Morning light assaulted Morris, and found him somehow more sore and grumpy than it found him on each other day.  He drank from the river and showered in a waterfall.  As he carried out his routine, he frowned -- feelings of déjà vu still itched at his senses as he observed the otherwise innocuous objects and landscapes of this world.

Voss came upon him while he was getting dressed.  “I haven’t seen you since we got here,” said Morris.  “What have you been doing?”

“Talking, observing, continuing my own research on humanity…  Did you know a majority of humans both reside in their country of birth and follow their parents’ religion their entire lives?  Those seem like large decisions; do people just not care about them?”

“Social pressure is a big deal for a social species like us.”  Morris joked, “That’s why America has children recite The Pledge of Allegiance each morning:  So dissatisfied children won’t defect to other countries.”

“Fascinating,” said Voss.  “Truly extraordinary.  Does it work?”

Voss didn’t seem to understand Morris was joking.  Maybe it would be fun to occasionally tell Voss outlandish lies about humans and see how long he’d believe them.  “Well, it does feed into the disease of unexamined nationalism.  Were I king, I would instead have children recite a pledge like:  ‘I pledge allegiance to thinking for myself as well as logical reasoning.  And the better I understand myself, the less others can control me.’”

“Anti-propaganda propaganda.  Doesn’t your country have presidents instead of kings though?”

“‘Were I king’ is an expression, a little game I used to play with friends, where you make decrees.  It’s basically just a way to frame an opinion.”

“Ah.  Were I king,” said Voss, “I wouldn’t tell myself what to do anymore.”

“Naturally not?” said Morris.

“My species used to be fun.  Back in the day, you could get really big.”

“Big how?  As in famous, or rich?”

“As in big,” said Voss.  “My head was ten times the size of Jupiter, and I had so many legs I couldn’t even count them.  I used to run across asteroid fields and star systems; I once raced a loudmouth from one end of a nebula to the other.”

“And now you can’t be big?  Did the government think people no longer appreciated the little things?”

“They got tired of species whining after their planets got asteroids knocked into them, or got incidentally kicked into a star.”

“Oh geez,” said Morris.  “That sounds like a good thing to regulate.”

“Only morons entered inhabited systems; most were destroyed in self-defense before they even had the chance to cause disruption.  Those were the same kind of morons who got stuck in orbits or incinerated themselves flying too close to stars.  I wrestled plenty of them even bigger than me back in the day and didn’t lose once.  It was easy.  You don’t try to defeat someone bigger, faster, or stronger than you -- you trick them into defeating themselves.”

“You never got tricked yourself?” said Morris.

Voss shrugged.  “I’ve always known what to expect from people.  My old corner of the galaxy is full of strong personalities.  Unlike the people here.  The Theravids seek to become nothing while the Mahayan blindly follow Juéxǐng De Lóng -- the only native on Shù Rén Dǎo with any personality, and his personality is borne of pathetic self-pity.  It’s like you said -- people don’t think for themselves.”

Morris sighed, and nodded.

Voss continued.  “I find it odd how much your society is built to cater to opinions and whims, rather than facts and practicality.  Humans are not 'rational animals,' you are animals with a capacity for reason.  For instance, humans are not rational consumers -- you don’t always spend money on what will best attain happiness, pleasure, or control.  Most advertisements rely on psychological tricks, because that's what works.  But it’s seen as normal.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” said Morris.  “I think advertisements should provide useful information about the product, both on principle and because I want information.  Instead, I get sports legend Shaquille O'Neal flirting with a pretty lady to convince me to buy a specific brand of soap.  Or, I get extreme close-ups of fatty, salty, carby, sizzling hamburgers telling my subconscious mind to expect and crave hamburgers.  Or, high-schoolers get U.S. Military propaganda recruitment videos with swelling music, shots of triumphant, glorious, jacked soldiers, and false promises.

"Or," continued Morris, "commercials yell, flash bright colors, or boast intentionally confusing slogans, because they've discovered that brand recognition is all that matters in advertising, and that brand perception is irrelevant.  Only attention matters, and the easiest way to get attention is by annoying, confusing, and angering people.  Advertisers are intentionally stoking negative emotions and cravings, and somehow people don't recognize how immoral it all is.  Were I king, I would change how the state views emotional manipulation.

"For example," continued Morris, "research showed that the angry emoji drove more engagement to Facebook posts than any other reaction.  Upon learning this, Facebook changed their algorithm to prioritize showing posts with angry reactions -- blatantly stoking outrage."

"Before you go off on another tangent,” said Voss,  "I'm going to finish making my point.  Human economics is driven by smoke and mirrors.  But it's not the only field corrupted by psychological manipulation.  Using the same premises I used for economics, I draw the same conclusions about human politics.  Humans are not rational voters; they do not always vote in their own best interest.  Most politicians rely on psychological tricks, because that's what works:  Make people think you're an authority by speaking authoritatively; use rhetoric to sound intelligent and inspiring, and to pander to voting blocs; have a symmetrical face.”

Morris sighed.  “It seems such a waste -- that our governors are rewarded for focusing on manipulating society rather than focusing on benefiting society.”

Voss nodded.  “That is a curse of your country, anyway, where governance is overly reliant on civilian consent.”

“What’s the alternative?  Authoritarian rule, free from civilian accountability but thus prone to abuse of power?”

Voss shrugged.  “The curse which attends democracy is inescapable, and is tied to the nature of humanity, and the curse which attends authoritarian rule depends on the nature of the individual.  Would you agree that more than half of humans are, for lack of a better word, morons?”

“Absolutely,” said Morris.

“Alright, well, let’s say your community has 1,000 people, and 750 of them are morons.  In an authoritarian system, at most three out of every four strong leaders would be morons and rule poorly.  But in a democracy, every democratically elected leader might be a moron, but he is always at least beholden to morons.”

“Hm,” said Morris.  “You have a point.  Most people don’t really understand what’s good for them.  If you want to get things done, and you want them done properly, sometimes you just need to take charge.”  Morris’s attention shifted abstract concepts to the harsh reality of his growling stomach.  “Can we continue this discussion later?  I haven’t had breakfast.”