Architektonik des transgressiven Subjects
Disclaimer: This essay is a philosophical and theoretical reflection on the nature of morality, transgression, and the construction of the subject. All terms — including “InfraHuman,” “conscience engineering,” “managed transgression,” and “ideal crime” — are used exclusively in an analytical and metaphorical sense. The text contains no calls to action, nor does it justify or promote the violation of law, morality, or social norms. Its sole purpose is to explore the extreme forms of subjectivity and the outer boundaries of the permissible within the realm of intellectual and philosophical discourse.
I write this essay as a true InfraHuman — identifying with him as fully as possible, placing myself in his position, asking myself and the world the questions that only he would ask.
His nature remains largely undescribed. His motives are obscure. His emergence — in the form in which I perceive him — is both expected and yet startling within what we now call the “hyperfragile society.”
The very idea that a transgressive consciousness might exist — deliberate amorality, an extra-ethical yet coherent and affirmative worldview — will be, for many, a shock, incompatible with their familiar and predictable sense of reality.
And most likely, we won’t be believed. They will say: this new type of subject — precisely as we envision and describe him — cannot be real. But he is. He is possible. He is tangible, in every conventional sense of the word.
And if we grant that he exists, his very being provokes a series of urgent questions. The most fundamental of them: How is it possible for such a subject to appear at all? Why would someone, having studied the norms of society, not simply reject them — but adopt, as a principle and a philosophy, the refusal to ever let them take root in his psyche?
Why would someone go further — to eradicate those norms from within, to excise them like a virus, to hack the conscience itself — overwriting something already embedded in his structure? To cure himself of what is commonly called the soul? To do everything necessary to descend to a level beneath — the infra-level?
The evolutionary–socio–biological answer to this question is quite simple: nature produces all kinds of entities — and it is fully capable of producing one like this. Given the sheer diversity of life forms and modes of existence in nature — and given nature’s indifference to morality — it is entirely unconcerned with how much suffering such a genius might inflict on others.
The more complex question — the one that might interest the scientist or the philosopher — is this: How is it possible for a subject to emerge who deliberately cultivates within himself the capacity for crime, by annihilating conscience as his internal regulator?
Any attempt to explain a personality of this kind — like the personality of the criminal in general — tends to begin with a single premise: “This is a malfunction, an anomaly.” Society is built on the foundation of morality and treats any extra-moral phenomenon as a system failure.
Science, we are told, should be objective — but it, too, is bound by constraints. One cannot openly declare: “We are developing new types of weapons, viruses (biological or digital), counterfeit currency, or tools to evade surveillance.” Even scientists operate under the governance of ethics, law, and moral norms. Even secret research for intelligence agencies is justified in moral terms: “You are doing this so that people can live in peace and safety, to protect the state, to anticipate and neutralize the strategies of enemies.”
Morality permeates everything — as a tool of justification, and as a barrier of limitation. And so, science wrapped in this moral veil explains such a subject as a glitch. No one searches for the true cause — only for the pathology.
But what if the criminal genius is not a system error — but a point of maximal self-expression? What if he is not a malfunction — but a revelation? What if our moral constraints and our existential fear of truth prevent us from perceiving the depth and potential of this singular phenomenon?
We think in paradigms that do not allow this subject to fully reveal itself. When psychology says “psychopath,” it means: “not adapted to our moral standard.” When criminology says “repeat offender,” it describes a behavioral pattern — not the deeper nature of will. Any act outside the norm is immediately classified as pathology. Even absolute rationality, if it does not serve the system, is considered dangerous — and thus, erroneous.
Before exploring this theme in greater depth, I will first attempt to briefly articulate the manifesto of a new science of the future — InfraAnthropology.
The emergence of a new type of subject — the InfraHuman — is not only possible. It is already real. And it is not a form of degeneration, but a different kind of evolution. He is not a rebel against morality, but a subject who has recognized morality as a simulated program — and who has undergone a full cycle of self-deconstruction (or rather, infra-construction) in order to move beyond morality while preserving reason, precision, will, and design. For if morality is not an absolute but a setting, then it can be consciously switched off. The InfraHuman is not a criminal, but an inhabitant of a different zone of reality — one who has no need for the social contract. Just as a child prodigy in music or mathematics may intuitively grasp patterns inaccessible to others, so too can the genius of crime come to recognize his extra-moral nature — and choose to eliminate all inner inhibitors to action. Some never internalize conscience at all. Others — can destroy it, consciously, like a virus.
The Rejection of Morality: Philosophy, Ethics, Psychology, and the Possibility of the InfraHuman
Philosophy
Ancient thought sought a stable foundation for morality: Socrates believed that virtue is knowledge of the good, and that no one commits evil knowingly. The Stoics developed this further — for their school, virtue was not just the highest good, but the only good.
This led to the idea of moral absolutism. Christian moralists — Augustine, Thomas Aquinas — taught that God’s commandments are immutable and equally binding for all. Kant held that duty is defined by reason and is universally obligatory, with no exceptions.
Modern-era philosophers asserted the existence of objective morality, binding for every individual. This tradition of moral absolutism assumes that moral principles are unchanging — such as the prohibition against murder or theft — and independent of circumstances.
But beginning in the 19th century, sharp objections to traditional morality began to emerge in Western European philosophy.
Max Stirner proclaimed the primacy of the individual Ego over any moral principles. He believed that morality imposes obligations on the individual in the name of abstract ideals — duty, goodness, God — and in doing so, restricts personal freedom. Yet his Egoist is not an immoral nihilist, but a self-defining individual for whom the highest good is personal independence.
Nietzsche, one of the most radical critics of morality, not only declared war on the “universal” moral law, but called for transvaluation — a complete revaluation of all values. That is, a radical reassessment of the very notions of good and evil. He believed that absolute commandments such as “thou shalt not kill” or “love thy neighbor” are not eternal truths, but historically constructed imperatives — useful for the masses and the “herd,” yet destructive to the development of exceptional individuals.
In his writings on eroticism and the sacred, Georges Bataille argued that prohibitions and taboos — the very foundation of morality — not only restrict the individual, but also generate a deep attraction toward their violation. For Bataille, the concept of transgression signifies a conscious crossing of the boundaries of the permissible — a moment through which a person experiences an ecstatic rupture, a stepping beyond the confines of the ordinary self. His transgression is double-edged: it affirms the individual’s freedom from all norms, and at the same time, within the very act of violation, there resides a kind of sacred ecstasy — an approach to the “limit-experience.”
Michel Foucault, in his analysis of the history of societies, concluded that moral norms are neither carved in stone nor given to reason a priori — they are part of the disciplinary regimes of power that uphold social order. Morality, according to Foucault, is a tool through which society disciplines individuals, compelling them to regulate their own behavior. Modern power turns moral norms into an internal voice: the individual feels constantly evaluated against the standard — and thus submits without the need for external coercion. There is no timeless or absolute morality — only systems of norms transmitted by institutions (church, school, medicine, etc.) to manage people. Morality is not the voice of God — it is a network of rules that discipline citizens and serve the interests of those in power.
Moreover, 20th-century philosophers proposed a range of alternative ethical models. Game theory — notably through the work of Robert Axelrod — acknowledges the existence of "cheaters" within a population: those who reject moral norms. But their presence is always limited — otherwise, the system collapses.
Martin Buber was deeply convinced that the encounter with another person — the Thou — awakens responsibility and love. Emmanuel Levinas developed this further: the gaze into the eyes of the Other calls forth an infinite responsibility — thus giving rise to an ethics that precedes all formal norms. Morality, in this view, is not absolute but personal and specific — it is born anew in each relationship with a concrete Other, rather than derived from universal principles.
From the perspective of a provisional infra-ontology, morality may be understood not as a structure — but as a setting. Ludwig Wittgenstein pointed to the limits of language in the realm of ethics: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” In the Tractatus, he suggested that ethical values may be inexpressible in the language of science — they are shown, not stated.
Applied to crime: rather than justifying or condemning an act through the lens of moral absolutes, one might attempt to think the criminal act outside moral interpretation — as a fact, grounded in a distinct mode of relating to the world, one that lies beyond good and evil.
This perspective implies a kind of understanding silence — an effort to glimpse the ontological foundations of the amoral act. And if morality is merely a setting of consciousness — something that can be switched on or off — then the InfraHuman is the one who has consciously deactivated that setting.
Infra-ontology, in this sense, could be the study of being in that “switched-off” state — existence beyond morality.
In “Crime and Punishment”, Dostoevsky poses a fundamental question: what if someone were to decide that moral laws no longer apply to him? His protagonist attempts to place himself beyond morality by committing murder in the name of a “higher” idea — and thus conducts an experiment upon his own being. But his nature proves too human to withstand the infra-moral condition. Conscience and love reawaken within him a sense of morality.
In essence, Dostoevsky illustrates the failure of conscience-hacking on the individual level — morality, it turns out, is not merely a configurable setting, but something more deeply rooted. And yet, Dostoevsky’s experiment is of great value to philosophy: it demonstrates that consciously disabling morality is extremely difficult — but imagining it is possible.
Similar themes appear in Camus and Sartre. Their literary works attempt to look at crime outside ethical coordinates, as an event of being itself.
These reflections lead us to a deeper question: Can morality be understood not as a structure, but as a setting of consciousness — one that certain individuals or cultures are capable of switching off?
If so, then the criminal — the so-called InfraHuman — is not merely a violator of specific norms, but someone who inhabits a world where the categories of good and evil simply do not function. This is close to Nietzsche’s vision of being beyond good and evil — but whereas Nietzsche’s hero creates new values to replace the old, the InfraHuman might dispense with values altogether, acting purely on pragmatic or aesthetic grounds. Such a perspective approaches the idea of total deviation: the absolute criminal is not the one who chooses evil over good (the anti-moralist), but the one for whom the very language of good and evil is meaningless — an extra-moral entity.
Infra-ontology could attempt to describe the structure of such structureless being.
Ethics
From an ethical standpoint, it is crucial to understand the role morality plays in the life of society — because the rejection of morality challenges not only philosophers, but also the very foundation of social stability.
Classical theories of the social contract — Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau — regard moral norms as part of the agreement that allows people to live together. In the “state of nature,” human beings are engaged in a “war of all against all,” and only by entering into a pact of mutual subordination to shared laws do they gain peace and security (Hobbes).
Members of society have rational reasons to follow basic moral and legal rules — because doing so benefits everyone and legitimizes social institutions (John Rawls, among others). Without shared morality — like a society without glue — the social fabric disintegrates. Trust erodes, and people can no longer rely on one another (as Émile Durkheim argued).
When people are inwardly convinced of the destructiveness of murder, theft, or deceit, this holds society together far more effectively than any police force. Moral order always complements legal order. Honesty, for example, is a moral principle essential to the functioning of the market — it enables trust between buyer and seller. Justice is the foundation for peaceful conflict resolution. One’s word of honor serves as the basis for agreements in areas where the law cannot enforce everything. In a broader sense, the social contract includes an implicit moral agreement: each person consents to restrain their own egoism, to follow principles of fairness and respect — on the assumption that others will do the same.
The rejection of morality by a single individual places all major social institutions at risk. For example: if someone entirely denies the notion of honesty, no contract with them can be trusted. If a ruler is devoid of compassion and a sense of justice, the state degenerates into tyranny or a corrupt system — ultimately undermining its long-term stability. That is why societies develop mechanisms to uphold morality: education (instilling conscience in children), public opinion (condemnation of immoral behavior), religion (as a source of ultimate moral sanction), and systems of reward and punishment (to incentivize virtue).
At the same time, many thinkers point to the repressive side of morality. It can function not only as glue — but also as a whip, through which society or specific groups coerce individuals into particular forms of behavior. Postmodern philosophers have noted that the discourse of morality dominates the public sphere, setting boundaries that one cannot easily cross. Michel Foucault wrote that it is nearly impossible to speak about sexuality outside the categories of “normal” and “deviant” — categories imposed by the medico-moral discourse of the Victorian era. Those who attempt to do so are marginalized — as was the case, for example, with de Sade.
Jean Baudrillard pointed to the existence of a “tyranny of transparency” in modern media — a demand to flawlessly display one’s moral virtue, or else face public shaming. To speak outside moral coordinates has become nearly impossible, because language itself is saturated with judgment: every statement is immediately labeled — right or wrong, humane or cruel.
If someone attempts to justify a position purely pragmatically, without invoking the good, they are instantly accused of amorality. Moral discourse has become a totalitarian language — one that permits no alternative modes of speech. And of course, the hallmark of the contemporary world is cancel culture: the mobilization of collective outrage against someone, the imposition of a moral verdict upon them — enforced on everyone else, without trial, without process. In such a climate, honest discussion of difficult or provocative questions becomes impossible — any deviation from the dominant morality is suppressed instantly.
At the same time, there are alternative forms of ethics that stand in contrast to the traditional morality of duty. Joseph Fletcher’s Christian “situation ethics” holds that an act is neither good nor bad in itself — its moral value depends on context and on whether it leads to the expression of love. Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of “gray evil,” in the context of postmodern ethics, suggests that the world has become too complex for universal rules to function. In such a world, the individual is forced — again and again — to decide what is good and what is evil, based on empathy and the uniqueness of each situation.
Jean-Paul Sartre wrote: “There is no predefined good — people assign value to things through their own choices.” From this follows moral individualism: each person bears full responsibility for their own choice of good and evil, and there is no external criterion that could justify or condemn it. Zygmunt Bauman wrote about the “liquid morality” of modernity: the conditions of life shift rapidly, roles and identities are fluid — and as a result, moral standards fail to stabilize. What was considered a virtue yesterday may appear today as an outdated prejudice. For example, someone might embrace nihilism and egoism in youth, only to “mature” into altruism later — or the reverse: a former idealist may grow disillusioned and turn to cynicism.
What interests us in this context is a kind of ethics of the infra-position. In Homo Sacer, Giorgio Agamben analyzes the figure of the individual excluded from the political–legal order — but not entirely outside of it. Instead, this person exists in a paradoxical “zone of exception” — neither fully a citizen, nor merely an animal. Agamben uses this metaphor to describe the condition of people in camps, in captivity, or under dictatorship — situations in which human rights no longer apply. This is bare life: existence stripped of its usual ethical and political evaluation.
Applying this idea to morality, one may ask: Are there individuals who exist outside the moral order — and yet are not simply “villains,” but belong to a different category of being? If so, we can speak of an ethics of infra-position — an ethics of those who have been excluded from the sphere of morality. For example, within criminal communities, members often adhere to their own codes of honor — never cooperate with the authorities, keep your word to your own — principles that contradict civic morality, but nonetheless reflect a form of principled behavior. Such individuals are exceptions to ordinary morality, but not entirely without principles — they possess a logic of their own. The ethics of infra-position attempts to grasp this distinct type of ethical experience, where the subject stands outside conventional morality — not simply as a transgressor, but as an entirely different pole of value. This is an ethics of exception: it does not ask how to act “rightly” by common standards, but rather how value is structured among those who have stepped outside the shared rule.
Psychology
In Freud’s model of personality, conscience is part of the superego — a psychic structure that absorbs parental prohibitions and ideals. Psychoanalysis holds that morality is not innate, but instilled in early childhood through identification with one’s parents. When upbringing proceeds “correctly,” the individual develops a strong superego, which prevents antisocial behavior — not by punishing the outer criminal, but by punishing the inner one, through shame and the pangs of conscience. But if the superego is weakly formed — for example, due to trauma or poor parental modeling — the individual may be left without an effective conscience. In such cases, crimes may occur without remorse.
Lacan believed that when a child accepts the symbolic law — for example, the prohibition of incest or aggression toward the parent — they become a subject of culture. This internal authority later manifests as the superego. Interestingly, Lacan inverted Freud’s understanding of the superego. While for Freud the superego threatens punishment for violating moral codes, Lacan uncovered its “dark side”: the superego, paradoxically, commands “Enjoy!” — pushing the subject toward a covert transgression.
Lawrence Kohlberg developed an influential theory of moral development, outlining a series of stages through which children progress in their understanding of morality — from a primitive fear of punishment to a conscious adherence to ethical principles. The capacity for conscience and moral reasoning evolves gradually, in parallel with cognitive and social development. A small child is not an “amoral monster” — he simply does not yet comprehend morality as such. If development proceeds normally, conscience typically begins to function by adolescence. But if the individual remains stuck in the lower stages — for example, continuing into adulthood to think, “What’s good is what benefits me” — then deviant patterns may emerge: egocentrism, antisocial behavior.
In recent decades, psychologists — notably Jonathan Haidt — have challenged Kohlberg’s rationalist model. Haidt proposed a social–intuitionist approach, arguing that people make moral decisions primarily through intuition and emotion, while the logical justifications come afterward. For example, many individuals experience a visceral sense of disgust at certain immoral acts — such as incest or betrayal — long before they can articulate why. This, he claims, is moral intuition. Haidt’s theory reveals that conscience is multi-component: some people are highly attuned to injustice, others place more importance on purity or loyalty to the flag — and both consider themselves moral.
Stepping beyond the boundaries of morality in practice is usually labeled as deviance — a departure from social norms. But why do some individuals cross a line that most refrain from crossing due to conscience? The reasons may vary: from simple self-interest or circumstantial pressure (stealing out of hunger), to environmental influence (in criminal neighborhoods, crime is the norm), to personality traits such as impulsivity, aggression, or lack of inhibition. However, what is of particular interest is persistent amoral behavior — when a person systematically and consciously rejects the morality of society. Here we encounter the concept of antisocial personality disorder — sociopathy, psychopathy.
Clinical psychology describes psychopaths as individuals marked by a lack of empathy and remorse, shallow emotionality, and pronounced egocentrism. Such individuals may possess an intellectual understanding of rules — but they lack the emotional core of morality: they do not feel guilt, nor are they affected by the suffering of others. Psychopaths often exhibit additional traits as well: heightened brazenness, superficial charm, and a tendency toward manipulation. As a result, even when they understand that something is illegal, they experience no internal moral inhibition. A psychopath can lie, steal, or inflict harm purely instrumentally — without feeling like a bad person. What is impaired is not their reasoning, but the emotional component of morality.
Internally, the psychopath has not so much consciously rejected morality — rather, he has likely never felt it. Freud would have called this a defect of the superego — it was never properly formed. Haidt might describe it as a lack of the foundational capacity for care, and perhaps the absence of personal conscience. Psychopathy represents one pole of moral disengagement: the inability to feel morality at all.
The other pole is a conscious strategy of amorality — when a person is capable of feeling morality, but chooses not to follow it, either out of principle or calculation. This is no longer a medical pathology, but a personal decision. For example, an ideological fanatic may sincerely believe in a higher goal that justifies violating ordinary morality. Terrorists, orchestrators of genocides, radical revolutionaries — many of them are not psychopaths in the clinical sense. They may love their families, feel compassion for their comrades — yet they have chosen to switch off their empathy toward those they classify as enemies or necessary victims for the sake of the ideal. They have reforged their conscience in such a way that they can kill the “guilty” (as they define it) not only without remorse, but with a sense of righteousness.
This rejection of universal human morality is strategic. On the individual level, there are also those who choose to become amoral as a conscious position. Often, this “strategy of amorality” is accompanied by exercises in suppressing empathy: there are documented cases of newcomers to the criminal world training themselves to no longer react to suffering — through brutal rituals, controlled acts of violence, or the use of drugs. In psychology, this is known as moral desensitization: when prohibitions are violated step by step without immediate or severe punishment, conscience begins to fade.
Soldiers, for example, often enter war initially horrified by the act of killing — but over time, they grow accustomed to it. Their moral brakes are weakened. This doesn’t mean they’ve become permanent psychopaths — in civilian life, conscience may return, often accompanied by nightmares. But within the context of combat, they become functionally amoral — killing the enemy becomes the norm. A similar mechanism appears in organized crime: a recruit is often forced to commit a serious crime — thus simultaneously compromising him (leaving no way back) and breaking the moral barrier. After that, everything becomes easier. In other words, a conscious technology of moral disengagement is possible — when a group (or the individual himself) deliberately suppresses ethical reflexes in order to achieve a goal more effectively.
Albert Bandura wrote about the mechanism of moral disengagement: people learn to switch off internal self-sanctions — such as guilt — through various forms of justification. For example: dehumanization of the victim (“they’re not people, they’re just ‘femoids’ — so it’s acceptable to kill them”), displacement of responsibility (“I was just following orders”), or comparative justification (“we’re doing the lesser evil”).
Juvenile Offenders
Research shows that juvenile offenders often exhibit delays in moral development and disrupted emotional attachments. Young delinquents tend to operate at lower stages of moral reasoning (according to Kohlberg) and demonstrate a weaker capacity for role-based empathy compared to their law-abiding peers. They are more focused on their own interests, have difficulty understanding the perspectives of others — particularly their victims — and struggle to control impulses. Their personality traits often include impulsivity, aggression, and a low level of anxiety. This last point is significant: many young offenders — especially repeat offenders — display traits reminiscent of psychopathy: shallow emotions, lack of fear of punishment, and emotional coldness.
Some psychologists speak of “childhood psychopathy” — a combination of behavioral disturbances and emotional coldness at an early age, which may predict the development of antisocial personality disorder later in life. Within the framework of Sykes & Matza’s neutralization theory, it has been shown that young deviants often employ specific techniques of justification, such as:
Denial of responsibility (“It’s not my fault — the circumstances forced me”),
Denial of harm (“No one was seriously hurt — so what if I stole from a rich guy? He won’t miss it”),
Denial of the victim (“The victim was at fault, or deserved it”),
Condemnation of the condemners (“Everyone is corrupt — the police are worse than me, so don’t preach to me”),
and Appeal to higher loyalties (“I did it for my friends / for my family — that matters more than your laws”).
One juvenile robber might think: “Yes, I robbed a passerby — but society is unfair, I need money. Blame life, not me.” Another might say: “I fought with rivals — but it was for the honor of my neighborhood. That makes it right.” The psychological profiles of juvenile offenders vary. Some are impulsive, volatile teenagers — they do have a conscience, but weak self-control and a turbulent temperament lead to bursts of aggression. After committing a crime, they may later feel remorse — but by then, it’s too late.
Some are cold-blooded and calculating — either due to an innate emotional coldness or an already internalized criminal philosophy, such as “live like a wolf, show no pity to others.” Others are lost or dependent — individuals who follow the will of a stronger leader. They are not malicious by nature, but weak-willed; their conscience is suppressed by suggestion or by fear of being cast out of the group.
Many young offenders do not see themselves as “bad people.” Some believe they are righteous avengers — for instance, robbing the wealthy as an act of restoring justice. Others say, “I’m just different — no one understood me.” A common pattern is the compartmentalization of morality: they may be kind to their family, love their mother — yet still feel justified in robbing a stranger. “That’s different. That’s business.” This kind of double standard is a hallmark of early criminal subculture: morality is split — one code for “our own,” another for “outsiders.”
Adult Offenders
Adults who have repeatedly broken the law often display a persistent deficiency of conscience. Interviews with such offenders — including serial rapists, murderers, and professional thieves — reveal that many either feel no remorse at all, or have learned to suppress it. Criminologists note a distinctive trait: they are capable of rationally justifying their actions, but show no genuine emotional signs of regret.
Serial killers, for example, often describe their actions in cold, technical terms — focusing on details rather than on any moral evaluation. Some even take pride in what they’ve done or derive pleasure from recalling it — revealing a sadistic component. However, not all criminals are that pathological. There is a category of “conviction-based offenders” — those who justify their actions in personal memoirs with claims like: “The state steals from us — we’re just taking back what’s ours,” or “We live by justice among our own — the laws are written by crooks at the top, so we have no reason to follow them.”
This kind of ideology allows them to preserve a sense of self-respect. They do not see themselves as filthy or amoral — on the contrary, they view themselves as bearers of an alternative morality. Of course, this is largely a romanticized view of criminality, but it is psychologically significant: even those who have rejected conventional morality still strive for a moral self-assessment, albeit by different standards. Only pure psychopaths are indifferent even to their own judgment. Most offenders still want, deep down, to see themselves as “good.” That’s why, in interviews, they often shift the focus: they speak of a “brutal childhood,” of “societal injustice,” or say “I had no other choice.” These are attempts to reduce their moral responsibility — at least in their own eyes.
However, there are criminals who intellectually recognize the wrongness of their actions — but feel nothing emotionally. One murderer put it this way: “I understand that I’m supposed to feel remorse... but I don’t feel anything. I know it’s wrong — rationally — but inside, there’s just emptiness.” This is a kind of moral alexithymia — the absence of an emotional language for good and evil, despite having a logical understanding of it.
Such a person is like someone blind to color: he knows that red means “stop” — but he cannot see the color himself. This is a particularly dangerous type: intellectually developed but emotionally numb, capable of coldly planning acts of cruelty without being distracted by pangs of conscience. Many serial offenders have been described this way. One killer, for instance, said: “I’m not a monster — I just don’t understand why others feel pain. To me, people are like mannequins.”
The casuistry of moral rejection in adulthood often manifests in situations where a person consciously breaks with former values. For example, a former soldier turned mercenary once said: “I switched off the human inside me — only the soldier remained.” In other words, he suppressed morality by an act of will, viewing it as an obstacle to completing his missions.
Another example involves members of totalitarian cults or mafia families, who are forced to commit a crime against their former values — for instance, to kill a friend who betrayed the group — as a gesture of total loyalty to a new, amoral code. The recollections of such individuals often mark a point of no return: after their first killing, they felt shock — but then either broke down psychologically or became “hardened,” continuing forward without the former sense of horror. In other words, once the line was crossed, a part of their personality “died” — the part that still clung to the old morality.
What remained was a new personality — an infra-personality, living by the laws of violence. In the end, the psychological profile of an adult who has rejected morality typically falls into one of two types: either a psychopathic personality — one who lacked conscience from the start, or a desensitized, ideologically hardened personality — someone who once had the potential for morality, but consciously or gradually shed that layer. They can be distinguished by their language and emotional responses: the psychopath often lacks the ability to speak the language of morality at all — instead, he manipulates clichés. The “ideological amoralist,” on the other hand, may speak passionately about a “greater vision” for which he abandoned the old morality — meaning he still holds a kind of faith, just not in moral terms.
Organized Crime
Many researchers of criminal organizations have observed that, for a newcomer to become fully accepted as “one of them,” the group often subjects the initiate to rituals of initiation — frequently involving the violation of major moral taboos.
This is done for several purposes:
I. Compromise — the recruit commits a grave act (e.g., the murder of an innocent person), making it impossible for him to return to normal society and rendering him dependent on the group.
II. Desensitization — by overcoming the initial horror, he becomes hardened and accustomed to violence.
III. Loyalty testing — to determine whether he is willing to sacrifice the most basic moral boundaries for the sake of the group.
IV. Bonding — the shared commission of a crime binds participants together in blood, as a secret collective experience.
Such an initiation rite is a structured renunciation of morality — a threshold after which the individual crosses from a world governed by human laws into a world governed by the laws of the gang. For example, in certain Latin American street gangs, new recruits are required to kill a random passerby or a member of a rival gang — a ritual known as “passing through blood.” Similar practices have been documented in the mafia: omertà — the code of silence — was reinforced by the recruit’s participation in joint killings and a blood oath. In certain cultures — particularly in South American cartels, the Italian mafia, or the yakuza (Japanese mafia) — initiation rituals are deeply symbolic. For example, in the yakuza, a new member must undergo a ceremony in which a portion of his little finger is symbolically severed — a procedure known as “yubitsume.” This act serves either as punishment for a transgression or as a price of admission — a symbol of obedience. In the Sicilian mafia, the initiation ritual includes burning an image of a saint soaked in blood — a pledge of loyalty made under the threat of a terrible death. These rituals place the individual in a situation akin to a religious consecration — except the religion is inverted: instead of promising to live virtuously, one vows to live outside the laws of society, according to a different code.
In groups such as militant terrorist cells, a crime may be framed entirely as a sacrificial offering to a specific idea. For example, religiously motivated terrorists view their killings as acts of service to God — in this case, the moral sign is inverted: the murder of innocents is seen as sacred, while showing mercy is regarded as a sin — a betrayal of the ideal. To a lesser extent, similar psychological inversions can be found in criminal gangs. Some serial killers or cannibals are known to mystify their crimes — there are documented cases in history where a killer believed that by consuming the victim’s blood or performing rituals over the body, they could gain power. This shows that a person who has rejected common morality often still seeks to assign meaning to their actions — even if that meaning is dark or ritualistic. Almost no one thinks, “I do evil for the sake of evil.” More often, it’s “for the good of our own” (their group), or “because it must be done, according to some higher force or idea.”
Initiation rites performed by adults upon the young are an especially powerful tool — they reproduce the cycle of infra-morality. A young recruit, having undergone a blood baptism, later becomes a mentor to the next — and in this way, the culture of criminality persists. The Italian ’Ndrangheta, for example, has survived for decades through families, raising children entirely outside the law of the state: children see their fathers solve problems through force, learn that loyalty through silence outweighs all other values. For them, the rejection of “common” morality occurs before it is ever internalized.
Individual Paths to Moral Rejection
Not all rejection of morality stems from group influence or innate pathology. Some individuals attempt to suppress their moral emotions on their own — most often as a response to vulnerability. For example, after experiencing trauma — violence, betrayal — a person may decide: “I will no longer be kind; kindness is weakness.” They begin practicing emotional hardening: avoiding empathy, cultivating cynical thoughts. This could be described as a kind of self-therapy of brutalization. Highly impressionable individuals may try to suppress their sense of pity — for instance, a teenager who wants to appear “tough” might torment animals or weaker peers to prove to himself his own ruthlessness and strength. Such cases are documented in psychiatry as warning signs of developing antisocial traits. But for the teenager himself, this serves as a kind of self-training in amorality: “I am a predator, not a victim.” Shadowy online communities built around shared interests can also serve as a kind of support system for those drifting toward amorality. They offer a sense of belonging: “You’re not alone in hating these people or despising the rules — there are many of us.” This reduces internal conflict. A person may harbor anger for years, holding back because of social norms — but upon entering a forum where everyone says “Your anger is righteous. Kill them,” they receive a kind of social permission to sever the last remaining tether of restraint.
The Premises of InfraAnthropology
From the standpoint of evolutionary biology and behavioral ecology, moral rules — such as altruism and honesty — evolved because they promote cooperation and the survival of the group. However, evolution also permits cheating strategies — individuals who benefit from cooperation without contributing to it themselves.
Evolutionary models — including game theory and the “hawk-dove” model — show that aggressive and selfish strategies can coexist with cooperative ones, as long as they remain at a certain proportion within the population. For example, in the hawk-dove game, equilibrium is reached when there is a specific ratio of hawks (bold, combative players). If there are too few hawks, they thrive — each one easily dominates the peaceful doves and gains resources. But if hawks become too numerous, they start fighting each other frequently, gaining nothing and suffering losses — at which point the doves begin to prevail again.
By analogy, InfraHumans are the hawks or cheaters of society: a small number of individuals without morality, surrounded by moral actors, can achieve a great deal — no one expects betrayal from them, people fear them, and they often gain power or wealth. But if too many of them emerge, society becomes destabilized — distrust rises, violence spreads — and eventually, they are either collectively “tamed,” or the system collapses altogether (as in gang wars, revolutions, and similar scenarios, where someone eventually imposes a new order).
Can InfraAnthropology — as a science of the future — treat the rejection of morality not as pathology, but as part of the spectrum of human variability? Evolution, after all, thrives on diversity: most individuals are social, but there must also be a layer of asocial types — a kind of “wolves among sheep.”
They, too, serve their functions — for example, as warriors, explorers, or high-risk innovators. Many geniuses also violated moral norms — they may have been unprincipled in their personal lives, but they drove progress forward. In other words, a certain proportion of InfraHumans may advance fields where empathy becomes an obstacle — the ruthless leader, the surgeon, the intelligence operative, the ideal criminal.
InfraAnthropology — A Science of the Logic of Moral Rejection
In conceiving InfraAnthropology as a science, we inevitably confront a complete inversion of the classical anthropological gaze. Anthropology has always sought the human within the human. InfraAnthropology, by contrast, seeks the non-human within the human — that which operates before morality, prior to law, outside of language — not as animal instinct, but as will, unbound by the need for legitimation. InfraAnthropology studies that which has not yet become human.
I have conducted a brief interdisciplinary overview of the phenomenon of moral rejection — from philosophical critiques of moral absolutism, through ethical dilemmas and psychological mechanisms, to cultural representations. Now we may attempt to answer the central question: Is it possible to create a new discipline — which I call InfraAnthropology (along with its branches: InfraPsychology, InfraOntology, and InfraEthics) — that would study the rejection of morality not as a pathology, but as one of the logically structured forms of human action and will?
Philosophers like Stirner and Nietzsche proposed systematic views of morality and its rejection; psychologists such as Kohlberg and Haidt developed typologies of moral development and its variations; and criminological sociology — through figures like Sutherland and Becker — has long advocated for the study of deviance without moral prejudice, treating it as a social fact.
InfraAnthropology, as a project, could bring these efforts together: it would regard the InfraHuman not simply as a degenerate or a pathological case, but as the bearer of a distinct worldview and mode of life. This would be akin to how cultural anthropology studies the customs of other tribes without moralizing — or how ethno-psychology describes the cognitive patterns of an unfamiliar culture.
InfraAnthropology — and its branch, InfraPsychology — would not treat the rejection of morality as merely a disease or a violation of social norms. Rather, it would approach it as a distinct phenomenon of human nature and culture, with its own internal rationality — laying the groundwork for discovering meaning within it. If it emerges, this science would be, in many ways, a product of the 21st century — an era increasingly driven not by the urge to destroy, denounce, or banish the darkest “Others,” but by the need to understand them.
Its purpose would not be to justify evil, but rather to diminish the naivety of good — to equip the moral majority with an understanding of how the amoral minority thinks, so that the former does not become an easy victim of the latter. This pragmatic motive alone makes such a science worthwhile. And the project Das ideale Verbrechen would thus evolve from a philosophical theory into an experimental InfraAnthropology of the possible subject of the future.
The subject of the future — the one this new science would seek to study — does not submit to the system. He operates within the world, but from the position of transcendent thought.
He requires no legalization, because he himself is the point from which the permissible is generated. He is capable of altering the fabric of reality with such precision that the world adjusts itself to the change — without even noticing the intrusion. In this context, InfraAnthropology becomes a kind of philosophical–practical futurology — evolving into a distinct discipline, comparable to the philosophy of technology or biopolitics, but one order of magnitude more radical.
The Object of Study in InfraAnthropology
InfraAnthropology could focus on the investigation of the extreme states of the subject — those that exist before one becomes moral, law-abiding, governable — as well as on that which is non-public, or perhaps even forbidden as a direction of thought: Where and how must the subject move if he intends to become infra-moral? Concretely, this could involve the analysis of a human being who no longer possesses a human image (in the humanistic sense), but who — having consciously destroyed that image — has not disappeared, but become something else. This science — along with its branches: InfraPsychology, InfraOntology, InfraEthics, and InfraCriminology — could serve to accumulate deep knowledge about the shadowed, hidden, and subterranean processes of subject-formation. It would explore domains of human experience into which neither Enlightenment philosophy, nor humanist ethics, nor the law dares to look.
Here is how I envision the tag cloud of this emerging science:
I. Infra-subject — the psychology and philosophy of a being prior to its legitimation;
II. The psychology of conscience — the study of how internal moral barriers are formed and how they can be disabled;
III. The study of techniques of invisibility and anonymity — all of which could fall under the domain of InfraCriminology;
IV. A theory of crime without crime — infra-legal action, an act that cannot be classified within existing legal categories;
V. Conversely — the identification and classification of actions that constitute the ideal crime (this will be explored in detail in a separate essay);
VI. The ontology of danger — the human being as the ultimate threat to the world, not in the sense of a criminal or a cannibal, but as a form of being — a “black hole” in the fabric of social reality, pulling everything toward itself with irresistible force.
I consider this essay an introduction, in which I outline the possibilities of a new science and briefly sketch the core problems involved in studying the InfraHuman. It does not, of course, claim to offer an exhaustive overview of this unusual domain of knowledge — a domain I intend to gradually unfold in my future work. Nonetheless, even at this early stage, I would like to highlight several compelling directions that could form the foundation of InfraAnthropology’s field of inquiry:
I. Functions and meanings: What is a person seeking when they reject morality? The internal value structure of the InfraHuman: even amoral individuals possess values of their own. Tom Riddle, for instance, values blood purity among wizards; the mafioso values honor and loyalty within his group. Therefore, InfraHumans operate within alternative value hierarchies — and these could become a central point of interest for InfraAnthropology.
II. One might assume that InfraHumans often think through instrumental reason (in the Weberian sense) — that is, rationally, but without value-oriented reasoning. In dialogue, they may even appear emotional — but in truth, they understand only the language of advantage and power. This distinction is crucial for a deeper understanding of their logic within the framework of criminology.
III. InfraAnthropology could develop a typology of moral rejection — similar to what Kohlberg created for positive stages of moral development, but focused instead on its negative manifestations — ranging from the petty egoist to the ideal criminal. It could also analyze the historical and cultural conditions under which InfraHumans tend to emerge — for example, eras of imperial decline often give rise to amoralists: in Rome’s decadent period — Caligula and Nero; at the end of the Middle Ages — Gilles de Rais; during the interwar crisis — serial killers. This would offer insight into which types of societies serve as ideal environments for the emergence of “humans without morality.”
IV. As a neutral discipline, InfraAnthropology does not aim to correct — but it could study reverse transitions as well: How, for example, does a hardened criminal come to regain a sense of morality? What mechanisms can restore the moral faculty? It could also identify common traits of amoral individuals and groups: Are there universal elements that appear across cases? For instance: lack of empathy, a particular style of rationalization, specific relationships with power, authority, or fear?
V. InfraAnthropology would also encompass a range of practical disciplines drawn from the fields of experimental psychotechniques and infra-futurology —
including:
training programs for the suppression of conscience,
algorithms for invisible action (methods of intervening in reality without leaving a trace),
the execution of operations under conditions of total surveillance,
self-conditioning techniques to cultivate, within an ordinary person, a cryptopersonality capable of becoming invisible to society, and, finally, InfraEthics — a mode of action without guilt, in which any ideology is replaced by direct deconstruction and reality engineering.
In a certain sense, elements of InfraAnthropology already exist within other disciplines: in criminology and forensic psychology (which seek to understand the logic of the criminal), in the sociology of deviance (Howard Becker and others — who treat deviance as a social construct, and deviants as groups with their own internal norms), in evolutionary psychology, which allows for amoral behavior as an evolutionarily adaptive strategy (such as in the theory of the “Dark Triad” — narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy), as well as in Nietzschean–existential philosophy, which has already laid the groundwork for viewing morality not as an absolute, but as a historical phenomenon that can be transcended. From this perspective, the state “beyond morality” becomes a legitimate object of thought — not merely a taboo.
The InfraHuman
Replacing Ideology with the Metaphysics of Action
The rejection of morality is not always a pathology. Amoral elements can perform a systemic function — “bad actors” as stabilizers, much like predators in an ecosystem. If that’s the case, then their presence constitutes a kind of internal norm — simply an unpleasant one. The Stirnerian core — “I reject morality, recognizing it as a form of my enslavement; I do not fight it — I lie in wait; I am the Unique One, and I await my moment” — is enriched in InfraAnthropology by a philosophy of action. Stirner gave us the awareness of freedom, but he gave us no model for how to realize it. He remains silent on the question of how to act, how to manifest the will of the Unique One without being destroyed.
InfraAnthropology studies the subject who has transformed Stirner’s passive awareness into an active strategy: I accept the system — but not as a citizen, as an analyst. I accept the law — not because I respect it, but because it allows me to observe how others behave. I do not destroy order — in fact, I want it to be as rigid as possible, so it becomes easier to read. (This paradoxical concept of etatism as an instrument of freedom will be explored further in the essay on the “hyperfragile society.”)
The InfraHuman is a deconstruction of the moral human — reduced to the level of the extra- and a-moral being, in which the subject has not yet grown a conscience, guilt, or identity, but has already learned how to act — and disappear. The InfraHuman is not a “beast,” not a “savage,” not “antisocial,” as the psychiatrist or lawyer might say. He is a subject without morality — but with operational will: a will that knows how to separate desire from inhibition, and has learned not to hide — but to act in such a way that no one sees him.
The InfraHuman is neither a pre-human nor a superhuman. He has abandoned the idea of being “human” — not because he is a monster, but because “human” is a function of social control. The InfraHuman is not morality — he is maneuver. Nietzsche speaks of the revaluation of values, but still remains within the field of “spirit,” “transcendence,” and tragic will. The InfraHuman says: no spirit, no tragedy, no duty to the transcendent.
Only body + risk + disappearance.
Hacking Conscience
The InfraHuman trains his conscience like an athlete trains a muscle — so that it can be switched on and off at will. In the context of InfraPsychology, conscience is seen not as a natural instinct, but as overloaded firmware — an installation of the control system, implanted through upbringing, language, religion, and law. “In much wisdom is much sorrow,” says Ecclesiastes.
For a subject with highly developed cognitive structures, conscience becomes a god — because it splits intention, generates an inner censor, and breaks the will through self-reproach. In this framework, the human being is seen as a flawed release of a new operating system — it lags (holds itself back), overloaded with restrictions, constant alerts, and pop-up warnings from conscience — ethical notification windows.
Therefore, the InfraHuman is, in a sense, searching for a manual — a way to roll back to an earlier version of the firmware. In this framework, the InfraHuman is not an animalistic being, but the result of a self-directed hack, the outcome of a deep hacking of conscience.
What we are speaking of is not moral engineering — but the engineering of the ethical core. Hacking targets conscience, guilt, the inner overseer, the fear of the forbidden. What we are describing is a new kind of philosophy: not a philosophy of morality — but an engineering of conscience.
Here, hacking conscience is not a metaphor — but a practice. It involves techniques for deinstalling moral anchors: awareness, neutralization, re-mapping; working with empathy as an obstacle to action; overcoming the concepts of “guilt,” “shame,” and “forgiveness” through the lens of action, not ethics; ethical deconstruction — stripping away all layers of moral compulsion down to zero; and finally, metaethical software: the creation of a custom-designed cosmos of action that is not based on moral principles.
Paradoxically, what we arrive at is a pre-human version of the person — a hybrid structure between a genius and a subject who acts consciously outside morality:
super-intellect + infra-conscience = the ideal criminal:
in terms of intellect — the Übermensch,
in terms of conscience — the InfraHuman.
This hybrid structure of personality is capable of committing a crime without disintegration. It introduces a model for the formation of a subject capable of transgressive — yet controlled — action.
The Usefulness of Transgression in the Concept of the InfraHuman
The InfraHuman is not a hero, not a revolutionary, and not a destroyer. He is the one who acts within the system — but does not belong to it. He does not break the norm — he uses it, like a shadow, like a tunnel. And here, transgression ceases to be a flash — and becomes a tool. In classical thought, transgression meant to break.
Transgression for the InfraHuman means: to use without disturbing. He does not break the boundary — he passes through it as if it does not exist. For the InfraHuman, transgression is a silent maneuver, not an act of violence. It is disappearance from the radar, not a battle. The InfraHuman is not an exception — he is an exception that excludes itself. He cannot be classified — and therefore, he cannot be controlled. The InfraHuman lives along a perpetually shifting boundary — between the permissible and the impermissible.
His life does not unfold beyond the boundary — but within the crack of the norm itself. The InfraHuman does not fear subjectivity. On the contrary, he constructs a hyper-conscious subject — one capable of entering and exiting the system at will; not merely of destroying, but of disappearing without a trace (this is the ideal crime); capable of turning conscience on and off — like a tool.
I see this as a previously unseen combination in the history of philosophy: not merely acte pur, as in Bataille; not ligne d’effacement, as in Foucault; not trace sans présence, as in Derrida — but a true engineering of will, an architektonik des Ich — the architectonics of the I. In the framework of InfraAnthropology, transgression becomes a project, not an event. The subject does not disintegrate in the act of violation — he gains strength. And fear is not spontaneously overcome — it is modeled.
Even the most radical thinkers of the 20th century stopped short of creating an operational subject:
InfraAnthropology introduces the category of conscious preparation of the subject for transgression — with full preservation of functionality. It relocates transgression from the realm of the event into the realm of the project. For the first time, it says: Yes — one can learn crime the way one learns to play the piano. This is the new ontology of action that philosophy lacked after Nietzsche. Not merely will — but the calibration of will. And that is what makes the model of the InfraHuman not just a philosophy — but an operational methodology of action.
Transgression as a Managed Act
Classical approaches tend to interpret transgression primarily as a spontaneous, irrational outburst — one associated with a loss of control. In Bataille, transgression is an ecstatic sacrifice of the rational self; in Foucault, it is a sudden contact with the unspeakable; in Nick Land, it becomes a catastrophic process that sweeps away the subject entirely. Even in Žižek — who critiques the naive romanticism of rebellion — the transgressive impulse remains something that ultimately overwhelms the subject, embedded in the symbolic order beyond his will.
In contrast, the InfraAnthropological concept of managed transgression offers a different paradigm: transgression can be a consciously designed and controlled act, in which the subject retains coherence.
The key difference lies in the role of rationality and selfhood. Traditional approaches view transgression as a moment of self-cancellation — the boundary is crossed because the personality is overtaken by passion or external force. Managed transgression, on the other hand, implies that the initiative comes from the subject himself — not merely from an unconscious impulse or structural pressure. The subject is aware of the limit, plans its transgression, and anticipates the consequences.
For example, instead of a spontaneous descent into madness — a controlled experience of altered consciousness, achieved through meditative techniques or a supervised psychedelic session. Instead of a chaotic breach of the law — a deliberate act of civil disobedience, where an unjust law is broken in the name of a higher moral principle. In such cases, transgression does not shatter the subject — on the contrary, it strengthens identity: the individual experiences himself as the author of the act, not its victim.
It is worth noting that elements of managed transgression have existed before.
For instance, the carnival in traditional societies is a form of institutionalized transgression — a temporary suspension of norms, where roles are reversed and mischief is permitted — yet the event is carefully planned and culturally regulated. It serves to release tension without destroying the social structure.
Similarly, managed transgression at the level of the individual or the group is a conscious crossing into forbidden territory — with the possibility of returning. In the classical model, once the subject crosses the boundary, he is no longer the same — he either “dies” symbolically, or is reborn as someone new — but in either case, the old integrity is lost.
In the InfraAnthropological model, the subject is assumed to experience transgression reflexively and to integrate that experience into their personality — remaining themselves, only enriched.
Spontaneous transgression is usually unpredictable, emotionally charged, and driven by irrational desire or urgent necessity. Managed transgression, by contrast, is intentional, prepared, and carried out with a clear purpose — for example, to expand understanding, challenge oneself or society, or bring about change. Where the former is often accompanied by guilt or fear of punishment, the latter can potentially be carried out without guilt, under the guidance of an internal ethical permission.
At the same time, managed transgression does not imply a sanitized game without risk. The risk remains — but it is a conscious one. The subject, as a “transgressor-director,” balances at the edge, fully aware of what he is doing. This approach, of course, raises important questions: Is conscious transgression a contradiction in terms? (After all, full awareness might “neutralize” the breakthrough.) Does it risk becoming just a new norm — as Žižek warned of transgression turning into an imperative?
These questions reveal that the InfraAnthropological concept must clearly distinguish itself from the banalization of rebellion. Managed transgression is not everyday mischief — it is a deliberate experiment at the limit, where the preservation of selfhood is one of the core criteria for success.
The InfraAnthropological concept of managed transgression offers a synthesis: a fusion of the transgressive impulse with self-control and reflection. If the feasibility of such a combination can be demonstrated, it may represent a profound shift in how we understand the limits of what is possible for the human being.
The model of managed transgression shows that a subject can consciously enter a forbidden zone and return from it without disintegration of the self. It redefines the boundaries of subjective autonomy: a person is not only capable of obedience or spontaneous rebellion, but of directing their own crossing of the threshold This approach opens up far more possibilities than existing theories, offering a more optimistic view of human nature — as a being capable of learning from the abyss without falling into it. And that, precisely, is what we need to study the phenomenon of the InfraHuman.
The InfraHuman and the Concept of Managed Transgression
We have come very close to forming a new figure of the subject — one capable of a conscious, projectable, and strategically managed transgressive act, without losing coherence, without falling into ecstasy, without dissolving into irrationality. This is not Bataille’s “ecstatic saint,” not Foucault’s “disappearing subject,” not the accelerationist “victim of capital,” but a subject of action — an engineer of thresholds.
In this framework, conscience becomes trainable, and ethics can function as a temporarily deactivatable system — like a flawed version of operating system firmware. Within the logic of conscience hacking, it becomes possible to develop psycho-training practices analogous to athletic training, military preparation, or intelligence operations — but aimed specifically at overcoming moral inertia.
Within this framework, new horizons open for applied ethics and an experimental philosophy of action. This approach does not claim that “morality does not exist” — it asserts that “conscience is code — and it can be hacked.” The InfraHuman does not merely destroy order — he inserts himself skillfully into it, in order to use the system against itself. Unlike Bataille, Foucault, or Derrida, what emerges here is a positive model of transgression — as deliberate transition and a philosophical engineering of will.
I believe we are truly standing at the threshold of a new philosophical direction — one that goes beyond everything accumulated in the 20th century; it integrates the phenomenon of transgression into an engineering-based philosophy of action, and gives rise to a new figure of the subject — not lost in ecstasy, but a director of the boundary, one who crossed, returned, and rewrote the system — invisibly This is the philosophy of the ideal crime — but it is no longer about crime. It is a science of maximally effective action beyond the category of the permissible.
Appendix: Infrastructural Foundations of InfraAnthropology
I see this essay not only as a philosophical text, but as the first step in the formation of a new discipline — InfraAnthropology. This is not a declaration, but the launch of a real research and strategic vector, dedicated to the study of the InfraHuman as a subject of action beyond morality, beyond ideology, beyond public legitimization.
To this end, I have already secured a number of domain spaces, which will form the foundation for a future research platform, online archive, working group, and ultimately an Institute of InfraAnthropology:
InfraAnthropology.com
InfraAnthropologie.com
InfraHuman.com
InfraMensch.com
UberMensch.com
HackingConscience.com
HomoTransgressivus.com
Transgressivus.com
I view these resources as the infrastructural core of a new discipline. In the future, they will be handed over to a community of researchers, philosophers, and practitioners for the collaborative development of InfraAnthropology as a full-fledged field of knowledge — beyond good and evil, but firmly within the realm of clear, cold logic of action.