I was about 13 when an uncle gave me a copy of Jostein Gaarder's Sophie's World. It was full of ideas that were new to me, so I spent the summer with my head in and out of that book. It spoke to me and brought me into a world of philosophy(哲学).
That love for philosophy lasted until I got to college. Nothing kills the love for philososphy faster than people who think they understand Foucault, Baudrillard, or Confucius better than you—and then try to explain them.
Eric weiner's The Socrates Express: In Search of Life Lessons from Dead Philosophers reawakened my love for philosophy. It is not an explanation, but an invitation to think and experience philosophy.
Weiner starts each chapter with a scene on a train ride between cities and then frames each philosopher's work in the centext(背景) of one thing they can help us do better. The end result is a read in which we learn to wonder like Socrates, see like Thoreau, listen like Schopenhauer, and have no regrets like Nietzsche. This, more than a book about understanding philosophy, is a book abour learning touse philosophy to improve a life.
He makes philosophical thought an appealing exercise that improves the quality of our experiences, and he does so with plenty of humor. Weiner enters into conversation with some of the most important philosophers in history, and he becomes part of that crowd in the process by decoding(解读) their massages and adding his own interpretation.
The Socrates Express is a fun, sharp book that draws readers in with its apparent simplicity and gradually pulls them in deeper thoughts on desire, loneliness, and aging. The invitation is clear: Weiner wants you to pick up a coffee or tea and sit down with this book. I encourage you to take his offer. It's worth your time, even if time is something we don't have a lot of.
What comes into your mind when you think of British food? Probably fish and chips, or a Sunday dinner of meat and two vegetables. But is British food really so uninteresting? Even though Britain has a reputation for less-than-impressive cuisine, it is producing more top class chefs who appear frequently on our television screens and whose recipe books frequently top the best seller lists.
It's thanks to these TV chefs rather than any advertising campaign that Britons are turning away from meat-and-two-veg and ready-made meals and becoming more adventurous in their cooking habits. It is recently reported that the number of those sticking to a traditional diet is slowly declining and around half of Britain's consumers would like to change or improve their cooking in some way. There has been a rise in the number of students applying for food courses at UK universities and colleges. It seems that TV programmes have helped change what people think about cooking.
According to a new study from market analysts, 1 in 5 Britons say that watching cookery programmes on TV has encouraged them to try different food. Almost one third say they now use a wider variety of ingredients (配料) than they used to, and just under 1 in 4 say they now buy better quality ingredients than before. One in four adults say that TV chefs have made them much more confident about expanding their cookery knowledge and skills, and young people are also getting more interested in cooking. The UK's obsession (痴迷) with food is reflected through television scheduling. Cookery shows and documentaries about food are broadcast more often than before. With an increasing number of male chefs on TV, it's no longer "uncool" for boys to like cooking.
The goal of this book is to make the case for digital minimalism, including a detailed exploration of what it asks and why it works, and then to teach you how to adopt this philosophy if you decide it's right for you.
To do so, I divided the book into two parts. In part one, I describe the philosophical foundations of digital minimalism, starting with an examination of the forces that are making so many people's digital lives increasingly intolerable, before moving on to a detailed discussion of the digital minimalism philosophy.
Part one concludes by introducing my suggested method for adopting this philosophy: the digital declutter. This process requires you to step away from optional online activities for thirty days. At the end of the thirty days, you will then add back a small number of carefully chosen online activities that you believe will provide massive benefits to the things you value.
In the final chapter of part one, I'll guide you through carrying out your own digital declutter. In doing so, I'll draw on an experiment I ran in 2018 in which over 1,600 people agreed to perform a digital declutter. You'll hear these participants' stories and learn what strategies worked well for them, and what traps they encountered that you should avoid.
The second part of this book takes a closer look at some ideas that will help you cultivate (培养) a sustainable digital minimalism lifestyle. In these chapters, I examine issues such as the importance of solitude (独处) and the necessity of cultivating high-quality leisure to replace the time most now spend on mindless device use. Each chapter concludes with a collection of practices, which are designed to help you act on the big ideas of the chapter. You can view these practices as a toolbox meant to aid your efforts to build a minimalist lifestyle that works for your particular circumstances.
Reading Art: Art for Book Lovers is a celebration of an everyday object — the book, represented here in almost three hundred artworks from museums around the world. The image of the reader appears throughout history, in art made long before books as we now know them came into being. In artists' representations of books and reading, we see moments of shared humanity that go beyond culture and time.
In this "book of books," artworks are selected and arranged in a way that emphasizes these connections between different eras and cultures. We see scenes of children learning to read at home or at school, with the book as a focus for relations between the generations. Adults are portrayed (描绘) alone in many settings and poses — absorbed in a volume, deep in thought or lost in a moment of leisure. These scenes may have been painted hundreds of years ago, but they record moments we can all relate to.
Books themselves may be used symbolically in paintings to demonstrate the intellect (才智), wealth or faith of the subject. Before the wide use of the printing press, books were treasured objects and could be works of art in their own right. More recently, as books have become inexpensive or even throwaway, artists have used them as the raw material for artworks — transforming covers, pages or even complete volumes into paintings and sculptures.
Continued developments in communication technologies were once believed to make the printed page outdated. From a 21st-century point of view, the printed book is certainly ancient, but it remains as interactive as any battery-powered e-reader. To serve its function, a book must be activated by a user: the cover opened, the pages parted, the contents reviewed, perhaps notes written down or words underlined. And in contrast to our increasingly networked lives where the information we consume is monitored and tracked, a printed book still offers the chance of a wholly private, "off-line" activity.
A machine can now not only beat you at chess, it can also outperform you in debate. Last week, in a public debate in San Francisco, a software program called Project Debater beat its human opponents, including Noa Ovadia, Israel's former national debating champion.
Brilliant though it is, Project Debater has some weaknesses. It takes sentences from its library of documents and prebuilt arguments and strings them together. This can lead to the kinds of errors no human would make. Such wrinkles will no doubt be ironed out, yet they also point to a fundamental problem. As Kristian Hammond, professor of electrical engineering and computer science at Northwestern University, put it: "There's never a stage at which the system knows what it's talking about."
What Hammond is referring to is the question of meaning, and meaning is central to what distinguishes the least intelligent of humans from the most intelligent of machines. A computer works with symbols. Its program specifies a set of rules to transform one string of symbols into another. But it does not specify what those symbols mean. Indeed, to a computer, meaning is irrelevant. Humans, in thinking, talking, reading and writing, also work with symbols. But for humans, meaning is everything. When we communicate, we communicate meaning. What matters is not just the outside of a string of symbols, but the inside too, not just how they are arranged but what they mean.
Meaning emerges through a process of social interaction, not of computation, interaction that shapes the content of the symbols in our heads. The rules that assign meaning lie not just inside our heads, but also outside, in society, in social memory, social conventions and social relations. It is this that distinguishes humans from machines. And that's why, however astonishing Project Debater may seem, the tradition that began with Socrates and Confucius will not end with artificial intelligence.
