Hegel: Social and Political Thought | Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy
Learn about its most famous permanent residents and more on this exclusive two-hour tour. July 27, PM — PM. Forget your usual Saturday night spots, and climb aboard this boat party instead. Donations get you even more cool perks! July 28, AM — PM. This favorite mind, body, and spirit expo is back with unique vendors, healers, and exhibits that are all about spreading wellness. July 28, PM — PM. La Guelaguetza is an annual Oaxacan festival showcasing regional dance, music, and traditions in bold color.
July 28, AM — AM. Everyone is welcome to join this complimentary yoga class in the heart of Brooklyn for a gentle flow session aimed at all levels of yogis. July 31, PM — PM. Witches and yogis alike are welcome to this weekly beginner-level yoga class, featuring a Tarot-inspired yoga flow practice followed by a guided visualization and intention-setting ritual.
August 02, PM — PM. Enjoy extended exhibition viewing hours and a full evening of house music inspired by Larry Levan's legendary "Saturday Mass" DJ sets at the Schomburg Center. August 03, PM — PM. August 03, AM — PM. Bring your favorite plain T-shirt and a drink of your choice to this pre-brunch class, where you'll learn basic embroidery tricks to transform your top into something a little more statement-making. Get your best scrunchies and track suits ready for a rad night of '90s dance jams! North 3rd Street Market. OZY Fest. In the last two decades, the Navy Yard has become a runaway success, with tenants and 7, workers now restoring its old energy.
The vast majority are no longer in traditional blue-collar trades, but work in electronics, light industry and the arts, including the first film studios built in New York since the silent era. Over 40 artists have studios on site, including Pam Talese daughter of the writer Gay Talese whose paintings record the eerie historical landscapes of the harbor. To Talese, the yard is a microcosm of the city itself. This is New York. After anchoring by a muddy bank, we motored in an outboard dinghy past rotting barges and the hulks of wooden vessels, before spotting a surreal vision: a rusted submarine painted bright yellow.
The sub cruised Coney Island after its launch in , but was ripped from its moorings by a storm and became wedged on the banks here soon after. The yellow color scheme was not an homage to the Beatles, Bianco told reporters, but because he got a deal on yellow paint. It was even found in to have developed a strain of gonorrhea. After motoring up this toxic artery, Ludwig suggested we land on a derelict stretch of industrial Williamsburg. Reaching dry land involved clambering through a wire fence, walking a narrow rusted pylon like a tightrope above debris-filled water, then levering around a knife-edge of crumbling concrete while clinging on to broken pipes.
Catching the mooring rope, I lost my balance, the rocks slippery as ice. The next thing I knew, I was bobbing upside down in the East River. This was a new relationship to the urban environment for me, to say the least. For some reason, my mind drifted back hopefully to my conversation with Deborah Marton, director of the New York Restoration Project.
It tells us we are on the earth. After I crawled out with only minor abrasions, Ludwig looked me up and down approvingly. This article is a selection from the May issue of Smithsonian magazine. Subscribe or Give a Gift. Sign up. SmartNews History. History Archaeology. World History. Science Age of Humans. Future of Space Exploration. Human Behavior. Our Planet. Earth Optimism Summit. Ingenuity Ingenuity Festival. The Innovative Spirit.
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Video Contest. Games Daily Sudoku. Universal Crossword. Daily Word Search. Mah Jong Quest. Magazine Current Issue. Give a Gift. Subscribe Top Menu Current Issue. From This Story. Gina LeVay. Inherited trauma was the topic of the hour in Cologne. I spoke to one woman who traced her compulsive cleanliness to her grandmother, who lost a ten-day-old baby to infection in Another woman blamed her emotional extremes on Russian soldiers in Berlin, who molested her mother and her uncle as children.
Some Germans see the smiting hand of a vengeful God in such stories. But the line between war trauma and ordinary angst—between suffering and self-pity—gets harder to draw as conflict and consequence drift further apart. She hit the jackpot.
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Thus the great tragedy of the twentieth century is trivialized, made banal, instrumentalized, and perverted. Studies of twins have backed this up: they suggest that vulnerability to P. And a study at the University of Zurich has shown that stress in a male mouse can alter the RNA in his sperm, causing depression and behavioral changes that persist in his progeny. How to break the chain? German pacifism has made a good start—the effects of P. And psychotherapy, like so much else, is both generously funded and strictly regulated in Germany: public health insurance pays for up to three hundred hours of counselling.
There was much talk in Cologne of breakthroughs made after years of analysis. It was late in the day by then, after many hours of grim statistics and tragic stories, and I could feel the crowd getting impatient. Were these troubles really so intractable? But then the last speaker began to talk about her own practice in Berlin. She used a much more efficient method these days, she said, and it had proved extremely effective.
It was called a Familienaufstellung. The speaker was Gabriele Baring. She peered over her small horn-rimmed frames as she talked, and punctuated her confidences with a low, husky laugh.
Before she became a therapist, ten years ago, Baring was a senior editor at Merian , a well-known travel magazine in Germany. Her method depends on it. A Familienaufstellung is a machine for processing grief. Bert Hellinger, the former priest, imbued his method with traditional family values. The father is the head of the household; the mother takes care of the children; the children must honor and forgive their elders. Any disruption in this structure—whether from adultery, abuse, indifference, or abandonment—must be set to rights.
Any broken ties, even to the unborn, may haunt the descendants.
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Hellinger is now ninety and still leads the occasional Familienaufstellung , at home and abroad, sometimes drawing audiences of several hundred. He has become a guru of sorts, and his views have grown correspondingly capricious—even perverse at times. Hellinger pondered for a moment and pointed at the husband. Then he pointed at the wife. They belong to the husband. You can create a problem that may not be there. Baring told me to concentrate on his earlier work—though her approach may be as prone as his to inventing false narratives—while other therapists have tried to put their method on firmer footing.
Two years ago, a group of psychologists at the University of Heidelberg published a controlled, randomized study of Familienaufstellungen. They took two hundred and eight participants and divided them into two groups. Half were kept on a waiting list; the other half were divided into groups of twenty-six and participated in a three-day-long session, led by an experienced therapist a best-case scenario, given the haphazard quality of the field.
Two weeks after the session, members of the active group felt better, on average, about their social relations than seventy-three per cent of those in the control group. A Familienaufstellung owes much of its power to the secrets it reveals. How does it work, if not by spiritual means? Then he set up life-size statues in their place and had volunteers take turns replacing them. When asked how they felt at different spots, the volunteers gave remarkably consistent answers. They felt powerful in some places and weak in others, connected to certain people and disconnected from others.
When volunteers in a follow-up study were asked where they felt best in the group, they were drawn to the same spots. The results followed the same pattern.
Afterward, the patient repeated the story to one of his aunts, who confirmed that it was true. No ghosts necessary. So much of what the stand-ins had said seemed to strike a chord with the people listening. The group in the drawing room included two doctors, a therapist, a seminarian, a computer scientist, and a philosophy student. Some were there to work through their family issues, others just to serve as stand-ins— Familienaufstellung junkies, people call them. The very act of empathizing so deeply seems to help people understand themselves.
At times, the sobs and shouting rose to such a pitch that I worried that the police might come. Germans tend to be eerily quiet at home, at least by American standards. But if catharsis was what was required, then Baring surely provided it. When my turn came, I felt a twinge of performance anxiety. All the others had ended their sessions in tears. Would I have to do the same? I imagined my stand-ins circling the room for hours, telling dismal tales about my ancestors until I finally broke down.
Baring is a canny judge of character and a skilled stage manager. She knows how to strip the nerves in a group and then soothe them, tease out complications and swiftly resolve them. But what if there was no trauma to unearth? No guilty party to absolve? Among the few personal effects that he left behind when he died, in , was a batch of letters from the village in Alsace where he was stationed. They were handwritten by local farmers and villagers and addressed to the French military authorities in Strasbourg, where my grandfather was in solitary confinement after the war.
They were pleading for his release. Another wrote that his son had been arrested while fleeing Alsace and was sent to a concentration camp. Yet, in other ways, my grandfather had stayed a loyal German to the end. They all described him in the same confounding way. But he was a fanatical Nazi. The obvious spot to put his stand-in was trapped in a corner, facing the wall.
I placed my grandmother behind him—the supportive wife, abandoned for war—and my mother beside her. Then I put my three uncles in a wedge behind them all. They stood there for a moment in silence, as if humming to the same vibration—an arrow shot into an oak. Then everyone seemed to move and talk at once. If not God, then Hitler.
It took Baring, as usual, to get us back to the plot. The first stand-in was an elderly therapist with hollow, deep-set eyes. She lay on the ground and pointed a long, thin finger at him. One of my uncles tried to intervene. But my grandfather shook his head. But for a moment I could almost see a resemblance. I never found any trace of those victims in German or French archives. What did ring true were much quieter details.
The mutual devotion of my mother and grandmother, for instance, and the eerie way that the stand-ins captured my three uncles. How reserved they were on the street, even in Berlin! How cautious with their feelings compared with the average oversharing New Yorker. She was giving a talk on Kriegskinder at the local health ministry, and the lecture hall was full, mostly with elderly listeners. But she was there to offer comfort instead. My wish is that in reading my books people develop a sense of community.