Feeling of desperation, hopelessness for the future.

Giving into hedonism or addressing the challenges?

This passage from Labatuts Maniac p64 shines a light om genius sind Johannes van Neumann upbringing so much resembles what we see today.

“I find it embarrassing to admit that I envied their capacity to become so immersed in their imaginations, for I was simply willfully ignorant of the larger world around me, and while I knew that the continent was catching fire, I was far too busy enjoying the many pleasures that my coddled existence as a rich teenager in Budapest offered me to worry myself over the fate of the war. Yes, it was terrible, but no major battles were fought inside our country. Hungary was the breadbasket for Austria-Hungary, and wartime shortages boosted wheat prices so much that the rich actually became richer. So many of us acted as if nothing was happening. This might seem shocking, I know, but it taught me a simple human truth that I learned very early on, which is that you can dance even with the devil knocking at your door. Because that is what I did, what a lot of us did. And could you really blame us? The Hungary that I was born in was a plutocracy going through a belle epoque. Budapest was the fastest-growing city in Europe. We had six hundred coffeehouses, the first underground subway on the continent, and an opera house that rivaled Vienna’s. Industrialization was exploding all around us, but our city still smelled like violets in the spring. We had everything at our disposal. It seemed as if every day there was something new. A new discovery, a new record in agricultural production, a new product to buy, a new fashion to wear. Always the thrill of the new. So we did what we had to do. We had fun. We played. We got drunk and danced from one war to the next. What else were we supposed to do? We all knew that the wonderful world that had been built for us was coming to an end. So our games were urgent. Necessary. We simply had to have fun. There was nothing else for us. Because we knew what was coming. I don’t know how, we just did. All of us. Men and women. Rich and poor. Jews and goyim. All knew. So we behaved like children and did what children do best. Pretend that there was nothing wrong and continue to play. The world would have to take care of itself.
“

This passage from the book Maniac by Benjamin Labatut speaks to a feeling that’s all too familiar today—the sense that we’re speeding toward disaster, but instead of confronting it, we’re caught up in our distractions. Back then, it was dancing, playing, pretending nothing was wrong while war loomed. Today, it feels eerily similar with climate change and AI. We know the planet is burning up, that ecosystems are collapsing, but somehow, life goes on. We scroll through our feeds, buy new gadgets, plan our next holiday, all while the temperature keeps rising.

It’s easy to get lost in that feeling of doom, to feel like no matter what we do, the forces are too big. Just like the people in the passage, we sense that something huge is coming, but it’s easier to ignore it and keep living the life we’ve always known. There’s something deeply human about that, about dancing with the devil at your door, trying to squeeze joy out of a world that feels like it’s unraveling.

And AI, it’s the same rush we see in the passage when they talk about industrialization—new discoveries, endless growth. AI offers us this shiny, thrilling future, but it also carries risks that no one seems quite ready to deal with. It’s exciting and terrifying all at once. We’re told it’ll make life easier, more efficient, smarter. But we also know it’s changing things faster than we can keep up with, and it’s not clear where it’s all heading. So we lean into the excitement and try not to think too much about the consequences.

It’s hard not to feel despair when you think about what the future could hold. The fires, the floods, the uncertainty of it all. Sometimes it feels like we’re just biding time, pretending the world will somehow fix itself, just as the passage describes people pretending that the world would take care of itself during the war.

But if we let that despair win, if we just keep pretending everything’s fine, we’ll miss the chance to do something. We’ll miss the chance to actually turn things around. The passage reminds us how easy it is to get stuck in distraction, but it also highlights that people knew. They knew the world was changing, and we know that too. Deep down, we’re aware that we can’t keep living this way, that a reckoning is coming. The question is, what do we do with that knowledge?

The only way to break the cycle of denial is to face the crisis head-on, and that’s where hope comes in. Not the naive, everything-will-be-fine kind of hope, but the gritty, stubborn belief that if we take action, if we confront what’s coming, we can still shape a better future. We have to believe that we can make different choices, not just for ourselves, but for the world that’s going to be left behind for others. There’s still time to shift away from a future of despair and choose one built on hope, but we need to stop pretending and start acting now.

The future might feel overwhelming, but we can choose to do more than just survive it—we can actually change it.