Latest news with #JohannWolfgangvonGoethe
Observer
03-07-2025
- General
- Observer
Why managers must hear their employees
In the corridors of modern workplaces, amidst the buzz of technology and the pursuit of productivity, there lingers a persistent silence, not of absence, but of avoidance. One of the most recurring challenges faced by employees today is that their managers simply do not listen to them. This is not just a communication gap; it is a crisis of leadership, empathy, and organisational culture. Listening, in its true essence, is not merely about hearing words. It is about understanding, validating, and creating space for others to contribute meaningfully. As Ernest Hemingway once said, 'When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen.' The tragedy is that in many offices, this form of complete listening is rare. But why do some managers fail to listen? Often, it stems from an illusion of hierarchy. Once seated in positions of authority, some individuals begin to see themselves not as enablers but as enforcers. Their identity is tied not to shared goals but to status, control, and the need to assert superiority. In this mindset, employee voices are seen as interruptions, not inputs. This managerial deafness is not just harmful; it is dangerous. The German philosopher Johann Wolfgang von Goethe observed, 'A man hears only what he understands.' This quote pierces the heart of the problem. Many managers do not understand the lived experiences of their teams and hence cannot truly hear them. Detached from the operational realities, they often operate in abstraction, responding more to metrics than to the human stories behind them. What happens when employees are not heard? They disengage. They stop contributing ideas. Innovation slows, morale dips, and the workplace becomes transactional and mechanical. In contrast, when employees feel heard, they feel respected. And respect is the soil where trust grows. As Stephen R. Covey rightly put it, 'Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.' This reactive listening needs to be replaced by what Carl Rogers, the father of humanistic psychology, called 'active listening', a practice that involves empathy, openness, and full presence. Listening is, therefore, more than a managerial skill; it is a moral responsibility. Managers must recognise that listening is not a weakness; it is a form of leadership. It shows humility, and humility breeds authenticity. In workplaces where leaders genuinely listen, employees do not just work; they thrive. They bring their whole selves to the table, ideas, doubts, aspirations, and solutions. Moreover, the act of listening is transformative. It turns meetings into dialogues, hierarchies into collaborations, and problems into shared challenges. The American poet and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, 'The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.' The miracle of listening lies in its simplicity; it costs nothing but gives everything. Organisations that champion a listening culture experience stronger performance. This is not coincidental. Studies in organisational behaviour show that companies with high levels of employee voice see better decision-making, improved retention, and increased innovation. When people feel safe to speak up and are heard, they become partners, not just workers. So, what can be done? First, managers must train themselves to pause. The speed of modern business tempts leaders to rush through interactions. But silence is not an enemy. As the philosopher Epictetus noted, 'We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.' Second, organisations should embed listening into leadership KPIs. Managers must be evaluated not only on results, but on relationships. Third, employees must be empowered to provide feedback about whether they feel heard. Tools, surveys, and one-on-ones must go beyond formality and invite genuine conversation. Fourth, leaders should model vulnerability. When managers share their own challenges and ask for input, it normalises openness. Listening is not about agreeing; it is about acknowledging. It is about saying: 'I see you. I hear you. You matter.' In the symphony of the workplace, every voice contributes to harmony. When managers stop listening, they mute potential. When they begin to listen, truly listen, they unlock something powerful, not just in their teams, but in themselves. The future of leadership is not in shouting commands from corner offices, but in sitting down, leaning in, and saying, 'Tell me what you think.' Because sometimes, the simplest act of listening is the most revolutionary step a manager can take.
Indian Express
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
Epistolary novels: 8 books told through letters
'Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them,' wrote Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and this also applies exactly to the world of literature. Epistolary novels, either written in the form of personal letters or diary entries, or telegrams or even modern-day emails, offer a very rare kind of intimacy to a story. Mainly because these are not stories narrated about people; instead, these are stories that people narrate not to others but themselves. There's some kind of voyeuristic appeal in reading letters never meant for us, in listening to raw fears, unthrottled joy, or at times-conflicting opinions. This form of narrative, unlike a traditional plot, does away with all barriers between a reader and a character. We cease to be a bystander and become the silent addressee or alternately the co-witness to suppressed confession. In a world drowned in voices, the epistolary form is a silent whisper; and yet, somehow, it is heard very loud and clear. Let's take a look at a few books that explore this very genre perfectly. Austen's early novella Lady Susan, written circa 1794, is a razor-sharp social satire delivered entirely through letters. The titular character, a charming, manipulative widow, uses her wit and beauty to meddle in romantic affairs, particularly her own daughter and her own. Through a chorus of correspondents, we see Lady Susan's duplicity unravel, though never entirely defeated. The format allows readers to contrast differing perspectives and engage in a layered reading of truth versus manipulation. Lady Susan herself writes, 'There is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit,' and this clever, self-aware commentary is as biting today as in the 18th century. Lady Susan's character construction thus serves as a reminder that letters can both conceal and reveal with alarming elegance. Set on the fictional island of Nollop, Ella Minnow Pea is a playful yet profound novel wherein language itself is victimized by tyranny. The islanders worship Nevin Nollop, creator of the pangram 'The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.' When letters drop from a statue erected in his honor, each letter is banned and to use it means being exiled from the island. Written entirely through correspondence, the novel humorously mirrors the dwindling alphabet in an ever-constrained vocabulary. Dunn's linguistic gymnastics are, in equal parts, hilarious and frightening, capturing that insidious manifestation of an authoritarian tradition. 'We must be ever vigilant,' one letter warns, 'for the preservation of words is the preservation of thought.' It was made both for love of language and a warning against censorship and worshipping blindly. Witty, creative, and timely, the novel will enlighten and disturb its readers simultaneously. Dracula is much more than a typical vampire tale; it is a chilling symphony of fear, obsession, and the tenuous margin between reason and superstition. Through letters, diary entries, and telegrams, the epistolary method would assure a very close perusal of each character and each fear. It starts with Jonathan's eerily solitary trip to Count Dracula's castellated abode in Transylvania, only to plunge into a transcontinental chase as the Count threatens to cast a gloom over London. The others are just as much a part of that fragmented horror as Harker, Mina, Lucy, and Van Helsing attempt to piece dread together. Stoker does not merely give us a monster; but rather paints a mirror reflecting the Victorian anxieties of their time: Modernity, sexuality, and the unknown. This is not an easy read. It must be experienced like a whisper in the dark that one never quite forgets. Being one of those rare books that cling to a reader's soul long after the last page has been turned, Alice Walker's The Color Purple makes this unique distinction. Throughout, the narrative is performed through the format of letters, initially addressed to God, then to women, so much so that it almost feels that one is being entrusted with someone's darkest thoughts. We are introduced to Celie, a Black girl from the segregated South, who remains silenced from years of abuse. Through years of quiet resistance and the unconditional strength of women like Shug Avery and Sofia, we watch Celie grow, not just in voice but also in spirit. The beauty of the book is that it holds to its truth. It doesn't shy away from pain, nor does it let pain win. The epistolary style that Walker chose lends gravity to every word, and every letter seems like a rescued step toward healing. The book is not just about survival; it is also about becoming. It is unforgettable. The innovative novel by Anne Brontë begins with numerous letters written by Gilbert Markham to a friend, in which Markham relates his growing fascination with the strange new occupant at Wildfell Hall, Helen Graham. Then the story moves back again in time to Helen's diary, which chronicles her flight from an abusive, drunken husband. This layered epistolary structure offers two opposing angles and creates substantial moral intricacy. At its core, it is one very powerful argument for a woman's right to autonomy and integrity. Helen writes: 'I am not his property to dispose of at his pleasure.' The revolutionary nature of the book brought it celebration and condemnation for its unvarnished portrayal of domestic strife. Brontë does not employ the form in aid of a romantic mystery but to expose Victorian hypocrisy and to shine a light toward female endurance. This personal touch intensifies the urgency of its emotional weight, making it a proto-feminist text with relevance today. Featuring genuine correspondence between Helene Hanff, a New York writer, and Frank Doel, a British bookseller at Marks & Co., spanning a period of 20 years, 84, Charing Cross Road is a very moving homage to literary friendship. What begins as correspondence strictly for acquiring hard-to-find books gradually evolves into a transatlantic friendship filled with wit, affection, and shared appreciation for literature. Hanff's lively wit, 'I require a book of love poems with spring blossoms on the cover. Nothing under $5', is met with Frank's polite British reserve. Through their letters, a sense of shared humanity emerges despite oceans and rationing. A gift book for any book lover, it is an ode to the simple magic of written communication: pen and paper can forge bridges over time and distance. There are sequences that will have you cracking up, while others hit you with a warm wave of emotion; altogether, it is so very delightful. In this modern homage to Austen's Emma and Daddy-Long-Legs, Dear Mr. Knightley tells the story of Samantha Moore, a literature-obsessed orphan who gains a scholarship to journalism school, on the condition that she writes letters to her anonymous benefactor, 'Mr. Knightley.' As she pens her thoughts, often filtered through Austen quotes, Samantha's defenses slowly fall away. Here is a first-person memoir with a self-consciously literary, somewhat interiorized voice, that charts awakening into authenticity. 'Sometimes I think I feel like the Velveteen Rabbit,' she writes. The novel is an intense going-out-of-boy-and-into-the-world romance, coming of age, and trauma healing, in an epistolary framework of inner transformation. She has caught how people use fiction, especially those beloved by them, to hide. But just as in Austen's world, the truth triumphs. The format allows for such heartfelt sincerity in Samantha's voice that the reader feels like a trusted confidante. Warm, bookish, and hopeful-this is a contemporary epistolary novel with an old soul. From the author of World War Z, Devolution is a horror thriller told through the found journals of Kate Holland, a Seattle tech resident whose eco-conscious community becomes isolated after a volcanic eruption. Sasquatch-like creatures descend the mountains, turning utopia into a primal nightmare. Supported with interviews and reports, the style makes the novel read like a dossier of a post-disaster. Epistolary style enhances the realism, placing the fantastical in documentary-style suspense. Kate writes: 'We were civilized until we weren't.' Brooks cleverly critiques over-reliance on technology, privilege, and the illusion of safety. By allowing readers to 'find' the evidence themselves, the book builds dread incrementally. It's not just a monster story, it's a meditation on survival, fear, and the thin veneer of civilization. Devolution stretches the epistolary form into speculative fiction with terrifying plausibility.
Epoch Times
09-06-2025
- Epoch Times
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Journey Through Italy
In the fall of 1786, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) left Germany. Under the pseudonym 'Filippo Miller,' the 37-year-old slipped through the Alps and embarked on a two-year odyssey in Italy. He described his travels in letters and diary entries, reminding readers about the importance of experiencing beauty firsthand. Goethe's Departure A portrait of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1787, by Angelica Kauffmann. Goethe National Museum, Weimar. Germany. Public Domain
Montreal Gazette
17-05-2025
- Politics
- Montreal Gazette
Libman: Ruling is not the same as governing — and it's costing Legault
'To rule is easy, to govern difficult' is a quote attributed to the writer and philosopher Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Newly elected governments take power fresh with their political agenda and series of objectives, promising to bring about positive change from the previous regime. But it doesn't take long for the perils of reality to set in, with a multitude of competing interests and challenges. Every society is composed of individuals with a diversity of opinions, beliefs, values, experiences and aspirations. Generating consensus on almost any major issue is extremely difficult. Every decision spawns detractors, and in this age of social media, criticism and opposition can sound much louder. Before long, a party or leader that embodied change or renewal falls out of favour, and electors again clamour for change. Justin Trudeau was swept into power in 2015 in a red wave of enthusiasm. His glamorous honeymoon eventually soured, and he was compelled to resign. Premier François Legault was elected in 2018, offering a 'third-way' to Quebec's traditional federalist-separatist polarization, promoting an economic nationalism within Canada and no more referendums. His popularity soared at first during the pandemic, but nearly seven years after his election, 63 per cent of Quebecers now want a change in government, according to this week's Léger poll. Support for his Coalition Avenir Québec has shrunk to 20 per cent, its lowest since taking power. The Legault government's reign epitomizes Goethe's observation about the distinction between ruling and governing. His administration has plowed forward, investing heavily in shiny projects that seemed promising — such as the Northvolt battery plant project, or digitizing SAAQclic — yet ran into major problems due to a lack of due diligence and responsible oversight. Implementing even the greatest ideas in principle into successful initiatives in practice requires strong governance, effective analysis, skilled leadership and, most important, generating a collaborative buy-in from stakeholders. Instead, this government seems to operate with a 'my way or the highway' approach, which hurts credibility. Take three recent examples in health care: Giving consideration to a plan that would assign family doctors to Quebecers based on varying degrees of a patient's health, to ensure that the most vulnerable have access. Obliging new doctors and specialists, under Bill 83, to practise in the public system for five years after graduation or face stiff financial penalties. Linking doctors' pay, under Bill 106, to various performance objectives, to push physicians to take on more patients. In addressing the doctor shortage, these initiatives may seem like good ideas, but each has its unintended drawbacks. Will healthier Quebecers who become ill have difficulty seeing a doctor? Will future doctors shun Quebec medical schools or just leave after graduation? Do doctors have the resources to take on extra patients — and will this reduce their care of existing patients? Bill 106 is seen by physicians as a shot across the bow during labour negotiations. For such major initiatives, where is the collaborative consultation at the outset to find the best workable solutions? Just trying to blame doctors solves nothing. Recently, Education Minister Bernard Drainville introduced legislation to ban cellphones in and around schools and impose rules of respect and civility. Also good intentions and ideas in principle — but does the implementation go too far, lacking the requisite analysis and initial buy-in by parents and students who may need to communicate during the day? University tuition changes, state secularism and many other laws have been sledgehammered with insufficient advance analysis and consultation with those most affected. It's difficult enough to govern, and unanimous consensus is rare on major initiatives. But if governments don't understand that ruling is one thing, while governing is different — basically 'the art of the possible' — their job becomes even harder, likely hastening their own demise.
