Murder is bad, actually — August 7, 2026

Murder is bad, actually

I see that the accused murderer of Brian Thompson, UnitedHealthcare’s CEO, is about to go on trial. Which is reminding me of the collective insanity that I saw take over this country at the end of 2024 when he murdered Thompson. So I just want to refresh people’s minds here: murder is bad, actually, and no one should do it, even if the object of the murder is someone whom you find personally odious.

But I would like to poke at this for a minute, because none of the arguments for “murder is good, actually” made any sense.

The big-picture reason that people seemed to support his murder was that “the system is broken,” basically. The system is about to burst; and whether or not we like it, we should expect that someone is going to be murdered until…well, fill in your desired endpoint. Until everyone’s getting free health care, I guess? I heard this from multiple people: that while maybe Thompson’s murder was regrettable, it’s the natural endpoint of living in a 21st-century bureaucratic hellscape, where getting the customer-service agent on the phone and yelling at them is just shooting the messenger. So shoot the executive, I guess, is the idea.

First, obviously: shooting Thompson didn’t change anything about health insurance, and it obviously was never going to. Murdering the CEOs of every American insurance company would almost certainly not change anything. It’s entirely possible that an epidemic of insurance-executive murders would lead to a backlash that empowers insurance companies.

Second: I hope we agree that “he’s part of a bad system” is not reason enough to murder a specific person. Was Thompson himself doing evil things? Or just presiding over something we consider evil? How far down the totem pole are we entitled to murder? Murder anyone in the C-suite? Murder the person who reviewed your medical claim and denied it?

Third: don’t we want the sort of society in which we don’t solve problems with violence, and instead use words and laws? If you don’t like the health-insurance system, push to advance some laws. And please don’t be one of those people who declares that healthcare is doomed until capitalism ends. Passing laws is boring. We had high hopes for the Affordable Care Act; a book at the time gave me great confidence that insurance companies were soon going to have the status of regulated public utilities. It didn’t work out that way. But the ACA made life better for a lot of people. Passing laws is boring, I know. Murdering people feels more impressive.

If we’re entitled to murder someone over things we hate, is the other side entitled to do it about things they hate? “The other side already does this,” I’ve heard. E.g., by murdering abortion doctors. I guess the argument is that if they do it and we don’t, then this is just a downward spiral where we always lose.

Is what makes an insurance executive evil that his company sometimes denies claims? Would he not be evil if his company paid for everything that we consider justified, even if the insurance company considered it medically unnecessary?

Is what makes the insurance company evil that it makes profits? Does it make the insurance company less evil that the Affordable Care Act mandates that insurance companies spend the vast majority of their premium income on medical care, and is legally mandated to reimburse any overages to customers?

Let’s take it out of the private-insurance realm. What if Medicare denies a claim? Am I entitled to murder the Administrator of CMS?

Also, let’s take it down to a more microscopic level. Thompson had two children who now lack a father. Someone had to break the news to them that their father was dead. They probably attended his funeral. Do you have children? Can you imagine what that would do to them? Is it okay for it to happen to someone else, because that person is evil and you are not? Is it okay when it happens to someone else because of some vague notion that “the system” is broken and the pressure needs to come out somehow?

This all feels to me like a failure of logic, a failure of morals, and a failure of basic human empathy. It stunned me at the time, and it stuns me now a year and a half later.

Confidential to New Yorkers about your bagels and pizza and so forth: — July 11, 2026
Normie capitalist-apologist urban carless dad blogging: Amazon grocery delivery — July 5, 2026

Normie capitalist-apologist urban carless dad blogging: Amazon grocery delivery

Amazon obviously doesn’t need my endorsement; they’d be doing fine even if I never said that #actually they’re pretty good. But…it was Friday evening, and we were going to be having people over on the 4th for barbecuing and cocktaillery and such, so I placed a Whole Foods order at 9:57pm, and it was delivered to my apartment before 8am on Saturday. That’s magic. I expected that something about the process would break: maybe, at the moment I placed the order, it would turn out that there were no slots for early on the 4th, because everyone else had the same idea that I did. Or maybe, at the moment that they started shopping for groceries for me, there would be no Beyond Beef on the shelves, because—again—everyone else had the same idea. But no! Everything came to my door just fine!

This included, incidentally, 1.75 liters of Bulleit bourbon and a nice bottle of Amaro Nonino, with which to make slushy paper planes. I would have gotten Aperol through Whole Foods as well, but I gather that it doesn’t live up to whatever their food standards are: maybe an unnatural coloring agent? In any event, I order most alcohol that I need through Whole Foods, which makes me wonder how something like Drizly could ever have survived; they used to have some sort of leg up in alcohol delivery, but now they very much don’t.

We started using Whole Foods delivery in earnest—like so many other people did—during Covid. Then we had kids. Before I had kids, maybe I would have sneered at people who ordered diaper cream or baby wipes for delivery, but it was awfully handy to not have to leave a baby’s side when the need for a grocery occurred to me.

It’s also just very handy to do grocery delivery when the alternative for me—a non-driver—is walking 15 minutes to the grocery store, loading up a granny cart (or the excellent baby stroller we used to use), and then schlepping 15 minutes back home. And we’re quite lucky with our grocery-store situation: within a short walk of us there’s a Whole Foods, a Trader Joe’s, a Shaw’s, and until recently a Foodie’s. Folks in the suburbs seem to be used to loading a child or two into a carseat, driving to the store, driving back, etc.; as a pedestrian, I’d just rather not, especially during the winter.

Whole Foods has arguably gotten worse since Amazon took it over, so I reserve the right to throw out my praise of Amazon and Whole Foods in the future. And I don’t really understand how the Whole Foods business model (put a lot of beautiful produce on shelves in artful display) continues to exist when (to my eye) most of the people doing the shopping in the store are doing it for people who get groceries delivered: wouldn’t you think that they’d cut out the store and just have robots pick things in warehouses? Nevertheless, it persists for now, and I for one would like to give a shout out to Whole Foods for making this part of my life a little easier.

Brief thoughts on patriotism — July 2, 2026

Brief thoughts on patriotism

I would say that among my demographic, the primary attitude toward the United States is doomerism: everything sucks, Trump showed that the country is filled with fascists, our best days are behind us, etc.

I think

  1. That’s wrong
  2. This is a great country
  3. What we have is primarily a problem of leadership; remember how great you felt about the country right after Obama was elected? (e.g.)
  4. A lot of small-bore tweaks (like getting rid of the filibuster or eliminating gerrymandering—hard, but not anything about the “soul of the country” or whatever) could have outsize effects
  5. Don’t confuse the people with their politicians
  6. (Sort of a combination of the preceding two) Don’t confuse the people, in their souls, with the institutions, technologies, etc. that bring us together. Yes, “the Internet is just people,” and so in some sense the things you dislike about the Internet are just the things you dislike about people. But the way the Internet is packaged up and served to us today isn’t a necessary fact. We could change it, and doing so would probably change the way we behave toward one another. All of which is to say that we might be confusing American disunity with social-media-driven hateslop. (This is far from a novel observation, of course.) A friend reminds me that it’s similar to cars: they make people into assholes, in a way that we aren’t when we’re pedestrians. Don’t confuse the technology with the people using it.
  7. The assholes don’t get to own patriotism or the flag
  8. If you’re looking for a concise way of expressing the variety of American patriotism worth having, Ani DiFranco probably has you covered.
🎶The things we did for porn🎶 — June 13, 2026

🎶The things we did for porn🎶

I feel like people who grew up with today’s Internet—even some older folks—aren’t aware of what we had to do back in the day if we wanted to consume “porn.” I put that in quotes because, by the modern standard whereby porn is practically wallpaper, what we had to look at was remarkably tame. (This may have also been because I was a young teenager when this all was happening.)

It’s also just a nice object lesson, I think, in what happens under conditions of scarcity. I don’t mean to suggest for a moment that omnipresent porngraphy is a good thing—I very much think that it is not—but rather that scarce pornography shares a lot of similarities with, for instance, scarce music. Perhaps the people reading this blog remember an era when we listened to music on CDs. I would buy a few CDs per month, on average, then excitedly run home, remove their shrink wrap, and begin to consume every available bit of text in the liner notes. Sometimes this meant that I could read the lyrics as I listened to the songs. Other times there would just be funny stuff in the liner notes; I still remember the annotation to Béla Fleck and the Flecktones’ album Live Art, specifically to the version of “UFO Tofu” on there: it contained the palindrome “May a moody baby doom a yam?”

All of which is to say that scarcity made you (or made me, anyway) really cherish the scarce thing. I can get more or less any song I want today [1], so any individual song is not very special. I probably pay less attention to any particular song than I did 30-some years ago. When 3 or 4 CDs’ worth of new music was my monthly allocation, I cared a lot more about each lovingly curated tune.

So let’s talk about the conditions of porn scarcity we lived with in the early 1990s. First, and most importantly, was probably bandwidth. When I started using BBSes, circa 1991, I was on a 2400-bit-per-second modem. A one-megabyte GIF of a boob, at that speed, would take about an hour to download. The v.34 modem standard came out around 1996, allowing 33,600 bits per second, which would allow us to download our one-megabyte GIF in about 4 minutes.

The limited bandwidth intersected with limits on phone lines. We all had one phone line per household, apart from the occasional home—which I perceived as unfathomably wealthy—that had a second one. If I wanted to connect to the Internet, I had to use my modem to dial out, thereby preventing anyone else in the house from making a call. Back then, voicemail was a premium service for which you paid extra; many people just had an answering machine. So then if someone called your house during the four minutes it took to download your picture of a boob, they’d get a busy signal and be unable to leave a message. Your pursuit of tame-by-21st-century-standards pornography might mean that your parents missed out on the job offer they were waiting for.

As for pornographic video, my mental model back then was that it chewed through one megabyte per second. So a one-minute video would be 60 megabytes, which would take around 4 hours to download on our super-high-speed v.34 modem. So videos were completely out of the question.

Let’s focus, then, on a low-quality GIF of boobies, since that’s basically all we could look at.

First off, you couldn’t look at that low-quality GIF of a boob on the web; this was all before the first major web browser. The web itself may have existed, but most people weren’t using it. We were getting all our files over newsgroups or email.

But it gets worse! If you used email, you couldn’t use attachments until 1996. Before then, if you wanted to attach a low-quality GIF of some boobies to an email, you needed to convert it to raw ASCII using uuencode, which you could then paste into the email body.

“Are we done yet?” you might be asking. No! Because emails couldn’t be too large: we needed to split the attachments across multiple emails. I don’t recall whether this was a limitation in the email protocols available at the time (SMTP, POP, and sometimes IMAP), or whether it was a concession to slow modem speeds and limited network reliability: better to succeed at downloading 1/4 of a GIF than try downloading the whole thing, fail, and have nothing to show for it.

So now we’ve downloaded a number of emails with subject lines like “Photo of a boob (1/8)”, “Photo of a boob (2/8)”, and so forth. They’re each a jumble of ASCII. Now copy each one to the clipboard and paste it into a raw-text file. Repeat this eight times. Now you have a single large text file. Run it through uudecode, and you’re done! Now you have the boobies you sought.

I’ll grant, of course, that normal people didn’t do this. Normal people didn’t know about newsgroups or uuencode/uudecode. Normal people didn’t start using the Internet until Mosaic came out, at the earliest. That said, I don’t think I was alone in squinting at scrambled premium cable TV on the (very) off chance that a boob would slip through. I would also saunter into my neighborhood convenience store, veeeeery casually look at the racks of magazines, grab one off the rack, and run out with it. You’ll hear lots of stories, from lads of my generation, about finding magazines and books hiding under their parents’ mattresses or sitting in their parents’ nightstands. They’d be passed around like samizdat. Uuencoded samizdat was just another approach to the same thing.

I don’t know why I thought this might interest people. Mostly, I think, because it was only ever the domain of a small group of nerds in the early 1990s. Others may be abstractly aware that the Internet was slower back in the day, but they may not understand exactly how this translated into the lived experience of a horny 13-year-old. Now they do.

[1]—With the exception, I regret to say, of Elvis Costello’s “Cheap Reward (Honky Tonk Demo),” which is one of my favorite songs of his and is seemingly only available to you if you can get your hands on the physical album. It’s also no longer possible to listen to Stephen Colbert sing that demo, with Elvis on guitar, back when Elvis was a guest on The Colbert Report. Neither here nor there, I guess; this is just one of the sadnesses I carry with me.

Math isn’t about “getting the right answer” — May 27, 2026

Math isn’t about “getting the right answer”

This is really just my way of endorsing, from whichever mountaintop I’m able to yell it from, the book A Mathematician’s Lament. It sings to my soul, and it informs a lot of how I think about both education and math. If you’ve ever felt like the mathematics education you got was boring, and focused on fiddly little details that bled the topic of any beauty at all, Paul Lockhart agrees with you, and his book will expand on this belief of yours until you, hopefully, also feel him singing directly to you.

Today I want to focus just on one small portion of the argument–which maybe Lockhart doesn’t even make; I’m relying on the version of his book that resides in my soul, and I’m not going to go look at the text to find out if it’s there (though a quick Cmd+F says that the phrase “right answer” doesn’t apppear in it). The thing to say is that mathematics isn’t about getting the right answer. Or, more carefully: yes, given a set of premises, and given the laws of logic, the premises will either lead to a specified conclusion or they won’t. But:

  1. The premises matter. That’s the point–or what should be the point–of “word problems,” which everyone seems to hate, even though they’re the whole mathematical ball game. It matters which assumptions we make. Some assumptions don’t line up with the thing you’re trying to model.
  2. There’s loads of very abstruse mathematical formalism, all the way down to set theory and probably even further down into levels that I don’t know. Mathematical novices presumably look at these levels and say, “Well, surely that level is locked in. Surely we don’t have any choice how we define numbers or circles or whatever, right?”

This is how my daughter came home from school one day and told me that circles have zero sides.

Now, I’m not going to tell you that it’s wrong that circles have zero sides. What I am going to tell you is that you should be having a discussion about how many sides a circle has. Yes, of course I understand what people mean when they say that a circle has zero sides: basically, I think (challenge me on this!), a side is a thing where, if you move your finger along the perimeter of the shape, you’re changing the angle of your finger a bit. A square has four sides because you move your finger along, make a 90-degree turn, and repeat that same two-step 3 more times. The turning of the finger is what makes it a side, right? So a circle, which you move along continuously without ever really turning your finger–or turning it so imperceptibly that you may as well not be turning at all–has zero sides, right?

Illustration of the method of exhaustion via 3-, 4,..., 8-sided regular polygons

Sure, that’s one possibility. Another possibility is that a circle has infinitely many sides. The way to look at this is to inscribe a triangle inside a circle, then a square, then a regular pentagon, regular hexagon, regular heptagon, and regular octagon. You can see that as the number of sides increases, the inscribed shape gets closer and closer to the circle. If you inscribed a 20-sided shape, it would look very close to a circle. If you let the number of sides increase without bound, it would look exactly like a circle. This is known as the “method of exhaustion”.

My point here isn’t that the method of exhaustion is the right way to think about this. I can see why people would think that a circle has zero sides. The point is the argument. The point is that mathematics is a way of thinking, and it’s a creative endeavor, and it is not a set of perfect little truths handed down from on high. If you can argue convincingly that, for your particular use case, a circle should have zero sides, have at it. As Lockhart says somewhere in his books (Measurement is also very good), mathematics is a creative endeavor, like storytelling, and the stories you’re constructing don’t need to have anything to do with anything in the real world. But one of the fun things about math is that, once you’ve chosen a place where your stories start, you’ve somewhat tied your own hands: what your characters do early in the story constrains what they do later. If you tell me that a circle has zero sides, that’s your right, but then you’ve locked yourself in later.

My wife made the very reasonable point that you can’t expect children to understand this. And you can’t leave the mathematical sky wide open for them; they need to have some answers to build from. The blunter way she’s put this at other times is that “This is why our kids are going to hate you when it comes time for them to take math tests.”

I worry that that’s the crux of the matter, and that that’s how people come to hate math: this generation says “Well, the story may be more complicated and beautiful than the teachers let on, but you’ve got to pass the test.” Mathematics, for most people, is the thing that they learn so that they can pass the test, nothing more. And that’s how people end up finding it dull, dry, and lifeless. (Something similar, incidentally, probably explains why a lot of people don’t read any books at all after books stop being assigned in school. Why read a book if all the life will be drained out of it?)

Maybe it’s too much to hope that your and my kids will get in arguments with their teachers, trying to defend the idea that a circle has infinitely many sides and that something like this is at the heart of calculus. If nothing else, your kids should go let Lockhart stiffen their spines.

Long time no see! Here’s a brisket recipe. — April 21, 2026

Long time no see! Here’s a brisket recipe.

Hello everyone! It has been a while. It’s been 8 years, basically. Things that have changed since then:

  • I’ve had two kids.
  • I have less time to read than I did in 2018 (see the part about the kids, just above)

Things that were true in 2018 that I might not have remarked upon at the time:

  • I’m married (see above about the kids)
  • I’m vegetarian (that started in 2010 or 2011)
  • We celebrate Passover

All of this is connected. And I’ve wrapped everything up with a very nice bow below: my wife hacked together an absolutely delicious brisket recipe that hits a lot of the same notes as meaty brisket, while being totally veg. The world needs to know about this, goddammit. I’ve included it below.

I’ll write more, probably about books, soon. One of my hopes (it feels a bit precious to call them “resolutions”) is that I’ll get to write more this year. I had Claude Code put together a git-and-vim based Markdown workflow for posting to WordPress, which I hope will reduce the friction in writing and posting. So: more soon, with any luck.

The Ultimate Vegetarian “Umami-Bomb” Brisket


Ingredients

The Aromatics & Vegetables

  • 3 lbs Yellow Onions: Halved and sliced 1/4 inch thick (about 8 medium).
  • 1 lb Mushrooms: Preferably Shiitake or Cremini (Baby Bella), quartered.
  • 1 to 1.5 lbs Carrots: Peeled and cut into large 2-inch chunks.
  • 10 cloves Garlic: 6 cloves smashed, 4 cloves thinly sliced.
  • Oil: 3–4 tbsp neutral vegetable oil.

The Umami & Tomato Concentrates

  • 2 tbsp Tomato Paste: (For thickness and deep savory flavor).
  • 1 cup Tomato Puree: (For the classic “brisket” tang).
  • 2 tbsp White or Yellow Miso Paste: (The fermented salt component).
  • 2 tbsp Soy Sauce or Tamari: (For the “beefy” dark color).

The Braising Liquids & Spices

  • 3.5 cups Water (or low-sodium beef-flavored vegetarian broth).
  • 1 cup Dry Red Wine (e.g., Cabernet or Merlot).
  • 2 tbsp Balsamic Vinegar.
  • 1.5 tbsp Brown Sugar or Date Syrup.
  • 1 tsp Smoked Paprika.
  • 1/2 tsp Dried Thyme.
  • 2 Bay Leaves.
  • Black Pepper: Generous amounts of freshly ground.

Other:

  • Beyond Meat Steak Tips

Instructions

1. The Long Onion Melt (45 Minutes)

Heat oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-low. Add onions and a pinch of salt. Cook for 40–45 minutes, stirring occasionally. They should be dark, jammy, and sweet. If they stick, deglaze with a splash of water and scrape the bottom.

2. The Mushroom & Garlic Base (10 Minutes)

Add mushrooms and the 6 smashed garlic cloves. Increase heat to medium. Sauté until mushrooms are browned and have shrunk significantly.

3. The Double-Tomato Caramelization (10 Minutes)

Add the 2 tbsp tomato paste, 1 cup tomato puree, 4 sliced garlic cloves, smoked paprika, thyme, and black pepper.

  • The Goal: Stir frequently for about 8–10 minutes. You want the tomato paste and puree to “fry” together until they turn a dark, rusty brick-red and become very thick. This removes the “raw” tomato taste and develops deep umami.

4. The Deglaze

Pour in red wine and balsamic vinegar. Scrape the bottom of the pot thoroughly. Let it bubble for 3–5 minutes until the sharp smell of alcohol is gone.

5. The Hard Reduction (60–90 Minutes)

Add water, sugar/syrup, and bay leaves. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a steady simmer. Leave the lid off.

  • At 45 minutes of simmering: Add the large carrot chunks.
  • Continue simmering until the liquid is reduced by about 50% and looks like a rich, glossy gravy.

6. The Final Umami Whisk

Whisk in the miso paste and soy sauce. Taste the sauce. It should be savory, “beefy,” and slightly sweet from the onions.

7. Adding the Faux Meat

  • Beyond Steak: If time, sear from frozen separately and then add in the final few minutes only to reheat.
A brief observation about Max Weber (hottest of takes) — July 29, 2018

A brief observation about Max Weber (hottest of takes)

There’s a weird disconnect between the most widely read of Max Weber’s works, and what I understand to be the most influential. Granted that I’m not a professional sociologist, but most of what I see cited among Weber’s works are “Politics as a Vocation,” containing Weber’s famous definition of a state as a human community claiming a monopoly over legitimate violence in a defined area; and “Bureaucracy,” which contains Weber’s description of the modern civil service and contrasts it with older forms of government where people claim office through, for instance, family relationships. (By the way, I’m not sure if I ever endorsed Francis Fukuyama’s The Origins of Political Order and Political Order and Political Decay. They take those two essays of Weber’s as their starting point, and they’re really exceptional books—the first more than the second.)

All of which is to say that the works of Weber’s that people still care about are those which map out the functioning of modern government in industrial democracies, whereas the main work of Weber’s that everyone is expected to know is The Protestant Ethic. The thing about The Protestant Ethic is that it’s not very good. At best it feels like an observation about a historical curiosity: this particular thing (the Industrial Revolution) happened in these specific societies (Protestant ones), but not in these others (Catholic ones, or in Asia) during this specific window of time (the early 1800s). So what? Other nations (Japan and South Korea, say) have also industrialized, with vastly different backgrounds. Protestant Ethic has some things going for it, among them that it contrasts the intentions of the individual actors with the aggregate outcome of their behaviors: early-modern Protestants practiced thrift and worked hard for religious reasons, and as an unintended side effect they produced the Industrial Revolution. Even if the substance of the argument is wrong, there’s some value in that way of thinking—the same way we often hear that even if Freud is wrong, it was still novel to discover a subconscious. On the other hand, Adam “Invisible Hand” Smith was already contrasting the intentions of the actors with their aggregate outcomes, so this alone wouldn’t be novel in The Protestant Ethic.

In any case, my sense is that Weber’s real long-lasting impact comes from his mapping the structure of modern bureaucratized industrial democracies, not from a (seems to me) rather fanciful story about the origins of the Industrial Revolution. Yet when I told a friend recently that I was reading the classic sociologists, including Weber, but that I was specifically not reading the Protestant Ethic (having read it previously), he arched his eyebrow and gave me a funny look. My hunch is that sociologists would support my approach.

Something similar, it seems to me, is the case with Kafka: the word “Kafkaesque” is normally used to describe interactions with a faceless nightmare state, because the Kafka that people are thinking of there is his story “The Trial”. But the only Kafka that people are assigned in school is “The Metamorphosis”. I wonder how often this sort of mismatch between popularity and import happens.

A quick note on what seems like a misuse of history — July 8, 2018

A quick note on what seems like a misuse of history

I’m working backwards through my podcast queue, having for a couple reasons developed quite a backlog, so I just got to Ezra Klein’s discussion with Yascha Mounk about whether American democracy is in decline. The discussion is worth listening to, but Klein makes an argument that I’ve heard often and that just seems wrong. The argument is basically that if you’re looking at this period in American history and calling it out as singularly bad (because Trump, say), you’re ignoring the vast swathes of American history that have been much worse. Even going back to the 60s, says Klein, we had political leaders (JFK, MLK, Malcolm X, Medgar Evers) being assassinated, we had riots in the streets, and we had Nixon elected in part on a promise to fight lawlessness.

Now, what do you do with this argument? One approach is to ask: if American democracy is in decline, what is that decline relative to? If it’s relative to the 1960s, then maybe we can argue that it’s not in decline, because it’s never been particularly strong. Maybe, in fact, it’s stronger than it was back then.

Sort of a corollary to that argument is: times have been bad before, and we survived those. We’re supposed to infer from this that we’ll survive this particular era of badness.

This sort of reasoning always rubs me the wrong way, and I hear variants on it a lot. George W. Bush was bad, say, and there were those of us (I was certainly among them) who believed for a time that he and Cheney wouldn’t allow themselves to be removed from office. In retrospect that was a paranoid view. Now here we are under the Trump administration, which certainly feels like an era when the U.S. could turn authoritarian. “But you thought the same thing in the Bush Administration,” the argument goes, “and you were wrong then. Doesn’t that make you think you’re wrong now?”

Well, maybe. If nothing else, maybe it should make me question my authoritarian-dar. But there’s no historical law that says “When the level of authoritarian badness is below some threshold x, we have nothing to fear.” And there’s no historical law that says “If our political leaders aren’t being assassinated, U.S. government will survive.”

Maybe you can assemble some notion of historical law, by which when x, y, and z happen, then outcome O is really likely. I’m not sure I reject the possibility of historical law altogether—maybe I do, maybe I don’t—but I certainly have strong doubts that we finite humans know what those laws are. And normally when people advance the “it was worse in the past, and we got through it” argument, as Klein did, they’re not even reaching for a historical law. They have no causal reason to believe that circumstances x, y, and z always (or even often) lead to outcome O. They only have correlation to point to: x, y, and z happened, and as it happens our government also survived it. That’s a very slender reed upon which to support the notion that we’ll get through this era unscathed.

As time has gone on, I’ve come to expect less “use” from history. History is what the mathematicians call an “existence proof”. For instance: we lived through an era when African-Americans fighting for basic access to American democracy were being murdered with impunity in the South, when political leaders were being assassinated with frightening regularity, and when it felt like the political consensus that had bound the United States for decades was coming apart at the seams—and we survived it. Conclusion: it’s possible to survive those things. It’s not guaranteed that we’ll survive those things. The fact that we survived those things doesn’t even make our survival in the future more likely. It just makes our survival possible.

All that said: if you need to treat history as a machine that deterministically churns toward your desired outcome, because that’s what you need psychologically to make it through the day, by all means use that. For me, though, the uses we put history to often feel like facts about our own brains rather than facts about the way the world works.

Recent Reads, 2018-07-04 — July 4, 2018

Recent Reads, 2018-07-04

  • Enrico Moretti, The New Geography of Jobs

    Combines a popularization of some economic theory—of the sort that you’d read in Fujita, Krugman, and Venables, for instance—with the sort of boilerplate that you’d expect out of any popular work of economics nowadays. The author has to travel to see how Innovation is being done in various cities, for instance. This is all just filler. The author is an economist in good standing, and Krugman himself seemed to like it, so who am I to say that it’s underwhelming?

    The basic premise is that we’re being sorted into thriving cities and failing cities, and that this sorting is self-reinforcing: people move to where other college graduates are, for instance, which only reinforces the strength of cities that already contain a lot of college graduates. As a big Boston booster, I’m happy about this. I’m unsure in a couple directions, though. First, the book makes some pretty strong conclusions about San Francisco, Boston, and New York, and on the other side about Detroit and Flint. But what about cities whose economic future is less certain, like Pittsburgh? Other than that these cities are teetering on a knife’s edge, which could lead them to either of two disparate futures, I don’t know what to conclude. As Moretti mentions at one point, economists have a term for this: “multiple equilibria”. For our purposes, this just means that self-reinforcing processes can either lead to self-reinforcing success or self-reinforcing failure. It’s probably good that Moretti didn’t try to make any predictions about the Pittsburghs of the world; predictions are above his pay grade.

    A second question concerns what we’re to do with his Seattle-versus-Albuquerque example. Microsoft was established in Albuquerque but soon moved to Seattle, with fateful consequences for the economic success of the latter city. Albuquerque continues to linger in the doldrums. Seattle rose from a backwater to where it is today.

    So what does that all tell us about Detroit? Is Detroit today like Seattle before Microsoft?

    Maybe the answer is ¯_(ツ)_/¯.

  • Timothy Snyder, The Road to Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America

    The main thing I took away from this book is that we can only have a functioning democracy if our institutions support a basic respect for the truth. Putin succeeds by destroying the very concept of an objective reality, and by brazenly lying in front of everyone. The connection with Donald Trump is clear, and terrifying.

    This book also pretty firmly cemented for me the idea that Trump is directly in the thrall of the Russian government.

  • Norbert Wiener, God & Golem, Inc.

    I didn’t really understand what was going on here. I also didn’t really understand what was going on in Wiener’s more-technical book Cybernetics. The thing about Wiener is that he’s one of the 20th century’s most brilliant scientists and mathematicians, with a beautiful Victorian style. Ideas that are seemingly quite obvious to him are not obvious at all to his readers, or at least this one.

  • Tim Weiner, One Man Against the World: The Tragedy of Richard Nixon

    I’ve read quite a number of books about Nixon now: All the President’s Men, of course, about the Watergate coverup, and then the same authors’ The Final Days, about the collapse of the Nixon White House that followed on the final Watergate revelations; and then John Dean’s yeoman-like The Nixon Defense, which gets down to the nitty-gritty of what Nixon said exactly when, on which tapes.

    No book before Weiner’s, in my experience, even approaches his skill at connecting the Vietnam War to Watergate. The paranoia of the Nixon White House comes through on every page, and we see the bombing of Indochina escalate in lockstep with the man’s rapid mental decay. I can’t recommend this book strongly enough, both for its important historical clarifications and because it’s written with the driving force of a novel.

  • Kate Manne, Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny

    This is an astoundingly poorly written book. That’s a shame, because the fundamental premise deserves to be more widely understood: misogyny isn’t about individual people being misogynists. Misogyny, in Manne’s telling, is about what happens when men believe that women owe them something—for instance, affection, or sexual favors, or housework—and that expectation is violated. To quote her list of gender-coded possessions:

    Hers to give (feminine-coded goods and services): attention, affection, admiration, sympathy, sex, and children (i.e., social, domestic, reproductive, and emotional labor); also mixed goods, such as safe haven, nurture, security, soothing, and comfort; versus His for the taking (masculine-coded perks and privileges): power, prestige, public recognition, rank, reputation, honor, “face,” respect, money and other forms of wealth, hierarchical status, upward mobility, and the status conferred by having a high-ranking woman’s loyalty, love, devotion, etc.

    Manne takes this very expansive definition and lets it encompass even such seemingly trivial behaviors as mansplaining. She also counts it as misogyny if your wife cheats on you and you attack the other man:

    when this sense is challenged, thwarted, violated, or threatened, this is often the trigger for misogyny toward her—or, in some cases, violence against male rivals who have trespassed on his supposed property. He might also seize what he thinks he is owed by her: that is, what he is supposed to have been given by a woman, and what is then supposed to be his for the taking.

    Call that misogyny if you will. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem like misogyny. Manne would probably deny my right, as a male, to tell her what is and isn’t misogyny, so do what you will with this.

    Only if you really enjoy reading lifeless academic prose should you bother with this book. I expect that Manne, in making the rounds of the book-tour circuit, will either talk about this book on a podcast or write up a blog post about it; it would be better to find one of those and save yourself the aggravation of reading this book.

  • G.A. Cohen, If You’re an Egalitarian, How Come You’re So Rich?

    Cohen charts his migration from Marxist to Rawlsian and back to a position that nicely mixes Christianity with Rawls. He argues that you can’t be as indifferent to the individual moral behaviors of individual humans as Rawls would have it—that you need to take something from Christian teaching, and care about the inner life of the human as well. Merely building a basic structure, à la Rawls or Marx, isn’t enough. Merely building a just society isn’t enough; you need to give away much of what you own, as well.

    There’s also something to Cohen’s argument structure that I find enjoyable here. He’ll periodically stop to sketch out an argument of Rawls’s or Marx’s, and write it down in precise “if A then B” form. He intersperses this blueprint-drawing with delightful anecdotes from his own upbringing in Canada and the U.K. This is one of the nicer combinations of abstract philosophizing and real human-interest story that I’ve ever read.

    I moved on from here to Cohen’s Marx’s Theory of History. Somewhat similar structure, but certainly more rigorous and less breezy. I’ve found it slow going.

  • Abraham Pais, Subtle is the Lord: The Science and the Life of Albert Einstein

    I barely understood a word of this. It’s a hardcore scientific biography. If you’re not clear on what a covariant and a contravariant tensor are (and I’m not), then this book will make no sense to you. I’m sure it’s great if you have the right background.

  • Quinn Slobodian, Globalists: The End of Empire and the Birth of Neoliberalism

    As Slobodian tells it, neoliberalism wasn’t born to remove the shackles of government from the market. Instead, it was born to build a protective shield around the market—to protect the market from the twin ravages of nationalism and democracy. As the World Wars ended, empires fell, and a new order had to be established by which free trade would be allowed to function between the newly established states. Meanwhile, the people demanded protection from the market. How could capitalism continue to function when subjected to these new stresses? The market needed to be walled off from democracy. It needed a constitution, by which the people’s ability to interfere with economic order would be strictly controlled.

    This book should probably be read alongside Eichengreen’s brilliant Globalizing Capital. That book maps out what happens to governments as democracy ascends; they no longer have the power to defend exchange rates at all costs, and now must use some of their resources to provide for their people. The gold standard fell away precisely because governments had to listen more to their people. I suspect Slobodian would say that exactly this sort of populism is what scared Hayek and the other fathers of neoliberalism.

  • James Comey, A Higher Loyalty

    Worth reading, if only because everyone talks about it and few people read it. It’s good to be one of the people who actually knows what he or she is talking about.

    I certainly left the book feeling a lot better about Comey than I did before I went in. He paints his career with the FBI as being essentially about preserving the agency’s reputation at all costs. He’s an institutionalist, and he asks us to judge all his actions relative to that goal. The main reason everyone hates him is that he announced to the world, mere days before the election of 2016, that the FBI would be reopening its investigation into Hillary Clinton’s emails. In his telling, he had no choice: had he not told the world about the reopened investigation, after having previously declared that investigation closed, the FBI would be accused of having withheld important information from the American public just before an election.

    If nothing else, it certainly seems that Comey was in a no-win situation. So if nothing else, I have sympathy for the position the man was in.

  • Tim Wu, The Attention Merchants: The Epic Scramble to Get Inside Our Heads

    This is an enjoyable history of 20th- and 21st-century media, framing radio and television and the Internet as, essentially, technologies that trade in a limited currency called “attention”.

  • Bill Browder, Red Notice: A True Story of High Finance, Murder, and One Man’s Fight for Justice

    This is the story of how Browder became the largest foreign investor in Russia and got himself kicked out of the country. We know Browder today because the Russian government tortured and killed Browder’s tax accountant, Sergei Magnitsky. Browder spent months fighting the Obama administration to pass the Magnitsky Act, by which those involved in Magnitsky’s death lose their assets held abroad.

    This book tells the story of Browder’s rise to wealth, the agonizing death of his friend, and of Browder’s fight to ensure that his friend’s death wasn’t in vain. I couldn’t put it down.