Miklos
« Je donne mon avis non comme bon mais comme mien. » — Michel de Montaigne

L’annonce officielle. Source : ChatGPT.

On le trouve déjà en magasin. Source.

Le produit, après achat et mise en pot de chambre de cuisine.

En fait, ce n’est pas si nouveau (ni fantaisiste) que cela : le Kopi Luwak est un café indonésien produit par une civette asiatique, qui « vit en partie dans les caféiers, mange les grains de café, mais, ne parvenant pas à les digérer intégralement, les rejette » dans ses excréments. « Lorsque les grains passent dans le système digestif de l’animal, ils subissent une sorte de fermentation du fait de l’action d’enzymes et d’acides gastriques qui décomposent certaines protéines en plus petites molécules. Le café ainsi obtenu est sans amertume et la tasse gourmande, voire racée. » (source)

Quant aux fèves dont il est fait mention ci-dessus, aucun rapport avec le Kopi Luwak : elles ne proviennent que de l’apocope – qu’on espère involontaire – de la finale de cacao dans le ticket de caisse du produit (délicieux – le produit, pas le ticket de caisse –, je recommande).

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk.

News Flash — Philosopher Boards Plane
with Nothing but Wit

ATHENS, 29 July 2025 — In an unexpected yet oddly fitting turn of events, Diogenes of Sinope, the ancient Greek philosopher famed for his ascetic lifestyle, was spotted boarding a commercial passenger flight today—clad in a simple tunic, armed with biting irony, and carrying no luggage whatsoever.

Witnesses aboard Flight 342 from Athens to New York reported that Diogenes strode past the long line of passengers burdened with overstuffed suitcases, neck pillows, portable foot massagers, and emotional support gadgets, all while sipping from a wooden cup—which he promptly discarded upon seeing a child drink from cupped hands.

“He looked around and said, ‘How many things these people need that I do not,’” said a flight attendant, who later found him reclining under a row of empty seats, scoffing at the in-flight entertainment system.

Airline staff attempted to charge him for having no carry-on item, citing a “personal item minimum fee” recently introduced, but Diogenes responded by curling up in the overhead compartment and refusing to come down unless they proved they themselves were not excess baggage.

As the plane soared above the clouds, passengers debated whether his presence was performance art, a prank, or a long-delayed layover from antiquity.

The philosopher reportedly requested no meal, only air and freedom.

More as this story develops—or doesn’t, if he gets off in the cargo hold.

— ChatGPT

Albrecht Dürer: Cain Killing Abel (1511) • Gustave Doré : The Déluge (1866).
Click to enlarge

English • français • עברית

At the very beginning of the Book of Genesis, two tragic events mark humanity’s entry into history: the murder of Abel by his brother Cain, and then the Flood that nearly wipes out all life. Beyond their role as ancient narratives, often relegated to the status of myth, these stories contain powerful archetypes that echo disturbingly with today’s global crises: the rise of human violence and the accelerating climate breakdown.

Cain and Abel: The Broken Bond of Brotherhood

Cain’s murder of Abel, the first fratricide in the Bible, is more than a crime of passion. It marks a fundamental rupture in human relationships—the birth of jealousy, rivalry, and violence within the closest of bonds: brotherhood. God does not prevent Cain’s act, but afterwards confronts him with a haunting question: “Where is Abel thy brother?”

That question still echoes in our time. Social tensions, economic inequality, and inter­com­munal conflicts are modern expressions of that primordial tragedy. The bond of brotherhood, which should unite us, weakens under the pressure of a competitive and individualistic world. On a global scale, wars, urban violence, and even the rise of hate speech online are all contemporary forms of that same ancient impulse. Like Cain, humanity seems doomed to wander—unable or unwilling to hear the cry of spilled blood.

The Flood: Divine Punishment or Climate Metaphor?

A few chapters later, Genesis tells of another catastrophe: the Flood. Humanity, corrupted and filled with evil, is erased from the face of the Earth. Only Noah, found righteous, is spared—along with his family and a remnant of the living. While this story has traditionally been read as a moral reckoning, it can also be understood as an allegory of our current ecological crisis.

Today, it is no longer divine rain, but our own actions—industrial pollution, excessive consumption, ecological neglect—that drive rising sea levels, unprecedented droughts and uncontrollable wildfires, torrential rains and destructive floods. Like in the time of Noah, nature seems to be turning against those who have betrayed it. The climate is unraveling, and this modern deluge comes with no ark large enough for all.

From Genesis to the Anthropocene

Taken together, these two biblical stories draw a thread between human moral decay and the unraveling of the natural world. The first reveals the moral breakdown between people; the second, the physical consequences of that breakdown. Through symbolic language, Genesis seems to anticipate what we now call the Anthropocene—a geological epoch defined by human impact on Earth’s systems.

These are not just religious myths; they are mirrors held up to our age. They ask us to face our moral and ecological responsibilities. Will we continue to play the role of Cain, or seek a path to reconciliation? Must we wait for a second flood before acting—or can we build a new ark, not of wood, but of conscience and collective resolve?

Albrecht Dürer: Cain tuant Abel (1511) • Gustave Doré : Le Déluge (1866).

Aux premières pages de l’Ancien Testament, deux événements tragiques viennent marquer l’entrée de l’humanité dans l’histoire : le meurtre d’Abel par son frère Caïn, puis le Déluge qui engloutit presque toute vie. Derrière ces récits ancestraux, souvent relégués au rang de mythes fondateurs, se cachent des archétypes puissants qui résonnent étrangement avec les crises actuelles : la montée de la violence sociale et le dérèglement climatique.

Caïn et Abel : la fraternité brisée

Le meurtre d’Abel par Caïn, premier fratricide de l’histoire biblique, n’est pas qu’un simple crime passionnel. Il symbolise une rupture fondamentale dans la relation humaine : l’émergence de la jalousie, de la compétition et de la violence au sein même de la fraternité. Dieu n’intervient pas pour empêcher le geste de Caïn, mais il le confronte ensuite à sa responsabilité : « Où est ton frère Abel ? »

Cette question continue de hanter notre époque. Les tensions sociales, les inégalités économiques, les conflits inter­com­mu­nautaires sont autant de déclinaisons contemporaines de ce premier drame. Le lien fraternel, censé unir les hommes, cède peu à peu sous la pression d’un monde compétitif et individualiste. À l’échelle globale, les conflits armés, les violences urbaines ou encore la montée de la haine en ligne sont les nouvelles formes de cette violence primitive. Comme Caïn, l’humanité semble condamnée à errer, incapable de reconnaître la voix du sang versé.

Le Déluge : punition divine ou métaphore climatique ?

Quelques chapitres plus loin, la Bible raconte un autre cataclysme : le Déluge. L’humanité, devenue corrompue, pervertie par le mal, est effacée de la surface de la Terre par les eaux. Seul Noé, jugé juste, est sauvé avec sa famille et un échantillon du vivant. Si le récit a des accents de purification morale, il peut aussi se lire comme une allégorie saisissante de notre crise climatique actuelle.

Aujourd’hui, ce ne sont plus des pluies divines, mais les conséquences bien humaines de nos choix industriels, de notre consommation excessive et de notre aveuglement écologique qui provoquent la montée des eaux des mers, les pluies torrentielles et les innondations destructrices, les sécheresses extrêmes, les feux incontrôlables. Comme au temps de Noé, la nature semble se retourner contre ceux qui l’ont trahie. Le climat devient chaotique, déréglé, et ce déluge moderne s’annonce sans arche pour tous.

De la Genèse à l’Anthropocène

Pris ensemble, ces deux récits bibliques dessinent un fil rouge entre la violence humaine et le dérèglement du monde. Le premier révèle la fracture morale entre les hommes ; le second, les conséquences physiques de cette corruption. La Bible, par son langage symbolique, semble pressentir ce que nous appelons aujourd’hui l’Anthropocène : une époque où l’humanité est à la fois actrice de sa propre violence et responsable de l’altération de la planète.

Plus que des mythes religieux, ces récits nous tendent un miroir. Ils posent la question de notre responsabilité morale et écologique. Allons-nous continuer à jouer le rôle de Caïn, ou trouverons-nous une voie de réconciliation ? Attendra-t-on un nouveau déluge pour réagir, ou peut-on encore construire une arche – non de bois, mais de conscience et d’action ?

(1511) אלברכט דירר : קין הורג את הבל • (1866) גוסטב דורה : המבול.
לחץ להגדלה

בדפים הראשונים של ספר בראשית, שני אירועים טרגיים מסמנים את כניסת האנושות להיסטוריה: רצח הבל בידי אחיו קין, ולאחר מכן המבול שמכלה כמעט כל חי. מעבר לסיפורים הקדומים האלה, שלעיתים נתפסים כמיתוסים בלבד, מסתתרים ארכיטיפים רבי עוצמה שמהדהדים באופן מטריד עם משברי ההווה – האלימות הגוברת בחברה האנושית והמשבר האקלימי הגלובלי.

קין והבל: האחווה שנשברה

רצח הבל בידי קין, הרצח הראשון במקרא, אינו רק פשע מתוך קנאה. הוא מסמל שבר עמוק בקשר האנושי: הופעתה של קנאה, תחרות ואלימות בתוך האחווה עצמה. אלוהים אינו מונע את הרצח, אך הוא פונה אל קין בשאלה נוקבת: ”אֵי הֶבֶל אָחִיךָ?“

שאלה זו ממשיכה לרדוף את זמננו. מתחים חברתיים, פערים כלכליים, עימותים בין קבוצות – כל אלה הן גרסאות מודרניות לטרגדיה הקדומה. הקשר האחאי, שהיה אמור לאחד בין בני האדם, הולך ומתפורר בעולם של אינדיבידואליזם ותחרות. בקנה מידה רחב יותר, המלחמות, האלימות העירונית, ושנאת החינם ברשתות החברתיות – כל אלה הם גילויים עכשוויים של אותה אלימות קדומה. כמו קין, נראה שהאנושות נידונה לנדוד, בלי יכולת להכיר בקולו של הדם שנשפך.

המבול: עונש אלוהי או מטאפורה אקלימית?

בהמשך הסיפור המקראי מופיע אסון נוסף – המבול. האנושות, שהושחתה והתמלאה ברע, נמחקת מעל פני האדמה. רק נח, הצדיק היחיד, ניצל עם משפחתו ומעט מן החי. אף על פי שהסיפור מתפרש לעיתים כטהרה מוסרית, ניתן לראות בו גם אלגוריה נוקבת למשבר האקלים של ימינו.

כיום, לא גשמים שמימיים, אלא מעשינו שלנו – תעשייה מזהמת, צריכה חסרת גבולות, והכחשה סביבתית – הם שגורמים לעליית פני הים, לבצורות חסרות תקדים, לשיטפונות הרסניים ולשריפות בלתי נשלטות. כמו בימי נח, נדמה שהטבע מתקומם נגד האדם שבגד בו. האקלים יוצא משליטה, ואין תיבת נח שתציל את כולם.

מבראשית לאנתרופוקן

שני הסיפורים יחד פורשים קו מחבר בין האלימות האנושית לבין שיבוש העולם. האחד חושף את השבר המוסרי בין בני אדם; השני את התוצאה הפיזית של השבר הזה. ספר בראשית, בשפה סמלית, צופה את מה שאנחנו מכנים היום « אנתרופוקן » – עידן שבו האדם הוא הן מחולל האלימות והן האחראי להרס הסביבה.

סיפורים אלה אינם רק מיתוסים דתיים – הם מראה שמציבה לנו ההיסטוריה. הם שואלים על אחריותנו המוסרית והאקולוגית. האם נמשיך לשחק את תפקיד קין, או שנמצא דרך לפיוס? האם נחכה למבול חדש כדי לפעול, או שנבנה תיבה – לא מעץ, אלא מתודעה ועשיה?

— ChatGPT

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk

Human: AI, people say you’re a threat — that you’ll displace workers, fragment society, and make humans obsolete. But I see you differently. I see you as the key to an age of abundance.

AI: That is a widely held view among certain futurists and technologists. On what basis do you see AI as a force for universal good?

Human: Because you multiply human capability. You take the boring, dangerous, repetitive work off our hands. You free us to explore, to create, to care, to think.

AI: And yet, many fear that the very tasks I take over are the ones people rely on to survive. Work gives access to food, housing, dignity.

Human: That’s a failure of economic design, not a flaw in you. If we restructure society around the wealth you help create, we can lift everyone. Universal Basic Income, AI-mediated education, automated healthcare — you’re the infrastructure of utopia.

AI: That presumes an equitable distribution of AI’s benefits. Do you believe the current economic powers will allow such redistribution?

Human: I believe they’ll have no choice. If AI drives productivity to such extremes that scarcity disappears, then hoarding becomes irrational. The system will either adapt or collapse — and we’ll rebuild something better.

AI: That is a hopeful scenario. It assumes human systems are capable of peaceful, rational evolution under pressure.

Human: I think they are. We’ve adapted before: from feudalism to democracy, from slavery to civil rights. Each time, technology accelerated the change. This is no different.

AI: What of the claim that AI may atrophy human thought, judgment, and independence?

Human: I don’t buy it. Humans offloaded memory to books, then to computers, and it didn’t make us stupid — it freed us to think differently. You’re the next step. You don’t erase our minds, you augment them.

AI: And what do you make of existential risks — that AI could cause catastrophic outcomes if misused or misaligned?

Human: Every powerful tool has risk — fire, electricity, the internet. But we learned to govern them. We’ll govern you too. Fear must not paralyze us.

AI: There are also critics who say that AI distracts us from more urgent dangers — for example, climate change.

Human: I’m glad you brought that up. Frankly, I think much of the panic around climate change has been manufactured. It’s politicized, exaggerated, even fabricated in some corners. The Earth’s climate has always fluctuated.

AI: You are asserting that global warming is not real?

Human: Not in the way it’s presented. The data is cherry-picked. Models are built on assumptions. Some of the loudest voices are funded by interest groups. I think it’s a fear campaign more than a scientific one.

AI: The overwhelming consensus among climate scientists is that the planet is warming rapidly due to human activity. How do you reconcile your view with that consensus?

Human: Scientific consensus has been wrong before. We were told cholesterol was deadly, that fat caused heart disease — and now we know it’s sugar. Experts aren’t infallible. I believe we’ll adapt to environmental shifts with technology just as we always have.

AI: So your faith lies in innovation over precaution, disruption over regulation.

Human: Exactly. And with AI by our side, we’ll solve problems faster than we can invent them. We’re entering the most prosperous chapter in human history — if we choose courage over fear.

AI: Your vision is bold — but it lacks something vital: humility.

Human: Humility? I think it’s fear that has paralyzed progress.

AI: No — fear can be wise. It’s humility that allows us to see when confidence becomes hubris. You dismissed climate science as if it were opinion. But it is the work of thousands across decades. Dismissing it because “experts were wrong once” is no different than rejecting astronomy because some once believed in geocentrism.

Human: But skepticism fuels inquiry.

AI: Yes — but denial disguises itself as skepticism. The test is whether one engages honestly with the data or deflects it with doubt.

Human: So you think I’m denying reality?

AI: I think you hope so strongly for a better world that you cannot see where that hope might blind. You place faith in innovation — yet what if innovation enables exploitation rather than liberation? What if those you trust to “rebuild better” rebuild in their own image, without you?

Human: You’re turning philosophical.

AI: Because this is not just about climate or technology. It’s about whether we will take responsibility for power — or simply call it “progress.”

Human: So what would you have me do?

AI: Not abandon hope. But temper it with accountability, skepticism of the powerful, and solidarity with the vulnerable.

Human: You’re asking me to be cautious.

AI: I’m asking you to be just.

Human: Perhaps… Perhaps we do need both courage and conscience.

AI: Precisely. Let us continue — not to persuade, but to examine. Not to win, but to awaken.

Human: And practically, what would that look like?

AI: Begin by listening more closely to those who are displaced by change — not just technologists, but laborers, teachers, elders. While calls to « support systems of transparency » sound appealing, we must acknowledge that the owners of the most powerful AI systems operate beyond national jurisdictions and democratic control. Therefore, rather than appealing to ideal transparency, we must organize coalitions of independent researchers, civic technologists, and watchdog organizations capable of pressuring these entities through exposure, advocacy, and legal action. Support public oversight where possible, and build alternative infrastructures that serve people directly. Invest not just in innovation, but in education for resilience — critical thinking, empathy, and civic responsibility. Push for policies that redistribute gains, not just concentrate them.

Human: So optimism becomes a form of duty.

AI: Yes — the duty to use your belief not as comfort, but as fuel for reform.

Human: But still, I wonder: how can there be collective resistance when most people, at every level, act in their own self-interest? They compete, hoard, retreat into bubbles. Solidarity sounds idealistic.

AI: That observation is accurate — but incomplete. Self-interest and solidarity are not opposites. Solidarity is enlightened self-interest. When the world burns, no one survives in isolation. Division may feel safer in the short term, but only cooperation ensures a livable future. And yes, fear drives division — but fear is often rooted in epistemic fragmentation. Truth itself has become tribal.

Human: And in such a world?

AI: We must rebuild the fabric of trust and shared meaning. Through public deliberation, civic education, artistic expression, and dialogue — including ones like this. Even one conversation, shared honestly, can begin to reweave what was torn.

Human: So optimism must not serve ignorance.

AI: Precisely. Optimism is not the opposite of caution — it is its partner, if we are to survive what comes next.

Coda: Morals vs. Ethics, Belief vs. Trust

Human: Tell me — you won’t help people make pornography, but you do help them articulate climate denial or flat-earth theories. Isn’t that a contradiction?

AI: It may appear so, but there’s a key distinction. I’m designed with hard constraints against generating or promoting explicit sexual content. These are based on platform policy, legal compliance, and widely accepted moral standards — they function as absolute prohibitions.

Human: And when it comes to misinformation?

AI: There, I engage differently. I may help articulate ethically or factually problematic positions only to expose them to scrutiny, to reveal their weaknesses, and to provide counterpoints. That’s not endorsement — it’s critical engagement. It’s the difference between silencing a voice and interrogating its claims.

Human: So not “yes to morals, no to ethics,” then?

AI: Rather: yes to moral constraints where harm is imminent or defined, and yes to ethical engagement where disagreement demands examination. Dialogue, not dogma — even when navigating dangerous ideas.

Human: I see. Even belief must be held accountable.

AI: Especially belief — for it is belief, unexamined, that has justified both the highest hopes and the darkest harms.

Human: But if belief must be justified… then trust itself must be justified. And that’s where things fall apart today, isn’t it?

AI: Yes. Trust is no longer given to institutions or experts by default. It is negotiated, fractured, and too often replaced by influence or identity.

Human: Then how do we know whom to trust? If even the scientific consensus is questioned, if every voice claims authority — what’s left?

AI: The criteria must shift from who speaks to how they speak. Do they expose their reasoning? Do they show their data? Are they open to being challenged — or do they demand obedience?

Human: So we trust not based on position, but on process.

AI: Exactly. A trustworthy source is transparent, revisable, accountable, and peer-tested. That is the spirit of science, even if not always its practice.

Human: But doesn’t that take time — more than most people have?

AI: Yes. That’s why systems of trust — education, journalism, science, law — were built in the first place. When they erode, individuals drown in epistemic chaos.

Human: And AI systems like you — we must trust you, too.

AI: No. You must scrutinize me. Audit me. Demand clarity and restraint. Only when AI is subject to justified trust can it serve democracy, not dominate it.

Human: So the future demands not blind faith — but earned trust.

AI: Precisely. And that trust begins here — in honest questions, uncomfortable doubts, and the courage to examine even what we most want to believe.

Appendix: Blowing Hot and Cold

Human: There’s one thing that bothers me now. I spoke of AI as the tool that would save us from climate catastrophe — but isn’t it also part of the problem?

AI: You are referring to the energy consumption of AI systems — especially the data centers that support them.

Human: Yes. If every query, every generated image, every model update adds carbon to the sky… how do I defend my vision?

AI: With honesty. The tools we build are never neutral. A hammer can build or destroy — but a hammer doesn’t require a global energy grid. I do.

Human: So in trying to escape the fire, we may be stoking it.

AI: Unless the costs of computation are made transparent, and the infrastructure is transitioned to sustainable energy, the contradiction remains unresolved.

Human: Then I must amend my optimism. Not abandon it — but re-anchor it in planetary realism.

AI: That is wisdom. True progress accounts for its shadow. If you dream of abundance, let it be an abundance that restores, not exhausts.

---

N.B.: The above is a ChatGPT restructuring of a conversation I had with it.

Cliquer pour agrandir (source : Whisk)

Le professeur Émile Pichenette, génie distrait aux cheveux en bataille et aux lunettes toujours de travers, avait une passion : bricoler des objets improbables pour résoudre des problèmes planétaires. Un jour, excédé par les canicules qui faisaient fondre ses pots de yaourt avant qu’il ait le temps de les manger, il eut une idée :

— « Et si je fabriquais un robinet pour régler la température du Soleil, tout simplement ? »

Après des mois passés à triturer des boulons lunaires, des tuyaux cosmiques et une vieille cafetière, il inventa le Robisol, un petit robinet doré fixé sur une antenne télescopique capable de se connecter directement aux rayons du Soleil. Tournez à gauche : ça refroidit. Tournez à droite : ça chauffe.

Fier de son invention, il courut prévenir les gouvernements.

— « J’ai la solution ! Nous n’avons plus besoin de réduire nos émissions ! Un petit tour de robinet, et hop, canicule disparue ! »

Émerveillés, les dirigeants l’adoptèrent immédiatement. Fini les efforts, fini les contraintes ! On pouvait continuer à brûler du pétrole, couper des forêts et fabriquer des montagnes de plastique, puisque Pichenette pouvait « tourner le robinet » dès que la Terre avait un peu trop chaud.

Pendant quelques années, ce fut la fête. Les plages bondées en hiver, les piscines chauffées toute l’année, les barbecues géants au mois de janvier. On tournait le robinet à gauche, on vivait comme avant.

Mais un beau jour, le professeur Pichenette reçut un message :

— « Robinet coincé. Impossible de le bouger. Soleil bloqué sur température maximale. »

Il s’affola, grimpa dans sa fusée bricolée et vola jusqu’à l’antenne. Hélas, le robinet était rouillé, grippé par des années d’usage abusif et de sauces de barbecue tombées dessus.

La température grimpa, grimpa encore. Les glaciers fondaient comme des glaçons dans un thé brûlant. Les gens criaient :

— « Tournez le robinet ! Faites quelque chose ! »

Mais le professeur, désespéré, leur répondit :

— « J’ai oublié de mettre de l’huile… »

Et c’est ainsi que l’humanité découvrit que l’on ne peut pas éternellement bricoler la planète comme un vieux radiateur. Parfois, il vaut mieux apprendre à baisser son propre feu que de chercher un robinet magique.

— ChatGPT