Ever since it became evident that Trump was likely to be re-elected, I’ve been among the most pessimistic of commentators on the likely course of US politics (most recently here for example). I’ve also been nowhere near pessimistic enough. I assumed that Trump would follow the course of dictators like Putin and Orban, gradually eroding freedom and making his own power permanent. Instead, he’s gone most of the way inside a year.
From the category archives:
Academia
The Australian government’s legislation seeking to ban access to social media for people under 16 has received plenty of attention in International media, mostly leading with the government’s that 4.7 million accounts were banned or deactivated when the legislation came into effect. Rather less attention has been paid to discussion of the outcome within Australia, where the consensus is that there has been very little effect for most. With most kids still active, the minority who have been caught by the ban have suffered feelings of ostracism and exclusion When discussing the issue on my own social media (which had few if any teenage readers to begin with) I’ve only had one parent report their kids being thrown off.
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It is undisputed that Leo Strauss (1899 – 1973), a German exile, who, after a long stint at The New School reached prominence at The University of Chicago, became the founder of a ‘school’ of academics who found a home mostly in political theory, but also in literature and philosophy. Most members of the school write on political theory broadly conceived. His writings are dense and not infrequently commentary on books written by long-dead authors (including, it is worth noting, medieval Muslim and Jewish philosophers). Because many of his students, and their students, ended up training public intellectuals, think tankers, and advisors associated with Republican politicians and administrations (including many so-called ‘neo-cons’), the study of Strauss and his school has itself become intensely politicized. There have been Straussians, who have resisted the rightward drift of the school, and (in recent memory) the rise of MAGA (including “Never Trump Straussians” many of whom once associated with the ‘neo-cons’).
I took classes with a number of Straussians at The University of Chicago. In these courses Strauss was never taught. I also played basketball with some of their students. Joseph Cropsey (1919 – 2012), one of Strauss’ earliest American admirers and collaborators and an important Adam Smith scholar, adored my Bullmastiff. He would indulge me in long walks so he could spend time with my dog, and I could ask him questions about his views on Smith. I have written on his work in the philosophy of economics (here).
Later, at Syracuse University, my senior colleague, José Benardete (1928 – 2016), whose brother (Seth Benardete) was one of the more prominent students of Strauss, became a highly valued mentor. During most of our lunches, he talked about Wallace Stevens. José had many intellectual debts to Strauss, which he did not hide in his work, but he had also embarked on an intellectual career that was not confined to political theory. In fact, on my somewhat quixotic interpretation of twentieth-century philosophy, José helped revive the study of metaphysics during the period of positivist dominance within analytic philosophy (alongside others at Syracuse and Rochester). There is an interesting question why David Lewis went all the way to Australia rather than Upstate New York for his intellectual nourishment, but that’s for another occasion.
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…
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 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.
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