You read a message from someone on social media and you feel your heart beating faster, your breathing becomes shallow, and you feel a knot in your stomach. The raw emotion of anger has been triggered and is changing your physiological state, signaling to your body and mind that something of importance has occurred, something that is either a threat to your physical or psychological well-being, or both. So now what?
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I had the privilege of delivering this year’s commencement speech for the IB class of 2025 at EUC Syd, Sønderborg. Here it is:
“Good afternoon, graduates, families, and friends. Congratulations to the IB Class of 2025. The day you’ve eagerly awaited and dreamed about is finally here. I am grateful and excited to be a part of your special moment, which marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
Being your teacher and listening to your thoughtful perspectives and ideas has genuinely been a privilege. In Theory of Knowledge, we discussed complex questions such as, “What is knowledge, and what information can we trust?”; “Do animals have language?”; and “Can historians ever produce objective knowledge?”. In psychology, we tackled difficult yet crucial themes like globalization, addiction, stereotypes, and discrimination. All in all, you learned that there are no black and white answers to complicated issues, and that solutions require careful reflection and critical thinking.
But beyond witnessing your thoughtful exploration of complex questions, I also saw how academic pressure sometimes left you frustrated, anxious, and overwhelmed. To help you unwind at the beginning of a few psych lessons, I tried playing mindfulness music for five minutes, asking you to close your eyes and rest your heads on the table. I joined in, too, only to find one of you lying on the floor five minutes later in a rather unusual position. And then there was the time during an evolutionary psychology lesson when I excitedly showed a fascinating video of a bird carefully building its nest – well, at least I thought it was fascinating until I noticed one of you falling asleep…
But humor aside, I genuinely relate to the stress and anxiety you might have felt when facing deadlines and something important. But know that we teachers have been there, too. Let me illustrate with a brief personal example.
On a Sunday afternoon in September 2019, I was racing to finish a daunting 60-page philosophy paper due the next morning; the culmination of five intense years at university. At the same time, I was preparing to teach my first-ever university class the next day. Overwhelmed, I went for a walk to clear my mind, only to find myself gripped by anxiety and doubt. “Will I finish my paper in time?” “Am I even qualified to teach?” “Will everyone think that I’m a fraud?” My mind became cluttered with negativity, including the sarcastic words of a high school physics teacher after a failed exam: “Good luck in the future!”, he said.
That Sunday I felt the world was ending. But morning arrived, my paper was submitted, and I taught my class. Life moved on, I graduated and eventually found myself in an exciting and meaningful role teaching IB students. Everything, despite my fears, turned out just fine. As philosopher Alan Watts once said, “Don’t be afraid. You’re going to make it, but it’s always going to feel as if you’re not.” Somehow, things always work themselves out, one way or the other.
Dear graduates, you are a talented group of people, full of potential, with your whole life ahead of you. You stand before a future rich with possibility and adventure, but at the same time, a future that is increasingly difficult to predict. The world faces unprecedented environmental and technological challenges and is also haunted by anti-democratic ghosts of the past. The world calls upon you to confront these and other issues with intelligence, determination, collaboration, and not least with humility. By engaging actively with these and other societal problems, you’ll find growth, meaning, and purpose.
Before you leave these classrooms and corridors and embark on your next journey, allow me to share three short lessons – insights I wish someone had shared with me when I was your age. At the senior age of 35, I’d like to imagine I’ve acquired a modest amount of hard-earned wisdom—at least enough to share a few insights with you today.
Lesson one: you will make mistakes and wrong decisions – but that’s okay. The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard humorously captures this human truth: “Marry, and you will regret it; don’t marry, you will also regret it; marry or don’t marry, you will regret it either way.” Choices, imperfect as they may be, shape who you become. Embrace uncertainty; see fear not as a giant red stop sign, but as an invitation to curiosity and exploration. The psychiatrist Thomas Szasz once said, “A child becomes an adult when she realizes that she has a right not only to be right but also to be wrong.”
Lesson two: you will encounter setbacks and misfortune. Not every plan or goal will unfold as expected. But remember, failure can sometimes exactly be what you need to become something greater; misfortune can carry the seeds of emotional and spiritual growth. Eckhart Tolle once wrote that, “Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness.“
And lesson three: you cannot do it alone. Carrying all your thoughts and emotions by yourself can be incredibly difficult – and it’s more than okay to be vulnerable and ask for support. Being vulnerable while owning it is an act of true strength and bravery. I wouldn’t be sitting here today without the support and consolation of my family and friends in times of need, nor without the inspiring teachers, professors, and employers who believed in me and paved the way for me.
So, offer your support to others, too. Never underestimate the power you have to make the world just a little better for the people around you. Be a light in the darkness.
Once again, congratulations IB Class of 2025. Go confidently and courageously into your bright futures.”
I see you in the kitchen
I see you in the park
I see you in my bathroom-
your blue toothbrush
next to mine.
I see you walking by me on the street,
I see you in her eyes,
in the café
across the room.
In the bedroom,
I see you naked,
vulnerable
and full of life.
I see you in my dreams,
I feel you in the songs
we used to hear,
in the movies
we used to watch.
I see you on my couch,
arms folded,
legs crossed,
holding back
a smile.
You’ve colonised my world.
It belongs to you;
It belongs to an imaginary us,
existing somewhere somehow-
God knows where,
maybe.
Maybe.
///
Vidim te u kuhinji
Vidim te u parku
Vidim te u mom kupatilu –
tvoja plava četkica za zube
pored moje.
Vidim te kako prolaziš pored mene na ulici,
vidim te u njenim očima,
u kafiću
s druge strane prostorije.
U spavaćoj sobi,
vidim te nagu,
ranjivu
i punu života.
Vidim te u svojim snovima,
osjećam te u pjesmama
koje smo nekad slušali,
u filmovima
koje smo nekad gledali.
Vidim te na mom kauču,
sklopljenih ruku,
prekriženih nogu,
kako zadržavaš
osmijeh.
Kolonizirala si moj svijet.
Pripada tebi;
pripada zamišljenom nama,
koji negdje nekako postojimo –
Bog zna gdje,
možda.
Možda.
I just watched Joker: Folie à Deux. Despite the musical scenes and elements (not really my thing), I really enjoyed it. Here are some observations and comments.
SPOILER ALERT
The film emphasizes how people perceive you as they wish, and how society quickly rejects you if you don’t meet its expectations. Arthur’s lawyer and Harley Quinn (Lee) want him to be something he’s not – The Joker. Both of these women try to manipulate Arthur for their own interests. The lawyer insists Arthur developed a split personality to prove his innocence and advance her career; Lee speaks to his alter-ego to live out her own twisted fantasy. Are these characters extensions of Arthur’s mother, who also didn’t accept him for who he was, as shown by her calling him “happy”? Harvey Dent, the prosecuter, sees him as a monster. But is he?
All Arthur desires is connection, love, acceptance, to be valued for who he is. Don’t we all? Yet, he is profoundly emotionally wounded, not shaped for society and its demands, making rejection easy. The film depicts Arthur as essentially weak, unable to embody his clown alter-ego and lacking control over his life. He is not The Joker, the strong persona who “can do anything”; this persona cannot shield him from the world’s cruelties. This is shown by his humiliation and dehumanization by the prison guards who sodomize him after his theatrical Joker performance in court. Furthermore, when he hears his prison mate being strangled, it seems he experiences a PTSD episode, reminding him of severe childhood trauma. He is so traumatized that he often retreats into an inner world where he feels safe and in control.
A meta-layer?
Interestingly, the film itself seems to be rejected by many in the audience (receiving bad-to-mixed reviews), perhaps because they expected something different. Perhaps they anticipated The Joker, chaos, violence, and mayhem – to be ENTERTAINED – not to witness an exploration of a broken, fragile, unwanted human being. As Arthur says at one point, “I got this sneaking suspicion that we’re not giving the people what they want.” How meta. The ending line, just before Arthur is stabbed in the gut, can also be interpreted on a meta-level: “You get what you deserve!”
*
I read or heard before watching the film that psychological explorations of tormented killers, like Fleck or Dahmer (real), are misguided because these individuals are innately evil, implying that we should not sympathise with them. I couldn’t disagree more. We can attempt to understand the inner workings of killers while still holding them legally and morally accountable for their actions. Even if a person is deemed evil, they didn’t choose to be so. Nobody chooses their genes, pre- and post-natal environment, parents, society, and culture. I would rather live in a society that shows empathy towards individuals who are victims of fate than one that sees the world in absolutes, in simple good and evil categories, thereby increasing the risk of dehumanization and mass atrocities.
I see some parallels between Frankenstein’s monster and The Joker: Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and The Joker share an intriguing exploration of the Monster’s subjectivity. In Shelley’s novel, the creature is a complex being seeking understanding and acceptance, grappling with its own identity and the rejection from society. Similarly, the Joker often represents chaos and madness, yet beneath the surface lies a deeper commentary on the nature of humanity and what it means to be seen as a monster.
Solen skinner i dag. Jeg står bøjet ind over køkkendisken og presser citrondråber ned i den varme te; citronkerner glider ud og synker til bunds i koppen; syrlige dråber rammer teens dampende overflade og hvirvler rundt i den mørke væske. Jeg kigger ud ad vinduet ned mod baghaven med de misvedligeholdte cykelskure, det frodige grønne græs, og plante- og blomsterbedene. Haven er indrammet af lejlighedsblokke med gule mursten. En ung mand i et brunt tweed jakkesæt trækker med lette skridt en cykel på grusstien, der snor sig gennem haven som en slange. Solsorte på ormejagt, springer lystigt rundt på græsset. Jeg føres tilbage til sommeren, hvor jeg startede på filosofistudiet… *
*De smilende nye ansigter, som snart vil blive velkendte; ihærdigheden, hvormed vi præsenterer os selv, høfligheden og munterheden; forventningerne; lad os alle drikke af det samme glas, spise med den samme gaffel, ryge af den samme smøg; duften af nyslået græs i universitetsparken, grønt og gult græs, duften af sommer, af frihed; duften af tobak og smagen af kold øl; latter, musik og klirrende rødvinsglas på Bellevue Strand i Aarhus, verden snurrer rundt og rundt, vi danser som nyfødte; vi leger i vandet som uhæmmede børn, som om vi aldrig har været i vandet før, eller som om vi et eller andet sted i bevidstheden begynder at erkende, at legen en dag vil ophøre; sanseindtrykkene er skarpe, blændende og berusende; Der er stadigvæk noget evigt over tiden, den er stadigvæk primært noget abstrakt og fjernt. En episk stemning af begyndelse og muligheder blæser i vinden denne sommer; af at noget større end mig selv hviler over fremtiden, noget stort, uhåndgribeligt og uforudsigeligt, som selve livets begyndelse.
Bellevue Strand
The sun is shining today. I’m leaning over the kitchen counter, squeezing drops of lemon into the hot tea; lemon seeds slip out and sink to the bottom of the cup; the sour drops hit the steaming surface of the tea and swirl around in the dark liquid. I look out the window toward the backyard with its neglected bike sheds, the lush green grass, and the plant and flower beds. The garden is framed by apartment blocks with yellow brick walls. A young man in a brown tweed suit walks lightly along the gravel path, pulling a bike behind him, the path winding through the garden like a snake. Blackbirds, hunting for worms, hop happily around the grass. I am transported back to the summer when I started studying philosophy…
The smiling new faces that will soon become familiar; the eagerness with which we introduce ourselves, the politeness and cheerfulness; the expectations; let us all drink from the same glass, eat with the same fork, smoke the same cigarette; the scent of freshly cut grass in the university park, green and yellow grass, the smell of summer, of freedom; the scent of tobacco and the taste of cold beer; laughter, music, and the clinking of wine glasses at Bellevue Beach in Aarhus, the world spinning round and round, we dance like newborns; we play in the water like uninhibited children, as if we’ve never been in the water before, or as if, somewhere in our consciousness, we are beginning to realize that one day the play will stop; the sensory impressions are sharp, dazzling, and intoxicating; there is still something eternal about time, it remains primarily something abstract and distant. An epic sense of beginning and possibility is in the air this summer; of something greater than myself resting over the future, something grand, intangible, and unpredictable, like the very beginning of life.
Det land, jeg kommer til verden i, rives midt over, synker til bunden af civilisationen. Underben sprænges af, underliv forslåes og mærkes for altid. Soldater skyder ubevæbnede civile i ryggen mens de ryger cigaretter og griner. Livløse kroppe smides i udgravede huller som sild i en tønde. Råb og skrig mod den tavse himmel, genlyd i bjergene, tarmene vrider og vender sig i en. Titos mantra om broderskab og forening rådner op i Beograd sammen med hans jordiske rester.
Motorens brummen i den blå bus er hypnotiserende. Folk hvisker, tysser, snøfter i mørket. Luften i bussen er tung med larmende tanker. Mine forældre tørrer tårer væk, mor bider negle, storesøster sover med munden vidt åben. Fra Zagreb, op gennem Østrig og Tyskland, snedækkede bjergtinder, tunneller, der ormer sig igennem alperne, den uendelige Autobahn. Modtagercenteret har tremmer for vinduerne. Folk nægter at forlade bussen, forældre knuger deres børn til sig. Med store, akavede armbevægelser, forsikrer en tolk, at det ikke er et fængsel.
*
Lysegrå, sterile barakker, bosniakker, kroatere og serbere. Min familie klemmes ind på 10m2. Fælleskøkken med to komfurer fører undertiden til gnidninger og forbandelser; krig finder altid ly i bevidstheden. Fars orange Golf 1 ridses i bildøren. Jeg lærer at cykle på græs, så smerten er mindre, når jeg vælter. En mand med smilende øjne og anderledes påklædning siger nogle underlige lyde. Mine forældre kigger usikkert på hinanden, tunge øjenlåg; jeg roterer Batman-figurens led og lemmer, rokker frem og tilbage på stolen.
Asylcenteret har intet hegn eller mur, ligger ud til en landevej. Jeg nærmer mig centerets grænse og stopper op; hjertet tordner i min brystkasse, mundvandet tørrer ind. Skråt overfor på den anden side af vejen ligger et gammelt, gult murstenshus. Fyrretræer, ranke som soldater, omkranser huset, og løber langs landevejen. Den tavse, mystiske bygning pirrer mit barnesind; hvem gemmer sig inde i huset? Hvordan ser de ud? Hvordan lyder de? Om natten flyder min fantasi udover dens bredder.
*
I 1. klasse ved jeg ikke, hvor jeg bor. Hver morgen hører dansklæreren Mette, med det mælkehvide, kraftige hår, os i basale personlige fakta. På vej op til katederet skælver jeg. ”Adresse?”, spørger hun, spids blyant i hånden, et utålmodigt, men forhåbningsfuldt blik. ”Jeg ved det ikke”, siger jeg så lavmælt, at jeg næsten ikke selv kan høre det; jeg skal kaste op.
*
Det er en mørk december morgen, svagt oplyst af gadelamper. I den store, varme aula står jeg iblandt en tæt forsamling af folkeskoleelever. Mit hoved let foroverbøjet, hænderne sammenfoldet. Fader vor, du som er i himlene! Helliget vorde dit navn, komme dit rige, ske din vilje, som i himlen således også på jorden. Ordene runger i hele skolen, svært at skelne dem fra hinanden, jeg tier. Giv os i dag vort daglige brød, og forlad os vor skyld, som også vi forlader vore skyldnere. Granitfliserne gynger under mig, blodet forlader mit ansigt. En genkendelig stemmer breder sig inde i mig som et ekko: ”Du behøver ikke at bede fadervor.” Og led os ikke i fristelse, men fri os fra det onde. Thi dit er riget og magten og æren i evighed! Amen.
*
Du beretter om din barndom i din og min fødeby, Gradiška. Hvordan du som barn fra den mørkegrønne grænsebro tøvende sprang ned i den kolde og stille Sava-flod. Hvordan dig og dine kammerater drak jer sanseløst beruset på barer og caféer. Hvordan du plukkede hårde, umodne æbler og pærer fra naboens have, og sprintede afsted med dem i favnen, som var de diamanter. Du henviser til steder, mennesker, og begivenheder som jeg ikke kender, og min fødeby er ikke meget andet end en abstraktion. Et postkort og et opkald fra et fjernt sted, et sted, der mest af alt eksisterer i en drøm.
*
I frikvartererne refererer I til salmebogen, Matador, juleminder, konfirmation; jeg kigger ud i luften mens I griner sammen. Nogle bosniere hilser med marhaba (hej på arabisk), men det føles fremmed for mig. Mit bosniske sprog underudvikles, selvbevidstheden ligger sig som en tynd, rødlig hinde på mit ansigt. Under bayram (bosnisk fest) giver mine tanter og onkler mig hånden og siger, ”bajram serif mubarek olsun”, jeg kigger ned i gulvet og siger ”tak, og i lige måde.”
”Gud er død” detonerer jeg og sender chokbølger gennem rummet. Hvad mon de reelt tænker og føler? Vi kører til Bosnien, kolonner af røde og hvide lys på autobahnen, slår revner i den tætte mørke, uhyggelige rastepladser med sovende lastbiler. På vej mod Bosnien, et land, som jeg ikke bor i, men som lever en skyggeeksistens inde i mig; et grænseløst land og befolkning. Vi krydser grænsebroen og mødes med fjendtlighed af grænsevagterne. Naboer besøger os, slukker tørsten i rakija, bruger ord jeg ikke forstår; kalder mig for pravi danac (rigtig dansker). Jeg ved ikke, hvad ’rigtig dansker’ betyder, men jeg føler mig fornærmet. Indignationen afløses af skammen.
*
Nu har jeg to gange oplevet, at et tilfældigt menneske gennem et tilfældigt møde, har bedt en bøn for mig. Første gang var det en tidligere præst som jeg mødte via en samkørsel fra Hjørring til Aarhus. På vejen havde vi en lang samtale om filosofi, eksistentialisme og religion. Vi talte også om min sygemelding, mine fysiske udfordringer og det mentale mareridt, jeg dengang befandt mig i. Da vi ankom foran mit hjem, spurgte han, om han måtte bede for mig. Ingen havde nogensinde spurgt mig om det før, så jeg blev en smule overrasket, men også nysgerrig. Jeg takkede ydmygt ja, og han begyndte at bede en bøn, som varede godt og vel et minut. Under bønnen blev jeg følelsesmæssigt overvældet af ordene, oprigtigheden og omsorgen. Bønnen havde en stærk positiv psykologisk effekt; jeg blev rørt til tårer, og håbet, som jeg kæmpede med dagligt, voksede inden i mig.
Anden gang var det en GLS chauffør – af alle mennesker – der kom ind i min lejlighed for at aflevere en større pakke. Han fik øje på mine hjælpemiddler og spurgte, med et mildt ansigtsudtryk, hvordan det gik med mig og min genoptræning. Dernæst spurgte han forsigtigt, om han måtte bede for mig. Jeg fik en indskydelse til at spørge, hvilken religion han tilhørte, men tænkte hurtigt, at det var fuldstændig ligegyldigt. Han placerede sin hånd på min akillessene og bad en kort bøn. På vej ud af døren sagde han, “må Gud velsigne dig.”
Jeg er ikke selv troende, men disse oplevelser med bøn har ikke af den grund været forgæves eller meningsløse, tværtimod. Jeg blev begge gange meget bevæget over den kærlighedsgestus, det er at bede for et fremmede menneske; at drage omsorg for en anden uden tanke på sig selv. Kærlighedsakten ligger også i det faktum, at disse to personer gjorde sig selv sårbare ved at spørge om lov til at bede, hvorved de risikerede afvisning og latterliggørelse; og i denne sårbarhed vover de et lille tillidsspring, en prøvelse af et andet menneskes evne til at modtage kærlighed, til at være fordomsfri, og til at være åben overfor noget man ikke helt forstår. Der opstår derfor et gensidigt krav om tillid og mod. Sårbarheden er også gensidig, idet det for mig er en smule grænseoverskridende, at nogen beder for mig, da bønnen vedrører noget meget personligt; at en fremmed lægger en hånd på min krop, og dét tilmed en skrøbelig del, eksponerer mig også. Men det er dér, at min tillid til andre mennesker bliver testet.
I skrivende stund kommer jeg i tanker om et kendt citat fra teologen Knud Ejler Løgstrup: “Den enkelte har aldrig med et andet menneske at gøre, uden at han holder noget af dets liv i sin hånd.“[1]
Jeg er ikke stor kender af Løgstrup, men jeg forstår hans etiske fordring, der udtrykkes i citatet, som at der foreligger et gensidigt ansvar i mødet mellem mennesker; et ansvar om et beskytte, gribe hinanden, værne om den andens tillid, ikke misbruge den. Tilliden er tavs og skrøbelig, og hvis den først brydes, er den svær at genoplive.
Disse oplevelser, og særligt oplevelsen med bønnen fra præsten, kommer til at lyse klart i min bevidsthed i mange år.
Referencer
[1] https://www.pexels.com/da-dk/foto/mand-skilt-drom-ansigtslose-5997362/
[2] Bargfeldt, E., & Änghede, L. H. (2024, January 17). K.E. Løgstrup, Den etiske fordring og de spontane livsytringer. Kristeligt Dagblad. https://www.kristeligt-dagblad.dk/religion/ke-loegstrup-den-etiske-fordring-og-de-spontane-livsytringer
The Turkish novelist, Orhan Pamuk, once wrote:
“It was the happiest moment of my life, though I didn’t know it. If I had known, if I had cherished this gift, would everything have turned out differently?”[1]
Why is it that the happiest moments of our lives might escape our mental radar while we are experiencing them? Depending on who you are and what stage of life you are in, you might have already lived through your best moments. If you were not fully aware of the significance of these events at the time, you might have undervalued them. This probably sounds depressing, but it is not my intention to discourage you. Rather, I aim to make you reflect on your relationship with time and how consciousness interacts with it. As with most things, there is a silver lining.
How the present is experienced is to some degree a function of our expectations for the future. For instance, if I find myself in agonizing physical pain because I hit my big toe, I can manage the uncomfortable sensations, since I expect them to subside quickly. On the other hand, if I suddenly experience intense and sharp pain in my right abdomen, I might go into panic mode, because I do not know what to expect; infection, cancer, appendicitis? Approximately identical pain sensations can engender different perceptions and levels of stress and fear depending on the interpretation.
Furthermore, in the latter moment, it might feel like the worst experience of my life, but when I later discover my pain was due to digestion issues, I’ll probably reassess the meaning of said experience. A moment can also be full to the brim with positive emotions but fail to be registered as the miracle it is until it is too late (more on this later).
However we cognitively and emotionally evaluate something we are experiencing, this evaluation — tacit or conscious — may be altered when the future arrives and becomes the present.
The Past and the Intricate Mind
We often think of the past as something fixed and finished. “You cannot change the past”, we are told repeatedly, usually when the memory of an event is stirring up negative thoughts and emotions. Yet, the present continuously shapes the perception of past moments and events and the meanings we ascribe to them. This makes the past, in a sense, flexible and malleable.
Everyone knows how light bends — refracts — when it moves through water. This happens because water is more dense than air, causing light to move slower. In a similar vein, when events of the past move through a mind that is depressed, for instance, they can become altered; experiences from the past seem warped and alienating. Or when the mind is tainted by grief due to the loss of a romantic partner, flashbacks of intimacy can become so intense and vivid that they leave no room for the present and the future. A humbled and wiser mind may reconsider the value of an experience, a relationship, or an event. This subjective reinterpretation underscores the dynamic nature of memory.
Ignorance of the Future
As our minds and who we are unceasingly develop through new experiences, so too, do our perceptions. Moments from the past may therefore obtain new meanings, overwhelming us in the process, possibly confronting us with past naïveté and arrogance, wishing we had reasoned and acted differently when we still had the chance.
Orhan Pamuk writes,
“In fact, no one recognizes the happiest moment of their lives as they are living it. It may well be that, in a moment of joy, one might sincerely believe that they are living that golden instant “now,” even having lived such a moment before, but whatever they say, in one part of their hearts they still believe in the certainty of a happier moment to come. Because how could anyone, and particularly anyone who is still young, carry on with the belief that everything could only get worse: If a person is happy enough to think he has reached the happiest moment of his life, he will be hopeful enough to believe his future will be just as beautiful, more so.”[2]
As mentioned in the beginning, the way we relate to current experiences is influenced by held beliefs about the future. According to Pamuk, the innocence that permeates the human mind, especially a young mind, goes hand in hand with assumptions about the future that can make one underappreciate present miracles. Due to intrinsic intellectual and emotional shortcomings as humans, we risk not acknowledging experiences for their potential significance.
“Ignorance is bliss”, the saying goes, but the problem is that one cannot remain in a state of not knowing throughout the course of life; existential crises and loss will burst the bubble of innocence eventually, inevitably forcing one to confront his or her life, its inherent choices and decisions, and one’s perceptions. Unavoidably, some beautiful things will only be perceived for their true value in retrospect.
But one thing is being naive about the present and the future, another is the arrogance, which so often accompanies ignorance; believing one knows more than he does. In this case, thinking one knows the future and has control over it.
I assume everyone who has moved on from the tumultuous days of adolescence has realized how often they were wrong and naive about things. Stumbling around as a teenager with an underdeveloped brain, still cuddled within the warm and secure family nest, we knew so little about ourselves and how the world functions. Yet, we were so arrogant when our parents offered advice, foresight, and caution. How arrogantly we believed we had things figured out; how delusional we were.
In my observations, it is as if arrogance is inversely proportional to ignorance; the less we know, the more knowledgeable we believe ourselves to be. In psychology, this mental distortion is called the “Dunning-Kruger effect”.[3] And arrogance can be costly.
Love
Perhaps there is no greater euphoric peak than the one reached in love. It is therefore no mystery why loss in love due to naïveté and arrogance can be a painfully bitter pill to swallow, as the cliché goes. I have had the privilege of loving intensely and deeply, like many others. But in hindsight, I took some love for granted, because I at that time did not, and perhaps could not, realize how truly profound the moments with her were.
As Michael Jackson sings,
“To think for two years she was here,
And I took her for granted I was so cavalier,
Now the way that it stands,
She’s out of my hands.”
I was also seduced by hedonistic visions of the future and directed by the belief that the best was yet to come, or at least that the best could still come. It may very well still do, but the point is that the moment could have been cherished more if my expectations and assumptions about the future had been more mature, and if my arrogance had been curbed. And maybe, just maybe, things would have unfolded differently.
Silver Lining
The knowledge of regretful past decisions and actions cuts through the heart like a razor, the bleeding difficult to stop. Yet, even though the twin pairs of ignorance and arrogance are inherent qualities of human nature, it doesn’t prevent the individual from punishing himself harshly for his past decisions. I wonder if this is a subtle form of masochism; the individual derives some sense of pleasure from self-blame because he thinks he deserves it.
I think the coping strategy in such instances is realizing that we live lives driven by needs, desires, hopes, and fears, which we did not author ourselves; our existence is influenced by biological and psychological configurations, as well as cultural values, which shape our beliefs and actions; we are subject to forces over which we have limited control; we are victims of an ignorance that nature has imposed upon us, which is why self-blame is only partially justified. We need to practice more self-care.
Some things cannot be known before the future arrives; before experiences weave themselves into the fabric of the mind. Loss is inevitable. However, loss in life, whatever it is, has the potential to humble and bind a man to his inescapable mortality, making him see more clearly.
In the end, Pamuk’s reflection reminds us that the value of experiences often reveals itself only in hindsight. But we can work on cultivating an awareness and appreciation of the good things in life, of the happy moments and periods we are living through. Good things come to an end, and it is hard to say when or if certain experiences will return before Time reclaims us. By being more aware and cherishing our moments now, we might find that our future selves look back with gratitude rather than regret.
[1] Orhan Pamuk: “The Museum of Innocence”.
[2] Orhan Pamuk: “The Museum of Innocence”.
[3] Dunning-Kruger Effect. (2024, January 24). Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/intl/basics/dunning-kruger-effect
Da jeg åbnede døren ind til forsædet blev jeg ramt af en duft, som øjeblikkeligt bragte mig til Bosnien om sommeren. En duft, der udløste en strøm af barndomsminder; en følelse af noget bekendt og trygt, som en forælders favn.
“Kolica mala, ali teška“, sagde taxachaffuøren efter, at han havde anbragt den sammenklappelige kørestol ind i bagagerummet, og sat sig til rette på førersædet. “Ja, en lille, men tung kørestol“, gentog jeg på bosnisk, lettere overrasket. På trods af duften af barndomslandet havde jeg ikke forventet bosnisk, i hvert fald ikke som det første. “Hvor er du fra?”, spurgte jeg ham. “Kosovo – og du er fra Bosnien?” “Ja“. Han kunne se mit efternavn på taxabestillingen.
Den hvide taxavogn trillede langsomt væk fra genoptræningscenteret og mod et lyskryds. Han spurgte ind til genoptræningen, og jeg svarede, en smule bedrøvet, at det gik godt, men langsomt. Vi holdt for rødt. Han vendte sig mod mig og sagde med ro og overbevisning, “inshallah, det bliver godt igen, inshallah.” Ordene ramte en streng dybt inde i mig. Jeg følte mig lettere. Jeg er ikke selv troende, og har gennem min opvækst afvist alt, hvad der havde med religion og islam at gøre. Men denne fremmede mand, som på en måde også var familiær, gjorde indtryk på mig med hans varme og religiøsitet. Det føltes som om, at ordet “inshallah”, der betyder “hvis Gud vil det”, havde en helende kraft.
“Husk at tænke, at nogen altid har det værre end dig“, fortsatte han. “Hvis du én dag ikke spiser, så er der en anden, som ikke spiser i to dage. Glem ikke, at det altid kunne være værre, al hamdulillah, det bliver godt igen.” Den ældre mands ord var beroligende, opløftende, de vakte håb.
“Jeg kender en kvinde, der fik konstateret kræft med en dårlig prognose. Det er nu 25 år siden, at hun fik diagnosen. Hun fortalte mig, at hun ikke havde villet overgive sig til sygdommen, fordi hun skulle nå at se hendes børnebørn vokse op. Inshallah, du skal tro på, at det bliver bedre.” Mine øjne løb langsomt i vand. Jeg følte en ubetinget kærlighed omsvøbe mig, som et varmt tæppe, og at jeg var del af noget større. Solens stråler varmede mit ansigt gennem forruden.
*
Recently I had a fallout with a friend that I have known since we were both teenagers. Had you asked me back then if I ever would have thought our relationship could or would morph into something that felt uncertain and fragile, I would have stared at you in disbelief and bewilderment.
The friction with my friend led me to reflect on how I, as a moral agent, decide between ethical¹ choices. It made me consciously attuned to the presence of gut reactions to moral issues, and how intuition can serve as a moral guide. I find it fascinating how the body rapidly can have a say about right and wrong, which relates to complex social information about other people, norms and values, and possible future outcomes.
Before I delve into some of the science behind gut-level morality, let me first describe how the disagreement with my friend evoked contemplation about ethical decision-making.
A Cocktail of Emotions
The fallout induced familiar emotional suspects in such circumstances: anger, sadness, disappointment, guilt, and confusion, to name but a few. The mix of these potent emotions tempted me to contact another good friend, who is also good friends with the first one.
The temptation made me feel a sense of relief and ease, and I felt energized. I pictured myself sharing screenshots of the alienating text conversation I had had with my old friend. I imagined our mutual friend becoming indignant on my behalf, defending me, and criticizing the other. The idea of sharing the perceived injustice that had been done to me felt good.
However, moments after the surge of positive emotions, I felt awful; a gut feeling of wrongness arose before any deliberation about right and wrong; before any weighing of reasons for one or the other choice; and before any awareness of ethical virtues or consideration of outcomes. It felt as if something or someone within me — an inner moral philosopher — communicated to me via intuition and emotion. As if he was saying, “You will regret this.”
Involving our mutual friend in the disagreement by placing him in an awkward and difficult middle position, felt viscerally morally wrong; it wasn’t fair. It also didn’t feel fair towards my old friend — a disagreement always has two sides — with whom I also wish to reconcile. My action would probably have resulted in more harm than good. These reflections followed after the gut response, and I decided not to send or mention anything to our mutual friend. This restraint on my initial impulses was a victory over my darker and more primitive self.
The brief, yet important ethical process, made me contemplate what had just happened. I realized that this intuitive moral signaling occurred quite often. When facing an ethical dilemma, my gut will often veto dubious choices I am consciously entertaining before any rationalization.
This made me curious about moral decision-making and the role of intuition and emotion. How can my body know that an action is wrong before my mind has gone through a careful process of reflection? And to what degree can I trust my gut feeling?
Moral Intuitionism
According to psychologist Jonathan Haidt, who can be labeled as a “moral intuitionist”, these gut-level perceptions are direct causes of ethical judgment and not merely additional pieces of evidence used as input in a rational decision process. He defines moral intuition in the following way:
“The sudden appearance in consciousness of a moral judgment, including an affective valence (good-bad, like-dislike), without any conscious awareness of having gone through steps of searching, weighing evidence, or inferring a conclusion.”(1)
This definition aligns well with my own experiences described above. Let us read a brief and controversial example from an article by Haidt that further serves to demonstrate moral intuitionism at work:
“Julie and Mark are brother and sister. They are traveling together in France on summer vacation from college. One night they are staying alone in a cabin near the beach. They decide that it would be interesting and fun if they tried making love. At the very least it would be a new experience for them. Julie was already taking birth control pills, but Mark uses a condom, too, just to be safe. They both enjoy making love, but they decide not to do it again. They keep that night as a special secret, which makes them feel even closer to each other. What do you think about that? Was it OK for them to make love?”(2)
Most people will probably intuitively and rapidly state that what Julie and Mark did was morally unacceptable. The verdict will perhaps be accompanied by an emotion of disgust. But if asked to provide reasons for the ethical judgment, these same people might find it less easy than one would expect. For instance, the siblings used double protection, thereby severely decreasing the chance of a baby, which would have an increased risk of developing disorders. None of them were harmed emotionally, according to the story; on the contrary, it made them feel closer to each other. But although it might be challenging to articulate precisely why sibling sex is wrong, most people will still nonetheless hold on to their initial emotional-based conclusion; they will probably still claim they know that is it wrong.(3) It shows that the judgments are the results of unconscious processing.
This supports the intuitionist model proposed by Haidt, in which the gut reaction is the cause of the moral judgment. Additionally, Haidt states that intuitive/emotional-based ethical verdicts are at times followed by a verbal effort to provide reasons for these gut-level responses. And that the person will seek to confirm the already established moral evaluation. There is evidence to support these claims.(4)
This is interesting. The proposition that “moral judgment is caused by quick moral intuitions and is followed (when needed) by slow, ex post facto moral reasoning”(5), strikes against the traditional rationalist view of morality. In this view, ethical judgments are arrived at through a careful step-by-step process using reason and evidence, in which intuition and emotions are typically seen as noise.(6) In Haidt’s model, reason takes a back seat and becomes to some extent an instrument that serves emotions. Or as Hume so famously wrote, “Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions.”(7) Although I don’t think Haidt will agree with the “ought” part.
A long and thorough discussion of the intricacies of theories of ethical judgments is beyond the scope of this post. But worthy to note is that the intuitivist model is mainly descriptive, and not normative; that is, it does not say anything about if or when it is better to use intuition than reason; such a general prescription would also be difficult to settle on given the complexity of the nature of morality, and would in all likelihood betray a rich and multi-dimensional understanding of moral judgments.
Nevertheless, I do believe the intuitivist model has a lot of credibility, given the degree to which it fits with my own experiences and the experiences of many others; not to mention the substantial amount of scientific evidence that corroborates it.(8) In sum, a lot of our moral judgments seem to be products of automatic unconscious processes instead of careful rational examination.²
A Proposal
Given the scientific “facts” about intuitive ethical judgments and my own positive experiences with my inner moral philosopher, I propose that we as ethical agents should become more aware of our gut feelings and respect these bodily perceptions; its vote should be taken seriously. Why? Our biopsychological systems are complex machinery that have evolved in social niches, in which making the wrong ethical choices could lead to exclusion and ultimately death.
Due to the long process of evolution, our bodies have become highly attuned to socio-ethical information — for example, virtues — and have acquired abilities to navigate moral landscapes. Could we say that natural selection favors the ethically sensitive individual, that is, genes that play a role in the expression of morality?
Perhaps this moral “intelligence”³ is — to some degree — akin to other rapid emotional evaluations of situations. The perception of danger and threats is also a rapid and automatic process and for good evolutionary reasons. Having a system that can make snap, effortless decisions can hypothetically mean the difference between life and death. Analogously, taking action based on ethical intuition — could we say moral reflex — might mean the difference between social inclusion and exclusion.
However, perceptions about danger can be false positives. Is this the same for intuitively derived moral judgments? Certainly. Maybe my intuition tells me that euthanasia is wrong; when seeing what abortions look like later in pregnancy, my inner judge might scream, WRONG. These verdicts might hypothetically be “false positives” in the sense that they are misaligned with the needs and values in the moral space I am in; or perhaps an ideal and objective moral space. This begs the question of what the “right” or “true” ethical values and judgments are. Do they even exist, and if so, how could we know them? Classical age-old ethical conundrums.
At any rate, such intuitively-based moral conclusions demand closer scrutiny, since they are far more complex than my own personal ethical dilemma, which I was able to resolve in minutes.⁴ The gut feeling is not an isolated intelligence but is mediated through its biology, mind, and the cultural context within which it operates. It is therefore vulnerable to biases, and can even induce a state of ‘cognitive dissonance’; for example, strong negative moral judgments about others may conflict with values I claim to hold, such as justice, equality, liberty, and fairness.
Even though our ethical intuitions can be powerful and useful, an appropriate dose of skepticism is always warranted. Especially if we are inclined to rationally confirm our initial moral conclusions, as Haidt believes.
Non-Emotional Moral Agent?
What is interesting to speculate about is how a person would navigate in a socio-moral landscape without some sort of grounding in an intuitive and emotional intelligence. What would moral reasoning look like? Well, speculate no more:
“Prior research reveals that the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (vmPFC) is a critical area underpinning affect and morality, and patients with vmPFC lesions show abnormalities in moral judgment and moral behavior.”(9)
The research shows that a disturbance in brain regions associated with emotions and morality increases the likelihood of inappropriate moral evaluations and actions. Connecting back to my dilemma, if I had had damage to my vmPFC, I might have sent those screenshots without any reservations. This suggests that gut-level morality, despite its shortcomings, is not only useful for social functioning but necessary.
Ending Thoughts
Being a social creature with the ability to think means moral challenges and struggles. Discerning between right and wrong has and will probably always plague the human species. Building upon my own experiences I have come to respect and rely on my gut intelligence when it comes to moral questions. It is not a blind trust, but I try to carefully listen to the voice within. It has so far served me well in my personal affairs by pulling the brakes on choices that probably would have caused more bad than good. Sometimes I do give in to certain temptations — I am human after all — and learn that my moral alarm system, indeed had a wise understanding of the situation.
So … what is your relationship to your inner moral philosopher?
Footnotes
[1] I use ‘moral’ and ‘ethical’ synonymously for variation.
[2] An important note: the intuitivist theory does not make claims about objective ethical truths. To ascertain if a moral judgment is objectively true, whether it is derived from intuition/emotion or reason, is a difficult problem, which also demands exploration of the concept of “truth”.
[3] ‘Intelligence’ is used loosely.
[4] That of course does not mean it lacked significance.
References
(1) Haidt, J. (2001). The emotional dog and its rational tail: A social intuitionist approach to moral judgment. Psychological Review, 108(4), 814–834. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-295X.108.4.814
(2) Ibid.
(3) Ibid.
(4) Sapolsky, R. M. (2017). Behave: the biology of humans at our best and worst (pp. 481–488). Penguin Books.
(5) Haidt, J. (2001). The emotional dog and its rational tail: A social intuitionist approach to moral judgment. Psychological Review, 108(4), 814–834. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-295X.108.4.814
(6) Ibid.
(7) Ibid.
(8) Sapolsky, R. M. (2017). Behave: the biology of humans at our best and worst (pp. 481–488). Penguin Books.
(9) Cameron, C. D., Reber, J., Spring, V., & Tranel, D. (2018). Damage to the ventromedial prefrontal cortex is associated with impairments in both spontaneous and deliberative moral judgments. Neuropsychologia, 111, 261–268. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuropsychologia.2018.01.038