The debate over disinformation today reveals a fundamental divide not merely between Republicans and Democrats, but between two philosophies of human nature that both trace their lineage to the Enlightenment. Those advocating government suppression of disinformation believe that individuals are products of their environment, molded by the inputs they receive. Confident that society can be perfected by carefully controlled influences, they envision a government capable of shaping an informational landscape that fosters collective well-being. Opponents, however, see this ambition as profoundly misguided. They believe in the individual’s capacity for self-direction and doubt the wisdom giving the state the authority to impose or encourage such controls. This clash is not just political; it is philosophical, reflecting a deep-seated disagreement about man’s potential and his autonomy.

　　This debate brings into relief two contrasting currents of Enlightenment thought. On one side stands the view that man, like other elements of nature, can be scientifically molded for his own good. Richard Pipes, in The Russian Revolution, traces this idea to John Locke, who saw human understanding as fundamentally shaped by sensory experience. According to Locke, our knowledge—and by extension, our choices and actions—are determined by the inputs we receive. Man’s will, therefore, is not an exercise of autonomy but a reaction to external stimuli. This radical empiricism laid the groundwork for a deterministic view of human behavior, suggesting that if one could control the sources of input, one could ultimately direct human action.

　　One thinker who fully embraced the political implications of Locke’s theory was the eighteenth-century Frenchman Claude Helvetius. He argued that if human actions are the results of sensory input, then the path to a better society lies in controlling those inputs. Social engineering, then, becomes a logical project of this view. The notion is straightforward but sweeping: by directing what surrounds man, one can mold his thinking, even his moral character. The mission of politics, therefore, is not merely to govern but to educate and, if possible, to remake the citizens. In Helvetius’s hands, Locke’s epistemology transformed into a radical program for societal redesign.

　　This philosophy demands not just control over a few aspects of life but a comprehensive system of influence. As Pipes notes, for Helvetius, “education” encompasses everything that shapes man’s mind—the ideas and stimuli that frame his worldview. To fulfill this vision, society requires a cadre of intellectual elites devoted to creating a rational environment that cultivates certain desirable responses. These elites, guided by their view of reason, would assume the role of social architects, shaping the context in which individuals think and act.

　　Armed with this ideology, the modern intellectual class reshaped society’s ruling structure and supplanted the nobles and clergy who had previously held sway. In Russia, as Richard Pipes notes, they became known as the intelligentsia. In Britain, Samuel Taylor Coleridge dubbed them the “clerisy.” Under the influence of Enlightenment thought, this new class assumed responsibility for society’s education, charged with crafting and disseminating the information believed to advance humanity.

　　Progressives today see this arc of influence as aligning with the “arc of history bending toward justice,” because their class is in a prime position to guide this bend. Unlike other sectors of society, intellectuals are compensated specifically for their work in shaping opinions and disseminating ideas. Some, such as political activists and journalists, do so directly and with immediate effect; others, like academics, establish the long-term agenda by teaching future generations. Artists and writers, meanwhile, influence the cultural environment, with each segment supporting the others in a symbiotic web of social influence. Journalists review certain books, critics shape the arts, and together, they wield substantial power over the direction of society’s beliefs and values.

　　However, the disintermediation of media has eroded this intellectual monopoly on shaping information. The Internet enabled new forms of communication, such as blogs, that allowed a wider range of voices to reach the public. Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter took this democratization even further, while YouTube and podcasts broke the mainstream networks’ grip on public discourse. With these transformations, the intelligentsia could no longer control what information the public consumed or direct it toward preordained conclusions. Media’s radical democratization introduced a plurality of perspectives and voices that weakened the intelligentsia’s once-tight grip on social direction.

　　It is therefore unsurprising that many within the intelligentsia now call for crackdowns on so-called “disinformation” in these new media forms. No longer the gatekeepers of information, they see this diffusion of influence as a threat to the cultivated order they once imposed. In their view, unrestricted information flows create a kind of sensory chaos that could undermine the carefully structured narratives essential to their vision of progress.

　　Disintermediation has rendered it impossible for the clerisy to maintain their former role as gatekeepers of knowledge, pushing them to enlist government bureaucracy as a surrogate. This bureaucracy, sharing the intelligentsias educational background and ideological leanings, can effectively fulfill this second-best function by filtering and shaping information on their behalf. Hence, there is a growing enthusiasm for laws mandating that media platforms remove misleading information. Europe offers a model of this new regulatory structure, with digital content laws that set the standard. Recently, Europe’s chief digital regulator even warned Elon Musk to avoid “harmful content” after his platform aired an interview with then-presidential candidate Donald Trump. The underlying concern was not simply “harmful content”; it was the unfiltered reach of an unapproved interview, one not curated by the “right” journalists to frame it for the public.

　　The clash between two Enlightenment visions continues to fuel the debate over disinformation, particularly as new technologies expand how ideas are circulated.

　　This pivot to regulation reveals a deeper truth about the clerisy’s philosophy: under the Helvetian view, the First Amendment serves as an instrumental right—useful insofar as it advances the collective good, rather than fundamental individual liberty. Free speech, in this view, is valuable only as long as it educates the public in a way that aligns with the clerisy’s version of reason. When free speech no longer serves as an instrument for educating society in this way, the clerisy’s commitment to it wanes.

　　By contrast, free speech has a sturdier foundation in a different strand of Enlightenment thought. Oddly enough, this perspective also originates with John Locke, though it stems from his political philosophy rather than his epistemology. For Locke, individuals possess natural rights to property and liberty, and the government’s purpose is to protect these rights. This Lockean framework shaped James Madison’s approach in drafting the First Amendment, as Madison justified free speech as a “property” in one’s opinion. While Locke did allow for the restriction of property rights to prevent harm to others, the First Amendment was born from a profound fear of government overreach in political speech. The concern was not simply potential harm but the greater threat of governmental suppression in the name of public good, making it dangerous to grant government broad authority to stamp out digital misinformation it deems harmful.

　　These opposing Enlightenment strands are starkly evident in the ongoing debate over Twitter. The clerisy’s discomfort with Twitter was notably less pronounced when the platform rigorously monitored content, banning figures from satirists to a former president, and even suppressing coverage of inconvenient information, such as details about a candidate’s family. Though those making content decisions at Twitter were not themselves intellectuals, they often mirrored the social and political perspectives of the clerisy, thus maintaining the platform’s alignment with their values.

　　Then Elon Musk purchased Twitter, now X, promising to overhaul its content moderation policies and permit a wider array of voices. The clerisy’s response was one of immediate alarm. They warned of disinformations dangers, abandoning the platform in droves for alternative services more aligned with their standards. Yet these alternatives lacked Xs reach and influence, diminishing the clerisy’s capacity to direct public discourse. This retreat, while principled in one sense, was tactically self-defeating, as it conceded the educational influence they sought to maintain.

　　Faced with this loss of influence, the clerisy has increasingly turned to government intervention, advocating for laws similar to those in Europe. In the absence of legislation, they hope the executive branch might pressure social media companies to remove problematic content. However, the Supreme Court has recently ruled that such government “jawboning” may violate the First Amendment, recognizing the inherent dangers in bureaucratic overreach into the domain of public speech.

　　The other strand of the Enlightenment places greater confidence in spontaneous order to separate the wheat from the chaff on platforms like X. Under Elon Musk’s leadership, X has sought to promote sound information not through government mandates or even unilateral corporate edicts, but by tapping into the collective wisdom of users. This approach finds expression in Xs “Community Notes”—a crowdsourced system designed to add context to tweets. Community Notes allow users to collaboratively clarify or supplement information in tweets that might be misleading. Individuals propose notes, and others evaluate them. An algorithmic process then ensures that only notes reflecting a cross-ideological consensus appear. This mechanism exemplifies how a model of enlightenment rooted in free individual choice and voluntary cooperation can address disinformation, not by decree but through the organic interplay of diverse perspectives.

　　The clash between these two Enlightenment visions continues to fuel the debate over disinformation, particularly as new technologies expand how ideas are circulated. Large language models (LLMs) are now reshaping the transmission of information, and the clerisy has already voiced concerns about how these models should be constrained. Many in this class argue that LLMs should be programmed to avoid certain viewpoints and to promote a particular set of values. The results of this bias-driven “alignment” have occasionally veered into the absurd. For instance, one model recently generated an image of the Framers of the Constitution as a diverse assembly of men and women of various ethnic backgrounds, a depiction no doubt intended to reflect contemporary ideals of diversity, equity, and inclusion.

　　Musk’s approach to AI, much like his stance on content moderation at X, challenges the clerisy’s preference for control. His new LLM, Grok, promises to be less politically constrained—a stance that has already generated consternation among those who view technology as a tool to guide public opinion toward “correct” viewpoints. The coming debates over AI regulation will span a range of issues, but at their core, they will once again confront the question of control: to what extent will the clerisy be allowed to use technology to direct human thought and development, insulated from the competitive pressures Musk and others wish to preserve? The future of human freedom may well depend on this choice.