Jeroen Bouterse – Blogs, articles, CV

Why I am still an atheist

In his Confessions, Augustine remembers his state after the death of a beloved childhood friend. He writes: “Everywhere I looked I saw death. […] My eyes sought him everywhere, and did not see him. I hated all places because he was not in them.” An unfailingly moving passage, and a testament to Augustine’s power as a thinker – for profound as his account of his loss is, we are already being led along for a much bigger point. Almost immediately, Augustine moves on to chastise his former self: “fool that I was then, enduring with so much rebellion the lot of every man”. A soul that tethers itself to mortal things, rather than lifting itself up to God, will naturally be bloodied when it inevitably loses them.

I was brought back to these passages by the parallels with Christopher Beha’s account in Why I am not an atheist (2026). Beha is modest enough to suggest less exalted models, but of course he is aware of the echo of Augustine. It’s not just that this is another account of an intellectual who returns to the Catholic faith. Beha also shares with the Church father the admirable skill of rendering now-abandoned perspectives with a language that makes their original pull understandable. Here he looks back on his thoughts after nearly losing a friend:

“I still had so much to lose, and I would eventually lose all of it. Everyone I loved would be taken from me, unless I was taken from them first.”

Like Augustine, Beha finds powerful and honest words for a state of mind he used to inhabit, but makes sure these words contain the seeds of self-criticism too. At this point in the narrative, Beha’s meditations on suffering and death push him away from religion; after a book-long journey through godless alternatives, however, he will find a less self-absorbed form of love, one presumably more resilient to the thoughts that dislodged him from his faith.

Look On My Works

(for 3 Quarks Daily)

I have put off reading G.H. Hardy’s Mathematician’s Apology (1940)to the end for too long. Now that I have, I can say with conviction that if you ever find yourself needing to justify why people should learn at least some mathematics, then this is the text to avoid, and Hardy provides the arguments you should stay away from furthest. And yet, it grew on me as an honest presentation of Hardy’s perspective on why anything is worth doing.

Hardy doubted that composing his Apology was one of those things. In the first paragraph, he apologizes for it: writing about mathematics is the business of second-rate minds, unable to do innovative math themselves. He assures us that he is only embarking on it because past sixty, he is now too old to do the real thing. This sets the tone for an essay full of quick and haughty judgments. Compliments paid with authority to the greats, confident generalizations based on personal or historical anecdote, and a great deal of dismissive hand-waving towards people or things beneath Hardy’s attention. “Newton made a quite competent Master of the Mint”, Hardy knows; and on we go, to the next item of an enumeration illustrating that mathematicians past their prime rarely excel in anything else. In a footnote, he is generous enough to add: “Pascal seems the best.”

Generation 6-7

(for 3 Quarks Daily)

Preparing a worksheet with negative-number calculations where all the digits are sixes and sevens. Telling myself it’s meant to take the fun out of it for them – like a sex ed teacher having their students say ‘penis’ one hundred times before starting the unit. Definitely not the whole story, but plausible: as a middle school math teacher I am more than justified in trying to tame the phenomenon. In fact, I have drawn a firm line; just seeing a 6 anywhere in an exercise is decidedly not an appropriate reason for doing the meme. Really, we need to get on with the lesson now; I will count to five.

The ‘six-seven’ thing is one of those trends that remind adults they have lost connection with what it is like to be a teenager. For me, it is actually a far less baffling one than the draining ‘skibidi’ and ‘what the sigma’ cycles – I quite understand that it is fun to say. No, more than that; it has made something about Generation Alpha positively click into place for me. Let me enlighten you.

Should we move on from Hitler?

(for 3 Quarks Daily)

In Timur Vermes’ best-selling novel Er ist wieder da (‘He’s back’), Adolf Hitler wakes up in Berlin. Somewhat disoriented after discovering the year is 2011, he soon finds his way to the public eye again: he is understandably regarded as a skilled Hitler impersonator, an excellent ironic act for a 21^st-century comedy show. His handlers don’t mind the fact that he never breaks character.

Clips make it to YouTube, and the ‘Führer’ becomes a beloved persona. After humiliating the ineffectual leader of a far-right fringe party, he is assaulted by skinheads. Politicians express their sympathies, a book deal follows. The novel ends with its main character at the head of an up-and-coming party, whose slogan is: Es war nicht alles schlecht – “it wasn’t all bad”.

Vermes puts Hitler in a Germany that believes it is finally able to laugh at him, or at itself through him. Commercial media encourage his popularity, which at first seems tongue-in-cheek but gradually turns out to be more than that. The country is unprepared for his literal-minded and violent racist madness – and for the traction it subtly gathers, the threads in our own discourse that it starts to pull on again. Everyone thinks they know Hitler, but fails to recognize him when he is among us now.

I thought of this story again as I read historian Alec Ryrie’s new book The Age of Hitler and How We Will Survive It. Ryrie’s thesis is that after the Second World War, the Atlantic and European world placed Hitler at the center of the Western value system (as its negative mirror image). This went at the cost of another historical figure, whose return we have similarly stopped expecting: in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, Jesus had represented a moral authority that was deeply felt not just by Christians, but also by free-thinkers and atheists. In the mid-twentieth century, Nazism became the new moral absolute. This model lasted for decades, but Ryrie discerns a new cultural shift, one that is happening now. With the age of Atlantic hegemony, the ‘age of Hitler’ is coming to an end too. What lies beyond it is still up for grabs.

In those days, in those distant days

For 3 Quarks Daily

Under Nanna’s moon – a girl under Nanna’s moon, alone I lie

Under Nanna’s moon drifting over the pure mountains alone I lie,

Under the mountains of the cedars where sleeps Mullil alone I lie.

“It would be nice to go back to caring about the moon”, writes Omar El Akkad in 2025. He can’t, because “no description of the moon […] reflects as much beauty back into the world as a missile obliterating a family in their home takes out of it.” Bertold Brecht wrote in the 1930s that in his time, talking about trees was almost a crime, because it implied silence about so many wrongs.

Brecht’s words are addressed To those born after, those who “will emerge from the flood that engulfed us”. They are asked to judge mildly: “when you speak of our weaknesses, remember too the dark time from which you escaped.” El Akkad’s book is titled One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This. For him, the passing of time will allow us to settle down in comfortable and hypocritical narratives about our own innocence, and teach us nothing.

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Echte progressieven

(voor Over de Muur)

Maarten Boudry’s nieuwe boek, Het verraad aan de verlichting, gaat over hoe progressieven in onze tijd de waarden en idealen van de Verlichting verloochenen. Postmodernisme en westerse zelfhaat zitten volgens hem een betere toekomst in de weg. Zijn kritiek mist echter vaak doel.

Met Verlichting bedoelt Boudry een houding van vertrouwen in wetenschap, technologie en vooruitgang. Het eerste hoofdstuk is dan ook een veeg uit de pan naar postmoderne relativisten die in de tweede helft van de vorige eeuw het geloof in waarheid, rationaliteit en rechtvaardigheid hebben ondermijnd. Foucault, Derrida, en Bruno Latour bijvoorbeeld. Zij ontzeggen ons de mogelijkheid te appelleren aan een gedeelde werkelijkheid. Zo kreeg Latour nooit de zin over zijn lippen dat klimaatopwarming gewoon een ‘objectief feit’ is, merkt Boudry op.

Dat is een klassiek bezwaar tegen postmodernisme, dat teruggaat op de science wars van de jaren ’90. Mijn vraag is wel waar al die relativisten intussen gebleven zijn. Progressieven hebben heden ten dage geen enkele moeite met woorden als ‘facts’, ‘science’ en ‘justice’. Boudry is dat niet ontgaan, en zijn uitleg is dat mensen selectief dingen deconstrueren waar ze toch al van af wilden; relativisme over klimaatwetenschap hoeven we van linkse academici (met uitzondering dus van Latour) in de regel niet te verwachten.

Relativeert dat niet het gevaar van relativisme als geheel? Niet volgens Boudry; reactionaire krachten hebben de kunst van het twijfel-zaaien namelijk met succes afgekeken, zodat we rechtse klimaatscepsis indirect te danken hebben aan linkse sociologen. Als dat klopt is het een aardig staaltje historische ironie, maar blijft onduidelijk wat progressieven nu nog te verwijten valt. De daders die Boudry aanklaagt zijn in elk geval reeds overleden.

Onderschat het liberalisme niet

In NRC van afgelopen zaterdag stelt Shivant Jhagroe de schaduwzijde van het westerse liberalisme aan de kaak. Hij trekt daarbij een lange historische lijn. Zoals VVD’ers nu een biertje drinken op het terras terwijl elders ecosystemen worden vernietigd, dronken witte mannen in de tijd van de Verlichting koffie en thee die door dwangarbeiders werden geoogst.

Die kritiek – comfort en ‘vrijheid’ hier, leed elders – resoneert met de aanklachten van Verlichtingsdenkers zelf. Voltaire voert in Candide (1759)een Surinaamse plantagewerker op, die vertelt hoe een Hollandse slavendrijver zijn hand en been heeft afgehakt. “Het is de prijs die wij betalen voor de suiker die u in Europa eet.”

The System, the Rebels, and the People

(For 3 Quarks Daily)

I have been re-reading Paradise Lost, prompted by the battle between Immortals and demons in the movie Ne Zha 2. The film, if you have not seen it, depicts a ruling party turned into a vehicle for the personal ambitions of its leader. If you ask me, that is; consider yourself warned that I am rather strongly disposed these days to connect everything to contemporary politics.

Whether the poem explores forms of resistance after the battle to depose a ruthless dictator has been lost, or whether Satan is an opportunistic agitator, campaigning on draining the swamp but in fact only out to be worshipped himself – or both – modern analogies easily suggest themselves. William Empson compared Milton’s God to Joseph Stalin.[1] If I don’t name names, it is out of respect both for you the reader and for the heroes in Milton’s poem, which are more eloquent, less petty, and show more depth than their counterparts in present-day anti-democratic politics.

What Game Are We Playing?

(for 3 Quarks Daily)

I know teachers who imagine the tune is what they have on repeat in hell, but I myself am strongly pro-Kahoot. If (like me) you were born too early to have your own school experience center around a large screen, and (unlike me) you have one of those boring non-teaching jobs, a brief explanation is in order. Kahoot is an app that lets you ask multiple-choice questions on your class screen, and have students answer them on their own devices to earn points. With its bright colors and some other bells and whistles, it hits a sweet spot in the teenage brain that magically makes it care about getting mathematical terminology right. It’s the best thing.

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‘Don’t worry; somebody will stop me’

(for 3 Quarks Daily)

In 2023, I wrote what I reckon was a calm, analytical column for this website, about how my country had talked itself into giving the xenophobic, far-right ‘Freedom Party’ a strong plurality of seats in Parliament. An equally level-headed update seems warranted, as its leader Geert Wilders has since maneuvered his party into leading the Netherlands’ coalition government, which we have now been able to observe in action for six months.

I spent a healthy share of that time, possibly even more than that, yelling at the daily news. Here we see the beauty of the written word, however: the process of creating a text provides an excellent opportunity to take a step back and find a broader, more generous perspective on things. Thanks to the alchemy of prose composition, my temperament and my primary emotional responses do not need to prevent me from giving you, the deserving reader, a balanced and distilled account of the state of politics in the Netherlands, and of the nihilistic bastards that currently dominate it. Indeed, I would hate for this to be just a longer version of the rants I post on unfashionable social media platforms, for the benefit of fewer and fewer friends. Be assured, then, that sublimated ideas and broadly applicable wisdom lie ahead, and not just expressions of rage and frustration. I am almost certain of it.

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