In my teens years i read a lot of science fiction. Frank Herbert’s Dune, books written by Robert Heinlein, Jack Vance, Ursula Le Guin. Tolkien of course. Scifi and fantasy books.
Time travel was a popular topic. It is an easy way to play with time and the world and the rules of the universe. You can move back and forth. You can clean up a room, make it all neat once again. You can go back to school and imagine you are young once more.
But you are not. You never do go back. Not in reality.
We all, we all who live on this world, this earth, this planet, this universe, we all move forward with each other. And each now fades away, each now is impossible to catch, each now is nothing in your hands.
This morning we talked about this for a short time on the market. I talked about those moments we all remember, those moments something significant changed. Those moments the airplanes flew into the World Trade Centers. Those moments the Berlin Wall fell down. Those moments Princes Diana died. Those moments seared into your mind. Those moments most of us were all focused on these events taking place, all living in the same time, occupied with the same thing happening. Those moment the now ticks away the seconds and moves on and on and on.
Tick tick tick …
Most of the time each person lives in his or her own world. But there are times when something significant happens in the world. When all people talk about the same thing. Currently COVID-19 is that thing. Not for me personally i have to say. I am not scared, not worried.
I do think about these moments when most people are looking a certain way, talking about a certain thing. I wonder if i would like to be in the center of such an attention span. Hmm, i think i say that wrong. Not would like to be, but if i could handle it, keep inside me, not forget about what i want in life. Which to me is so important.
The street, the buildings, the houses, the shops, the garbage bags, the benches, the cars, the bicycles, the signs, the stones, the sidewalks, the flowers, the green, the plants, the little grass areas, the sitting areas, the do not walk closer than 1,5 meter signs, the people, the people, the people, the shops, the grey, the blues, the reds, the whites, the blacks, the bags, the junk, the sky, the clouds, the sun, the sun, the sun, the sun, the air, the wind, the wind, the wind, the water, the fountains, the squares, the traffic, the noise, the children, the man standing on the sidewalk staring down at this phone, the grey, the straight lines, the little plants peeping up, the man, the women, the boys, the girls, the little children, the people, the people, the people.
twee oren om te horen
twee ogen om te zien
twee handen in het lege
en verre vingers tien
A few weeks ago i came across Charles Eisenstein on the Rebelwisdom channel. I am reading his book The Ascent of Humanity, available online. I am not sure about what i think of him, but the first impression is that i like it. I especially like his book. His essay The Coronation i enjoyed a lot as well. I will hopefully soon be more informed. For now i will leave with his interview and a chapter from the book The Ascent of Humanity, the chapter Alone in a Crowd.
Alone in a crowd
It should not be surprising that money is deeply implicated in the dissolution of community, because anonymity and competition are intrinsic to money as we know it. The anonymity of money is a function of its abstraction. The history of money is the history of the gradual abstraction of value from physical objects. Early forms of money possessed intrinsic value, and were distinguished from other objects of intrinsic value by their portability, storability, and universality. Whether camels, bags of grain, or jugs of oil, early media of exchange had an inherent value to nearly every member of the society.
As society specialized and trade flourished, more abstract forms of money developed that depended not on inherent value but on collective belief in their value. Why trade actual bags of grain when you can just trade representations of those bags? Paper money, and to a great extent coinage, depends for its value on collective perceptions rather than practical utility. You can’t eat gold.
The next stage of the abstraction of value came with the divorce of money from even the representation of physical objects. With the abandonment of the gold standard in the 20th century, a dollar came to be worth. . . a dollar. Currency has become a completely abstract representation of value; indeed, the abstraction is so complete that it no longer really represents anything at all. The parallel with language is uncanny. Just as words have lost their mooring in the reality of our senses, “forcing us into increasingly exaggerated elocutions to communicate at all,” so also has money become not just a representation of value but value itself. The last thirty years have witnessed the final step of this abstraction: the gradual elimination of physical currency altogether in favor of numbers in a computer.
Just as words increasingly mean nothing at all, money is also nearing a crisis in which, so disconnected from the utilitarian objects it once represented, it becomes nothing more than hunks of metal, pieces of paper, and bits in a computer. Our efforts to stave off this eventuality (of hyperinflation and currency collapse) mirror the logic of the technological fix, postponing the day of reckoning.
Money is abstract not only with regard to objects of utility, but also with regard to people. Anybody’s money is the same. While camels or jugs of oil or any tangible object has an individuality connected with its origin, money is completely generic and thus completely anonymous. Nothing in the digits of your savings account statement tells you who that money came from. One person’s money is as good as another’s. It is no accident that our society, based increasingly on money, is also increasingly a generic and anonymous society. Money is how the society of the Machine enacts the standardization and depersonalization implicit in its mass scale and division of labor. But more than just a means to implement depersonalization, money also pushes it further.
To see how, let us return to the paradise of financial independence, ignoring for now that the security it promises is but a temporary illusion, and instead look at the results when it is actually achieved. Often, it is when the semblance of independence is achieved that its emptiness becomes most apparent. Simply observe that the financially independent individual, among other equally independent individuals, has no basis for community except for the effort to “be nice” and “make friends”. Underneath even the most well-motivated social gathering is the knowledge: We don’t really need each other. Contemporary parties, for example, are almost always based on consumption—of food, drink, drugs, sports, or other forms of entertainment. We recognize them as frivolous. This sort of fun really doesn’t matter, and neither do the friendships based on fun. Does anybody ever become close by partying together?
Actually, I don’t think that joint consumption is even fun. It only passes the time painlessly by covering up a lack, and leaves us feeling all the more empty. The significance of the superficiality of our social leisure becomes apparent when we contrast that sort of “fun” with a very different activity, play. Unlike joint consumption, play is by nature creative. Joint creativity fosters relationships that are anything but superficial. But when our fun, our entertainment, is itself the object of purchase, and is created by distant and anonymous specialists for our consumption (movies, sports contests, music), then we become consumers and not producers of fun. We are no longer play-ers.
Play is the production of fun; entertainment is the consumption of fun. When the neighbors watch the Superbowl together they are consumers; when they organize a game of touch football (alas, the parks are empty these days) they are producers. When they watch music videos together they consume; when they play in a band they produce. Only through the latter activity is there the possibility of getting to know each other’s strengths and limitations, character and inner resources. In contrast, the typical cocktail party, dinner party, or Superbowl party affords little opportunity to share much of oneself, because there is nothing to do. (And have you noticed how any attempt to share oneself in such settings seems contrived, uncomfortable, awkward, inappropriate, or embarrassing?) Besides, real intimacy comes not from telling about yourself—your childhood, your relationships, your health problems, etc.—but from joint creativity, which brings out your true qualities, invites you to show that aspect of yourself needed for the task at hand. Later, when intimacy has developed, telling about oneself may come naturally—or it may not even be necessary.
Have you ever wondered why your childhood friendships were closer, more intimate, more bonded than those of adulthood? At least that’s how I remember mine. It wasn’t because we had heart-to-heart conversations about our feelings. With our childhood friends we felt a closeness that probably wasn’t communicated in words. We did things together and created things together. From an adult’s perspective our creativity was nothing but games: our play forts and cardboard box houses and pretend tea parties and imaginary sports teams and teddy bear families were not real. As children, though, these activities were very real to us indeed; we were absolutely in earnest and invested no less a degree of emotion in our make-believe than adults do in theirs.
Yes, the adult world is make-believe too. Roles and costumes, games and pretenses contribute to a vast story. When we become aware of it, we sense the artificiality of it all and feel, perhaps, like a child playing grown-up. The entire edifice of culture and technology is built on stories, composed of symbols, about how the world is. Usually we don’t notice; we think it is all “for real”. Our stories are mostly unconscious. But the new edifice that will rise from the ruins of the old will be built on very different stories of self and world, and these stories will be consciously told. We will go back to play.
As children the things we did together mattered to us. To us they were real; we cared about them intensely and they evoked our full being. In contrast, most of the things we do together as adults for the sake of fun and friendship do not matter. We recognize them as frivolous, unnecessary, and relegate them to our “spare time”. A child does not relegate play to spare time, unless forced to.
I remember the long afternoons of childhood when my friends and I would get totally involved in some project or other, which became for that time the most important thing in the universe. We were completely immersed, in our project and in our group. Our union was greater than our mere sum as individuals; the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. The friendships that satisfy our need for connection are those that make each person more than themselves. That extra dimension belongs to both partners and to neither, akin to the “fifth voice” that emerges in a barbershop quartet out of the harmonics of the four. In many of my adult relationships I feel diminished, not enlarged. I don’t feel like I’ve let go of boundaries to become part of something greater than my self; instead I find myself tightly guarding my boundaries and doling out only that little bit of myself that is safe or likeable or proper. Others do the same. We are reserved. We are restrained.
Our reservedness should not be too surprising, because there is little in our adult friendships that compels us to be together. We can get together and talk, we can get together and eat and talk, we can get together and drink and talk. We can watch a movie or a concert together and be entertained. There are many opportunities for joint consumption but few for joint creativity, or for doing things together about which we care intensely. At most we might go sailing or play sports with friends, and at least we are working together toward a common purpose, but even so we recognize it as a game, a pastime. The reason adult friendships seem so superficial is that they are superficial. The reason we can find little to do besides getting together and talking, or getting together to be entertained, is that our society’s specialization has left us with little else to do. Thus the teenager’s constant refrain: “There’s nothing to do.” He is right. As we move into adulthood, in place of play we are offered consumption, in place of joint creativity, competition, and in place of playmates, the professional colleague.
The feeling “We don’t really need each other” is by no means limited to leisure gatherings. What better description could there be of the loss of community in today’s world? We don’t really need each other. We don’t need to know the person who grows, ships, and processes our food, makes our clothing, builds our house, creates our music, makes or fixes our car; we don’t even need to know the person who takes care of our babies while we are at work. We are dependent on the role, but only incidentally on the person fulfilling that role. Whatever it is, we can just pay someone to do it (or pay someone else to do it) as long as we have money. And how do we get money? By performing some other specialized role that, more likely than not, amounts to other people paying us to do something for them. This is what I call the monetized life, in which nearly all aspects of existence have been either converted to commodities or assigned a financial value.
The necessities of life have been given over to specialists, leaving us with nothing meaningful to do (outside our own area of expertise) but to entertain ourselves. Meanwhile, whatever functions of daily living that remain to us are mostly solitary functions: driving places, buying things, paying bills, cooking convenience foods, doing housework. None of these demand the help of neighbors, relatives, or friends. We wish we were closer to our neighbors; we think of ourselves as friendly people who would gladly help them. But there is little to help them with. In our house-boxes, we are self-sufficient. Or rather, we are self-sufficient in relation to the people we know but dependent as never before on total strangers living thousands of miles away.
Times of crisis still can bring us closer to our neighbors. When a health crisis renders us unable to perform the simple functions of daily survival, or a natural disaster or social crisis ruptures the supplies of food, electricity, and transportation that make us dependent on remote strangers but independent of our neighbors, we are glad to help each other out. Reciprocal relationships quickly form. But usually, we don’t help out our neighbors very much because there is nothing to help them with.
For the typical surburbanite, what is there to do with friends? We can cook together for fun, but we don’t need each other’s help in producing food. We don’t need each other to create shelter or clothing. We don’t need each other to care for us when we are sick. All these functions have been given over to paid specialists who are generally strangers. In an age of mass consumption, we don’t need each other to produce entertainment. In an age of paid childcare, we hesitate to ask each other for help with the children. In the age of TV and the Internet, we don’t need each other to tell us the news. In fact, not only is there little to do together, there is equally little to talk about. All that is left is the weather, the lawn, celebrities and sports. “Serious” topics are taboo. We can fill up our social gatherings with words, it is true, but we are left feeling empty, sending those words into an aching void that words can never fill.
And so we find in our culture a loneliness and hunger for authenticity that may well be unsurpassed in history. We try to “build community,” not realizing that mere intention is not enough when separation is built into the very social and physical infrastructure of our society. To the extent that this infrastructure is intact in our lives, we will never experience community. Community is incompatible with the modern lifestyle of highly specialized work and complete dependence on other specialists outside that work. It is a mistake to think that we live ultra-specialized lives and somehow add another ingredient called “community” on top of it all. Again, what is there really to share? Not much that matters, to the extent that we are independent of neighbors and dependent on faceless institutions and distant strangers. We can try: go meet the neighbors, organize a potluck, a listserve, a party. Such community can never be real, because the groundwork of life is already anonymity and convenience.
When we pay professionals to grow our food, prepare our food, create our entertainment, make our clothes, build our houses, clean our houses, treat our illnesses, and educate our children, what’s left? What’s left on which to base a community? Real communities are interdependent.
Now we have reached the sinister core of financial independence: it tends to isolate us in a world of strangers. It is strangers whom we pay to perform the functions listed above. It doesn’t really matter who grows your food—if they have a problem, you can always pay someone else to do it. This phrase encapsulates much about our modern society. When all functions are standardized and narrowly defined, it does not matter too much who fills them. We can always pay someone else to do it. As an individual, it is hard not to feel dispensable, a cog in the machine. We feel dispensable because, in terms of survival, in terms of all the economic functions of life, we are dispensable.
If you buy food from the supermarket deli, the people behind the kitchen doors, whom you never meet, are dispensable. If they quit, even if they die, someone else can be hired to fill their role. The same goes for the laborers in Indonesia who make the clothes you buy at the superstore. The same goes for the engineers who design your computer. We rely on their roles, their functions, but as individual humans they are expendable. Maybe you are a nice, friendly person who actually exchanges friendly greetings with the cashier who’s worked for five years at the local supermarket, but while you may be dependent on her role, the specific person filling this role is unimportant. It does not really matter if you get along with this person, or even know her name. She could be fired or die and it would make little difference in your life. It would not be much of a loss. Unless you live in a very small town, you probably will never know what happened to her or ever think to ask. All the more so for the vast majority of the people who sustain our material lives. They, unlike cashiers, are utterly faceless to us.
Because the economy depends on our roles, but does not care which individuals fill these roles, we suffer an omnipresent anxiety and insecurity borne of the fact that the world can get along just fine without us. We are easily replaced. Of course, for our friends and loved ones—people who know us personally—we are irreplaceable. But with the increasingly fine division of labor and mass scale of modern society, these are fewer and fewer, as more and more social functions enter the monetized realm. Thus we live in fear, anxiety, and insecurity, and justifiably so, because we are easily replaceable in the roles we perform to earn money.
We can get along fine without you. We’ll just pay someone else to do it.
I am able to listen to many different voices saying all kinds of different things. I listen to the press conferences of the Dutch government. I listen to the Dutch news on television. I listen to the news programs, some talk shows. I listen to some youtube channels. Jordan Peterson has my ear, Rebel Wisdom, gardeners, scientists, make up ladies, MadSeasonShow, Russel Brand i’m getting into. This is just a fraction of what sparks my interest.
I also speak to people around me. This afternoon i had a serious conversation with a fellow gardener about friendship. A good talk.
One thing i said in that talk is sticking with me. I talked about the time i wasn’t seeing any friends, around eight years. I said i had learned many things in that time. Things about myself. I said i got out stronger.
I also said i was much happier now than before that lonely time.
I am really happy with that. I still feel that inside of me. Happiness.
In lijn met Da Vinci constateerde de Japanse socioloog T. Awaya: ‘Tegenwoordig bekijken we elkaars lichaam met een gulzige blik, als potentiële bron van losse onderdelen waarmee we ons leven kunnen verlengen.’ Hij gebruikt de term ‘sociaal kannibalisme’.
In Nederland weet bijna iedereen, nu de wetgever elke Nederlander tot potentiële donor heeft verklaard, dat burgerschap ook inhoudt dat het eigen, ademende en levende lichaam van staatswege precair is geworden, een zak van huid met daarin dobberende organen en weefsels: een toekomstig medisch hulpreservoir.
In 1998 i stated officially for the Dutch state i wasn’t prepared to donate any organs after i died. Something i still feel fits with my personal life view. Reading this article reinforces my opinion on this subject and gives me more tools to work with to talk about this with other people. Still in early stages though. More will follow!
This afternoon i walked to the Vredestuin Noord garden. I worked a bit more on a new drawing. Still in development. After around forty five minutes i walked around a bit. At the back, against the wall of the old railway, there were a couple of straw heaps standing against it bathing in the sunshine. I sat up there, listening to the birds and the cars racing past behind the trees.
I’m thinking about the distance of a meter and a half the Dutch government is setting up as a rule. I understand this, of course. But at the same time i am thinking about our individualistic society. Everyone apart. Everyone not connected to anybody else. Everybody alone. Singled out. On itself.
I know, i know this is not a conspiracy post. I am not thinking that, not at all. But it is on my mind. Mulling it over. Trying to think it through.
It is strange, how this rule is making something so visible. And impossible to ignore. Outside the house. Inside the house. Very strange.
A few weeks ago we made jokes about it. A friend was a bit careful and didn’t shake our hands, four or five weeks ago. We laughed. We didn’t take it seriously. It would pass over us. We didn’t think.
Earlier this week i had a talk with friends. Two of them worked/works in healthcare. We talked about the amount of deaths needed for people to start panicking. Ten thousand, one person said. That means two hundred and fifty thousand people affected by the corona virus. We are not there yet, but things move really fast. Exponentially.
In an old middle eastern story someone asked for a reward. One piece of rice on the first square on a chessboard. Two pieces on the second square. Four pieces on the third. Eight on the fourth. Sixteen on the fifth. Easy, the king thought. But on the twenty first square over a million grains were requested, a trillion on the 41st. For the final squares there wasn’t enough rice in the world.
I went out for lunch. I met Vincent along the way. We talked a bit about the threat. We bumped our elbows. After lunch i walked past the Pompenburg Park and said hi to the people working there. When i got home i walked into a live broadcast of the government announcing more rues and regulations.
events with over a hundred people are canceled
where ever possible people need to work from home
people with a fever and complains of aches in the lungs need to stay at home
schools stay open in the meantime
The Rotterdam Marathon on 5 April is canceled. Going through the liveblog on nu.nl many sport events are postponed or canceled.
On Twitter Jason Van Schoor said the following things:
From a well respected friend and intensivist/A&E consultant who is currently in northern Italy: 1/ ‘I feel the pressure to give you a quick personal update about what is happening in Italy, and also give some quick direct advice about what you should do.
The coronavirus is coming to you.
It’s coming at an exponential speed: gradually, and then suddenly.
It’s a matter of days. Maybe a week or two.
When it does, your healthcare system will be overwhelmed.
Your fellow citizens will be treated in the hallways.
Exhausted healthcare workers will break down. Some will die.
They will have to decide which patient gets the oxygen and which one dies.
The only way to prevent this is social distancing today. Not tomorrow. Today.
That means keeping as many people home as possible, starting now.
Right now i feel worried. I don’t worry that much about myself. If i get ill, there is still a chance it will be the mild version. If i die, i die. I think it will be a shame, as my life is still full of possibilities and options. But if it happens, there is nothing i can do about this.
In a world rife with consumerism, where online dating promises risk-free romance and love is all too often seen as a variant of desire and hedonism, France’s greatest living philosopher Alain Badiou believes that love urgently needs reinventing and defending.
For the French philosopher Alain Badiou, romantic love is ‘the most powerful way known to humanity to have an intimate relationship with another’. Love, he believes, creates a state of dependence that is an important counterweight to modernity’s emphasis on individuality. In this short film from the UK director William Williamson, Badiou argues that today’s approach to relationships, with its consumerist tendency to focus on choice and compatibility, and the ingrained refrain to move on when things aren’t easy, means that we need a philosophical reckoning with how we think about love. To make his point very specific, Badiou points to the ever-growing prevalence of online dating services that claim to offer algorithmic matching of partners, a way of seeking love that, he thinks, drains love of one of its most vital qualities – chance.
Often i am thinking about the state of the world we live in. I am not terribly pessimistic. But not optimistic either. I see the forces in this world fighting for their own profits. Taxpayers escaping to other countries, to avoid millions, billions of dollars or euros to pay. It does make me sad, this continuous greed game.
I do know money is necessary in this world. It is a currency we have invented ourselves. I have a bit myself, for two more years i guess. I know i need to find a way to make a bit more for myself, in a way i feel happy with. This is hard.
I am thinking of a way to communicate what we need to change in our lives. A way to communicate the terrible danger we all are in. The falling apart of our human world.
I think back about the articles i have read about rich people buying villas in New Zealand because it is one of the safest places in the world. I think back about the articles i have read about the crisis in 2008 and the people working in banks who were afraid and ready to run. I think about the current responses about the coronas virus.
We are so afraid. Scared to death.
I don’t think we can simply wait. And i do see changes are already taking place. I’m not sure they are enough though. I know the scientists are worried. I know we have so little time to stop the worst from happening. To stop the warming up. To stop the oceans from rising up. To stop the dying out of insects and mammals and birds. To stop the impoverishment of this planet.
My own life is changing. I try to live with care. I try to not spend that much money on stuff. I try to buy less. Less clothes. Less furniture. Less food. Less holidays. Less stuff.
I know this will cause difficulties. If only ten percent of the people follow this rule of less less less, people will start loosing their jobs. Companies will go bankrupt. But i don’t see any other way. So we need to prepare ourselves. We need to make sleeping places, we need to make soup kitchens. We need to take care of each other.
I don’t think this will happen tomorrow, or next year. But yes, within twenty years.
We need to be bright and strong and caring. We need to be together.