1,916 words
As I write this, a baby is staring up at me from a stroller, tightly packed with blankets to protect her from the chilly air. A bonnet fringed with pink lace covers her small head, and tiny blonde curls peek out from the edges. She is parked beside her parents and a third person, who seems to be a family friend. They are next to me at a café, where I am trying to concentrate on reading a newish translation of Being and Time. Now and then, the baby breaks my concentration by making little chirping, birdlike noises. Uncharacteristically, I am not annoyed by this. Why? Read more …
Freedom is Willing Our Determination
Gustav Klimt, Death and Life, 1915
1,769 words
Twenty years ago I remember being absolutely outraged by an acquaintance, an M.D. by trade, who told me he was a strict biological determinist. Everything about us, he related to me over coffee, was attributable to heredity. I was flabbergasted – and indignant. Especially because he insisted that his position left no room at all for freedom of will, which he regarded as a myth. Read more …