The matter begins with an idea that seems simple, but extends to society, identity, religion, relationships, sex, marriage, and even the way human beings understand the meaning of happiness and life itself: Can a programming continue without suffering?
The premise from which this article proceeds is that programs, whatever their form, are not fed only by happiness; on the contrary, they are fed to a great extent by unhappiness, fear, poverty, illness, loss, shame, guilt, and misery. If all people became healthy, wealthy, happy, and wise, would society remain in the form we know it? And would the programming itself remain?
According to this view, neither society nor programming may remain in their familiar form; because the very thing that preserves programming from destruction is, at the same time, the thing that preserves the existence of suffering. Suffering and programming produce one another: the more unhappy a person is, the more they need programming of happiness; the more ignorant they are, the more they need programming of wisdom; and the more they fear, the more they need programming that gives them security and meaning.
Society Does Not Always Hold Together Through Happiness
When we look at society, we find that one of the strongest things that drives individuals to unite is fear of the outside.
People unite because there is something external that frightens them. Thus a common system emerges among them, common boundaries, common rules, and a programming takes shape that can be called: programming of fear.
But what happens if fear disappears?
If there is no longer any danger outside, what forces people to remain within the same boundaries? Why would they gather in the first place if there were no longer anything threatening them? Each individual may go wherever they want, move beyond the boundaries drawn by society, and there would no longer be anything compelling them to remain inside the box.
Here one of the most sensitive points of programming appears: what lies beyond the boundaries is unknown, and the unknown is usually presented in programming as bad and dangerous.
The message therefore becomes simple: the outside is bad, the entire problem lies outside, and the solution is programming.
From here we can understand the idea of the city, the box, or the framework. Programming says: just as fruit spoils if it is left outside the box, it should likewise be placed inside it so that it remains sound. But the question that comes before this judgment is: sound for whom? And who created the box in the first place?
If the creator is the one who placed the fruit inside the box, then everything outside it will become spoiled according to the logic of the box itself.
Consequently, the interest of programming in the end is not necessarily the interest of the individual, but rather the interest of programming's continuation.
That is why one of its most important rules is: Do not cross your boundaries.
Because when a person stops fearing, stops suffering, and becomes capable of rejoicing outside what programming permits, they transform from an element within the system into a threat to it.
When the Human Being Becomes an Enemy of Programming
A person normally rejoices at the happiness of their body and grieves over its pain.
When a cell, organ, or part of the nervous system suffers, a person feels pain because they identify with the pain occurring within them.
But what if a person no longer suffers from the pain of the identity given to them? What if they no longer become sad when the image programming has drawn of them is wounded? What if they no longer rejoice at what programming considers success?
Here the human being becomes, from the perspective of programming, its enemy.
Programming wants you to rejoice when it flourishes, to fear when it fears, to grieve when it grieves, and to consider its success your success and its loss your loss.
That is why it can be said that programming does not want genuine support as much as it wants compliance. It does not need you to believe in it from the depths of your being as much as it needs you not to leave it.
At this point, an even harsher equation becomes clear:
The gain of programming may be the loss of the individual.
What I lose may be what programming gains. What programming considers success may require me to give up part of my happiness, time, choices, body, or relationships.
The same applies to society. If society sees an individual who does not care about its suffering, it may consider them an enemy. And if it sees someone who does not acknowledge suffering in the same way society does, it may describe them as a corrupter, as lacking compassion, or as outside the system.
Society does not merely want you to acknowledge its suffering; it wants you to stand in solidarity with suffering itself.
The Society That Preserves Weakness
This becomes clear in the way poverty, illness, ignorance, and unhappiness are treated.
The poor person says: Our society is corrupt because it does not stand in solidarity with the poor. In this sense, they are not wrong; for a society that does not unite around the weak may disintegrate and lose its ability to survive.
But the matter can be viewed from another angle:
The poor person may reach a point at which they believe that the disappearance of poverty means their own disappearance, and that the disappearance of the suffering that defined them throughout their life means the disappearance of part of their identity.
Here defending poverty becomes defending the self.
The same applies to the sick person, who may treat health as an enemy simply because their identity was formed within illness.
If suffering becomes the thing that defines me, I may fear getting rid of it, because getting rid of it seems like getting rid of myself.
Hence the harsh statement appears: A person may become attached to the thing that hurts them because it has become part of their definition of themselves.
From here comes the idea of solidarity as a tool for the continuation of programming. People visit the sick, help the poor, and comfort the grieving, and all of this is good at the immediate human level, but the vision discussed in this article asks a deeper question: Does society thereby treat suffering, or does it reproduce the structure that makes suffering a necessary element for society's continuation?
Can Programming Remain Without Suffering?
The question becomes sharper:
Can any programming, whatever it may be, remain without illness, hardship, suffering, poverty, loss, shame, or guilt?
According to this conception, the answer is: no.
Indeed, the continuation of programming is itself the continuation of hardship, because hardship is one of the values on which programming was built from the beginning.
Here we must return to an idea previously raised concerning values: it was said that a person should live according to values that give them meaning, and that value appears in a person's ability to endure hardship for its sake.
But reflection on this idea reveals another aspect. If it is said that a person has no value unless they suffer for a value, then this in itself is a contempt for the person who does not suffer.
As though a person cannot be honorable or principled unless they pay the price.
This is the logic of programming: it is not enough to be happy; you must have suffered for your happiness so that your happiness becomes valuable. It is not enough to possess something; you must have sacrificed for it so that it becomes worthy of respect.
That is why some people reject their happiness in the first place, because they fear being looked down upon if they rejoice while others suffer.
The Mother Who Suffers for Her Children
This logic can be seen within the family.
A woman spends fifty years in suffering and unhappiness in order to become a foundation for her children. Then the children grow up with the idea that the departure of this suffering or the collapse of this foundation may mean the collapse of everything built upon it.
Thus sacrifice becomes a value in itself.
The idea expands to the person who sacrifices themselves for people, then teaches others to sacrifice themselves for the same idea.
Here one of the strongest forms of programming appears: The person who sacrificed for the system becomes the foundation of the system, and the system built upon their sacrifice demands that new generations sacrifice in the same way.
Religious Sacrifice: From Atonement to the Reproduction of Programming
This structure appears clearly in religious discourse, especially in the idea of atonement in Christianity.
The purpose here is not to enter into whether the doctrine is true or false, but to analyze the structure of the idea from within this conception.
In Christian doctrine, Christ is presented, according to the traditional narrative, as the incarnate Son of God, who suffered, was tortured, crucified, and sacrificed himself for humanity.
This is the meaning of atonement at the core of the discourse: He sacrificed himself for you.
From here comes the question: If Christ sacrificed himself for you, what should you do in return?
You sacrifice.
In this way, sacrifice is transformed from a foundational event into a behavioral rule.
The person who sacrifices for humanity becomes, in this analysis, not only the foundation of humanity, but the foundation of its programming. To the extent that you are prepared to sacrifice, you become more integrated into the programming founded upon sacrifice.
Here we can understand a statement such as: There is no true faith without sacrifice.
Faith, in this reading, is not complete until a person has something they are willing to lose for the system they believe in.
The Person Who Has Nothing Left to Lose
The more a person ascends in the ladder of faith or commitment to programming, the more they may reach a stage in which they no longer have anything to lose.
They become extremely poor, extremely unhappy, extremely diminished, and then become ready to sacrifice themselves.
In the harsh image presented by this analysis, they are dead while still alive.
At this point, programming becomes extremely powerful; because the greatest protection of the system is the person who has become willing to lose everything for the system.
Hence the question appears:
Can you believe in programming while being truly happy?
If you are happy and no longer need it, why do you need it in the first place?
As for the unhappy, weak, and fearful person, they find in programming a shadow, a conviction, an identity, and a project in which they can hide.
That is why programming becomes, for the unhappy, something that strengthens them and gives them a reason to continue living, even if that very reason demands more suffering from them.
Programming Does Not Give You Happiness for Free
This logic can be reduced to one equation:
Everything has a price.
If you want meaning in life, there is a price.
If you want belonging, there is a price.
If you want legitimacy, there is a price.
If you want marriage, there is a price.
If you want social recognition, there is a price.
If you want to leave the path, there is also a price.
Programming does not allow something to be completely open, without restriction, condition, punishment, or reward.
Every door needs a key, and the key is not given until the equivalent is paid.
That is why one of the central ideas here is that programming forces a person to pay the price.
Marriage as Paying the Price
From here we arrive at the subject of marriage.
Is marriage necessary?
The answer within this conception is connected to belief in programming itself.
If a person believes in the original narrative of programming, then marriage becomes necessary, because marriage is part of the foundations of the narrative.
As for the person who does not believe in programming in the first place, marriage does not carry the same necessity for them. This is not because they are necessarily against marriage, but because marriage no longer represents for them the necessary part of a larger matter they believe in.
In this sense, marriage itself is not the issue; rather, it is the system that gives it its meaning.
Then comes the more radical view: marriage is paying the price for sexual intercourse.
The man and woman want a sexual, emotional, and social relationship, but programming does not allow this relationship to be free. There must be commitment, a contract, responsibility, witnesses, a family, rights, expectations, and everything that accompanies the institution of marriage.
Therefore, from the perspective of programming, a person does not merely take the relationship; they pay for it by proving their commitment to society, its values, and its continuation.
Why Does Love Itself Become a Problem?
Here another paradox appears:
If a man loves a woman and the woman loves him in return, what need is there for programming to bring them together?
If each one already wants the other, why do we need the intermediary?
This resembles the example of the translator.
If you speak Spanish and I speak Portuguese, we need a translator in order to understand one another. But the translator may not want us to fully learn each other's language, because their function depends on the existence of the need for them.
Likewise, programming can be understood as a mediator between people.
It does not always want you to encounter directly what you want; rather, it places between you and what you want a long series of conditions, steps, and institutions.
That is why programming does not easily allow a man and woman who love each other to come together without passing through the intermediary.
The intermediary here is the contract, the family, the witnesses, the procedures, the institution, and society.
From this angle, the question becomes:
If two people could think, agree, desire, and live together without needing the intermediary, what would remain of the role of programming?
Programming Trusts Only Itself
From here another rule can be understood:
Programming trusts only programming.
It cannot grant a person complete freedom and then not expect them to return to it.
It may release you, but only after ensuring that you will return to it.
It may allow you to leave, but only if you commit to the rules of return.
Thus freedom itself becomes part of programming.
You may think, but according to principles written within it.
You may choose, but within its boundaries.
You may move, but only after fulfilling its conditions.
It does not allow you to open all the doors, because some doors should not be opened unless the order comes from the center of the matrix.
Seriousness, Suffering, and Marriage
Here another relationship appears between seriousness, unhappiness, and marriage.
Why do we associate marriage with seriousness?
And why does a person seem more serious in society when they are enjoying themselves less?
As though the person who enjoys their life greatly is not taken as seriously.
Indeed, some people begin thinking seriously about marriage after their sexual desire has faded or after becoming sexually tired from multiple relationships.
As though seriousness comes only after pleasure has diminished.
This is what makes regret understandable in a different way as well.
A person may say: I made a mistake, I repented, and I regretted it.
But according to this analysis, regret may perhaps not be merely a purely moral moment; rather, it may be unhappiness reinterpreted as regret.
The person failed to achieve happiness outside programming, so they accepted it, hoping perhaps to find within it what they had been unable to find outside it.
Liberating the Human Being from Emptiness
If a person lives and then discovers that they have no cause, no project, no religion, no society, no friends, and no purpose, they may reach a profound emptiness.
Here they may find themselves facing two choices:
Either suicide,
or searching for something to fill the emptiness.
They may turn to religion, society, friends, or any other project, not because they have necessarily discovered the truth, but because they cannot tolerate emptiness.
But there is a third option:
Removing the decision itself.
Do not choose suicide, do not join something merely because you are afraid of emptiness, and do not enter a new programming simply because you want meaning.
Leave the emptiness as it is.
In this case, a person can be happy without searching for someone to fill their emptiness.
Emptiness, in this view, is not always a problem that must be fixed.
Sometimes the pressure on a person to find meaning is a kind of coercion.
If you want meaning, the system tells you: you need this.
If you want love: you need this.
If you want success: you need this.
If you want happiness: you need this.
Thus life becomes an endless series of conditions that must be paid for.
Free Sex as a Threat to Programming
From here comes the idea of free sex as one of the clear signs of liberation from programming.
The purpose here is not to morally judge relationships, but to examine them from an engineering perspective within the system.
If sexual relationships become possible without marriage, without a contract, without an intermediary, and without the price imposed by society, then one of the most important constraints preserving programming collapses.
Programming considers that a relationship outside its framework threatens not merely a moral rule, but the structure itself.
Because the man who worked, struggled, saved, married, and sacrificed in order to obtain a legitimate relationship, and then another person comes and reaches the same relationship without paying the price, appears, within the logic of programming, as having obtained what they had no right to obtain.
From here the non-programmed relationship becomes the destruction of programming.
If it became acceptable, then what would be the meaning of all the sacrifices programming demanded from others?
Therefore, the intensity of resistance to illegitimate relationships can be understood as a defense of the system itself.
Infidelity as a Threat to the System
Marital infidelity, in this context, becomes more than merely a sexual act; it is an assault on the contract of ownership within programming.
A person worked hard, married, built a home, took responsibility, and paid the price, and then another person comes and enjoys what resulted from that price without paying it.
Within the logic of programming, this is a losing deal.
That is why a relationship with another man's wife is considered among the greatest violations; because it breaks the rule governing the distribution of price and reward.
If everyone is required to pay the price, then the person who receives the reward without paying it becomes a danger to the system.
Here punishment enters.
Not merely because the act is bad, but because the system sees in the perpetrator living evidence that its conditions can be bypassed.
Honor as a Programmed Medal
Even the concept of honor can be understood from this angle.
Who is an honorable person?
Within programming, they are the person committed to the defined set of values, customs, and commands: committed to religion, family, society, boundaries, what parents want, and what society regards as acceptable behavior.
Therefore, honor here is not an independent meaning in itself; rather, it is a medal granted by the matrix to the person who follows its values.
Whoever departs from those values loses their honor.
That is why even crimes have emerged that were called honor crimes.
How can a person kill for honor?
When honor becomes, for them, more valuable than everything.
But why is it more valuable than everything?
Because honor is proof that they paid the price.
As for the person who does not care about honor, they are not prepared to pay the same price.
Thus it is said that honor derives its meaning from the matrix of morality and values: if you leave it, the honor granted to you is taken away.
Society Protects Itself from the Outside
This structure also appears in the way societies view the outside.
When the foreigner is viewed as someone who does not pay the same price, or as someone coming from a more open system, they become a potential threat.
From here arise ideas such as closing borders, restricting tourism, anxiety about foreigners, and fear of differences in language, customs, and relationship patterns.
The man of the matrix may say:
If tourism is opened, the outside will come and corrupt the inside.
This may take a more specific form: the woman in a closed society had limited choices, and therefore programming was able to keep her within the same framework. But when someone comes from outside with another language, another behavior, and a different relationship pattern, they open new choices before her and break programming's monopoly.
Thus the outside becomes dangerous because it proves that what you were told was necessary is not necessarily necessary.
The same applies to states.
A state may be more closed because it is more constrained by its religious and social teachings. A more open state may be closer to departing from the path imposed by the matrix.
Here openness becomes not merely a policy, but a test of the boundaries of programming.
The Legitimate Child and the Child Outside the System
Even the idea of lineage can be read in engineering terms within this structure.
The rule stating that the child belongs to the marital bed confirms that the system connects lineage to the marital framework.
Thus the child resulting from a marital relationship becomes a child of the system, while the child resulting outside marriage may symbolically become a threat to the structure that seeks to preserve itself.
From here appears the concept of children of the matrix versus children of relationships outside it.
The issue here is not the value of people in themselves, but how they are classified within the system: who confirms its rules, and who threatens them?
Thus the conflict, in this analysis, is no longer merely a moral conflict between good and evil, but becomes a conflict between those who preserve the structure and those who leave it.
The Fear of Infidelity Is Not Merely Moral
When a man fears that his wife may leave the system, his fear is not always merely personal jealousy.
He may see in it the collapse of everything he sacrificed for.
He worked, struggled, built, spent, married, established a home, and then another person comes to obtain what resulted from that sacrifice.
Thus infidelity becomes, for the system, an exhaustion of the meaning of sacrifice.
From here comes the intensity of the discourse surrounding it.
The one who builds their life upon sacrifice wants to see others pay the same price.
And if they see someone obtaining the result without paying the price, they do not see merely someone who committed a mistake, but see a possibility of destroying the entire system.
Religious Discourse as an Example of Deterrence
Some religious discourses concerning sexual relationships can also be understood in this way.
When a person is asked, for example: Would you accept that for your sister? Would you accept it for your mother? Would you accept it for your wife?
The purpose of the question, in this reading, is not merely philosophical discussion of individual desire, but returning the person to the boundaries of the matrix.
The person who would not accept such a thing for themselves or their family becomes more willing to defend the system that prohibits it.
But if a person accepts that each individual may choose for themselves without this barrier, social deterrence weakens.
Thus the question itself becomes a programming tool: it does not merely argue with you, but reshapes your sense of what you should accept and what you should reject.
The Mediator in Everything
If we examine everyday life, we find the mediator everywhere.
It is not enough to love; you need a contract.
It is not enough to marry; you need witnesses.
It is not enough to marry; you need a family, a celebration, and procedures.
It is not enough to have children; there are social and temporal expectations.
And it is not enough to connect with God; there are specific movements, methods, and paths.
Thus almost everything becomes open only after the conditions have been fulfilled.
Programming wants to say:
Nothing is free, nothing is open, and nothing lies outside the system.
Every door remains closed until the order comes from the center of the matrix.
But Where Does Truth Stand?
After all this, an entirely different question emerges:
Does truth need a speaker?
Truth, in this view, exists before anyone speaks about it.
If you see a body, you do not always need someone to tell you that it is a body.
And if you see the sky, you do not need anyone's testimony to know that it exists.
Words may help in seeing truth, but they may also become an obstacle before it.
Truth does not always need an interpreter.
Sometimes a person has already seen the thing, but does not trust their own seeing, so they search for the witness, intermediary, law, and social recognition.
Here programming returns once again: even truth may not be accepted unless it passes through the intermediary.
Who Pays the Price?
In the end, the entire idea can be reduced to one question:
Who pays the price?
Programming wants you to pay.
You pay your money.
You pay your time.
You pay your happiness.
You pay your relationship.
You pay your desire.
You pay your independence.
And in some cases, you may be asked to pay with yourself.
And if you do not pay, the system begins to pursue you with social, moral, or religious punishment.
But if you pay, it may grant you reward, recognition, honor, and belonging.
Thus the equation becomes clear: Pay the price, and then you obtain your right to continue within the matrix.
But a person can sometimes ask a more dangerous question:
What if I refuse to pay the price at all?
Not as a theatrical act of rebellion, and not as an act of heroism, but simply because I do not want to enter the deal.
Here the possibility of true departure begins.
The Problem Is Not the Easy Path
At this point we arrive at the deeper personal question: Why does a person choose the harder path?
Why do they reject ease when ease is available?
A person can make life easier for themselves, but they do not.
Because they are afraid.
Afraid of failure.
Afraid of rejection.
Afraid of regret.
Afraid of being told that they failed because they chose the easy path.
That is why they sometimes choose the rough path; if they fail, they can say that the path was difficult.
But if they choose the direct path and fail, they will feel that the failure belongs to them alone.
This is where justification comes from.
Every justification we sometimes offer for choosing the difficult path may simply be a lie we tell ourselves so that we do not face the real fear behind the choice.
Construction Is Harder Than Destruction
But there is a fundamental difference between construction and destruction.
How difficult construction is, and how easy destruction is.
A person may spend years building a theory, a project, an identity, or an intellectual system, and then be able to destroy it within seconds.
This is natural because destruction does not require the same effort that construction requires.
You can build something for years, then destroy it with a single sentence if you find the flaw.
There is no theory without a flaw.
No matter how strong the construction becomes, the possibility of destruction remains.
Therefore, the real difficulty in life may not be the difficulty of collapse, but the difficulty of continuing to build.
Suffering is not always in destruction, but in the process of construction itself.
To build yourself, build your life, build an idea, build a system, and build a relationship requires time, effort, and patience.
But destroying all of that may be much easier.
Hence comes the final paradox:
The thing that seems difficult may be difficult only because we decided to build it, not because it truly deserves all this complexity.
Sometimes Ease Is Frightening
Ease itself may become something a person rejects.
If they are told: it is easy, they may doubt it.
They say: No, it cannot be this easy.
As though a person were raised to believe that the value of things corresponds to the amount of hardship they paid for them.
The more you suffer, the more valuable what you have reached feels.
Thus suffering turns from a means into a value.
But perhaps this is one of the greatest deceptions of programming:
to make a person believe that the difficulty of the path is evidence that the path is correct.
Even though the path may be difficult simply because it is difficult.
Conclusion: Do We Need to Remove the Decision?
If all these ideas are brought together into one picture, programming appears as a system that preserves itself through four basic tools: fear, suffering, sacrifice, and the intermediary.
Fear unites individuals.
Suffering gives the system a reason to continue.
Sacrifice gives the system sanctity and value.
And the intermediary prevents the human being from reaching directly what they want.
That is why the most dangerous thing to programming is not loud rebellion, but the person who does not need it.
The person who does not fear enough to cling to it.
The person who does not suffer enough to seek its shadow.
The person who does not need an intermediary in order to love.
And the person who does not need a system in order to feel that they exist.
In the end, the question may not be: Which programming is correct?
Rather, the deeper question may be:
Why do I need programming in the first place?
The answer does not necessarily have to be to replace one program with another.
The problem may lie in the decision itself; in the constant need to choose between joining and rejecting, between belief and disbelief, between sacrifice and suicide, between project and emptiness, between order and chaos.
There may be a simpler third path:
Do not decide everything.
Do not always search for a program to fill your emptiness.
Do not consider every emptiness a flaw that must be filled.
Do not consider every suffering a virtue.
And do not consider every difficulty evidence that what you are doing is right.
A person may spend their entire life building something that does not need to exist in the first place, and then discover that what they regarded as a necessity was merely a structure they learned how to live within.
Then the real question becomes not how we preserve the matrix, nor how we escape from it, but:
Can we see existence as it is, before adding to it all these conditions, boundaries, prices, and intermediaries?
Perhaps truth is simpler than programming allowed us to believe.
And perhaps the greatest difficulty in life is not living, but stopping ourselves from complicating what is simple.
And perhaps the greatest freedom possible is to discover that some of the things we thought we could not live without were not necessary at all.
Only then does the human being no longer need to lose in order to win, nor to suffer in order to have value, nor to sacrifice in order to prove their existence.
And they become capable, for the first time, of seeing themselves and existence without asking the matrix for permission.
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