There is a phrase people repeat when talking about how strangely small the world can feel: everyone is six handshakes away from everyone else. At first, it resembles charming exaggerations that spreads because it feels poetic and comforting. The idea is known as six degrees of separation. The basic claim is simple. If you choose any two people in the world, there is likely a chain of acquaintances linking them together in roughly six steps. You might know someone who knows someone who knows someone, and after only a few introductions, the chain unexpectedly reaches a complete stranger on the other side of the planet (Six Degrees of Separation). Though it may seem fictive, it is a real and measurable phenomenon, and its truth can be found in online experimental data that changes daily.

This idea gained attention through an experiment conducted by social psychologist Stanley Milgram in the 1960s. Milgram asked participants across the United States to deliver a letter to a person they had never met (Stanley Milgram). In the experiment, they were not allowed to send it directly, but instead, each participant passed it to someone they personally knew who they believed might be closer to the target. Then that person would do the same and continue the pattern until the letter reached the target person. When the letters finally arrived, the number of people involved in the chain (the number of steps it took) was surprisingly small, with the average being just six steps (Stanley Milgram).

Human life, it turns out, is naturally gravitational: we pull toward the familiar, and the familiar pulls back. We live inside circles: families, friend groups, schools, workplaces, cities. Within those circles, most people know many of the same individuals (Granovetter). However, every cluster also contains a few people whose lives reach outward into entirely different worlds. This can be seen when someone moves to a new city, changes careers, or even just by meeting a stranger (Granovetter). These small, almost accidental connections quietly stitch separate communities together until the entire world becomes one network connected in six steps. What strikes me most, though, is not the number itself. It is what the structure of that network suggests about what we are afraid of, and what we might be missing.

Most of our relationships are defined as strong ties: close bonds that shape our daily world: our closest friends, our family, the people we see every day (Granovetter). Though these ties are precious, they hold a flaw: the people closest to us tend to have nearly the same social circle. Our world, without us ever choosing it, begins to echo itself. We unknowingly build a barrier of familiarity to safeguard against the unknown, people you never knew you ought to meet.

When real bridges between worlds form, they create something extraordinary. They reach outside the familiar cluster into a pool of new ones. They bring news from other worlds, connecting a city of knowledge and creativity. A single phone call can change your outlook on life. An unexpected conversation can introduce you to a community you never knew existed; a community that turns out to be precisely where you belong. And yet, most of us resist making that bridge. Through no fault of our own, we choose the familiar; not because we are incurious, but because reaching outward takes courage. It requires accepting uncertainty when approaching someone we don’t know, and tolerating the vulnerability of not yet knowing how we will be received. Although these are small risks, they feel large when we are staring them down.

Six degrees of separation shows that this risk is one worth pursuing. The stranger sitting next to you on a train isn’t an isolated individual. They are the center of a human tapestry you cannot yet see; lives filled with knowledge, experience, perspective, and possibility. No matter where you are in the world, you are only a few steps away from everyone else.

After sitting with this idea, I have come to believe it carries something quietly radical: it poses a case for openness as a way of life. The willingness to be occasionally surprised by people. To let a conversation go somewhere unexpected. To remember that the person in front of you is not a background character in your story, but the main character of their own, surrounded by an entire cast you have never met.

The world becomes smaller only when we reach outward. And when the world becomes smaller, we do not feel less significant; we become more held. More part of something.

So perhaps the real lesson of six degrees of separation is not only that everyone is connected. It is that the distance between isolation and belonging isn’t as vast as loneliness makes it seem. The single act of extending your hand toward a stranger, no matter what, is the beginning of an entirely different life.

When difficult choices need to be made, arguments for the “greater good” inevitably arise. Such arguments are characterized by comparisons between good results that seemingly outweigh the harmful methods used to achieve those results. For instance, politicians may argue that a new economic policy is for the greater good of the nation, even if it causes short-term harm. Charities and nonprofits often appeal to the greater good when they ask people for donations—the individual’s harm of having less money hypothetically outweighed by the good that money can do for others. Even when you buy environmentally friendly from the supermarket rather than plastic straws, an argument for the greater good of the planet is likely encoded in your decision.

Often, the structure of “greater good” arguments goes unnoticed. This is troubling as the “greater good” can rapidly become murky. For instance, a country may justify going to war by appealing to the greater good of a religious cause. Are religious moral obligations valid against the potential costs of human lives? Can sectarian violence ever be justified? More personally, parents may justify lying to their children for the greater good of the child’s future. A child may eat healthier if you tell them carrots will help them see in the dark. However, does that result outweigh the moral harm of lying to someone unable to identify the truth?

Answering such questions means understanding the philosophical underpinnings of the greater good, which ultimately lie in the idea of consequentialism. In ethics, the philosophical study of right and wrong, consequentialism refers to weighing the ends (the results or consequences) of an action greater than the means (the methods or processes). Generally, if the ends of an action cause more good than harm, consequentialism suggests that the action is justified regardless of the means. If someone is about to kill 5 people, and can only be stopped through violence, consequentialism states that we are justified in attacking the would-be murderer. Simply put, in consequentialism actions are justified when they produce the best consequences. This is precisely the calculation that occurs in arguments of the greater good. Where varying forms of consequentialism differ, and where complexities are addressed, is in the different specific factors that determine whether an end is beneficial or harmful.

Although all types of consequentialism measure the end results of an action, the way in which they measure results differs greatly. In hedonistic consequentialism, argued by the British philosopher Jeremy Bentham, the best consequentialist actions are those that maximize happiness. Essentially, according to Bentham, the greater good is whatever course of action creates the most happiness for the world. As an alternative to simple happiness, the philosopher John Stuart Mill introduced a separate form of consequentialism based on different forms of pleasure. Mill’s consequentialism differs from Bentham's by offering more nuance than raw gradations of happiness. Although partying with alcohol may bring more outright happiness than reading a poem, Mill argues that reading a poem may provide a deeper form of pleasure that is worth prioritizing. Lastly, there are even forms of consequentialism that disregard happiness altogether. In frameworks like utilitarianism of rights, the greater good is represented by the action that best maximizes certain rights like freedom of speech or freedom from violence. Beyond these examples, there exist a multitude of other formulations of consequentialism, each with its own different valuation systems.

Understanding—or at least being conscious of—the different versions of consequentialism is important because doing so helps us understand the complexity of the greater good. The greater good isn’t a panacea by itself. Rather, it must be defined as an ever-ongoing moral battle. If you take a Millian view of pleasure-based consequentialism, lying to a child in the earlier example may constitute the greater good as you are encouraging them to develop healthy habits. On the other hand, if you assume a view of utilitarianism of rights, the greater good may be to avoid lying, as that constitutes a greater moral violation.

Seen here, the framework you choose will unavoidably shift your actions and judgements. Consequently, the content of the greater good cannot be taken for granted. What one person thinks is for the best of all people is not necessarily what another person may believe in. In turn, a deeper analysis of consequentialism may suggest a call for empathy. If we know that our judgments of a better future will inevitably differ from each other, it is in our capacity to introduce civility to disagreement.

Civility means communicating about how we reason using the greater good. This takes recognition of our own judgements—whether we wish to maximize happiness or whether we wish to maximize certain rights. It takes respect to listen to alternative judgements, and humility to modify our own values in conversation with others. Civility also means having standards, baseline rules that even arguments for the greater good cannot supercede. These may be rules against killing, or rules against needless suffering. Regardless of their content, rules of civility will necessarily be fluid. They will constantly change with the values and pressures of society. Furthermore, we will only be able to understand them if we first understand the mechanisms of arguments for the greater good.

Have you ever heard the line, “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference” ? The saying advises you to make the most out of life, by working efficiently and best utilizing the resources before you. It’s very similar to the ethical ideas of the Stoics of Ancient Greece and Rome, emphasizing the benefits of a calm, resilient, and fulfilling life by focusing on utility and peace of mind.

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Stoicism is a philosophy that engages with the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence. Philosophies can engage with all aspects of life, even though the modern emphasis of philosophy may feel constrained to topics like ethics or epistemological knowledge. In a holistic sense, Stoicism argues that the universe operates according to reason (logos). All Stoic beliefs—including how Stoicism recommends people to live—stem from this idea that the world is inherently logical, so understanding this foundation is crucial.

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If you had to try to understand the world from scratch, you’d probably pick a method similar to the Stoics: deductive reasoning. In short, it is the creation of absolute conclusions from established premises. These premises often came in the form of assertibles or axiomata, true or false statements that can be made about the world through observation. For example, “it is raining right now.” Assertibles could be affirmative, negative, definite, or indefinite. Then they would make compound assertibles made of multiple assertibles, which would be used to draw broader conclusions or eventually arguments.

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Their arguments about how to live a proper life often centered around making the most logical and practical decisions, something only humans can and are naturally inclined to do. Here, a key principle called The Dichotomy of Control was a large part of their guide to action. In short, The Dichotomy of Control divides everything in life into two categories: things within your control and things outside of it. The Stoics believed that, logically, a person can only meaningfully influence what is within their control. As a result, the Stoics also believed that a person should only stress about what is in their control, never worrying about things outside their control.

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Within this sphere of control, the Stoics decided that Virtue, or good character, is the most important thing in life. That virtue is life’s ultimate purpose, as it is what we are meant to do at our best, as well as something fully within human control. Material wealth or even the attainment of good health were considered morally neutral, serving as an opportunity for virtue to express itself rather than the end goal. Whether or not you actually succeeded was irrelevant given that you gave your best effort and made the most of your situation. The Stoics believed that a fierce pursuit of virtue would result in the most consistently satisfying life.

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There are four virtues within Stoicism: wisdom, courage, justice, and temperance. Upholding them alone was believed to be sufficient for happiness as it upheld the Stoics’ ideals of human rationality. In addition to creating a clear goal to aim for, virtues were also something that could not be taken away; no matter the situation you found yourself in, if you acted true to your principles you could confidently say you lived well.

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In addition to pursuing virtues, they warned against the passions, disturbing or misleading forces in the mind resulting from a failure to reason correctly. Passion was used to discuss many common emotions that cloud the mind, like anger, fear, or even excessive joy.

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The passions were arranged into four categories: distress, pleasure, fear, and lust. Distress is an irrational or fresh opinion that something negative was present, and that it was valid to be depressed by it. Delight was an irrational or fresh opinion that something positive was present, and that it was valid to be elated by it. Fear is an irrational aversion to expected danger. Lust is an irrational pursuit of an expected positive outcome that is actually negative or dangerous. The Stoics' disdain for misjudgement resulted from their logic-based roots.

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Let's summarize what we’ve learned. The Stoics held a foundational belief that the world was logical, and that the best way to navigate a logical world was with a logical mind. Consequently, the optimal way to live was by making the most of your situation to achieve virtue, and thus a moral and admirable life. However, passions could impede your progress by warping your judgement and misguiding you.

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So what does living like a Stoic look like in practice? In most cases, it first means staying calm and focused. For example, in countless situations, getting insulted, stuck in traffic, receiving bad news, delivering bad news, or being tempted by unhealthy food, a Stoic ought to reassess what they actually want or need to do, and what actions will or won’t help them achieve it. Then it means thinking about the life you want to live, and pursuing it. When placed in a situation where you could finally get a turn in a position that dominates others, where you hold all the agency, choose honestly what characteristics you would want to be defined by.

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“What’s your philosophy?” is a phrase you may have heard. Generally speaking, this question isn’t asking you whether you're a Stoic, Existentialist, Sophist, Confucianist or Epicurean, though they may feature in your answer. Rather, this question is asking what you believe in, for your morals, values and outlook on life.

Such a question could likely have been heard in Ancient Greece, where Western philosophy originates. In a nutshell, philosophy is the study of fundamental questions concerning existence, knowledge, reality, ethics, and reason.

The Republic of Athens, the cradle of Western philosophy, is also the birthplace of democracy. Folks such as Aristotle, Plato, Democritus and Socrates, although not career politicians, played a crucial role in the development of Athenian political policy through their speeches in the Agora (place where Athenians voted) and held significant sway in public policy and opinion.

Politics, in my view, is inherently philosophical and vice versa. Philosophers tend to create political movements, such as Karl Marx and Communism, Confucius and Confucianism, Locke and Liberalism and so on… The main difference is that politics focuses on the concrete and how to achieve a goal in the present, while philosophy discusses the goals and why they ought to matter.

Most political ideologies have some catchphrases which sum up their core beliefs: Communism: “To each according to his need, from each according to his ability”, Classical liberalism/libertarianism: “Don’t tread on me.

However, though these slogans are simple, their interpretation and implementation is the source of mass disagreement and discourse. Ideology means just that, a system of ideas. The aforementioned examples have all sorts of different sub-types and factions, with some political parties having a “designated philosopher”.

It can be argued that democracy too is, by nature, a philosophy as although it is a mode of governance it is justified through inherent moral righteousness. As such, can’t it be argued that any ideology is inherently philosophical and any ideology is philosophical.

Now there’s a counterpoint that claims that politics is entirely amoral and as a result is completely detached from philosophy. But, can’t it be said that politics is at a minimum completely reliant on power? Then wouldn't politics be at a minimum the philosophy of acquiring power? Even if there’s no morality associated, isn’t there then a judgement?

No matter which way you look at it, “good” politics, where the focus is on improving as many human livelihoods, and philosophy should share a strong link with philosophy serving as a force to explain and help quantify how to make change. Both idealistically and pessimistically, then, politics and philosophy are linked.