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Butterfly example fits Nietzsche’s idea that morality is fundamentally a construct—something shaped by perception, sentiment, and, indeed, aesthetics.
A cockroach is repulsive, so killing it is seen as just. A butterfly is beautiful, so harming it is monstrous.
Yet nature itself makes no such distinction; the spider, indifferent to human aesthetics, weaves its web for survival.
If you kill a cockroach — you are a hero, but if you kill a butterfly you are the monster.
Morality is based on aesthetics.
A cockroach is repulsive, so killing it is seen as just. A butterfly is beautiful, so harming it is monstrous.
Yet nature itself makes no such distinction; the spider, indifferent to human aesthetics, weaves its web for survival.
If you kill a cockroach — you are a hero, but if you kill a butterfly you are the monster.
Morality is based on aesthetics.
Uranian | Uneducated Philosopher
Photo
Orphan crushing machine.
The world we live in is born in the depths of our perception. It takes on a form that reflects the soul of the beholder: for one, it is a dull emptiness without a spark, for another, a treasure trove of wonders, meaning and inspiration.
When someone envies other people's adventures, it is not the events themselves that should be envied, but the inner light that gives them significance. After all, what becomes a page from a magic book for a subtle and rich soul, will seem to a mundane mind to be just an everyday accident, not worth attention
I'm not dead. (Yet... (For a long long time))
I just had midterms (nobody asked that)
I just had midterms (nobody asked that)
Uranian | Uneducated Philosopher
Those are the links:
Gabor Maté (public figure and jew on Palestine and Israelian lies
Israeli ambassador literally telling lies in UN
"A Father to a Father, a Human to a Human"
He might be your little brother or son too.
Gabor Maté (public figure and jew on Palestine and Israelian lies
Israeli ambassador literally telling lies in UN
"A Father to a Father, a Human to a Human"
He might be your little brother or son too.
You literally come to their country (land) and kill, torture, rape their women and destroy everything they have and call them savages?
That's an interesting move.
You've managed to label yourself as a blossom of civilization!
That's an interesting move.
You've managed to label yourself as a blossom of civilization!
The moment when a person feels most exhausted is the moment they begin to be reborn.
Life-changing decisions are made during this time.
Life is questioned from beginning to end.
The people around are weighed—some stay, some leave.
Behaviors begin to change.
A new purpose is set.
And this painful process, sooner or later, comes to an end.
The moment a person feels strongest is when they succeed in being reborn.
Because they have come to understand the necessity of leaving all their weaknesses behind.
Life-changing decisions are made during this time.
Life is questioned from beginning to end.
The people around are weighed—some stay, some leave.
Behaviors begin to change.
A new purpose is set.
And this painful process, sooner or later, comes to an end.
The moment a person feels strongest is when they succeed in being reborn.
Because they have come to understand the necessity of leaving all their weaknesses behind.
"We Were the Last"
I’ve got chills thinking about it.
No shame, no embarrassment.
Tears run down my face, and I let them—
because we’ve already lived the best of it.
We were the last.
The last kids to play outside
before screens replaced sidewalks.
We knew the texture of carpet under our knees,
when the only "streaming" was a real stream
and the only "cloud" was in the sky.
We were there
when phones had buttons, not faces.
We watched the world pixelate—
from flip phones to touchscreens,
from cartoons on Saturday mornings
to algorithms deciding who we are.
We grew up with Shrek’s sarcasm
and Po’s clumsy heroism.
We saw Lightning McQueen slow down—
not because he wasn’t fast,
but because time always wins.
We were told to be kids, just kids.
No followers. No filters.
Just dirt, bruises, laughter,
and imaginations fired by carpet patterns
and ceiling shadows.
We were taught by teachers, not tech.
We respected them, feared them,
and sometimes, yes—
our parents hit us,
because that’s how love looked, then.
Psychologists were for “problems.”
ADHD was whispered,
not diagnosed with apps and online quizzes.
We didn’t know our mental health
had hashtags or awareness months.
We witnessed—
not just watched—
the birth of AI.
And now, we’re talking to it.
We are the crossover generation.
The in-betweeners.
Analog hearts in a digital age.
Raised in the real, adapted to the unreal.
And maybe…
just maybe,
that’s what makes us special.
We were the last.
And we remember.
I’ve got chills thinking about it.
No shame, no embarrassment.
Tears run down my face, and I let them—
because we’ve already lived the best of it.
We were the last.
The last kids to play outside
before screens replaced sidewalks.
We knew the texture of carpet under our knees,
when the only "streaming" was a real stream
and the only "cloud" was in the sky.
We were there
when phones had buttons, not faces.
We watched the world pixelate—
from flip phones to touchscreens,
from cartoons on Saturday mornings
to algorithms deciding who we are.
We grew up with Shrek’s sarcasm
and Po’s clumsy heroism.
We saw Lightning McQueen slow down—
not because he wasn’t fast,
but because time always wins.
We were told to be kids, just kids.
No followers. No filters.
Just dirt, bruises, laughter,
and imaginations fired by carpet patterns
and ceiling shadows.
We were taught by teachers, not tech.
We respected them, feared them,
and sometimes, yes—
our parents hit us,
because that’s how love looked, then.
Psychologists were for “problems.”
ADHD was whispered,
not diagnosed with apps and online quizzes.
We didn’t know our mental health
had hashtags or awareness months.
We witnessed—
not just watched—
the birth of AI.
And now, we’re talking to it.
We are the crossover generation.
The in-betweeners.
Analog hearts in a digital age.
Raised in the real, adapted to the unreal.
And maybe…
just maybe,
that’s what makes us special.
We were the last.
And we remember.