The modern world has delivered great progress, but a fierce price. That, in a nutshell, is the story of disenchantment. It’s neither truthful nor helpful.
The cheery image of humanity projected by social media selfies isn’t an attempt to fool us into believing in the contentment myth; it’s how we want to see ourselves.
Sartre famously wrote that “l’enfer, c’est les autres”: hell is other people. But I’d rather suggest that “other people” are both hell and heaven. Strung between community and individuality, the umbilical cord of identity is a tenuous one.
Some quirky math conjures up a time machine of sorts, letting you look at the world through the eyes of someone who may be more like you than you think.
There is a whole host of perfectly acceptable dead people whom you never knew and who can still be of service. They are the artists and philosophers, scientists and visionaries whose presence is still felt long past their due date.