Excerpts

We press our lips to the enameled rim of the cups

and know this grease that floats

over the coffee will one day stop our hearts.

Eyes and fingers drop onto silverware

that is not silverware. Outside the window, waves

beat against the chipped walls of the old city.

Your hands rise from the rough tablecloth

as if to prophesy. Your lips tremble...

I want to say to hell with the future.

Our future lies deep in the afternoon.

It is a narrow street with a cart and driver,

a driver who looks at us and hesitates,

then shakes his head. Meanwhile,

I coolly crack the egg of a fine Leghorn chicken.

Your eyes film. You turn from me and look across

the rooftops at the sea. Even the flies are still.

I crack the other egg.

Surely we have diminished one another.

I am not a poem person. I don't know what a Leghorn chicken is, and have not interest in finding out. I do not like the second half of the fifth and sixth stanza, I do not like the eight stanza. I had to look up the English word for stanza.

I am a poem person when my heart is open and my head allows it. I drank filter coffee lest grease doesn't stop my heart. Until it became inconvenient and nespresso vertuo entered my house and I drank coffee in my new office where the machine makes only espresso. Surely we have diminished one another.

He dragged on his cigar. 'God damn it' he said, 'there are nice things in the world – and I mean nice things. We're all such morons to get so sidetracked. Always, always, always referring every goddam thing that happens right back to our lousy little egos.' Behind him, just then, Franny blew her nose with guileless abandon; the report was considerably louder than might have been expected from so fine and delicate-appearing an organ. Zooey turned around to look at her, somewhat censoriously.

The second Salinger excerpt. Zooey, in the middle of a heart-to-heart with his younger sister Franny, sees from the window of their Manhattan apartment a little scene with a girl and her Dachsund. Then, the self-assured bluntness of the ego denouncing ego. We, the readers, have by now been consuming Zooey's erratic speech for a couple pages, and it is rightfully disturbed by Franny—who I imagine is thoroughly desensitized to these performances her brother puts on.

Salinger does some of the finest mocking of intellectuals. Franny & Zooey are the youngest of seven siblings that all starred on a radioshow called It's a Wise Child. The two oldest brothers take it upon themselves to give F & Z an alternative, but extremely thorough philosophical/spiritual education. These so-created "freaks" of erudition are the platform the story uses to criticize the phonies, coming from a place of intellectual superiority.

This would all be awfully pretentious if the writing wasn't dripping in irony. Every brainy remark is followed by some observation on the gawky interactions between these characters. It puts on display how unbearable it has made them. And how they're lost amidst all their supposed wisdom.

A closing remark: I wonder if I have ever looked "censoriously" at someone. I can only think of a couple people in my life that would be capable of the expression. An aspiration.

One thing that favoured the establishment of the constitution in America was that the different States, still young and little accustomed to independence, had not yet cherished to a high degree that individual pride and those national prejudices which make it so painful for old societies to give up the smallest parts of their sovereignty. Examples of federal unions in antiquity and in modern history:

1. The Amphictyonic council.
2. The Achaean league.
3. The Germanic body. [i.e. Holy Roman Empire.]
4. United Provinces of the Low Countries.
5. Switzerland.

All these confederations have suffered from the defect of the first American Union; they did not at all make a single people out of the different provinces united by establishing a central power and sovereignty in matters that concerned the union. They all came to suffer from civil war, or disintegration and anarchy, but none of them was sufficiently enlightened, as was the American Union, to see the remedy at the same time as it felt the ill and to correct its laws.

Alexis de Tocqueville travelled through North America as a young bloke, and I got my hands on this relatively obscure English translation of his notes of that time. They contain a poorly organized heap of first impressions about the fledgling country, many conversations with its citizens and some analysis. I am assuming that during this time he felt the spirit underlying the topic of his seminal work "Democracy in America", published four years later, but I haven't read it.

This excerpt is not very representative of the rest of the notes (which are predominantly about the penal system, Common Law, slavery, the Native Americans, French Canada, etcetera). Still, a timeless observation: Tocqueville recognizes how the federal government has started directing its attention to all American individuals in the states, instead of the states as entities themselves. This makes the American people. The Netherlands gets a little shout-out here, but buy now our provinces have effectively fused together (although you'd be surprised by the amount of Provincial identity).

Of course, there is a union that did not exist in Alexis' time, a union of which the necessity of its flourishing I am more convinced than ever. The EU, like these other five unions "suffers from the defect of the first American Union", as it has "not at all made a single people out of its [member states]". And although European elections go straight to the people, its laws are aimed at the national governments. And so suffers the EU from the thousand cuts an unwilling member state can inflict. A worrying state of affairs, especially with the tough times ahead.

Much of the legislation (read: regulation) the EU speaks into existence does not concern the individual, and it could not as it deals with government entities and firms. Individuals can sue their governments when they feel that they are not adhering to their European duties. Could you however imagine an EU-wide tax agency, à la IRS? No, you cannot. But similarly, could you imagine USA with anywhere near the same power, if it was lacking federal tax collection?

For all its flaws, I support further European integration.

[...] Dat hadden ze allemaal al zo vaak van hem gehoord. En alles wat hij zei: bijvoorbeeld dat er gewacht moest worden tot er weer proviand was, of dat de manschappen geen laarzen hadden, was zo simpel en alles wat zij voorstelden was zo ingewikkeld en geleerd, dat het voor hen een uitgemaakte zaak was dat Koetoezov een domme oude man was, en dat zijzelf geniale veldheren waren die het alleen aan macht ontbrak.

And a translation to English.

[...] They had all heard that from him so often already. And everything he said: for example, that they should wait until there was food again, or that the troops had no boots, was so simple, and everything they proposed was so complicated and learned, that for them it was an established fact that Kutuzov was a stupid old man, and that they themselves were brilliant generals who only lacked power.

For all my gripes with War and Peace, it is so full of these little timeless paragraphs. The hubris of the studied generals, military theory at the ready, ignoring the mundane practicalities of running the army. Their frustration with the unassuming, aging general Kutuzov, who does not pretend to entertain their careful strategy. Not dissimilar to your McKinseyian management whoneed to be grounded by the practical folk.

Simplicity above complexity. A heuristic that goes a long way. Can you explain something in simple terms? Then you understand it. Do you know someone who cannot explain their expertise in simple terms, then they are no experts. But a heuristic and nothing more. Your own simple explanations might hide your comfort with the subject. I recall studying a particular unintuitive piece of mathematics. Finally, after many hours ploughing through the material, building and dismantling the logical structure time and time again, the neural pathways had crystallized and I was able to quickly associate the objects, to see the true statements as simple. But I fooled myself with this "simplicity". Excitingly, I rattled off my simple insights to a friend, who looked at me with glassy eyes.

I suppose if the roles were reversed, I would have silently criticized my friend: surely he could've have put it in simpler terms? He must not understand it as well as he thinks. But I sincerely think I did. Any metaphor would've been kin to misleading.

So how then in the theory on war? Unlike the truthful, ever so arrogant, field of mathematics, the "soft" sciences like waging war are not subject to a natural selection of elegance. Where in math, obfuscation through complexity is punished by an inability to find new things that are provably true, in the theory of war there is no such reckoning. Neither is there in business. There will always be a reason among the complexity that explain a failure, except the theory itself. And it goes without saying that any victory will be claimed by the same theory. Pragmatism is not a thankful job.

The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid and joy a liquid.

I have, as of yet, not frauded myself into a teaching position at any new-fledged art schools in Montreal, as John "De Daumier" Smith, does in this short story by JDS. I did however find myself in Canada too recently, albeit under a different pretense. Naturally, as someone who has the futile habit of trying to understand the effect of their environment on their inner, I stuck.

In the last chapter of "Thinking, Fast and Slow" (if I remember correctly) is about measuring happiness, and the effect of major life events on a person's happiness. One of the conclusions drawn is that achievements (i.e. educational attainment, income after a certain threshold, marriage, having kids, great friendships) have little effect on your day-to-day experience. Something minor, like a headache, will overrule any long term mood enhancement from these milestones. In fact the kids, probably because they cause headaches, have a net-negative on day-to-day enjoyment for the first 18 years. But these achievements do increase your end-of-day enjoyment: how you feel about your life when you sit on the couch and ponder (I don't know what term is used in the book and I am not going to look it up).

Every day, a stream of joy glistens in the sun, and pleasantly cools your legs and hands when you step in and reach down. Some days, the stream is weak, almost barren. On other days, it is lush, refreshing, energizing. I have spent a long time mining and carrying slabs of happiness to this stream, cornering off a small little pond. When the stream stops, I can sit and enjoy the water that has built up.

My little dam I had to leave behind when I came here. Most of it: some of the slabs I could fit in my carry-on. Now, I'm trying my best to build a new pond: there sure is enough water coming by. And on the days where I miss my old pond, I cherish the thought that at some point, I'll be back, hopefully bringing some more slabs, of a new shape and material.

[...] that I could not contain my happiness as I made ready to meet her. This sense of joy rested on something fragile and insecure. If she was late, my thoughts became cloudy with worry that she was never coming to see me again, or that she was bored by the predictability of how we spent our time together. She was ashamed of me, of the work I did, of my lack of ambition, of my strangeness, my ordinariness, my blackness, my poverty. Then when she came, and smiled to see me, and held me so tightly and so long that I could not mistake the intensity of her pleasure in me, when she came and held me like that, the darkness evaporated and I cried happiness. She knew this about me, how tensely and expectantly I waited for her, but she did not know the vulnerability that lay just below it.

I'm not quite the writer to write on the subject of love yet and contribute anything new to the conversation. That's why this excerpt is titled 'insecure attachment' instead of 'insecure love'. With this thinly veiled excuse out of the way, my quick take on why insecure love goes so deep. One explanation is that of neediness. I do not think there is any shame in admitting that love is something we seek out to complete our own life. It is a selfish endeavor. But I think it is a beautiful privilege that by loving, and being loved, we get to add so much to somebody's life in addition to the personal benefit. Some people claim that "you have to love yourself to be loved". I am not sure whether it is true. I am convinced however, that you do not have to love yourself to love someone else. It is this type of love, which has the strongest sensation of "completing" your own incomplete life. The quote above had me teary-eyed, for the character's craving of completeness through her love was so infectious and intensely believable.

But, this is going down the determined road of the personal explainability of love, of which I'm not necessarily convinced. It is the conviction that love is a consequence of personal psychological reasons, as opposed to the effect of an external factor, i.e. the love interest. Falling in love swung as a wrecking ball through my conception of myself, so much so that it seems more sensible to be the cause for insecurities than its consequence. If the embrace that makes you weep with happiness is the high, the darkness it evaporates is its withdrawal. Maybe loving with a certain intensity inevitably brings along insecurities.

They cared only about the passion, were driven by it and it alone, and if it drove them to ruin it would not matter; they would follow it again, into death for themselves and everybody around them if that was where it led. Because passion isn't sane.

Two days ago, the first war on the European continent since WWII started, with Russia invading Ukraine. There is plenty to be said about this conflict, its causes and implications. In our times of nuanced discussion, I saw insistence to frame this as "Putin's War" vs "Russia's War". Whether this is fair or not, it poses the interesting question of... why?

Broadly speaking, there are two reasons for Putin initiating this invasion. He was forced to, or he wanted to. The former is often downplayed, partly because a dictator's image of holding sole power is so successful. But it is perfectly possible that, because of reasons we cannot know exactly, Putin had to invade Ukraine to consolidate any reasonable level of power. For example, an influential oligarch wanting to undermine Ukrainian competition, leadership in the army that is scared of losing influence, or whatever. There is the stance that it was the only reasonable action after NATO expansion, although I disagree, NATO poses no immediate nor complete risk to Putin's personal position of power. Putin could continue to maintain his power (to a high degree) for the foreseeable future.

At this point, most people will disagree with me. Obviously, they say, Putin is not satisfied with his current position. He seeks monetary gain! Hit him where it hurts, sanctions galore. And if not that, he wants power. Nietzsche has said it, and we are willing to pin this leading motive on Putin: a Will to Power.

Coincidentally, I read over this quote. Does passion offer an alternative motive from will to power? They are not the same thing. Passion, in its core, is the love for the activity. You have passion for playing basketball, not for winning championships, even if the former leads to the latter. Power is the result of (successful) war. Is it possible that Putin is not motivated by power but just has a passion for land grabs? Even if that land grab destroyed the prosperity of his people, and eventually the wealth of himself. "They would follow [passion] again, into death for themselves and everybody around them if that was where it led." It's a chilling thought, because it shuts out many of the options of deterrence we have. Only one thing persists: beating him at the game itself.

Nature, it seems, when she loaded us with our own sorrows, thought that were enough, and therefore did not command us to take any further share in those of other, than what was necessary to prompt us to relieve them.

Sympathy (sharing someone's feelings) is a virtue, right? There is little to say against it. Seems quite fundamental to having a functional society. Consider then the following though experiment. Imagine a close friend, who just broke up with a long distance relationship. They are in ruins about it, and you are their shoulder to cry on. The pain they feel is all-consuming. But how do you experience your sympathy? Pity or compassion for the feelings of others, might be considered a negative emotion, but it is surely not comparable to the genuine pain. Those proud of their ability to share someone's feelings consider themselves empathic. Would these empaths consider their experience to have the same intensity as their companion's?

Let's quickly define what an empath is. The terms empathy and sympathy are often used interchangeably, but they have different meanings. Simply put, sympathy implies experience and empathy implies understanding of someone else's feelings. Confusingly, the term empath is used for someone experiencing the superlative of experience. The reasoning goes that those who are extremely well-attuned to the emotions of people around them, will feel the same emotions. The term also has roots in science-fiction. The idea of being an empath has picked up popularity, albeit ironically. But we return to the question. Would an empath consider their experience to be of the same intensity as their companion's?

That seems contradictory. Truly believing you "live along" with a sufferer, meaning you suffer the same, just shows a lack of understanding of other people's feelings. The first rational realization in sympathy/empathy is that of the known unknown. It is impossible to know how others feel, so you can never assume you have "complete empathy".

Most people wouldn't describe themselves as empaths. If you press them enough, they might admit that being there for someone, showing sympathy for their struggles, is not such a bad position. You have the confirmation of somebody trusting you, you feel better about your own situation in comparison, and it grows the bond between you. This is not true for everyone. Some people find showing sympathy to be exhausting or draining. Some are not able to compartmentalize their sympathy, letting the emotion affect their own life. But for most people, as Smiths says, we take no further share in the sorrows of others, than what is necessary to prompt us to relieve them.

Current pandemic situation has stripped daily routines to only their core activity. Some have become better this way, some have become worse. Watching lectures has become one of the most draining things for me, as with distraction one click away, and only a poor quality recording to keep my attention, there is little flow to be found. Flow is characterized by a good match between challenge and skills, combined with instant feedback. In the first respect, lectures fail often: they are either to easy, leading to boredom in the moment, or they are overwhelming, leading to anxiety in the moment. In this case, there is little to be done, getting into a state of flow is basically impossible. At the same time, finding a way to better the experience in activities like these lectures, would make for a significant better quality of life. Maybe that is why the following paragraph, describing Nietzsche's amor fati, speaks to me especially.

This attitude toward one's choices is well expressed in the concept of amor fati-or love of fate-a central concept in Nietzsche's philosophy. For instance, in discussing what it takes to live fully, he writes: "My formula for greatness in a human being is *amor fati*: That one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity... Not merely bear what is necessary... but love it." And: "I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful."

There is probably no more terrible instant of enlightenment than the one in which you discover your father is a man—with human flesh.

As we get older, the way we look at our parents changes. Shortly after puberty, when your, once-volatile, inner voice stops fluctuating year-to-year, and your ego stabilizes, your parents still have a responsibility over you. At that point in time, you experience this as a limitation to your freedom. Because of the power imbalance in this period of life, we rarely look at our parents as equals. Instead, we view them, at least implicitly, as the banal tyrants. We view ourselves as unjustly subjected, constrained in our potential, a potential our parents have never known. The realization of equality comes when we are older. We return home, as independent beings, and our parents become people in our life, instead of merely decision-makers.

This made me acknowledge for the first time, the similarities between me and my dad. He and I share interests and tendencies. And above all, the fact we are both human. (He shares the place of being the most similar human to me genetically with my mom and brother).

As my dad gets older, as his age starts to show, as I reach adulthood, it is clear that my dad is the closest thing I have to a time-capsule from the future. The fallibility of my father becomes the greatest counterexample to my thoughts that the rules don't apply to me. Yes, I know humans are mortal and life must come to an end, but these human are not like me. Only I am the one that thinks in my head, so who is to say that l am not the exception to the inevitable? Well, my father, my equal, has to face the inevitable. So do I.

Aside from being the moist poignant reminder of the finiteness of life, my parents are constants. They give purpose to my accomplishments. In these formative years of my life, it is not yet clear who will be the constants in the rest of my life. I have thought I knew who were, only to be painfully wrong. Both my mom and dad are still in good health, and they will probably be around for a long time. The reminder that their existence is not guaranteed, is a reminder that the foundations of life are fickle.

The creation of wealth is certainly not to be despised, but in the long run the only human activities really worthwile are the search for knowledge, and the creation of beauty. This is beyond argument; the only point of debate is which comes first.

If the debate is between knowledge and beauty above all, where would you side? The comparison between art and science is often made, but the connection is not always clear to me. A friend of mine expressed frustration that she could never be an artist because she does not understand what art is. I disagreed with that perspective, and we came to realize that if anything, this highlights a similarity between art and science: an artist exists exactly because we do not know what art is. Every piece of art is, in a sense, an exploration of what art can be. Similarly, would there be physicists if we would know all of physics? 

The question which comes first, beauty or knowledge, is left undecided for me. Maybe the entire question is irrelevant, as we see knowledge in beauty and beauty in knowledge.

The book this excerpt is from, Profiles of the Future by Arthur Clarke, is fascinating. A renowned science fiction author attempting to predict the future in the 60's. He willingly admitted history will prove him wrong, but 50 years later, he made some stunningly accurate predictions (and some entertaining misses). More elaborate thoughts on goodreads.

Maar hij was ook vroeger al duizend keer bereid geweest om zijn eigen bestaan weg te geven voor een idee, voor een verwachting, zelfs voor een fantasie. Het bestaan alleen was hem altijd te weinig geweest; hij wilde altijd meer. *Misschien dat hij toen alleen al door de kracht van zijn verlangens meende dat hij iemand was die meer mocht dan een ander.*

En wie niet? Oh, wie niet.

There are no fish on land.

Something that has been on my mind recently, is the relationship between humanity and nature. In the following, let me define nature as everything that is alive. And so far, that means all of nature is contained on this earth (discovery of alien life will shake up so many of our tidy definitions, and probably more). This definition is in contrast with the broader universe. So the moon, the sun, the galaxy are not part of nature, but every organism you know, is.

There is an environmentalist mentality of wanting to be "in harmony with nature", which has always rubbed me the wrong way. It is true that we are part of nature, and that we are dependent on a lot of different life-forms. It is also true that we are in many ways not harmonious with nature. Just look at the rate of which species are going extinct and how humanity changes the face of the earth in favor of lifeless structures.

This leads to the comforting idea of striving for harmony with nature. A mindset which solves our destructive tendencies, and unites us with that from which we've emerged. What bothers me, is that this is a view which looks at the past, but not at the future.

That is because above all, we are separating ourselves from nature more and more. The excerpt states that if we truly enter space, do we cease to be human? As humanity advances, it becomes increasingly difficult to relate ourselves to nature. There is no question that we originate from nature, but as we eliminate most health issues, engineer intelligence, maintain artificial ecosystems, and leave the earth behind us, we will ultimately place ourselves above nature. A belief which is reliant on viewing us as living alongside nature is unsustainable.

If we are striving for a long-lasting mentality with nature, because there is no doubt nature holds incredible value and beauty, we should not focus on our relationship to it. Instead, we should focus on its inherent qualities, the diversity, the ingenuity, the unbelievability. The more we appreciate what we can learn and enjoy from nature, the less likely we are to let it go to waste. The new frontier of space is alluring, but we should not risk forgetting what we find here. Space-exploration critics will assert that there is so much to appreciate here on earth, and I have to agree with them (not with their conclusion that this is mutually exclusive with exploring space).

A clear criticism of this view, of appreciating nature from the outside, without acknowledging our unity with it, is the arrogance we emit. Humanity breathes the oxygen our plants and algae produce, the microbes on our skin and in our stomachs sustains us. We are in almost every way very dependent on the life around us. With the climate crisis ominously approaching it seems naïve to declare that we should not harmonize with nature. In a sense, this is a strong pragmatic argument. We should strive to harmonize with nature, to save our livelihood.

I do wonder, if we prioritize pragmatism of idealism, does focusing on harmony make sense? An alternative, a rhetoric focused on the existential threat, seems more effective. As I am sitting in my concrete cube in the middle of a mostly concrete city, losing species and biodiversity is tragic, but not being able to buy food is terrifying.

The view of humanity being in harmony with nature is one founded in the past, but not applicable to the future. Some day, we will leave our roots behind, and an alternative appreciation of nature is needed. One focused on its inherent quality is necessary to prevent nature from going to waste.