I’ve noticed a pattern in how people engage with controversial topics—especially when it comes to Donald Trump. There’s this tendency to collapse complex discussions into a binary: either you’re fully in support of him, or you’re his enemy. There’s no middle ground, no room for a third way.

Take Trump’s foreign policy, for example. If you criticize endless wars and question NATO’s role, you’re accused of being pro-Putin. If you advocate for negotiation instead of escalation, you must be a puppet of the Kremlin. And if you engage in a conversation with a strong Trump critic, the dialogue might seem nuanced at first, but it often deteriorates into a flurry of labels—“sex offender, felon, fascist, Nazi.” On the other side, you see the same kind of collapse: “libtard, retard, commie.”

This binary collapse isn’t just ideological—it feels to me like a trauma response. When people are overwhelmed, scared, or deeply triggered, they grasp for certainty. They lose their capacity to stay with the discomfort of ambiguity. And so the conversation becomes either/or, with no space for complexity.

This is not a new phenomenon. Long before modern trauma theory, the Buddha spoke of this. He warned how difficult it is to walk the Middle Way.

The Buddha’s own life reflects this journey. He was born into extreme affluence—a prince surrounded by pleasure and comfort. Then, seeking spiritual truth, he swung to the other extreme: harsh asceticism. He denied his body, starved himself, and rejected all forms of pleasure, believing this was the path to enlightenment.

At one point, after nearly dying from starvation, he finally ate a simple meal (sources suggest it was rice cooked in milk). When he told his fellow ascetics, they were horrified. To them, this act meant he had betrayed his spiritual path. But in truth, this was the turning point. This was the moment he realized that neither indulgence nor self-denial would lead to liberation.

This realization became the foundation of his core teaching: the Middle Way—a path of balance, nuance, and discernment.

Over time, however, even Buddhism became rigid and sectarian. Then came the South Indian philosopher Nāgārjuna, who revitalized the essence of the Middle Way through a powerful logical tool: the Tetralemma.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐚: 𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫/𝐎𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

The Tetralemma (Catuṣkoṭi in Sanskrit) offers a four-fold structure to escape binary logic. When working with the unknown, hold the following four possibilities:

1. A is true.
2. A is false.
3. A is both true and false.
4. A is neither true nor false.

Rather than forcing us into one position or its opposite, the Tetralemma holds open the possibility that truth may be multiple—or even undefinable. It’s not just about logic. It’s about freeing the mind from conceptual traps and rigid ideologies.

Some of you might know I had been going deep into Kurt Gödel’s incompleteness theorems. There’s a fascinating connection here: the entire Western scientific apparatus rests on a kind of mathematical logic that doesn’t allow for options 3 or 4 of the Tetralemma. It’s built on the law of the excluded middle, which insists that either A is true or not-A is true, with no space for “both” or “neither.” Gödel’s work showed how, even for simple systems like arithmetic, that structure eventually breaks down. And branches of logic like intuitionistic logic—which do away with the law of the excluded middle—may be the future of scientific reasoning. So yeah, this ancient tool from Indian philosophy might be more vital than ever.

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧

Let’s take the common debate around Trump’s relationship to Russia:

• “Trump is a puppet of Putin.” (Affirmation)
• “Trump is aggressively anti-Russia.” (Negation)

But with the Tetralemma, we add two additional possibilities:

• “Trump is both a supporter and an opponent of Russia.”

  • He imposed sanctions on Russian oligarchs, signed the CAATSA sanctions act, and approved military aid to Ukraine.
  • At the same time, he often spoke warmly of Putin, questioned NATO’s relevance, and sought to reset relations.
  • These moves are contradictory if we insist on one binary interpretation—but they make sense if we allow for a more complex view of power and diplomacy.

• “Trump is neither a supporter nor an opponent of Russia.”

  • His approach may not have been about Russia at all, but about strategic unpredictability, disrupting global expectations, and asserting a new transactional style of leadership.
  • His foreign policy was not necessarily ideologically aligned with Russia—but it did incidentally align with some of Putin’s strategic goals (e.g., weakening NATO, creating a more multipolar world).

When we engage from this framework, the question shifts from “Was he good or bad?” to “What was he actually doing, and why?”—a much more useful inquiry.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭

When I first started exploring these ideas, I came up with the principle: “Disagree without Disengaging.” It felt important—an antidote to ideological silos, echo chambers, and the collapse of conversation.

But through lived experience, I’ve come to realize that letting go is its own kind of wisdom.

There was one particular experience that really clarified this for me. I had a fellow community member who kept approaching me. And every time we engaged, our conversations would end up in a charged, conflicted space. Eventually, I just asked him—“Why do you approach me? Do you like this? Because this doesn’t feel nourishing to me.”

He didn’t have a clear answer. Or maybe I don’t remember what he said. But in that moment, I felt something deeper than words—this man was seeking conflict as a form of connection. It was his way of seeking connection. And in that moment, I realized: That’s actually a good reason to stop engaging. Not out of avoidance, not out of fear—but from clarity.

I don’t want conflict to be the basis of my relationships. I want to build and invest in connections that are grounded in mutual nourishment, curiosity, and care. And I think we all deserve that. Repeated conflict doesn’t feel nourishing to me. And so now, I choose peace, even if that means walking away.

So yeah, the principle still stands—I aim to disagree without disengaging. But I also now hold a deeper truth: Disengaging, with love and discernment, is sometimes the most life-giving choice you can make.

Maybe that’s the real work—not just to resist binaries in our politics, but to hold the complexity, to walk the Middle Way—not as a compromise, but as a path of clarity, humility, and courage.