Young Philosophers Debate Society's Future at ACS Conference

First prize: Alexandra Tsanovа, grade 9

American College of Sofia

Supervisor: David Peev

“No,” said the priest, “it is not necessary to accept everything as true, one must only accept it as necessary.”

(Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov)

According to Le Bon, "religion is an act of faith with an unconscious origin, which compels us to accept en bloc an idea, an opinion, an explanation, a doctrine" (Slanikov). To understand how the religious psyche is formed and how it reaches the point where Dostoevsky's assertion becomes possible, it is necessary to examine its origins. Religion arises as a response to the fundamental uncertainty of human existence—a response that knowledge proves incapable of providing. Subsequently, however, the initial existential doubt regarding the essence of reality, which religion aims to diminish, evolves into a rational skepticism against religion itself. Thus, a clash emerges between the moral necessity of religion and the epistemological validity of its theology, drawing human consciousness into a paradoxical circle between faith, truth, and utility, in which the human being is unable to judge whether it is preferable to renounce the "religious illusion" in the name of "truth" or to preserve it in the name of spiritual virtue.

The difference between truth and necessity lies at the very center of the religious phenomenon. Man finds himself facing the inexplicable chaos of his own existence, where reason offers only awareness of the oscillation of unanswered questions and their interminable multiplication. In this sense, knowledge becomes yet another obstruction of human consciousness, so he finds a way out of this impasse through faith. It provides him with a moral framework in which he finds the only possible "companion" capable of satisfying him—namely, himself (Feuerbach). Medieval Christian doctrine is built entirely upon this individual connection with God, existing beyond the boundaries of reason and logic. In this context, Ludwig Feuerbach defines religion as a form of human self-consciousness: “Therefore, to remove this misunderstanding, it would be more accurate to say that religion is the first, but indirect, form of human self-consciousness. It is precisely because of this that religion everywhere precedes philosophy—both in the history of humanity and in the history of the individual century” (Feuerbach). Moreover, Christian theodicy comes to exist not only as a necessity for the intellect but as an element of it, since the individual inconsolably needs the perception of their own free will. This model has often changed throughout history, an example of which is the "religion of reason"—the concept introduced by Kant. Religion ceases to be an external metaphysical axiom and is confined entirely within the boundaries of human consciousness.

In the deism of the Enlightenment, the original goal—namely, the salvation of the soul from eternal sin—is replaced by the moral autonomy of the human being, which finds its place in the world outside of that ordained for him by God. At this moment, religion shifts from its original theological function. Thus, metaphysics inquiry gradually detached itself from its theological foundations, as human reason stopped seeking empirical and social truth in the divine. Rationalism, however, proved unable to explain the existential dimensions of the human soul. It was then that the spiritual salvation, which set everything in motion, was replaced by a much more socio-psychological function. A similar position is expressed by Émile Durkheim, who in The Elementary Forms of Religious Life views religion as an entirely social phenomenon, based on commonly accepted symbols through which society actually worships itself (Durkheim). Religion may not be the epistemological truth, but the existence of man and his position in society are directly dependent on the mutual maintenance of the necessary fiction he has created.

From this point onward, we enter the logic of pragmatism, where religion serves to integrate man into the moral order of the religious community. Yet when faith’s purpose is reduced to social cohesion and ethical moderation, the individual loses the inner experience and, with it, the spiritual values that once constituted its essence. Throughout history, this has manifested in many societies. An example is certain Protestant movements where, following the weakening of the ecclesiastical authority, the canon is no longer upheld as the moral framework for shaping the individual subject, and central dogma becomes instead an object of communal affirmation.

By viewing religion solely as a social framework to which civilization, in one form or another, adheres, we actually lose the most essential part of faith—namely, its asceticism, which is the primary religious feeling arising not from knowledge, but from suffering, which I regard as anthropologically inevitable. In this regard, Dostoevsky takes the radical position of reviving the Orthodox principles within the newly established social model. In The Brothers Karamazov, he returns to religion as a phenomenon that does not merely separate itself from the "corruption" of reason but ultimately prevails over it. He reveals the moral decay that occurs beyond it—“if God does not exist, everything is permitted.” Dostoevsky shows us why religion, even as a social mechanism, is of fundamental importance to human morality. In his previous novel, Demons, he offers some of the most vivid "prophecies" regarding the irreversible consequences of religious decay. The cathartic devastation is expressed in Stepan Verkhovensky's words to Varvara Petrovna: “Such is my lot. I will tell of that base slave, that stinking and depraved lackey, who will be the first to climb the ladder with scissors in hand and rip open the divine countenance of the great ideal in the name of equality, envy, and... digestion” (Dostoevsky). These words reveal the utilitarian criteria that take hold of people who have lost the religious illusion. Life is reduced to impulses, and the human being is left alone in the soulless routine of his daily life, filled with the suffering of rational thought and the unpredictability of death.

In modern times, religion has stopped functioning as a universally valid metaphysical system. The human being has lost his connection to theological dogmas and undergoes his own individual path toward rediscovering a spiritual truth. Modern religious concepts are often fragmented and detached forms of their institutional predecessors. However, modern skepticism toward religion does not exclude the need for it; in fact, it is often redirected toward the creation of a new personal structure.

In this context lies the essential insight of Émile Durkheim, who logically concludes that it is not the divine that shapes the human being, but the human being who constructs the divine as a projection of his inner world. As William James posits in his works—Pragmatism, The Meaning of Truth, and The Will to Believe—it is not empirical facts that actually define human reality, but ingrained archetypes through ideas, symbols, and beliefs that function independently of their provability. Current social problems, such as radical individualism and the general collapse of values, are consequences of the loss of this “necessary fiction.” In this regard, the problem lies not in the rejection of religious norms, but in their negation as a necessity. Without them, man remains alone with reason, and the existential void left by the loss of the ethical dimension of religion threatens him with disintegration. The paradox described by Dostoevsky ultimately remains unresolved. Religion may have lost its rational meaning, but the psychological imprint it leaves on human self-consciousness continues to influence the construction of identity on both a personal and social level.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Durkheim, Émile. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Translated by Karen E. Fields. Monoskop, 1912, monoskop.org/images/a/a2/Durkheim_Emile_The_Elementary_Forms_of_Religious_life_1995.pdf Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

Достоевски, Фьодор. "Пьотър Степанович си има грижи." Бесове. 1871-72. Chitanka, chitanka.info/text/23060-besove/11#textstart Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

Feuerbach, Ludwig. "The Essence of Religion in General." Introduction. The Essence of Christianity. Marxists, www.marxists.org/reference/archive/feuerbach/works/essence/ec01_2.htm#n8 Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Kant, Immanuel. Religion within the Limits of Bare Reason. Early Modern Texts, 1793, www.earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/kant1793.pdf Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Слаников, Иван. Религиозната Психика. Translated by Николай Мизов, София, Българска академия на науките, 1977.

Second prize: Maria Stefanova, grade 10

Profiled Natural Sciences and Mathematics Secondary School “Geo Milev”, Stara Zagora

Supervisor: Milena Ivanova PhD

“Every document of civilization is at the same time a document of barbarism”

(Walter Benjamin)

1. Introduction

Is it possible that the human drive to build inevitably leads to ruin? Is it not paradoxical to apply two mutually exclusive concepts to the same object? How does Walter Benjamin dare to accuse us, as a civilization, of cruelty and savagery?! Unfortunately, I must agree with him. It is precisely the provocation in his words that incites reflection on the problem he presents. It is simultaneously a historical and a philosophical problem; this gives us the opportunity to examine it analytically, using real-world examples.

2. Body

To begin with, it is proper to clarify our understanding of civilization and barbarism and their nuances, as both terms are widely used, which further blurs the boundaries of their definitions. Civilization, in a broad sense, names a high stage of social development and culture; elements of this development include the division of labor and social structure, urban planning, the presence of literacy, religion and art, and material and intangible heritage. “Civilization” is often shortened to its metonym, “progress,” thus expressing the idea of advancement as a result of human endeavor. Civilizedness, as a human quality, denotes politeness, courtesy, and decency. It is important to clarify the difference between a barbarian and barbarism. For the Greeks, barbarians were people from foreign tribes; today, the term is used to denote a person who does not share the same level of culture as the one using the term, labeling them uncivilized. Barbarism is an abstract concept that necessarily indicates a cruel, fierce, and merciless quality or state. Civilization/barbarian and civilizedness/barbarism are two pairs of antonyms, but the related words have diverging meanings, which allows the qualitative characteristics of “civilizedness” and “barbarism” to be attributed to the “barbarian” and the “civilization,” respectively, without contradiction. From this, we can conclude that there exist civilized barbarians (in the classical sense of "barbarian") and a barbaric civilization, such as the one Benjamin mentions.

Having clarified that a barbaric civilization can exist in theory, let us see if it exists in reality. In essence, such a civilization uses cruel, destructive, and exploitative methods to progress. There is no better way to be convinced of this than to transport ourselves into the life of the author. He was a German of Jewish descent living in the first half of the 20th century and had bitter experiences with the ideas emerging in Germany (and beyond) at that time. He took his own life in 1940 while attempting to flee the Gestapo. The scientists under the protection of Nazi Germany undoubtedly achieved many technological achievements, but their experiments also led to immense destruction and death. We need not rely solely on the most vivid example from modern history, because this is a fundamental "side effect" of civilization regardless of where we look for it. However, I will take the liberty of drawing on one more historical event. During the colonization of America, European conquerors encountered seemingly backward tribes lacking the advancement of European civilization. They brought them the Christian faith, iron tools, weapons, etc.—all marks of progress. Unfortunately, those same tools were used for barbarism by the conquistadors. The indigenous population perished through disease, war, and cultural genocide in the name of bringing civilization across the ocean. This is a typical example of a barbaric civilization: its progress is burdened with cruelty, sometimes by chance, sometimes not. Conversely, a large part of the indigenous population could be described as civilized "barbarians." They had their own social structure, their own knowledge of medicine and astronomy, their own religion and temples... But the lack of firearms and (among some tribes) literacy earned them the title of "savages." Michel Onfray summarizes this well: "What the so-called civilized man has done to the so-called barbarian is barbarism." The ironic "so-called" is crucial here. In their fear of the unknown locals, Europeans imposed extreme cruelty in the name of their own beliefs. In doing so, they became that which they feared most: the barbarians themselves.

Furthermore, it is not necessary to give examples where humans suffer directly from other humans. We can see that every human activity is destructive not only toward others but also toward the environment. Deforestation, mass fishing, and over-construction in the name of our development as a civilization lead to catastrophic consequences—first for nature, and then for us. This reminds me of the wisdom of the North American Cree tribe: “Only when the last tree has died / and the last river been poisoned / and the last fish been caught / will we realize / that we cannot eat money.” Here, money is the mark of the progress of modern society.

Reducing destructive effects is possible, even if they are an inevitable part of human development. Even actions with good intentions—such as solar panels, which generate energy from an inexhaustible source—require large spaces, leading to the occupation of vast areas of infield. Before proceeding to solutions, it is vital to acknowledge the unavoidable presence of negative consequences. We must treat them responsibly, present them, and name them: in this way, we also develop, because we build upon the shame of our ancestors, which prevented them from admitting their mistakes and taking blame for their actions. Realization is achieved through diplomatic dialogue and agreements (as a solution to man-on-man barbarism) and an ecological perspective and innovation (toward barbarism against nature). This maturation is a long process that will continue for a long time. Émile Zola even calls this growth painful (in exchange for the slightest progress), but ultimately, "the only happiness in life is the constant strive forward."

3. Conclusion

From Benjamin’s paradox and wordplay emerges a barbarically cruel but necessary truth to swallow: civilization carries its own destruction within it, and every record of progress simultaneously reminds us of the sacrifices that were forced to achieve that development. This should not be a cause for despair, but rather the opposite—as a teacher, history shows us its mistakes to allow us to judge right from wrong and make better decisions (whether on a personal or global level). The only true happiness may lie in this constant and painful striving—the strive to be open to our mistakes and to continue building in the name of enlightenment and development. Only then can we learn from history and promise the future not to repeat the errors of the past.

SOURCES:

Бурла Д., Цивилизация и национална култура, https://www.uni-sofia.bg/index.php/bul/content/download/330252/2130338/version/3/file/Avtoreferat_D.Burla.pdf – стр. 7

Ганева В., Атанасов Л., Мъдростта на вековете, София, изд. Наука и изкуство, 1979 г, стр. 146, 148

Тодоров Н., За бог Зевс – бог Живе, Орфей, пръстена от Езерово и античната българска книжнина, с. 1: https://www.otizvora.com/files2016/nt-bogove-i-knigi.pdf

Fenster, US History: Eight Basic Features of Civilization https://fensteroneducation.home.blog/2020/07/03/us-history-eight-basic-features-of-civilization/

Hamacher D., Stories from the sky: astronomy in indigenous knowledge https://www.unsw.edu.au/newsroom/news/2014/12/stories-from-the-sky--astronomy-in-indigenous-knowledge

Lester D., Suicide and the Holocaust, Nova Publishers, 2005, p. 74. "Suicide to Escape Capture: Cases".

Whitaker R., Documents of Civilization, Documents of Barbarism https://inroadsjournal.ca/documents-civilization-documents-barbarism/

Third prize: Alexandra Hristova, grade 9

American College of Sofia

Supervisor: David Peev

THE CIVILIZED BARBARIAN

"There is no document of civilization which is not at the same time a document of barbarism."

Walter Benjamin

The word "barbarian" is not inherently offensive. It originates from the Greek βάρβαρος, which literally means "foreigner." However, its modern usage carries a negative connotation—the barbarian is cruel, inhuman, and crude; he is uncivilized. But most importantly, he is different. For the ancient Greeks, these were people who did not speak Greek; for the Romans, they were the Germans and the Celts; for the Chinese, they were "those beyond the wall"; for the Ottomans, they were the infidels or "giaours." For all of them, these were people outside their civilization. And what was civilization to them? It was order (submission to authority), religion (the one true faith), a settled lifestyle, and literacy (laws, documents, contracts). If a culture is oral and lacks writing to document it, it is perceived as devoid of reason, history, and memory. It has nothing to be remembered by, nothing to confirm it was ever a civilization. Specifically, for the ancient Greeks, the problem lay not in the fact that the barbarian did not know Greek, but in what that ignorance symbolized. In practice, he did not know Logos—rational speech—and was therefore a lower form of life. Furthermore, the barbarian did not participate in the polis; he was an outsider who, in their view, had nothing to contribute to their superior civilization. The Romans and Chinese shared the same logic. For the Romans, civilized people followed Roman law and held Roman citizenship. The Germans might have had a culture, but because it was different, it was underdeveloped. Chinese civilization was built upon the cosmic order and the Emperor. Those beyond the wall did not revere the Emperor or follow Chinese traditions; thus, they were uncivilized, chaotic, and dangerous. For the Ottomans, the foundation was religion—if one did not believe in Islam, they were outside the true order and had not reached the cultural heights they had attained.

This leads to one possible interpretation of Benjamin's quote. For nations like those listed above, anything different from them is barbaric. According to the philosophy of ethnocentrism, if every nation compares other cultures to its own, it will likely conclude that its own culture is the correct, natural, and superior one simply due to bias. This thesis is supported by anthropology, which proves that ethnocentrism has a biosocial function: it is essential in building group identity, facilitating internal cooperation, and justifying political power. According to the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss: "The rejection of the 'other' is an almost instinctive defense of cultural integrity." People are inclined to diminish other cultures to create a sense of security and superiority. (An important note: "people" and "nations" here refer to systems and institutions, not just individuals). Once a culture considers itself the most enlightened, others—even if not explicitly called barbaric—are viewed as less civilized. By this logic, if the barbaric is perceived as something foreign, every document of any civilization that does not belong to the one making the comparison is barbaric. Even in cases where it is not denied that a state is a civilization, if its culture is considered inferior according to the logic of ethnocentrism, then it is a civilization with a barbaric structure. If it is assumed that all peoples view others in this way, then all peoples are barbarians in the eyes of others, and their official documents are documents of barbarism. By this logic, every civilization is free to say: “Every document of the (foreign) civilization is a document of barbarism.”

The problem with this interpretation lies in the exceptions—cases where one nation recognizes the equality or superiority of another, the analysed fragment is redundant. An example is the Romans, who, upon conquering Greece, fell under the profound influence of its culture. Hence Horace’s famous line: "Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit" ("Captured Greece took captive her savage conqueror"). Here, the victor acknowledges the cultural superiority of the defeated. Another example is the Islamic Golden Age, which embraced foreign knowledge. The Abbasids translated Greek, Persian, and Indian texts en masse, accepting that knowledge is universal, and the philosopher Al-Kindi even says: “Truth must be accepted wherever it comes from.”. Similarly, in the 19th century, Japan recognized the West’s technological superiority. Such theses, however, are easily refuted because they do not apply to entire peoples and are only temporary. The Romans may have acknowledged Greek superiority, but they still dominated politically, and the Islamic Golden Age and 19th-century Japan are only periods in time that do not signify a lasting rejection of hierarchical thinking.

A distinct example involves the Inca and their system of recording information—the Quipu. Unlike the common concept of an alphabet, Quipu did not use letters or signs, but colored strings with knots. The position, color, and material denoted different things. Today, Quipu cannot be fully read, but it is known to have used a decimal system for accounting, taxation, and likely historical ideas. For the Inca, this was their equivalent of writing that they understood and actively used. However, the Spanish conquerors did not understand the Quipu. They looked for letters and books—something they could associate with Christianity and legal authority. Because the Quipu fit none of these categories, it was perceived as nonsensical, devilish, and idolatrous. Therefore, the Spanish administration and the Church ordered the burning of the Quipu knots, viewing them as doctrinal objects used in "pagan" and hostile practices. In their place, the Europeans imposed their own written records. As a result, only a few hundred Quipus remain today, which is far less than their original amount. Though it may not be "writing" by European standards, the Quipu was certainly a document—a material carrier of information intended for preservation and legitimation in time. But the Europeans could not see it as such; what was a document of civilization to the Inca was barbarism to the Europeans. The Quipu is material, it was created intentionally for the purpose of documenting information and was used by the state administration, and could only be read by professionals. In its essence, it is a document. However, Europeans do not see it as such, and here the same idea of ​​Benjamin’s quote stands out as in the example above: what to the Incas is a document affirming their civilization, for Europeans is barbarism.

This is not the only way to understand the quote at hand. The Quipu example highlights the most frequent interpretation of Benjamin’s quote. For Europeans, written documents were the primary criterion of civilization. When the Spaniards encountered the Quipu—a method serving the same purpose as their alphabet but failing to meet their criteria—they didn't just reject it; they purposefully destroyed and replaced it. This aligns with the other definition of barbarism: the crude trampling of cultural values and the manifestation of inhumanity and cruelty. Documents were issued for the destruction of the Quipu, most notably from the Third Council of Lima, which officially banned and ordered their burning, because it was used for writing down sacrifice and offering objects to non-Christian deities. Thus, a document of one civilization (the Church's decree) was used for violence, destroying a culture, and imposition of control—the very definition of barbarism.

Walter Benjamin’s quote examines how two concepts designed to contradict each other can not only coexist but denote the same thing. The opposition between the "civilized man" and the "barbarian" can be viewed in two ways. In one, "barbaric" means "foreign"; in the other, it means "savage and uncivilized." In both cases, the misunderstanding arises from the differences between the two. In the first case, it is expressed through a peaceful rejection of the foreign; in the second, through its destruction. Ironically, this makes the "civilized" side inhuman, and the documents that authorize this behavior become documents of barbarism.

This problem remains visible today. On one hand, politicians led by notions of cultural superiority restrict access to their borders. A notable example is the 2017 "Travel Ban" in the U.S., which restricted travel for people from several Middle Eastern and African countries under the guise of national security. Critics argued it was inherently discriminatory, and that it implied these groups threatened the state's security. This "document of civilization" stripped away rights from those perceived as "lesser" or dangerous. Another example is social media. Since a document is a lasting carrier of information, social media posts can be defined as documents. The anonymity of the online space allows for crude, offensive, and discriminatory comments. Thus, barbarism through civilized means is more accessible than ever.

Sources:

Britannica Editors. “Barbarian.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, 2026, www.britannica.com/topic/barbarian Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

“Barbarian.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 18 Dec. 2025, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbarian Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Greek Reporter. “Barbarian Origins and Meaning in Ancient Greece.” Greek Reporter, 18 July 2025, greekreporter.com/2025/07/18/barbarian-origins-meaning-barbarian-ancient-greece Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Horace. “Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit.” In The Works of Horace, trans. H. Rushton Fairclough, Harvard University Press, 1926. Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Wikipedia Contributors. “Quipu.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 15 Jan. 2026, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quipu Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Wikipedia Contributors. “Third Council of Lima.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 12 Jan. 2026, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_Council_of_Lima Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Wikipedia Contributors. “Economy of the Inca Empire.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 10 Jan. 2026, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Economy_of_the_Inca_Empire Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

Lévi-Strauss, Claude. The Savage Mind. University of Chicago Press, 1966.

Goodman, L. Thomas. The Transmission of Knowledge in the Abbasid Caliphate. Routledge, 2019.

Jansen, Marius B. The Making of Modern Japan. Harvard University Press, 2000.

Al-Kindi. On the Pursuit of Truth, trans. Dimitri Gutas, Brill, 2001.

“What to Know About Trump’s New Travel Ban.” Time, 2025, time.com/7291314/trump-new-travel-ban-countries-immigrant-entry-restrictions-nonimmigrant-visas/ . Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

“Забраната на Тръмп за влизане в САЩ.” Novinite.bg, 8 June 2025, novinite.bg/articles/269076/ . Accessed 20 Jan. 2026.

First prize: Georgi Stankov, grade 12

18th Secondary School "William Gladstone", Sofia

Supervisor: Alexander Dimitrov

Self-Knowledge as the Reality of the Spirit

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s claim that "The Spirit is that which is real only through itself; the reality of the spirit lies in self-knowledge, in which the spirit stands before itself as subject and object simultaneously" captures the core ambition of his entire philosophical system in a single, demanding sentence. The statement appears abstract to the point of obscurity. Yet, beneath its dense conceptual surface lies a radical rethinking of what it means for something to be real and for something to be known. Hegel’s concept of Spirit describes a dynamic process through which reality becomes intelligible through self-knowledge.

At the heart of Hegel's claim is a decisive break with common-sense realism. In everyday life, it is assumed that reality exists independently of consciousness: objects are real whether they are known or not, and consciousness simply reflects or represents them. Hegel challenges this assumption, arguing that the Spirit is "real only through itself." This does not mean that the Spirit arbitrarily invents reality or that the world is merely an illusion of consciousness. Hegel gives a new meaning to reality: what is fully real is not what merely exists, but what is intelligible and self-justified. The Spirit is real insofar as it actively constitutes itself as an object of understanding. Without this turn toward itself, the Spirit would remain an abstract potentiality and not an actual reality. This assertion stands in opposition to earlier modern philosophy, particularly to Kant’s and Fichte’s. Kant argued that the conditions of knowledge are found in the structures of subjectivity, maintaining a sharp distinction between phenomena and "things-in-themselves." This distinction is ultimately untenable—a reality that is in principle unknowable is a blank abstraction. Reality itself must be understood as something that occurs through intelligibility. The Spirit does not encounter a world that is forever alien to it; it encounters itself in and through the world it has shaped.

The phrase "the reality of the spirit is in self-knowledge" is an ontological claim. Self-knowledge is not an epistemological achievement—some inner awareness added to an already existing subject—it is the very essence of the being for the Spirit. The Spirit exists only insofar as it knows itself by becoming an object. Thus, Hegel insists that the Spirit stands "before itself as subject and object simultaneously." Spirit is both the knower and the known, the active agent and the content. Classical metaphysics tended to treat subject and object as fundamentally opposite: the subject is the thinking "I," the object is the external thing. While we need not to deny this distinction, absolutizing it is an unnecessary and inaccurate limitation. The opposition between subject and object is a moment within a larger process, not a final truth. The Spirit begins by experiencing the world as something other and independent. Through labor, language, art, religion, and philosophy, it gradually realizes that this "otherness" is not entirely foreign. The object bears the imprint of Spirit's own activity.

It is impossible for this understanding to not have consequences for how we think about individuality. If the reality of Spirit lies in self-knowledge, and if self-knowledge requires objectification, then the Spirit cannot be understood in isolation. Thus, when we speak of the Spirit knowing itself, we do not mean a solitary ego turning inwards. We mean a historically unfolding, socially embodied process in which people collectively understand who they are. The self-knowledge of the Spirit takes place not only in individual reflection but in institutions, ethical life, and cultural achievements. The family, society, and the state are not merely pragmatic arrangements, but objective forms of the Spirit in which freedom and self-understanding take on concrete form. To live within these forms means to participate, often unconsciously, in the Spirit’s continuous effort to know itself.

Hegel attributes universal significance to the Spirit. This universality should not be confused with abstraction. The Spirit is universal precisely because it is concrete—it manifests in all elements of existence. There is no Spirit "in general" hovering above history; there is only the Spirit as it exists in specific forms. Consequently, self-knowledge is always situational. It reflects the aspects of a given historical world—its problems, conflicts, organization, and so on. This historical dimension is essential for appreciating the realism of this position. To say that the Spirit is real only through itself is to assert that all dimensions of existence become fully real only when perceived through self-conscious understanding. Human history is the gradual awakening of this Spirit to itself. Viewed this way, we can see history as a rational process, even though it unfolds through violence and tragedy. The role of philosophy in this process is distinctive. Philosophy does not create the reality of the Spirit, nor does it dictate the course of history. Instead, it describes retrospectively what the Spirit has already achieved. Philosophy is the highest form of self-knowledge of the Spirit because it explicitly unites subject and object—Spirit knows itself as Spirit; it recognizes that the structures of reality are also structures of thought. That is why it is unwise, even harmful, to consider philosophy a mere part of academic disciplines—doing so alienates it from its essence as the culmination of the Spirit’s journey toward self-consciousness.

One might ask whether this merging of reality and self-knowledge risks excluding forms of existence that resist conceptual thought—such as individuality itself. In preparing to write on this topic, one often encounters criticisms that Hegel subordinates experience to abstract system-building. However, such criticisms remain unfounded upon deeper analysis. Self-knowledge does not eliminate contradiction; on the contrary, it preserves it. The Spirit knows itself precisely through the recognition of its own internal conflicts. The tragic, the irrational, and the negative are not excluded from reality—they are an integral part of the Spirit’s turn toward itself. If the reality of the Spirit lies in self-knowledge, then ignorance, alienation, and other such states acquire a new essence—they become forms of unreality. To live without understanding the social and historical conditions that shape one's life is to exist through a limited mode of being. To strive for self-knowledge, both individually and collectively, is to participate in the realization of the Spirit itself.

Hegel's claim that the Spirit is real only through itself and that its reality lies in self-knowledge provides us with a vision of reality as fundamentally self-reflective. The Spirit is not a static entity but a living process in which subject and object, thought and being, individual and community are gradually reconciled. Self-knowledge is a historical and social achievement through which reality becomes intelligible to itself. Whether we accept or reject this system, it is worth considering the possibility that to understand ourselves does not simply mean to describe reality, but to participate in reality itself.

Second prize: Boyan Markov, grade 12

12th Secondary School “Tsar Ivan Asen II”, Sofia

Supervisor: Ivaylo Nikolov

GENETIC OF BUREAUCRACY

“Bureaucracy is the most effective form of government and at the same time an iron cage.”

— Max Weber

[§1] In his preface to the collection “Persian Letters”, Paul Valéry includes a very curious and succinctly described thesis, marking his social thought in general. According to him, the historical regularity in the development of societies is the transformation of the mode of governing from one using violence to one using “fictions”, if barbaric society is organized through the use of physical force, then the “kingdom of order” is organized through (the production and) use of rational structures (Валери, p. 21 and onwards). He adds an addition to his thesis in an attempt to make sense of it: a true kingdom of order cannot exist without fictions, because they, so to speak, obsess consciousness, put it into certain ruts and work with the mechanisms of thought itself. In this way, a social and political reality is created that is different, more complex, at the same time more frozen and more dynamic than that of physical force. However, this reality does not rest exclusively on natural conditions and rudimentary collective-psychological phenomena, but expresses a complication in social relations and an emerging need for new ways of organizing and governing people.

At first glance, Valéry's thesis seems simple, it is easy to understand and perhaps even obvious, but its continuation actually carries its great value. Valéry does not fail to point out that the "kingdom of order" or in other words the "kingdom of symbols and signs" is not a layering on the foundation of violence, of barbaric morality, but rather an imaginary system whose genetic predisposition is to develop to the point of extreme abstraction - so, if before a certain threshold of development symbols and signs reflected the presence of a primary reality, then after it they reflect its absence. An alienated reality is created, which is as rational as it is magical, intoxicating with its inexplicable forms, deceiving human beings that they are a given, attributes of the absolute itself and therefore they have neither a cradle nor a grave, their origin cannot be traced, because they seem eternal, and they themselves are insurmountable.

By writing his modest preface to Montesquieu's work, Valéry ranks among the predecessors of semioticians, and although he is not a philosopher but a literary critic, he is among the few to make a leap in the study of so-called "complex societies", in which abstracted concepts are no longer a subject of the field of political philosophy, but of semiotics.

[§2] In order to understand the intention underlying Weber's words, several approaches must be taken into account. The first approach is the external one, which examines the words through foreign theories and judgments in an attempt to place them in some context and make sense of them. In this case, Valéry's reflections are the starting point, since they provide basic guidelines for understanding the circumstances in which bureaucracy arises. The second approach is the internal one, which examines Weber's words through his own thought. In this case, the idea of ​​bureaucracy must be enriched - genealogy, typology, nature, etc., if possible, to approach it critically and to look for any problems in Weber's definition and system.

[§3] It is obvious that in the realm of order physical reality is not entirely abolished—that is impossible. But if it is not abolished, it is distorted. The realm of order as such is a political structure in the sense that it encompasses and regulates completely all other areas of human activity, and since violence is the existential limit of politics, it remains in it in a way.

The difference between the barbaric society and the realm of order is that in the realm of order violence is not present every day as a means of governance, most of the time it is present only as a possibility, as an unrealized potential for imposing order. If violence somehow constituted not just an essential but also a manifested part of the realm of order, then this would have been already in the beginning of the rational political structure, where the demise of the old and the birth of the new order overlap. Legally, this is the time in historical development in which the constituent power “descends from heaven” to set before society basic values ​​and rules and then codify them in legal norms (Близнашки, p. 312). This is also the time of unleashing a powerful charge that, with its destructive force, frees the space from old forms of government and holders of power and paves the way for the arrival of new ones, “divine violence,” in Benjamin’s words (Бенямин, p. 50 (§15)). But after the early period of establishing the power of the kingdom of order has passed, the need for revolutionary forces is transformed into a need for counter-revolutionary forces, whose purpose is not to free space, but to fill it. That is when fictions are essentially born.

Political systems want to save as much power as possible in every way, which means reducing the opportunities for such to be used. Here it is not just about physical power and the capacity for its use, but by power we also mean the symbolic resource of the system, through which it identifies and legitimizes itself. These are exhaustible goods, they are expensive, difficult to obtain, but easy to spend; for this reason, in the natural development of the system, the decision is reached that it does not need to be constantly present in everyday social life in order to govern, and its presence can also be ghostly as an image. A presence that is not so much in everyday life, not in trivial day-to-day events, as in the very way of thinking of a person, in which, in addition to values ​​and ideals, the mechanisms of flow of thought are structured and the possibilities for critical attitudes are calibrated. In this way, the depths of consciousness become obsessed, and a person is not only unwilling to go beyond the boundaries of order, not only physiologically incapable, judging by his character, of going beyond them, but literally incapable of imagining a reality—future, present, and past—beyond that of the established order. The horizon of possibilities shrinks to the point where nothing else exists beyond the imaginary limits of representations and ghostliness.

Although this phenomenon in the life of social organizations can also be considered through concepts such as simulacrum, such a thing is unnecessary, because the restructuring of governance from the use of violence to the use of ghostly representations (according to Stirner) is something natural - the kingdoms of order always aim to carry out such restructurings, since they are a guarantee that things as they are will not change, even if the specific people in power disappear. Even if the content is removed, the structure remains, and it forces behavior of a certain kind, thinking of a certain kind, nothing else is possible in it.

[§4] The emergence of bureaucracy in such societies is inevitable. When order is no longer structured by fact and action, but by the idea, the need for new forms of governance arises - specifically, the governance of abstractions can only be achieved through something equally abstract, a hyper-rationalization of public processes, in which the need for normative and administrative acts and documents is not caused by objective circumstances, but by itself. Since a separate alienated reality is created, it gradually begins to follow its own "natural laws", according to which the layering of procedure upon procedure, document upon document, etc. is not an undesirable effect, but a natural and inevitable phenomenon.

This idea is also present in Weber. On the one hand, bureaucracy is the purest way of legal governance (Weber, p. 347), in which the higher reality is that of competences, ranks, hierarchy and comprehensive regulations, while the lower reality is that of the process physically regulated by the bureaucratic procedure. The reason he additionally describes bureaucracy as an iron cage lies in the fact that, as much as it allows governance only according to legal norms, it restricts freedom. But this understanding hides a problem: how can it explain bureaucracies such as those of socialist countries, and especially the USSR, whose territory, due to its size alone, can give rise to huge bureaucracies in otherwise irrational (i.e. non-rationalizing) societies? In fact, the explanation of this type of bureaucracy is an undertaking that Weber begins, partly in Economy and Society, but does not go far with it. Since there are examples of systems in which the basic conditions for bureaucracy according to Weber's theory are violated, they cannot be defined as "legal-rational" and normatively regulated. The example of socialist states and the abuses in their political systems alone is sufficient to see that the essence of bureaucracy is not legality or predictability. Although Weber tries to explain this by stating that even if bureaucracy arose from a religious or ideological movement, the weight of charisma is inevitably lost in it. Charismatic bureaucracy is created when a movement with revolutionary or sacred (religious) authority is institutionalized. But it is structurally different from legal-rational bureaucracy, because in it, administrative actions have a moral and ideological charge, they are inviolable, and their perpetrators are not responsible to anyone except to higher-ranking officials.

[§5] If one must draw a conclusion from this essay of sporadic thoughts, it is that, first, bureaucracy is an iron cage not only because it restricts freedom legally, but because it originates in the process in societies by which human consciousness becomes obsessed and can therefore only function in such an environment. Second, Weber's larger theory of bureaucracy is problematic because it assumes that its only way is the rational one, even though, as it was said, it depends not on law and rationality but on the presence of abstract concepts, abstraction and (in the spirit of Valéry) magic.

Works Cited

Валери, Пол. Човекът и раковината. ДИ „Народна култура“, 1988.

Близнашки, Георги. Общо учение за конституцията. УИ „Св. Климент Охридски“, 2019.

Бенямин, Валтер. Към критика на насилието. ИК „Критика и хуманизъм“, 2022.

Weber, Max. Economy and Society. Harvard University Press, 2019.

Third prize: Dzhesika Dimchova, grade 11

Profiled Secondary School "Hristo Botev", Dupnitsa

Supervisor: Nadya Dzhorgova-Kalvina

The Prison Begins Long Before Its Gates and Does Not End at the Lock

What is it that we flee from? In our madness, have we ever prayed to possess it? Paradoxes are never far from empirical experience; they are the wandering shadows that accompany it. To unravel the threads of opposing truths has been the goal of many great minds throughout the centuries, and among them is Michel Foucault. Freedom and its absence, illusion and reality, choice and the will of the оther—these and many other oppositions are buried beneath the layers of his quote: "The prison begins long before its gates and does not end at the lock."

Some believe that an artwork can exist without the artist, but whether through mere fantasy or public information, an artwork needs an author just as a tree needs its roots. Even a pseudonym carries a message, and when one is missing, our minds tend to comfort themselves with their own guesses. The personality of Michel Foucault, however, is no secret to anyone; he was a French philosopher, sociologist, historian, and the creator of the theory of the "archeology of knowledge." Foucault is best known for his critical studies of social institutions—particularly psychiatry, medicine, the humanities, and prison systems—as well as his work on the history of human sexuality.

In his book Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, from which the aforementioned quote is taken, he examines in detail the transition of power's methods from the physical control over the body to psychological control. The work analyzes Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon—a prison design focused on the idea of an "all-seeing" guard who is invisible to the prisoners, who are separated from each other in single cells with provided light but limited visibility. Yet another paradox. The goals of the project are the rehabilitation of the convicted, the prevention of riots, and a precautionary measure against the spread of disease. The design is intended to encourage abstinence from illegal acts by using the fear of constant vulnerability, without information on who the observer is. The principle of the Panopticon has inspired numerous architectural projects—not just prisons, but hospitals, schools, factories, and other institutions for disciplining behavior. Humanity has always preferred to do the wrong things while convincing itself that its motives are the only correct reasons. But is it possible to turn someone’s face toward morality while you yourself act immorally? With this question, we reach the subjective nature of our mores; it determines which path leads to freedom and which to prison. It makes us wonder if any of these paths actually... do not exist. It is to wander, to stray, seeking the illusory amidst the material, but apperception is key to contemplating the truth.

Let us begin with the idea of the gates, the commonly accepted beginning of the prison. Their traces have left imprints far back in the time of the first cry, the first ray of light, the first mother's smile. In this stage, when we are weakest and laid in the arms of someone whose name we will associate with "home," chains are wrapped around our necks, wrists, and feet. Without these oppressors, however, we would not survive, because now we are much more than wandering souls—now we are humans, and humans are flesh living in societies. Upon the white canvas of our existence, among our peers, our gender, face, status, religion, traditions, culture, and the laws of a place are inscribed, which will likely turn us into a mold of our kindred. In the field of the territories we inhabit, we are subject to physical, chemical, and biological laws. Gradually, we forget what the beginning was and remember only the inevitability of our mortality.

We enter school, struggling to be exemplary. We look for work, striving not to lose our livelihood. We marry to create offspring that will continue the cycle, reminding ourselves that in this way we ensure our symbolic immortality. We pay for the water we drink and the earth we tread upon. We fight in wars we did not provoke, but we are convinced that only in this way will we be worthy. From men, stoicism and the suppression of the human are required. The only emotion allowed to them is anger, which slowly destroys them in the name of universal recognition. The female role is most often associated with humility, care, and tenderness, in the name of the life she is expected to bring into this wretched world.

In modern times, undeniable progress has been achieved in this regard, but we are still far from the moment when the cage will disappear. Politics, economics, social networks, and a large number of institutions ensure that this does not happen. Power wants more power; the rich want to become richer; the strong dominate the weak. The paradox in this is that the top of the pyramid is majestic, but its foundations are what hold it amidst the heights. The top knows this and seeks to keep a close eye on its supports. As Sun Tzu says: "Governing many people is the same as governing a few—it is a matter of organization."

The strategy reminds one of Bentham's Panopticon—we do not know who pulls the strings and whether the faces we think we know are just figureheads. On the other hand, the environment strives to prevent us from realizing we are in prison, so that we do not think about how to escape it. Kant's "Transcendental Ego" fades slowly but surely. We are shackled to memorised morals, pressured to pay our dues to power, and we don't even suspect that the enemy is beside us. Among our friends who reproach us for questioning norms; among our families who hurt us with their disapproval under the pretext of wishing us well. Control is established through beauty standards working for the economy; through the fear of chaos working for politics; through our devices adapted to steal our most valuable non-renewable resource—time. Religion, as one of the most mass and unshakable institutions for establishing control, is the ideal means for people not to ask questions, not to rebel, and to feel fear of disobedience.

Is the desire for the gaze of the "Other" to define us immanent to the paradigm of the humans we are? Reproductive instruments, soldiers, labor force. We are expected to be a source of pride for our parents, an unshakable haven for our friends, always with open arms for our children, and submissive slaves for power. We do not believe in ourselves without receiving the validation of kind words—the verdict that will calm our nightmares and mark us with the sign of success. To what extent this is learned and to what extent it is rooted in us is difficult to determine, but as Joseph Garcin says in Jean-Paul Sartre’s work No Exit: "Hell is other people."

External factors can be rejected; they are established by people and removed by them. But that which categorically deprives us of the hope that we possess full freedom is none other than ourselves. We can reach for the blade and press it to the throat of our neighbor, but we cannot escape the subsequent guilt. Few are those who do not feel it, and of them, we say they are mentally ill. But what remains for the healthy? Can they stand against this guest with sharp teeth and eagle claws? Can they hide from the shadow of fear that is in league with every collapsing dream, with every betrayal? How does one run from the enemy if he is in your head, if he hides under your skin, if he appears from behind the corner when you least expect him? How does one achieve salvation from the torrent of thoughts, from the emotions which, if you kill, you remain a living corpse, and if you preserve, you die a little every day? How do you rid yourself of attachment—that so difficult-to-cure disease—when the object of the attachment itself is the one who forged both the iron gates and the accompanying lock? The short answer is that you cannot.

We reach the first paradox. That which we seek and from which we simultaneously flee is freedom. The heavens have loomed over countless battles for freedom, over horizons crowded with armies fighting for this supreme value, over lonely people mourning their fate. But in separating ourselves from religion, we accept that there is no invisible hand to protect us. Without politics, there is no one to blame for the disorder, no one to follow. Without the economy, our primary needs for resources are threatened. Without our loved ones, we are left in solitude—one of the greatest fears of the human species. Conformism is so familiar precisely because of it. Fyodor Dostoevsky often touches upon the motives for the antipathy toward freedom. The philosopher says, "Man is ready to consciously renounce his freedom, as long as someone promises him peace" in his book Notes from Underground and "Nothing has been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom" in his work The Brothers Karamazov. The same theme is directly addressed in Erich Fromm’s book Escape from Freedom, which analyzes individuality, the uniqueness of the personality, and their unbearable burden. Freedom is so magnificent in theory, but only the one who has the strength to take the weight of the consequences upon his shoulders can possess it.

I believe the problem is not in freedom itself, but in the fact that we do not know enough about it. We cannot break a concrete wall, but we can stand our ground. Obstacles will always exist. Self-expression is often unappreciated, corruption surrounds us, tyranny is disguised as democracy, and the unrestrained urge for security whispers to us to break away from freedom—both in our actions and our thoughts. And yet, there is no excuse for a weak will.

In conclusion, the prison indeed has no boundaries, but if its goal is to keep us static and faceless, why should we satisfy it? Let us cling to education, egalitarianism, choice, and hope. Let us, when we look back, smile at the thought that we have done everything in our power to get out of the cage of others; let us be at peace that if we did not exit through the door, we went through a window; if not through a window, through a secret tunnel. Before we die, let us have lived.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

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Фуко, М. (1998)- ,,Надзор и наказание – раждането на затвора“, УИ ,,Св. Климент Охридски“

https://bg.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%9C%D0%B8%D1%88%D0%B5%D0%BB_%D0%A4%D1%83%D0%BA%D0%BE

https://stroiinfo.com/panoptikumat-arhitekturen-model-na-vlastta/