Against revenge

“The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door,” says the character Rust Cohle in the American crime-series, True Detectives. I thought of this sentence when I read Agnes Callard’s opening essay in the book On Anger (Boston Review Forum, 2020), which ends with the words: “We can’t be good in a bad world.”

The underlying premise of her argument is that the world is bad. And it’s because the world is bad—tattered, for example, by inequality, racism, sexism, greedy capitalism, abuse of power, hunger, fatigue, etc.—that there is moral value in anger. Social movements such as #Metoo and Black Lives Matter emphasize this point.

Perhaps more controversially, Callard claims that “once you have reason to be angry, you have reason to be angry forever. This is the Argument for Grudges.” Resentment of this type is often seen as being impotent, as Nietzsche claimed, and yet Callard present us with “the Argument for Revenge” where she tries to make a person’s desire for revenge something rational: she says, “revenge is how we hold one another morally responsible.”

But before I go any further, let me pause to present the writer: Callard is an Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Chicago; she is also a columnist for The Point Magazine and The New York Times.

Returning to her essay On Anger: Callard develops her postulation further when she writes that doing wrong—through revenge—doesn’t make you a worse person than when you were being wronged. In other words: “the victims of injustice are not as innocent as we would like to believe.”

Thus, if I am wronged and I get angry, it is my moral responsibility to act on that anger and to seek revenge. Callard doesn’t present us with what would be an appropriate form of revenge. One reason for this is that she doesn’t operate with a clear moral guideline as to what is right and wrong. Instead, she seems to base such normative judgments on the individual’s feelings. “Anger,” she writes, “feels exactly as you would expect, if it were true that my moral accountability was a matter of you seeing what’s good for you in terms of what’s bad for me.”

Unlike a moral philosopher such as Iris Murdoch, Callard doesn’t aim to overcome “the big fat ego” that Murdoch believed to be the problem in moral improvement. In contrast, Callard centers on the person’s feelings, despite the fact that most people have been seduced or manipulated to “feel” inappropriate things. It is quite possible that a person will become angry due to a mistake, a misunderstanding, or even due to pure ignorance.

Callard’s essay is followed by nine responses. Some of these merely repeat her argument, although others demonstrate the extent to which a true philosophical discussion is a mixture of humility and courage: while I acknowledge that I may be wrong, I nevertheless have the courage to present my ideas despite the risk of being wrong and having to think it all through again.

Among the more significant responses is that of Elizabeth Bruenig, who argues in favor of forgiveness, saying that “it may be a necessary ingredient for peace as we know it.” Bruenig goes on to stress that forgiveness is not “something one does for oneself, as pop psychologists and wellness coaches often [would have it].” Although it may bring healing, forgiving is also painful because you’re “being asked to sacrifice for some higher good: peace or egalitarian order.” This approach tries to overcome Callard’s more individual moral evaluation from a transcendent perspective.

Continuing with this theme, Misha Cherry argues, with the support of James Baldwin, about the need “to examine the context that gave birth to them [the crimes].” Here, Cherry is redirecting our attention away from a focus on the person, the egocentric individual, which is so typical in US political debate. One only has to think how convenient it was to be angry at Donald Trump and to ignore the culture or context that brought a person with such ideas and values to power. It is because we tend to focus on egos that we often ignore the context.

Rachel Achs challenges Callard’s argument that “anyone who is wronged does have some reason to retaliate.” On reading this, I found myself thinking about the mafia and drug cartels who have their own reasons for being angry—which problematizes the claim that all anger is morally reasonable. While paying tax might make some people in Denmark angry, taking revenge by not paying tax while still benefiting from the welfare system, would not only be an example of unreasonable anger but also of plain stupidity.

Oded Naáman asks whether revenge is the best option for moral improvement. Instead of revenge, an angry person or society might strive to change people’s mindsets and practical norms through new laws (e.g. to secure consent before sexual interaction), or through a better educational system that brings equality, justice and freedom to all—regardless of gender (including nonbinary persons and trans-persons), race, ethnicity, or sexual preference.

The small book ends with a comment to the responses from Callard where she writes: “we need help to become the people we want to be—we are not already, ‘best’.” While it’s obvious that we need others because they can help us understand who we are and who we might become, it’s less obvious whether revenge is helpful. For example, does the other help due to his or her altruistic interest or just well-camouflaged selfishness? Also, I am skeptical about whether all people really know whom they want to be, that is, if what they want is truly their own desire, or whether they are being subtly seduced by political narratives or social media.

After reading Callard’s essay and the responses, I am still left with the question: Why the need for revenge? I can easily understand and sympathize with the anger, but not with the need for revenge. I think one possible answer is that revenge is fueled by our own anger towards something we can’t let go of. It’s easy to get stuck in the past instead of “just” learning from it and then trying to overcome it. There is a need to make sure that it will not repeat itself, and this may be achieved through social experiments, education, new norms and values, etc.

Thus, while anger can be productive and morally beneficial, it is only so, I believe, when it doesn’t lead to never-ending bitterness, self-righteousness and revenge. For example, Callard claims that once you have reason to be angry, you have reason to be angry forever, but I do not find her argument and examples convincing, and I also believe she is wrong.

Overcoming problems doesn’t necessarily require revenge; it calls rather, for a more creative approach that starts to build foundations for a future where people can experience equality, justice, and peace, while freely experimenting with different ways of living.

With Nietzsche, I see revenge as resignation or resentment, which contrasts with trying to create new values, for example, through critical and innovative thinking. Critical thinking is a constructive example of the value of anger: a critique is actually something joyous because it has the potential to make us a little bit wiser, provided it is based on facts and convincing argument rather than on feelings and opinions.

In her final reply to all the responses, Callard writes that anger is not only in one’s own self-interest. For example, I can be angry when other people suffer. And yet, despite this claim, it appears to me that the revenge she speaks of is always personal. Even when she proposes that “Love is a kind of attachment,” as in loving people who embody justice or equality, I fear that this too can easily lead to an attachment to one’s personal feelings about what constitutes equality and justice. Vanity, egoism, and narcissism are close by.

Another way to define love could be by relating it to freedom—that is by being unattached and open to the continual process of becoming someone else. Søren Kierkegaard once wrote in a letter that “freedom is the element of love.” A simplistic interpretation of this could be that it is only unfree people who seek revenge. This is because it is only free people who are ready to set their egos aside and go where the truth takes them.

I have dealt mostly with Callard’s essay, but the real strength of this book comes not only from her essay but also from all the responses. On Anger is an example of how rich and beneficial it can be to participate in a philosophical discussion—even if you, like me, are sitting on a bench in a park.

Finn Janning, PhD, a writer and a philosopher.

First published in Metapsychology, Vol. 25, No. 32

August 13, 2021

Catching life

Recently, I bought a boxset with the Television series Twin Peaks and David Lynch’s book Catching the Big Fish.

“Ideas are like fish”, Lynch writes. “If you want a little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper.” It is well-known that Lynch uses transcendental meditation to go deeper. Everything there is, comes from the deepest level, he says, which modern physics call the Unified Field. “The more your consciousness—your awareness—is expanded, the deeper you go towards this source, and the bigger the fish you can catch.”

Reading this little book while watching Twin Peaks was illuminating. For example, the series opens with the log women speaking and telling us what it’s all about, she ends up saying: “Laura is the one.”

She, Laura Palmer, is the Unified Field. Everything that happens in Twin Peaks, is related to her: Laura Palmer.

The whole series is drawing a map of a complex totality as a way of gradually going deeper and deeper. For example, in later episodes, the log women speaks about dreams and ideas. The FBI special agent Dale Coper often gets his ideas, or clear up a misunderstanding, in his dreams, perhaps as an illustration of the “hidden” potential that lies deep within – something unconscious, something still unknown, waiting to actualized.

I recall seeing the series when I lived in small town (some years younger than the young bunch of main characters, some of which I found both cool and very attractive back then). Twin Peaks caught my attention like no other series had before (and not like anyone else had until I saw the first season of True Detective).

Lynch, reminds me of the Danish poet and film instructor Jørgen Leth, who I once wrote a book about. (I encountered Leth’s poems and films more or less at the same time, I saw Twin Peaks). Leth is also semi-inspired by a humble philosophy where you’re open for whatever happens; you take it, whatever it is, and use it as good as you can. In continuation of Leth (and later with the Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño), I’ve tried to develop a poetic and attentive philosophy, where the senses are all active.

Both Lynch and Leth mention how certain coincidences that happened at their filmset later were integrated into their films, making them better. They both believe that time should be allowed to unfold as it unfolds. Time is not a passive medium within which acts are placed; rather, time is immanent “within” action, when opening for or making another possible future actual. They both believe that everything is connected.

I emphasize that everything is connected or interconnectivity, recalling the Norwegian eco-philosopher Arne Næss who once said something like: if I destroy another life, I also destroy myself to some degree. Why? Because relations compose who I am, who we are. Relating this idea to a small community like Twin Peaks, then the life of each one of the characters is not sustainable without the others, and vice versa. The death of Laura Palmer is, therefore, not only a tragedy for her and her closest relations; rather, it’s an attack on the social bonds that holds this community together.

Perhaps Twin Peaks can be seen as how fragile or vulnerable these social bonds are when we focus on money, power, greed and hate, and how these bonds can be strengthen through friendships, honesty, trust … stressing something like an equal value of all lives. For example, special agent Dale Coper listens to all citizens with equal care and interest, even those we (the viewers) might look at with skepticisms. He is a fairly good person.

Seeing Twin Peaks and reading this little simple book brought me back to my own youth—perhaps not as something deeper (not sure I agree with Lynch’s vertical metaphor)—but as an expanding of my consciousness, reconnecting with these basic social bonds of love, care and friendships. Catching moments of life.

In a way, re-watching Twin Peaks made me recall how ethics is generous. It gives or shares without asking for anything because it passes on what cannot be owned: love, friendship or social bonds.

Isn’t philosophy’s first virtue to be humble as in curious, open, available?

November 25, 2019

Everything is fucking

The second season of True Detective, written by Nic Pizzolatto, is about caring and being fucked. To put it simply, only those who care survive, but the survivors need to run away to avoid being fucked. The rest—that is the non-caring—well, they all get fucked, sooner or later.

So in a way the moral is sad, and no less sad in that it’s a pretty accurate picture of contemporary capitalist society. Corruption, loneliness, fights for possessions—whether land, kids, property, even fights for the right to deal or not deal with one’s past.

“[T]here is no outside to the world market: the entire globe is its domain,” Michael Hardt and Toni Negri wrote in Empire. The two writers stress that there is no outside to capitalism, that there is no other world we can refer to as being better, more beautiful, more righteous, and so on. A possible change of an ethical approach in business comes from within as a kind of counter-actualization of something overlooked or neglected, for example from the few human beings who have the capacity to care for life not money.

In True Detective a missing girl says – as a reply to the question whether she shouldn’t aim for more in life than just fucking: “Everything is fucking.”

It is, since everything is business, and is cool and calculated transactions. Fucking is not making love; it is just one’s person assumed right to use another person to fulfill his or her desires. And here, True detective shows us that it apparently is more acceptable when men fuck than when women do.

The sadness of gender inequality is still here in 2015!

“I support feminism, mostly for having body image issues,” says detective Ray Velcoro to his female colleague, Antigone. This can be interpreted in many ways, but women are under more pressure from men, society, and, perhaps, themselves to live up to a sexy ideal, whereas men, apparently, can still be old, fat, and ugly and be sexy, as long as they have money or power. Also, many men can’t avoid seeing the body rather than the person when they speak with a woman. Of course, this is black and white; but in the end, it seems like Pizzolatto puts all the blame on capitalism, not men per se.

It makes you wonder: Will business corrupt women, like it did with the men?

Let me draw a parallel between death, capitalism, and sex. Climbing Mount Everest, one will at one point enter “the death zone” (above 8,000 kilometers). In this zone, the level of oxygen is so low that only very experienced mountaineers can survive with this level of oxygen. And common for many human beings in “the death zone” is that they become much more selfish. There are many stories of people passing dead bodies, or passing people asking for help but are left because the others are so seduced by their objective: to reach the top. Capitalism is similar to the death zone. Most people forget all about moral responsibility; they focus on the ends not the means. To be rich is to be on the top of the world. And sex… it has always been a good business—just see how the porn industry helped establish the Internet, together with the military. Sex and war—there you have it. Once upon a time, it was war and peace.

What happened with peace of mind?

And it doesn’t stop there. To add another moral: those who are capable of confronting their own nightmares—in the second season, related to past experiences of solitude or abuse—learn to care and then move on. The positive moral is that moving on and caring go hand in hand. We are offered a way out. However, caring is something more than self-compassion; rather, caring as in having compassion for others.

Nic Pizzolatto knows—or I assume he knows—that each of us is always secondary to life. Life came before us, and it will still be here when we are gone. It is ‘others’ who make us alive, and in that sense we all need one another. Those who care as elements of their own interests and egoism, like Ray and Paul (custody of his son and less heterosexual pressure), here fate catch up with them.

The caring element is one of two things that ties the second season with the first (see more of this here: True Detective: Pessimism, Buddhism or Philosophy?). A true detective cares . The other element that ties the seasons together is one of the many celebrated statements from Rust Cohle, that the “world needs bad men to keep the other bad men from the door.” It still does. Now, however, the world is just getting worse and worse, so it is not just a job for bad men but also for bad women to clean out. Thus, we need bad men and women. Paul, Ray, and Frank can’t do it alone; they need Jordan and Antigone.

Perhaps there is a reason why only the women survive, not the men. Is it because no one gets away with anything? Do men always fuck up?

The second season is about karma, the Buddhist concept that emphasizes our actions bring results. Each moment we plant seeds, those seeds will bear fruits depending on various circumstances. One can’t control the outcome, only one’s motive for planting this seed. Therefore, one’s intention becomes important.

The last and most important moral of True Detective: try to bring a moment of awareness and reflection to your actions, basically to make wise choices.

Is it wise of Paul to hide his sexuality? Apparently not.

Is it wise of Frank to want to kill everyone and get all the money before he escapes? Apparently not.

Is it wise of Ray first to abandon his kid and then to return and say good-bye while being on the run? Apparently not.

Is it wise of Antigone to share her story with another, like sharing the responsibility to make one’s own burden lighter? Apparently so.

No one survives alone (was that yet another moral?).

Ray Velcoro dies out in nature under a big tree, the Bodhi spot. He dies peacefully, perhaps because we are told that he already lived many lives and that he is tired. Frank dies in the desert. Often we associate the desert as being a limitless space, a kind of freedom. But those are just delusions: deserts are full of sand and have a lot of heat, but are devoid of water and people; nothing but death. Frank was already dead. He already died a long time ago, when he decided to enter the business world where legitimate businessmen can’t be distinguished from illegitimate. Business is entering “the death zone.”

Antigone is the only true detective in the second season. Next time, we need both bad men and women to keep the bad men and women from our doors. In the end, if everything is fucking, then not only men fuck.

October 7, 2015

True Detective

I have published the essay, True Detective: Pessimism, Buddhism or Philosophy?

The aim of this essay is to raise two questions. The first question is: How is pessimism related to Buddhism (and vice versa)? The second question is: What relation does an immanent philosophy have to pessimism and Buddhism, if any? Using True Detective, an American television crime drama, as my point of departure, first I will outline some of the likenesses between Buddhism and pessimism. At the same time, I will show how the conduct of one of the main characters in True Detective resembles the paths of Buddhism and pessimism, even though he is ethical in a strictly non-pessimistic and non-Buddhist fashion. Last, I will try to place these findings in perspective through the French philosopher Gilles Deleuze’s thoughts. Hereby, I hope to illustrate that joy, not suffering, is basic to human existence, and how human beings may overcome a spiritual pessimism.

Den sande detektiv

”No, I don’t wonder, Marty. The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door.” – Rust Cohle, True Detective

Den franske sociolog Luc Boltanski har skrevet en sociologisk krimi – næsten. I Mysteries & Conspiracies trækker han linjer og paralleller mellem mysterier, konspirationer og undersøgelser, som de udfoldes i henholdsvis sociologien og krimi- og spionromanen. Det er ganske underholdende læsning. Han giver en litterær genre, som jeg aldrig rigtigt har læst lidt kød, mens har gør et felt mere interessant, end hvad det plejer at være.

Det, som sociologien og denne type litteratur har tilfælles er konflikten mellem REALITY versus reality – den store og lille virkelighed. Sociologi, for Boltanski, handler om at konstruere virkelighed, altså social konstruktivisme. Bogen kan derfor læses, som en vigtig bidrag til Berger og Luckmans klassiker The Social Construction of Reality (1966). Ifølge Bolstanski er virkeligheden konstrueret i kraft af et net af kausalkæder, hvorved handlinger bliver sandsynlige eller ligefrem forudsigelige. Det er denne kausalitet, som en detektiv leger med, når han eller hun bemærker hvordan noget hemmelighedsfuldt, mystisk eller overset, leder til noget andet. Denne undersøgelse kobler sig på virkeligheden eller verden (Reality), hvorved den giver denne ny værdi eller mening. Sagt anderledes: Verden sker, mens virkeligheden (reality) altid er baseret på en selektion og organisering af sikre muligheder, som verden stiller til rådighed i et givent øjeblik. En anden og mere simpel måde at forstå denne dynamik på, er, fx gennem det velkendte begrebspar kaos og orden, hvor detektiven (ligesom sociologen) bringer orden i kaos. Rent filosofisk er denne dialektisme lidt vag, især hvis man ikke ser det som filosofiens rolle at bringe orden, men snarere at udvide virkeligheden. Men lad os lade denne diskussion ligge.

Først et par definitioner. Detektiven er den, som er nidkært opmærksom på selv diminutive begivenheder, fx de begivenheder der umiddelbart kan virke meningsløse. Disse begivenheder tager karakter af et mysterium, som træder frem på en mere eller mindre velkendt baggrund. Hvorfor ligger kuglepennen i venstre bukselomme, hvis personen skriver med højre hånd? Hvorfor tager min kone altid rødt undertøj på om mandagen, hvor hun arbejder længe? Et mysterium er abnormalt, hvorved det efterlader en ridse i virkelighedens stof. Nogle mysterier er hurtigere at opklare end andre (fx mine eksempler). De lette er hverken interessante i litteraturen eller i sociologien. Det, som sociologien og detektivroman har tilfælles, er, at det netværk af kausale relationer, som holder virkeligheden sammen, testes. Holder forklaringen. Holder sammenhængskraften.

Når tingene ikke længere er som de plejer at være, ringer vi efter detektiven. Udfordringen er nu, at få tingene til at falde i hak igen. Give mening. (Og her kunne man problematisere Boltanskis social konstruktivisme, idet tingene måske ikke falder tilbage i sine vante folder, men rent faktisk efterlader et sår, som ikke kan hele, men som vi derimod må skabe plads til. Sagt anderledes: Den skabte orden er en illusion).

Jeg repeterer. En begivenhed sker. Noget uforklarligt. Det er en forbrydelse, hvor vi ikke kan placere ansvaret. Ergo, vi ringer efter detektiverne Marty Hart og Rust Cohle fra Louisianas Criminal Investigation Division fra serien True Detective (kreeret af Nic Pizzolatto). Herefter begynder Hart og Cohle at prøve kræfter med forbrydelsen. Touch darkness and darkness touches you back, lyder mottoet. Undersøgelsen tager form af spørgsmålet ”the whatness of what is”, hvadheden i hvad der er. Forbrydelsen, som de skal opklare er et makabert og tilsyneladende okkult mord; et mord, der spolerer en relativ velordnet virkelighed. Detektiverne besidder samme type af intelligens og perversitet, som den kriminelle – it takes one to know one. Ligesom detektiverne, så afprøver sociologen det skete med fakta, statistikker (til dels) og nye spørgsmål omkring, hvad der virkelig skete. I denne undersøgelse inddrages der antropologi, psykologi og filosofi. Alt sammen i håbet om at skabe et meningsfuldt narrativ. En holdbar forklaring. Der, hvor Boltanski stopper er måske der, hvor serien True Detective forstsætter. Serien viser, at det hemmelighedsfulde og mystiske, ikke så meget er selve forbrydelsen. Ikke kun den. Snarere hvordan noget påvirker og påvirkes, fx detektivernes liv. Eksempelvis er den ene detektiv Cohle interessant, som en filosofisk realist (nogle vil nok se ham som pessimistisk), mens hans partner Hart er en moralsk hykler. Og – dette er interessant rent sociologisk – fordi Hart sandsynligvis er netop den karakter, der får en virkelighed til at hænge sammen. Hart er sort-hvid med hensyn til, hvad der overordnet set er godt og skidt – overordnet, fordi han nemt kan finde en undskyldning for at gøre noget skidt, fx ødelægge sine sukkersøde familieværdier, når han knepper løs med en yngre udgave. Moralen i True Detective er, at virkeligheden opretholdes af moralske hyklere eller naive illusioner, fx den historie, hvor Jesus har hovedrollen. Eller, hvor mænd må sprøjte lidt for at kunne opretholde ro og orden. Sammenhængskraften er kunstig.

Det afgørende sociologiske spørgsmål for Boltanski er hvadhedens hvad. Det tydeliggør, hvad et samfund finder værdifult. En tese kunne være: ro og orden er mere værdifult end indsigt og erkendelse. Desværre. De værdier, der ligger til grund for de beslutninger, som en samfund tager for at genoprette ro og orden, prises. Her kan man igen se en forskel mellem serien True Detective og Boltanskis analyse, idet detektiven Cohle spørger til hvordans hvadhed, det vil sige det værende i det blivende, mens Boltanski spørger til det værendes væren. Forskellen er et spørgsmål om tid.

Boltanskis analyse fordrer en lineær tidsforståelse, mens Cohle er mere Nietzsche-agtig, når han taler om tidens cirkularitet. Hos Nietzsche leder det ene ikke partout til det andet, men ofte fanges vi et loop, fordi vi ikke formår at gentage det, som er værd at gentage (det, der udvider vores virkelighed). Livet bliver et trivielt trummerum. Det, som er værd at gentage, er ikke allerede fastlagte værdier (læs: en fastlagt orden eller Reality). Derimod det, som giver plads til det, som også er i færd med at blive. Hermed er vi også tilbage til selve grundindstillingen mellem sociologien og filosofien hos henholdsvis Boltanski og Rust, den grundindstilling, som jeg ellers sagde, at jeg ville lade ligge.

Hvad man kan udlede heraf? For det første, at der er visse ting, som jeg ikke kan lade ligge. For det andet, og vigtigere, at man ikke nødvendigvis skal resignere, hvilket Cohle til dels foreslår, men ikke helt efterlever. Snarere synes opfordringen eller prøvelsen at gå ud på, at lade sig blive med det blivende. Opløses. Og det er netop, hvad Cohle gør, når han udfører alternativ ægteskabsrådgivning, jager forbryder, mens hans digter og viser, at skelnet mellem reality og Reality slet ikke er så klart, som de flest tror – og måske ønsker. Han bliver et vidne med hensyn til, hvad virkeligheden også er.

Boltanskis bog kan anbefales (måske mens man ser True Detective). Den formår ved hjælp af simple begreber hentet fra spion og krimiromanen, at fortælle noget om sociologiens styrker. Udover at være et glimrende bidrag til social konstruktivismen, er den også velegnet som en god introduktion til sociologien.

Detektiven, som vi kender ham (og i stigende grad hende) fra bøgerne, opstår i begyndelsen af det tyvende århundrede samtidig med sociologien. Begge beskæftiger sig med en social virkelighed, som noget der består af fakta eller natur. Den sociale realitet eksisterer før den menneskelige vilje, det vil sige at vi fødes ind i styringssystemer, lønrammer, arbejdstid, juridiske praksisser og regler, osv. Et samfund. Og som detektiven – nok snarere spionen – så tester sociologen virkelighedens virkelighed, hvorved sociologien kan tilføje værdi i kraft af dennes forklaringer. Der, hvor den kommer til kort, er, når mysterierne ikke lader sig forklare ved hjælp af fakta eller natur, fx det spirituelle eller Twin Peaks.

Boltanski påpeger af samme grund, at det er vigtigt at have blik for de paranoide, det vil sige de mennesker, som lystigt problematiserer virkeligheden. Nogle sjældne gange er disse paranoide vitterligt seende eller visionære. Andre gange – og oftest – er de syge. Derfor ser man også i det tyvende århundrede opfindelsen af flere mentale sygdomme og lidelser, hvorved de personer, der stiller spørgsmålstegn ved den herskende orden enten er naive, dumme eller syge. De, der rent faktisk formår at udvide virkeligheden, er fåtallige. Det kræver en originalitet, som er de færreste af os forundt.

Konklusionen er, som Boltanski skriver: ”Vi ved ikke, og vi skal aldrig vide, hvad der skete.” Der er stadigvæk plads til at udvide virkeligheden. Husk det nu. Ikke alt kan eller skal forklares.

November 13, 2014