For the last year or so, left-leaning UK voters have been subjected to the looming nightmare that Reform – a bunch of xenophobes and welfare-state-slashers – might form the next government. There has been very little silver lining to this. The one bit of schadenfreude to be gleaned is the impending annihilation of the Conservatives as an electoral force. For someone (like me) who grew up in the 80s, this is really quite the thing – even if what they come to be replaced by might be even worse.

It is becoming more and more up for question, though, whether Reform are replacing the Tories at all, or merely reinventing them under a new name. There are two elements to this. First, as Reform realises it might have to govern soon, it is walking back some of the more batshit elements of its programme (though many remain!), and at least attempting to talk the talk of administrative competence. It is moving closer in several respects, that is, to a more conventional Tory position, even as the Tories lurch to the right. Second, recall that one of Reform’s major structural problems is a lack of would-be MPs and ministers who are in any way competent. The people who have been elected as local councillors have made them a continual laughing-stock.

To some extent this hole is being plugged by constant defections of former Tory ministers (no, I’m not claiming these people are competent! But they are trumpeted, at least, as showing the party has experience and gravitas). But every former Tory minister who joins (today it was Nadeem Zahawi, tomorrow who knows?) raises the question of whether Reform are killing the Tories, or saving them by giving them a new flag to wrap themselves in. Would a Reform government be, in personnel and to some degree in platform, that distinguishable from the kind of Tory government Truss might have led if she hadn’t gone down in flames so quickly?

This also prompts questions about whether the continual defections of prominent Tories to the party might, at some point, be noticed by some of their prospective voters. Reform holds together a fractious coalition of voters, many of whom do not consider themselves Conservatives and might indeed hate the Conservatives (it is, remember, a protest party above all, and protest parties are not meant to be fond of people who have until recently spent years in government). As more and more Tory grandees join the ranks, might the coalition start to fracture?

I’ve been asked by a couple of friends, who have signed contracts to write nonfiction trade books, whether I have any advice on how to make sure the book gets written. I think in general non-fiction trade writing is quite a different challenge from academic writing, which I discussed here in 2022, when I was working on Limitarianism. But how does one actually make sure the writing gets done, especially if one has a job (academic or otherwise) that already consumes more than 40 hours a week and is prone to procrastination?

Here are some lessons I learnt while working on my book from the Fall of 2022 till the Summer of 2023.

First, yes, one needs dedicated time set apart. I was on leave when I wrote my book (which, under the Dutch system, is actually just holidays one has saved up for many years, but that’s a discussion for another day). I cannot imagine how I would have written the book otherwise, in such a short timeframe. To make things worse, the interest of publishers was so great (with the translation rights for half a dozen languages already sold before I started to work on the book full-time), that I felt daunted. And then, for the first time in my life, I had writer’s block. I was scared I had entered a world (–it’s an industry, really–) where I wasn’t sure I could deliver, and I was freezing. [click to continue…]

In political epistemology, there is a lot of criticism of the metaphor of the “marketplace of ideas,” the thought that people somehow “trade” in arguments or ideas and thereby arrive at true beliefs.* The longer you think about it, the less sense it makes. Ideas come in networks, not as separately tradeable items; “trading” suggests that you don’t have any deep connection to the ideas in question, and if people follow the profit motive, or look for entertainment, rather than search for truth, why expect that somehow, truth would mysteriously result from the process?

But what, then, would be a better metaphor for thinking about processes in which people change their minds, coming to accept new views or arguments? Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the metaphor of moving – in the sense of changing residence, relocating. The verb functions most beautifully (of the languages I know) in Dutch, where verhuizen means something like “re-housing;” French is similar with déménager, where ménage is the household. In my native German, you us the same word, umziehen, as for changing clothes – strange enough once you start thinking about it…

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Over the past few days I’ve found myself mulling the question of whether AI will destroy art and literature. Initially, I found myself comforted by a thought, articulated by Carrie Jenkins on bluesky, that since the value of art lies not simply in the product but in the process of its creation, art will survive intact. When I contemplate Van Gogh’s Starry Night, I’m not just considering a decontextualized pretty object such as an AI might produce, but something that results from human intention, contemplation and struggle and which flows from a life and its roots. So far, so good.

I was moved to think of Marx’s contrast in The Results of the Immediate Process of Production between Milton, who “produced Paradise Lost as a silkworm produces silk, as the activation of his own nature” and “the literary proletarian of Leipzig who produces books, such as compendia on political economy”. (See Capital vol 1, Penguin edition, p. 1044). The literary proletarian may be threatened by AIs, which can churn out such compendia, or perhaps boilerplate romantic fiction, but a Milton is not. But on further reflection, I think this is a mistake. Not that “Miltons” will entirely disappear but they will be oddities, isolates, like Sabato Rodia who built the Watts Towers.

The thing is, people do value products for their instrisic characteristics, divorced from the histories of the creation and creators. When people go to IKEA to buy a nice lamp or a rug, they are mostly indifferent to who has produced it: they want something that looks good, is affordable, and works. And AI can produce this, thereby depriving thousands of equivalents of the “literary proletarian” of their livelihoods. Sure, a few people might pay a premium for an Anni Albers-designed rug (and more for an original), but most will settle to adorn their home with an AI-produced knock-off at a fraction of the price.

The trouble is, that the elimination of the literary proletarians doesn’t simply leave the Miltons standing, unscathed. Mostly, art does not just emerge from a random genius popping up and producing great works but from a milieu which provides a context and an infrastructure. A network of other producers but also critics, dealers, suppliers, teachers. I believe Howard Becker writes about this in his book Art Works, but though it is on my to-read shelf, I have not yet done so. Some of those people produce output that is “art”, but since “art” is a prestige category, many others produce work that fails to rise to that level but which is merely decorative or entertaining. Many of them will have been trained in art schools or universities but have failed to make it as artists, but without them those schools will become unviable. In short, withouth the wider group of near-misses and engaged supporters it is hard to see where many artists will come from: thanks to AI they will lack a sea in which to hatch and then swim.

To all of you – a healthy, flourishing, and meaningful 2026!

To the world – I am less sure where to begin, since 2025 was, politically and morally speaking, one of the worst years since long. Let’s hope for peace, definitely. Responsible leaders with sound morals. Positive tipping points in climate action. A decline of all that crypto/post/neo/full-blown fascist crap that spread like a virus in 2025 (and before – but it seems to have accelerated in 2025). And therefore, I hope that many more people will become more like (a good chunk of) the commentariat of this blog – progressive, politically well-informed, and also asking perhaps the most urgent question at this point in history: what should we do? And what does the answer to that question imply for what I should do?

More and more of my friends are explicitly asking that question, but we are often unsure of the answer. Although I have some thoughts (in fact, I’m hoping to write a book on it), it is not self-evident. But it helps to not think about this question by oneself, but to raise and discuss it with friends, in organisations, and online. And if the answers seem overwhelming, I find that a one-hour walk with a dear person in the fields and the woods does wonders.

Also – I’m glad you are still reading us (and joining the discussions) after all these years, thanks.

I read a post on one of the social media platforms written by a professor who was sharing his experience with giving away ten percent of his income, after he signed the “Ten percent giving pledge” many years ago. In deciding what or whom to give to, those who take the ten-percent-pledge often follow the advice of Effective Altruism and typically end up making donations that aim to prevent malaria, deworm, or increase childhood vaccination rates, as well as give to animal welfare (which is a big topic among effective altruists).

It is truly admirable that someone consistently gives 10% or more of their income, especially given that most people don’t, and also given that this may, in absolute terms, be a sizeable sum (hence with a genuine opportunity cost). It is also good that people who give so generously write about it publicly. It could help shift social norms around giving. It may also help others who give generously but sometimes have doubts to feel that they belong to a broader community of those who give. It may inspire others to give more.

So I have only praise for giving so generously. But when it comes to choosing recipients, I make different choices. [click to continue…]

Having watched the film, I thought I’d get Robert Linhart’s book off the shelf and finally read it. I think I bought it in Oxford in the early 80s. To remind you, it depicts Linhart’s experience as a Maoist cadre who has chosen to get a job in a Citroen factory in Paris in order to foment “resistance”. There’s an English translation, apparently, called The Assembly-Line, long out of print.

One reason for my hesitance in reading, perhaps, is that I have quite a low opinion of Maoists, particularly Western ones, and I’m sure that Linhart had at the time all kinds of dubious opinions about the Moscow Trials or the Cultural Revolution, but there’s really none of that in the book where he comes across as a fairly generic far-leftist. Instead there’s a fascinating description by someone with real literaray talent of the human reality of mass production as it was in the 1960s and probably still is somewhere other than Europe. It aslo gives an account of the ethno-sociology of the workforce which was “multicultural” long before the rest of society meaningfully was. Possibly the best book ever written by a Maoist then.

When Linhart enters the factory it is very different to how he imagined it would be, which was an assembly line shifting in short bursts as workers performed their tasks. Instead, the line moves continuously with workers running to catch up trying do their jobs quickly so they can get ahead of the game and sneak a quick cigarette or taking too long and getting tangled up with the next section. A manager puts him in the hands of a spot welder, who makes his movements with speed, precision and grace. But when that same Arab worker hands over to Linhart the novice makes a complete mess, molten solder all over the place, and he’s a danger to others and himself with his blowtorch. In a break they get chatting and he discovers that his “trainer” is graded as an unskilled worker (despite showing consummate skill) whereas he, Linhart, has been taken on at a skilled grade. But it soon becomes clear that the assignment of workers to grades has nothing to do with the skills those grades nominally represent: blacks are at the lowest unskilled level, Arabs at the higher unskilled ones, Spanish and Portuguese at the lowest tier of “skilled” and white French people like himself a notch above that, even if they can’t actually do anything. Who says there’s no such thing as “white privilege”?

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I am at the airport in Melbourne (again). I’m sitting in the window eating one of those excellent boxes of kale, broccoli, beans, seeds, peas and a boiled egg that I am grateful are now available at airports. Next to me a father and daughter are observing the world – look at how that plane looks like a giant shark! And oooh, here come the bags!

What looked like an automated process when a Virgin Airlines robot told me my bag on the conveyer belt was heading towards the same destination as me turns out, my eyes now tell me as this adorable pair observe the world out the window, is also a matter of human labour. A human is driving all the bags to the plane.

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My last post described my attempt to generate a report on housework using Deep Research, and the way it came to a crashing halt. Over the fold, I’ve given the summary from the last version before the crash. You can read the whole report here, bearing in mind that it’s only partly done.

As I said, I chose the questions to ask and the points on which to press further. DR extracted the data (I was planning to get detail on this process before the whole thing crashed), produced graphs to my specifications and generated the first draft of the text, with a style modelled on mine.

If I were doing this to produce a report for publication, I’d initially I was about halfway there, after only a few hours of work on my part. But as with LLMs in general, I suspect the final editing would take quite a bit longer.

Still, the alternative would have been either nothing (most likely) or a half-baked blog post using not-quite-right links to the results of Google searches. So, I’m going to keep on experimenting.

Early versions of LLMs were mostly substitutes for medium-level skill. It made it easy for someone barely literate to generate an adequate business email or (in the graphics version) for a complete klutz like me to produce an obviously-AI illustration for a post (Substack expects some kind of picture)

But with Deep Research, I think there’s an amplification of general research skills. It’s ideal for topics where I have some general idea of the underlying reasoning, but am not familiar with the literature and am unaware of some important arguments

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I’ve long been interested in the topic of housework, as you can see from this CT post, which produced a long and unusually productive discussion thread [fn1]. The issue came up again in relation to the prospects for humanoid robots. It’s also at the edge of bunch of debates going on (mostly on Substack) about living standards and birth rates.

I’m also interested (like nearly everyone, one way or another) in “Artificial Intelligence” (scare quotes intentional). My current position is, broadly, that it’s what Google should have become instead of being steadily enshittified in the pursuit of advertising dollars. But I’m alert to other possibilities, including that more investment will deliver something that genuinely justifies the name AI. And I think a lot of the concerns about power and water use, the spread of AI slop and so on are either overstated or (as with deepfakes) are mostly new iterations of concerns that always arise with new IT and communications technology, and can be addressed with existing conceptual and legal tools.

With this background, I thought it would be interesting to try out ChatGPTs Deep Research (DR) on the question of what has happened to housework and why. As I may have mentioned before, I’ve trained DR on a big volume of my own writing. That produces a passable imitation of my style, and means I don’t worry about the ethical issues of plagiarising the writing style of others (of course, standard norms of citation and attribution still apply).

I decided to focus on single-person households, to abstract away from the issues of child-raising (which I want to look at separately) and the allocation of work between partners (about which there is a vast literature to which I can’t add anything new).

Everything went really well to start with. I prompted DR for time use data, then pushed further on with more detailed questions like the impact of air fryers on male cooking habits (I was given one recently and was impressed enough that I promptly bought a second). I asked for a literature search and got references to Judy Wajcman and Michael Bittman[2], both of whom I knew and a couple of people I didn’t. DR missed Ruth Schwartz Cowan’s classic More Work for Mother.

On the other hand, I wasn’t aware of Wajcman’s recent Pressed for Time and hadn’t thought about the broader issue of life administration, which DR pointed out. I gave it a more economistic take, trying to divide labour-saving innovation (electronic bill paying) from the labour costs of more digital consumption (retrieving passwords for streaming services etc).

I got DR to produce a LaTeX file, and was nearly ready to go to digital press when I noticed that the references were incomplete. At this stage, the whole process spiralled into disaster. Every draft seemed to lose more material, and to be worse written. Finally, I demanded an explanation
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