Are Universities Too ‘Woke’?

A Reflection on Alain-Laurent Verbeke’s Interview on Dutch Television (Buitenhof)

In a recent Buitenhof interview, professor Alain-Laurent Verbeke—legal scholar at KU Leuven and Harvard—spoke about the growing tension between academic freedom and political pressure, especially in the U.S. The central question: are universities too ‘woke’? And is Trump’s aggressive response a warning or a threat?

This issue touches on academic independence, ideological diversity, and the ability of institutions to hold space for dissenting voices.

Trump's Fourfold Attack on Harvard

According to Verbeke, the Trump administration’s demands on Harvard can be grouped into four areas:

1. Antisemitism as a Cover
   While framed as a crackdown on antisemitism, the real aim is to silence pro-Palestinian activism by labeling it radical left-wing ideology.

2. Governance and Student Protest
   Trump wants universities to limit student influence and crack down on protests, effectively muting critical voices.

3. Admissions and Hiring
   The push for "merit-based" criteria seeks to dismantle diversity policies, under the guise of fairness and objectivity.

4. ‘Viewpoint Diversity’
   Promoted not to broaden discussion, but to replace progressive ideas with conservative ones—viewpoint diversity becomes ideological takeover.

Universities Under Political Pressure

Verbeke warns that this is not about dialogue—it’s about control. Trump negotiates with power, not principles. He uses threats of defunding, as seen with Columbia University, to force compliance. This mirrors tactics in authoritarian regimes like Hungary or Russia, where education is restructured to serve state ideology.

Are Universities Innocent?

Not entirely. Verbeke admits universities helped create the problem. In prioritizing social justice, many have marginalized conservative views, leading to a climate where students fear speaking out.

He recalls Harvard students telling him, “I can talk to you safely,” indicating widespread self-censorship. Universities, meant to be havens for free thinking, are increasingly shaped by ideological conformity and cancel culture.

A Double Wake-Up Call

Verbeke offers a dual warning: authoritarian overreach must be resisted, but universities must also restore their commitment to intellectual openness. Without a diversity of views, the academy risks becoming a place of silence rather than exploration.

This isn’t just an American problem. European universities, too, lean toward ideological uniformity while facing growing populist criticism. The challenge is to defend both inclusion and critical debate.

Conclusion

The debate around ‘wokeness’ isn’t a simple left-vs-right issue. It’s about how we preserve academic integrity in polarized times. Universities must stand up to political pressure—but also reflect on whether they’ve stifled healthy disagreement. Truth, as Harvard’s motto Veritas reminds us, requires dialogue, not dogma.

Wall Street Can’t Price Madness

Something is cracking beneath the surface of global finance—and it's not just inflation or a dip in the Dow. In an extraordinary conversation between economist Paul Krugman and researcher Nathan Tankus, a picture emerges of a financial system not only stretched thin by erratic policy and regulation, but one that could be pushed over the edge by the whims of a single man.

At the center of this crisis is Donald Trump—not merely as a policymaker, but as a source of volatility in its purest form. The erratic policy swings, from tariffs to fiscal seizures, are not just unsettling markets—they’re breaking the machinery of modern finance. This is not hyperbole. When the U.S. Treasury system itself starts to malfunction, when, for example, cities like New York find their accounts unexpectedly debited by federal agencies, when markets seize up because no one knows if payments are final, we are entering truly uncharted territory.

The Threat Beneath the Surface

Tankus calls it the "Trump-Musk payments crisis," a slow-burning threat where the U.S. government undermines the very idea of payment finality—the notion that once money is transferred, the transaction is done. In a world of digital finance, if this basic trust collapses, so does everything that depends on it: salaries, taxes, government aid, bond markets, and more.

The underlying story is even more alarming. As Krugman and Tankus explain, after the 2008 financial crisis, global regulators (through frameworks like Basel III) created stricter capital requirements for banks. These regulations limited how easily financial institutions could adjust their balance sheets to absorb market shocks. Instead, hedge funds—less regulated, more fragile—stepped in to play the role of “residual buyer,” especially in the U.S. Treasury market.

But these hedge funds aren’t built for crisis response. They're fair-weather participants. When markets get too volatile—say, after a tweet or tariff threat from Trump—they withdraw. The result? Liquidity vanishes. Interest rates spike. And the whole financial system starts to wobble.

Volatility Has a Name

Tankus highlights a disturbing reality: in 2025, Donald Trump is volatility. Markets no longer react to macroeconomic fundamentals, but to his press conferences, his moods, his threats. This isn't just destabilizing; it’s dangerous. When policy becomes unpredictable on an hourly basis, business investment grinds to a halt. Financial firms can’t hedge. And the complex network of trades, swaps, and derivatives that hold the global economy together starts to come undone.

And yet, as Krugman notes, Wall Street’s "conventional wisdom processors" are still in denial. Traders don’t fully grasp—or don’t want to believe—how deep the dysfunction goes. They grasp at any signal of temporary calm and treat it as resolution. It’s a form of magical thinking, the kind that led to disasters like Long-Term Capital Management in the 1990s and the 2008 collapse.

This time, the stakes may be even higher.

Who Saves Us?

The Federal Reserve has stepped in before. In March 2020, amid COVID panic, it bought trillions in assets to stabilize markets. But this time, the instability is political, not economic. As Tankus puts it, the Fed can’t "make the volatility of Donald Trump go away." Worse, doing so would drag them into overt political conflict. So they wait, hoping things don’t fall apart too quickly.

But waiting may not be an option. The financial system now relies on entities—like hedge funds—that flee at the first sign of trouble. Tankus compares them to "shadow dealers," who aren’t required to stick around in bad times, unlike licensed market makers. This fragile setup means that a few bad days—just a few—could trigger a cascade of defaults and asset fire sales.

And when you look deeper, you see just how vast the exposure is: $113 trillion in foreign exchange swaps depend on dollar liquidity. Many rely on the U.S. acting as a global backstop. What happens when trust in the dollar—already shaken by arbitrary federal seizures and payment freezes—erodes?

A System Designed to Break

None of this is inevitable. But it is the product of a system that rewards short-term gain and punishes preparation. We’ve outsourced critical market stability to actors who aren’t built for it. We’ve allowed politics to infect the plumbing of our fiscal and monetary systems. And we’ve ignored the growing risk of treating money like code—reversible, manipulatable, fragile.

The conventional view is that “the market” will figure things out. But as Tankus warns, markets only wake up after the damage is done. We cannot afford another Lehman moment—especially not one caused by a leader who governs by tantrum.

What’s needed now is not just technical fixes. It’s a deep reconsideration of how we build financial systems in a world where volatility can have a Twitter handle.

Europe’s Silence as Gaza Burns

Demonstration for Palestina in New Zealand, Photo by Mark McGuire (CC BY 3.0 NZ)

As the war in Gaza grinds through its second year, with over 50,000 Palestinians reportedly killed and much of the strip reduced to rubble, one question echoes louder than the sounds of missiles: Where is Europe?

The conflict, triggered by Hamas’s brutal October 7, 2023 assault on Israel, has evolved into one of the deadliest and most destructive wars of the 21st century. Israel’s military response—framed as an existential fight to destroy Hamas—has devastated Gaza’s civilian population and infrastructure. Hospitals have been flattened, aid convoys blocked, and nearly the entire population displaced.

Yes, Hamas bears responsibility for initiating a horrific attack. But what followed has gone far beyond a war on a militant group. It is now a humanitarian collapse playing out in slow motion, with no end in sight.

And yet, Europe remains largely on the sidelines—divided, hesitant, and unwilling to act.

The reasons are complex. Germany, burdened by historical guilt, defends Israel’s right to self-defense almost without qualification. France calls for humanitarian pauses, but stops short of condemning the scale of Israel’s response. Other countries prefer silence, paralyzed by fear of domestic unrest or political fallout.

Meanwhile, thousands of European citizens march, calling for a ceasefire. Their governments issue statements but do little to stop arms exports or pressure allies. Aid is pledged but blocked at the border. Diplomacy is outsourced to Washington or buried under other priorities—Ukraine, energy, elections.

This war did not begin in 2023. It is the latest, bloodiest eruption of a long-neglected conflict rooted in occupation, blockade, and political failure on all sides. But today, European inaction is not neutral. It is a choice—one that carries moral and political consequences.

If Europe wants to be taken seriously as a defender of international law, human rights, and peace, it must act like it. That means holding all parties accountable, supporting serious diplomacy, and helping to end the unbearable suffering of civilians—before Gaza becomes a permanent symbol of the world’s indifference.

Rethinking China: Charting a Smarter Course for America - Thomas Friedman’s Vision

In a wide-ranging conversation on The Ezra Klein Show, journalist and columnist Thomas Friedman presents a compelling critique of America's current stance toward China. His argument is not a defense of China’s authoritarianism or human rights record, but a plea for the United States to adopt a rational, forward-looking strategy based on reality rather than fear, ideology, or outdated assumptions.

Friedman is deeply concerned with what he calls the “Washington consensus” on China — a bipartisan posture of automatic hostility that leaves no room for nuance or engagement. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, he notes, the aperture through which Americans view China has narrowed dramatically. Personal, business, and academic exchanges have collapsed, while rhetoric in Washington has hardened. In such a climate, understanding China has become nearly impossible, and policymaking has grown reactive and shortsighted.

Rather than clinging to a Cold War-era mentality or seeing China solely as a thief of Western ideas, Friedman urges Americans to recognize China’s genuine innovation and industrial might. Drawing from his travels, he describes an ecosystem of high-tech factories, AI-driven design labs, and state-backed R&D campuses like Huawei’s, where rapid iteration and scale are possible in ways largely unseen in the West. He illustrates this with China's dominance in electric vehicles, batteries, solar panels, and robotics — all parts of what he calls the new "industrial ecosystem" of the 21st century.

Yet America, he warns, is fighting the wrong war. Tariffs, political posturing, and cultural battles — exemplified by Trump-era tactics — fail to build the capabilities the U.S. needs to compete. Friedman mocks these approaches as unserious, arguing that the right question isn’t how to weaken China, but how to strengthen America. That means investing in research, building supply chains, leveraging alliances, and fostering domestic innovation — not isolationism.

Friedman also views the relationship through a planetary lens. He identifies three global existential challenges — AI governance, climate change, and geopolitical instability — which require collaboration between the U.S. and China, the only two powers capable of steering outcomes. In his view, “interdependence is no longer a choice; it is our condition.”

Ultimately, Friedman’s message is clear: America must stop projecting ideology and start dealing with the world as it is. Instead of fearing China's rise, the U.S. should treat it as a mirror — a reminder of what seriousness, strategic focus, and investment in the future actually look like. Whether Washington listens or doubles down on its current path may well define the century.

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll, Ripoll (Spain)

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll, Ripoll (Spain).

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll is the grand entrance of the Monastery of Santa María in Ripoll, Spain. Constructed between the late 12th and early 13th centuries (around 1150-1200), it stands as one of the most impressive examples of Romanesque sculpture in Europe. Its detailed carvings tell stories from the Bible while reflecting the artistic, religious, and cultural values of the medieval world.

The monastery itself was founded in 879 by Count Wilfred the Hairy, a key figure in the early history of Catalonia. By the 12th century, the monastery had grown into a major religious and cultural center. To emphasize its importance, the monumental portico was commissioned, turning the entrance into a vast sculptural masterpiece designed to inspire awe and teach Christian stories to a largely illiterate population.

The portico is a monumental stone façade filled with detailed sculptures. Think of it as a giant, open-air storybook carved in stone. In a time when most people couldn’t read or write, churches used art as a form of storytelling to explain religious teachings.

The portico is divided into several horizontal sections called "registers." Each section is filled with carvings of people, animals, and decorative patterns. Here’s a simple breakdown of what you can find:

1. The Central Figure (circa 1175):
   At the center of the portico is Christ in Majesty, sitting on a throne. He raises his hand in blessing, symbolizing his divine authority. He is surrounded by important biblical figures such as prophets and apostles, who were believed to have helped spread his teachings.

2. Biblical Stories (1180s):
   Many panels depict stories from the Old and New Testaments. Key episodes include:

   • The Creation of the World: Sculptures of Adam and Eve, showing the biblical first humans.

   • Noah’s Ark: A carving of the famous ship that saved Noah’s family and animals during the Great Flood.

   • The Life of Jesus: Scenes of Jesus’ birth, miracles, and crucifixion.

3. Mythical Creatures and Symbols (late 12th century):
   The portico also includes lions, eagles, and fantastical creatures. These were symbols of strength, protection, and spiritual power, common in medieval art.

4. Kings and Historical Figures (around 1190-1200):
   Some carvings show kings and rulers who supported the monastery. This reflects the close connection between the church and political powers of the time. The presence of these figures also symbolized divine approval of the rulers’ authority.

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll provides a glimpse into the medieval world. It reveals how people in the Middle Ages understood life, religion, and power. It also showcases the skill and creativity of the stonemasons and artists who spent decades carving this masterpiece.

Despite damage over the centuries, including a devastating fire in 1835, the portico remains a symbol of medieval artistic achievement. Today, visitors from around the world come to admire its beauty and learn about the stories it tells. Even if you don’t know much about the Bible, the portico’s detailed carvings and expressive figures make it a fascinating piece of history and art.

The Consumer, the Voter, and the Algorithm

What happens when political actors learn how to hack human nature

The Consumer, the Voter, and the Algorithm.

Why do so many people distrust science in an era built on reason, data, and expertise? Why has the promise of liberal freedom given rise to anxiety, alienation, and backlash? And how did the same technologies that sell us sneakers begin to shape our beliefs, our votes, and our view of reality?

The answer lies in something both obvious and uncomfortable: we are far more predictable than we like to admit.

In The Consuming Instinct, behavioral scientist Gad Saad argues that much of what we do—what we eat, buy, desire, and fear—is not simply a product of culture, but of biology. Our craving for fat and sugar, our attraction to beauty and power, our urge to belong and to signal status—these are not modern inventions, but ancient instincts shaped by natural selection.

Liberal democracies, with their emphasis on individual freedom and market choice, gave these instincts room to express themselves. In Saad’s view, the market doesn’t manipulate our desires; it mirrors them. Advertising succeeds not because it tricks us, but because it resonates with who we are at a deep, evolved level.

But in the digital era, something changed. Our consumer behavior—tracked, analyzed, and monetized—was no longer confined to the marketplace. It became a tool for reshaping our political behavior. Social media platforms, powered by algorithms and fed by behavioral data, began to function not just as communication tools, but as persuasion machines.

What began as targeted advertising became something more insidious: targeted influence. Political campaigns, ideological groups, and opportunistic actors began using the same psychological insights that sell fast food and fashion to sell narratives, conspiracies, and candidates.

As journalist Carole Cadwalladr revealed in her investigation into Cambridge Analytica and the Brexit and Trump campaigns, this wasn't simply marketing—it was a new form of psychological warfare. Her chilling conclusion: “It’s a coup.” Not with tanks or guns, but with microtargeted ads, emotion-driven content, and digital manipulation that preys on instinct, not reason.

The irony is that the very scientific insights into human nature—insights developed to better understand behavior—are now being used to bypass deliberation altogether. Emotional triggers, identity cues, and tribal language are deployed to provoke rather than persuade, to reinforce rather than challenge.

Gad Saad has long warned that science faces resistance when it challenges ideological narratives. In earlier decades, this resistance came from progressive academic circles uncomfortable with evolutionary explanations for behavior. But today, the rejection of science comes just as often from populist and authoritarian movements that deny climate change, discredit vaccines, or undermine epidemiological expertise. What unites both is not a disagreement over facts, but an unwillingness to accept them when they contradict belief or identity.

In this climate, science becomes political not because it has changed, but because our tolerance for inconvenient truths has collapsed. We no longer debate findings; we attack their implications. We no longer confront our biases; we feed them through curated information streams. And the more we do so, the more manipulable we become—not despite our nature, but because of it.

Suppressing or ignoring scientific insights into behavior does not protect us—it exposes us. The less we understand about what drives us, the easier it becomes for others to use that knowledge for their own ends. The algorithm doesn’t care whether it serves commerce or politics; it simply optimizes for engagement. And that engagement, more often than not, rewards the content that taps into our fears, our vanity, our need to belong.

We need more than fact-checking and better media literacy. We need a cultural reckoning with who we really are: instinctive, emotional, social, vulnerable to manipulation—and yet capable of reflection. Liberal societies can only endure if they are built on an honest view of the human animal. Science must be free to follow the evidence, and politics must learn humility in the face of our evolutionary limits.

The Consuming Instinct is not a celebration of consumerism, nor a rejection of progress. It is, interpreted in the current times, a warning: if we fail to understand what drives us, others will not hesitate to exploit it. And when they do, the result isn’t just a distorted marketplace. It’s a distorted democracy.

In the age of the algorithm, the consumer and the voter have become one. And the truth is no longer something we seek—it’s something we're fed.

Sowing Order, Reaping Chaos: The Paradox of Power in a Fractured World

Reflecting on what we can learn from Beatrice de Graaf

January 6 United States Capitol attack (2021).

In the late 20th century, political theorist Francis Fukuyama declared the "end of history"—a moment in which liberal democracy, seemingly victorious, would spread as the final form of human governance. Yet as we look around the world today, that prediction feels not only premature but ironically inverted. The liberal world order has not triumphed, but fractured. The very systems designed to create stability now seem to generate disorder. In this light, the adapted proverb "wie orde zaait, zal chaos oogsten"—“who sows order, will reap chaos”—captures a central paradox of our time: efforts to impose or preserve rigid concepts of order can inadvertently provoke resistance, fragmentation, and ultimately, chaos.

Historian Beatrice de Graaf, in recent interviews on the Dutch TV program Buitenhof, offers a moral-historical perspective to understand this shift. Drawing on the work of Johan Huizinga and Augustine, she reminds us that real order cannot be achieved through force, spectacle, or domination, but through the cultivation of virtues—justice, wisdom, temperance, and courage. These cardinal values, once central to both governance and citizenship, have been eroded in an age increasingly driven by short-term gain, spectacle politics, and polarizing narratives.

The rise of Donald Trump exemplifies this turn. As De Graaf recounts from her visit to the U.S., even academics fear their own students, practicing “anticipatory obedience” in the face of an aggressive ideological wave. Trump's public alignment with ultra-masculine fighting events and right-wing influencers is not random behavior, but the embodiment of a worldview—a form of symbolic politics that celebrates strength, vengeance, and tribal loyalty over deliberation, law, or empathy. This is not simply populism or eccentricity. As De Graaf warns, it is an emerging world vision, one that trades liberal ideals for a blend of post-liberalism, religious nationalism, and even transhumanist techno-fatalism.

Still, it would be too easy to scapegoat the U.S. or lay blame solely at the feet of political strongmen. Europe, too, has been naïve. The post-Cold War order assumed the universality of liberal democracy, often overlooking the ways in which global inequalities, economic exploitation, and cultural arrogance undermined the legitimacy of that very order. As De Graaf notes, liberalism in its complacency allowed illiberal forces to grow within its own system—something thinkers like Patrick Deneen have critically pointed out from within the West.

But the answer is not to abandon liberal values—it is to rediscover and reinvest in them. Europe may have been slow to respond, but it is not powerless. Recent coalitions, such as the German political realignment and the EU’s increasing investments in defense and diplomacy, suggest a recognition that order must be both principled and strategic. Europe can assert its values—not by mimicking authoritarianism, but by combining resilience with responsibility.

One must also challenge the idea that investing in defense necessarily leads to war. As De Graaf notes, deterrence paired with strong diplomacy can stabilize rather than escalate. The history of the 20th century offers cautionary tales of arms races, but it also offers models of peace built on moral clarity and institutional cooperation. The real danger is not military preparedness, but moral emptiness.

The metaphor of “sowing order and reaping chaos” becomes especially potent when the desire for control overrides justice or when systems of governance are treated as ends in themselves, rather than as tools for human flourishing. When order is enforced without legitimacy, when voices are silenced rather than heard, when complexity is flattened into slogans—then chaos grows in the cracks.

There is still a choice. As Huizinga and Augustine argued during the collapse of their own eras, we are not merely witnesses to history—we are its makers. Augustine put it simply: “We are the times.” And as such, we are responsible not only for naming the crisis but for shaping the response.

The antidote to chaos is not control, but character. Not the assertion of power for its own sake, but the cultivation of a moral order grounded in dignity, empathy, and collective responsibility. That is the challenge of our age—and the hope that still remains.

Museumnacht Maastricht (The Netherlands) #4

't Blok in Bertem (Belgium)

‘t Blok, Bertem (Belgium).

The tiny café 't Blok in Bertem is a quintessential example of Belgium's rich pub culture, offering a glimpse into the nation's deep-rooted traditions of conviviality and craftsmanship. Located in the heart of this small Flemish village, 't Blok serves as a gathering place for locals and visitors alike, embodying the sense of community that Belgium's brown cafés are known for.

These pubs, often family-owned and passed down through generations, provide an intimate atmosphere where patrons can enjoy a wide selection of Belgium’s famous beers, from traditional Trappist ales to regional brews. At 't Blok, the warm and rustic décor, friendly conversations, and casual setting create a perfect backdrop for unwinding after a day’s work or catching up with friends.

Like many Belgian cafés, 't Blok is more than just a place to have a drink—it's a cultural hub where people gather to celebrate, discuss local events, or simply relax, reflecting Belgium's passion for its beer heritage and social connections.

Úbeda's prehistoric past (Spain)

A mended bowl from Ubeda (~ 1400 BCE; Museo arqueológico de Úbeda).

Úbeda is one of the oldest cities in Spain, with a fascinating history that goes back over 6,000 years! Archaeological finds, especially at the site called Eras del Alcázar, show that people have lived in this area since the Neolithic period (around 3500 BCE). Back then, the folks in Úbeda were busy with farming and raising animals, growing early cereal crops and legumes, and even starting to cultivate olives, which are now a big part of the region’s identity.

Fast forward to the Copper Age (around 2200-2000 BCE), Úbeda became part of the ‘El Argar’ culture and its population started to grow. The settlement became more organized, with circular houses and improved farming techniques. By the Bronze Age (2000-1700 BCE), things really began to change. The community became more complex, with people specializing in different trades, particularly metalworking. This made Úbeda a hub for crafting tools and ornaments.

Between 1500 BCE and 1000 BCE, Úbeda's spot near the Guadalquivir River turned out to be super important. The land was fertile, and there were plenty of natural resources, making it a center for farming and trade. The people of Úbeda focused on olives, which would later help shape the local economy. Their skill in agriculture laid the foundation for what became known as the region’s "green gold": olive oil.

During this time, Úbeda also saw the building of impressive megalithic structures, like burial mounds and stone circles, which served both religious and commemorative purposes. These structures show how spiritually connected the people were, honoring their ancestors and cherishing their bond with nature.

As the 1st millennium BCE approached, Úbeda kept growing and changing. New influences from Phoenician traders brought in exotic goods and ideas, slowly transforming the local culture. This period saw the rise of local chieftains, leading to a more organized society that controlled the production and trade of agricultural products and metals.

By 1000 BCE, Úbeda was on the brink of becoming a key cultural and political center as it transitioned from the Bronze Age to the Iberian Age. Its rich history set the stage for what would become a celebrated cultural landmark, now recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. With its continuous occupation and evolution, Úbeda is one of the most important prehistoric sites in Europe, showcasing the deep-rooted legacy of its ancient inhabitants.

April 2, 2025: The End of an Era of Free Trade - A Defining Moment in History

Donald Trump.

This week, on April 2nd, 2025, the world witnessed a dramatic shift in international relations and economic policy. In a bold and controversial move, U.S. President Donald Trump launched a global trade war. Announcing sweeping tariffs on all products from nearly all countries—excluding Russia, Belarus, and North Korea—Trump declared the day “Liberation Day,” framing the action as a reclaiming of American economic sovereignty.

The move effectively signals the end of an era: the long-standing push toward globalisation that shaped the 21st century economy. For decades, countries leaned into interdependence, open trade, and integrated supply chains. That model was upended with the stroke of a pen.

China was quick to respond with heavy countermeasures, imposing high tariffs on all American imports and halting the export of rare-earth minerals—an area where the U.S. is particularly vulnerable. These minerals are vital to a wide array of high-tech industries, from electric vehicles to defense systems.

Unsurprisingly, stock markets around the world reacted sharply. Major indices plummeted amid fears of a prolonged economic conflict, supply shortages, and a potential global recession.

As the dust begins to settle, one question echoes from boardrooms to kitchen tables across the globe: What does this mean for the future? Only time will tell, but April 2nd, 2025 will be remembered as a turning point—a day when the world’s economic order took a sharp and completely uncertain turn.

Augustine of Hippo: The Philosopher of Virtue and Society

Saint Augustinus, by Christofel van Sichem II (from the archives of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam).

Saint Augustine of Hippo (354–430 AD) was one of the most influential Christian theologians and philosophers of late antiquity. Born in Thagaste (modern-day Algeria), he was raised by a Christian mother and a pagan father. As a young man, he pursued a career in rhetoric and was drawn to various philosophical and religious movements before encountering Plato and Plotinus, whose ideas deeply influenced him.

After years of spiritual struggle, he converted to Christianity in 386 AD, inspired by Saint Ambrose in Milan. He later returned to North Africa, where he became Bishop of Hippo, dedicating his life to theological writing and defending Christian doctrine. His most famous works, Confessions and The City of God, shaped Western thought for centuries, addressing sin, grace, and the purpose of human existence.

Augustine’s philosophy of virtues was deeply rooted in the tradition of Plato and his follower Plotinus, whom he reinterpreted through a Christian lens. He emphasized four cardinal virtues—prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance—as the foundation of a righteous life. These virtues, along with faith, hope, and charity, became the moral pillars of Western society, promoting ethical governance and social harmony.

For Augustine, virtue was not merely a human achievement but a path to divine truth. He believed that only through the love of God and the pursuit of wisdom could individuals and societies attain peace and justice. His vision laid the groundwork for medieval philosophy and influenced thinkers from Thomas Aquinas to modern ethicists.

In today’s world, marked by division and moral uncertainty, Augustine’s call for wisdom, justice, and love feels more urgent than ever. Perhaps now, more than ever, we should reflect on his ideas and strive for a society built on the virtues he so passionately defended.

The Great Debate

"Just taste it, Dad, keep an open mind!"
She grins, he sighs, he is more resigned.
"No steak, no chops, no sausage here —
Just plants and spice? I live in fear."

He lifts his fork, he takes a bite,
She holds her breath — his eyes shut tight.
He chews, he nods, then smacks his lips,
"Not bad … but miss the ribs?"

She groans, "You're hopeless!" — he just grins,
"Fine meal, my dear … but bacon wins."

The Cathedral of Vic (Spain)

The Cathedral of Saint Peter (Catedral de Sant Pere), Vic (Spain).

The Cathedral of Saint Peter (Catedral de Sant Pere) in Vic is a remarkable blend of architectural styles, reflecting the city’s long and evolving history. Originally founded in the 11th century as a Romanesque structure, the cathedral has undergone numerous transformations, incorporating Gothic, Baroque, and Neoclassical elements. However, what truly sets it apart is its striking interior.

Unlike most cathedrals, the interior of Vic’s cathedral is dominated by vast murals created in the 20th century by the renowned Catalan artist Josep Maria Sert. These dramatic, large-scale paintings, executed in deep, shadowy tones, replace the traditional stained glass and sculptural decorations found in other churches. Sert’s work, completed in multiple phases between the 1920s and the 1940s, imbues the space with a unique atmosphere, blending religious themes with an almost theatrical intensity. This bold artistic choice makes the Cathedral of Vic one of the most distinctive sacred spaces in Catalonia.

The interior of Cathedral of Saint Peter (Catedral de Sant Pere), Vic (Spain).

Els Gegants de Ripoll (Spain)

Street art in Ripoll (Spain): Wilfred the Hairy (Guifré el Pilós) and his wife Guinidilda of Empúries.

The Gegants de Ripoll are part of the rich Catalan tradition of gegants i capgrossos (giants and big-headed figures), often seen in festivals and processions. These towering figures represent historical or legendary characters linked to the town of Ripoll, a place deeply rooted in Catalonia’s medieval history. Some of these giants symbolize figures such as Wilfred the Hairy (Guifré el Pilós) and his wife Guinidilda of Empúries, key figures in the region’s foundation, or characters from the time of the Reconquista.

The presence of Els Gegants in Ripoll’s public spaces—whether in parades, celebrations, or even as subjects of street art—reflects the town’s commitment to preserving its cultural identity.

The Kuringen Horse Fair

Some impressions of the Kuringen Horse Fair 2025.

The Kuringen Horse Fair has been a tradition since 1242, taking place annually on the first Saturday after March 17, the feast day of Saint Gertrude, Kuringen’s patron saint. While the event originally revolved around horse trading, the number of horses being sold has been declining each year due to changing regulations and modern trade alternatives. Instead, the fair has gradually transformed into a broader family festival, now part of the larger Saint Gertrude Festivities. Today, the focus has shifted towards entertainment, a vibrant ‘kermis,’ traditional crafts, and live performances. Despite this shift, the dedicated organizing committee works hard to preserve the historical roots of this unique celebration.

Some impressions of the Kuringen Horse Fair 2025.

The Altarpiece of Sant Joanipol

The Altarpiece of Sant Joanipol, currently at the Episcopal Museum of Vic (Spain).

This stunning 14th-century alabaster altarpiece tells the story of Christ’s Passion, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension. It was created between 1341 and 1342 for the church of Sant Joan i Sant Pau, also known as Sant Joanipol, in Sant Joan de les Abadesses.

At that time, the town was home to skilled sculptors specializing in alabaster. One of them, Bernat Saulet, was commissioned to carve this masterpiece. The altarpiece originally featured bright colors and glass details, making the scenes even more lifelike.

For centuries, it was an important part of the church’s religious heritage. In 1889, it was moved to the Episcopal Museum of Vic, where it remains today. The altarpiece is displayed in the state that it was when it arrived, allowing visitors to appreciate its beauty and craftsmanship as it was originally intended.

Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of England and France

The effigy of Eleanor of Aquitaine and King Henry II at Fontevraud Abbey.

Eleanor of Aquitaine (c. 1122–1204) was one of the most influential women of the Middle Ages. As Duchess of Aquitaine, she inherited vast lands after her father, William X, died in 1137. That same year, she married Louis VII of France, becoming Queen of France. Their union was troubled, especially after Eleanor accompanied Louis on the Second Crusade (1147–1149), where she reportedly clashed with him. Their marriage was annulled in 1152.

Shortly after, Eleanor married Henry II of England, future king, bringing Aquitaine under English control. As Queen of England (1154–1189), she ruled alongside Henry, influencing governance and court culture. However, tensions arose, and after supporting her sons' rebellion against Henry in 1173, she was imprisoned for 16 years.

After Henry’s death in 1189, Eleanor was released by her son, Richard the Lionheart, and helped secure his reign. When Richard was captured on his way back from the Third Crusade, she played a crucial role in raising his ransom. In her final years, she retired to Fontevraud Abbey, where she was buried alongside Henry II and Richard.

The End of Innocence

The café around the corner smelled of coffee and warmth, but an unshakable sense of unease clung to the air. At one table, a group of five was sitting, their hushed voices blending with the background hum. Their expressions were tense, their gestures sharp—whatever they were discussing, it was serious.

Trump had upended everything over the last two months. The dark-haired man gripped his coffee cup tightly, his voice low but urgent. Was he talking about Ukraine? About how America had turned its back, leaving Europe exposed? About how Trump and Putin were negotiating over Ukraine’s future while Zelensky wasn’t even at the table? The very idea was chilling—Putin playing Trump like a pawn, reshaping borders without resistance.

The red-haired woman frowned, shaking her head. Maybe she was thinking about what happens when Russia decides to push further—when there’s no one left to stand up for Ukraine, or for Europe as a whole.

One of the others, a man with tired eyes, spoke with quiet fury. Was he talking about Gaza? About how Israel had shattered the ceasefire, resuming its full-scale bombardment of Palestinians. About how Trump had called it the "new Riviera," as if the suffering, the destruction, the lives lost, were just inconvenient details in a grander vision? Were Palestinians simply expected to vanish, erased under the weight of war and indifference?

The woman next to him pressed her lips together. Perhaps she was thinking of a world where entire nations—Greenland, Canada—could be claimed like chess pieces in some billionaire’s game, their fates decided in smoke-filled rooms, far from the people who live there.

And then there was Musk. The unelected shadow behind the throne. No one wanted a Tesla anymore—it had become a symbol of betrayal. Tariffs, mass firings, entire government agencies dissolving overnight… what was left of order?

And now Europe was rearming. Governments scrambling to boost military spending, factories shifting production overnight, politicians no longer speaking of peace but of deterrence, of readiness. The old world was slipping away, replaced by something colder, something harsher. Was war inevitable? Would they be called upon to fight?

For a moment, no one spoke. Perhaps someone had asked the question they all feared—what happens next? The dark-haired man stared at his empty cup.

I finished my coffee and glanced at them one last time. They were just five young people in a café, but their worry for the future was clear. It’s obvious—the time of innocence is over.

Columbus and the Catholic Monarchs: A Meeting That Changed History

The statue of Isabella I of Castile, Ferdinand II of Aragon, and Christopher Columbus in the gardens of the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos in Córdoba (Spain).

In the lush gardens of the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos in Córdoba (Spain) stands a striking statue of Isabella I of Castile, Ferdinand II of Aragon, and Christopher Columbus. This monument commemorates Columbus’ efforts to gain royal support for his ambitious journey westward—an idea that would eventually lead to the discovery of the New World.

While Columbus did spend time in Córdoba seeking an audience, history records that his first official meeting with the monarchs took place in Alcalá de Henares (near Madrid) in 1486. There, his proposal was met with skepticism and referred to a royal commission. Years later, in 1491, at the military camp of Santa Fe near Granada, the tide turned. With the Reconquista nearly complete, Isabella and Ferdinand finally agreed to fund Columbus’ voyage, sealing the deal with the Capitulations of Santa Fe in April 1492.

Though Córdoba was not the decisive location, the statue here symbolizes the broader context of Spain’s age of exploration and the pivotal role of the Catholic Monarchs. Today, it remains a powerful reminder of the momentous decisions that shaped world history.