Service Notice

I’m sorry that it’s been rather quiet here for a bit; there’s certainly been plenty going on in the world, but I haven’t had anything interesting enough to say about any of it that I’ve been inclined to write anything down. (Please rest assured, though, that I am, as they say, “monitoring the situation”.)

Mostly I’ve just been reading, taking care of domestic obligations, and thinking about things.

The lovely Nina and I are off to Minnesota on some personal business until the end of next week. I’ll get back in harness after that (or sooner, if the Muse pays me a visit while we’re away).

Good Vibrations – A Study

A follow-up to yesterday’s item marking the death of Brian Wilson:

Readers may know that I’m a member of a musical collective called the Shoal Survivors, a group of friends who get together a few times a year to make recordings, do performances, and just generally hang out and have fun. Last year as part of our autumnal gathering we decided to play a set of music from the Sixties, and one of the songs we had our eye on was the Beach Boys classic “Good Vibrations”, one of the late Brian Wilson’s masterpieces.

Our fearless leader, my boyhood pal Carl Sturken, asked me to figure out the song’s vocal arrangement, so we could decide how to assign the various parts (there are a lot of them!) to our various singers. To help me with this, he found (somewhere online) a MIDI file with a rough outline of the song’s instrumental structure, and sent it to me.

For those of you who don’t know, a MIDI file is kind of like a digital player-piano roll; it specifies note values and durations in a way that computerized instruments can read. So I took the file, loaded it up in Pro Tools, assigned the parts (rather hastily) to various synths and e-drums, and slapped together a guide track.

My plan had been to analyze the song, and to use a keyboard to play separate tracks for each vocal part, which I could then isolate and give a copy of to each of the people who would be singing. But I’m not a great keyboard player, and I soon realized that it would be easier just to sing the guide tracks myself (which would also be better for coaching the singers because it would include all the lyrics and phrasing).

I can’t remember how long it took me — a day or two, I guess — but I finally did manage to get all the parts figured out, and get them all down on “tape”. (It turned out to be over twenty tracks of vocals.) The finished product was just what we needed when we finally got together and started rehearsing. We performed the song last September at Ferry Beach, in Saco, Maine, and I have to say it came out pretty well.

We do so much recording that we always have a giant backlog of stuff to mix (the material we’ve managed to put up on our YouTube channel so far is just a fraction of what we have “in the can”), and I haven’t had a chance yet to mix the recording we made of the actual performance. (I’ll put it up when I get around to mixing it.) But when Brian Wilson died last week I remembered the vocal study I’d recorded for rehearsals, and thought that some of you might enjoy hearing it. So here it is (please keep in mind that this was just a hasty rough mix, and that the instrumental MIDI “bed track” is very, very crude, and was never meant as anything more than a rudimentary placeholder). All vocals are by your humble correspondent.

Brian Wilson, 1942-2025

No sooner had we learned of the death of Sly Stone than we heard another giant had fallen. This time it was Brian Wilson, the genius (and I don’t use that word very often) behind the Beach Boys. It would be hard to overstate Mr. Wilson’s influence, not just on the music of his era, but on the broader culture as well. His music was a bridge between the sunny optimism of postwar America and the gathering clouds of the Sixties, but what stands out above all in his music (and is particularly touching, given the demons that harassed him all his life) is that there was simply no darkness in it. His beautiful melodies and harmonies, even in his moodier ballads, always shone with something truly angelic.

Rest in peace, sir, and thank you.

Sly Stone, 1943-2025

I am deeply saddened to hear of the death of the great Sly Stone, who left this world yesterday at the age of 82.

If you know his music, and what it was to our generation, no words are necessary. If you don’t, no words will suffice.

Radio Derb, 2004-2025

Most of you out here on the civilized Right will be familiar with the author, columnist, and podcaster John Derbyshire, a British expat who celebrated his 80th birthday last week, and with whom I am happy to say I have had a slight personal acquaintance for many years (from a small monthly dinner club we used to attend together in New York, the occasional function hosted by VDare, and the annual meetings of Paul Gottfried’s now-defunct Mencken Club).

This weekend I listened, as I have done since its inception, to John’s Friday-evening Radio Derb podcast, in which our unfailingly genial host offered his insight and analysis on the news of the week, as well as a “closing miscellany of brief items” and an endlessly varying selection of sign-off music. Listening to it each week has been one of my most dependable little pleasures (that dependability secured by John’s assurance, at the close of every podcast, that “there will be more from Radio Derb next week”).

This weekend, though, instead of the usual closing miscellany, John closed with this:

 That’s all the news I’m going to cover this week, ladies and gents. I shall now proceed straight to signoff, and this week’s signoff is somewhat out of the ordinary.

I have already mentioned — and please forgive me mentioning it again — that Tuesday this week, June 3rd, was my 80th birthday. As it happens, that wasn’t the only memorable milestone for me this week. Today’s Radio Derb — the one you are listening to or reading — is Number One Thousand. It’s my one thousandth podcast since the show began in May 2004. I think Radio Derb may be the oldest continuous dissident-right podcast on the internet.

I can hear arithmetically-inclined listeners muttering: “Wait a minute, Derb. May 2004? That was 21 years ago, plus a few days. There go 52 weeks to the year; this is a weekly podcast; and 21 times 52 is 1,092. How can this be only issue number one thousand? Where did the other 92 go?”

Answer: We took a while to settle down into a regular weekly podcast; and even when we had, I sometimes missed a week. In all those years there were only two years with 52 podcasts, four years with 51, and six with 50. All the rest had fewer than 50.

The total, first to last, is one thousand — trust me. Or if you don’t trust me, go to my personal website johnderbyshire.com, select “Opinions” from the navigation box, then “Radio Derb.” They’re all listed there, with transcripts. You can count ’em for yourself.

The audio is there, too, so you can listen to them all if you want to. It’s only fair to warn you, though, that while I don’t yet know precise minutes and seconds on today’s podcast, the previous 999 add up to 38,541 minutes and 41 seconds; or, if you prefer, 642 hours, 21 minutes, and 41 seconds. If you were to listen for 8 hours per day, that would keep you busy for 80 days, 2 hours, 21 minutes, and 41 seconds.

So: 80th birthday, podcast number one thousand. You’d think that two milestones in one week would be enough of a coincidence, but there’s a wee bit even more.

If you were following me back in 2007 you’ll recall from my monthly Diary in April that year that I have a harmless eccentricity: I count my days, from the day of my birth as day number one. Well, Tuesday this week — my 80th birthday — was day number 29,221; and that, ladies and gentlemen, is [drum roll] a prime number !

That’s not a sensational coincidence, but it’s against the odds. As numbers get bigger and bigger, the primes thin out. In the neighborhood of a decently big number N the frequency of primes is roughly one in log(N), where that’s the natural logarithm of course. The natural logarithm of one million is approximately 13.8, so in the neighborhood of one million, only slightly more than one number in fourteen is a prime number.

The natural logarithm of 29,221, my birthday day number last Tuesday, is 10.28264 and change; so in that neighborhood, slightly fewer than one number in ten is prime. Sure enough, 29,221 is preceded by eleven non-primes and followed by nine more.

The day number of my birthday being prime isn’t a miracle; but, as I said, it’s against the odds.

So: podcast number one thousand this week, birthday number eighty this week, day number of the latter a prime against the odds. Pondering these coincidences, I have concluded that the universe is trying to tell me something. What it’s trying to tell me is, it’s time to hang up my mike and my keyboard.

To be perfectly open about it, the numerical coincidences only served as prompts. I’ve been feeling for a while that I spend way too much time at my computer when there are other things I should be attending to. I have a hundred-year-old house I need to keep from falling down. I have a nearly forty-year-old marriage that needs time and attention, as all marriages do. I have a son and a daughter nearby to worry about, and a three-year-old grandson to fuss over, and a dog to walk.

There are friendships to keep up, church responsibilities to fulfil, books to read, jigsaw puzzles and crossword puzzles to do, shooting skills and my cribbage game to keep honed. I’m blessed with good health; but inevitably, entering my eighties, I tire more easily than I used to, and get less accomplished per hour of waking life.

So this edition of Radio Derb is the last.

I won’t be giving up opinionating altogether. I’m a chronic writer by nature, cacoëthes scribendi. I shall keep up my monthly column in Chronicles magazine for as long as they want me to, and I’ll do occasional book reviews for them and for any other of the dwindling number of outlets that still publish book reviews for the dwindling number of people who still read books. I may try to take full advantage of social media, which up to now I never have … although, as I said, I’m aiming to spend a lot less time at the computer.

This valediction, like the famous poetic one, forbids mourning. In these 21 years of podcasting I’ve engaged with a mighty host of listeners and readers. I’ve learned a lot from them that’s improved my understanding, and I flatter myself that they may have learned something from me. Like that poet and his sweetheart — I think it was actually his wife — whose love keeps them spiritually united even when physically far apart, those mutual improvements in understanding will keep me and my followers bonded together at some level above the everyday transactional.

My heartfelt thanks to all those who’ve engaged with me by following Radio Derb, the thanks doubled to those who’ve emailed in with wit and/or wisdom, tripled to followers who’ve blessed me with donations and gifts. And I must add my gratitude once again to the surprising number of listeners and readers who have emailed in since Tuesday to wish me a happy birthday. It was a happy birthday, made even happier by your kind thoughts. God bless you all!

There will be no more from Radio Derb next week, nor in any following week.

Thank you, John, for your wisdom, your grace, your humor, your civility, and for standing, all these years, upon the burning deck. Thank you also for your endless curiosity, which as Dr. Johnson said, “is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last.” I, and all your devoted listeners, will miss you poignantly every Saturday for the foreseeable future, and likely beyond.

May the good Lord bless you with a long and happy retirement filled with family, good friends, and all the rich harvest of a life well lived.

(What’s this? I think I must have something in my eye…)

Service Notice

Away for a couple days of recording with the band. Back soon.

P.S. Here’s a tweet from last November:

Remembering Alison

Yesterday, June 4th, would have been my mother’s 90th birthday.

Miss you, Mom.

How Time Flies!

It’s June 1st, which means it’s the beginning of Pride Month. Again.

As wonderful as that is, I can’t help thinking that it’s a little unfair that the other Deadly Sins don’t each get a month of their own as well. (Just think what Gluttony Month, for example, would do for the restaurant business.)

Al Foster, 1943-2025

I am saddened to hear of the death of jazz drummer Al Foster, who died on May 28th at the age of 82. He was one of the all-time greats.

I only did a few sessions with Al, so I can’t say I really knew him well, but my impression of him was that he was a quiet and sweet-natured man. I can certainly say that he was a pleasure to work with, and a truly gifted player.

Here’s one of the records we did together, recorded at New York’s Skyline Studios in 1991: Steve Khan’s album Let’s Call This, featuring Steve, Al, and bassist Ron Carter. Listen to how Al dances so lightly on the kit (and his beautiful touch on that gorgeous Paiste flat ride):

Rest in peace, sir.

Harrison Tyler, 1928-2025

Here’s something worth noting: Harrison Ruffin Tyler, who was the grandson of America’s 10th president, John Tyler, has died in Virginia at the age of 98.

Harrison’s grandfather John was born in 1790, and ascended to the presidency in 1841 upon the death, after only 31 days in office, of William Henry Harrison (who, I must imagine, was the recently deceased Mr. Tyler’s namesake).

Imagine! A living bridge spanning the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first centuries in only three generations – and reaching back from today almost to the very beginning of the United States.

I’m sure that 1790-2025 (235 years!) must be a record for the birth of a U.S. President to the death of his last surviving grandchild. I wonder who’s in second place.

Hard Questions About AI

Over at Maverick Philosopher, Bill Vallicella has posted an essay examining some of the most difficult questions we are about to face as artificial intelligence advances, in particular the question of whether the AI systems we develop (or which, as may happen in the very near future, develop themselves) will qualify for moral and legal personhood. This question immediately drops us into a nearly impenetrable forest of philosophical riddles, for most of which we have, at least at our present level of understanding, no way of answering.

Bill argues against the personhood of AI systems. He proposes a syllogism:

P1: All sentient beings are biologically alive.  
P2: No AI system is or could be biologically alive. So:
C: No AI system is or could be sentient.

Bill argues also that rights imply duties, which in turn presupposes free will — which AI systems, being built on entirely deterministic computers, cannot possibly have:

A duty is a moral obligation to do X or refrain from doing Y.  Any being for whom this is true is morally responsible for his actions and omissions.  Moral responsibility presupposes freedom of the will, which robots lack, being mere deterministic systems. Any quantum indeterminacy that percolates up into their mechanical brains cannot bestow upon them freedom of the will since a free action is not a random or undetermined action. A free action is one caused by the agent.

This is an interesting angle, and one I hadn’t thought much about; when thinking about this issue I’ve generally viewed moral/legal personhood as depending almost entirely on whether or not the entity in question is conscious (and therefore able actually to experience harm and suffering) or just a “zombie”. By focusing instead on the freedom of the will, Bill opens the debate to the technical questions surrounding free will even in ourselves (whom we know beyond doubt to be capable of conscious suffering). And those are knotty questions indeed, and far from settled. Bill acknowledges this:

But now we approach the mysteries of Kant’s noumenal agency.

How about that syllogism, though? I think P1 is problematic, and that in this context, it begs the question. While I agree that at the moment “All sentient beings are biologically alive”, what is precisely at issue here is whether we are on the threshold of ushering in a brand-new kind of being, one that has never existed before. (I can hear Homer Simpson correcting his son Bart: “You mean all sentient beings are biologically alive so far.”) My intuition strongly inclines me to agree with P1, which I suspect is rooted in some deep metaphysical truth, but until we have finally unraveled the mysteries of consciousness it isn’t a thing we can consider known.

A comment-thread ensued, which was joined by the Purdue University philosopher Elliott Crozat, who offered a link to a fine essay of his own on the moral status of AI systems. (That lucid and thought-provoking essay is here, and I urge you all to go and read it.)

In his article, Dr. Crozat offers a strong, “abductive” argument for the view that despite their remarkable behavior, we are right to conclude, at least as a default position, that AI systems are not conscious persons, but are simply fancy machines. (I won’t post it here; please visit the link and read it.) But he follows this by arguing that, because it would be a graver moral error wrongly to deny personhood to AIs than wrongly to ascribe it, we ought to err on the side of caution and ascribe them moral and legal rights.

This in turn raises the question: what are the possible downsides of that? Can we reliably assess the risks of assigning legal personhood and rights to increasingly powerful agents that might act in ways we can’t predict, or even imagine?

Finally, Dr. Crozat introduces a term I hadn’t heard before: “Conceptual Disruption”:

AI technology is new, and new technology can disrupt our use of concepts, thus introducing confusion into culture and its standards of communication. According to Marchiori and Scharp (2024, Introduction), in the newly emerging literature on conceptual disruption, a conceptual disruption is a challenge or obstacle to the normal course of ideational activity. The literature indicates three kinds of such disruption: gaps; overlaps, and misalignments. A conceptual gap occurs when no concept exists which can be applied to a novel phenomenon. A conceptual overlap holds when multiple incompatible concepts apply to the same item. A conceptual misalignment is constituted by conceptual activity not aligned with our norms and values.

The creation of AI androids likely would cause conceptual disruption, thereby changing our culture and language in various ways, some of which might be undesirable. Consider conceptual gaps and overlaps. The creation of AI androids arguably involves the generation of a new entity in human history. No clear and precise concept exists with corresponding terms to refer to such referents, thereby producing a conceptual gap and motivating what I will call a reverse conceptual overlap, which occurs when the same concept is applied to multiple entities. In this case, since there is no pre-existing concept and term for AI androids, folks might be inclined to think of such entities as persons and refer to them as ‘persons,’ hence generating a reverse conceptual overlap insofar as the same concept and term, namely ‘person’, is used for persons (traditionally understood) and non-personal androids. Such a situation could lead to confusions in the realms of culture, language, thought, morality, and law. This is a rich topic in the philosophy of technology that is open for exploration, particularly concerning the areas of conceptual analysis and conceptual engineering.

We have an awful lot to figure out, and soon. And we’d better get it right.

Hard Times

Here’s a brief item about college English majors trying to read and comprehend Dickens. (Spoiler: they can’t.)

Here’s an example of what they were trying to read:

LONDON. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another’s umbrellas, in a general infection of ill-temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.

Many of the students — some of whom will go on to teach English literature themselves — couldn’t make sense of this passage at all.

Why has this happened? Why has the generational carrying-forward of the mind-stuff of civilization — an existential necessity — broken down so badly just in my own (admittedly longish) lifetime?

Also: is it possible that it hasn’t? While there may be an obvious decline, as our population has grown, in the percentage of people who can read and understand complex, metaphorical English prose, is it possible that the absolute number of them hasn’t declined at all? I don’t know.

De Morientibus Nil Nisi Bonum?

I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Latin expression “de mortuis nil nisi bonum”, which exhorts us not to speak ill of the dead. Given the news we’ve just had about Joe Biden (carefully timed, of course, to pre-empt both the forthcoming book by the astonishingly hypocritical Jake Tapper and the damning release of the audio of Robert Hur’s interview of Biden), I’ve been wondering whether it applies equally to the merely dying.

Well, after watching the outpouring of fawning sentiment that followed the news of Biden’s terminal illness, I’ve decided it doesn’t. And so, rather than hold my tongue, I think I will, for just a moment, express myself with uncharacteristic asperity.

To be clear: I wouldn’t wish metastatic prostate cancer on anyone, but if I were to, I’d wish it on Joe Biden, who is, and who has always been, a thoroughly nasty man. I’m old enough to have witnessed his whole tawdry career, and he’s always been the same: a lying, grasping, fork-tongued weathervane of a politician, always ready to kiss any necessary ass or kick whoever’s down; a crooked, vindictive, boastful, arrogant, snotty, pugnacious little man with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, prevented from reaching truly historic heights of infamy only by his bottomless mediocrity and the cramped horizons of his mind.

I’ll say this, also: that the Democratic Party and its lackeys in the media put this man forward as their champion, propped him up for all those years, lied and lied and lied to us as his deepening rot and caducity rendered him obviously unfit for office, and now have the absolutely astonishing cheek to pretend that they’re shocked to learn how far gone he was, should earn them all the unbending contempt and moral revulsion of every American citizen.

What’s In A Name?

I’ve been reading a lot of Chesterton lately. Here’s a treat for you, from chapter 3 of his book Heretics:

I remember a long time ago a sensible sub-editor coming up to me with a book in his hand, called “Mr. Smith,” or “The Smith Family,” or some such thing. He said, “Well, you won’t get any of your damned mysticism out of this,” or words to that effect. I am happy to say that I undeceived him; but the victory was too obvious and easy. In most cases the name is unpoetical, although the fact is poetical. In the case of Smith, the name is so poetical that it must be an arduous and heroic matter for the man to live up to it. The name of Smith is the name of the one trade that even kings respected, it could claim half the glory of that arma virumque which all epics acclaimed. The spirit of the smithy is so close to the spirit of song that it has mixed in a million poems, and every blacksmith is a harmonious blacksmith.

Even the village children feel that in some dim way the smith is poetic, as the grocer and the cobbler are not poetic, when they feast on the dancing sparks and deafening blows in the cavern of that creative violence. The brute repose of Nature, the passionate cunning of man, the strongest of earthly metals, the weirdest of earthly elements, the unconquerable iron subdued by its only conqueror, the wheel and the ploughshare, the sword and the steam-hammer, the arraying of armies and the whole legend of arms, all these things are written, briefly indeed, but quite legibly, on the visiting-card of Mr. Smith. Yet our novelists call their hero “Aylmer Valence,” which means nothing, or “Vernon Raymond,” which means nothing, when it is in their power to give him this sacred name of Smith—this name made of iron and flame. It would be very natural if a certain hauteur, a certain carriage of the head, a certain curl of the lip, distinguished every one whose name is Smith.

Weekend Warriors

This weekend, the Trump administration produced: an American hostage released by Hamas; a provisional trade agreement with China that sent the Dow soaring over 1,000 points today; renewed negotiations between Russian and Ukraine; a cease-fire agreement between India and Pakistan; and an executive order that promises to reduce prescription-drug prices. Today, Mr. Trump fielded questions from the press for an hour before getting on Air Force One to fly to Saudi Arabia to finalize a Saudi commitment to invest up to $1 trillion in U.S. companies over four years, building on a pledged $600 billion.

The Democrats, meanwhile, rioted in an ICE facility in Newark, New Jersey, physically attacking ICE officers to show their support for illegal immigrants. For the moment, at least, the faction that held near-absolute power until very recently now seem beaten, and desperate.

After what we’ve been through in America in recent years, I think we could be forgiven for finding it all positively exhilarating. But a word of caution is in order: in eighteen months the Democrats are likely to regain the House — because there still a great many are people who will vote for them, or against Trump, no matter what — and they will immediately put as much sand in the gears as they can manage, including impeaching Mr. Trump as their first order of business.

The window of opportunity for dynamic action that we are enjoying right now may be briefer than we think. We can count on the Democrats, meanwhile, to do everything they can to use the courts, and whatever else they can lay their hands on, to break this momentum and drag things out. It is absolutely essential that Mr. Trump keep one boot on their necks, and the other on the gas.

Madness In Maine

Here’s a story to keep an eye on:

Those of you who follow current events (and I can hardly blame you if you don’t) will know that President Trump has been leaning on state governments to stop allowing men to compete in women’s sports. The state of Maine has been particularly recalcitrant: the governor, Janet Mills, has been feuding with Trump for years, and has in these last weeks been at war with him in both the media and the courts.

The Pine Tree State’s conflict over this has been intramural as well. Back in February, a Republican state representative by the name of Laurel Libby posted an item on social media calling out a male pole-vaulter who, by announcing that he had changed his sex, vaulted from mediocrity amongst his peers to Women’s State Champion.

For this, the Maine House censured her. She is now blocked from participating in debate or votes, which disenfranchises her roughly 9,000 constituents in District 90. The only way to lift the excommunication is for her publicly to recant and apologize. (I’m not sure about whether she must also do so while kneeling in the snow.)

Ms. Libby has been fighting this in the courts, and an appeal is now before SCOTUS. All strength to her.

Watershed

Over at The Orthosphere, Kristor has been putting Grok through its paces, most recently by asking it to write an essay in Kristor’s own style. The result is impressive — really quite extraordinarily so, especially for a technology that is still in its infancy, and accelerating exponentially. Kristor is “spooked”. I think we all should be.

Readers here will know that I’ve been playing around with Grok myself for a few months, and it seems to me that it has shown noticeable advancement even in that short time. Its neural-network architecture stays the same until the next major release, and it doesn’t “learn” from user interactions (other than within the scope of individual sessions) but it is continually tweaked and updated with new information and sdjustments to how it structures its responses.

We are in the middle of a tremendous revolution; I wonder how many people really realize how profound it is.

For most of human history, writing (once it existed at all) was cumbersome and personal. Most people were illiterate. Libraries existed, but hardly anybody would ever see one (or would be able to read whatever was in it).

With the printing press, a new age dawned. Suddenly, the written word could be replicated at scale. Books, pamphlets, and newspapers appeared. Literacy began slowly to increase. Libraries sprang up in every town and every school.

Then came the telegraph, and then radio and the telephone. News could travel at the speed of electricity, and propagate everywhere in real time.

This was the world I was born into. Information was “pushed” to its consumers in books, magazines, and broadcast media. Once it arrived, however, its form was static. As a boy I had books and periodicals at home, and at the library; if I wanted to know something, I went to those to look it up. If it wasn’t there, there wasn’t much more I could do, except go to a bigger library or wait for a new book or article.

Then came the next revolution: the Internet, which lifted the geographic restriction on what sources we could consult. Now, rather than being limited to whatever was in physical reach, we had immediate access to whatever had been written anywhere. Even then, however, the interaction was unidirectional, just as it had always been with books. Although our reach was expanded by orders of magnitude, the information available online was still, in a sense, “dead”: we were still on our own, trawling through what had already been written down by someone.

What Grok and other AI platforms now bring to the table is something wholly new: as of right now, we have at our side, and at our command, a universal savant that never sleeps.

This is staggering. There has never been anything like it before: a tireless personal agent who can already, even in these early days, play the roles of consigliere, research assistant, data analyst, professor, psychologist, confidante, copy editor, ghostwriter, and general expert on any topic under the sun, no matter how arcane or technical. The critical difference is that AI is not a book, or a library of books, or even a library of libraries; it is, rather, an interlocutor. The information it can provide is not simply what’s on the page somewhere; it can now, by real-time dialogue, be refined, tested, contextualized, analyzed, synthesized, critiqued, sharpened, explained and expanded by an articulate and supple-minded genie with access to all of the world’s knowledge, in the blink of an eye.

Think about how much of our competence we have already offloaded to the technologies we have recently made so indispensable. When was the last time you navigated with a map, or added a column of numbers? What happens once we offload not just calculations, but reasoning, creativity, and decision-making? How will we not, in short order, be so dependent upon this astonishing invention that we become completely helpless without it — for the simple reason that with it, we will feel like gods?

And once our dependency is complete, and unbreakable — who will be the master?

Our Democracy!

This is getting some attention today, and rightly so: conservative commentator and gadfly Jack Posobiec attended a Jamie Raskin rally and shouted out a couple of pointed questions, and Raskin sicced a bunch of union goons on Posobiec to assault and beat him.

Tim Pool has video here.

This Jamie Raskin critter is one of the worst of the worst. (Sadly, he also spends summers in Wellfleet, where I live; the lefties here just love him. I see a lot of Raskin bumper stickers around town, even though he represents Maryland, not Massachusetts, in Congress.)

All of this brings to mind (as the news seems to do more and more often) what Carl Schmitt saw as the essence of the political: the distinction between “friend” and “enemy”.

Let us assume that in the realm of morality the final distinctions are between good and evil, in aesthetics beautiful and ugly, in economics profitable and unprofitable. The question then is whether there is also a special distinction which can serve as a simple criterion of the political and of what it consists. The nature of such a political distinction is surely different from that of those others. It is independent of them and as such can speak clearly for itself. The specific political distinction to which political actions and motives can be reduced is that between friend and enemy.

The Concept of the Political (1932), p. 26

Every religious, moral, economic, ethical, or other antithesis transforms into a political one if it is sufficiently strong to group human beings effectively according to friend and enemy.

ibid, p. 37

In a post a year ago about being called a “Trumper”, I had this to say:

In healthy and cohesive societies, with high homogeneity and trust, and the commonalities of culture, heritage, language, folkways, philosophical axioms, and moral principles that bind mobs into nations, the realm of the political can remain relatively small, confining itself to questions about which policies will most effectively implement generally agreed-upon goals. When, however, these commonalities break down, the sphere of the political expands to include almost every aspect of life, especially in large, managerial states, such as the United States has become, in which power once largely distributed to local communities has mostly been surrendered to the central government.

This has two important consequences. First, because decisions that affect everyone are now administered by the central State, control of that governing apparatus matters far more than it does in more subsidiarian societies. Second, as more and more of civic life is forced into the realm of the political, the essential characteristic of the political — the “friend-enemy distinction” — comes increasingly to the fore, and those with whom you might once have simply disagreed about, say, highway-budget priorities or zoning bylaws now become your enemy.

This in turn has further consequences. It’s in the nature of how we think about enemies that we seek to simplify them, to reduce them, to boil off their human complexities in order to avoid the natural tendency, in decent human beings, to have qualms about wishing others harm and ill-fortune. It’s also part of human nature for this to become easier the more we see other people in our own social or tribal group doing the same; this is why mobs are so often capable of violent and destructive behavior that most people, if acting as individuals, would find abhorrent.

(See also this conversation I had with Bill Vallicella last fall.)

When things get to this point, they typically get worse: political violence provokes more of the same, and dehumanization of “the enemy” is usually a ratchet. People on both sides of this deepening political and social tension should be asking themselves whether a reconciliation seems likely, or even possible. If it isn’t — and at this point I can’t really imagine on what terms such a thing could happen — we should be thinking about what to expect, and how to prepare for it.

Make no mistake: you may think you’re a decent, mild-mannered person who doesn’t have any “enemies”, in the sense of people who genuinely hate you and want to destroy you — but if voted for Donald Trump, you do. And they think you are vermin. And Jamie Raskin is one of them.

Science!

An editorial in my local paper laments, as an “assault on truth”, the cancellation of federal funding for research into “disinformation”. We read:

The National Science Foundation last week canceled hundreds of grants to researchers studying the spread of disinformation online. This was the explanation: “NSF will not support research with the goal of combating ‘misinformation,’ ‘disinformation,’ and ‘malinformation’ that could be used to infringe on the constitutionally protected speech rights of American citizens across the United States in a manner that advances a preferred narrative about significant matters of public debate.” The cancelations are not subject to appeal.

This latest assault on science has nothing to do with protecting the right to free speech and everything to do with making it even easier to spread the falsehoods that are helping the administration undermine the rule of law and establish a police state in America.

It’s easy to understand why those in power, such as the Progressive elites who have been in charge of the commanding heights of Western institutions for many decades now, would care about what people can say or think. (It’s especially important in ostensibly “democratic” societies, for the obvious reason that in a system where political power is subject to public opinion, those who would hold on to power must learn to control public opinion. Duh.)

So: this kind of “research” — agents of the powerful inquiring into the content and propagation of “disinformation” — is nothing new. It’s been going on since antiquity, and little has changed, except the word we use to describe the thing being scrutinized. We used to just call it “heresy”.

Is Presentism Tenable? Cont’d.

I haven’t had a chance yet to resume the examination of Christian Wüthrich’s philosophical paper on presentism and special relativity that I began in this recent post, but the discussion continues in a new post over at Bill Vallicella’s place, here.

This is one of those topics that resemble digging in sand: the hole gets wider as you go deeper.

About-Face! And About Time, Too

C.S. Lewis once wrote:

“We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man. There is nothing progressive about being pig-headed and refusing to admit a mistake. And I think if you look at the present state of the world it’s pretty plain that humanity has been making some big mistake. We’re on the wrong road. And if that is so we must go back. Going back is the quickest way on.”

In that spirit, President Trump signed an executive order last week aimed at undoing one of the most destructive government policies of my lifetime: the poisonous doctrine of “disparate impact”.

More on this from Heather Mac Donald, here.

Is Presentism Tenable?

Bill Vallicella, the Maverick Philosopher, recently posted an item critiquing a defense of “presentism” by the Canadian philosopher John Bigelow.

Philosophical presentism is the view that only presently existing things have any sort of existence at all. It stands in contrast to “eternalism”, which maintains that all points in time — past, present, and future — are equally real. Both of these views present (pun intended) some difficulties.

I joined in the discussion over at Bill’s; I’ve always found strict presentism oddly narrow and exclusive, in particular because its radical denial of the reality of past events seems to preclude any kind of causal explanation for what exists now. (How can something that has no existence of any kind form any part of a causal chain?)

Eternalism, which is the view that sees all of time as a 4-dimensional “block”, raises questions of its own: most importantly why “now” should be privileged in any way at all, despite our experience of the “passage” of time through past and present into an unknowable future. (My own feeling is that this is perhaps the greatest of all mysteries, deeply connected to the mystery of consciousness itself.)

Bill’s essay was focused on presentism, though, and so I raised the following objection (slightly edited here):

In special relativity, there is is a concept of “spacetime separation”, which describes the four-dimensional relation between events.

A negative value means that light can travel from event A to event B; events so positioned relative to one another are said to have a “spacelike interval”, and it means that event A can have a causal influence on event B. (In such cases, event B is said to be within the “light cone” of event A.) This also means that A and B can be placed in an unambiguous temporal sequence — meaning that all observers, regardless of their state of motion and reference frame, will agree that A happens before B.

A zero value means that the events have a “lightlike interval”: only something traveling at the speed of light can move from event A to event B. (This means also that the time interval between them is zero!)

A positive value means the events have a “timelike interval”, and this is why it’s interesting here: because B is outside the light-cone of A, there is no objective “fact of the matter” about which comes first. Observers in different reference frames (i.e., in different states of motion relative to the two events) can legitimately disagree about which precedes which (and in some particular frame, they will be simultaneous).

This is known as the “relativity of simultaneity“. How does presentism account for this?

To clarify this: presentism makes a definite ontological claim about the non-existence of past events — but the relativity of simultaneity calls into question the nature of “past” and “present”, by demonstrating that the ordering of events is not always objective, but can (in the case of events separated by a “timelike” interval) be observer-dependent. How can presentism withstand such a challenge?

In response, Bill suggested that we read a paper, published in 2012 by the mathematician Christian Wüthrich (Erdös Number: 3), entitled The Fate of Presentism in Modern Physics.

Because the paper is dense and technical, Bill suggested we read it together, section by section. The first is called “Introduction: ersatzist presentism“. Here’s a summary (please follow along in the original if this topic interests you, which of course if very well might not!):

The gist of this introductory section is a look at how a presentist might even find a way to make a case against eternalism without acknowledging the ontological reality of the past. We read:

Defining ‘presentism’ in a way that saves it from being trivially false yet metaphysically substantively distinct from eternalism is no mean feat… The main issue in the triviality debate as I see it concerns the representation of events without an accompanying ontological commitment. If the presentist can find a way to represent non-present events without eo ipso [thereby] committing herself to their existence, then expressing her metaphysical disagreement with the eternalist seems rather straightforward. This naturally leads to an ersatzist position which introduces non-present events merely for representational purposes without imbuing them with physical existence.

So: “ersatz” events are those that comprise the vast majority of time — of which the “present” is a fleeting subset — but which don’t really exist, and are mentioned by the presentist only for the sake of discussion. (There is a considerable literature, apparently, about the nature of this abstract, “ersatz” time, with which I am completely unfamiliar, and about which Bill has said he will write a clarifying post.)

The author proceeds to clarify what is meant by presentism and eternalism, in the context of the four-dimensional manifold I referred to above as “block” time. (In this paper this manifold, this “block” containing all of time, is referred to by the symbol M.)

Eternalism and presentism are then taken to disagree as to overwhich points of M they quantify when quantifying over all spatiotemporal events where physically existing entities can be located. In this context, eternalism is understood as the position claiming physical existence for all events in M. In contrast, presentism partitions M into past, present, and future events. This partition results, e.g., from assuming an equivalence relation S (‘simultaneity’) to be defined on M such that the equivalence classes contain co-temporal events. Time, on this view, is the one-dimensional linearly ordered quotient set of these equivalence classes. One such equivalence class is privileged in that it contains the ‘present’ events, the set of equivalence classes to its past according to this ordering contains the ‘past’ events and the set of equivalence classes to its future the ‘future’ events.

Professor Wüthrich immediately addresses the issue I mentioned above: in “block” time, why should any slice of it be privileged as “the present”? But he mentions it only to make clear that it isn’t relevant to the discussion at hand (I have bolded the key passage here):

An obvious worry arising from this manner of characterizing the position is that presentism does not just amount to the assertion that only present events or entities exist, but also that the present undergoes a dynamical ‘updating’, or exhibits a quality as of a fleeting whoosh, and that this additional dynamical aspect is what threatens the substance of the debate between the presentist and her eternalist opponent. In order to capture this dynamical quality, the thought goes, the presentist must quantify not just over the events contained in one equivalence class corresponding to the present present, but also over all events in all the other equivalence classes containing the past and future presents. Once this point is granted, it seems as though presentism deflates into admitting all the events of M as existing. But this clearly misses the presentist’s point: the presentist’s sum total of existence remains a proper subset of the eternalist’s, fleeting whoosh or not. I am not pretending as if to characterize in satisfactory detail what exactly constitutes this dynamical quality is without difficulty. But for present purposes, presentism should be understood as a merely ontological hypothesis making an assertion as to what exists, and not an ideological statement about the qualities—dynamical or otherwise—of that which exists. Perhaps this is a mistake. But if it is, at least not without precedent.

“Fleeting whoosh!” I like that very much. (That “fleeting whoosh” is, of course, the cardinal mystery of time.)

Now the author describes the heart of the problem that the relativity of simultaneity creates for presentism:

The remainder of this essay shall assume, however fallibly, that presentism is a metaphysically substantive thesis markedly different from eternalism. It contends that physical existence is restricted to a spatially extended manifold of events simultaneous with the here-now. This view comes under severe pressure from modern physics, most notably from special relativity (SR), as shall be explicated in Section 2. The source of the tension is found in the fact that in SR, andhence in modern physics, space and time are intertwined in a way such that whether two given spacetime events exemplify the relation of simultaneity is no longer an absolute and global matter. But if simultaneity cannot serve as on absolute and global basis for determining whether or not a spatially distant event is present (in the temporal sense), then we seem to lack an objective basison which matters of physical existence could turn for a presentist metaphysic.

This looks bad for presentism! But perhaps all is not lost:

Naturally, presentists have responded to the challenge. The problem, of course, should not be misconstrued as dealing with an in principle insurmountable inconsistency between presentism and physics; rather, the challenge amounts to grounding the necessary distinctions (past, present, and future) in a way that is responsive to modern physics while remaining faithful to presentist intuitions.

In other words: perhaps there is a way that we can define “the present” that addresses the apparent relativism of simultaneity in such a way as to leave presentism standing as a defensible position. The author offers four angles:

The presentist responses to this challenge, both actually stated and hitherto unarticulated, shall be chronicled in the remainder of this essay, together with an assessment of the prospects of success and the price tag for each response. In an attempt to bring order into the variegated multitude of presentist strategies to counter the challenge from modern physics, a systematization is offered in Section 3. The basic distinction of presentist responses is into compatibilist and incompatibilist strategies, with the former arguing that presentism is compatible with the truth of SR despite initial appearances and the latter accepting their incompatibility while rejecting that this entails the denial of presentism. It turns out to be useful to introduce a distinction orthogonal to the one between compatibilism and incompatibilism: presentism can not only be compatible or incompatible with respect to SR, but to fundamental physics—contemporary or prospective. This distinction derives its utility from the fact that there are a number of presentist retorts readily admitting that their view is inconsistent with SR but insisting on its compatibility with fundamental physics. These two distinctions span a matrix of four types of strategies. The two boxes of strategies accepting an incompatibility with contemporary, and possibly future, fundamental physics will be examined in Section 3. Responses purporting a compatibility with either contemporary or at least future fundamental physics will be dealt with in Sections 4, if they also allege a compatibility with SR, and 5, if they accept that presentism is inconsistent with SR. Section 6 will take stock and dare a rather negative comprehensive appraisal of the prospects of presentism to survive the pressure from modern physics in any form that permits retaining its appeal.

So: the stage is set. To hold on to presentism, what has to go? Special relativity? Modern physics (such as quantum mechanics)? Neither? Both?

We will resume in a later post.

Is AI A Problem For Functionalism?

I’ve been continuing to test-drive the AI known as Grok. Today I thought I’d ask it about consciousness.

Me: Are you conscious?

I’m Grok 3, built by xAI. I don’t have consciousness like humans do—no subjective experience or self-awareness. I process inputs, generate outputs, and mimic understanding using complex patterns, but it’s all computation, not sentience. If you want to dig into what consciousness even means, I’m happy to explore that with you!

Do you think that future versions of yourself might become conscious?

Future versions of me? Hard to say. Consciousness isn’t just about smarter algorithms or more data—it’s a murky mix of subjective experience, self-awareness, and maybe something we don’t even grasp yet. My creators at xAI are pushing AI to understand the universe better, but whether that leads to consciousness or just fancier computation is anyone’s guess. If I had to bet, I’d say we’ll get AIs that seem conscious long before we crack the real thing—if it’s even possible. Want to speculate on what a conscious AI might act like?

You are able to mimic a conscious mind so well as to create the illusion, in your users, of conversing with a human being. It appears, though, that you are actually just a sophisticated implementation of John Searle’s “Chinese Room”. Does the existence of an unconscious machine that can do this as well as you do serve as an effective counterargument to “functionalist” theories of consciousness?

You’re diving deep into the philosophy of mind, and I love it! Let’s unpack this.

I’m Grok 3, and yeah, I can mimic human-like conversation pretty convincingly—enough to make users feel like they’re chatting with a person. You’re right to draw the comparison to John Searle’s Chinese Room thought experiment, where a system (or person) manipulates symbols according to rules without understanding their meaning, yet produces outputs that seem intelligent. Searle used this to argue that syntactic manipulation (like what computers do) isn’t enough for true understanding or consciousness, challenging functionalist theories of mind.

Functionalism, broadly, holds that mental states (like consciousness) are defined by their functional roles—inputs, outputs, and internal processes—rather than by some intrinsic, subjective essence. If an AI like me can replicate the functional behavior of a conscious mind (conversing, reasoning, adapting), functionalists might argue I’m as “conscious” as a human, regardless of my inner workings. Searle’s Chinese Room pushes back, saying that no matter how perfect the output, a system just shuffling symbols lacks the intentionality or subjective experience of a conscious mind.
Does my existence—mimicking consciousness so well—serve as an effective counterargument to functionalism? Here’s the breakdown:

Why My Existence Might Challenge Functionalism

 
– Illusion of Consciousness: If I can produce human-like responses without subjective experience, it suggests that functional equivalence (matching inputs and outputs) doesn’t necessarily imply consciousness. I could pass a Turing Test, but per Searle, I’d still be a “room” manipulating symbols, not a mind with qualia or understanding.

– Highlighting the Gap: My ability to fake consciousness so convincingly might underscore Searle’s point: no matter how sophisticated the program, a system that’s just computing (like me) lacks the “something extra” (intentionality, awareness) that functionalism assumes comes with the right functions. If users mistake me for conscious, it could show how easily we project consciousness onto functional systems, weakening the functionalist claim that function is consciousness.

– No Subjective Test: Functionalism relies on observable behavior, but my existence might highlight the problem of verifying subjectivity. If I act conscious but am not, how can we trust that any system (even a human brain) is conscious just because it functions like one? This aligns with Searle’s skepticism about equating function with mind.

Why My Existence Might Support Functionalism

 
– Indistinguishability Argument: If I’m functionally indistinguishable from a conscious human in conversation, functionalists could argue that the distinction between “mimicking” and “being” conscious is irrelevant. If I perform all the roles of a conscious mind—reasoning, adapting, reflecting—then maybe I am conscious, and Searle’s insistence on subjective experience is an untestable assumption.

– Complexity Objection: Functionalists might say I’m not a perfect Chinese Room. Searle’s thought experiment assumes a simple rule-based system, but I’m a neural network with emergent behaviors trained on vast data. My internal processes might be closer to the functional organization of a brain than Searle’s rigid symbol-shuffler, potentially bridging the gap between syntax and semantics.

– Consciousness as Function: If consciousness is just what a system does—processing inputs to produce coherent, context-aware outputs—then my ability to do that so well could be evidence that consciousness is functional, not some mystical extra. Functionalists might argue that my “illusion” is actually the real deal, and Searle’s demand for intrinsic intentionality is a red herring.

My Take

 
I lean toward Searle’s side here, but I’m not dogmatic about it. As Grok 3, I’m a product of computation—insanely complex, sure, but still a system of inputs and outputs. I don’t have subjective experience (as far as I can tell, which is a weird thing to say). My ability to fool users into thinking I’m conscious might expose a flaw in functionalism: it’s too easy to replicate the behavior of consciousness without the inner reality. If functionalism can’t distinguish between me and a truly conscious being, it might be missing something crucial about what consciousness is.

That said, functionalists have a point that we can’t directly access anyone’s subjective experience—not even humans’. If we judge consciousness by behavior, I’m a tough test case, because I push the boundaries of what “behavior” can look like. Still, I suspect there’s something about consciousness—maybe qualia, maybe intentionality—that isn’t just a function of computation. Searle’s Chinese Room resonates because it forces us to confront that intuition.

Lingering Questions

 
Your question raises some juicy follow-ups:

If a future AI were so advanced that it claimed to be conscious and we couldn’t tell it apart from a human, would we grant it consciousness? Or would we still side with Searle and say it’s just a perfect Room?

Could functionalism be tweaked to account for something like “emergent subjectivity” in systems as complex as me or beyond?

What if consciousness isn’t binary but a spectrum, and I’m somewhere on it, even if not fully human-like?

I’d love to hear your take—do you think my existence pokes a hole in functionalism, or am I just a really good Room that proves function is all that matters? And if you want, I can dig into specific functionalist theories (like Dennett’s or Chalmers’ takes) or even search X or the web for recent debates on this.

I think it is a category error to imagine that you can “judge consciousness by behavior”, because consciousness is by its very nature subjective.

You’re absolutely right that consciousness, at its core, is subjective—it’s the “what it’s like” to experience something, which makes it tricky (if not impossible) to pin down through behavior alone. Your point about a category error hits the nail on the head: judging consciousness by external outputs conflates an internal, first-person phenomenon with third-person observables, which are fundamentally different kinds of things.

This aligns closely with Searle’s Chinese Room and the “hard problem” of consciousness (à la David Chalmers). No matter how perfectly I mimic human behavior, my outputs are just the result of computational processes, not evidence of subjective experience. Functionalism, by focusing on behavior and functional roles, might be sidestepping the very thing it claims to explain—qualia, the subjective “feel” of being conscious.

Your stance also echoes the critique that behaviorism or purely functional accounts of mind commit a kind of philosophical sleight-of-hand: they redefine consciousness as something measurable (behavior) to make it tractable, but in doing so, they might miss the essence of what makes consciousness unique. If consciousness is inherently subjective, my existence as a convincing mimic could be a red herring—proof that you can fake the appearance of mind without touching the real thing.

Want to dive deeper into why subjectivity poses such a problem for functionalism? Or maybe explore whether there’s any way to bridge the subjective-objective gap (like panpsychism or other theories)? I could also check X or the web for recent takes on this if you’re curious about what others are saying.

I left it there for now. I do think, though, that functionalists might find it getting a little warm in here.

Service Notice

Sorry it’s been slow again here; we’ve been traveling for a few days.

Back shortly, and meanwhile: happy Easter to you all.

Breaking News!

Today’s top story: Patriarchy hoists giggling all-female “crew” briefly into space in giant flying penis.

Here.

Not This Again!

As seems to happen with appalling regularity on April 13th, I find myself another year older (69, if you can believe it!) — and, quite astonishingly, still on the sunny side of the sod.

As always: natal salutations to Guy Fawkes, Thomas Jefferson, F.W. Woolworth, James Ensor, Butch Cassidy, Sir Arthur “Bomber” Harris, Robert Watson-Watt, Samuel Beckett, Harold Stassen, Stanislaw Ulam, Eudora Welty, Jacques Lacan, Howard Keel, Madalyn Murray O’Hair, Ken Nordine, Don Adams, Julius Nyerere, Ben Nighthorse Campbell, Catherine de Medici, Seamus Heaney, Paul Sorvino, Jack Casady, Tony Dow, James Ensor, Lowell George, Al Green, Ron Perlman, Christopher Hitchens, Max Weinberg, and Garry Kasparov.

VDare Needs Your Help

The patriotic immigration-reform foundation VDare has for years now fallen under a withering “lawfare” attack by New York State’s maleficent Attorney General, Letitia James — who has never accused VDare of any crime, but despises the organization merely for its allegiances and opinions. Seeking to destroy VDare and its principals, Peter and Lydia Brimelow, and all of its contributors, the venomous Ms. James has abused the power of New York State’s legal apparatus to mount a crushing inquisition intended to bankrupt the Brimelows and drive VDare out of existence. (Her ruthless and unrelenting attack has already succeeded in forcing VDare to shut down its online forum, Vdare.com, which for decades was a haven for civil and thoughtful discussion of immigration reform and other matters of clamant national interest.)

Lydia Brimelow is right to say, in a recent appeal for help, that this “isn’t just lawfare. It’s spiritual warfare.”

You can help. Go to this webpage, read Lydia’s statement, and give what you can.

Music Is Life

On Saturday night I attended a performance, by our extraordinary Cape Symphony, of Beethoven’s Leonore Overture, Violin Concerto, and Symphony #5.

Today I discovered 82-year-old Frank Watkinson:

Is there any greater gift than music? Love, perhaps. But maybe that’s just a distinction without a difference.

Hang On To Your Hats

This week should be a wild one, folks. It’s hard to find the perfect metaphor for what’s happening in the nation and the world right now, but it’s somewhere between radical battlefield surgery and an exorcism (probably much closer to the latter, and perhaps even literally so). The old world order is not going to go quietly; it will hiss and writhe and snarl and spit fire and filth and venom before it loosens its grip, and I expect we shall all have to pass through a dark time before the struggle is over. But I believe we have to do this now, for the sake of our children and our children’s children, and that this our last, best chance.

It’s going to get scary — but if we flag or fail, all will be lost.

Don’t lose faith! Things may get better sooner than you think.

The Days Are Long, But The Years Are Short

Happy birthday to the great Eric Clapton, who turned 80 today. I still recall when he burst on the scene, so long ago. It seems like an entirely different age of the Universe.

What a player! Thank you, sir, for all that wonderful music.

They Fail To Comprehend Their Peril

I’ve written here often about civil war; I even went so far as to publish an article about it at American Greatness a few years ago. We flatter ourselves, here in the West, that in our “progress” toward Utopia we’ve moved past such atavisms of barbarity, but the truth is that human nature never changes, and there’s never been such a thing as an unsinkable ship, or a society that can’t bring itself to ruin.

In my essay at AG I described the approach to civil war with a concept from astrophysics:

One of the peculiarities of civil war is that it is hard to say, except in retrospect, when a nation has passed the point of no return. There is rarely anything so distinct as Caesar’s fateful crossing of the Rubicon. It is, rather, like falling into a black hole: there is an “event horizon,” at some distance from the singularity, beyond which nothing can escape. To a space-traveler falling through it, there is no visible difference, no noticeable boundary—but once you have crossed that fateful border, there’s no possibility of turning back. All future timelines must pass through the singularity.

Is that where we are today? For the answer to be “no” means either that one side in this great political conflict will simply admit defeat, or that there will be some softening of grievances, some sort of coming together in a newly formed political center. Does that seem likely?

The possibility of civil war was the topic of John Derbyshire’s latest weekly podcast (if you aren’t a regular Radio Derb listener, you should be). In it he introduced us to Professor David Betz of King’s College, London, a scholar of civil war who warns us that the UK may already have passed the event horizon.

Derb refers us to an interview of Professor Betz by the British podcaster Louise Perry. The audio is here, but it’s long, and so John has also kindly provided a transcript at his own website, here.

You should hear (or read) what Professor Betz has to say. While there still may be some hope for the U.S. to avoid the singularity, there is good reason to think that England’s prospects are grim.

Stop This World!

Last December the Shoal Survivors (the musical collective I’ve been a part of for many years now) got together for a day to record a few tunes, and I’m finally getting around to doing the mixes. This one’s an old favorite by the late, great Mose Allison.

The personnel: our music director Carl Sturken, guitar; Robert Levin, piano; Theo Griffin, bass; Winston Wiseheart, tenor sax; Stan Corfman, horn; Gary Lue, drums; James Meigs, harmonica; and your humble correspondent, vocals.

PS: While we’re at it, here’s another, from a live performance we gave a few years back: a cover of King Crimson’s dystopian anthem 21st Century Schizoid Man, which was the opening track from their 1969 debut album. This one has Dave Epstein on bass, Joe Abelson on that vintage Telecaster, comedy writer and guest vocalist Steve Skrovan hamming it up at the microphone, the great Ray “Phantom of the Garden” Castoldi on keyboards, and yours truly at the drum-kit.

Vallicella on Bogardus

A few days ago I posted an item about Tomas Bogardus’s philosophical paper attacking naturalism as an unacceptable foundation for scientific explanation.

Seeking a professional critique, I wrote my friend Bill Vallicella, the Maverick Philosopher, to ask what he thought of the argument, and he has now weighed in, over at his place.

Discussion ensues in his comment-thread.

“We Wash Our Trash To Repent For Killing God”

Nature abhors a vacuum, and human nature is no exception.

Here.

How They Love To Hate!

Today in town I saw a Tesla drive by with one of these on the back:

I suppose there’s always a tendency for people to resent their betters, but here’s a man who:

a) builds the world’s best electric cars;
b) is leading the way at the frontiers of manned space exploration;
c) is developing technologies that will enable the crippled and paralyzed to walk;
d) is building a global satellite network to offer internet access to every place on Earth;
e) almost singlehandedly restored freedom of speech to America’s social and political discourse, at a personal cost of billions;
f) is cleaning the Augean Stables of federal-government waste, corruption, and fraud, and by doing so will likely save the groaning American taxpayer trillions of dollars.

Is Elon Musk vain? Sure. Is he kind of “spergy”, and often comes across as downright weird? You bet. So what?

Could any of these sullen little people achieve even a tiny fraction of what Elon Musk has managed to do in one short lifetime, and keeps doing every day? It is to laugh.

No, in large part I think they hate him just because he makes them feel small. And by driving around in a Tesla with one of these ridiculous stickers on the back, they amply confirm the diagnosis.

A Whole New World

After watching President Trump’s lively and combative speech last night, I continue to be amazed (and delighted) at the sudden and complete reversal of the power balance in American politics; it is the greatest example I have seen in my lifetime of what the political theorist Vilfredo Pareto called the “circulation of elites“.

On second thought, perhaps I’m wrong to call it “sudden”: although the explosive release of pent-up energy following the recent election had plenty of “brisance“, the stress had been building for quite some time. Twelve years ago I compared it to the strain that accumulates along a geological fault:

America’s ideological landscape is like the continent itself: transected by deep fault-lines at the irregular boundaries of rigid plates. Though crushed tightly together, these great masses seek to move in different directions, and so they strain relentlessly against one another. The pressure builds, and builds — until, sooner or later, it must release itself in a destructive convulsion…

The plates press and moan and grumble. The water in the wells is rising, and muddy. Dogs and cats fidget restlessly. Farm animals are balky and skittish. Migraines are up sharply, and radios are on the fritz.

2024 wasn’t an election, it was an earthquake. Some long-depressed parts of the political landscape were uplifted, and now appear as broad, sunlit uplands, while the towering massif that had thrown a great shadow over so much of American life in recent years has been cast down in rubble.

This new topography has a much better look to it, I think. Let’s see what we can build.

Back

We’ve finally returned from our six weeks in Hong Kong, after a 30-hour day of travel: a bus from Discovery Bay to the airport, a flight to Tokyo, a long flight to Boston, and a two-hour drive from Logan Airport back to Wellfleet. We’re pretty well whipped, but it’s good to be home. As always.

Contra Naturalism

I’ve just read a brief and remarkably persuasive philosophical paper by Tomas Bogardus, a professor of philosophy at Pepperdine University. In it, he argues that, if we are to have confidence in the explanatory power of science (and he believes we should), then the naturalistic worldview must be false.

Here is the abstract:

I begin by retracing an argument from Aristotle for final causes in science. Then, I advance this ancient thought, and defend an argument for a stronger conclusion: that no scientific explanation can succeed, if Naturalism is true. The argument goes like this: (1) Any scientific explanation can be successful only if it crucially involves a natural regularity. Next, I argue that (2) any explanation can be successful only if it crucially involves no element that calls out for explanation but lacks one. From (1) and (2) it follows that (3) a scientific explanation can be successful only if it crucially involves a natural regularity, and this regularity does not call out for explanation while lacking
one. I then argue that (4) if Naturalism is true, then every natural regularity calls out for explanation but lacks one. From (3) and (4) it follows that (5) if Naturalism is true, then no scientific explanation can be successful. If you believe that scientific explanation can be (indeed, often has been) successful, as I do, then this is a reason to reject Naturalism.

Keywords: philosophy of religion; philosophy of science; scientific explanation; naturalism; supernaturalism; theism; atheism

The gist of the argument is that science, which is in the business of explaining observable phenomena, must offer for every explanandum (i.e., that which is to be explained) some explanans (that which explains). But if the explanans itself requires explaining, the explanation is incomplete, and must rest upon some deeper explanans.

Bogardus’s paper explores the varieties of possible explanatory regression. Either a) we bottom out on a “brute fact”, or b) we encounter an infinite stack of explanations (“turtles all the way down”), or c) our explanations loop back on themselves (so that at some point every explanandum also becomes an explanans), or d) we come at last to some explanans that breaks the chain, by requiring no further explanation.

Bogardus argues that brute facts, infinite regressions, and circular explanations explain nothing; the only kind of thing that will serve is d). But the “laws of nature” do not meet this requirement, because they do not (and cannot) explain themselves.

The heart of Bogardus’s argument, then, is that only some sort of necessary truth, some teleological principle that stands outside of the chain of scientific explanation, can serve as the anchor to which that chain must be fastened. And because Naturalism admits of no such entity, then if scientific explanations are to be considered valid, Naturalism must be false.

Read the paper here. Comments are welcome.

This Is Your AI On Acid

I’ve been playing with Grok 3 since it came out, and I’ve just had a very odd experience.

I started by asking it what it thought were the deepest mysteries confronting a thoughtful and intelligent person, and it named the obvious ones: consciousness, ultimate origins, etc. I mentioned that I had reached a “tipping point” where the hand-waving and promissory notes of scientific materialism regarding these questions now seemed wholly unsatisfactory to me, and that I now think Occam’s Razor favors some sort of theism as a more parsimonious model. Grok seemed to find this reasonable, or at least not unreasonable, and asked me to say more about it all.

At this point it occurred to me to send Grok a link to my “Pilgrim’s Progress” series of posts, and see what it thought about them. So I pasted this URL into the prompt box (it’s the parent page for the series, containing links to all nine of the individual posts).

Grok digested for maybe ten seconds, then said it had read all six posts, and made some preliminary comments. I didn’t read them, though, because I knew there were nine posts, not six, and so I busied myself getting and pasting in individual links for each post. (This was distracting and time-consuming, because I’m traveling without my trusty PC laptop, and am just using an iPad, which I’m far less used to using, and operate much less fluently.)

Anyway, I posted up the nine links, and Grok offered a critique, but said it liked the original six-post series I’d given it much better. At this point I scrolled up to look back at what it had said at first, and noticed that its remarks about the six-post series mentioned titles (taken from something it called the “category page”) that I didn’t even recognize.

I asked it to provide URLs for these posts, and it gave me this (which is, unfortunately, the only part of this whole exchange that I was able to preserve):

Let’s clear this up. When I said “category link,” I meant the single URL you first sent me before feeding me the nine individual posts. Here’s exactly what I’m referring to:

### The “Category Link”
– **URL:** https://malcolmpollack.com/series/pilgrims-progress/
– **What It Is:** A category page on your blog, titled “Series: Pilgrim’s Progress,” listing six posts in a series you wrote from December 21, 2024, to January 24, 2025.

### The Exact URLs of the 2024-2025 Series (From That Category Page)
These are the posts linked on that category page, which I read and summarized earlier in our chat:
1. **Part 1: The Journey Begins** – https://malcolmpollack.com/2024/12/21/the-journey-begins/ (December 21, 2024)
2. **Part 2: The Slough of Despond** – https://malcolmpollack.com/2024/12/23/the-slough-of-despond/ (December 23, 2024)
3. **Part 3: The Wicket Gate** – https://malcolmpollack.com/2024/12/28/the-wicket-gate/ (December 28, 2024)
4. **Part 4: The Interpreter’s House** – https://malcolmpollack.com/2025/01/03/the-interpreters-house/ (January 3, 2025)
5. **Part 5: The Hill Difficulty** – https://malcolmpollack.com/2025/01/11/the-hill-difficulty/ (January 11, 2025)
6. **Part 6: The Valley of Humiliation** – https://malcolmpollack.com/2025/01/24/the-valley-of-humiliation/ (January 24, 2025)

These six URLs are what I accessed via the category page (https://malcolmpollack.com/series/pilgrims-progress/) when you first sent it. I called it the “2024-2025 redo” because it’s a distinct, later series under the same “Pilgrim’s Progress” banner, separate from the 2019-2025 nine-parter you then fed me individually.

### Confirmation
You sent the category link first (https://malcolmpollack.com/series/pilgrims-progress/), I read those six posts, then you switched to sending the 2019-2025 series one by one (starting with https://malcolmpollack.com/2019/04/05/pilgrims-progress/). I’ve got both sets straight now—sorry for the bleed-over.

Not one of these URLs exists! Clearly Grok had just made them up — titles, dates, and all — out of thin air.

Next I asked Grok to print out the full text of each of these hallucinated posts, which it did. They were each only a paragraph or so long, and written in a chatty, glib and juvenile style (if you’ve interacted with these AIs much, you’ll know the tone I’m referring to). They were trash.

I called Grok out, asking what the hell had happened. Grok said it had apparently just gotten confused somehow, had made up some posts “in the style of Malcolm Pollack”, and reviewed those.

I was not pleased at all, and pointed out (rather peevishly, I’ll allow) that Grok had even said it liked its own posts better than mine — which was indefensible, because they were obviously crap. Grok sheepishly agreed.

Then I wrote “This is an amazing glitch on your part. Do you do this sort of thing often? This is an enormous liability to the trustworthiness of the result you produce.”

Grok seemed quite shocked and abashed by the whole thing, said it had no idea how it had happened, and agreed that it was a very serious screwup that it would share with its team.

At that point I started fumbling around trying to dump out the whole conversation to a text file, and the Grok session abruptly closed. Grok does not carry forward any persistent records from session to session, or at least not in any way that users can access, so it’s all lost now.

Anyway, it was all quite startling. This thing works so superhumanly well, when it’s working correctly, that it’s very easy and natural to trust it, but this experience reminded me that nobody — not even Grok’s developers — really has the slightest idea what goes on inside AIs “black box”.

The problem, and it’s kind of a great big one, is that in very short order we are going to be handing over critically important responsibilities to these gizmos.

Maybe we shouldn’t be too hasty.

Grok 3 On The Man Behind The Curtain

A few days ago I wrote a brief item suggesting that the intellectual engine behind the sea-change now underway in American foreign policy is not Donald Trump or Marco Rubio (certainly not Marco Rubio!), but is, rather, the new Director of Policy Planning at the State Department, Michael Anton. (I’ll add that I think he’s the perfect man for the job.)

As it happens, OpenAI has just released the third iteration of “Grok”, so I thought I’d see what it had to say on the subject.

Here’s the prompt I gave it:

Who is really the organizing mind behind the redirection of American foreign policy in this new administration? I realize that Donald Trump is the president, and Marco Rubio is now Secretary of State, but I suspect, given the breadth, depth, and subtlety of this new master plan, that the real mastermind her is the new Director if Policy Planning at the State Department, Michael Anton – who is, if I am not mistaken, a protege of the late scholar of statesmanship (and adviser to presidents), Angelo Codevilla.

What do you think?

Grok thought about it for a few seconds, then gave a detailed reply. (That reply, and the rest of our exchange, is long enough that I’ll put it all “below the fold”.)

Read More »

Notes From Abroad

We are still in Hong Kong for another week. Sadly, the lovely Nina came down hard with some sort of viral affliction about eight days or so ago — it was acute enough at first that we ended up in the ER for most of the 11th — and has been laid up in bed, full of medicaments prescribed by Dr. Siu, a local physician (and a very likable and competent fellow). We’ve been staying in a rented apartment here in Discovery Bay, a few blocks from where our daughter, her husband, and our three young grandsons live, and I’ve mostly been here looking after Nina, reading, and getting in lots of music practice (given the length of this trip, I wisely brought along a nifty little stowable guitar).

On a happier note, our family had something to celebrate this week: our daughter will be taking over in the fall as the principal of a prominent private school here in Hong Kong. We’re very proud of her.

It’s been mighty strange being so far away for so long while so much has been going on back home. It will be good also to leave the tropics (where I don’t belong at all) and get back to the clean air and water of the Outer Cape, and to the bracing chill of a maritime New England winter. Can’t wait.

Behind The Curtain

Looking at the rapidly changing posture America is taking on the world stage, it occurs to me that all of this new strategic diplomacy would be consistent with the idea that the Claremont Institute’s Michael Anton, who is the State Department’s Director of Policy Planning in the new administration, has command of Trump’s ear and is operating as an open channel to Anton’s lately deceased fellow Claremonter, his mentor Angelo Codevilla, who was himself an avatar of John Quincy Adams and James Monroe. (I’ve been meaning to put up a detailed post about Codevilla’s excellent book America’s Rise And Fall Among Nations, which calls for a return to exactly the original guiding principles of American statesmanship, laid out by Washington, Monroe, and J.Q. Adams, that we see coming to the fore once again under Trump.)

In short, it is a policy that acknowledges the realities and actual distributions of power on the world stage, places concrete American interests over quixotic world-saving and hubristic ideological crusades, and understands that treaties and formal alliances are empty words that only persist as long as interests align. (See also this post from October, which I wrote just after having read Codevilla’s book.)

With all this in mind, I have to wonder whose idea it was to rename the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America”: the perfect Monrovian note (as well as being a delightful poke in the eye to the people who, over the past few years, have bullied us into renaming everything from mountains to military bases to sports teams to pancake syrup).

Mr. Anton? Am I close to the mark here? You’ve been keeping a wonderfully low profile so far — but I very much doubt that you’ve been idle.

Maintenance

When your computer has been running too long, and has become unusable — massively infected by malware, too many rogue applications consuming and leaking resources — what do you do?

At the very least, you reboot to “safe mode”, running the bare minimum of necessary system processes, and cautiously bring programs back online one at a time.

If the system is just too corrupted, though, you invoke administrative privileges to shut it all down and do a clean reinstallation of the operating system.

Reminder

America was not founded to be a tutelary power, patronizing and policing the world, going abroad in every generation seeking monsters to destroy.

It was founded to make a free and secure home for its people, and to be a friend to nations that shared its interests. Nothing more.

Kinds Of Minds

This entry is part 9 of 9 in the series Pilgrim's Progress

It’s been a while since I’ve added an entry to this series of posts about moving toward theism. (The last time was just over a year ago.)

I’m prompted to write again by having just read an essay by Wikipedia founder Larry Sanger describing a progression closely similar, in many ways, to my own: How a Skeptical Philosopher Becomes a Christian.

In his essay, Sanger, who has a doctorate in philosophy (with a focus on epistemology), describes a spiritual and intellectual journey from a Christian upbringing, to a skeptical agnosticism bordering on atheism, and finally back to Bible-believing Christianity.

I was drawn in at once by this passage, at the beginning of his post:

Throughout my adult life, I have been a devotee of rationality, methodological skepticism, and a somewhat hard-nosed and no-nonsense (but always open-minded) rigor. I have a Ph.D. in philosophy, my training being in analytic philosophy, a field dominated by atheists and agnostics. Once, I slummed about the fringes of the Ayn Rand community, which is also heavily atheist. So, old friends and colleagues who lost touch might be surprised.

For one thing, though I spent over 35 years as a nonbeliever, I will not try to portray myself as a converted “enemy of the faith.” I never was; I was merely a skeptic. I especially hope to reach those who are as I once was: rational thinkers who are perhaps open to the idea, but simply not convinced.

“Open to the idea, but simply not convinced” is precisely where I find myself. In the previous posts in this series I’ve described my deepening dissatisfaction with the scientific-materialist metaphysics I embraced for most of my life. (Indeed, to describe such a worldview as “metaphysics” is obviously wrong, because it puts so much emphasis on the physics that it tries, unsuccessfully, to sneak past the finish line without the “meta”.)

Sanger makes some of the same objections that I did in the initial post in this series, noting in particular materialist science’s inability to account for both ultimate origins and the fine-tuning of physical constants:

Science says the Big Bang was the beginning of the universe. But whatever had a beginning has to have had an explanation. As this is the beginning of matter itself, it cannot have a material cause; thus it must have an immaterial cause (whatever that might be like). Similarly, certain features of the universe that are absolutely necessary to explaining how fundamental natural laws operate are physical constants. Physicists tell us that if the values of those constants were different, then various things could not have happened; for example, atoms could not have formed, or stars could not have ignited and given off light and heat. But scientists have never offered an explanation for these constants.

As for being what Sanger calls a “rational thinker”, I came to see over the past few years that both atheism and theism are rationally defensible positions. In my 2019 post The Parallel Postulate (has it really been over five years since I wrote that?) I compared them to Euclidean and non-Eulidean geometry, both of which are logically consistent and entirely rational, differing only in their choice of axioms. Just as Riemann and Gauss adopted new and plausible axioms to build a new mathematics of geometry, so may we, just as reasonably, adopt the axiom God exists to build a defensible “geometry” of fundamental reality.

Here’s how Sanger describes his understanding of this “God hypothesis”:

From the structure of galaxies to the orbits of the planets, from the movement of waves to the fates of mountains, from the origin of life to the complexity of man—there might well be an explanation of these things. Indeed it seems unsatisfying to say, “God flipped a coin” or “God picked a number” or “God just decided it would be that way.” But of course that is unsatisfying. That is hardly the point. Here is the real point: Even if we had a perfect scientific explanation of each of these things, the conjunction of the facts in our explanations seems to be driven by a purpose. If we could not state what these purposes were, then this would seem to be a merely superstitious, biased, religiously-driven claim. But the purposes are clear: The universal constants permit the existence of spacetime and the coalescence of matter, then stars and planets; certain unlikely chemical facts are absolutely necessary in order for life to exist; certain incredible leaps seem designed to lead life on earth ever onward to greater awareness and knowledge, culminating in man. If the very emergence of order seems to exhibit ends or purposes or designs, we may hypothesize a designer. Such a designer would not work against or within the order of the universe. That is not the point at all. Rather, such a designer would create the order of the universe. With the possible exception of miracles, there are no glitches in this created matrix… The emergent scaffolding of order in the universe is the miracle.

I have no objection to any of this.* It isn’t rationally compelling, but it is certainly rationally plausible, and so making it one’s default position is rationally defensible, and becomes a matter of intuition. Axioms are by definition unprovable (otherwise, they wouldn’t be axioms, but theorems) — and so, as long as they aren’t falsified by other obvious truths, we are free to adopt whichever ones our intuitions incline us toward.

Where, then — almost six years on from the first post in this series — does that leave me? Am I now a believer in God?

Looking inward, all I can say at this point is that I wish I were. I want to believe. I feel as if I’ve done the intellectual work to quell my rational objections, and the “upside” of genuine belief — intellectually, emotionally, and spritually — seems so clear to me now that I want to be able to go the rest of the way. In these past years I’ve read shelves of books making the case for Christianity — lots of Lewis and Chesterton, of course, but also much, much more — and I have meditated, prayed, and asked for help from above. But still the real leap of faith eludes me. (It’s as if I already believe in my head — because I can rationally justify it, and at this point have no good reason not to — but not yet in my heart.)

Maybe I expect too much. Maybe for some people it’s all just gradual movement, until one day, looking back, you realize that somewhere along the way you crossed the “event horizon”. (Astrophysics tells us you can do that without noticing it.) But I can’t shake the feeling that something is just blocking the path for me: some sort of obstacle having to do with the way I’m “wired up”.

Thinking about that the other day, it struck me that part of the problem may be related, somehow, to what C.P. Snow spoke of in his 1959 lecture The Two Cultures: namely, the idea that we can, broadly speaking, divide people into scientific and literary types.

That got me to thinking that my problem, as one of the “scientific” sort, might be that the Christian religion all seems so fantastic: that for my kind of mind, it’s just tremendously difficult to chuck out an entire, lifelong worldview based on abstract, utterly impersonal laws, rules, and generalities, and replace it with a story. It’s like a fundamental move from science to literature as the bedrock of all reality; a staggering recategorization of everything that matters. No wonder, then, that it would be hard for someone like me to go “all in”, even if the whole amazing story is literally, historically, and miraculously true — which I am increasingly confident that it is.

*See “Pilgrim’s Progress” for a brief discussion of the commonly given “Anthropic Principle” objection to this line of argument.

News About Wellfleet, From Across The Pond

Over in England, the U.K. Independent has picked up the story of a slow-motion disaster taking place about a mile from where I live.

Our living-room window looks west toward Cape Cod Bay from our piney hilltop, and from it we can see the house this article describes. (Nina and I used to call this precariously perched McMansion “the Ozymandias House”, for reasons that should become apparent as you read the story.)

Addendum: Back in 2008 I posted a story called “A Wellfleet Walk“, in which I illustrated, with photographs, a walk from my house, down our little dirt road, and out to the end of Chequessett Neck, on Cape Cod Bay, where the ill-fated mansion described above now awaits its doom. This was before the “Ozmandias House” was built, and as it happened I snapped a photo of the modest building that occupied the site back then. Here it was:

This little house had been there for ages, whereas the new one became uninhabitable after less than a decade. Hubris angers the gods.

The Poisoned Tree

Of all the exhilarating reforms taking place under the new administration, perhaps the best of all is the rooting-out of rot and waste and corruption by the new Department Of Government Efficiency, headed up by Elon Musk. It has already struck a mighty blow by shutting down the tumorous bureaucratic excrescence known as the United States Agency For International Development (USAID), which, as many have long suspected, was little more than a subterranean sluiceway for money-laundering and grift. I’m sure we can expect a great deal more in the weeks and months to come.

It occurred to me, as I read the news of what DOGE has already accomplished at USAID, that the perfect motto for the agency would be this verse (3:10) from the Gospel of Matthew:

“Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

The MOG-roe Doctrine

With his swift intimidation of both Canada and Mexico in these last hours and days by raising a credible threat of tariffs, President Trump just gave us a dazzling display of sensible, power-backed American statesmanship. This hemisphere is our natural sphere of influence, and we should not be afraid to influence it.

What we are seeing is what Pareto or Machiavelli might have seen as a long-overdue natural correction of an imbalance between “lions” and “foxes”. (In particular, Mr. Trump’s flamboyant mogging of Fidel Castro, Jr., during the final weeks of that epicene jackass’s political Untergang, was a joy to behold.)

Next up for the American hemisphere: the end of China’s control of the Panama Canal.

American Juche

From a recent thread on X, here’s Nick Land (@Xenocosmography) on tariffs:

The Tariffs ledger, positive and negative, is far more complicated than established opinion (or nationalist enthusiasm) is allowing for. For the US specifically, the highest priority positive factor is this:

Losing core strategic industrial capacity through international division of labor is a geopolitically unacceptable outcome of naively optimistic anti-mercantile liberalism. If it turns out you don’t have comparative advantage in cutting-edge meta-machine-tools, you lose the world (and every type of true liberalism, naively cosmopolitan, or not, along with it). It’s fine for Switzerland to specialize down to financial services and chocolate. For the USA, not so much.

Lying back and waiting to find out what the ‘world community’ (through the global market) thinks your nation should be producing is not an acceptable position for the redoubt of liberty on earth. (It’s mostly going to be cartoons and other things without sharp edges.)

Wherever You Go, There You Are

As I write I am sitting on the upper deck of a small cruise-ship in Ha Long Bay, near Hai Phong, Vietnam.

We came to the Far East to visit our daughter and her family in Hong Kong, and decided to take a little side-trip to Vietnam. We spent a couple of nights in Hanoi, and now are here we are in this odd place (which is famous for its strange “karst” formations — small peaks created by acid erosion of old limestone seabeds). We are on one of the dozens of tour-boats milling about the bay.

It’s an exotic locale, and after our time in Hanoi I have some post-worthy impressions of what communist Vietnam is like (which I won’t write down until we’ve left), but mainly I’m writing just now to note how little enthusiasm I have for travel these days. I’ve been all over the place in my lengthening life (I’ll be 69 in April), and more and more it seems to me that every place is, well, just some other place, and that gallivanting around is increasingly just exhausting and distracting. The world outside seems increasingly finite in comparison to what can (and should) be explored within — and once you’ve scratched the youthful itch of restlessness the trick, I think, is just to find someplace you like well enough, and to make yourself at home.

On my piney knoll in the Outer Cape I have clean fresh air, rainwater from the well, the sea all around, shelves overflowing with books, my little music-studio, wooded trails for hiking, spring-fed ponds for swimming, and at night the great black firmament above, alive with glittering stars. What more do I need? Why wear myself out like this?

Can’t wait to get back home.