Visitors gather to watch the change of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, situated in front of the Greek Parliament, prior to a vote on an amendment banning protests and any alterations in the area, in Athens, on October 22, 2025. [Louiza Gouliamaki/Reuters]
It’s clear to anyone not wearing partisan blinders that pain does not unite us politically; it divides us, and this is one of modern-day Greece’s greatest tragedies. We’re talking about a massive meta-problem: The way we handle problems is our greatest problem. And what is this way? Deeply divisive.
The 2013 murder of Pavlos Fyssas by neo-Nazis was supposed to have prompted an unreserved sense of political unity – that didn’t quite happen. Grief and outrage soon led to squabbling between the country’s two biggest parties. Every deadly natural disaster is followed by sharp political tension instead of sober reflection. The collective mourning that followed the 2023 Tempe rail tragedy, in which 57 people lost their lives, was quickly replaced by relentless partisan tension. The recent dispute over the protection of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier followed the same pattern: the official monument on one side, the makeshift cenotaph – quite literally – on the other. Divisiveness seems to be an inherent element of our political mentality. How and why?
The collective mourning that followed the 2023 Tempe tragedy was quickly replaced by relentless partisan tension. The recent dispute over the protection of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier followed the same pattern
In his anthropological research in New Guinea in the 1930s, Gregory Bateson identified the phenomenon of “schismogenesis”: a process in which individuals interacted in ways that produced escalating divisions (splits or rifts) that gradually evolved into vicious cycles. The actions of A (an individual or group) provoked the reactions of B, which in turn triggered further action from A, and so on. Bateson distinguished between two types of schismogenesis: symmetrical, in which action and reaction are similar (for example, an arms race: “I arm myself because you are arming yourself”), and complementary, in which action and reaction are different but mutually reinforcing (for instance, dominance and submission within a couple). In his subsequent research in Bali, conducted with his anthropologist wife Margaret Mead, Bateson observed that, unlike in New Guinea, the Balinese ethos was non-schismogenic. The dominant concern was the preservation of stability through constant personal adjustment. The Balinese did not strive to maximize any particular variable (such as wealth, power, or prestige) but instead sought to maintain social harmony.
Competitive systems of interaction, like a liberal democracy and a free market, are prone to schismogenesis, which, when extreme, has negative outcomes. These can be avoided to the extent that such systems are either self-regulated or externally regulated. Governments, for instance, intervene in the market – and the European Public Prosecutor’s Office steps in to address collusive practices (fraud or tolerance of fraud) inside Greece’s farm subsidies agency, OPEKEPE. In politics, however, external regulation has limits, since democracy inherently involves self-governance. We decide how we will be governed. No one, for example, can compel us to be civil and well-meaning when we disagree over something.
And therein lies the problem. If political rivalry is not contained by binding rules of behavior, the players act in ways to maximize their interests without a thought for the common good, which is what political rivalry is supposed to serve. This rivalry is, therefore, polarized and, when pushed to extremes, vulgarized. A glance at the Greek Parliament today is enough to confirm this truth.
The unmoderated rivalry that historically prevails across the Greek political landscape even transforms incidents that have all the hallmarks for inciting compassion into excuses for divisive clashes. In such a schismogenic system, tragic events come into the political fray in purely self-serving ways, which only intensify the conflict (one side instrumentalizes them, the other assigns blame). In contrast, a non-schismogenic system does not eliminate the differences revealed through confrontation; rather, it balances them by emphasizing shared values. Opposing sides both pursue their own interests and maintain their relationship. Competition divides, but maintaining a relationship unites – and both are essential.
Authoritarian political rhetoric describes the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier as sacred. Quite right. Victims of accidents are also sacred; we don’t treat their remains like so much debris. In Tempe, however, the victims’ bones and body parts were tossed in with the wreckage. The agency responsible for investigating rail accidents, EODASAAM, actually said in its report on the February 2023 tragedy that “after continuous pressure from the victims’ families, a new investigation of the burnt remains from the restaurant car was finally carried out in November 2023, during which more than 150 broken and charred fragments of human bone were found.” Had it not been for the persistence of the families, those remains would never have been recovered. That is what constitutes hubris. The state failed not just functionally, as outlined in detail by EODASAAM, but also morally. It ignored the living and desecrated the dead – that is the prevailing sentiment.
This is where the essence of the Greek schismogenesis lies. The official sanctity of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is pitted against the popular sanctity of the makeshift cenotaph to the victims of the Tempe tragedy – in the same space. Against the ceremonial pomp of the “orderly” state, as embodied by the government, stands the “unauthorized” memorial ritual of ordinary people – the lanterns, the flowerpots, the cuddly toys and, above all, the names of the victims: all those humble tokens mocked by traditional politicians mock, who speak dismissively of the “IKEA lanterns.”
The degree to which a morally failed state presides over the sanctity of the Unknown Soldier does not express the sanctity of the victims – and that is precisely how the families feel (and they are not alone). What we are dealing with is competing forms of sacredness. And so here we are, again, at a dead end. The fissures become fractures, and differences turn into chasms.
Haridimos Tsoukas (htsoukas.com) is a professor at the University of Cyprus and Distinguished Research Environment Professor of Organization Studies at Warwick Business School.