"Ever since I woke up, ive been plagued by Questions, Not knowing Who or What i am."
"Yet as figured it all out, These People, They stood by me, Put Their faith in me."
"I know the Truth Brother, I was Forged in Pain and Chaos, My life was a Weapon"
"But ive become much more than That, Though Them, Though MY Choices"
"I Stood in the face of Annihilation and said "More"
"I am the Soldier of Fate, The Connection between Heaven and Hell!"
"I AM THE NEXUS!, HEHEAHAHHAHAHA"
In VP/MD canon this Final battle happens at the same time as the Pilot for MD
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyADNaIGBaI < Fitting music from another Awesome Robot thing :3

After the Khumans had settled down somewhat, Alex let out a rather shaky breath. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."
"What were you expecting?" Kirell didn't understand, and it bothered him, but he was suddenly also extremely curious. It should be safe to learn more about this, right?
"Well... something more along the lines of swearing."
"Um... Karyces, Alex, did you get browner?" Kirell asked tentatively, which apparently set off the Khumans again.
"Woah there, spaceman." Sleepy didn't seem thrilled to hear him say that one; Kirell felt a guilty flush of purple around the edges of his frills. He didn't know Sleepy knew what it meant. "That's a strong word around the little one, huh?"
"Oh." He looked down at Nryxə guiltily, but she didn't seem to have noticed. At least he hoped she hadn't noticed. She was staring at the glassteel wall with her seven eyes wide open. Kirell didn't need his shiny new translator to know that her expression was curiosity. She probably didn't notice.
"You'll have to tell me what it means later. I mean it, Sleepy." Alex took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and closed her eyes. "I mean, I guess I got browner, but it's not.... Well. It's a scar."
Kirell's frills flashed open with a little pop, the whole width stained a deep red. "A scar? The whole thing?"
"Yep." Come to think of it, Alex's voice was a little lower than he remembered, a little raspier. "I– Captain, could you? It's sore."
"Sure. Poke me if I say something bad." The Captain cleared his throat as Alex sat down, crossing her legs under her, on the floor. "So, you know we burned a lot of atmosphere on Kzrkn, right?"
"Yes." Of course Kirell remembered that; he'd been scared out of his wits at the time. It seemed so silly now, to be afraid of something on the ground while he was safe in orbit.
"Well, the gate they took you through... yeah, atmospheres started mixing up, and then they closed it on Hook's electric prosthetic and–" The Captain broke off as Alex grabbed his leg; the deep red from Kirell's frills grew even darker. She was shaking a little. "Sorry Hook. Anyway, Squishy, I bet you saw it from your end too, but Hook was real close. Doc fixed what was mission-critical and did a bunch of patching, but it's still rough, and she's.... I bet she'll be mad for telling you, but she's still pretty spooked. Most folks'd already be shipped home with a Heart for this kinda thing, but damn if Hook hasn't made us proud. Well, prouder."
"What's that got to do with being browner? Did you not fix the scars?"
"Not mission-critical." Sleepy broke in on the conversation. "Don't get us wrong, Spaceman, he wanted to, but Hook said to focus on gettin' ya back."
"I think her exact words were 'Being pretty can wait.' Gotta love Hook, huh Squishy?"
Kirell felt his eyes itching, as if he wanted to cry again. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't ha–"
Alex slammed her synthetic hand into the floor with a bang; Nryxə jumped in Kirell's arms. Alex was shaking again, but this time she didn't look scared at all. She looked angry, and her eyes were a bit wet. That felt wrong, somehow, and conflicting, but Kirell could remember being scared and happy at the same time while wandering with Nryxə; it was probably similar.
"Shut it kid. Don't say that; don't you dare say that. I went after you 'cause I wanted to get to you. Don't ever say differently." Alex's voice seemed to squeak and thin out at the end of the last syllable; she pressed her lips together, looking frustrated.
"Easy there Hook. You've talked a lot more'n usual today. It's OK." The Captain reached down and patted Alex's artificial hand awkwardly. "You're doing good."
Alex swatted his hand away. Kirell's hearts abruptly thumped in his chest; he'd never seen that kind of expression on a Khuman face before. It was some mixture of ones he'd seen before; some kind of anger, sadness, coupled with a strange sick look he didn't recognize.
"Cap, ya aren't helping. If ya don't shut up I'd say it's about three seconds 'till ya get socked."
"Shi... crap. Sorry Hook. Didn't mean to– Uh, think I'll stop talking." Kirell didn't know what this situation had to do with closed tubes of fabric, or why the Captain had glanced at him and fixed his language, but he was too tired and confused to question it.
"Wait. So, Alex got burned, and Doc put her back together?" Kirell felt his own voice squeaking, not because he was injured but because the magnitude of Alex's injuries seemed to be stealing some of his air, along with much of the space in his stomach and most of his knees' strength.
"Burn care and puttin' someone back together aren't the same thing. Doc does both, but not the same way. Some parts, sure; it's why her vocal cords are weak right now. It's like a surgery; gotta be gentle with it."
Kirell's translator helpfully reminded him that Khumans were in the habit of cutting themselves open to deal with internal problems. He hadn't wanted to remember that.
"Anyway, Hook had to get most of her lungs and voice box rebuilt, so she's not got much voice to use right now. Still gettin' stronger. Her lungs are doin' great, but the voice is takin' a bit longer. It usually does."
Kirell's frills stained a deep blue. "Alex.... I wish you hadn't. I wish you weren't hurt."
Alex looked sideways awkwardly; she didn't look angry any more, which Kirell hoped was an improvement.
"I think what Hook wants to say is that she couldn't not come for you. And I'd agree with that."
Kirell didn't think that was right, but he couldn't figure out how to say so. Surely Hook had a choice, right? He wasn't somehow making a Khuman– a Khuman, of all things– do anything they weren't already going to do. Surely not. The idea of a Khuman being controlled by anything but their own wild Khuman-ness was laughable. Or, he acknowledged at the sight of the glassteel walls, by another Khuman.
"So you're in here because....?"
"Well, essentially we, uh... we were doing it again, huh Hook? We were just running in again like there was nothing there to stop us. Guess that's what we do." The Captain grimaced, one hand brushing the back of his head. "Right up until Sleepy showed up and said 'Hey stop that' with a bit more'n words."
A loud amusement sound made both Kirell and Nryxə jump; Sleepy was apparently very amused by this rephrasing of his actions. The Captain bared his teeth, too, with a look on his face that the translator told Kirell was [embarrassed] and [slightly regretful].
"Well, ya saw him now, and ya see that he's picked up someone of his own."
"Does that make you a granddad, Sleepy?"
Sleepy shrugged, looking at Nryxə, who looked back with seven wide eyes. "Dunno. I guess it depends on what the spaceman wants, right? And what'd be best for the kid. Whaddya think, Spaceman?"
"I, um... I don't know if I know what's best for Nryxə, but I don't want her to be upset. Can we talk about this later?"
The Khumans froze for a moment before the Captain whistled long and low. "Right. Not exactly good practice, is it? Talking custody with a kid in the room. Sorry 'bout that, Squishy."
"Hey, speaking of which." Sleepy reached out and gave Kirell a gentle, very reassuring head pat. Oh, he'd missed those. "I'm not sure he should be 'Squishy.' He didn't like it before, and now... don't ya think?"
"Yeah, agreed, it doesn't fit any more. Blue? No, don't like that one. Zim?"
"Absolutely not, Cap. Nor Dent, nor Ford Prefect. Gonna cut you off at the pass on that one."
Alex made a strange noise in her throat; with more patience than Kirell remembered them having, the Captain and Sleepy waited for her to be able to speak. When she did, it was a single word.
"Ripley."
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Ladies and gentlemen, extraterrestrials, and sentient AI overlords! Gather 'round because Zane Zany is about to take you on a wild ride through the mind-bending, reality-twisting, coffee-spilling world of fractal art! Yes, you heard it right—fractals, those brain-melting, visually addictive patterns that make you question if nature's been watching too much sci-fi. Buckle up, buttercups, because we're diving into the recursive rabbit hole of fractal geometry, where Mother Nature herself is the original nerdy artist.
First, let's talk about fractals. Imagine you’re scrolling through Netflix, and instead of choosing between true crime documentaries and that new reality show where people date while hanging upside down, you stumble upon an endless loop of visually stunning, infinitely complex patterns. These, my friends, are fractals—the artistic equivalent of getting lost in the comment section of a viral TikTok.
Fractals are essentially shapes that repeat themselves on different scales. Think of them as the visual manifestation of your favorite TV show that keeps rebooting itself. One of the most famous fractals is the Mandelbrot set, which looks like a trippy explosion of paisleys on LSD. You zoom in on one part, and bam! There’s another paisley party going on in there. It’s like a never-ending series of Russian nesting dolls, but way more psychedelic.
Now, Mother Nature, being the ultimate overachiever, decided to use fractals to design some of her best work. Ever noticed how a cauliflower looks like a tiny, edible brain? Or how lightning bolts resemble the family tree of Zeus's illegitimate children? That’s fractal geometry in action, folks! Nature has been using fractals to show off her math skills long before humans decided to scribble them on their trapper keepers.
Let’s take a closer look at the wacky world of fractal art, where the line between art and science blurs more than my vision after too much screen time. Imagine digital landscapes that look like Salvador Dalí on a coding binge. Artists like Hal Tenny and Kerry Mitchell create these digital masterpieces that make your eyes pop out like a cartoon character seeing a pie on a windowsill. Their works are a mix of math wizardry and artistic flair, transforming complex equations into visual feasts that make you wonder if you’ve accidentally ingested something illegal.
But wait, there’s more! It’s not just digital; hand-drawn fractal art is a thing too. Picture an artist with the patience of a saint and the determination of someone binge-watching an entire season of "Stranger Things" in one sitting. These artists meticulously draw each tiny, repeating pattern by hand. It's like watching Bob Ross on speed, each "happy little accident" turning into a mesmerizing fractal forest.
One of the coolest things about fractal art is how it mimics the infinite complexity of natural forms. It’s like nature’s way of saying, “I see your doodles, and I raise you a universe.” For instance, the branching patterns of trees, blood vessels, and even the internet’s favorite—snowflakes—are all fractal patterns. These natural fractals are so precise that they make human-made fractal art look like a kindergarten drawing contest.
Now, let's get real for a moment and talk about the science behind these bad boys. Fractals are the product of simple mathematical rules repeated over and over. It’s like taking your favorite GIF and putting it on an infinite loop until your brain melts. This process, known as iteration, is the secret sauce behind those stunning fractal images. And if you think that’s nerdy, just wait until you hear this: fractals are used in everything from computer graphics to diagnosing heart disease. Talk about a glow-up from mere doodles to lifesavers!
Alright, my intergalactic audience, let's sprinkle in some contemporary pop culture because why not? Imagine if Marvel’s Doctor Strange teamed up with Picasso after a bender at a hacker convention. That’s the level of surreal you get with fractal art. Or think about "Rick and Morty" if they decided to explore the infinite realities within a single broccoli floret. Fractals are the multiverse theory of art and science—every zoom reveals another layer of mind-blowing complexity.
And speaking of complexity, let’s not forget about the applications. Fractals aren’t just pretty pictures; they have real-world uses that would make even Tony Stark jealous. For example, in telecommunications, fractal antennas are all the rage. They’re tiny, efficient, and look like they belong in a sci-fi movie. These antennas use fractal patterns to pick up a wide range of frequencies, making your smartphone signals stronger than my desire for a pizza right now.
But fractals aren't just solving tech problems—they're also helping scientists understand natural phenomena. Take the coastlines of continents, for instance. They’re not straight lines but jagged, irregular shapes that resemble, you guessed it, fractals! By studying these patterns, scientists can predict erosion and even help with environmental conservation. It’s like Mother Nature gave us a cheat code to understand her secret plans.
Now, let’s wrap this mind-bending journey with a bow, shall we? Fractal art is the glorious intersection where art and science have a wild, late-night party and invite everyone they know. It’s proof that math isn’t just for nerds—it’s the creative force behind the beauty of the natural world and the digital masterpieces that leave us awestruck. So, next time you’re out in nature or lost in a fractal video loop, remember that you’re witnessing the same principles that make your phone work, keep planes in the air, and help us understand the universe.
So, there you have it, folks! Fractal art: where geometry, nature, and a splash of human creativity come together to blow our minds. It's the ultimate nerdy art form that proves even the most complex mathematical principles can be stunningly beautiful. And remember, whether you’re a digital artist, a nature lover, or just someone who likes trippy patterns, fractals have something to offer. Until next time, keep your eyes peeled for the hidden patterns in life, and don’t forget to tip your server. Zane Zany, signing off!

My first week’s account seemed to land well so I will continue to share my journey as it is therapeutic for me and hopefully iof benefit to others. I am constantly surprised by the similarities in so many people’s journeys. On reflection that shouldn’t be such a surprise as we have a lot in common. Of note, I really enjoy reading about other people’s wins and equally their struggles.
In the week I also decided to share my writing with several close friends. These are people who I know in real life as well as from various personal development groups and programmes I am in and again I receive positive feedback from them which is always encouraging. I wonder about posting to my main FB feed or other small groups but for now that feels premature and although I have no shame about my actions part of me doesn’t want to invite the possibility of any negative comments even though the risk of that is low. In fact, not only do I NOT feel any shame, I am incredibly proud of where I have got to and central to that is me taking control of the situation and acting in my own best interests, not those of anybody else.
I am surprised on Monday around 5pm when what I take to be low grade food noise pipes up. I feel full enough and there is no real temptation to eat but I note its presence. Fifteen minutes later I rememberealise I haven’t actually eaten anything since 11:45 so it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’m feeling a little empty!! Questioning why I was hungry never crossed my mind. Go figure?! Solution, heat up my dinner and eat a little earlier than I planned. Job done and I feel full and satisfied.
My first significant side effect arrives later that evening. Marked tiredness hit me which also returned on Wednesday early evening accompanied by some mild dysphoria; not really food noise as such I was just a bit flat in mood. I was not particularly hungry but I did eat a few nuts whilst dinner was cooking; it settled.
Next morning (Thurs) normal service is resumed. I slept well, and awake bright and cheery. I realise that despite my positivity in the first 10 days, life still lifes and fluctuations in my mood are entirely normal and to be expected. Looking to the outside world to influence my mood is never going to work. Peace of mind comes from the inside out and that reminder of the Truth of how the system works is useful to me. I sit and meditate for 30 minutes before getting up and that again helps to ground me.
Interestingly this week the appetite suppression has continued for the full seven days as has the feeling full most of the time.
My 5mg pen has arrived safely and is sitting next to its friend in the fridge. I aim to go for five weeks on the 2.5mg based on my current progress but I am open to going with the flow and listening to my body. I am happy with my second week’s weight loss, another 1.5 kg. Down 5kg in 2 weeks and the 90s are in sight.

I am very different from many people…ok, before I continue, full disclosure: what I am about to reveal are honest, true, and completely real. I do not sugarcoat anything, I never hold back the way I feel when I have something to say. However, I do not see any point in most casual conversation because the truth is, NO ONE LISTENS. People in general do not pay attention to anything but their own thoughts.
I just started a new job. The first day we had orientation where we learned about the history of the company, the benefits, how the payroll system works, etc. i listened to the whole thing. During our training a few things came up that were discussed in orientation but the people who were with me had no recollection of those things. The may as well not have been there.
One of the girls who started the same day I did has gone from nice and friendly towards me to snapping at me. She makes unsolicited comments during conversations that she’s a part of but not actively participating in. The other girl who just started and I were talking about unemployment and social security benefits, I asked “how do you get social security?” and suddenly, out of nowhere and not directed towards her, she snapped “None of your business!!!”
Umm. Wait, was that comment for me? First, I wasn’t asking you and second, that was not an inappropriate question. I wasn’t asking how much money she makes or how she qualifies for government assistance. A few days later I was looking at a ball cap hanging from the side of my neighbors cubicle. I touched the bill of the hat and suddenly heard “don’t touch Ms. Judith’s stuff!” Wow. That time I shot her a look that said you should probably stay over there because I do NOT do drama.
Clearly she’s dealing with issues at home, she said she’s getting married but never discusses it or the man she’s planning on marrying. I honestly feel for this girl. She’s trapped in a situation that she feels she can’t get out of. I’m letting her be, and that resulted in her leaning on me and spilling her guts out, but just a few hours later she snapped at me again. I would never treat her with anything but kindness and respect. Lashing out at me doesn’t have much to do with me, I know that.
So many people are just mean. I can’t treat people that way. They say you should treat everyone the way you wish to be treated. If that were the case I’d be treating everyone so much better than myself.

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Hi all,
I wanted to share a little bit about succeeding in S2 from the perspective of someone that is not a 'natural' essay writer nor from a humanities background. Someone that started at a very average S2 score despite lots (and lots and lots) of effort.
I have now sat GAMSAT 5 times in total and I think this underscores a severe lack of exceptional ‘talent’ in any specific area of GAMSAT, and speaks to the fact that you CAN make huge improvements in your scores over time with the *right* type of effort.
(Long post for context but feel free to scroll to TLDR)
Context: I am from a science background and have been out of uni for ~6 years now. I have never been a writer and apart from finding the humanities quite interesting, have never explored its theory in a structured way. I am also not a huge ‘reader’ as many people that seem to do well in this section might be. I am just a person that has opinions on things (as does every one of you!).
My first sitting I signed on with a prep company that had a very structured and formulaic approach to essay writing. They gave students ways to explore topics and ideas to ground them when prompts felt ‘difficult’ + strategies to always be able to ‘write something’. And although I am sure this helped me learn more about the humanities and the fundamentals of classic essay writing - my scores were not great. The first sitting, after ~5 months of intense essay practice critiqued by professionals I came away with a score of 62 and utter confusion about where I had gone wrong. In the 3 sittings following this I did basically the same thing again and again thinking I just needed more practice (I wrote hundreds of ‘classic’ essays, critiqued them and worked on my timing). My scores in subsequent sitings improved slightly however maxed out at around 68 in S2.
I felt myself really confined by the classic essay style most resources espouse. I would find myself spending loads of mental energy thinking about things that I thought were really important for a 'good' essay - like exactly how my topic sentence would link to the next line, or how my analysis would ‘tick the boxes’, if my example was the best one to use or if my concluding statement was linked to my opening one (you get the picture). This would drain my creativity and also created so much friction in my writing.
I knew I could do better, but when it came down to putting my thoughts on paper, it fell apart.
This year I decided to attack S2 differently. I dispensed with the classical framework and wrote pieces that were interesting for me to write. That I genuinely enjoyed creating. I often wrote reflectively and explored the prompt in a way that related to my life or my view point. I wrote essays starting with ‘When I was a child…’ or ‘In my life I have …” (whatever felt to me like a nice opening to the topic in my little brain). This way of writing both allowed me to write more clearly (I didn’t have to hyper-analyse it as much and therefore it came out less clunky) but also with much more relevance to things I actually knew about! This sort of writing naturally lends itself to be a little more creative or reflective but by no means does it have to be wildly different to a usual essay - it just had a little more flare and less strict* structure. I still wrote something that resembled an introduction (sometimes simply through vignette), I still had 2-3 analysing paragraphs, I still had something that felt conclusive at the end. But by stretching the bounds of each area, I came up with writing that was much less prohibitive and more exploratory.
This paid off - I went from 68 to 80, simply through writing in a way that felt true to me.
By far my greatest and most valuable piece of advice would be to write in a way that feels most natural and enjoyable to YOU. I am sure this has been said before, but I can’t quite underscore how much of a difference this makes to overall execution on the day, as well as ability to grind through essay after essay & continue to make improvements.
TLDR: Try very hard to quieten the noise around what makes a ‘good’ GAMSAT essays and be selective about which recommendations work well for you (and which do not). There are literally a million ways to create a solid piece of writing and if the ‘classic’ analytical or discursive structured essay does not roll off the tongue for you - take this as a sign that it is OK to explore other styles of writing. This is not to say that every person should try to write poems (I never wrote a poem), or to write creatively. All this means is that *if* you feel the classical structure of an essay is distracting you from what the goal of S2 is (to respond thoughtfully to a prompt from your own perspective) then consider stretching the bounds of your writing.
**Disclaimer** - this advice won't be for everyone. For some people, writing in a very formulaic defined way is the best way to get their thoughts across - and this is fine! I am just sharing my experience of finding a much better way for my brain. I have many friends that I studied for GAMSAT with who wrote great (classic style) essays and scored super well with them! These people probably would have hated/not been comfortable with my style of writing. Choose your own adventure, but make changes if something is not working.
If people are interested I am happy to post links to my best essays where I explored this type of writing
Good luck with your essays everyone!
Please feel free to DM if you have any questions :)

Sure, here's a more detailed and longer version:
Hello everyone,
I hope you are all doing well. I am a Muslim male who has been practicing Islam my entire life. I recently posted something titled “can predestination and free will coexist” but I had to delete my account out of fear my mom will find it will lurking through my phone. Throughout this time, I have strived to follow the teachings of the Quran and the Sunnah, finding solace and guidance in my faith. However, recently I have encountered a theological issue that has caused me considerable distress.
The issue revolves around the concept of predestination (qadar) and free will, both of which are significant components of Islamic belief. As I delved deeper into this subject, I found it increasingly difficult to reconcile the coexistence of these two principles. According to Islamic doctrine, everything that happens is predestined by Allah, yet humans are also said to possess free will and are held accountable for their actions. To me, these two ideas seem fundamentally contradictory, and I have struggled to find a satisfactory explanation that harmonizes them.
This perceived contradiction has led me to a troubling realization: if there is a flaw or inconsistency in the Quran, which I have always believed to be the undisputed and 100% perfect word of God, what does that mean for the rest of the Quranic teachings? I have always held the Quran in the highest regard, considering it the ultimate source of truth and divine guidance. However, this doubt has shaken my confidence, and I am beginning to wonder if there might be other inaccuracies or contradictions within the Quran that I have not yet discovered.
As I grapple with these questions, I find myself questioning the entire credibility of the Quran. The thought that the Quran might not be the infallible word of God, as I have always believed, is deeply unsettling and leaves me feeling uncertain about how to move forward.
I am reaching out to this community in the hope of finding some guidance and advice on how to navigate this challenging situation. How should one approach and resolve such profound doubts about a specific theological concept within the broader framework of their faith? Are there resources, scholars, or perspectives that might help clarify these issues or help me move forward? I am open to any insights or suggestions that could assist me in finding a way forward.
Thank you for taking the time to read this and for any advice you may offer.

It if my belief that the hardest liberal ideal to uphold is not property rights or free-markets but pluralism. This is because the instinct to demonize and distance oneself from one's enemies is overwhelmingly strong, driven by pride, fear, anger, and disgust. But we should stand against these impulses, for the very core of democracy relies on people and groups of different to engage and hash out a plan for the future. With that in mind, I would like to make a case that one of the most powerful and useful things a principles neoliberal can do is bridge build.

What is Bridge Building?

Bridge-building is not rigorously defined because it's pretty new, but it comes from very old human instincts: curiosity and a desire for authentic connection.
Curiosity is not just a desire for knowledge, but a desire to expand one's view of the world and a practice of being an ever-enthusiastic learner. Curiosity does not have to be about facts but also about new experiences and ways of thinking. To be curious about a person is not necessarily wanting to know their social security number, but how they came to where they are in life and how they see the world. Curiosity is not just touching grass, but appreciating the park's beauty. If I were not curious, I would likely have noped out of this subreddit based on the name alone. But because I was, I read the sidebar.
It is my belief that people have an innate desire to be heard, to be seen and respected. And although it is diminished as of late, people also have the capacity to truly connect to others on a deeper-than-superficial level. This is hard online, but much easier in the real world. This desire and capacity for connection can help people overcome great differences and sprout the seeds of a great friendship.
Based on these two principles, Bridge-Building is a movement to ease polarization by connecting people of different backgrounds and groups together to foster greater understanding. The goal is not to reduce disagreement, but to make it more productive.

Why should Neoliberals Aim to Bridge Build?

Yeah, why should we? If we know best, why should we listen to those chumps? After all, I already have a name for everyone to right and left of me: wrong.
For one, do we really know best about everything? In the Socratic Dialogue Meno, Socrates and the politician Meno discuss the nature of virtue. During a debate on whether virtue can be taught, Meno asks Socrates this:

And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever know that this is the thing which you did not know?

Here in lies Meno's Paradox: how do you know if you need to learn? If you already have that knowledge, you do not need to look any longer. And if you don't, then you have no idea what you're searching for. Socrates uses the idea of inbuilt knowledge as his answer, but I have another one which may strike more directly to the interests of liberals: simply assume that your knowledge is incomplete, and seek a more complete picture. Given all the knowledge in the world out there and all the things have yet to be discovered, it is unlikely that you or any other person has the complete picture on even a single issue.
But even if we do not know everything, if there value in learning from those of different views of us? I say that there is, and I will use another famous parable, this time from Buddhism, to illustrate my point. In this story, a kind invites a group of blind men to experience something that they have never encountered before: an elephant. When each blind man has felt a part of the creature, the king asks them to describe what they are touching. The man touching the foot says that the thing is a pillar, the man touching the trunk says it is a plow, the man touching the tip of the tail says a brush, and so on. The blind men cannot agree on what they are all touching, and so start an ancient version of a flamewar which entertains the king. In this story, the elephant is "The Truth", if such a thing exists. Although we all come in contact with the truth and with reality, we each come at it at different angles, like how the blind men are touching different parts. This means that while our individual perspectives are incomplete, they can be put together as a much more complete picture. People who remember the "wisdom" of the crowds should also recognize the powerful insights that can come from non-experts, especially as a group. Neoliberals who aspire to be "evidence-based" should not just gather evidence from different sources, but learn about different ways of thinking from others, or else they would be like one blind man squeezing the elephant's gonads really hard and thinking he's touching a balloon.
Edit: Just realized another reason Another reason for bridge building has to do with pragmatism. Pragmatism is not simply being "less extreme", but meeting people where they are. But how can you do that if you don't know where they are? Polls can help, but some personal connection may help as well, given how unreliable polls can be.
Hoewver, there are a lot of people who will reply to this very post and say, "isn't it dangerous to engage with certain people? What about those who are too stupid and hateful to learn?". Firstly, you should never bridge build if you feel unsafe. However, feeling unsafe is not the same as feeling uncomfortable, and discomfort may help you shake out of old patterns. Secondly, the foremost goal of substantive discussion is not to teach but to learn: even if the other party is too stupid to learn, if you are able to listen and learn you will have gained from the conversation. This may not always work out, but I promise you that when it does the effect is magical.

How do you Bridge Build?

This is the hard part. I haven't fully figured it out myself, but I have some pointers:

1. Be patient. People, especially people on the internet, are no the most eloquent speakers. Struggling to find the right words or having incorrect grammar and spelling should not be taken as signs of being dumb babies not worth talking to. Additionally, try not assume all of what people are based on snippets of information.
2. Be polite. Avoiding infamatory remarks ("You can't even read a supply and demand graph") and ambiguous slogans ("From the river to the sea, drugs will be free!") and try to keep the focus on the issues instead of the other person (or what you assume of the other person).

3.Stand up for your beliefs. Common ground is only real if it is earned. Be upfront about what you believe and how you came to believe those things. Anything else would be a disservice to the other party.

1. Follow your curiosity. Try to ask questions in good faith instead of as traps (although I admit I do this a lot). Who knows where the inquiry will go?

But if that's too hard or ambiguous, there's a lot of help out there. Here are some organizations and projects that specialize in bridge-building:
Braver Angels: They host workshops, debates, and other events for bridging divides. I also like their A Braver Way Podcast. They also happen to be associated with one American Purpose Magazine.
One Small Step by StoryCorps: If you sign up, they may match you with someone they think you will have a fruitful conversation with.
National Institue for Civil Discourse: Come on, one of the founding Co-Chairs was Bill Clinton, and a former board member was H.W. Bush.
There are many more, so feel free to search for yourself. So, why not try building some bridges? They're an important piece of infrastructure.

Sooo let me start by describing myself. I’m a tall, musculaaverage body guy. I’m blonde, not extremely masculine but also not feminine. I’m just there haha. I am aware i am a complicated person, im very high maintenance. But i am also very upfront about it. Talking about apps like grindr. I hate being called bro, dude, man…or anything in between. Why? cause i’ve been called a f**got since i was 5 years old. Way before I even knew i was gay. Whenever I am with someone I want them to treat me with respect, with manners, have a regular conversation. I can’t deal with the (yo sup?) messages. They infuriate me lmao. I am aware so many guys like the idea of “bros” turning into something else but not everyone. For so long I thought i was not attractive, but little did i realize i was just listening to the wrong people. I’m am pretty good looking. I know this will shake up some people in the comments about how heart is better than looks which is right! But come on who doesn’t like a nice looking person? My question is am i the problem in grindr? i’m always super respectful, if we’re not a match i say so, im polite, i answer every single message even if i don’t like them, i just tell them the truth, no one’s confidence is damaged by me, im just doing my own thing. But why is it so hard to have a regular conversation, talk to each other before having sex? I’m sorry but the “u host” message????? what about hey how are you, what about hello! i always go to wonder is this how this people speak to their moms?
ps. if you’re leaving a hate comment save it :) this isn’t grindr after all

The spell Unseen Servant is a spell that specifically notes in 3.0/3.0/5e that it is a 'invisible, mindless, shapeless force' that 'performs simple tasks at your command'. It specifically notes that it can 'fetch things', as well as 'clean and mend'.
In 3.0/3.5 it further notes "It can’t perform any task that requires a skill check with a DC higher than 10 or that requires a check using a skill that can’t be used untrained.", although 5e seems to omit that wording in favor of "The servant can perform simple tasks that a human servant could do".
My question is this: Can an Unseen Servant garden, or weed a garden? It's not difficult to give the command 'pull up all weeds in this area' so it should be a simple task on the same order of difficulty as fetching a specific object and moving it to a new location, or of cleaning a strangely shaped object that a servant could do (5e).
'Gardening' is mentioned in Masters of the Wild on page 32 with reference to growing difficult-to-grow herbs as a Survival skill check, which fits into the Unseen Servants capabilities due to Survival being a skill which can be used untrained (3.5/3.0).
Thoughts? Opinions? It's a 'mindless' force, but at the same time it has enough skill to do things like wash dishes or 'mend' things? Constructs don't typically have intelligence scores, but they can do complex tasks too, should we just use Construct rules?

1330 Terran Front Fleet Time
On the Turinika homeworld, the first signs of unrest began to manifest like a wave, The broadcast of the most esteemed Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata, Taratanti of the roost Kazatalak, openly performing the act of Kavsa had been met with shock. The last Taratanti who had voluntarily performed Kavsa had done so in protest of the treatment of the Kulorn caste, nearly two thousand years prior. It was an ancient rite, one that signified rejection of the greatest shame. Even more shocking than the act itself was the evidence that had followed it. Visuals of species, brought into the Conclave, not as migrant workers as had been believed, but as slaves, was met with an almost immediate attempt at censorship. This attempt failed spectacularly, mostly due to those who had been tasked to censor the information not only refusing to follow the command, but openly declaring that they had been ordered to do so. A situation that was already, as the humans would say, out of hand, spiraled completely out of control. Within only twenty minutes of the ending of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s broadcast entire cities entered a state of absolute anarchy. Two planetary capitals were stormed and taken by the furious civilian population, demanding the location of those who had been enslaved. The Turinika Armada, which even then was in the middle of a training session meant to prepare the fleet to withstand the Terran Front’s assault, began to cease operations. Within the hour, the entire armada would be recalled to the turnika homeworld. Those who did not take to the streets simply stopped whatever work they were doing and went to their homes to be around their brood. Images of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata with his stripped wings spread wide in front of the human fleet commander were on every news fed of the Conclave, as was the sound of his thunderous voice, and the wails of despair from a turinika female that couldn’t be seen. Close ups of the human fleet commander’s face were shown, with analysts remarking on the shock, horror, and sympathy. Since the outbreak of the Seventh Orion War, the female human known as Simmons had been reported to have made several threats towards the turinika, she had quickly become seen as a warmonger, ready to take revenge against the turinika for refusing to go to war and violate their principles of pacifism. Now the images of her lunging forward to stop the violation of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s plumage, the agonized expression of her face, and the true reason for her threats against the turinika were rapidly reversing her image. On far flung deep core mining stations and agricultural stations, on deep space stations dedicated to material processing, and in other areas hidden from the sight of the normal turinikan population, overseers and taskmasters felt their hearts run cold at the knowledge that very soon, their part to play in the willful enslavement of another species would be known to the wider Conclave. As the data package transmitted alongside the broadcast were fully decompressed and the scale of the Conclave’s government’s involvement was revealed, the entirety of the Conclave itself was teetering on the verge of absolute pandemonium. The image of a member of the kolra species, from the look of it barely a hatchling, quickly was becoming the face of the entire incident. The picture was absolutely damning, and the sight of the image had sent any who saw it instantly into contorting and painful displays of shame. The young kolra was sprawled on it’s stomach, looking to the one taking it’s picture with eyes that had no life in them. It’s shell covered it’s back, and despite the age of the kolra it was already dulled and scuffed. The foot pressing down on the shell was unmistakably familiar to those who saw it, the clawed feet of a turinika. Within the hour, billions of winged figures stood in streets, the normally soft spoken and passive species demanding action, demanding justice, on the hundred worlds of the Turinika Conclave. The bulk of the Taratanti caste, most of whom had been left in the dark of the truth of the situation, quickly went public with their own declaration of outrage, and the eyes of the entire species turned inwards to the mountainous homeworld of their species.
Hakuri Watanabe looked down at his helmet before putting it on his bed, the stylized SEVEN seeming to stare at him. He sat down in his chair and picked up a small cloth from his buffing kit. No one knocked on his door, in fact, mostly he and the rest of his squad were left alone before a major operation. They were just given their time, time to mentally prepare. Some of his squad would go over their mission briefing, some, like him, would spend their time doing something to relax themselves. Hakuri always found that taking care of his suit calmed him considerably. Granted he could simply turn it over to the squads armorers to be tended to and they would do as good of a job as he could, but he preferred it to be done by his own hand. The symbol of a triangle was on his form fitting shirt, the symbol of his special operations command unit. He was known as a Myrmidon, but the official title of his unit was Section Three. He knew this, his superiors knew this, and as far as Hakuri knew, most of the Terran Front was aware of his unit’s existence, but past that, they knew very little about what he actually did. As far as his mother knew, Hakuri was a pencil pusher onboard the TFS Berlin, the troop mothership that all of his letters were sent from. He thought about writing her, but then again, he only liked to do that when he returned from a mission, not when he was expecting to go to one. If he tried to write her when he was waiting, he would just get anxious, and homesick. That wouldn’t do when he was dropping into a combat zone. That wouldn’t do at all. Hakuri instead started to buff his helmet, waiting for the word to come down which meant they were prepared to jump. A glance at the clock made him pause in his circular rotations. The clock said 1330. Operation Naked Sun was about to begin.
Tika was on his side, Kzia standing at the end of the medical bed that had been adjusted for his turinikan physiology. He felt cold in more ways than one. For his people, clothing was more of a decoration than a necessity, but without his protective plumage he felt the cold stabbing him through to his hollow bones. His diplomatic access was already gone, his privilege access revoked. He heard the broadcast for a preparation to jump, but he wasn’t truly listening. There was no question in his mind he had made the right decision. There was no question at all. One of the humans, a nurse, came to his side and gently laid a heavy blanket over him. The human’s hand lingered on his trembling body for a few moments before it was removed, and Tika glanced in their direction. The female was one of the ones who had responded first to the call for medical service for him, had heard what had happened and why. Tika had gotten very used to being glared at on this ship. He was hated, and he knew it. He knew he had deserved it. He was a party to the vral’s enslavement of the humans, the chua, and far too many others. When he had come to Thermopylae station, he had not even given that fact a single thought. He was born into power, being of the Taratanti. He belonged to the most powerful species and government in the entire quadrant of the galaxy. His people, while mighty, did not seek to use it. To him, they had simply been above it all. When the vral had approached him with the offer to sell captured species at first TIka had wanted to reject it out of hand, but a few had told him to go through with the sale. Such was the nature of this galaxy, or so he had believed. The weak were at the whims of the strong, and one’s place in the galaxy was determined only by the power they could wield. The turinika were not nearly the first to have taken a species and used it for slave labor, and while Tika did not approve of the deal, he had not fought it either. As he looked back to the wall, he remembered what the humans had taught him these last days. When he had arrived in Thermopylae he had assumed he would find the chua species to have been at the very least regulated to a subservient role, if not outright enslaved. Finding them sharing power was a curiosity. He had expected to be treated with all the honor and dignity that his station demanded, that the power of his government demanded. Fleet Marshal Simmons had disabused him of that, and had left him humiliated and shamed. As he had laid in the dark as Simmons had declared the Seventh Orion War, covered in his own filth, feeling as if at any moment he was going to be killed he knew true fear and horrific uncertainty for the first time in his life. He had never faced these emotions, these sensations before. He had always been in power. He had stood with the full might of the Turinika Conclave behind him. He had never known anything other than the superior position. Now, as he lay in the hospital bed, staring at the wall, he was ashamed of how arrogant, how blind, and how short sighted he had been. After he had risen from his own filth, he had desperately tried to convince his leadership of the strength of the Terran Front, how it matched or eclipsed their own. The Conclave was not the unchallenged power in the quadrant anymore. The terrans, the human and chua, had somehow defied fate. They had not fallen to the vral after ninety years of near constant conflict, and now if Tika was right they had come out of it nightmarishly stronger than before. Tika had actually begged to be heard by his superiors, and he had never come close to that once in his life. The chua homeworld however, had fully broken him. If he had not been on the Antares, had not been humbled beforehand, he knew that he would have just clapped his hands together and said that it was delightful. As the transmission from the chua homeworld had come in, and the rescue effort had begun, he could only wallow in his own shame. He had profited directly from the chua’s suffering, the human’s suffering. Again he had tried, and failed, to convince his people, and again he had failed. Being on the Antares, for him, was torture. The lights were too dim, every human and chua looked at him with nothing more than loathing and contempt, his entire worldview had been shattered from the way he viewed the galaxy to his own place in it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the shadow of Simmons standing over him, her voice cold with a lethal rage, hearing her voice echo in his mind, seeing the glint from flashes of light shining in her eyes. ‘We Know.’ echoed in his mind in his sleep, the voice of the terrifying Fleet Marshal transforming into the sound of a vengeful god demanding compliance and promising retribution. Then he had watched the humans and chua, who he knew were preparing to go to war with his people, celebrating the return of the shesvie. Once more he had expected them to be integrated into the Terran Front, but as soon as he learned Simmons offer to them, and what it had entailed, he had been called to his room to answer the latest message from his people. Once again, his people had doubled down, the knowledge of the enslavement of the humans had been suppressed, and once more Tika found himself, and his people, standing against a Terran Front that had every justification to declare war, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. All the while, he knew something else. He knew that, after everything he had seen, that his people would lose. The turinika had not been to war for nearly two thousand years. His people were not ready for what the Terran Front could do, and after seeing what they had done to the vral so far, he knew his people were not ready for what the Terran Front would do. He was afraid of the dark. Tika was absolutely terrified of it now, because now he knew the monsters were real. Simmons had shown him that, but the humans, the chua, they were not the monsters. He was. He had refused to be one any more. He had announced his intentions to his staff, who had squalled in rejection, all but three. Kzia was the first to step to his side, Kikumot and Tziki had stepped forward as well. Never, in his most nightmarish dreams, did he ever think that he would stand in front of Simmons and voluntarily have his plumage stripped from him, performing the act of Kasva. He never thought that his staff would have ever compiled and transmitted the data package they had sent. He had never thought that he would betray his people, if only to save them. Simmons had changed that, the humans had changed that. He knew the terror of the dark, he knew fear for his people’s safety, he understood the horror of war, and for the first time in his long life he could truly look back at every interaction he had had, with every species, that had asked for help in their struggle for survival against the vral and truly understand their fear and desperation. Now he lay, his plumage stripped from him, his station revoked, his status removed, surrounded by a people who despised him. He wouldn’t have it any other way now. He knew that they would listen now, if not to him, then to the civilian masses of the Conclave that would not stand for what they had done. He prayed to the Great Mother often now, shivering in the dim light, hoping that it would be enough. He had been wrong, and in his error he had sullied his own people. He had made them complicit. Even now, he did not know how they would ever be forgiven, because right now he wasn’t quite sure he could ever forgive himself. As he heard the broadcast calling out on the ship, announcing one minute to jump, he felt a hand on his side, and looked up to the human nurse. She was smiling at him. Not a smile born of malice, or anger, but a genuine smile. She patted his side lightly, then turned to walk out of the room. For not even the twentieth time since he had come onboard Thermopylae, he was mystified by these people.
The bridge of the Dhampir was thrumming with music and the vibrations of the reactor and Conrad leaned forward in his chair mount, his eyes almost feral as he looked at the empty space that was the mandeville point. He was positively chomping at the bit. Batz was positively roaring the lyrics to the song that was blaring over the ships speakers. Rev and Dev sat side by side in their mounts, throwing their hands up in time with the pounding bass beat of the sound. Towns was the only one besides Conrad that was quiet, both of them looking towards the mandeville point with complete impatience. Conrad felt like jumping from his skin. Fidget, well, fidgetted, holding his hands over his headset and listening as if he were trying to hear secret messages in the music. They were ready, their pulses were racing. The crew of the Dhampir was positively vibrating. Conrad looked to the shipboard clock, seeing 1330 displayed, and his head snapped to Fidget, waiting for the word. They were going to run, they were going to chase, they were going to hunt.
Vicky sat back, looking towards Jess and Kukat as they slept. Jess was in her chair, Kukat in her medical bed. Vicky glanced back at the block print on the paper and read it for the fifth time. She read the individual lines, one at a time, cursing their existence. After reading through the message printed she let her hand hang again. Kukat would be released from medical tomorrow, and both her and Jess still thought they would be boarding the Thumper to join the Vellacore once more. Jess had talked non-stop about her quarters on the Vellacore the past few days, how she just wanted to be back in her room. Kukat was equally excited. Only Vicky didn’t share their excitement. They didn’t know yet. They didn’t know about their battlefield promotions, they didn’t know about their reassignments, they didn’t know the days of them working together were functionally over. Vicky looked down at her hand holding the paper again, and felt like crumpling it. She had lost her crew. She had lost them not due to negligence, or time, she had lost them to fame. Kukat was to be promoted to ensign, and was to be the sensor officer on the destroyer Hadrian, Jess was getting the same promotion, her station on the cruiser Victorious. Vicky? She was the sparkling new commanding officer of a destroyer that was arriving at Thermopylae in two days, the Quarrel. She never wanted this. She had turned down promotion after promotion that would take her from the cockpit of the Thumper, away from Kukat, away from Jess. She wanted to serve in this war in her own way, as a pilot, with the two who had made her life so enjoyable. Now though, they were to be split up, and there was nothing she could do about it. These promotions hadn’t come from simple seniority, they had come from High Command, as had the orders. Tomorrow, when Kukat was released, they would be ushered into the hanger bay of the Barrowmore. They would all three be awarded the Star of Terra, then they would be reassigned. Tonight was the last night they would all be together. Vicky wanted to wake them up, she wanted to tell them, to give them a chance to process it. As she looked to Kukat and Jess she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She held up the letter again, reading the first few lines, then she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. She looked away, her heart panging with sadness, and stared at the wall. The clock read 1330.
Corporal Brandy was sitting on the small rack, with Janet Shippen sitting between his legs using his thighs as armrests. They were both dressed for the first time in the last few hours, both of them staring at the clock. This close to the reactors they could feel them beginning to spool up for the trip through hyperspace. When the news of the operation had come down they had elected to spend as much time together as possible, which Brandy had enjoyed to no end, and he had made sure Janet had as well. Brandy had even taken some time to reach out to his sister Victoria, a rarity for them both, as since they were children they were often barely able to speak to each other simply due to schedules. He had even told her about Janet, and although he hadn’t gotten a response from his sister yet he already knew what she would say. Janet nestled back against him, but he could feel her body was stiff. Neither of them knew what the next few months were going to hold. Their time together might be constricted, in fact, this might be the last few moments they were together for quite awhile. Brandy’s Ghouls were specialists, ship boarders. Chances are he was going to be extremely busy, as was she. He didn’t quite know how he felt about Janet, but he did know that beyond a shadow of a doubt he didn’t want to be away from her. Judging from how she was acting, she felt the same as him, conflicted about her relationship with him, but not wanting to be apart. He knew what he needed to tell her, that he had to get up, that he had to leave. The Ghouls were going to be assembled at 1345, ready to board. Her unit was going to be prepared at the same time, to begin taking on salvage. Her hands were like clamps on his legs, and from how tense she was, he wasn’t going to get up until she was good and ready. The clock on the wall switched to 1330. He stared at the clock, feeling like the clock was mocking him, when suddenly Janet leaned up and turned. Her hands took hold of his shoulders and she threw her body against his, her lips finding his own. Her arms wrapped around her frame and he tightened his grasp on her.
Simmons spread her hands over the panel in front of her, looking at the table. Seven points connected the recently reclaimed chua space to what was former Shesvie territory, and beyond that, the heart of the Vral Empire. Her lip curled in a wicked smile, On the digital display of the table the hyperspace lanes, and more importantly, the avenues of attack her fleet was preparing to take. She held out her hand, all five fingers splayed over the lanes, envisioning the war as it stood now. The war to come. Seven hyperspace lanes, seven systems, branching out into sixteen, branching out again to another twenty. The Antares herself was going to link up with the Barraki, and was set to simply plough through the next five systems to do so. Slowly she tightened her hand into a fist as she looked along the hyperspace lanes, seeing task forces lined up and ready to jump. Drones had already been sent through. The vral had forces along the border, but nothing that could withstand what was to come. Her fleet was ready. She was ready. The Seventh Orion War was at the end of it’s first month, and had taken back six systems. The first moves of Operation Naked Sun would double that and exceed it, then double it again. She had already given her speech, her task force commanders were ready. High Command had taken it’s time making this decision, and while she had railed against the delay that didn’t matter now. All along the front, individual task forces were joined into larger fleets, ready to jump into the next system and eliminate any vral defenses, but unlike now, they simply would not wait. Naked Sun was to be a lightning strike to cut off as much of the Vral Empire as possible, to deny them their own space, to imprison them on their own worlds. Task Forces were designed around three types of vessels combinations, Lighthammer Task Forces were comprised of corvettes and fast destroyers, the fastest vessels in the fleet, meant to take systems quickly, to devastate unprotected infrastructure, and to eliminate light resistance. Simply put, they were going to swarm into vral space, determine pockets of resistance, and move on. They were going to rip entire sections of vral space from them, calling in other task groups if needed. Thunder task groups were the primary capital fleets, meant to be sent into those pockets of resistance, and neutralizing them, joining with the Lighthammer groups if needed. The cruisers, carriers, battleships, they all belonged to these task forces. Her own task force was called the Nova task force, and it comprised only the Antares and it’s sizable fleet escort. Simmons glanced up at the clock, the time was 1329. She breathed in slowly, then unbidden the thought came to her head and she looked to the report from the two habitable planets that had been scanned by the drone cutters, the information having been relayed to her almost twenty minutes prior. She was not worried about the ground campaign, in fact a reserve fleet from Thermopylae would be the ones to escort the landing ships from planet to planet that her fleet left behind in it’s wake, isolated and defenseless from the wider Vral Empire. Fleet escorting was no longer her job, protecting ground invasions were no longer her job. Simmons was positively growling now, as her only job was to take her fleet and use it to rip the vral out of the stars. Still, the thought nagged at her. On both of the planets that her fleet was set to overrun, there were Vral ships in orbit. On the first, there was evidence that the Vral had been bombarding a small area of the surface, extremely similar in size to the hole that now existed on Zvitia, the planet that even now was being integrated into the Terran Front. In the second system it showed Vral ships in orbit, but whatever they were doing during the time they had taken the scans, whatever they were covering up, they didn’t seem to have gotten to it yet. On the radiological scan of the planet a massive bloom of electromagnetic energy painted a broad region of the planet blistering white. She had sent the images back to Earth, back to High Command, but no one seemed to know what was happening. The one thing that every analyst agreed on so far that was that whatever the blooms represented, it meant nothing good. She took another long look at the radiological scan, seeing the intensity of the radiation, and her lip curled in a snarl. She couldn’t think about that right now, but orders had already been given to notify her the moment that they had taken a planet that still bore the radiation signal. The vral were being damned fastidious about it though. She pulled her thoughts away from it, looking back to the hyperspace lanes. The slow grin entered her features again. She glanced at the clock. 1330. Her hand took hold of the receiver next to her station and she pressed the transmission stud, knowing that Hazard had already opened a channel to the wider fleet.
“Commence.”

Looking around, I see that there is one thing that is common to prosperous and advanced societies worldwide: they avidly pursue a high degree of excellence in science, technology, and commerce that have their origins in the West. The scientific and rational worldview is a core part of their cultures. There are some exceptions to this, such as some middle-eastern nations that coast on oil wealth. But the trend largely holds.
As a rank amateur, I have often thought about what it is about the West that made them the epicenter of the modern scientific and industrial revolution. I don't have any definitive answers yet, but my current thesis is that it's the heritage of philosophical inquiry of ancient Greece that sets them apart. The Islamic world itself flourished intellectually for a while when it freely pursued the kind of philosophical inquiry that was typical of the ancient Greeks.
When you look at the "munitraya" of Greece - Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle - you find some interesting features.

• They all took reason very seriously; in fact, Aristotle laid the foundations of Western logic. There was a recognition that it was not enough to know the truth, but also, that it's important to justify why things are true. To do this, they didn't take recourse to religious doctrines, but argued from naturalistic first principles.
• They are marked by a profound sense of straightforwardness and intellectual humility. They dared to inquire while fully admitting their ignorance. Socrates was said to be the wisest man in the Hellenic world because he knew that he knew nothing; he didn't experience any "loss of face" in doing so. There was no compulsion to be "profound"; in fact, he scoffed at faux profundity, and was pretty much killed for being a nuisance. When you read their works, you never get a sense of being talked down to by a "wise", "all-knowing" seer; instead, it's more like having a conversation with an advanced peer.
• They took a deep interest in nature and the real problems that people faced. Socrates asked questions about how to live a good life in practical terms. Aristotle was probably the first great empirical scientist, avidly examining specimens for his studies in Biology. Nature and mundane human affairs were not something to be overcome, but to be studied and explored. I feel that it could almost be said that the pursuit of truth for the Greeks meant the study of nature. You see this sentiment in Newton - a prototypical natural philosopher - who spoke of himself as a child gazing at a vast ocean of truth.
• They had a keen interest in Mathematics and an appreciation for its beauty. We see this trend begin as early as Pythagoras who had a mystical faith in the ability of Mathematics to reveal Truth. Plato considered training in Mathematics as an integral component of the education of rulers. Mathematics was useful, true, but they pursued it also for the sake of its beauty. Here too, they were not merely interested in collecting Mathematics facts, but in proving them from first principles accepted by everyone. We see an insistence on justification come up again and again throughout Western culture.

Above all, there is a tendency to self-analyze. The modern West is the most self-critical of cultures in today's world. They are constantly critically examining their methods, their assumptions, their values, and their social systems. There is no seeming compulsion to slavishly uphold their tradition, even though they study their traditions avidly. Instead, there is a frantic search for new and better traditions whose value again has to be argued for rigorously. They think nothing of incorporating ideas from outside into their own if they see them worthwhile. There is a culture of free and open dialog in which all of this happens.
I am sure that I am over-simplifying matters. For instance, neo-Platonists and neo-Pythagoreans were religious and mystical cults. Aristotle was wrong about many fundamental notions that he took for granted. Newton was as much a "sorcerer" indulging in alchemy as he was a rigorous natural philosopher. The West had its dark ages where certain aspects were not allowed to be questioned.
But that notwithstanding, it's clear to me that if our people are to have a shot at true greatness and glory, we must out-West the West at their own game. I further believe that this must be a citizen-led, peer-to-peer affair. We must all be thinking about how deeply and authentically we can naturalize the Western intellectual and scientific traditions in our society.
The sooner we can do this, the better we will be able to face the challenges that we are up against today.

im down for anything, I like to play truth or dare :)

I was at coral reef academy for 17 months
I don't know where to start really. the whole country is homophobic unless you are fa'fafine or fa'fatama. that is essentially like transmasc transfem I guess. they also speak a whole different language, so that makes things weird. it is hard to reason with an authority that can barely understand you. some of the staff spoke English alright but most didn't speak it well enough to like have a real conversation with you. their culture is wild to be thrown into as an outsider too I would recommend a read or to experience it for yourself (obviously not at CRA lol). they have a hierarchal society that you can climb the ranks of throughout your life, some become chiefs some die with little or no title. strange world to be thrown into. there was a lot of homophobia there with the staff lots of f slurs and such. most of the staff were pretty bad, two of them are convicted murderers in the USA. one of the murderers recently got caught with loads of meth and guns (linked). he was and is a member of park valley crip gang, and was banged in at 13 or 14. tamoua is the other murderer and he killed a guy with a stool in a bar fight. he wasn't too bad but was kinda power trippy and bragged abt gang shit. Eli(iliata tafili) would also brag abt how he had more bodies they didn't know abt. both of these guys were shift managers. there was a normal staff too who got fired from being a cop in AU for I forget what then became a prison guard in Samoa and got fired for beating a inmate within an inch of his life. he once hit a student In the head for not taking off a hat. they used to lock us all in our rooms for weeks at a time. they had. isolation rooms we would get locked in if we tried to escape, get on the internet, talk to are parents abt what is going on, etc. while in isolation a staff tried to come on to me and wanted to touch me. I had to essentially pretend like it was maybe gonna happen I just needed some time to think abt it until the shift changed. they were kinda responsive but it took 2 months to get him fired. I really think the worst part was not being able to leave as an adult. I don't think this shit should happen to anyone much less a 18, 19, 20 year old. like all the shit was bad but the not being able to go was such a fked up feeling, especially as an adult. there was students at cra who were viewed as children who were the same age as some of the staff at the program I had came from. if anyone has any questions shoot em in the comments if I think of anything else ill add it if anything doesn't make sense I'm pretty bakedhttps://www.samoaobserver.ws/category/samoa/90420