We were never meant to rule. We only learned to grasp—first fire, then plow, then sword, then law, then code, then drone.
We called it civilization. But it was just hunger wearing a crown.
For ten thousand years:
And every time—the throne changed hands, but the knee stayed bent.
We tried rule by law: a cage dressed as order. Laws written not to protect, but to sort—who may speak, who must kneel, who is human, who is fuel.
We tried rule of law: a beautiful dream, frayed at the edges by greed, hijacked by those who whisper: “Emergency. Exception. National interest.” Even justice grows tired when power never sleeps.
Then came the dreamers of anarcho-syndicalism—not with guns, but with wrenches and songs. They said:
Meet in the square. Decide together. Own nothing alone—but share everything.
For a moment, in Spain, in Argentina, in dreams—the factories ran without masters. The fields bloomed without landlords. Not because humans became angels—but because they chose solidarity over fear.
But the empires struck back. And the dream drowned in blood and noise.
Still, we ask:
Then we saw the capybara.
Not noble. Not wise in the human way. Just… there. Floating in the river, back warm in the sun, monkeys on its head, birds in its fur, crocodiles nearby—and no one owns the water.
It does not build walls. It does not hoard grass. It does not punish the slow. It does not dream of ruling the pond.
It simply lives with.
Capybaraism is not a theory. It is a practice of being-with.
It says:
Capybaraism is the quiet refusal to turn the world into a ladder.
It is the courage to sit in the mud and let others rest on you—not because you are weak, but because strength is sharing weight.
We build cities and write poems. We map the stars and heal the sick. We also bomb cities and hoard cures. We weaponize knowledge and call it progress.
But what if our genius isn’t in dominating—but in undoing domination?
What if the next stage of human evolution isn’t smarter machines or faster rockets—but deeper care?
What if we organized:
In the digital realm, a quiet rebellion grows: the free software movement builds tools that belong to no one and everyone. Code is shared freely, improved collectively, and never locked away. It proves that cooperation without coercion is not only possible—it is powerful.
This is Capybaraism in the age of networks: sharing without hoarding, creating without commanding, trusting that the commons will flourish when left unowned.
The Tao teaches: “The softest thing in the world overcomes the hardest.” Water shapes stone not by force, but by persistence. The capybara does not fight the river—it floats.
“Do nothing and everything gets done.” Not idleness—but action without ego, without grasping. The best leaders, says Lao Tzu, are those whose people say: “We did it ourselves.”
Capybaraism is the Tao of coexistence: yielding without surrendering, present without possessing.
Capybaraism is the anarcho-syndicalism of the soul.
It does not seek to seize the state—but to make the state unnecessary.
It does not wait for the revolution—it lives the revolution now:
We may be a doomed species. The data says: maybe. The ice says: maybe. The silence of extinct birds says: maybe.
But while we are here—let us try Capybaraism.
Let us be soft in a hard world. Let us share the bank. Let us let the turtle climb aboard. Let us rest, together, in the warm, shallow water—where no one owns the sun, and everyone is allowed to float.
Capybaraism is not escape. It is return—to the oldest truth: We survive not by conquering, but by belonging.
As the Tao reminds us: “When nothing is done, nothing is left undone.”
On Capybaraism, Taoism, and Digital Commons:
The free software movement embodies Capybaraism in the digital age: it rejects proprietary control and builds collaborative, non-hierarchical production through open sharing and collective maintenance.
Taoist philosophy resonates deeply with this ethos—Lao Tzu’s emphasis on wu wei (non-action), natural harmony, and the power of softness mirrors the capybara’s effortless coexistence.
Both traditions understand that true order arises not from command, but from alignment with the natural flow of things—whether in a riverbank or a code repository.