Whenever I happen to attend a large gathering—such as my son’s eighth-grade graduation ceremony today, where sweaty parents in full parade took several million photographs and miles of film or tape of their offspring in anticipation of a growing demand for exactitude in family bookkeeping—I am amused by the very number of people out there whom I would not like to meet.

Addendum I (August 3, 1989)

My mother told me once about a Greek philosopher, whose name escapes me at the moment, who exclaimed upon walking through a market: “How many things there are which I do not need!”

Addendum II (August 10, 1990)

In March 1987 I visited Finland for the first time. I served as a so-called opponent in the defense of a fellow building economist’s doctoral dissertation at the University of Technology in Tampere. In other words, I played the rôle of an advocatus diaboli, in accordance with the Scandinavian version of medieval academic rules of procedure. In addition, I was invited to give several lectures in Tampere and Helsinki. The lectures turned out to be handsomely rewarded, and I unexpectedly found a large sum of “free” money in my pocket. As I already planned to spend an entire day sightseeing Helsinki, I decided to spend the money on anything that would strike my fancy. I was determined to enjoy this unencumbered exercise in shopping, which I otherwise detest. To make a long story short, I was almost in tears when I returned to my hotel that evening: I could not find a single thing that would give me any pleasure whatsoever. This was not because Helsinki had nothing to offer. Far from it. The problem was with my shriveled needs in the domain of material things.

Addendum III (August 17, 1990)

I was surprised and even disappointed when I learned from my mother today that the Greek philosopher who made the disparaging remark about the markets of his day was Socrates. To paraphrase Brecht, as quoted by Benjamin, my opinion of both—the remark and its author—was changed, and to the disadvantage of both.[1] On the one hand, Socrates’ words of wisdom now sound ever so slightly hollow because I appear to share his contemporaries’ distrust of his ability with words; on the other hand, Socrates himself now appears a bit too quaint and eccentric for his standing as a great thinker. Alternatively, my sentiments may be betraying a trace of embarrassment because of the unexpected association with the Athenian sage. Quod licet bovi, non licet Jovi.

Addendum IV (August 19, 1990)

How many people there are whom I do not need!

Footnote

1. Cf. Benjamin, W., Reflections, New York and London: A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1978, p. 205.