Theocracy and nuclear weapons (Part Three)

Just as I see religion, I personally see theocracy as highly irrational and it makes me nervous when such a government is armed with nuclear weapons. Since a theocracy is based on "irrational" beliefs, it becomes the subject of intense philosophical and political debate. 

Now there are people who view religious faith as a valid form of knowledge. Based on analysis from political philosophy and historical examples, theocracy is generally considered to be built on metaphysical, rather than empirical or rational, foundation. 

Mystical belief is considered by some not irrational, but rather "non-rational" or "arational"(like intuitive) because it operates outside the scope of empirical logic and scientific verification, often deemed an experiential, internal, or subjective reality rather than a direct contradiction to objective reality. Talk about semantics and the dog biting its tail! 

Arational sounds irrational or flimsy enough to me! It is argued to be an "arational" experience, something that cannot be validated or refuted with logical evidence. I simply don’t buy that either and I’m not the only one, as many critics argue that organized religion uses mystical beliefs to establish social control, maintain hierarchy, and enforce conformity. 

Religious doctrines are designed to maintain social solidarity or support the power of elites, rather than to reflect objective truth. Further, religious beliefs are instilled at a young age, before critical thinking skills are fully developed, creating a "blind spot" in a person's thinking process. 

There’s also another “glue” called fear (of hell, in particular) and the comfort it provides rather than evidence, making it a "hoax" that keeps people on a "straight and narrow" path. Finally religion is often used to fill knowledge gaps with "God" whenever science does not have a ready answer, an illogical approach to understanding reality. 

While critics cite Israel's non-signatory status to the NPT, possession of nuclear weapons, and demands on Iran as hypocritical, defenders argue that Israel’s security is under threat by a nation that has called for its destruction, making it a matter of survival and not just legal hypocrisy. Yet, Israel’s terrible reputation has been “earned” in almost 8 decades of maltreatment of the Palestinian people. 

I’ll conclude by saying that seeing folks like Bibi and the Ayatollah armed with nukes does not give me any peace of mind. I also know it’s not much better than the two Godless, Trump and Putin!

Theocracy and nuclear weapons (Part Two)

The question of whether a theocracy or a pseudo-theocracy should have access to nuclear weapons is a subject of intense debate among international security experts, theologians, and political scientists. 

The consensus from most international bodies and democratic states is that nuclear proliferation in any non-democratic or highly ideological regime poses significant risks, though some argue that the specific nature of a theocracy introduces unique challenges. 

Israel's policy of "nuclear opacity" (Amimut) is generally tolerated due to its strategic alliance with the West, its lack of membership in the Non Proliferation Treaty (NPT), and perception as a responsible, non-aggressive actor, with of course the exception of its out-of-control current leader Bibi Netanyahu.

Conversely, Iran faces denial of nuclear weapon access because it’s a NPT signatory accused of violating commitments, thus triggering international constraints and fears of regional arms proliferation. 

So when you compare Iran to Israel, the former mistakenly signed the NPT, while Israel hypocritically refused to, amassed an arsenal of nukes and still looks clean before the Judaeo-Christian community that ignores its nuclear status. 

Something is clearly askew with that picture! Tomorrow will dig deeper into the religious excuse and its wild interpretation when circumstances make it necessary…

Theocracy and nuclear weapons (Part One)

The war started by the US and Israel against Iran, begs the question as to whether a theocracy should have access to nuclear weapons? Not a good idea, in my view. This, of course, is a subject of intense debate among international security experts, theologians, and political scientists. But before even debating this, aren’t both Israel and Iran bona fide “theocracies”? 

Since Iran is a Muslim country being judged by Judaeo-Christian cultures, everyone in the West seems to agree that it’s a theocracy. Since the 1979 Revolution, it has operated as an "Islamic Republic" governed by a doctrine known as Vilayat-e faqih (Guardianship of the Jurist), which places ultimate political and legal authority in the hands of a senior Shia cleric known as the Supreme Leader.

On the other end, Western civilization looks the other way when it only sees Israel as a democratic parliamentary republic and not a theocracy. While it defines itself as a "Jewish and Democratic State" and incorporates religious law (Halakha) into personal status matters like marriage and divorce, it lacks a supreme religious ruler and has a democratically elected Knesset. 

 However, it is a subject of debate regarding the influence of the Orthodox Rabbinate on law. So, let’s admit that it’s a little bit theocratic. 

Now, here comes the sticky point. Israel is widely estimated to possess around 100 nuclear warheads, although the estimates range from 80 to over 300. Israel maintains a policy of nuclear ambiguity, neither confirming nor denying its nuclear capabilities. It’s believed to have produced enough plutonium for 100–200 weapons, which can be delivered by aircraft, missiles, and submarines. 

With this in mind, Israel maintains a policy of "nuclear opacity" (neither confirming nor denying its nuclear arsenal) primarily to achieve strategic deterrence without triggering a regional arms race, inviting international sanctions, or violating US non-proliferation laws. This "open secret" allows Israel to deter adversaries while avoiding the political obligations of being an acknowledged nuclear state. 

A really sneaky, dishonest way to handle things in my view. Tomorrow, we’ll continue by taking a special look at Iran, at religion’s relation with weapons of mass destruction and whether both countries should be prevented from having such weapons or not, so please stay tuned...

A revised view of the winter season

Just a few extra observations: 

I have lived through three snow droughts during my short life and my 72 seasons of skiing: First in 1963-1964 in France, then in the West during the 1976-1977 season while I was still living in New York and finally this 2025-2026 winter season. What’s my take-away? 

For one thing, a winter with little or no snow is totally demoralizing. It makes you feel things like: “Will a normal winter ever return?” It casts doubt on the future of skiing and closes the door to a positive outlook. Sure, we feel the exact opposite of folks in New England, in Europe or Hokkaidō that enjoyed a wonderful snow season, but we’re woefully unable to feel their glee… 

Of course, in the context of what goes on in Gaza, Iran, Lebanon, Sudan and Ukraine, these considerations are trivial... 

At the same time we all know that everything is cyclical and good, average and we try to remind ourselves that bad situations come and go, just like good and mediocre ones, so there ‘s hope that better ones will eventually return, but we’ll have to keep in mind that great, normal and worse are hooked on the same cycle. 

Finally, there’s no way we can remove the sobering element, the “elephant in the room” that climate change is. This horrible trend not only isn’t going away, but is likely going to deepen, make greatness less likely, normalcy not so good, while exceptional years will become rarer and terrible circumstances start trending as the norm. 

Did I forget anything?

The aftermath of change-making

Today, inspired by the book we discussed previously, we’ll explore how major, unexpected life disruptions can often transform ourselves in finding new, unexpected directions and growth opportunities within ourselves. 

This is something I particularly enjoy because I naturally like to think in terms of systems, patterns, and long arcs. I’m not just happy to see that “change happens”; I want to understand how change can transform me, change my personality and my identity. 

I also want to evaluate whether a change was good or bad, how we can integrate change into a coherent life story. I’m also curious to know what skills can make us more adaptive than reactive. 

What follows is a framework that addresses these questions. It could work like this: Every change — chosen or imposed — creates four layers of consequences. By analyzing all four, we’ll get a complete picture. 

• It starts with the external aftermath. What objectively has changed in our lives? A job, a location, a relationship, a set of routines and a bunch of constraints. This is the easiest, but also the least interesting layer. 
• Then, as expected, comes the internal aftermath. For instance, what shifted in our identity? Elements like confidence, worldview, sense of agency and emotional tone. This is where we’re talking about a real life changing story. 
• Now comes the narrative aftermath that begs the question, how do we explain the change to ourselves? As it relates to loss, liberation, accident, destiny or just a lesson. We humans don’t live in events; we live in the stories we tell about events. 
• This process concludes with the fourth layer, the skill aftermath. What new capacities have emerged in us? Traits like resilience, perceptual acuity, intuition, adaptability and pattern recognition. This last layer is the opportunity to let our personal strengths shine as we’ve already spent a lifetime turning change into skill. 

I don’t know about you, but this framework works well for me, because it mirrors the way I think naturally. A form of thinking that’s layered, analytical, experiential, meaning‑driven and oriented toward some sense of control and mastery. It can also turn any change — past or future — into something I can debate, evaluate, and learn from.

Completing my ski instructor certification

Just over fifty years ago, I finally got my full French ski instructor certification after a four week training session in Chamonix, France. Between the auxiliary diploma and the national diploma, I spent €2 200 in today’s Euros. Today, the total cost ranges from €15,000 to €25,000 for the entire program (which lasts, on average, 4 to 6 years). 

Since these days, the training of instructors at the École Nationale de ski et d’alpinisme (ENSA) has undergone a profound transformation, evolving from a traditional mountain craft into a highly qualified profession in sports education. First, the educational background and prerequisites changed enormously. 

In the 1970s, training was accessible to candidates with only a minimal level of formal schooling. The top level of certification was perceived primarily as a validation of technical proficiency. Many instructors were "locals", working as farmers, small business employees or tradespeople during the summer months, for whom skiing was a natural skill rather than the result of a formal scholarly training. 

Today, although no university degree is required to enroll, the complexity of the theoretical examinations (anatomy, physiology, theory of skiing, and the legal aspect of the job demands a level of comprehension equivalent to that of at least a high school diploma or higher. The curriculum is now integrated into the LMD system (Bachelor’s-Master’s-Doctorate) in terms of training credits, reflecting the profession's increased sophistication. Then comes the proficiency in foreign languages. 

Back in the 1970s, language proficiency was at best rudimentary and often limited to a few key phrases used to run a lesson (like the comical "Bend your knees," "Follow me", “Fifty Dollars please”. Instruction was essentially visual and based on imitation. Today’s knowing and mastering a foreign language has become a key element of the profession. The final examination (comprising the “Eurotest” and a specific language proficiency test) requires genuine mastery. 

Given the internationalization of the clientele, an instructor must often juggle English (which is mandatory) and frequently a second language—such as Russian, Dutch, or Portuguese—in order to explain complex technical concepts and ensure safety. 

Then comes what I always felt was a huge weakness in the French curriculum, technical and pedagogical skills. In my days, the primary emphasis was placed on the "straight run" and the “Christiania” turn. The teaching approach was directive and standardized: the instructor demonstrated, and the student replicated. Safety was managed in a more intuitive, less formalized manner. 

Today, however, the advent of the shaped skis has revolutionized instruction with more emphasis on carved instead of skidded turns. In terms of pedagogy, differentiated instruction is now employed in which the instructor adapts to the student's psychology, energy levels, and personal goals. In addition, today’s instructors are trained not only in alpine skiing but also in snowboarding, telemark skiing, cross-country skiing, and adaptive skiing. 

Finally, safety is no longer taken for granted. In the 70s, knowledge of the mountain environment was empirical, passed down by seasoned veterans. Off-piste skiing was less regulated, and rescue tools (such as avalanche transceivers) were scarce. Today, the instructor’s training includes advanced courses in snow science, meteorology, and avalanche risk management. The proper use of avalanche transceivers (DVA), probes, and shovels is subject to rigorous examination. 

So, as you can read a quantum leap in skills is what’s offered to skiers who need or want ski instruction!

The way we learn from books (Part Two)

It’s actually quite common to enjoy a book like Maya Shankar’s “The Other Side of Change” yet walk away feeling as if nothing stuck. And that “zero‑takeaway” sensation is not my failure of comprehension, but rather a clue about the way my mind processes ideas. 

Let’s try to explore that issue of style of communication, and then offer a more powerful way to think — and debate — the aftermath of change. There is no framework in the stories that were offered to me in that book, still it was pleasant to read, emotionally touching, but hard to retrieve and cognitively slippery. I must be someone who thrives on frameworks, systems, and meaning‑making. 

A book that doesn’t offer those explicitly typically never leaves a strong imprint in me. To begin with, the topic (change) is too universal When a book describes something we’ve lived deeply — and many of us have lived a life full of reinvention, adaptation, and resilience — the ideas can feel like things we already know intuitively. 

As a result, our mind goes: “Yes, yes, I’ve lived this. Nothing new here.” True, familiarity reduces memorability. Another way to look at how books impact our minds is that without friction there is no retention. We all tend to remember ideas that challenge us, provoke us, or contradict our assumptions. When the tone of a book is gentle, validating, and non‑confrontational, it doesn’t push back against your worldview and provoke us to pay attention. 

We could say that pleasant reading creates almost no cognitive tension and doesn’t make much of an imprint on us. A book too easy to read works more like a reflection and less as a mind-opening tool. In that particular subject of “Change”, a book should be philosophical (why change matters), psychological (how change affects identity) and practical (how to navigate change). 

That book covered these two first points but left me hoping for the third one. In a next blog, we’ll return to the subject of that book and this time, explore how to actually debate the aftermath of change.