en route these days

Ireland – Greece – Hungary – Turkey – Italy …. travelling these days and getting news

…. and receiving a message with the following words, from Zygmunt Bauman

What is novel [these days] is not uncertainty;
what is novel is a realization that uncertainty is here to stay

Surely one thing reaining to be done: still taking firm positions against the strength of claimed powers. The challenge of being human these days!

Having Time

“I do not have the time for that, I am just composing my 4th symphony.”
According to the program of yesterday’s Bruckner-concert*:
‘This is the answer Anton Bruckner gave during the winter 1873/74, responding to the advise of one of his pupils to enjoy the ordinary niceties of life, to prefer the norms of the ordinary civil life rather than those of living as an artist, consider to marry.’
Fortunately he didn’t have the time for that …  😉 – and I guess I don’t have to add: Danny B. had been amazing as ever. And the question, the alterative that is proposed shows part of the mendacity of the life of many. Giving some impression, here from a performance in Vienna …, the same conductor, the same orchestra …, but not life …

stats

Don’t trust any statistics you didn’t manipulate at your own.

Supposedly it had been Churchill who said these words. Otbher words, saying something similar are attributed to Mark Twain:

There are three kinds of lies: lies, dirty lies and statistics.

Of course, one hs to be careful with such broad statements. But there is good reason in looking more in depth at issues, at how statistics are compled and what is behind the figures. Behind figures and behind any other appearances on the surface level.

Death is Dancing (by Rayen Kvyeh)

The other day, Rayen Kvyeh sent me some poems – they have their own beauty and I feel sorry that the translation cannot fully transport it. I met Rayen recently – it had been an event organised together with and by Kurds – I am greatful to Orhan who invited me to join for this event.

It is this own beauty that nearly forces me to translate another of the poems (one can be already found here) – but it is also the …, well: work, engagement that is currently occupying much of my thinking. And determining my life – permanently crossing borders, making me aware of the limitations, permantly being caught in the cage of my own life, evoking to burst the chains open, crossing the borders.

And encouring me …

All this is also about the experiences made: working in Taiwan; in Australia, being so close to the question of aborigins and PNG; having been in Japan …, but also being involved in “our daily Western struggles” – for me now from Benno Ohnesorg to the fires today.

… and hopefully encouring you ….

Thank you both, Rayen and Orhan! And Thank You, the other …

______

Death is dancing

At the table

Of the powerful round

They applaud and remain silent,

Remain silent and applaud

In the shadow

Of White Laws

               *

Silence is interrupted

Within the walls of bars.

The hunger strike

Is vibrating through the veins

Of the Mapuche, imprisoned on political grounds

Patricia Troncoso’s

In her black plaits

The silence ensnarls –

The silence of the voices of the ancestors

*

Death is Dancing

… dancing across the Christmas trees

Trees of artificial snow

And colourful light

*

Silence is broken

The hunger strike

Vibrates along the ways

Solidly united

Crossing borders

Breaking through barriers

*

The Llaima bursts.

Disrupts the silence.

Spitting the fire.

*

Spitting the stones.

The red bellow

Of the fervent magma

Razing the mountains.

*

Death is Dancing

On the Libra of justice

Of the powerful round.

The laws are dancing.

New Year.

New weapons.

Hard hand – white hand

Terrorist – white mind

Hard valuta – gain for the white.

Death is dancing.

The Laws are dancing

Drunken in champagne and wine.

*

Silence is broken.

The hunger strike

Is riding across captured roads

Is riding across the territory of the Mapuche

*

Death is dancing

At the desk

Of the powerful round

Dancing – the weapons.

Death is dancing.

The killing bullet

Aiming on the back.

Matías Catrileo is dead.

*

Death is dancing

On the table

Of the powerful round.

The terrorists are dancing

The last Cueca.

The laws are dancing

Singing the anthem.

CASE COMPLETED

*

Patricia Troncoso’s

In her black plaits

The silence ensnarls –

The silence of the voices of the ancestors.

The silence breaks

Through the wind’s voices

Lemun, Catrileo, Epul

Rising

From the four corners of the earth.

*

Matías Catrileo is falling

Kissing the soil.

The voices of the winds

Are breaking the silence

His eyes close

And illuminate

The wide and narrow paths

Of the MAPUCHE NATION

The voices of the ancestors

Are breaking through the silence

Matías Catrileo walks

Across the four potencies of the earth.


Again: Thank you both, Rayen and Orhan! And Thank You, …, the other.
The melancholy is just its opposite: the power gained for moving on.

A Question …

… though it is probably not a deeply academic or philosophical one.

Reading the Economic and Financial Outlook, published with last year’s budget in Ireland I spot on page 24 the following sentence:

In the EU Commission’s assessment of the Programmes, a greater emphasis will be placed on fiscal policies for the following year(s) – in other words, there will be more ex ante analysis of budgetary plans as opposed to the ex post analysis that characterised the approach heretofore.

Now I am seriously wondering if we needed such a thorough global crisis and then further two to three years to arrive at such wisdom?

 

Old Problems

We may congratulate ourselves that this cruel war is nearing its end. It has cost a vast amount of treasure and blood. … It has indeed been a trying hour for the Republic; but I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. As a result of the war, corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed. I feel at this moment more anxiety for the safety of my country than ever before, even in the midst of war. God grant that my suspicions may prove groundless.

So far Mr. Abraham Lincoln, a sentence he wrote 1864 in a latter to William F. Elkins. I am afraid, god didn’t really help.

And I can’t help, there may be another point of interest: 1867 saw the publication of volume one of The Capital, written by Karl Marx – now accessible as volume 35 of the Selected works by Marx and Engels.


On Reason and Peace

Something we may have to think about as well when we look at the terrible incidents that happened in Norway the last days – I had been re-reading Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason while working on defintional issues of law. I found something that is important enough to be thought about, also as matter of thinking about the connection between ‘managerialism’ (as another form of ‘pure reason’) and the (re-)emergence of (here: Christian) fundamentalism and neo-fascism:

Philosophical cognition, accordingly, regards the particular only in the general; mathematical the general in the particular, nay, in the individual. This is done, however, entirely a priori and by means of pure reason, so that, as this individual figure is determined under certain universal conditions of construction, the object of the conception, to which this individual figure corresponds as its schema, must be cogitated as universally determined.

The essential difference of these two modes of cognition consists, therefore, in this formal quality; it does not regard the difference of the matter or objects of both. Those thinkers who aim at distinguishing philosophy from mathematics by asserting that the former has to do with quality merely, and the latter with quantity, have mistaken the effect for the cause. The reason why mathematical cognition can relate only to quantity is to be found in its form alone. For it is the conception of quantities only that is capable of being constructed, that is, presented a priori in intuition; while qualities cannot be given in any other than an empirical intuition. Hence the cognition of qualities by reason is possible only through conceptions. No one can find an intuition which shall correspond to the conception of reality, except in experience; it cannot be presented to the mind a priori and antecedently to the empirical consciousness of a reality. We can form an intuition, by means of the mere conception of it, of a cone, without the aid of experience; but the colour of the cone we cannot know except from experience. I cannot present an intuition of a cause, except in an example which experience offers to me. Besides, philosophy, as well as mathematics, treats of quantities; as, for example, of totality, infinity, and so on. Mathematics, too, treats of the difference of lines and surfaces—as spaces of different quality, of the continuity of extension—as a quality thereof. But, although in such cases they have a common object, the mode in which reason considers that object is very different in philosophy from what it is in mathematics. The former confines itself to the general conceptions; the latter can do nothing with a mere conception, it hastens to intuition. In this intuition it regards the conception in concreto, not empirically, but in an a priori intuition, which it has constructed; and in which, all the results which follow from the general conditions of the construction of the conception are in all cases valid for the object of the constructed conception.

Kant, Immanuel: Critik der Reinen Vernunft; Zweyte hin und wieder verbesserte Auflage; Riga: Johann Friedrich Hartknoch, 1787 (erste Auflage: 1781); Wiesbaden: Insel Verlag: 1956: 614) (I did not check the English translation reproduced here.)

enlightenment too – and the irony of historical un-reason

If you treat an individual as he is, he will remain how he is. But if you treat him as if he were what he ought to be and could be, he will become what he ought to be and could be.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As wise as it is, it counteracts its own claim of reason and enlightenment: Why are individuals only men?

No, I don’t claim to be better as the master – we are children of our time, caught in the language of the time … – and criticising those times and words may evoke the hope that our own limitations and errors are less bold, less harming, less offending …