Can a Free Society Produce Meaning?
Between Freedom and Belonging
Before we can ask whether a free society can create meaning, we need to be clear about what we mean by “freedom.”
The word has become a slogan and a signal of allegiance. It can mean “the right to do whatever I want” and “the things you shouldn’t stop me from doing.” It gets tossed around with the same certainty—and imprecision—as words like “fascism” or “tyranny.”
If freedom can mean anything, it ultimately means nothing. If we cannot define it, we cannot evaluate it. We can’t say if we have it, if we are losing it, or what it requires from us.
Let’s start by defining “free society.” For our purposes:
A free society is one in which individuals are largely free to choose their beliefs, their identities, and their paths through life, without being bound by rigid social roles or enforced orthodoxy.
But while many think of freedom as an unqualified good, it comes with its own problems. Freedom expands choice, but it also dissolves structure. Roles that were once inherited must now be chosen. Beliefs that were once assumed must now be justified. Meaning, once given from outside, must now be built from within. That shift does not eliminate the need for purpose or belonging. It intensifies it.
If no structure defines identity, then identity must be constructed and maintained. The question is no longer “What is my place?” but “What should my place be?” That question is not optional, and it is not easily answered. It is here—between expanded freedom and diminished structure—that the central tension of a free society emerges.
It is tempting to imagine that we could restore the structures that once provided meaning—clear roles, shared beliefs, inherited identities. But the gates of Neverwhen are closed to us. As Martin Heidegger observed, we are “thrown” into the world. We do not choose the time in which we live, the culture we inherit, or the conditions that shape our lives.
Here we are—and from here we must begin.
The structures that once defined identity and purpose have changed. Many have weakened, and some have disappeared altogether. In place of the authorities that once assigned meaning, we have been given the freedom—and duty—to find or construct our own meaning. For good or ill, this is our being and our time.
We cannot return to a world in which meaning was imposed. We can only decide what we will build in a world where it is not.
As Jean-Paul Sartre said, we are “condemned to be free.” We cannot retreat into roles we did not choose or beliefs we did not examine. Even refusing to choose is itself a choice.
Freedom does not relieve us of responsibility. It ensures that we cannot escape it.
There is an old line from the cult television series The Prisoner: “Questions are a burden to others; answers a prison to oneself.”
The show follows #6, a man who insists, again and again, “I am not a number. I am a free man.” He resists the Village that seeks to define him, to categorize him, to reduce him to something manageable.
And when he finally confronts #1, the authority behind it, he finds his own face.
The pressures that produce systems of control do not arise from nowhere. They arise from our human needs—our desire for certainty, for order, for relief from the burden of choosing.
We can attempt to escape our surroundings, just as #6 tries to escape the Village. We can reject institutions, question authority, and walk away from imposed identities. But we cannot escape ourselves. The same need for clarity that drives us to resist control can also drive us to recreate it.
The story makes this explicit in its final moments. When #6 returns home and opens his door, he finds #1 emblazoned upon it.
He has found his answers—and discovered they are a prison of his own making.
Individual freedom solves the problem of imposed meaning. But it leaves us with the problem of shared meaning. We are free to define ourselves, but the pronouns “we” and “our” imply a social order.
Maintaining a society requires coordination, trust, and a shared set of assumptions. But a society of individuals living for themselves soon fragments into misunderstanding and conflict. Shared lives require shared meaning.
Our internal needs lead us to create external structures.
The individual longing for clarity begins to shape the group. Social enforcement and orthodoxy establish the tribe—and define our place within it. In time, some members rise to become formal or informal Strongmen. Others settle into place within the hierarchy.
Their purpose—their meaning—is shared with them by their fellows. They have neither the burden nor the blessing of self-creation. Most will never realize what they have lost.
The question is not whether a free society will have shared meaning. It is how that meaning will be created—and who will control it.
We can chase freedom through personal experience and the language of “self-discovery” and “self-exploration.” Or we can surrender that “freedom” to a Strongman—individual or collective—who promises to relieve us of the burden of questions and the prison of answers. Both paths promise relief. In practice, they lead to the same result.
Centering freedom entirely in the self tends toward alienation and nihilism. Outsourcing it to others leads us back to the same place. We must find a way to build meaning that can be shared without being imposed. We must do without a final arbiter, a permanent resolution, a stable identity that removes the burden of choosing.
This demands tolerance for ambiguity and a willingness to live alongside views we find incomplete, mistaken, or even offensive. The Strongman offers clarity and ease: a defined enemy, a settled purpose. Freedom provides us with none of these. This path is harder to sustain, less emotionally satisfying, and far more demanding. But it is the only path that does not end in the quiet surrender of self-creation.
So how does a free society create shared meaning?
Imperfectly and impermanently.
With sustained effort—and a measure of luck—it may do so just well enough to endure.
A free society requires restraint as well as rights. It depends on the understanding that freedom does not mean you will always get your own way. The ability to debate respectfully—and to separate disagreement from moral condemnation—is vital for any society that hopes to remain free. This will be difficult, demanding, and occasionally infuriating. The alternative is escalating dispute, tribalization, and eventual fragmentation.
Social norms must tolerate dissent, with a presumption of good faith even—especially—when dealing with challenging topics. An open society rests on community expectations and informal rules of engagement. Freedom must be internalized by the people and protected by the law. Tensions over the balance between the two are inevitable.
A society with separation of powers and competing authorities will constantly face slow decision-making and frequent gridlock. Those systems are frustrating by design. Delayed action and shared authority lead to ongoing disagreement. But they keep it from becoming domination.
Consolidated power can move much more quickly. It can silence disagreement and enforce orthodoxy. But those advantages come at a cost. Power that acts without resistance will eventually act without limit.
A free culture survives through shared habits, not shared conclusions. It accepts that there are no final answers and is comfortable with ongoing argument. It must value the ability to live with disagreement more than the desire to eliminate it.
The Strongman temptation never disappears. Impatience leads a society to seek fast, easy resolutions. Authority reassures in difficult moments, and traditional customs of openness and acceptance can feel dated as conditions change.
Open societies often close during times of crisis. Fear drives the demand for targets; confusion feeds the desire for clarity. Tolerance for instability and dissent becomes harder to sustain under pressure. During times of privation and collapse, many choose bread over freedom. A free culture can survive only as long as enough people are willing to do the harder thing.
Freedom is not a permanent achievement. It is a decision, made again and again, by people who are willing to accept the cost.
