Simone de Beauvoir’s Philosophy on Finding Meaning in Old Age

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In the leg­end of the Bud­dha, prince Sid­dhartha encoun­ters the poor souls out­side his palace walls and sees, for the first time, the human con­di­tion: debil­i­tat­ing ill­ness, aging, death. He is shocked. As Simone de Beau­voir para­phras­es in The Com­ing of Age, her ground­break­ing study of the depre­da­tions of grow­ing old, Sid­dhartha won­ders, “What is the use of plea­sures and delights, since I myself am the future dwelling-place of old age?” 

Rather than deny his knowl­edge of suf­fer­ing, the Bud­dha fol­lowed its log­ic to the end. “In this,” de Beau­voir writes iron­i­cal­ly, “he dif­fered from the rest of mankind… being born to save human­i­ty.” We are most­ly out to save our­selves – or our stub­born ideas of who we should be. The more wealth and pow­er we have, the eas­i­er it may be to fight the trans­for­ma­tions of age…. Until we can­not, since “grow­ing, ripen­ing, aging, dying – the pass­ing of time is pre­des­tined.”

When she began to write about her own aging, de Beau­voir was besieged, she says, by “great num­bers of peo­ple, par­tic­u­lar­ly old peo­ple [who] told me, kind­ly or angri­ly but always at great length and again and again, that old age sim­ply did not exist!” The hun­dreds and thou­sands of dol­lars spent to fight nature’s effect on our appear­ance only serves to “pro­long,” she writes, our “dying youth.”

Obses­sions with cos­met­ics and cos­met­ic surgery come from an ageism imposed from with­out by what schol­ar Kath­leen Wood­ward calls “the youth­ful struc­ture of the look” — a harsh gaze that turns the old into “The Oth­er.” The aged are sub­ject to a “stig­ma­tiz­ing social judg­ment, made worse by our inter­nal­iza­tion of it.” Ram Dass sum­ma­rized the con­di­tion in 2019 by say­ing we live in “a very cru­el cul­ture” — an “aging soci­ety… with a youth mythol­o­gy.”

The con­tra­dic­tions can be stark. Many of Ram Dass’ gen­er­a­tion have become valu­able fod­der in mar­ket­ing and pol­i­tics for their reli­a­bil­i­ty as vot­ers or con­sumers, a major shift since 1972. But, for all the focus on baby boomers as a hat­ed or a use­ful demo­graph­ic, they are large­ly invis­i­ble out­side of a cer­tain wealthy class. Old age in the West is no less fraught with eco­nom­ic and social pre­car­i­ty than when de Beau­voir wrote. 

De Beau­voir mov­ing­ly describes con­di­tions that were briefly evi­dent in the media dur­ing the worst of the pan­dem­ic – the iso­la­tion, fear, and mar­gin­al­iza­tion that old­er peo­ple face, espe­cial­ly those with­out means. “The pres­ence of mon­ey can­not always alle­vi­ate” the pains of aging, wrote Eliz­a­beth Hard­wick in her 1972 review of de Beauvoir’s book in trans­la­tion. “Its absence is a cer­tain cat­a­stro­phe.”

The prob­lem, de Beau­voir point­ed out, is that old age is almost syn­ony­mous with pover­ty. The elder­ly are deemed unpro­duc­tive, unprof­itable, a bur­den on the state and fam­i­ly. She quotes a Cam­bridge anthro­pol­o­gist, Dr. Leach, who stat­ed at a con­fer­ence, “in effect, ‘In a chang­ing world, where machines have a very short run of life, men must not be used too long. Every­one over fifty-five should be scrapped.’” 

The sen­ti­ment, expressed in 1968, sounds not unlike a phrase bandied around by busi­ness ana­lysts thanks to Erik Brynjolkfsson’s call for human beings to “race with the machines.” It is, even­tu­al­ly, a race every­one los­es. And the push for prof­itabil­i­ty over human flour­ish­ing comes back to haunt us all. 

We car­ry this ostracism so far that we even reach the point of turn­ing it against our­selves: for in the old per­son that we must become, we refuse to rec­og­nize our­selves.” 

De Beauvoir’s response to the wide­spread cul­tur­al denial of aging was to write the first full-length philo­soph­i­cal study of aging in exis­tence, “to break the con­spir­a­cy of silence,” she pro­claimed. First pub­lished as La vieil­lesse in 1970, the book dared tread where no schol­ar or thinker had, as Wood­ward writes in a 2016 re-appraisal: 

The Com­ing of Age is the inau­gur­al and inim­itable study of the scan­dalous treat­ment of aging and the elder­ly in today’s cap­i­tal­ist soci­eties…. There was no estab­lished method or mod­el for the study of aging. Beau­voir had to invent a way to pur­sue this enor­mous sub­ject. What did she do? …. She sur­veyed and syn­the­sized what she had found in mul­ti­ple domains, includ­ing biol­o­gy, anthro­pol­o­gy, phi­los­o­phy, and the his­tor­i­cal and cul­tur­al record, draw­ing it all togeth­er to argue with no holds barred that the elder­ly are not only mar­gin­al­ized in con­tem­po­rary cap­i­tal­ist soci­eties, they are dehu­man­ized.

The book is just as rel­e­vant in its major points, argues pro­fes­sor of phi­los­o­phy Tove Pet­tersen, despite some sweep­ing gen­er­al­iza­tions that may not hold up now or didn’t then. But the exclu­sions suf­fered by aging women in cap­i­tal­ist soci­eties are still espe­cial­ly cru­el, as the philoso­pher argued. Women are still stig­ma­tized for their desires after menopause and cease­less­ly judged on their appear­ance at all times.

De Beauvoir’s study has been com­pared to the exhaus­tive work of Michel Fou­cault, who exca­vat­ed such human con­di­tions as mad­ness, sex­u­al­i­ty, and pun­ish­ment. And like his stud­ies, it can feel claus­tro­pho­bic. Is there any way out of being Oth­ered, pushed aside, and ignored by the next gen­er­a­tion as we age? “Beau­voir claims that the oppressed are not always just pas­sive vic­tims,” says Pet­tersen, “and that not all oppres­sion is total.” 

We may be con­di­tioned to see aging peo­ple as no longer use­ful or desir­able, and to see our­selves that way as we age. But to whol­ly accept the log­ic of this judg­ment is to allow old age to become a “par­o­dy” of youth, writes de Beau­voir, as we chase after the past in mis­guid­ed efforts to reclaim lost social sta­tus. We must resist the back­ward look that a youth-obsessed cul­ture encour­ages by allow­ing our­selves to become some­thing else, with a focus turned out­ward toward a future we won’t see.

As an old Zen mas­ter once point­ed out, the leaves don’t go back on the tree. The leaves in fall and the tree in win­ter, how­ev­er, are things of beau­ty and promise:

There is only one solu­tion if old age is not to be an absurd par­o­dy of our for­mer life, and that is to go on pur­su­ing ends that give our exis­tence a mean­ing — devo­tion to indi­vid­u­als, to groups or to caus­es, social, polit­i­cal, intel­lec­tu­al or cre­ative work… In old age we should wish still to have pas­sions strong enough to pre­vent us turn­ing in on our­selves. One’s life has val­ue so long as one attrib­ut­es val­ue to the life of oth­ers, by means of love, friend­ship, indig­na­tion, com­pas­sion.

Bor­row de Beauvoir’s The Com­ing of Age from the Inter­net Archive and read it online for free. Or pur­chase a copy of your own.

via The Mar­gin­a­lian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ram Dass (RIP) Offers Wis­dom on Con­fronting Aging and Dying

Bertrand Russell’s Advice For How (Not) to Grow Old: “Make Your Inter­ests Grad­u­al­ly Wider and More Imper­son­al”

Life Lessons From 100-Year-Olds: Time­less Advice in a Short Film

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

 

How a Dutch “Dementia Village” Improves Quality of Life with Intentional Design

Peo­ple suf­fer­ing from demen­tia lose their abil­i­ty to take an active part in con­ver­sa­tions, every­day activ­i­ties, and their own phys­i­cal upkeep.

They are prone to sud­den mood swings, irri­tabil­i­ty, depres­sion, and anx­i­ety.

They may be strick­en with delu­sions and wild hal­lu­ci­na­tions.

All of these things can be under­stand­ably upset­ting to friends and fam­i­lies. There’s a lot of stig­ma sur­round­ing this sit­u­a­tion.

Tak­ing care of a spouse or par­ent with demen­tia can be an over­whelm­ing­ly iso­lat­ing expe­ri­ence, though no one is more iso­lat­ed than the per­son expe­ri­enc­ing severe cog­ni­tive decline first­hand.

While many of us would do any­thing to stay out of them, the sad fact is res­i­den­tial mem­o­ry care facil­i­ties are often the end-of-the-line real­i­ty for those liv­ing with extreme demen­tia.

Dur­ing the first sum­mer of the COVID-19 pan­dem­ic, nurs­ing home deaths attrib­uted to Alzheimer’s dis­ease and demen­tia increased by more than 20 per­cent, owing to such fac­tors as chron­ic staffing short­ages and a ban on out­side vis­i­tors.

As DeAnn Wal­ters, direc­tor of clin­i­cal affairs for the Cal­i­for­nia Asso­ci­a­tion of Health Facil­i­ties, told Politi­co:

We’re try­ing to be sup­port­er, social work­er, care­giv­er, friend and house­keep­ing for the res­i­dent. It’s putting a lot of pres­sure on the care­givers and the oper­a­tion of the facil­i­ty to make sure every­one has what they need. Before the pan­dem­ic we couldn’t even get socks on peo­ple and you’d see them walk­ing around bare­foot.

Not the vision any of us would choose for our parent’s gold­en years, or our own.

The Hogeweyk, a planned vil­lage just out­side of Ams­ter­dam, offers a dif­fer­ent sort of future for those with severe demen­tia.

The above episode of By Design, Vox’s series about the inter­sec­tion of design and tech­nol­o­gy, explores the inno­va­tions that con­tribute to the Hogeweyk’s res­i­dents over­all hap­pi­ness and well­be­ing.

Rather than group­ing res­i­dents togeth­er in a sin­gle insti­tu­tion­al set­ting, they are placed in groups of six, with every­one inhab­it­ing a pri­vate room and shar­ing com­mon spaces as they see fit.

The com­mon spaces open onto out­door areas that can be freely enjoyed by all housed in that “neigh­bor­hood”. No need to wait until a staff mem­ber grants per­mis­sion or fin­ish­es some task.

Those wish­ing to ven­ture fur­ther afield can avail them­selves of such pleas­ant quo­tid­i­an des­ti­na­tions as a gro­cery, a restau­rant, a bar­ber­shop, or a the­ater.

These loca­tions are designed in accor­dance with cer­tain things proven to work well in insti­tu­tion­al set­tings —  for instance, avoid­ing dark floor tiles, which some peo­ple with demen­tia per­ceive as holes.

But oth­er design ele­ments reflect the choice to err on the side of qual­i­ty of life. Hand rails may help in pre­vent­ing falls, but so do rol­la­tors and walk­ers, which the res­i­dents use on their jaunts to the town squares, gar­dens and pub­lic ameni­ties.

The design­ers believe that equip­ping res­i­dents with a high lev­el of free­dom not only pro­motes phys­i­cal activ­i­ty, it min­i­mizes issues asso­ci­at­ed with demen­tia like aggres­sion, con­fu­sion, and wan­der­ing.

Co-founders Eloy van Hal and Jan­nette Spier­ing write that the Hogeweyk’s crit­ics com­pare it to the Tru­man Show, the 1998 film in which Jim Car­rey’s title char­ac­ter real­izes that his whole­some small town life, and his every inter­ac­tion with his pur­port­ed friends, neigh­bors, and loved ones, have been a set up for a high­ly rat­ed, hid­den cam­era real­i­ty TV show.

They describe The Hogeweyk as a stage for, “the rem­i­nis­cence world”, in which actors help the res­i­dents live in a fic­ti­tious world. Many Alzheimer’s experts have, how­ev­er, val­ued The Hogeweyk for what it real­ly is: a famil­iar and safe envi­ron­ment in which peo­ple with demen­tia live while retain­ing their own iden­ti­ty and auton­o­my as much as pos­si­ble. They live in a social com­mu­ni­ty with real streets and squares, a real restau­rant with real cus­tomers, a super­mar­ket for gro­ceries and a the­atre that hosts real per­for­mances. There is no fake bus stop or post office, there are no fake façades and sets. The restau­rant employ­ee, the handy­man, the care­tak­er, the nurse, the hair­dress­er, etc.—in short: every­one who works at The Hogeweyk uses their pro­fes­sion­al skills to actu­al­ly sup­port the res­i­dents and are, there­fore, cer­tain­ly not actors.

Pro­fes­sion­al care and sup­port goes on around the clock, but rarely takes cen­ter­stage. Nor­mal life is pri­or­i­tized.

A vis­i­tor describes a stroll through some of the Hogeweyk’s pub­lic areas:

In the shade of one of the large trees, a mar­ried cou­ple gazes hap­pi­ly at the activ­i­ty in the the­atre square. An elder­ly gen­tle­man, togeth­er with a young lady, intent­ly study the large chess board and take turns mov­ing the pieces. At the foun­tain, a group of women chat loud­ly on colour­ful gar­den chairs. The sto­ry is clear­ly audible—it is about a mem­o­ry of a vis­it to a park in Paris which had the same chairs. Passers-by, old and young, greet the women enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly. A lit­tle fur­ther on, a woman is talk­ing to a man oppo­site her. She is ges­tur­ing wild­ly. After a while, anoth­er woman joins the con­ver­sa­tion. The two women then walk through the open front door of Boule­vard 15. 

The cov­ered pas­sage smells of fresh­ly-baked cook­ies. The scent is com­ing from De Bonte Hof. Amus­ing con­ver­sa­tions can be heard that pause for a moment when the oven beeps in the kitchen that has been dec­o­rat­ed in an old-fash­ioned style. A tray of fresh cook­ies is removed from the oven. Two women, one in a wheel­chair, enter the venue, obvi­ous­ly seduced by the smell. They sam­ple the cook­ies. 

The super­mar­ket across the street is very busy. Shop­ping trol­leys loaded with gro­ceries are pushed out of the shop. The rat­tle of a shop­ping trol­ley dis­si­pates into the dis­tance as it dis­ap­pears from view towards Grote Plein. A man reluc­tant­ly push­es the full trol­ley while two women fol­low behind him arm in arm. The trio dis­ap­pear behind the front door of Grote Plein 5.


A staffer’s account of a typ­i­cal morn­ing in one of Hogeweyk’s hous­es reveals more about the hands-on care that allows res­i­dents to con­tin­ue enjoy­ing their care­ful­ly designed home, and the autonomous lifestyle it makes pos­si­ble:

Mr Hen­dricks wakes up on the sofa. He unzips his fly. I jump up and escort him to the toi­let just in time. I grab a roll of med­ica­tion for him from the med­ica­tion trol­ley. He is now walk­ing to his room. We pick out clothes togeth­er and I lay them out on his bed. He wash­es him­self at the sink. I watch briefly before leav­ing. Fif­teen min­utes lat­er, I poke my head through the door. That’s not how elec­tric shav­ing works! I offer to help, but Mr. Hen­dricks is clear­ly a bit irri­tat­ed and grum­bles. He’ll be a lit­tle less shaven today. We’ll try again after break­fast…

We help Mrs Sti­j­nen into the show­er chair with the hoist. She is clear­ly not used to it. Dis­cussing her exten­sive Swarovs­ki col­lec­tion, dis­played in the glass case in her room, turns out to be an excel­lent dis­trac­tion. She proud­ly talks about the lat­est piece she acquired this year. On to the show­er. The two oth­er res­i­dents are still sleep­ing. Great, that gives me the chance to devote some extra time to Mrs Sti­j­nen today. 

The door­bell rings again and my col­league, Yas­min, walks in. She’s the famil­iar face that every­one can rely on. Always present at 8 a.m., 5 days a week. What a relief for res­i­dents and fam­i­ly. She, too, puts her coat and bag in the lock­er. The wash­ing machine is ready, and Yas­min loads up the dry­er. The table in the din­ing room is then set. Yas­min puts a flo­ral table­cloth from the cup­board on the table. Mr Hen­dricks lends a hand and, with some guid­ance, puts two plates in their place, but then walks away to the sofa and sits down. A Dutch break­fast with bread, cheese, cold cuts, jam, cof­fee, tea and milk is served. Yas­min is mak­ing por­ridge for Mrs Smit. As always, she has break­fast in bed. Yas­min helps Mrs Smit. It is now 08:45 and Mr Hen­dricks and Mrs Sti­j­nen are sit­ting at the din­ing table. Yas­min push­es the chairs in and sits down her­self. They chat about the weath­er, and Yas­min lends a help­ing hand when need­ed. 

Mr Hen­dricks is real­ly grumpy today and is cur­rent­ly grum­bling at Mrs Jansen. I’m won­der­ing if we’re over­look­ing some­thing?

Learn more about the Hogeweyk, the world’s first demen­tia vil­lage here.

Watch a playlist of Vox By Design episodes here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

The Restau­rant of Mis­tak­en Orders: A Tokyo Restau­rant Where All the Servers Are Peo­ple Liv­ing with Demen­tia

How Music Can Awak­en Patients with Alzheimer’s and Demen­tia

Demen­tia Patients Find Some Eter­nal Youth in the Sounds of AC/DC

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Is There Life After Death?: Michio Kaku, Bill Nye, Sam Harris & More Explore One of Life’s Biggest Questions

We should prob­a­bly not look to sci­ence to have cher­ished beliefs con­firmed. As sci­en­tif­ic under­stand­ing of the world has pro­gressed over the cen­turies, it has brought on a loss of humans’ sta­tus as priv­i­leged beings at the cen­ter of the uni­verse whose task is to sub­due and con­quer nature. (The stub­born per­sis­tence of those atti­tudes among the pow­er­ful has not served the species well.) We are not spe­cial, but we are still respon­si­ble, we have learned — maybe total­ly respon­si­ble for our lives on this plan­et. The meth­ods of sci­ence do not lend them­selves to sooth­ing exis­ten­tial anx­i­ety.

But what about the most cher­ished, and like­ly ancient, of human beliefs: faith in an after­life?  Ideas of an under­world, or heav­en, or hell have ani­mat­ed human cul­ture since its ear­li­est ori­gins. There is no soci­ety in the world where we will not find some belief in an after­life exist­ing com­fort­ably along­side life’s most mun­dane events. Is it a harm­ful idea? Is there any real evi­dence to sup­port it? And which ver­sion of an after­life — if such a thing exist­ed — should we believe?

Such ques­tions stack up. Answers in forms sci­ence can rec­on­cile seem dimin­ish­ing­ly few. Nonethe­less, as we see in the Big Think video above, sci­en­tists, sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tors, and sci­ence enthu­si­asts are will­ing to dis­cuss the pos­si­bil­i­ty, or impos­si­bil­i­ty, of con­tin­u­ing after death. We begin with NASA astronomer Michelle Thaller, who ref­er­ences Ein­stein’s the­o­ry of the uni­verse as ful­ly com­plete, “so every point in the past and every point in the future are just as real as the point of time you feel your­self in right now.” Time spreads out in a land­scape, each moment already mapped and sur­veyed.

When a close friend died, Ein­stein wrote a let­ter to his friend’s wife explain­ing, “Your hus­band, my friend, is just over the next hill. He’s still there” — in a the­o­ret­i­cal sense. It may not have been the com­fort she was look­ing for. The hope of an after­life is that we’ll see our loved ones again, some­thing Ein­stein’s solu­tion does not allow. Sam Har­ris — who has leaned into the mys­ti­cal prac­tice of med­i­ta­tion while pulling it from its reli­gious con­text — admits that death is a “dark mys­tery.” When peo­ple die, “there’s just the sheer not know­ing what hap­pened to them. And into this void, reli­gion comes rush­ing with a very con­sol­ing sto­ry, say­ing noth­ing hap­pened them; they’re in a bet­ter place and you’re going to meet up with them after.”

The sto­ry isn’t always so con­sol­ing, depend­ing on how puni­tive the reli­gion, but it does offer an expla­na­tion and sense of cer­tain­ty in the face of “sheer not know­ing.” The human mind does not tol­er­ate uncer­tain­ty par­tic­u­lar­ly well. Death feels like the great­est unknown of all. (Har­ris’ argu­ment par­al­lels that of anthro­pol­o­gist Pas­cal Boy­er on the ori­gin of all reli­gions.) But the phe­nom­e­non of death is not unknown to us. We are sur­round­ed by it dai­ly, from the plants and ani­mals we con­sume to the pets we sad­ly let go when their lifes­pans end. Do we keep our­selves up won­der­ing what hap­pened to these beings? Maybe our spir­i­tu­al or reli­gious beliefs aren’t always about death.…

“In the Old Tes­ta­ment there isn’t real­ly any sort of view of the after­life,” says Rob Bell, a spir­i­tu­al teacher (and the only talk­ing head here not aligned with a sci­en­tif­ic insti­tu­tion or ratio­nal­ist move­ment). “This idea that the whole thing is about when you die is not real­ly the way that lots of peo­ple have thought about it.” For many reli­gious prac­ti­tion­ers, the idea of eter­nal life means “liv­ing in har­mo­ny with the divine right now.” For many, this “right now” — this very moment and each one we expe­ri­ence after it — is eter­nal. See more views of the after­life above from sci­ence edu­ca­tors like Bill Nye and sci­en­tists like Michio Kaku, who says the kind of after­lives we’ve only seen in sci­ence fic­tion — “dig­i­tal and genet­ic immor­tal­i­ty” — “are with­in reach.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads Nick Cave’s Beau­ti­ful Let­ter About Grief

Richard Feyn­man on Reli­gion, Sci­ence, the Search for Truth & Our Will­ing­ness to Live with Doubt

Michio Kaku & Bri­an Green Explain String The­o­ry in a Nut­shell: Ele­gant Expla­na­tions of an Ele­gant The­o­ry

Philoso­pher Sam Har­ris Leads You Through a 26-Minute Guid­ed Med­i­ta­tion

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Benedict Cumberbatch Reads Nick Cave’s Beautiful Letter About Grief

We would rather not grieve. Because we avoid it, death can leave us numb, and we may not know how to talk about it with­out turn­ing loss into a les­son. “Even when it’s expect­ed, death or loss still comes as a sur­prise,” writes psy­chother­a­pist Megan Devine in her book on griev­ing, It’s OK That You’re Not OKAnd in grief, it can so hap­pen that “oth­er­wise intel­li­gent peo­ple have start­ed spout­ing slo­gans and plat­i­tudes, try­ing to cheer you up. Try­ing to take away your pain.” Every­thing hap­pens for a rea­son, they’re in a bet­ter place, they’d want you to be hap­py, this will make you stronger….! How­ev­er well-inten­tioned, “plat­i­tudes and cheer­lead­ing solve noth­ing.”

Is loss a prob­lem to be solved? Can we avoid grief with­out shut­ting out the inti­ma­cy of love? There are many sage answers to these ques­tions. Few, for exam­ple, have writ­ten as ele­gant­ly or ago­nized as pub­licly about love and loss as singer Nick Cave of The Birth­day Par­ty and The Bad Seeds. These are sub­jects to which he returns on album after album and in entries of his cult-favorite blog The Red Hand Files, where Cave pub­lish­es answers to an assort­ment of fan ques­tions.

Mus­ing in 2019 on whether arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence will ever pro­duce a great song, for exam­ple, Cave states one of his major themes plain­ly: “A sense of awe is almost exclu­sive­ly pred­i­cat­ed on our lim­i­ta­tions as human beings. It is entire­ly to do with our audac­i­ty as humans to reach beyond our poten­tial.” From this capac­i­ty come our great­est imag­i­na­tive feats, Cave writes: our abil­i­ty to con­jure “bright phan­toms” in our deep­est grief.

Cave wrote these last words in 2018 to a fan named Cyn­thia who told him about her fam­i­ly’s loss­es and asked the singer if he and his wife Susie com­mu­ni­cat­ed with their son Arthur, who died trag­i­cal­ly in 2015. In answer, Cave avoids the clich­es that Devine says do noth­ing for us. He nei­ther denies the real­i­ty of Cyn­thi­a’s pain, nor does he leave her with­out hope for “change and growth and redemp­tion.”

Dear Cyn­thia,

This is a very beau­ti­ful ques­tion and I am grate­ful that you have asked it. It seems to me, that if we love, we grieve. That’s the deal. That’s the pact. Grief and love are for­ev­er inter­twined. Grief is the ter­ri­ble reminder of the depths of our love and, like love, grief is non-nego­tiable. There is a vast­ness to grief that over­whelms our minus­cule selves. We are tiny, trem­bling clus­ters of atoms sub­sumed with­in grief’s awe­some pres­ence. It occu­pies the core of our being and extends through our fin­gers to the lim­its of the uni­verse. With­in that whirling gyre all man­ner of mad­ness­es exist; ghosts and spir­its and dream vis­i­ta­tions, and every­thing else that we, in our anguish, will into exis­tence. These are pre­cious gifts that are as valid and as real as we need them to be. They are the spir­it guides that lead us out of the dark­ness.

I feel the pres­ence of my son, all around, but he may not be there. I hear him talk to me, par­ent me, guide me, though he may not be there. He vis­its Susie in her sleep reg­u­lar­ly, speaks to her, com­forts her, but he may not be there. Dread grief trails bright phan­toms in its wake. These spir­its are ideas, essen­tial­ly. They are our stunned imag­i­na­tions reawak­en­ing after the calami­ty. Like ideas, these spir­its speak of pos­si­bil­i­ty. Fol­low your ideas, because on the oth­er side of the idea is change and growth and redemp­tion. Cre­ate your spir­its. Call to them. Will them alive. Speak to them. It is their impos­si­ble and ghost­ly hands that draw us back to the world from which we were jet­ti­soned; bet­ter now and unimag­in­ably changed.

With love, Nick

Cave’s full let­ter, above, is as elo­quent a piece of writ­ing on grief and loss, in its way, as John Don­ne’s famous med­i­ta­tion (a poet for whom Nick Cave has a “soft spot,” he writes in anoth­er entry). At the top, you can hear a very mov­ing read­ing of the text by Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch for Let­ters Live. Read more of Cave’s brief-but-deep med­i­ta­tions and lyri­cal replies at The Red Hand Files.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nick Cave Answers the Hot­ly Debat­ed Ques­tion: Will Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Ever Be Able to Write a Great Song?

How Do You Help a Griev­ing Friend? Acknowl­edge Their Pain and Skip the Plat­i­tudes & Facile Advice

An Ani­mat­ed Leonard Cohen Offers Reflec­tions on Death: Thought-Pro­vok­ing Excerpts from His Final Inter­view

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How to Get into a Creative “Flow State”: A Short Masterclass

Is “flow state” the new mind­ful­ness? The phrase has gained a lot of cur­ren­cy late­ly. You may have heard it spo­ken of in rar­i­fied terms that sound like you have to be a full-time artist, pro­fes­sion­al ath­lete, or Albert Ein­stein to access it. On the oth­er hand, we have award-win­ning jour­nal­ist, human per­for­mance expert, and Flow Research Col­lec­tive founder Steven Kotler explain­ing in a video that we fea­tured recent­ly how to achieve a flow state on com­mand. So, does flow require a lit­tle or a lot of us? It requires, first and fore­most, a shift in con­scious­ness.

In the field of pos­i­tive psy­chol­o­gy, flow is most asso­ci­at­ed with the­o­rist Mihaly Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi, whose Cre­ativ­i­ty: Flow the Psy­chol­o­gy of Dis­cov­ery and Inven­tion pro­vid­ed key con­tem­po­rary insights into the idea. For Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi, direct­ing our activ­i­ty toward mate­r­i­al notions of secu­ri­ty sets us up for dis­ap­point­ment. Flow states are best under­stood as actu­al­ized cre­ativ­i­ty we can man­i­fest in almost any con­di­tions: we can be “hap­py, or mis­er­able, regard­less of what is actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing ‘out­side,’ just by chang­ing the con­tents of con­scious­ness,” he said.

For Taoists, flow means accord­ing with the nature of things as they are, which takes a lot of keep­ing still and let­ting be. Goethe used the phrase “effort­less effort” to describe cre­ative flow. Kotler’s def­i­n­i­tion is a bit more oper­a­tional: Flow, he says in his Mind­val­ley talk above, is an “opti­mal­ized state of con­scious­ness where we feel our best and we per­form our best.” One thing all notions of flow seem to share is a belief in the impor­tance of what Kotler calls “non-time,” or what the Taoist calls “the doing of non-doing,” a plea­sur­able rest­ing state with­out dis­trac­tion. (Kotler takes his “non-time” between 4 and 7:30 in the morn­ing.)

Kotler him­self arrived at the flow state “through an unusu­al door” — which he illus­trates in his talk with an MRI of a skull in pro­file and list titled “The Cost of Doing Busi­ness.” For an ambi­tious free­lance jour­nal­ist, that meant “2 frac­tured kneecaps, 2 shat­tered arms, 1 snapped wrist, 2 man­gled ankles,” and the list goes on (includ­ing 5 con­cus­sions): a descrip­tion of injuries incurred while fol­low­ing extreme ath­letes around the world. What he saw, he says, were peo­ple who had every­thing going against them — lit­tle edu­ca­tion, lit­tle nat­ur­al abil­i­ty, and his­to­ries of “destroyed homes.”

The ath­letes he fol­lowed were trau­ma­tized peo­ple who would not nec­es­sar­i­ly be can­di­dates for world-chang­ing inno­va­tion. Yet here they were, “extend­ing the lim­its of kines­thet­ic pos­si­bil­i­ty” — doing the pre­vi­ous­ly impos­si­ble by achiev­ing flow states. Kotler’s descrip­tions of flow are often very Yang, we might say, focus­ing on “peak per­for­mance” and favor­ing sports exam­ples. But his claims for flow also sound like deeply heal­ing med­i­cine. He talks about “trig­ger­ing” flow states to “over­come PTSD, addic­tion, and heart­break.” Like Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi, he saw first­hand how flow states can heal trau­ma.

We can achieve this “altered state of con­scious­ness” by surf­ing or sky­div­ing. We can also achieve it while solv­ing equa­tions, trans­lat­ing for­eign lan­guages, or knit­ting scarves. As Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi points out, it is not the con­tent of an expe­ri­ence — or the expense in air­line tick­ets and bro­ken bones — that mat­ters so much as our state of absorp­tion in activ­i­ties we love and prac­tice reg­u­lar­ly, which take us away from thoughts about our ever-present prob­lems and open up the space for pos­si­bil­i­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Enter a ‘Flow State’ on Com­mand: Peak Per­for­mance Mind Hack Explained in 7 Min­utes

Albert Ein­stein Tells His Son The Key to Learn­ing & Hap­pi­ness is Los­ing Your­self in Cre­ativ­i­ty (or “Find­ing Flow”)

Cre­ativ­i­ty, Not Mon­ey, is the Key to Hap­pi­ness: Dis­cov­er Psy­chol­o­gist Mihaly Csikszentmihaly’s The­o­ry of “Flow”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch Two Courses by Beloved Yale Historian John Merriman (RIP): “France Since 1871” and “European Civilization, 1648 to 1945”

On May 22, his­to­ri­an John Mer­ri­man died at the age of 75. A pro­fes­sor at Yale since 1973, Mer­ri­man became an “ear­ly prac­ti­tion­er of the his­to­ry ‘from the ground up, that swept aca­d­e­m­ic study in the 1970s,” notes an obit­u­ary in Yale News. There, his­to­ri­an Alice Kaplan adds: “John Mer­ri­man became our great­est his­to­ri­an of the French left and its repres­sion, of the Com­mu­nards, the Anar­chists, and the French police, whose expe­ri­ences he brought to life in books and lec­tures informed by his work in archives in every region of France…”

The New York Times remem­bers him as “a rum­pled fig­ure who used his sto­ry­telling gifts to ani­mate his lec­tures on French and Euro­pean his­to­ry.” And they recall how author Ta-Nehisi Coates “watched some of Pro­fes­sor Merriman’s record­ed lec­tures online and described him … as a ‘kind of freestyle rap­per’ who riffed off his mate­r­i­al — anec­dotes, quotes and obser­va­tions — and ‘had this weird abil­i­ty to inhab­it the his­to­ry.’ ”

You, too, can watch his lec­tures online. A num­ber of years ago, Mer­ri­man made two of his beloved cours­es, “France Since 1871” (top) and “Euro­pean Civ­i­liza­tion, 1648 to 1945” (below) avail­able on Yale Open Cours­es. If you click on the pre­ced­ing links, you can find the syl­labus and books for each course. These cours­es are per­ma­nent­ly list­ed in our col­lec­tion of Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent

14,000 Free Images from the French Rev­o­lu­tion Now Avail­able Online

A Free Yale Course on Medieval His­to­ry: 700 Years in 22 Lec­tures

French in Action: Cult Clas­sic French Lessons from Yale (52 Episodes) Avail­able Online

Susan Sontag’s Commencement Address Advice: “Pay Attention. It Connects You With Others. It Makes You Eager. Stay Eager.”

Image by Lynn Gilbert, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“The times we live in are indeed alarm­ing. It is a time of the most appalling esca­la­tion of vio­lence — vio­lence to the envi­ron­ment, both ‘nature’ and ‘cul­ture’; vio­lence to all liv­ing beings.” But “it is also a time of a ver­tig­i­nous drop in cul­tur­al stan­dards, of vir­u­lent anti-intel­lec­tu­al­ism, and of tri­umphant medi­oc­rity.” You may, at this point, already find your­self in agree­ment with these words. But they’re the words of Susan Son­tag, now sev­en­teen years dead, and as such can’t actu­al­ly be describ­ing our present moment. In fact she spoke them in, and about, 1983, dur­ing her first com­mence­ment address at Welles­ley Col­lege.

Char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly unspar­ing, Son­tag extend­ed her charge of medi­oc­rity even to “the edu­ca­tion­al sys­tem that you have just passed through, or has passed you through.” In her view, “triv­i­al­iz­ing stan­dards, using as their jus­ti­fi­ca­tion the ide­al of democ­ra­cy, have made the very idea of a seri­ous human­ist edu­ca­tion vir­tu­al­ly unin­tel­li­gi­ble to most peo­ple.” If it is to hap­pen at all, resis­tance to this medi­oc­rity must hap­pen at the lev­el of the indi­vid­ual. “Per­haps the most use­ful sug­ges­tion I can make on the day when most of you are ceas­ing to be stu­dents,” Son­tag says, “is that you go on being stu­dents — for the rest of your lives. Don’t move to a men­tal slum.”

This point returned, some­what altered, in Son­tag’s last com­mence­ment address, deliv­ered twen­ty years lat­er at Vas­sar Col­lege. “Try not to live in a lin­guis­tic slum,” she advised the class of 2003. Indeed, “try to imag­ine at least once a day that you are not an Amer­i­can,” or “that you belong to the vast, the over­whelm­ing major­i­ty of peo­ple on this plan­et who don’t have pass­ports, don’t live in dwellings equipped with both refrig­er­a­tors and tele­phones, who have nev­er even once flown in a plane.” Though cel­e­brat­ed pri­mar­i­ly as a crit­ic, Son­tag was also a nov­el­ist, and like Vladimir Nabokov under­stood full well the neces­si­ty of imag­i­na­tion to a prop­er intel­lec­tu­al life.

Else­where in her Vas­sar address, Son­tag also makes the high­ly Nabo­kov­ian point that “no book is worth read­ing that isn’t worth re-read­ing.” Though the full text of the speech isn’t online, you’ll find these and oth­er choice quotes from it at Vas­sar Quar­ter­ly. Son­tag’s key theme seems to have been atten­tion. “Pay atten­tion,” she says in a pas­sage still cir­cu­lat­ed on social media today. “It’s all about pay­ing atten­tion. Atten­tion is vital­i­ty. It con­nects you with oth­ers. It makes you eager. Stay eager. (Two years lat­er, David Fos­ter Wal­lace would make a sim­i­lar point about being ” “con­scious and aware enough to choose what you pay atten­tion to” in his famous 2005 com­mence­ment address at Keny­on Col­lege.)

When we devel­op and retain the habit of pay­ing atten­tion, we see things oth­ers don’t, espe­cial­ly those truths that run counter even to our own pro­fessed beliefs. “Our soci­ety does not cen­sor as total­i­tar­i­an soci­eties do; on the con­trary, our soci­ety promis­es lib­er­ty, self-ful­fill­ment, and self-expres­sion,” Son­tag says. But pay atten­tion, and you’ll notice that “many fea­tures of our so-called cul­ture have as their goal and result the reduc­tion of our men­tal life, or our men­tal oper­a­tion; and this is pre­cise­ly, I would argue, what cen­sor­ship is about.” Near­ly two decades have passed since Son­tag said this, and as she might have expect­ed, we tune out at greater per­il than ever.

Relat­ed con­tent:

John Berg­er (RIP) and Susan Son­tag Take Us Inside the Art of Sto­ry­telling (1983)

David Byrne’s Grad­u­a­tion Speech Offers Trou­bling and Encour­ag­ing Advice for Stu­dents in the Arts

Susan Sontag’s List of 10 Par­ent­ing Rules

Toni Mor­ri­son Lists the 10 Steps That Lead Coun­tries to Fas­cism (1995)

David Fos­ter Wallace’s Famous Com­mence­ment Speech “This is Water” Visu­al­ized in a Short Film

‘Nev­er Be Afraid’: William Faulkner’s Speech to His Daughter’s Grad­u­at­ing Class in 1951

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Italian Advice on How to Live the Good Life: Cigarettes, Tomatoes, and Other Picturesque Small Pleasures

“I guess everybody’s got a dream and we’re all hop­ing to see it come true,” mus­es Gio­van­ni Mim­mo Man­cu­sou, a philo­soph­i­cal native of Cal­abria, the love­ly, sun-drenched region form­ing the toe of Italy’s boot, above. “A dream com­ing true is bet­ter than just a dream.”

Film­mak­ers Jan Vrhovnik and Ana Kerin were scout­ing for sub­jects to embody “the very essence of nos­tal­gia” when they chanced upon Man­cu­sou in a cor­ner shop.

A lucky encounter! Not every non-actor — or for that mat­ter, actor — is as com­fort­able on film as the laid­back Man­cu­sou.

(Vrhovnik has said that he invari­ably serves as his own cam­era oper­a­tor when work­ing with non-actors, because of the poten­tial for inti­ma­cy and intu­itive approach that such prox­im­i­ty affords.)

Man­cu­sou, an advo­cate for sim­ple plea­sures, also appears to be quite fit, which makes us won­der why the film’s descrip­tion on NOWNESS dou­bles down on adjec­tives like “aging”, “old­er” and most con­fus­ing­ly, “wis­ened.”

Mer­ri­am-Web­ster defines “wiz­ened” with a z as “dry, shrunk­en, and wrin­kled often as a result of aging or of fail­ing vital­i­ty” … and “wis­ened” not at all.

Per­haps NOWNESS meant wise?

We find our­selves crav­ing a lot more con­text.

Man­cu­sou has clear­ly cul­ti­vat­ed an abil­i­ty to savor the hell out of a ripe toma­to, his pic­turesque sur­round­ings, and his cig­gies.

“Seren­i­ty, joy, ecsta­sy” is embroi­dered across the back of his ball cap.

His man­ner of express­ing him­self does lend itself to a “poet­ic thought piece”, as the film­mak­ers note, but might that not be a symp­tom of strug­gling to com­mu­ni­cate abstract thoughts in a for­eign tongue?

We real­ly would love to know more about this charm­ing guy… his fam­i­ly sit­u­a­tion, what he does to make ends meet, his actu­al age.

Home movies accom­pa­ny his nos­tal­gic rever­ie, but did he pro­vide this footage to his new friends?

Did they hunt it down on ebay? It def­i­nite­ly fits the vibe, but is the man with the eye­brows Man­cu­sou at an ear­li­er age?

Our star pulls up to a small petrol sta­tion, declares, “All right, here we go,” and the next frame shows him wear­ing a head­lamp and mag­ni­fi­er as he peers into the work­ings of a pock­et watch:

Time out of mechan­i­cal. It’s mag­ic.

Is this a hob­by? A pro­fes­sion? Does he repair watch­es in a dark­ened gas sta­tion?

The film­mak­ers aren’t say­ing and the blurred back­ground offers no clues either. Curse you, depth of field!

We’re not even giv­en his home coor­di­nates.

The film, part of the NOWNESS series Por­trait of a Place, is titled Par­adiso, and there is indeed a vil­lage so named adja­cent to the town of Belvedere Marit­ti­mo, but accord­ing to cen­sus data we found on line, it has only 14 res­i­dents, 7 male.

If that’s where Man­cu­sou lives, he’s either 45–49, 65–69, 70–74, or one of two fel­lows over age 74…and now we’re real­ly curi­ous about his neigh­bors, too.

No shade to Sign­or Man­cu­so, but we’re glad to know we’re not the only view­ers left unsat­is­fied by this por­trait’s lack of depth.

One com­menter who chafed at the lack of speci­fici­ty (“this video is a ran­dom por­trait of basi­cal­ly any­one in the world that is hap­py with the lit­tle he has”) sug­gest­ed the omis­sions con­tribute to an Ital­ian stereo­type famil­iar from pas­ta sauce com­mer­cials:

Peo­ple in Italy actu­al­ly work and have ambi­tions you know? And often are very well-edu­cat­ed and hard-work­ing. The per­spec­tive of Italy that you have comes from the Amer­i­can media and Ital­ian post-war neo­re­al­ism. Indeed, Oscar-win­ning Ital­ian peo­ple com­plained about the fact that what the media wants is see­ing Ital­ians wear­ing tank tops doing noth­ing if not mafia or smelling the ros­es.

Watch more entries in the NOWNESS Por­trait of a Place series here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

What Are the Keys to Hap­pi­ness? Lessons from a 75-Year-Long Har­vard Study

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Botton’s Doc­u­men­tary Shows How Niet­zsche, Socrates & 4 Oth­er Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Pos­i­tive Psy­chol­o­gy: A Free Online Course from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty

The Sci­ence of Well-Being: Take a Free Online Ver­sion of Yale University’s Most Pop­u­lar Course

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

 

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