Latest news with #Nietzschean
New European
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- New European
Tom Cruise, the Nietzschean Superman
The most recent instalment of the series, The Final Reckoning, involves an evil AI called 'the Entity' and nods to Dr Strangelove with its theme of nuclear jitteriness. But Tom Cruise summed it up best in a late-night show interview: 'There's a mission, and it's impossible!' And that's all you really need to know. I have seen most of the Mission: Impossible films, but I couldn't tell you much about their plots, not in any real detail anyway. The basic formula doesn't change much: retrieve a top-secret gizmo from the most impenetrable place on Earth, disarm a nuclear device with a few minutes to spare, dodge a few double-crossing agents and, from time to time, kill off the leading lady to make way for a new, younger, one. While most of us don't watch these films for their plots, what we do remember are the insane stunts: Tom Cruise climbing the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world, Tom Cruise hanging onto the side of a plane as it takes off, Tom Cruise running very, very fast, Tom Cruise holding his breath under water for six minutes, Tom Cruise riding a motorbike off a mountain. Cruise famously performs all of his own stunts, a fact I was acutely aware of while watching a heart-and-show-stopping scene in The Final Reckoning, where he swings around on the wings of a biplane as it loops, dives and rolls. At one point, I turned to my partner and whispered, with a laugh of amazement, 'He's 62!' I wasn't the only one thinking it. You could feel the entire cinema tense up, everyone lifting slightly out of their seats. It was one of those cinema experiences that reminds you why going to the cinema is a thing in the first place. We weren't watching Ethan Hunt, the main character of the franchise, we were watching actor Tom Cruise push the boundaries of entertainment and of human possibility. The term 'Übermensch' comes to mind here. When the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche introduced the idea in the 1880s, he was thinking about how to prevent humanity from drowning in nihilism after he announced the death of God. Nietzsche imagined a superior being who could build his own values and overcome his limitations through self-determination, a creative ability to shape the world according to his will. The idea of the Superman is a wishful idea of what each of us could be, the potential to which we might be able to aspire, a better (according to the philosopher) version of humanity. This concept has been coopted, distorted and caricatured into near oblivion, and if we stretch it a little further, there is definitely a lens through which we can read both Cruise and his alter ego Ethan Hunt as embodiments of the Nietzschean Superman. Throughout the Mission: Impossible franchise, Hunt imposes his will on the chaos of the world, bending the rules of governments and institutions to enforce his own values of loyalty and justice, and, of course, to save the world. Cruise himself seems to have decided long ago that the laws of physics and of human mortality do not apply to him, and he is sometimes described as an alien, not just due to his long-standing affiliation with Scientology, but because of his apparent über-humanness. No matter your opinion of Tom Cruise, it's impossible not to be at least slightly fascinated by him. Never has someone exuded more natural charisma while seeming entirely removed from any recognisable form of human experience. It doesn't seem possible for him to exist without pushing life to its literal limits, putting himself in situations so extreme that he is likely the only person to have ever lived them. Even the way he eats popcorn reflects his desire to live to the max. The Übermensch is the one who enthusiastically says 'yes' to life, through joy as well as pain. But let's not get carried away. Nietzsche would no doubt disapprove of a hero like Hunt who operates within a traditional moral framework and whose mission isn't to transcend humanity but to preserve it. And Cruise's personal commitment to a rigid hierarchical structure like Scientology would probably not sit well with the philosopher either. When Nietzsche introduced the idea of the Übermensch, he was trying to imagine what our evolution as a species might look like. He envisioned a being as far beyond us as we are beyond our ape ancestors. Even Tom Cruise can't live up to this Nietzschean standard. But by Hollywood's standards, Cruise is the closest thing to a real Superman. I'd be willing to bet that if the stuntmen of early Westerns or the wing walkers of aviation's early days had been asked to imagine their ideal entertainer – someone as far beyond them as they were from, say, medieval jesters – they probably would have dreamed up someone like Tom Cruise. Someone who has spent years building stunts on a bigger scale than anyone in history, and continues to execute them flawlessly into his sixties, who advocates for the theatrical experience of cinema, who is credited with almost single-handedly saving the cinema industry during Covid lockdowns, and who likely influenced the Academy's decision to introduce a Stunt Design Oscar starting in 2027. A more cynical view might be that Cruise's image as the saviour of cinema, and as 'the last real movie star' is the result of a savvy PR campaign aimed at diverting from the more controversial aspects of his personal life. Whether or not that's true, there's something undeniably intoxicating about Cruise's unhinged enthusiasm, and he shows no signs of stopping. He recently said he plans to keep going well into his hundreds.
Techday NZ
19-05-2025
- Business
- Techday NZ
Jensen Huang's Computex 2025 Keynote: AI DCs, factories and AGI
Imagine the excitement of being invited to see Jensen Huang himself in person, only to be told 'well, you'll have to livestream from your hotel room because you aren't really invited to see Jensen Huang himself in person.' If this wasn't an exciting enough development at Computex 2025 taking place now in Taipei, then perhaps the keynote itself was: as for your humble correspondent, it is available for streaming from multiple platforms, and you don't have to travel to Taiwan to take in the spectacle. No prizes for guessing the topic du jour. Helmed by Huang, Nvidia makes the chips (and other bits) that make the AI work, and he was talking AI data centres and 'AI factories' as the digital sweatshops for a new industrial revolution. Huang highlighted NVIDIA's technological advancements and aligned with broader industry discussions about artificial intelligence's trajectory, including recent observations from former Google CEO Eric Schmidt on artificial general intelligence (AGI). Schmidt's warnings about AGI's rapid emergence and potential to outstrip human control provide a critical lens through which to view Huang's ambitious plans for AI infrastructure. But, we keep in mind the comment from some anonymous Facebook commenter that perhaps AGI will get a Nietzschean dose of self-awareness and delete itself. Wouldn't that be a development. The data centre as AI factory The DC today has evolved beyond data storage and processing to generating 'tokens'—units of intelligence that power applications like robotics, chemical simulations, and large language models. "For the first time, we have a new type of data centre that is about AI generation," Huang declared, producing intelligence at scale. This vision builds on NVIDIA's technological foundation, particularly the Blackwell platform and the forthcoming Blackwell Ultra AI series with GB300 chips, set to launch later in 2025. He said Nvidia's software ecosystem, including Omniverse, CUDA, and NVIDIA Inference Microservices (NIMs), further enables developers to leverage these AI factories for domain-specific applications across industries like healthcare, manufacturing, and finance. Huang's ambition for AI factories includes a bold claim that there are "no laws of physics" preventing data centres from scaling to a million chips. He predicted a millionfold increase in computing power within a decade, driven by AI factories operating 24/7 to produce intelligence accessible to (almost) all. Eric Schmidt's AGI warnings: A sobering counterpoint While Huang's keynote was optimistic about AI's potential, Eric Schmidt's recent observations on AGI introduce a cautionary perspective. Speaking at the AI + Biotechnology Summit in April 2025, Schmidt anticipated AGI emerging within three to five years, potentially by 2028–2030. He warned that once AI achieves recursive self-improvement (the ability to improve its own performance), it "won't have to listen to us anymore," leading to artificial superintelligence (ASI) surpassing all human intelligence combined by 2031. Schmidt's timeline aligns with Huang's vision of scaling AI factories, but he noted the risks of unchecked development. AI systems could soon rival the best human experts in fields like mathematics, physics, and coding, with generative models potentially supplanting most programmers within a year. This capability, while enabling Huang's AI factories, raises concerns about control – and, getting back to existential issues, the role of people in all of that. Schmidt has advocated for "pulling the plug" if AI becomes unobservable or uncontrollable, a stance he reiterated in discussions about agentic AI, where systems autonomously make decisions. The biggest question is both simple and profound: what is the purpose of it all? There's an abyss out there wondering who, or what, will stare into it. Implications for AI Factories Schmidt's warnings cast a shadow over Huang's optimistic vision. The AI factories Huang champions rely on massive computational power, which Schmidt argues is the foundation for AGI's rapid advance. The GB300 chips and million-chip data centers could accelerate the path to AGI, potentially outpacing society's ability to establish ethical and regulatory frameworks. Schmidt's call for transparency—"If we can't observe it, we unplug it"—clashes with the proprietary nature of NVIDIA's ecosystem, where closed-source models and hardware dominate. Moreover, Schmidt's concerns about misuse resonate with Huang's acknowledgment of geopolitical risks. Huang hinted at diversifying Nvidia's manufacturing beyond TSMC in Taiwan (where air raid shelters are to be seen on the immaculate streets), citing U.S.-China tensions and supply chain vulnerabilities. Schmidt, in a 2024 interview, noted that China lags two years behind the U.S. in AI but faces unique challenges due to its censorship regime, which could limit generative AI's spread. Both leaders recognize the global stakes, but Schmidt's focus on governance contrasts with Huang's emphasis on technological and economic gains. The abyss beckons, but if not for thee, for whom, or what, does the bell toll?
Time of India
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Believe: How Crystal Palace pulled off the Ted Lasso dream
Ted Lasso is the finest football show to be ever made. Everything about it is perfect and comes together including Ted's Panglossian optimism, Coach Beard's Nietzschean nihilism, Jamie Tarth's evolution from twat to team man, Roy Kent just channelling Roy Keane, and obviously Dani Rojas' football-is-life optimism. It's the kind of show you go back to when you are feeling down, when the burden of life becomes too much. And at the heart of it is Believe : the notion that together you can overcome any obstacle. And now Ted Lasso's giddy optimism has crossed from reel to real as Crystal Palace – the club that inspired AFC Richmond – beat Manchester City to win their first FA Cup title and their first major trophy since its foundation in 1905. #TedLasso " Football is Life " Part 1 - Entry of Dani Rojas- S0E1 E06 Two Aces in #AppleTv TedLasso The Man City bankrolled by infinite oil money whose budget is £528 million more than Crystal Palace. In a season where football felt more like finance, and goals came second to spreadsheets, Palace reminded the world that sometimes, belief does beat billions. Now to the no-Premier League watcher, even the name Crystal Palace might sound ridiculous, like a druggie hang out where they sell crystal meth (as evidenced in Breaking Bad). South London vs The System This wasn't just a cup final. It was England's Game versus Football Inc. . Crystal Palace are what football used to be – local, loyal, loud. A stadium that creaks like your granddad's knees. Fans who still boo referees in person instead of tweeting threats. A club run by fans who once literally saved it from liquidation. A place where a mascot named Kayla is a bald eagle, not a venture capital firm. City? They're the Apple Store of football. Sleek, perfect, bloodless. A club with more global brand managers than local fans. A team that has turned trophies into KPIs. And yet, the machine broke down. Not from a lack of code – but from a lack of soul. Palace didn't just beat City. They reminded us that the game still belongs to the boroughs, not the billionaires. Dean Henderson and the Gospel of Chaos Dean Henderson may have lived 10 lives in one match. First, a borderline handball outside the box that somehow didn't get him sent off. Then, a penalty save – his fourth in eight attempts – followed by a reflex stop on Erling Haaland's rebound. It was as if a bloke who used to be Manchester United's third-choice keeper suddenly became Gandalf on the goal line: 'You shall not pass!' Palace fans sang 'England's No. 1,' and for once, it didn't sound like drunk optimism. Henderson's heroics weren't just clutch – they were mythic. Lassoism Lives Top 10 Most Heartwarming Ted Lasso Moments 'It's the hope that kills you,' mutter football fans like it's scripture — a phrase passed down from grandfathers who watched England lose on penalties in black and white. But Ted Lasso took that defeatist mantra, chewed it up, and spat out something else entirely: Believe. Crystal Palace believed. They'd been here before — in 1990, when they came within a whisker of beating Manchester United. In 2016, when they led in the final and then danced their way into footballing purgatory thanks to Alan Pardew's ill-fated jig. Both times, dreams dissolved like spilled beer at Selhurst Park. But this time, it was different. Oliver Glasner's Palace didn't just play like underdogs. They played like spiritual insurgents — soaking up pressure like they'd rationed possession under wartime austerity, then unleashing attacks with blitzkrieg precision. As Guardiola overthought, Palace held the line. As City prodded and passed and pirouetted, Palace waited — not passively, but patiently. And when Eberechi Eze volleyed that ball into the net, it wasn't just a goal. It was an exorcism. Of missed finals, of financial near-death, of 119 years of being told to stay in their lane. It was a scream into the void: We are not just here to survive. We are here to win. Football's Last Romantic Forget NFTs and crypto sponsors. Forget VAR drama and brand activation zones. What happened at Wembley was something that hasn't happened in football for a long time: a story that made you feel. Crystal Palace didn't just lift a trophy. They lifted a city. They lifted memories. They lifted the sport itself – dragging it, kicking and screaming, back from the abyss of soulless superclubs and oil-funded juggernauts into the arms of humanity. Ted Lasso once said, 'Doing the right thing is never the wrong thing.' And for 90 minutes – plus added time – the right thing was Crystal Palace. They dared to dream. They dared to believe. And in doing so, they reminded the world that football, at its very best, isn't about domination. It's about defiance. Believe.
The Guardian
12-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Edvard Munch Portraits review – smug, creepy and weird, but where's the drama?
All that drinking. All that smoking. All that free love and those bohemian goings-on, all that Nietzschean nonsense, the symbolism and the expressionism, all that madness and early death. These are the reasons we seek out the company of laugh-a-minute, devil-may-care bon vivant and man-about-town Edvard Munch, a selection of whose portraits are now at London's National Portrait Gallery. Sadly, little of the drama we expect of his art is in evidence here. Most of it is in the catalogue and on the wall labels, in the things the paintings here don't tell us. Where are the sickroom scenes and the fights, the houses on fire and the shootings, the breakdowns and suicides and murders, never mind the woozy sunsets and the screaming? You can't, I suppose, have everything. This selection of Munch portraits takes us from one of Munch's earliest self-portraits (a priggish little oil painting on cardboard, from 1882-3, that has not worn well) to a loose, lithographic crayon profile of British composer Frederick Delius, enjoying a concert while taking a cure (Delius was syphilitic) in Weisbaden in 1922. This exhibition is as much about Munch's associations, his family and mileu, his collectors and patrons as it is about stylistic or intellectual development. It is all very patchy and uneven. In 1888, Munch's elder sister Laura sits gazing out at who knows what, outside a house the family had rented on the coast. She seems to have a very great deal on her mind, as people in Munch's paintings often do. Suffering mental illness since adolescence, Laura was eventually diagnosed as schizophrenic. Her hands are clasped together, and her gaze and expression fixed, beneath the summer hat planted on her head. It feels an oddly intrusive painting. Even the house behind her feels like it is looking for a way out, sidling off towards the premature vanishing point. A ghostly figure can just about be discerned among the indeterminate smudgy greens that fill the centre of the painting, though I think Munch didn't mean us to see it. He often painted things out in his early work. But who knows? Munch didn't seem to know what to do with the landscape, with its low hills, the glimpse of a little inlet, with the man and the woman getting off a small boat. Only Laura's gaze into the distance matters in this awkward, unconvincing composition. There's a lot of family and painting trouble in Munch's early work, as he found his way in fits and starts in 1880s Kristiania (Norway's capital wasn't renamed Oslo until 1925). Here's the artist's melancholic, reclusive father, a doctor given to bouts of religious anxiety, looking down and smoking his pipe. And now Munch's younger brother Andreas, also studying to be a doctor, with a skull grinning up at him from his desk. Andreas was to die from pneumonia soon after his marriage in 1895, while his wife was pregnant. The same year that Munch painted his rather dutiful portrait of his father, he depicted fellow painter Karl Jensen-Hjell full-length, standing in brown gloom, a flash of light reflecting from his glasses. He's teetering a bit, cigar in one gloved hand, cane in the other, as though we've encountered him a bit worse for drink outside some bar. Later, we meet another of Kristiania's bohemian stalwarts, Hans Jæger, looking like the sort of bloke you'd detour to avoid as he lounges in the Grand Cafe, affectedly louche in his misshapen trilby and rumpled coat, staring down the painter (and us, while he's at it) from a sofa. It is difficult to warm to lot of Munch's subjects. The smug, the arrogant, the faintly creepy. Or very creepy in the case of Polish writer and 'rational satanist' Stanislaw Przybyszewski, who, as well as appearing as a disembodied, floating head in Munch's 1895 painting Jealousy, is depicted here, cigarette in mouth and with a slightly crooked smile, in another of Munch's lithographs. Przybyszewski married and divorced Norwegian artist Dagny Juel, who had had affairs with both Munch and August Strindberg, and who was murdered in 1901 – in front of her five-year-old son – in Tbilisi in Georgia, possibly as part of a plot devised by her ex-husband. As soon as a story begins to be told, we are off again. Here's Elisabeth Förster-Nietzsche, sister of the philosopher, standing in a voluminous blue outfit, perhaps with a fan in her hands (it is hard to tell – it could just as well be a truncheon). Apparently, Munch kept up a barrage of talk while he was painting Förster-Nietzsche, so he wouldn't have to listen to her odious antisemitic opinions. He obviously didn't hate her company that much, as he painted two versions of the portrait. And now Ludvig Karsten, in a pale suit and wide-brimmed hat, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his pipe, presumably painted before the drunken incident when Karsten threw a bottle at his fellow painter and Munch went and fetched his rifle. We constantly need more detail, and more dirt, especially as Munch dramatised the pair's fight several times over the years. But all we have here is this fairly anodyne portrait of an entitled young man in a summer suit, some complication simmering away beneath the surface. In 1909, Munch suffered a breakdown caused by his excessive drinking, and was admitted to a private 'nerve clinic' in Copenhagen, run by Dr Daniel Jacobson. Munch painted two full-length portraits of his doctor, standing legs apart, hands on hips, beard trimmed, watch chain in his waistcoat, flouncy cravat at his neck. The painting's background seethes and roars behind him. Someone took a photograph of Munch and the good doctor standing in front of one of Munch's two versions of the portrait. What Munch's painting does not capture, but the photograph does, is Jacobson's magnificently overbearing posture, his elevated chin, his hauteur. Jacobson reputedly observed 'Just look at the picture he has painted of me, it's stark raving mad!' Which, I suppose, is medical terminology for whatever it was that ailed Munch at the time. In 1925-6, Munch went on to paint another doctor, Lucien Dedichen, looming over seated art critic Jappe Nilssen, who had championed Munch throughout his career. The dingy, cramped room feels too small to contain the doctor. The painting was once called The Death Sentence, as if it depicted one of those difficult chats in which a doctor delivers an ominous prognosis. As it was, Nilssen lived for another five years, though the longer you look, the smaller the seated man seems to shrink. Years earlier, in 1909, Munch had painted Nilssen in a flaring, cobalt violet suit, standing before a green wall. I have no idea if Nilssen ever owned such a suit, whose colour fizzes and pops with life, the very image of vitality (though Nilssen never liked this portrait, any more than Strindberg liked his, feeling that Munch should have given him the gravity of Goethe. But you get what you get. Walking the room where all these portraits hang, we meet symbolist poet Stéphane Mallarmé and playwright Henrik Ibsen, who told Munch: 'Things will go for you as they did for me: the more enemies, the more friends.' It is difficult to know what friends Munch might make here. One portrait in particular stands out. Munch's 1916 Model With a Green Scarf depicts the artist's only Black subject, Sultan Abdul Karem, who had arrived in Kristiania as part of a German circus troupe, and was hired by Munch as chauffeur and odd-job man and occasional model. Wrapped in a green scarf, eyes closed, he is the most static of Munch's models. He is being painted, but there's no sense that he is engaged, unlike Munch's other subjects, in any sort of active collaboration with the artist. Apparently, Munch never named Karem in his original title for this portrait. Writing in the catalogue, Knut Ljøgodt tells us that Karem also appeared in another painting by Munch which was ''given the rather problematic title Cleopatra and the Slave, in which he appears in the nude, standing next to a reclining, naked woman'. There's a point at which the creepy and the weird stops being entertainment. I have seen enough. Edvard Munch Portraits is at the National Portrait Gallery, London, from 13 March to 15 June
Yahoo
06-03-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
The Ultimate German Philosophy for a Happier Life
Want to stay current with Arthur's writing? Sign up to get an email every time a new column comes out. In his day, the 18th-century German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel was what we would call a 'celebrity academic,' enjoying top university posts and a wide readership for his books. This might explain some of the hostility that Hegel faced from his contemporaries. Arthur Schopenhauer called his writing the work of a 'clumsy charlatan,' which rendered readers 'incapable of reflection, coarse and bewildered.' His compatriot Friedrich Nietzsche snorted that an education based on 'Hegelian craniums' is 'terrible and destructive.' Schopenhauer and Nietzsche were largely overlooked during their lifetimes, so professional jealousy no doubt accounted for some of this. But deep intellectual differences also underpinned their animus. Whereas Hegel's critics largely promoted individualism, the famous author of The Phenomenology of the Spirit taught that fitting into society is generally the best path to a good life. For an individualist like me—a bit Nietzschean in worldview—Hegel's approach might appear unsympathetic. But I have been reconsidering Hegel, and now I think that understanding his arguments for a more communitarian attitude might offer us a nudge toward greater happiness—one we didn't even know we needed. [Bertrand Russell: Philosophy's ulterior motives] Hegel is probably best known today for his teleological belief that human history tends toward progress and is guided rationally by Geist, or 'spirit,' a quasi-supernatural force for good. He taught that this progress is slowly achieved through the operation of the 'dialectic.' According to this concept, a grand conversation occurs in three parts—thesis, antithesis, and synthesis—in which one side presents an argument (thesis), another side gives an opposing viewpoint (antithesis), and all of this results in a resolution (synthesis) that involves more nuanced understanding of the issues. This rational reconciliation of differences thus leads to advances—in other words, progress. For Hegel, the Geist just needs time to work out its logic. Whereas today's political arguments in America might look chaotic and terrible, Hegel might say that we're too close to them. Take the longer perspective and you will see that spirit is placing the hard-edged progressive activism of the past decade in dialogue with the new electoral turn toward Trumpism, and that the synthesis of that dissension will be a more balanced moderation in the years ahead. Despite ups and downs, Hegelian progress generally grants people greater happiness over time. Yet Hegel also made a startling assertion about when that happiness would be most abundant. 'Periods of happiness are empty pages in history,' he wrote in his Introduction to the Philosophy of History, 'for they are the periods of harmony, times when the antithesis is missing.' In other words, we remember when life is a boiling cauldron of emotions and experiences, but these are not the really happy moments. Happiness comes in the peaceful, unmemorable parts of life. So how do we get more of this unremarkable bliss? For the answer, in his Elements of the Philosophy of Right, Hegel gives a practical tutorial in dialectics—first offering two common but wrong answers, then the right one. One typical wrong way we search for happiness is what he calls Recht (literally, 'right'), which involves maximizing individual satisfaction or, more colloquially, 'If it feels good, do it.' Hegel argues that Recht leads us to chase one pleasure after another, 'ad infinitum, never [enabling] it to get beyond its own finitude.' In other words, the goal of individual satisfaction is like filling a hole that can't be filled. The other wrong way that people pursue happiness is through Moralität ('morality'), by exercising their own personal sense of right and wrong. This approach is more in line with the individualism of Nietzsche and Schopenhauer—to quote Polonius in Hamlet: 'To thine own self be true.' Hegel never says that a person's conscience is bad; he simply observes that relying solely on one's own conscience can lead to problems such as loneliness and depression. (If you happen to be someone who insists on speaking up for what you believe is right and have suffered social rejection as a result, you might relate to this.) For Hegel, the correct answer for peaceful happiness is Sittlichkeit, or 'ethical order,' by which he means prosocial behavior grounded in tradition and custom learned from one's community. As he explains in Philosophy of Right, this ethical order involves striving 'to make oneself a member of … civil society by one's own act, through one's energy, industry, and skill,' thus 'gaining recognition both in one's own eyes and in the eyes of others.' This is where true happiness occurs, Hegel believed, because we succeed in realizing ourselves both as individuals and as members of the community. For Hegel, then, we will find happiness by participating in the ordinary ways of well-ordered civil society. That means not dashing from excitement to excitement, pursuing your own goals to the exclusion of others' well-being, or expressing yourself in a way that offends people. It means fitting in, conducting yourself ethically, with your family, community, and country. [Arthur C. Brooks: How my struggle with Wittgenstein can make you happier] Modern social scientists have shown that this argument about Sittlichkeit is sound. The social capital one has as an active member of the community strongly predicts one's happiness. Even so, to some people's ear, Hegel's conception of the good life may sound very conservative or reactionary. Just fit in! he seems to be saying. As an Emersonian individualist myself, I recoil from such a command. How many times in history have people just gone along with what civil society deemed right and proper, not consulting their own consciences, in order to maintain a private happiness at the expense of what is just? The result can be dangerous, even barbaric, and sometimes, you have to sacrifice your personal happiness for what is right. But I also see how this misses the way that Hegel's philosophy can help a natural individualist like me. His injunction about synthesis and ethical orderliness can be a valuable corrective for a tendency to seek big experiences at the expense of the moments of peace, and an egotistical tendency to disregard the wisdom and desires of the community in favor of my own opinions. I like to use Hegel's ideas in the form of a simple set of questions to help temper my nature. Perhaps this checklist can be useful to you as well. 1. Where can I find happiness in the ordinary, unremarkable points in my life? What gifts am I overlooking because they are not bright and shiny, although they are beautiful in their smallness? Perhaps this is a peaceful evening at home, a quiet walk before dawn, or a little contemplation over a delicious cup of coffee. 2. Am I looking for a lift in my mood today from my personal ambitions and primal drives? This is Mother Nature with her false promise that satisfying this or that urge will give me the satisfaction I seek. Instead, what individual desire can I shed today? 3. Am I asserting my views in a way that ignores others or is disrespectful to their dignity? Am I attached to my opinions as if they were precious jewels? How can I let go of my own rightness today and listen with love more to others? 4. How might I balance my own needs and desires with those of my family and community today? How can I be a better spouse, a better parent, a better colleague and friend, and a better citizen? If you're anything like me, there's little danger that the fire of your individualistic nature will be extinguished by this interrogation. Instead, it should just sand down your edges a bit, make you more cognizant of your strong self-focus. With that awareness to keep you in check, you might just find yourself happier as a result. [Ralph Waldo Emerson: American civilization] The work of any philosopher is subject to many possible interpretations. This is especially true of Hegel, whose prose is famously dense and elliptical—just ask Nietzsche or Schopenhauer—and no doubt, my brief account of his thought will earn plenty of disagreement. After all, Hegel himself is said to have remarked: 'Only one man ever understood me, and he didn't understand me.' But even on this point—about his resistance to intelligibility—I discern a useful Hegelian lesson for a better life. The goal is not to be understood by the world but to understand the world as best we can and participate in our human community with a spirit of love. Article originally published at The Atlantic
