While eye-opening, The Gulag Archipelago is challenging to digest at times. Solzhenitsyn recounted story after story of oppression under the Soviet regime, which was difficult enough to stomach. But he also went to great lengths to expose the Soviet legal system, from its early days after the October Revolution to the time of his writing.

Despite exponential gains in scientific knowledge, some of our most pressing afflictions remain unresolved (and are worsening), begging the question: could our faith in science and technology as panaceas be misplaced? An impartial assessment reveals a troubling dichotomy - while scientific progress surges forward, critical health and welfare problems persist or even deteriorate.

Solzhenitsyn's masterwork plunges readers into the icy hell of the Gulag, where the remnants of humanity huddle together against the brutal Soviet machine. His experiences have been the focus of this project's previous installments, but The Gulag Archipelago is not merely a chronicle of one man's suffering; it's an exploration of the very essence of evil.

The torment endured in the Gulag interrogations lasted for months, and the accused were left to their own devices, devoid of legal representation. Even if legal counsel had been granted, it would have been futile, for the distinction between innocence and guilt held no significance whatsoever. The methods employed in these interrogations were closer to torture than investigation. The brutality was so extreme that finally being delivered to a cell with the company of fellow prisoners was a welcome reprieve.

I'm not typically one to write rebuttals or responses; I believe this is my first. My queue of drafts and writing ideas is quite long, and I try to stay focused, but I am inexplicably drawn to this cause. When I first started reading Agnes Callard's New Yorker piece titled The Case Against Travel, I thought, "Wow, this is ridiculous; I should respond." However, my pragmatic voice intervened, reminding me of the pressing matters awaiting my attention. And yet, when I sat down to write, this paragraph happened. So, here I am.

Never before have I experienced such an overwhelming passion for liberty as I do at this moment. And not just my freedoms. I deeply desire to ensure I never infringe upon anyone else's. Reading The Gulag Archipelago will do that to you. It reminds you just how precious and fragile freedom is, a treasure we assume will forever grace our lives. 

Let us not look back with regret and say, "We didn't love freedom enough."

In a series of upcoming posts, I will explore the intersection of music and literature through the lens of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago. This literary masterpiece is a testament to the millions of individuals who endured harrowing experiences within the Soviet Gulag system during the mid-20th century. Solzhenitsyn begins The Gulag Archipelago by recounting his arrest in February 1945, vividly illustrating the Kafkaesque absurdity he and countless others endured.

As a student, I was a note-taking machine. My hand moved with lightning speed, capturing every word my teacher uttered. But to my surprise, I discovered that I often stood alone in my enthusiasm.

While some classmates absorbed information through visual cues, others relied on active listening or hands-on experiences. But for me, writing unlocked the door to understanding.

Our apartment door leads onto the charming streets of Oltrarno, a Florentine borgo dating back to the 13th century. The neighborhood is young compared to other parts of the Renaissance city. The northern bank of the Arno, across the river, has a much longer history, having been founded as a Roman military outpost in the first century B.C. 

Amid such ancient wonders, feeling old is impossible.

Since its inception, prohibition proved to be a catastrophic endeavor, exerting negligible influence on the drinking habits of Americans (if not worsening matters). Moreover, it compromised the meaning of "temperance," a term whose original meaning warrants rediscovery.

Within Stoic philosophy (my favorite), temperance is one of the four cardinal virtues, alongside wisdom, courage, and justice.

Why do some problems seem to defy the human ability to solve them? Are they truly unsolvable? Is the complexity beyond our comprehension? Do we lack the resources, human or otherwise? Or are we solving problems but lack the capacity to recognize it? Daniel Gilbert's research on Prevalence-Induced Concept Change helps explain how progress is often masked.

In America, a recurring tendency manifests itself whereby emphasis is placed on external antagonists - adversarial nations, menacing terrorist groups, or perilous biological hazards. However, the astute observer, like Lincoln, discerns that the true menace has always and will always come from within the nation itself.

Hofstadter describes the development of Bach's preludes and fugues like a music teacher, explaining how Bach worked up various themes and notions and then did some fancy finagling to produce wild, crazy, and wonderful music.

As Hofstadter dove deeper into the human mind and its relationship to music, sparks of something darker started igniting in my neurons. I found myself mulling how our limitation for stacking information is exploited to foster a society rife with confusion, division, and anger.

The complex struggle between tradition and innovation is nothing new. In 1600, a renowned musical theorist named Giovanni Artusi published a dialogue wherein he criticized inventive music being produced by contemporary artists. The debate that ensued serves as a reminder that change is an unavoidable aspect of life. It's essential to recognize the significance of both tradition and innovation.

I'm 36,000 feet in the air and moving at 542 miles per hour over Labrador, Canada. The immense power of human ingenuity propels me. Beside me, my daughter sits, desperately struggling against the pull of slumber - no doubt confused by the flurry of activity over the last several days. My wife, on the other side of her, watches closely - reassuring her when turbulent air bounces our tube around in the sky. 

We're flying.

In 2010 Stephen Hawking declared philosophy dead. Our education system teaches maths and sciences but little philosophy and ethics. Philosophy is a love of wisdom and a thirst for knowledge. Philosophy seeks to answer those questions for which a methodology has yet to be developed. But the main reason philosophy matters has little to do with metaphysics or great questions of existence; it has to do with living a well-lived life.

Western philosophy has been domineered by academics who have departmentalized and institutionalized the art of living well. In academia, philosophy departments imitate natural sciences like physics and biology, yet "professional" philosophers are no closer to being experts on goodness than the ancients were — or, as Jacob Needleman put it, "questions of the heart, that are the very substance of human life are often reduced to puzzles of the intellect."

There are 2,668 billionaires in the world, according to Forbes. Their vast wealth allows them to do almost anything they want - but none of them can stop that grumpy bastard, Father Time.

Would you rather be given $1,000 today or in two years? You, along with the billionaires, will presumably answer today. That's because of the time value of money. And yet when it comes to time, we value the present less than the future and the past.

Everything in nature knows how to be itself. Leopards, for example, "from birth know they are keepers of solitude." But we, humans, are influenced by cultural stories, which cause us to rationalize away the experiences that would be most fulfilling. Boyd reminds us that we are not witness to nature but part of it. Inside each of us, behind all the social conditioning, is the "wild self.”

Humanity hung in a delicate balance, and one American wielded the unfathomable power and authority to tip the scales toward nuclear war or tiptoe to the continued fragile peace. Imagine the noise that President Kennedy must've heard and the pressure he must've felt while trying to make the most critical decision of his life - how to respond to the Soviet missile presence in Cuba.