departure from order, but a force that compels the system to surpass itself, expand, and transform. Without negativity — without an inner “gap” (Nichtsein) — there would be no progress, only closed repetition. Therefore, deviation is not the destroyer of a system, but its driving force and the element that preserves its potential for life.

And yet, I know from experience that lining up German idealists and romantics in support of my position may scare away even the most motivated reader. Nietzsche formulated the same principle in a far simpler way: what matters is not which values a person holds, but how they are arranged hierarchically. In other words, the question is not which values are existentially important, but which are higher and which are subordinate (that is, the hierarchy of values).

Understanding the Weltformel likewise requires a hierarchical viewpoint. In everything that operates systematically, there must be hierarchy. For a hierarchy to exist at all, each level must contain a core value that provides orientation for the next one. But a core value cannot be seen from within it. It can only be recognized when we stand slightly apart from it. This “being apart” — this displacement from the core — is deviation in its most vital and necessary form. Without it, the system would collapse.

Narrative cosmology and the inevitability of panentheism

In academic circles and public debates, my hypothesis — or rather an axiomatic starting point — has often surprised those who oppose me (even when we share many overlapping foundational positions): all values have a fundamentally narrative structure. This means that values do not exist as “words” or isolated categories, but can only be understood through the story in which they are used. If one thinks about it for a moment, even many deconstructionists would agree: the meaning of words does not arise merely from categories or definitions, but primarily from the narrative in which they are embedded.

This should serve as a clear warning sign for anyone hoping that LLMs (large language models) could independently “think.” Without axiological context these systems are, in essence, text-generating machines without narrative — able to infer, but not prioritize hierarchically; able to describe, but not evaluate. Without a value-bearing narrative, any imitation of consciousness is doomed — self-awareness is, by its nature, governed by narrative logic. (I have written more on this here: “The Nature of Consciousness and Self-Consciousness as Narrative Cosmology.”)

Turning now to the human being as a creature, the common opposition between Rousseau and Hobbes is largely artificial for the simple reason that in the most fundamental sense they largely agree — both assume the impossibility of a true “tabula rasa.” Put simply: the human being has an inherent direction or predisposition that precedes reflective consciousness. According to Schelling (and Kant does not dispute this), even before consciousness emerges, there already exists a tendency either toward benevolence or malevolence. And even if we want to see ourselves in the best possible light, human nature contains a strong inclination toward what is harmful. This inclination does not disappear once the “light of consciousness” appears; it requires governance.

This claim is far more important than it seems, because from it follows the logical impossibility of today’s spiritual pseudo-faiths — “good energy,” “the universe is love,” “everything is one.” Although the human being has the potential to move toward what is good, there is also within us much that must be rationally, consciously, and disciplinarily restrained in order not to manifest destructively in the world. We are not a diffuse “part of a whole” that flows harmoniously. On the contrary, we experience the world — and even consciousness itself — only through a hierarchical structure, not through fusion. Hierarchy is not a cultural add-on, but an a priori orientation, without which neither understanding nor the weighing of choices would be possible. We must consciously remind ourselves of this, because it is precisely what makes us beings capable of responsibility. In fact, Heidegger points to the same idea: the precondition for understanding consciousness is self-consciousness. And here the conclusion is unavoidable: self-consciousness cannot emerge in a system where values are equal and no vertical hierarchy exists. Where everything is “one,” the human being cannot be anyone.

Therefore, pantheism of the Maya-reverence type is not merely theologically insufficient; it is ontologically impossible. God (and Whitehead articulates this clearly in his process cosmology) cannot exist solely within everything; He must be within everything and also beyond it (thus closer to panentheism). Only panentheism allows for monotheistic hierarchies with a singular highest value. And therefore something intriguing can be said: a large portion of pantheists — and a significant number of scientists — are in fact implicit believers in a deeply monotheistic worldview, even if they would deny it at the stake.

Simply put: our capacity to understand the world presupposes hierarchy; our capacity to understand ourselves presupposes a hierarchy that exceeds us. And the emergence of self-consciousness is, at its core, inexplicable without the possibility of a monotheistic hierarchy with a single value apex. Panentheism is not merely a religious alternative — it is a logical structure, without which neither narrative nor consciousness could exist.

Three categories of deviation through narrative cosmology

When a person begins to understand the world through hierarchies and narrative cosmology — where every value gains meaning not merely from a phrase but from the story in which it appears — a religious framework as the source of stories becomes essentially unavoidable. I am not here to glorify Christianity (even though religions are not “equal” in their value structures), but I will use Christianity as an example to show how narrative cosmology applies to relationships, decisions, and the formation of character.

A clear example is found in Matthew 4. Jesus, while in the desert, is tempted three times by Satan — and seen narratively, these temptations are not accidental, but hierarchically ordered. In hunger, Satan first offers Jesus the chance to turn stones into bread. Jesus replies (quoting Scripture): “It is written: Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” The second temptation invites Jesus to put God to the test by jumping from the temple roof, expecting angels to save him. Jesus answers: “Again it is written: You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.” Finally, Satan offers power over the entire world. Jesus responds: “Depart from me, Satan! For it is written: Worship the Lord your God, and serve only Him!”

From the perspective of axiomatology and narrative cosmology, we see three values/temptations forming a hierarchy of human seductions: bodily needs, pride and the testing of God, and (highest of all) power. Each value is revealed through the story, not as an abstract category; and each higher temptation contains the previous ones within itself. The desire for power already includes pride, and also the potential willingness to sacrifice morality and basic needs for its sake.

And I am not forcing anything here — there is nothing artificial or exaggerated in this reading. On the contrary, the real question should be: how could one not see it? One more crucial observation: Jesus places the written will of the Father above His personal speech. He does not answer from His own authority, but quotes Scripture — placing even His own authority beneath a hierarchy. This is not an accident, but an axiological structure.

When deviation becomes pathology

Deviation is part of being human, and the difference between deviation and pathology appears precisely at the moment when deviation begins to destroy the person. As already noted, deviation is necessary up to the point where the ideal does not disappear from view: only through deviation can a person see their distance from the ideal and move toward it. For deviation to remain correctable, a person must perceive themselves as subordinate to the ideal — not equal to it, and certainly not above it. Deviation is tolerable as long as we align ourselves with the ideal, and therefore what is dangerous is not deviation itself, but turning away from the ideal and moving further in the opposite direction.

When deviation becomes so great that the ideal is no longer visible, a risk emerges: the deviation that is far removed from the ideal begins to be idealized as a new central norm. Such a moment is not merely a mistake, but a replacing of the orienting value itself. We see this in Exodus 32, when the people begin worshipping the Golden Calf. Once far enough from the ideal, a deviant object is set up as the new ideal. This reveals something profound about human nature: when the ideal is abandoned, an inner weakness appears — the choice of replacing it with a false reality rather than taking the difficult path back toward the ideal.

The first ring. Looking at relationship forms that do not submit to the ideal, in the first category of deviation (bodily needs) we see simply sexual relationships without perspective or meaning. This is deviation — the first ring of distance from the ideal. I would place same-sex relationships here as well. It is a deviation from the ideal, but still, as my older daughter would put it, “the somewhat understandable part” of LGBT — namely LGB. In this ring, the ideal can still be seen, and it is possible to return to it if one has the strength. But going further, and attempting to disguise unsustainability within pseudo-family models, is a risk — in my estimation, a very large and very dangerous one.

The second ring. In the next, and more distant ring from the ideal, we see pride and the testing of God. This is the “T” in LGBT, English pride — a phenomenon whose absurdity the world is only now beginning to recognize. Submitting to it becomes, in many cases, the cause of ruin. Even my most left-leaning friends increasingly admit (some sadly, some with relief): “woke is dead.” In this ring, relationships lack sustainability, especially when there is refusal to acknowledge the inherent lifelessness of the deviation (and the self-destructive pathology it creates). No matter how much one wishes otherwise — nothing good can emerge from it.

Here we also find fourth-wave feminism, biological men dominating women’s sports, social-media content that glorifies divorce and the destruction of families, and the idea that all masculinity is toxic. This ring is characterized by axiomatic unsustainability, and worse — it is not only tolerated, but celebrated.

The third ring is so distant from the ideal that the ideal disappears completely. It is driven by the belief in the supremacy of material transactionalism. Here are women who enter relationships through virtual prostitution or prostitution in other forms — for example by becoming a sugar-babe to a man decades older. Here are the sugar-daddies themselves: individuals who have turned away from the family ideal, replacing it with faith in the supremacy of power and money.

According to narrative cosmology, their monumental naivety is ironic: the Devil, who offered Jesus the power to rule the entire world in the desert, did not actually have any authority to offer what he promised. Likewise, those who reach this level of deviation lose everything — sustainability, dignity, and often even the desire to continue living. The “strong and independent” sugar-babes living off sponsors later act shocked, asking why they lose custody of their children, why their children don’t want to speak to them, or begin to feel shame toward them. Virtual prostitutes do not understand why selling their body earns them only a few hundred euros a month — and where is that supposed “real power over the world.” Once again: the Devil did not have the authority to make such offers.

Here, being so far removed from the ideal, a new “pseudo-ideal” is erected — for example, the “blended family” meant to justify sugar relationships, “open marriage,” or any other attempt to replace the ideal of family and marriage with a pseudo-solution. This is the moment when deviation becomes pathology: when a phenomenon that is inherently self-destructive, unsustainable, and impossible is normalized and idealized.

In all these cases, among those who reach the furthest margins away from the ideal, the “victim mentality” must be strongly emphasized, because it is precisely this mentality that prevents change and blocks the possibility of return. The issue is not that such individuals have not suffered — life contains inevitable tragedy, as well as the cruelty and wrongdoing of others. Quite the opposite, they have often experienced injustice, betrayal, and an absence of any balancing relief. The issue is not the quantity of suffering, but the use of that suffering to justify one’s marginalized position — taking on a “victim role” and from it constructing a new perverse ideal. Thus, deviation becomes pathology not merely through falling away from the ideal, but through creating and crowning a false ideal and then turning suffering into its sacred justification.

Throughout my life, I have seen many people who, despite bearing a similar weight of suffering, have nonetheless begun moving toward the central ideal (first with difficulty and chaos, later with greater clarity and direction). And paradoxically — especially in the case of women — entrapment in the victim role rarely reveals itself in direct self-identification as a victim. On the contrary, it most often manifests as presenting oneself on social media as “unbreakable,” “full of inner strength,” “hurt but unbroken.”

Yet here the pathology intensifies to a critical degree: instead of quietly and without public attention acknowledging one’s errors, one’s surrender to desire, one’s pride in justifying wrongdoing, and ultimately one’s entrapment in power and money, one begs for public admiration by attempting to idealize a distorted, unsustainable situation.

Thus we may say that what cements deviation as pathology is precisely the embrace of the victim role — the glorification of marginalization as a substitute for transformation and return.

The vertical dimension

This entire approach can be visualized as three circles with the ideal at the center. The first circle — bodily pleasures; the second — pride; the third and farthest from the center — power. These same circles become even clearer if we stop looking from above and instead look from the side: then they are no longer circles, but a mountain with a single peak. Monotheism does not merely mean “one God”; it means a hierarchy with one value at its summit, on which everything else depends. Therefore, standing at the foot of the mountain, reaching the peak is never easy — and this is precisely why those who worship power, already having lost the willingness to admit truth through pride, find it so difficult to begin climbing upward again. The descent usually begins with bodily pleasures, then becomes a vertical fall through justifying what was done, and finally ends in the trap of power.

When a person stands at the foot of the mountain, they face a hard journey, and avoiding it through psychological repression is humanly understandable. In this situation, there are only two real choices: to begin moving upward toward the ideal — a task of immense difficulty — or to declare the position at the foot of the mountain the “new ideal.” It is at precisely this moment that deviation becomes pathology. This is exactly how it works with “fallen women and men”: the descent begins with bodily pleasures, continues with self-justification (pride that refuses to admit the truth), and ends in enslavement to power and transactional temptation.

A symbolic example: a woman and mother who abandons her family “rolls down the mountain” through bodily pleasures, later justifies her actions through pride as “independence and strength,” and then begins transactional relationships with a sugar-daddy a quarter century older in order to “improve her quality of life.” Sugar relationships, abandoning children for a “more comfortable and exciting life,” and unsustainable role-modeling cannot be idealized without lying to oneself. This self-deception is the most dangerous point. Removed from the ideal both horizontally and vertically, the foot of the mountain is proclaimed the new peak. This is not merely a small lie — it is a deeper crime against self-awareness, because it is the same blindness, the same self-justification, that originally caused the turning away from the ideal. Lying to oneself is unforgivable precisely because it kills one’s capacity to understand truth.

Sugar-babes and sugar-daddies who destroy families express surprise that their children grow distant from them, yet the only astonishing thing is how they can be astonished at all. Every false ideal brings suffering that ends in chaos.

In reality, those standing at the foot of the mountain know this, but through their mouths — more precisely, through suppressing truth and refusing to admit their own imperfection while justifying their situation with lies — evil accumulates within them, and it always explodes. Knut Hamsun seemed to understand this in Blessed Are the Meek, when he described how even “circumcision” cannot save a wounded mouth. In Exodus, God not only trusted Moses, but commanded him to take his brother Aaron with him — so that the truth could be spoken correctly. A wounded mouth that keeps bitterness inside and suppresses truth cannot proclaim truth and delays suffering into the future, where it returns magnified. Eventually such suppressed truth explodes into destructive unsustainability — Ingrid killed her child.

Just as the Word becomes flesh and life when it is placed hierarchically above all else and truth is spoken, the opposite occurs when truth is distorted: through suppression and worship of pseudo-ideals, “flesh and life” become a deadly warning. This is why it is astonishing to watch how people spend enormous sums on lawyers to normalize their pathological deviation, without understanding that such attempts are, regardless of legal steps, a guaranteed failure in terms of natural law, and a systematic effort to abandon their children. Any attempt to idealize a lie fails at least as long as there remains hope for a real alternative, and as long as the seed of that hope still exists — personally, biologically, religiously, and socially. That hope has been carried forward by those who have sacrificed themselves for it, such as many fathers (including, for example, Charlie Kirk).

Power as the most dangerous distancing from the ideal

Because deviation unfolds hierarchically, each level further from the ideal contains all the previous ones within itself. Pride and the testing of God include bodily pleasures, and the pursuit of power — the act by which a person bows to Satan — contains both pride and (implicitly) submission to bodily desires. This idea is not popular, but it is not easy to return from the margins toward the ideal; often it is easier to acknowledge the finality of failure and leave life altogether. On the path back, one must first overcome the desire for power, then pride, and only then bodily temptations. No one escapes a pathological pseudo-ideal without consequence: the best possible outcome is deep repentance and a long, arduous return; the alternative is destruction of one’s mind and morality, even if a person remains physically alive (which may be a harsher punishment than death).

Today we are all far from the ideal — some nearer, some further. Not all good men move toward the ideal in a straight line. Some are like Noah or Isaac — with a more direct path. Others are like Jacob or David — moving sometimes far away from the ideal, but without losing sight of it, without trying to destroy it, and through sincere repentance and loss turning back, then slowly and patiently moving again toward the summit. This is not easy, but condemning such people is not the solution. Far from it — to wander and return to the ideal is actually the possibility for transformation, though far more gradual than most believe. This is deviation, sometimes extreme, but as long as one keeps moving upward again, it has not yet become pathological.

Paradoxically, it is precisely the seductive risk of power that causes many good men in leadership to be wrongly perceived as clinging to authority. In truth, such men often understand deeply the human danger of power’s temptations. They are not clinging to power — there is simply no one to pass it to who could withstand its temptations through inner sacrifice. Every structure is a hierarchy — including the family. In this light, a father carries the greatest responsibility to acknowledge the ideal and, despite his flaws, strive toward it by example. His duty is not to normalize extreme and unsustainable marginal deviations as a new center, in the form of a pathological “ideal.”

Resisting the pull of power — as a woman, as a man, as a leader, and as a human being in general — is only possible through imitation of the ideal. The ideal itself cannot be achieved, but one can move toward it through sacrifice, not through comfort or pleasure. The greater the temptation that accompanies power, the greater must be the counterbalancing sacrifice. Only in this way can a person remain sustainable and avoid becoming pathological. Narratively, this story is repeated at every level in both Testaments, and at the metanarrative level it is the central idea of Christianity. It is so apparent that it is almost difficult to elaborate further. I will stop here.

This, then, is a brief description of how deviation becomes pathology in relationships.