are always radically suspect.
There is an uncrossable divide between elite and pedestrian. It is one of the tragic ironies of Marx that what would otherwise be a materially universal truth is made nonuniversal by its nonuniversal intelligibility, and that the result is universal falsehood that is itself an alternate, actually universal, infinitely more regrettable truth.
The gods make jokes in recursively tightening circles that squeeze the lives out of the innocent as though they were guilty. The actually guilty, being masters of geometry and other things philosophical, draw themselves out of such mathematical games, leaving the innocent—who refuse to come along—behind.
It is all regrettable.