My Journey in Search of Truth

Hi, I’m Simone. In this section, I narrate my story, and it was astonishing to see how far I’ve come when I wrote it. I focus on just one aspect of my life—my thoughts. My life is nothing but the history of my thoughts, just as it was for Kant.

(Written in March 2025)

Chapter One

After receiving offers from Sapienza University of Rome and the University of Bologna, I turned to Leo for advice. “Go to a Cosmopolis,” he said. “Choose the place most like Alexandria.” And so, I went to Rome. Now, I live in Toronto—one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world.

At times, I feel a quiet resonance with Spinoza. Before I set off for Rome to pursue philosophy, I had two dreams—one of Spinoza, and another in which I was a general, travelling by train to Paris (reflecting my efforts, for European thoughts as my roots).

Spinoza, in his youth, had a good command of Jewish exegesis and had once aspired to become a rabbi. Yet he never completed the advanced study of Jewish law. At twenty, he learned Latin; at twenty-four, he was excommunicated. He lived not within the Jewish ghetto, but among the broader Dutch civic society and “foreigners” (to him), at the threshold of the modern world, where new ideas were taking shape.

Before I turned fifteen, I was thoroughly acquainted with the Chinese classics and, that very year, won a national award, was featured on television, and recognized by professors from Fudan and Zhejiang University. It was also then that I fully devoted myself to the study of Western philosophy. My training since childhood was in Chinese philology, which instinctively led me, when I turned to philosophy, to classical philology—to the study of Latin and Ancient Greek.

At sixteen, I entered Peking University—a place where, in truth, no more than five professors truly grasped metaphysics. Fortunately, until I turned twenty, I was mentored by one among them, one of the distinguished scholars in Spinoza, Kant, Hegel, and Plato.

I remember vividly those arduous years of study, our philosophical debates—debating early and late Wittgenstein, whether Aristotle’s work should be periodized, and constantly being guided by his advice:

“Don’t get lost in the branches of epistemology or ontology. Focus on whether these philosophers are addressing the most fundamental questions. The greatest philosophers each respond, in their own way, to the core challenges of their era.”

This is the dream of my life, and I will dedicate my lifetime to realizing it: to chart a new timeline in the history of philosophy.

I am a man without a home. Yet now, I feel I have finally arrived where I was always meant to be, currently fulfilling what seems like my destined work. As Novalis wrote, “Philosophy is nostalgia, the desire to be at home; the poet’s vocation is to return home.” I have found my home—in Greek philosophy, at Harvard, and in Canada, where I have built a home with my husband.

A philosopher like Wittgenstein could assert that he had lived a “wonderful life”, despite it being marked by psychological torment, cultural displacement, global conflict, and profound suffering.

I understand that Spinoza left the Jewish community for the flourishing, liberating ambiance of Amsterdam, driven by the progressive ideas of the scientific revolution, Cartesian philosophy, the latest theological insights, and the democratic practices of the Netherlands. The advanced thought of the new era was his pulse.

Like him, I’m willing to sacrifice much because I cannot resist the inner calling to discover a truth. I know I cannot help but embrace advancement. I cannot help but persist in seeking wisdom and higher truths.

By the time I turned twenty, I had seen the intellectual ceiling of an entire nation in its study of philosophy and the classics—and I chose to leave. I knew with clarity that the instructor with whom I had clashed was nothing more than a manifestation of necessity.

I am not a weak man. One day, my thoughts finally erupted and changed my entire external environment. In the future, they will do so again—this time, it not only changes mine but also impacts the world. I negotiated with bureaucracy and curbed its inappropriate exercise of power, gaining my rightful recognition and approval to study abroad. At the height of the pandemic, I risked my life to live and study in Rome. Before my journey to Rome, I sat in my hometown, telling my grandparents about the news of the pandemic in Italy, weeping for the distant people suffering in Italy who clung to life amidst the ravages of the pandemic. Yet when I arrived in Rome, in this eternal city, the heart of the ancient Roman Empire and the center of the ancient world’s glory, my long-awaited pilgrimage to a place I had dreamed of, like Winckelmann, German art historian and archaeologist, a pioneering Hellenist, it was I who was cast into a living purgatory, enduring trial after trial, until, through suffering and grace, I was reborn, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. — In the future, in the poetic prose of my autobiography, I will detail my experiences, sufferings and mystical encounters, as well as the deep connection between myself and this ancient, eternal city—most importantly, sharing how I found faith amidst total despair. And from that moment on, I have never faltered in my belief.

Back then, with only six months of Italian—after being trained in Ancient Greek and Latin, Italian came easily—I passed my exams under immense pressure due to embassies shut, flights canceled, and delays threatening everything; I had only one chance. Aut vita aut mors. And I succeeded.

See, Simone can achieve anything. Simone possesses a determined and unyielding idealism that people hardly find in anyone else—one that can overcome any obstacle, even the very weight of the societal environment itself.

On the eve of my departure abroad, with my visa finally secured and my flight imminent, my parents, driven by fear, tried to confine me—much like the family of the Doctor Angelicus, Thomas Aquinas, who once imprisoned him in a tower to prevent his pursuit of a more advanced, reformist theology for an entire year. They locked me in my room, a space overflowing with books that had consoled me through my girlhood insecurities, forbidding me from studying philosophy, from leaving for a broader world, from escaping their control and stepping into a good life that rightfully belongs to me.

But they are not my parents. They are merely those who gave me blood and breath. True family is bound not by birth, but by love—my mentors, Greek philosophy, my Canadian family. My family was outside, waiting.

Yet—after weeks of struggle, I won. Liberty is such a precious gift that, for me, is particularly hard to attain. My life has been marked by so many legends and sacrifices that I cannot help but become someone whose name will endure in the history of philosophy. Once again, fortified barriers and iron-bound mountains—now I’ve successfully crossed them.

I unapologetically believe it, with no doubt: one day, my thoughts will shape the world.

It is the second chapter of the story that holds greater significance, for while the first is about death and negation, the second is about life and meaning.

Chapter Two

Homo liber de nulla re minus quam de morte cogitat et ejus sapientia non mortis sed vitae meditatio est. — Spinoza, E4: PROP. 67.

“A free man thinks of death least of all things; and his wisdom is a meditation not of death but of life.”

My political mentor, Eleni, was born in Argos, Greece, and served as a Member of Parliament in Canada for thirteen years. Prior to that, she spent nearly two decades in public service within the Quebec provincial legislature. She was the first Greek-Canadian elected to Parliament, and also the first Greek-Canadian woman to serve as Parliamentary Secretary to Ministers (equivalent to Deputy Minister for people unfamiliar with the Westminster system) and Assistant Deputy Speaker. She became a source of immense pride for the Greek community (which at the time numbered only 5,000 people) and was a true trailblazer. When she cast her vote in favor of legalizing same-sex marriage in Canada, she was excommunicated by the Greek Orthodox Church. This deeply shocked me and reminded me of Spinoza. Her first job was as an advisor to the Quebec Minister for Immigration and Multiculturalism.

While studying in Europe, I faced severe xenophobia, discrimination, and even physical attacks during the pandemic, no accommodation for my conditions, which ultimately led to my forced transfer to Harvard. This experience has shaped my wish to ensure that others do not encounter similar challenges and that social governance does not deteriorate to such an extent. I believe that as an entrepreneur, you can help thousands, maybe even millions. As a politician, you can impact hundreds of millions. But as a thinker, you don’t just help this generation—you help countless future generations.

I appreciate the life challenges I conquered and my commitment despite the setbacks because without them, I wouldn’t be the one I am today (it is because—the challenges I have faced were not of my own making but from the social environment of that difficult and burdensome time. Yet, it is because of these challenges that I met my husband; because I once experienced racial discrimination and harm in Europe, I became unwavering in my commitment to multiculturalism; because the pandemic made life even harder for many people, I chose to study economics and was dedicated to public service; and because I’ve encountered hardships that many others have not, I can identify more clearly the flaws in the policy and manage overlooked risks, helping to avoid even greater challenges to individuals already disadvantaged by the system, before a crisis escalates. At one point, fate nearly crushed me—during the most difficult period of my life, I didn’t even have a stable desk to study at. But it is precisely because of these struggles that I’m profoundly grateful to still be able to pursue my dreams and make a meaningful impact in these fields.

I once studied the history of European religious wars and ethnic policies, and Alexandria and Rome as ancient multi-ethnic cosmopolitan cities. Before I became a Canadian citizen, I found myself deeply aligned with these ideals (such as accommodation rather than assimilation)—which is my philosophical vision. I plan to explore this theme—it speaks to how people can live together in harmony, how diverse values can coexist, and the living and spiritual realities of a world shaped by multiple deities (multi-deus) and civilizations—in my PhD application, with a purely philosophical approach. I believe that when completed, very few in the world will fully grasp its content. You can read a short article if you’d like, or a longer and more abstract one.

When I spoke to Eleni about my current predicament, the clash between my ideals and the present-day challenges, she said, “Society will change with time”—much like how she was excommunicated from the Church, yet a few years later, the Greek Prime Minister legalised same-sex marriage, and her excommunication was revoked. “Your community will be proud of you.”

In the past, I doubted whether my community would truly take pride in me. After all, throughout my journey, I have shouldered the immense burden of underacknowledgement from society. Few persist when the path becomes more arduous, when rewards and recognition seem even more elusive. Such perseverance can feel akin to a Stoic renunciation—“to love God, yet not hope for God’s return of love” (Spinoza). But after one achievement after another, now, I believe that I can become the pride of certain communities, not all communities, but those of which I, too, recognize myself as a part.

Eleni, though she did not complete her JD at McGill due to her dedication to public service, later surrounded herself with legal experts and professionals when she became Deputy Minister. Not specific legal knowledge; what she needed was keen judgement, and the ability to make decisions that served the common good.

In the context of the university system, I have become more at ease with the idea of possessing or not possessing the highest educational credentials. However, by nature, I have a passion for research, unwavering. I am driven to contribute to the grand edifice of human knowledge, dedicating myself to its advancement. For me, the choice to attend Harvard was not driven by the prestige of the institution, but by the opportunity to work with mentors who can understand me well. Only the best institutions can offer a free and tolerant environment, which is essential for an inquisitive heart. The narrative of elitism pales in comparison to the good and attraction of being guided by a great teacher—especially for someone like me. As the Zhan Guo Ce states: “The emperor associates with his teachers, the king with his friends, the hegemon with his ministers, and the vanquished with their subjugated.” A teacher who imparts wisdom and guidance can help me achieve my dream of “discovering the true essence of the heavens and earth, establishing the mission for the people, carrying forward the wisdom of the ancients, and paving the way for peace and prosperity for all generations.”

My undergraduate years have not been particularly long. Before encountering Russell, Wittgenstein endured nine years of depression, teetering on the edge of suicide. As for me, the emptiness and pain caused by a lack of faith—what I have personally perceived and experienced is the kind of void that is unique to the spiritual condition of our era, from what I precisely suffered—lasted for seven years. Even by the time he published the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus and became one of Europe’s most renowned philosophers, he had not yet completed his undergraduate degree. During that period, he left Cambridge and joined the army in World War I, contemplating God in the trenches. It was Russell who suggested he submit the Tractatus as his doctoral thesis. After his defence, Wittgenstein told his examiners that they would not understand it. Indeed, they said its quality far exceeded the standards of a PhD dissertation. It took him 18 years to graduate.

One could easily refute today’s shallow trends, the obsession with mere diplomas, and the concept of meritocracy in one word: Lincoln had no college degree, nor did Truman or Washington. Leadership is not defined by titles, but by the recognition and respect earned through one’s actions, character, and contributions.

Erdogan holds no degree (though I see him more as an opponent in political philosophy, for that type of political system and ideology, Majoritarian Nationalism, characterized by non-secularism and theocratic governance, stands in stark contrast to Multiculturalism, which represents a form of Pluralistic Nationalism), but we both, in our youth, immersed ourselves in sacred texts. Naturally no because his mission stands in opposition to the so-called Western university system, ideology, and agenda—that is, as he believes, to restore the ancient laws of God for his people. I mention these individuals only to illustrate a kind of “archetype”.

My life today is one I cherish. Many of my peers are wonderful, and my political colleagues are like-minded people. When I speak about political philosophy, Greek and Roman thought, they understand me. They see me as one of their own, someone who can contribute to the governance of Canada. We belong to Canada’s future—a future shaped by the contributions of diverse groups, fostering inclusive prosperity. Canada is not a nation of ethnic nationalism, for it is a country founded on immigration, built upon civic principles of liberty, equality, and liberal democracy. Multiculturalism is its national official policy. As Charles Taylor’s concept of “politics of recognition” profoundly argues, different ethnic groups seek not just equality but recognition of their culture, customs, and communities—many historical grievances stem from a lack of recognition or outright discrimination.

My vision is not defined by the place of my birth. Cosmopolitanism is especially evident in me. In a time when many noble values are being tested, I feel especially compelled to mention and emphasize these things. Challenges lie ahead, but I believe—and am confident—that we can overcome any obstacle and preserve the light for the perhaps impending dark ages.

“The first twenty years of my life were a reflection of what Spinoza described as a sorrowful, meaningless meditation on death—a period when nihilism clouded my worldview, and I wandered in search of truth, lost in a vast ocean without a single piece of land in sight.

Yet today, the narrative of my life has been beautifully rewritten: it has transformed into a hymn to life, a meditation on existence. I have undergone a full cycle of death and rebirth, rising anew from the ashes—a resurrection of the soul. In my heart, I have not only become but also learned to cherish the title of a ‘free person’. The vision of a more inclusive and prosperous world never ceases to motivate me from within.

Spinoza, in his lifetime, was never able to achieve freedom in the physical, worldly sense, nor in thought or speech within a society of his age. But I stand unapologetically before heaven and earth, true to my own soul. I will be a truly free soul, walking freely throughout the world, beneath the vast heavens, and before the tribunal of my own conscience, all while I am alive.”

— Also sprach Simone

Living in Freedom and Truth: Simone’s Inspiration

Explore my thoughts and personal journey, and join me along the extraordinary path I’ll travel.

Contact

zhm249 [at] g.harvard.edu

ztingacademic [at] gmail.com

Inquire. Investigate. Evolve.

Curiosity Sparks Reality.

The troops exulting sat in order round,
And beaming fires illumined all the ground.
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O’er heaven’s pure azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o’ercasts the solemn scene,
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber’d gild the glowing pole,
O’er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain’s head:
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze,
And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays.
The long reflections of the distant fires
Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires.
A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
And shoot a shady lustre o’er the field.
Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
Whose umber’d arms, by fits, thick flashes send,
Loud neigh the coursers o’er their heaps of corn,
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn.

Iliad, VIII, Translated by Alexander Pope