Mauricio García: As a starting point for an audience that is unfortunately not used to reading Latin American authors, the first thing I would like to establish is: what are the main aspects of your thought from a philosophical or psychoanalytic point of view, which is another important dimension of your reflections?

Tomás Molina: what interests me most in philosophy is political philosophy, and it has been that way for at least twenty years. That means I have concentrated on a series of authors who do not necessarily speak only about political philosophy, but who interest me especially in their political dimension. Plato is an example. Of course, I am interested in other aspects of Plato’s work—his metaphysics, ethics, ontology, cosmology—but they interest me above all in the way they serve his political philosophy.

The same happens with Aristotle: I am interested in his ethics viewed politically, not abstractly. Through various readings I have done, influenced by different authors and interpreters—Leo Strauss, for example, who influenced me greatly when I was very young, especially between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five—I have developed readings of the classical authors, mainly Plato, Aristotle, Machiavelli, Adam Smith, Montesquieu, and Rousseau, that are not purely academic. My interest is not only to understand political philosophy from a hermeneutic perspective in order to write papers, books, or doctoral dissertations. That is not what interests me primarily. My main interest lies in trying to understand contemporary political phenomena and, to some extent, transform other people’s opinions about those phenomena through the reading of the classics. For example, I adhere—though not exclusively, but in a very significant way—to Machiavelli’s republican thought. That republican reading of politics helps me understand Plato and Aristotle, and also Adam Smith and Rousseau. It is from Machiavelli’s ideas that I understand a series of contemporary phenomena.

Machiavelli says, both in The Prince and in Discourses on Livy, that societies are divided into two groups: the elites, whom he calls the Grandi, and the plebeians. This constitutive element of all societies seems very complex to me. Of course, if we look at hunter-gatherer societies, we will not find exactly the same thing. He refers specifically to cities and civilizations as he understands them. If one sees this constitutive element, one begins to understand why certain things happen. For Machiavelli, it is not simply that elites and plebeians exist; rather, elites and plebeians are in conflict because their interests contradict one another. The Grandi always attempt—or are tempted—to dominate, while the plebeians seek not to be dominated. Out of this conflict, Machiavelli says freedom emerges. Freedom brings with it other very good things, such as prosperity, glory, and empire, as happened in ancient Rome.

I try to use that lens to understand contemporary political phenomena. In Colombia, for example, there are many conflicts, but not necessarily the conflict Machiavelli describes as the principal one. That means things are not functioning properly, because Machiavelli says societies may contain groups with conflicting interests, but if the conflict is not between elites and plebeians, freedom does not necessarily emerge. Political conflicts must therefore be directed in ways that fit this republican framework proposed by Machiavelli so that public freedom may flourish. And for that to happen, there must be institutions conducive to it. Basically, what I do is attempt to apply classical readings to the contemporary world.

I do not believe these authors are simply men trapped in their own contexts. Rather, as Leo Strauss proposed, I believe in the permanent relevance of the classics for understanding political phenomena.

García: What you just mentioned about Colombia leads directly to another question. It seems to me that in your interventions and writings, besides references to these authors—especially Machiavelli—there are also very specific problems related to the Colombian context and its historical development: inequality, sociopolitical history, or concepts as problematic as development and progress from a philosophical perspective, or even more abstract concepts such as the State as a political phenomenon. However—and I do not know if you agree with this—it seems to me that from sociological, historical, and political science analyses there exists a kind of overdiagnosis of Colombia, as though we already knew extensively what is happening in the country. In fact, that speaks well of our academia; even if it often does not appear in public debates, academia in Colombia has indeed seriously reflected on our problems.

But that does not necessarily lead to solutions. In that context, and within what I consider a sort of overdiagnosis, do you think philosophy has something to contribute? Philosophical thought, appealing perhaps to Marx’s famous eleventh thesis about changing the world, but also thinking it theoretically: do you believe philosophy must do something, or should it remain merely in reflection?

Molina: of course, philosophy has something to do, and something very important at that. Many agree that there is an overdiagnosis of Colombian problems. Philosophy must carry out a kind of metadiagnosis. Philosophy is not a social science, so it cannot simply tell social scientists what to do, nor can it produce diagnoses in the same way political science or economics do. That is not philosophy’s task. But philosophy can pose questions to those diagnoses. The existence of many diagnoses does not mean they are well made, nor that they are relevant to the times in which we live.

Many of the diagnoses we take for granted as common sense are highly ideological. Philosophy can ask critical questions: what are the ontological or epistemological assumptions behind a given diagnosis? Since the 1980s, perhaps always, but especially since then, the social sciences have become much more focused on their own ontological and epistemological problems. This has produced more critical paradigms, more conscious of their own assumptions, which is very positive. Yet that does not mean the discipline as a whole—or fields such as international relations or economics—is fully aware of these discussions. Some academics are, but that does not mean such discussions affect the practice of most social scientists. Philosophy can intervene there and ask important questions using tools and professional capacities that social scientists generally do not possess—not because they are incapable, but because it is not their specialization. A philosopher does not have the training to conduct empirical political science research, but philosophers are trained to ask ontological and epistemological questions, to challenge scientific paradigms from the perspective of the history of science, and to question the metaphysical assumptions of economics. For instance, economists may sincerely believe they are doing science in the same way physicists or biologists do, while philosophers can show that there are metaphysical, theological, and even religious assumptions embedded in some of their questions and premises. These assumptions become invisible because they are part of the common sense of economics until someone with a trained eye points them out. Thus, philosophy can raise very interesting questions and even challenge the very way questions are framed in economics, political science, anthropology, and other disciplines.

This is precisely one of the things Marx did. He took bourgeois economics and posed questions that turned it upside down. Marx showed that many assumptions of bourgeois economics—and bourgeois philosophy—did not hold up under critical examination. Marx argued that if one looks at things dialectically, phenomena that appear isolated are actually part of a much larger network. Genuine understanding arises from seeing the totality rather than focusing on isolated phenomena. That dialectical vision allowed Marx to perceive things many liberal economists could not.

García: much of what you mentioned relates to questioning assumptions or the scientific character of certain disciplines—or even discourses that claim scientific status. Today this appears in the distinction between ideology and technocracy. At first sight they seem antagonistic, but perhaps they are more related than they appear. Generally, ideology is understood as false consciousness, while technocracy is seen as the ability to overcome false consciousness and access a scientific understanding of the universal or natural laws of society.

What do you think about that relationship or distinction between ideology and technocracy, and what does it reveal about our time?

Molina: I find the distinction technocrats themselves make between ideology and technocracy in Colombia deeply ironic, because it was Marxism that largely invented the distinction between ideology as false consciousness and science as the revelation of things as they truly are.

Of course, the science that supposedly reveals reality is not the same in Marxism and Colombian technocracy. In Marxism it is dialectics and historical materialism; in Colombian technocracy it is neoclassical economics. Still, philosophically it is interesting that technocrats adopted a concept of ideology originating in Marxism, especially Engels, as well as a notion of science rooted in the Marxist tradition itself. It becomes philosophy’s task to criticize that. One can ask: what science are you using? What are its assumptions? How scientific is it, and in what sense? Philosophy can criticize technocracy from epistemological and even theological perspectives. It can ask whether economics truly can critique itself, or whether it requires another discipline to critique it. Philosophy has that “meta” role because it is not a particular science. Philosophy sees everything together. It possesses a synoptic vision of the world. It views the world from above, like a bird’s-eye perspective. That broader perspective is often lost when scientists immerse themselves in their own research practices. Philosophers can step back and ask whether the organization of knowledge itself makes sense.

This is where philosophers of science such as Karl Popper and Thomas Kuhn become relevant. Through them we can ask whether technocracy is genuinely scientific or whether its claims to scientificity are exaggerated. I do not deny economics is a science, as people casually do on social media. Economics contains many fascinating aspects. The fact that it is not like physics does not mean it is not scientific. Social sciences cannot have the same precision as physics because their object of study is itself inexact. A physicist does not alter reality by studying it, whereas economists can change economic reality through their analyses and predictions. If economists announce inflation expectations, that alters how people behave economically. In that sense, economists affect the reality they predict.

Thus, philosophy can criticize simplistic and naïve conceptions of truth and ideology. The distinction between ideology and technocracy is political, not innocent. Politics operates in the realm of appearances. As Plato and Machiavelli teach us, politics takes place inside the cave. What matters politically is not necessarily what is true or false, but what people believe to be true or false. That can be manipulated. When something is labeled “ideology,” the key issue is not whether it truly is ideology, but whether people come to despise it. Propaganda works by emotionally predisposing us for or against something. Philosophy must interrupt that process and ask: what truly sustains these ideas? It must insist on critical thinking.

García: You mentioned the appearance that Colombian technocracy has direct access to reality while supposedly clearing away ideology or false consciousness. That leads to what is often considered philosophy’s hard problem: consciousness. Fredric Jameson, for example, suggested that today, due to communication media and access to information, we no longer inhabit ideology as false consciousness, but rather a world of “epistemological transparency,” where reality appears to us exactly as it is. It is not that we have to strip away the falsehood from what is presented to us, but rather that everything is already presented to us as it truly is. 

Now, that would of course lead to a philosophical discussion, as the “hard problem” of consciousness rightly points out. However, by clearly defining philosophical problems—as with the examples from Colombia—I believe that a good philosophical problem must be properly situated within its material and historical conditions. In that context, and considering your reflections on inequality, conflict, and structural conditions in Colombia, how can we understand the relationship between ideology and the way individuals construct consciousness of themselves and their social reality?

Molina: political scientists have conducted surveys in Colombia about how much people know regarding political ideologies. Unsurprisingly, most people possess only vague notions of liberalism, conservatism, Marxism, republicanism, and so on. From this, many conclude that ideologies does not matter in Colombia. I disagree. One thing is that people may lack theoretical consciousness or familiarity with philosophical texts. Another thing entirely is claiming ideology does not exist. We usually associate ideology with consciousness—as if ideology resided in people’s heads. Philosophy shows the issue is more complicated.

For Žižek, ideology is not primarily in what subjects think, but in what they do. Ideological distortion lies in action rather than knowledge. Marx himself says people “do not know it, but they are doing it.” The illusion lies in practice, not in knowledge. Thus, the question is not whether Colombians have read Adam Smith. Clearly most have not. The real question is: how do people behave? How do politicians behave? What are they doing?

There, ideology clearly exists. I believe neoliberalism has been one of the dominant ideologies in Colombia over the last thirty years, especially among elites and political parties. If you interview politicians from parties such as Cambio Radical, the Conservative Party, or the Liberal Party, many will lack sophisticated understandings of political philosophy. That does not mean ideology is absent. One can observe ideological consistency in the decisions made in Congress and in the presidency. Colombia adopted privatization programs, the independence of the Central Bank, and market-oriented policies. Álvaro Uribe, César Gaviria, and Juan Manuel Santos privatized or liquidated numerous public entities. Uribe may not be an expert in political philosophy, but that does not mean he lacks ideology, nor that his political movement lacks ideology. Even politicians with superficial or contradictory understandings of politics may still act according to neoliberal premises because dominant ideologies become part of common sense.

Thus, ideology is not necessarily located in knowledge but in practice.

García: this opens enormous discussions about the relationship between intelligence and consciousness. Žižek reformulates ideology by suggesting that people know what they are doing and continue doing it anyway.

To move toward another aspect of the interview: do you think there exists a historical or disciplinary philosophical system most adequate for analyzing Colombia or Latin America? Or is it impossible today to speak of a single philosophical perspective capable of doing so?

Molina: I think it is very difficult for a single perspective to explain Latin American problems. The classical thinkers, for example, did not know capitalism. Plato’s economic ideas may have made sense in ancient Greece, but they are insufficient for understanding contemporary capitalism. At the same time, Marx is highly relevant for understanding economic structures and the capitalist world-system. Yet Marx also does not possess all the answers. That is why thinkers such as Žižek emerge. For over a century there has been an effort to graft psychoanalysis onto Marxism in order to explain capitalism more fully. Even that remains insufficient in Latin America because there are phenomena related to coloniality that cannot be fully explained through frameworks developed primarily for European problems. The concept of the “coloniality of power,” for example, helps explain realities that psychoanalysis itself cannot fully account for. This does not mean Marxism or psychoanalysis lack relevance here, but rather that Latin America possesses specific conditions demanding perspectives developed from within our own realities.

That does not mean we should create an indiscriminate mixture of Marx, Plato, Freud, Aníbal Quijano, and countless others. More authors do not automatically produce a better theory. Every theory has ontological and epistemological limits. There are symptoms and problems that European theories, developed in different contexts, simply cannot perceive. The classics remain classics for good reasons. They help us think. But they are not sufficient for our context. We therefore need to incorporate perspectives developed in Latin America that address problems Plato, Marx, or Freud either did not see or did not sufficiently explain.

García: this connects with another question we discussed in the magazine with Professor Laura Quintana: is it possible today to speak of a Colombian philosophy?

On one hand, philosophy in Colombia may refer to reflections on problems already posed by other authors. On the other hand, it may refer to philosophical reflections on the Colombian political situation itself. Does it make sense to speak of a Colombian philosophical tradition today?

Molina: philosophy has certainly been practiced in Colombia, and we continue to practice it. But whether there exists a “tradition” in the strongest sense of the word—with schools, disciples, and deeply rooted intellectual lineages—is another matter. The sort of philosophical traditions found in Germany or France do not really exist here. In Germany, for instance, one can study with the disciple of Heidegger’s disciple. Traditions are transmitted across generations. Tradition means passing concepts, language, and ways of understanding the world from one hand to another.

I am not sure something equivalent exists in Colombia in the strong sense. There are certainly teachers who influence students and shape ways of reading philosophy, but not schools comparable to Hegelianism or Kantianism. There has long existed skepticism in Colombia regarding the possibility of authentic philosophy being produced here. Some professors still claim philosophy cannot truly be done in Spanish. Nonetheless, there have been exceptional attempts to create philosophy in Colombia rather than merely comment on European thinkers.

The names always mentioned are Estanislao Zuleta, Nicolás Gómez Dávila, and Rafael Gutiérrez Girardot—figures who attempted to think philosophically from a more original perspective. Yet these remain exceptions. Philosophy in Colombia is also economically precarious and lacks prestige. Most philosophy graduates end up teaching in schools.

School teaching is one of the most exhausting professions imaginable. It leaves little time or energy for philosophical writing and reflection. Moreover, philosophers in Colombia often lack intellectual communities. Dialogue with others is essential for philosophy. In Europe there existed cafés, salons, and traditions of public debate among philosophers. Those environments were conducive to philosophy even amid economic difficulties. Colombia lacks that kind of philosophical culture.

There are several reasons for this: skepticism about Colombian philosophy itself, precarious economic conditions, lack of prestige, and weak reading culture. Written culture developed relatively late in Colombia, and just as it was beginning to consolidate, radio and television arrived, later followed by digital distractions. As a result, what we have are mostly isolated philosophers attempting to think on their own. Laura Quintana, for example, works within a context where philosophy is little read and where only a small number of students seriously follow philosophical inquiry.

That makes the construction of a strong philosophical tradition far more difficult.