A Philosophical Encounter in Washington Square Park
I asked the woman whose leg is visible at left if it’s possible, or okay, to be enlightened when things are so fucked up.
MANHATTAN, SEPTEMBER 14, 2025. When I’m blue, I like to go to Washington Square Park in Manhattan and observe the humans. On a recent sunny Saturday, I sit on a bench by the fountain and look around.
One guy raps about love and politics, another plays blues on a stand-up wooden piano, a third will write a poem for you, donations welcome. A woman dances while slashing black paint across a sheet. A dude in dreads sells weed—legal now!
My eye lingers on a poster advertising two services: 1, “Philosophical Discussion. Free. Welcome! Whatever ideas you want to explore!” 2, “Advice. 25¢. Life-Love-Death-Self-World-Purpose-People. Come and ask anything!”
Beside the poster a young man and older woman sit on folding chairs talking animatedly. Who’s the philosopher/therapist, who the client? I can only guess (and I guess wrong) before the man and woman stand and hug, and the young man walks away.
I approach the woman and say I’d like to talk, but I’m not sure if I want philosophy or advice.
Let’s start with philosophy, she says, and if we get into advice, you can give me a quarter.
I don’t have a quarter, I say, so I’ll just give you a dollar now.
Fine, she says. I give her a dollar, she sticks it in a bag.
She’s in her fifties, I’m guessing, blond, wearing shorts and a green tank top. She has a tough, worldly look, she’s been around. I say I’m John, she says she’s Mimi. We sit face-to-face, knees almost touching. We take turns holding up an umbrella to block the sun. When I speak, she scrutinizes me with unsettling intensity.
I say I grew up in the Sixties, and like lots of hippies I got obsessed with enlightenment, you know, spiritual serenity. I don’t really believe in enlightenment anymore…
Yeah, she interjects, all those supposedly enlightened gurus were screwing their followers.
Exactly, I say. But I’d still like to be enlightened in the sense of being, like, chill and just appreciating being alive. I feel like I should be chill at this point in my life, but it’s hard not being angry or anxious when things are so bad. So I guess I’d like to hear your thoughts on how I can be chill, or even whether I should be chill, when things are so fucked up.
How are things fucked up? she asks.
Come on, I say, you know what I mean. I’m appalled by the stupidity and cruelty of Trump and all the millions of Americans who think he’s cool.
Mimi nods. She just talked to a young woman with the same problem, she’s so upset with Trump that she’s miserable. Mimi couldn’t tell this young woman what she’s about to tell me, but she thinks I’m open-minded enough to handle it.
Smart, I say, flattery.
Mimi gives me a cool little smile. Then she asks me to consider that maybe Trump and his supporters aren’t cruel and stupid, maybe they just see things differently from me. Liberals say Trump and his Republicans allies are extreme, but they’re pretty typical conservatives when it comes to immigration, taxes, social welfare programs.
The liberal approach is exemplified by Keynes, who says the government should raise taxes for programs to help people. Conservatives like Hayek and Friedman disagree, they say social-welfare programs often make things worse. Societies thrive when businesses thrive, and the best thing the government can do is get out of the way of businesses and keep taxes low. You can’t say liberalism is good and conservativism is bad, they’re just different.
I tell Mimi I don’t accept her moral relativism. The right sees the world as Darwinian, it’s sink or swim, and if you sink, tough shit. That’s cruel. The left, especially the Democratic party, is fucked up in lots of ways, but its core value is kindness. The left wants to help people who need help. That makes the left better than the right.
Mimi asks if I’m familiar with Thomas Sowell, the economist.
Vaguely, I say, I think Steven Pinker quotes him.
She suggests I check out Sowell, because he might change my mind about the left being morally superior to the right. She also recommends the book Please Stop Helping Us, in which the journalist Jason Riley argues that social programs intended to help blacks often hurt them. Maybe you’ll feel better, Mimi sums up, if you stop seeing conservatives as bad and try talking to them, engaging them in dialogue.
I try doing that, I say, but I’m a pretty hard-core bleeding-heart woke liberal, and I hate all the woke-bashing that Trump has unleashed.
Then I tell Mimi about another problem that isn’t really right-versus-left. I hate war, really hate it, the violence in Gaza and Ukraine sickens me. Governments are slaughtering innocent people, kids, there’s no justification for that, and yet it happens all the time, in every war. I think we need to end war, once and for all. But almost everyone, liberal or conservative, accepts war as inevitable, and that drives me crazy.
Mimi nods, she knows war is hell, she’s seen it first-hand, she’s been in war zones.
Israel? I ask.
She gives me a hard look but doesn’t answer my question. War is terrible, she says, but sometimes it’s necessary. The Allies had to resist the Japanese and the Nazis, you know that.
So if I want to be chill, I say, I should just accept that war is inevitable? And that Trump and his minions aren’t that bad? They’re just another swing of the pendulum? I dunno, that’s gonna be tough.
Well, that’s my advice, Mimi says, looking at me levelly.
Two women are waiting to talk to Mimi. I say, One more question before I go. I’m old, death is looming. Is there a chill way to see death?
Mimi replies that people see death in all sorts of ways. Who knows which way is right, if any? Some people say we go to heaven or hell, others say it’s like running into a wall, it’s the end, period. She thinks about death this way: You’re walking on a road, then the road gets wider.
Hmm, I reply. Is that like saying we’re all drops of water, and when we die, we end up back in the ocean?
Sort of, she says, but her metaphor is a little different, and the difference matters.
I say I’m a writer, and I might write about her on my website. Is that okay?
Sure, she says.
I ask if I can take her photo, and she says no, it’s not safe for a woman to have her photo posted on the internet. But I can photograph her poster.
I take the photo. We hug and say goodbye.
As I wander out of the park, a spat breaks out, yelling, when orange-robed Hare Krishnas set up a table near another table for “The Clear Islam.” The conflict ends when the Krishnas move away from the Muslims. Once again, peace prevails in Washington Square Park.
As I head toward the PATH, I realize I’m not blue anymore.
Further Reading:
I Am One of Those Evil Woke Professors
Scientific American and the Anti-Woke Bros
To Abolish Nukes, We Must Abolish War
The Election and the Problem of Evil
See also my portrait of economist Deirdre McCloskey.