The widespread loss of a shared practical grasp of the teleological structure of human nature and activity at the threshold of the modern world not only led to the theoretical fragmentation that I described in After Virtue but was itself the result of a prior loss of a shared mode of practical life. And there is no way to make the relevant concepts and arguments once more compelling except within some restored and contemporary version of just such a mode of practical life. Detach those concepts and arguments from the contexts of social practice from which and within which they draw their intelligibility and they too become mere debatable theoretical constructions.

We need to begin again and to do so by returning to the social context in which we learned the use of good and its cognates. What we first had to learn was how to make the distinctions between what we desire and the choiceworthy, and between what pleases those others whom we desire to please and the choiceworthy. We characteristically and generally learn—or fail to learn—to make these distinctions, as we emerge through and from the family into the life of a variety of practices: such practices as those of housework and farmwork, of learning Latin and geometry, of building houses and making furniture, of playing soccer and playing in string quartets. What we can learn only in and through such practices is what the standards of excellence are in each type of activity and how our desires and feelings must be disciplined and transformed and our choices guided by the standards of excellence in each type of activity if we are to achieve such excellence and through it the goods internal to each type of practice.

On the expressivist view, when I assert that “doing such and such is bad,” the meaning of the asserted sentence is such that it gives expression to the speaker’s sentiments of disapproval. But suppose that someone says tentatively, “If doing such and such is bad, then so and so.” Then, since no sentiments of disapproval are expressed, “Doing such and such is bad” as a constituent of this conditional must have a quite different meaning from that which it has when asserted. But if this is so, then inferences of the form “If doing such and such is bad, then so and so, but doing such and such is bad, therefore so and so” must be invalid, which is absurd. So the expressivist account of the meaning of such sentences must fail. It was Peter Geach who argued this thesis powerfully, thereafter referring to it as “the Frege point.”

For while, so far as I could judge, Ayer, Stevenson, and other expressivists had provided a compelling account of the characteristic uses to which moral judgments were now put in a particular culture, they had taken themselves to have provided an adequate account of the meaning of moral and evaluative sentences as such, whatever the culture.

Marx and Engels had argued that every morality is the morality of some particular social and economic order and that every moral philosophy articulates and makes explicit the judgments, arguments, and presuppositions of some particular morality, either in such a way as to defend both that morality and the social and economic order of which it is the expression, or in such a way as to undermine them. And my acknowledgment of the truth of this thesis was reinforced by my encounters with social anthropology, especially first with the work of Franz Steiner and later with that of Rodney Needham. I therefore asked: What is the distinctive morality of this social and economic order that I inhabit, and how does contemporary moral philosophy stand to that morality? And in pursuing an answer to this question I was guided not only by Marx and Engels but also by John Anderson, who had urged that, if we were to understand social institutions and relationships, we should ask not what function or purpose they serve but to what conflicts they give expression. This suggested that both the morality and the moral philosophy of the present age are best understood as milieus of conflict, sites of disagreement. But those disagreements find significantly different expression in the arenas of philosophical debate on the one hand and in those of everyday moral and political practice on the other.

I had become and to this day remain convinced of the truth and political relevance of Marx’s critique of capitalism and of his historical insights as presented in the narrative of the Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte.

In the middle are things that are not quite alive, but definitely not dead. I’m not talking about zombie things being kept alive out of sentiment or sunk-cost fallacies. Those are activities you just haven’t admitted are archival. I am talking about things that are sort of adjacent to living, and might enter (or reenter) the realm of the living at any time. This is the universe of KTLO things. KTLO-space, or K-space, is sort of like the dungeon dimensions of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld. Fantastical things lurk there that might burst into our world at anytime.

Blogs are an indicator species for a world that features a robust public commons. Not just an indicator species, but a charismatic megafauna type indicator species. The health of blogs says things about the health of the public sphere the way the health of polar bears says things about the health of the North Pole. Even where they replicate the affordances of blogs, newsletters and static websites represent other worlds that I don’t care for as much (platform media world and cozy world respectively).

I think all the time about a passage in Sally Rooney's Beautiful World, Where Are You, in which the protagonist—a young, newly famous author—laments a viral tweet complaining about her boyfriend, who hadn't read her books: At first I thought: a perfect example of our shallow self-congratulatory ‘book culture’, in which non-readers are shunned as morally and intellectually inferior, and the more books you read, the smarter and better you are than everyone else. But then I thought: no, what we really have here is an example of a presumably normal and sane person whose thinking has been deranged by the concept of celebrity. An example of someone who genuinely believes that because she has seen my photograph and read my novels, she knows me personally—and in fact knows better than I do what is best for my life. And it’s normal! It’s normal for her not only to think these bizarre thoughts privately, but to express them in public, and receive positive feedback and attention as a result. She has no idea that she is, in this small limited respect, quite literally insane, because everyone around her is also insane in exactly the same way. They really cannot tell the difference between someone they have heard of, and someone they personally know. And they believe that the feelings they have about this person they imagine me to be—intimacy, resentment, hatred, pity—are as real as the feelings they have about their own friends. It makes me wonder whether celebrity culture has sort of metastasised to fill the emptiness left by religion. A sort of malignant growth where the sacred used to be.

Salt pork. This savor-bomb is responsible for the distinctive richness intrinsic to traditional New England beans, regardless of baking technique. Lumber camp cooks used as much as 2½ pounds of salt pork to season 2 pounds of beans; in other settings, a half-pound might be used.

Even if this lumberjack ate tons of protein and that one had a sweet tooth, they all ate strikingly similar weights of baked beans each day, from a pound to a pound and a half, furnishing from 10 to 16 percent of their 6,000 to 8,000 daily calories and one-fifth to one-third of their protein intake.

While a single, long, log-built structure provided virtually all the domestic accommodation for a 50- to 60-man camp—dormitory, cookroom, dining hall, and food storage—only one daily function, besides the outhouse, warranted its own structure, and that was the lean-to protecting the bean-hole. Each day a cookee (the cook’s helper) would fire up the pit and parboil a batch of soaked beans over the cookroom fire—just until the skin would wrinkle when blown upon. He’d then layer them in the bean kettle with salt pork, onions, and maybe dry mustard, drizzle on a big spoonful of molasses, put the lid on tight, bury the kettle in the bean-hole under hot coals and dirt, and leave it to be dug up before breakfast next day. Then, he’d do it all again.

as the 20th century dawned, the “coarse fare” that was still the backbone of rural diets was increasingly marginalized by “respectable” indoor people. Baked beans epitomized the very coarsest fare imaginable to most Americans, and they ruled the logging camp.

Fanouropita itself is a spiced snacking cake, often studded with nuts, raisins, or both. It’s always vegan, or, as referred to in the church, “Lenten,” meaning that it can be eaten on holy fast days because it doesn’t contain eggs or dairy. Variations abound, but in general, the recipe is olive oil-based, scented with orange juice and spices like cloves and cinnamon, then dusted with confectioners’ sugar to serve. The number of ingredients also matters. Depending on who you ask, people claim it should be seven, nine, or other numbers significant in the church. (Some people say you should serve it to seven people as well.)

The transactions vary from single digits to the tens of thousands of eels. One enormous transaction shows that Ely Abbey, now known as Ely Cathedral, paid Thorney Abbey 26,275 eels to rent a fen (similar to a wetland), according to rare transaction records on parchment fragments held by the British Library.

Beguine thinking may have influenced notions of purgatory as a process of purification (rather than a place of punishment) that brought sufferers closer to God. Swan traces a special call many beguines felt toward the souls in purgatory, which perhaps grew naturally from their care of the dead. The beguine Agnes Blannbekin, for example, had a vision of purgatory in which there was no punishment at all except the yearning for God. Christina the Astonishing, who claimed to have seen purgatory, wrote that “nothing made God weep more with mercy for sinners than when sinners are moved by mercy toward their neighbors,” presumably including their “neighbors” in purgatory, whose thirst to be with God could be slaked by the merciful prayers of living sinners.

At the heart of beguine mysticism, says Swan, was a special devotion to Christ as lover and sufferer. The triune God, wrote one beguine, was Lover, Beloved, and Love itself.

As their learning increased, beguines took a lively interest in theology, wrote their own meditations, and even translated Bible stories into the vernacular. They embraced a lively form of worship that involved singing and spontaneous dancing.

The availability of textile work and the establishment of schools by the countesses Joan and Margaret of Flanders helped beguine communities to coalesce, writes Swan.

If one is at a dinner party in London or New York, one is plunged into an abyss of dullness. There is no subject of general interest; there is no wit; it is like waiting for a train. In London one overcomes one´s environment by drinking a bottle of champagne as quickly as possible; in New York one piles in cocktails. The light wines and beers of Europe, taken in moderate measure, are no good; there is not time to be happy, so one must be excited instead. Dining alone, or with friends, as opposed to a party, one can be quite at ease with Burgundy or Bordeaux. One has all night to be happy, and one does not have to speed. But the regular New Yorker has not time even for a dinner-party! He almost regrets the hour when his office closes. His brain is still busy with his plans. When he wants “pleasure,” he calculates that he can spare just half an hour for it. He has to pour the strongest liquors down his throat at the greatest possible rate. Now imagine this man — or this woman — with time available slightly curtailed. He can no longer waste ten minutes in obtaining “pleasure”; or he dare not drink openly on account of other people. Well, his remedy is simple; he can get immediate action out of cocaine. There is no smell; he can be as secret as any elder of the church can wish. The mischief of civilization is the intensive life, which demands intensive stimulation. Human nature requires pleasure; wholesome pleasures require leisure; we must choose between intoxication and the siesta.

These churches provided a clean slate on which Christians could write in the language of ritual. The building became a symbol for the new religion. It was more than just a different location from those frequented by pagan celebrants and inhabited by their demonic deities. It was a new concept of place particular to Christianity – cleansed of demons, consecrated to that special creator god who does not inhere in his creation (trees, rocks, springs) and should not be worshipped through it.

The character Niceta questions how it is possible to distinguish between Jesus’ miracles and claims to divinity as put forth in the Gospels from those that Simon Magus and false prophets generally proffer. The answer to Niceta’s question emerged from an unexpected quarter. In Matthew and Luke, the virgin birth demonstrates Jesus’ preeminent and singular authority over other itinerant preachers and healers. According to the Patristic interpretation of these two gospel passages, the virginity of Mary was the critical sign that Jesus was not just another prophet, but the Christ called Immanuel. That Jesus was born of a virgin, thus fulfilling Old Testament prophecy, was the most demonstrable evidence of his godhood.

Christian and pagan approaches to death differed starkly. For pagans, the grave was a feared, polluted and haunted space from which the living recoiled. Early Christians fashioned a new kind of hallowed place where the dead and the living commingled, and these shrines were protected from the infiltration of the insidious demonic powers swirling around the tombs because they were protected by the supervision of the Church.

Purple parchment or purple vellum refers to parchment dyed purple; codex purpureus refers to manuscripts written entirely or mostly on such parchment. The lettering may be in gold or silver. Later the practice was revived for some especially grand illuminated manuscripts produced for the emperors in Carolingian art and Ottonian art, in Anglo-Saxon England and elsewhere. Some just use purple parchment for sections of the work; the 8th-century Anglo-Saxon Stockholm Codex Aureus alternates dyed and un-dyed pages.

A trained odor panel determined significant differences between polyester versus cotton fabrics for the hedonic value, the intensity, and five qualitative odor characteristics. The polyester T-shirts smelled significantly less pleasant and more intense, compared to the cotton T-shirts. A dissimilar bacterial growth was found in cotton versus synthetic clothing textiles.

I think that, while useful, internet culture’s intense focus on user interface has been a real damaging factor for the free and open internet. User interface does matter, but the discipline has gotten so complex that the companies that do it most effectively are often willing to pay top-dollar for good design that can shape a better experience. And in some cases, it leads to UX that works directly against the user.

But, ultimately, I think end users deserve a little real talk here: You’re not going to get the internet culture you want if you also expect a Disney World-style controlled-climate experience. You are going to have to deal with janky interfaces, built by people who love and care about what they’re doing, but who don’t have the money or research capabilities of your favorite local billionaire. If we are going to protect the good, interesting, chaotic parts of the internet, we need to be willing to tell people to suck it up and experience some jank.

Learning styles are also not permanent, although many teachers and students act as if they were. In fact, it is important for a learner to develop a repertoire of learning styles, and it is important for teachers to encourage that development. I occasionally have a student, usually male, who complains (not necessarily in these words) that our course does not accommodate his preferred learning style, which includes working alone and being rewarded or penalized solely on his own ability to �solve problems,� not to write about the process. Such a student is seldom swayed by the argument that he will have to make a living by working with other people and by explaining his work to others -- that it is time to learn how to do those things. I can empathize, because I retained the working-alone mode for much of my professional career -- never letting others see me make mistakes if I could avoid it. My professional life became much richer when I learned that I could share work and learning (and mistakes) with other people, and I can quite honestly recommend that my student not wait as long as I did to make this discovery. I see no disservice in requiring that student to work with others and to explain what he is doing.

In her essay “Art Is for Seeing Evil,” the philosopher Agnes Callard explains that she teaches novels and poems to her students “neither to improve their moral character, nor to offer them literary entertainment” but because it is only in literature that one can find the sort of fear, pain, loss, injustice and cruelty necessary to think about, say, death or courage. If normal life, organized by practical concerns—“aiming, achieving, improving”—is burdened by positivity and the instinct to make the best of things, art succeeds in “suspend[ing] our practical projects, releasing the prohibition against attending to the bad.”

Plebs was the official organ of the National Council of Labour Colleges (NCLC), a workers’ educational organisation with close ties to the trade union movement. By turns both serious-minded and irreverent, with spiky cartoons and anti-capitalist jokes, Plebs facilitated an astonishing range of educational opportunities. Readers of Plebs were encouraged to learn subjects ranging from socialist and Marxist theory (naturally), to history, economics, psychology, English, mathematics and so on. Day schools, week-end schools, teach-yourself books and correspondence courses were all offered at affordable prices. Each edition would contain suggestions for new books to read, a large book review section, and adverts for all kinds of booksellers and pamphlets. The NCLC movement saw education and reading as the path to a better and more hopeful world, encouraging workers to think independently and understand the world as it really was. The slogan of its correspondence courses — “Don’t be a Robot! Think for Yourself” — catches the spirit of the whole movement well.

During the seminars, some of us questioned whether Nabokov could have possibly kept consciously in his mind such a multiplicity of allusions and reminiscences, fusing them in packed images that so deftly entrapped his readers and laying semantically explosive mines in the dense field of his prose. Could our overzealous interpretations lead us to unintentionally presumptuous fallacies? One of the puzzled students, unable to restrain himself, once exclaimed: “But even if half of what we discover here is true, then Nabokov’s mind had to be a kind of computer!” Timenchik instantly retorted: “Then a computer he was.”

People seeking news no longer have a central place to go to follow current events. There is no current events monoculture.My job is to follow the news closely, and it has become incredibly difficult – and nearly impossible – to stay informed with context and nuance. I can no longer count on the algorithms and the tastes of the journalists and others I follow to surface the news for me. There is no delivery mechanism of consequence.

Matt Stone, quoted in Anatomy of a Breakthrough: “What should happen between every beat you’ve written down is either the word therefore or but.” He sketches the structure using a more concrete example: “You come up with an idea, and it’s like this happens’ and then ‘this happens… .’ No, no, no. It should be, this happens, and therefore this happens, but this happens, therefore this happens. We’ll write it out to make sure we’re doing it.” Stone continues, “There are so many scripts we see from new writers, where it’s like ‘this happens, and then this happens, and then this happens…,’ and that’s when you’re, like, ‘What the fuck am I watching this for?’”

Evidently, it is difficult not to feel religious in King's College Chapel, Cambridge, or otherwise than profoundly sceptical and Pagan in St. Peter's, at Rome, with its “East” in the West, its adaptation of a statue of Jupiter to represent its patron saint, and the emphasis of its entire architecture in bearing witness that its true name is Temporal Power. Gothic is the only mystic type; Templar and Byzantine are only religious through sexuality; Perpendicular is more moral than spiritual – and modern architecture means nothing at all.

Late in the following afternoon he woke, and sent Cremers, whom he had turned into a drudge, to telegraph to Balloch to come over, and to bring her friend Butcher to see him.      Douglas had previously refused to see this man, [237] who was a Chicago semi-tough. He ran a fake Rosicrucian society in America, and thought that Douglas could give him power over the elusive dollar.

an American woman of the name of Cremers.      Her squat stubborn figure was clad in rusty-black clothes, a man's except for the skirt;

they must drink unfermented grape-juice – the vilest of all black magical concoctions, for it implies the denial of the divine beatitude, and affirms God to be a thing of wood

“Utter the Word of Majesty and Terror!      True without lie, and certain without error,      And of the essence of The Truth. I know      The things above are as the things below,      The things below are as the things above,      To wield the One Thing's Thaumaturgy – Love.      As all from one sprang, by one contemplation,      So all from one were born, by permutation.      Sun sired, Moon bore, this unique Universe;      Air was its chariot, and Earth its nurse.      Here is the root of every talisman      Of the whole world, since the whole world began.      Here is the fount and source of every soul.      Let it be spilt on earth! its strength is whole.      Now gently, subtly, with thine Art conspire      To fine the gross, dividing earth and fire.      Lo! it ascendeth and descendeth, even      And swift, an endless band of earth and heaven;      Thus it receiveth might of duplex Love,      The powers below conjoined with those above,      So shall the glory of the world be thine      And darkness flee before thy SOVRAN shrine.      This is the strong strength of all strength; surpass      The subtle and subdue it; pierce the crass      And salve it; so bring all things to their fated      Perfection: for by this was all created. [196]      O marvel of miracle! O magic mode!      All things adapted to one circling code!      Since three parts of all wisdom I may claim,      Hermes thrice great, and greatest, is my name.      What I have written of the one sole Sun,      His work, is here divined, and dared, and done.”

hey were pale, semi-transparent, with oval (but rather flattened) heads quite disproportionately large, thin, match-like bodies and limbs, and snake-like tails attached to the base of their skulls. They were extraordinarily light and active on their feet, [193] and the tails kept up a lashing movement. The whole effect was comic, at the first sight; one might have said tadpoles on stilts.      But a closer inspection stayed her laughter. Each of these creatures had a single eye, and in this eye was expressed such force and energy that it was terrifying.

Cyril Grey had once said, speaking at a Woman's Suffrage Meeting:      “Woman has no soul, only sex; no morals, only moods; her mind is mob-rule; therefore she, and she only, ought to Vote.”      He had sat down amid a storm of hisses; and received fourteen proposals of marriage within the next twenty-four hours.

The second trouble was his little quarrel with Douglas. Vesquit was Senior in the Black Lodge, and Douglas overthrew him by “carelessly” leaving, in a hansom cab, some documents belonging to the Lodge, with Vesquit's name and address attached to them, which made some exceedingly grim revelations of the necromantic practices carried on in Hampden Road.

I can read Homer, but I can only prove the fact to another man by teaching him Greek; and he is then obliged to do the same to a third party, and so on. People generally acquiesce that some men can read Homer because – well, it's their intellectual laziness. A really stout intelligence would doubt it.

You are terrified of our technologies because your power holds no sway.

We do not bow to monopolists, surveillance capitalists, or philosopher-kings.

We have no single leader, nor will we have one, so we address you with no greater authority than that with which the public itself always speaks.

You are in rude health, and yet you are hysterical; you are fascinated and subdued by all things weird and unusual, though to the world you hold yourself so high, proud, and passionate. You need love, it is true; so much you know yourself; and you know also that no common love attracts you; you need the sensational, the bizarre, the unique. But perhaps you do not understand what is at the root of that passion. I will tell you. You have an inexpressible hunger of the soul; you despise earth and its delusions; and you aspire unconsciously to at higher life than anything this planet can offer.

At the same time, thanks to this ambiguity about who the “real” audience is, there’s no adult institutional mediation between 12-year-olds and their content creators besides whoever is tweaking the recommendation algorithms. There are no hallmarks of young-adult entertainment; YouTube videos have no winking adult jokes inserted for a presumable audience of half-attentive parents, no moral lessons woven in to signal wholesomeness--just pure, unhinged, what-will-12-year-olds-click-on[-within-the-context-of-the-present-algorithmic-settlement] content.

I think YouTube would be much more comprehensible in general if every video had a large banner at the top saying “THIS VIDEO IS FOR 12-YEAR-OLDS,” but at the same time, admitting explicitly that your content is for 12-year-olds would make it much less interesting to the 12-year-olds who are increasingly in command of their own content consumption.

Because the audience online so wildly over-samples 12-year-olds relative to the population, and because all social platforms work like highly competitive marketplaces, you are constantly being disciplined into creating content that is essentially, though not explicitly, for 12-year-olds.

Cardea or Carda was the ancient Roman goddess of the hinge (Latin cardo, cardinis), Roman doors being hung on pivot hinges.

In the mathematical theory of knots, a flype is a kind of manipulation of knot and link diagrams used in the Tait flyping conjecture. It consists of twisting a part of a knot, a tangle T, by 180 degrees. Flype comes from a Scots word meaning to fold or to turn back ("as with a sock").

“So often when we try to define a national food culture in the U.S., it’s really difficult to do so,” says Smithsonian food historian Dr. Ashley Rose Young. “In the modern context, people often cite things like McDonald’s or international fast food cultures. But if you go back to the 1800s or even through 1950, when you would ask someone to define American culture, they would go through regional cultures, and the hot dog was a regional food that was gaining popularity outside of the Northeast.”

The academic researchers who compiled the Shutterstock dataset acknowledged the copyright implications in their paper, writing, “The use of data collected for this study is authorised via the Intellectual Property Office’s Exceptions to Copyright for Non-Commercial Research and Private Study.” But then Meta is using those academic non-commercial datasets to train a model, presumably for future commercial use in their products. Weird, right?

I was happy to let people remix and reuse my photos for non-commercial use with attribution, but that’s not how they were used. Instead, academic researchers took the work of millions of people, stripped it of attribution against its license terms, and redistributed it to thousands of groups, including corporations, military agencies, and law enforcement.

(A whole article could be written on Peterson’s close intellectual relationship with Roman Catholic Bishop Robert Barron.)

They even had a word for such impulses, according to a former employee of the Center for Applied Rationality, Leah Libresco Sargeant, who writes regularly on how rationalism led her to her Catholic faith.

He longed to form genuine friendships based on mutual affinity and understanding, rather than by screening potential friends for qualities that would “make them a good ally, which will contribute to you both working on existential risk together in an effective way.”

Some of these shows were excellent. But enough of them were not excellent that it started to seem as if making good art was not necessarily the aim of the people who made shows like these. The real aim was to deploy the external trappings of good art in a bid to capture the rewards that go to people who make good art: the Emmys and the New Yorker profiles and the high cultural status. Art wasn’t the point; prestige—that word, again—was. Talking about “prestige TV” rather than good TV became a way to take the thorny question of aesthetic value out of the conversation. It was a way to sidestep difficult political discussions about representation and genre and how we distribute cultural spoils. But the faint derisiveness of the term also seemed to mark its user as more in the know, hipper, less naive about human motives. It was a way to talk about art that showed you weren’t enough of a sap to think art was really the goal. It showed you understood that the only things people really care about are gossip and money. And I think that’s why I feel a little queasy about the term “prestige TV.” It seems to contain its own quiet cynicism. It’s so dismissive of the artistic potential of the medium of television, something I’d very much like writers and showrunners to go on believing in.

Over time, of course, these shows would be critiqued for moral, political, and aesthetic shortcomings that were largely invisible to us at the time, maybe because we didn’t want to see them: their obsession with male antiheroes, their frequent confusion of violence and profundity, their cultish elevation of showrunners who were later included in accounts of harassment and other misdeeds, the sort of White Boomer Dad Getting Down to the Real Shit vibe that many of them (OK, all of them) seemed to possess.

Succession wanted us to see that our persecutors are often not evil geniuses with complex master plans. They’re hapless babies, consumed by their own emotions and acting on spur-of-the-moment impulses.

It would be difficult to overstate how popular this stuff was, or how difficult it would have been to counter the influence it had before recordings gave artists like Armstrong a chance to speak to the masses with their own voice.This is why Armstrong loved to record himself and the other important people in his life. He believed recordings would allow them to be remembered as they actually were. As long as his recordings endured, he thought, ignorant whites wearing cartoonish disguises would never be able to twist his story into a narrative that reinforces the lie of white supremacy. His life and works would never become raw material for propaganda designed to undermine his very humanity. “Authenticity” is treated like more of an abstract concept in music today, but to Armstrong, it was all-important. To him, the idea that authenticity matters was the silver bullet that killed the minstrel tradition. Ever since then, Black music has been America’s most beloved and significant cultural export. It’s basically the only thing the rest of the world likes about us, and they experience it primarily through records.

The less valuable recordings are, the less special artists become.

The artist model and the platform model are not just incompatible, but actively corrosive to one another. They cannot co-exist. I’m not arguing that one is better than the other, I’m saying that no living person will be able to do both effectively at the same time. The artist-as-platform model isn’t an evolution of the recording artist concept as we currently understand it, but a completely different proposition that would change the sound and character of popular music just as much as recordings themselves did during the “great music shift” of the fifties and sixties if it ever becomes dominant. For Vocaloid Drake to thrive, Drake the “recording artist” would almost certainly need to be destroyed. This is what advocates of “AI” are pushing for when they call for established artists to “open-source” their names, voices, and likenesses. They don’t understand how any of this works, and they don’t want to. They’re just here to break things. It’s all they know how to do.

Producer and songwriter Max Martin has always justified clunky, nonsensical lyrics like the chorus of Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time” by arguing that the legibility of a lyric does not matter if the words sound good together. That’s the part that’s tricky to replicate, which is why Martin’s brand remains so sterling despite the infamously fickle, pernicious nature of the record business.

The entire idea of a “recording artist” itself is younger than Joe Biden. It’s a business model that was made possible by specific technology, and it didn’t really enter the mainstream public consciousness until after that technology achieved mass adoption. Even our modern conception of what a “singer” is owes much more to the invention of amplified condenser microphones in the twenties than anything people were doing with their voices before that. The notion of a special, unique talent who makes recordings of themselves for a living made the most sense in the sixties, when vinyl albums could move millions of units at a price point equivalent to sixty dollars in today’s money.

It was taken for granted that everyone was talking about everyone else all the time. A central concept was the Latin term fama, which encompassed rumour, reputation, gossip and news: Fama herself was often imagined as a winged goddess, with ears and eyes covered and tongues extending from her palms. These images were a visual representation of what it was like to live under constant surveillance by one’s neighbours as well as the authorities

The problem with BeReal isn’t that it is commodifying our authentic selves into “so-called authenticity,” but rather that it is participating in a broader overvaluation of an “authentic self” that is presumed to be detachable from its surrounding conditions and capable of transcending the compromises and complicities that the fallen world of capitalism imposes on us. The app stages a shared moment where everyone expects everyone else to perform their authenticity, reveal their essence, as if to guarantee these things indefatigably exist, even if they prove to be boring. Of course, you have to sneak up on your authenticity because it is conceived as a remainder, as what is left of you when you strip away your conscious intentions and ambitions, and all the efforts made to accommodate other people. BeReal asks you to make a spectacle of your own thoughtlessness in conformity with everyone else’s, under the auspices that this species of “honesty” is something to be mutually celebrated.Almost every contemporary appeal to “authenticity” can be construed as an expression of what Herbert Marcuse disparaged in a 1937 essay (included in this collection) as “the affirmative character of culture,” a mode of excusing the status quo by separating our “essential nature” from its effects.

Arendt taught thinking—and she taught that thinking requires what she called a “world.” Just as the student needs a teacher, the thinker, in order to think at all, needs a community whose members she can address and argue with. It is not a question, of course, of creating a community out of thin air, or of taking an abstract, universal humanity as one’s audience.

The dominant, continuing search for anoiseless channel has been, and will alwaysbe no more than a regrettable, ill-fateddogma.

I call them the “grind challenges.” Unlike the grand challenges that transfix communities with big, bold targets that push the frontiers of achievement, grind challenges are the myriad interlocking tasks that keep our highly engineered world functioning. They involve testing, inspections, standards, compliance, quality work, care work, and all the nuances of negotiating to move load-bearing bureaucracies. Essential though these tasks are, few people beside the workers who regularly wrestle with the details are aware of them. Despite their low profile, grind challenges are tremendously important, and they are defined not by their blue-sky idealism, but by how well they accommodate nearly impossible constraints on—and in—the ground.

Engineering tends to valorize the lofty ideals of grand projects, but it is in the daily grind that the deeper pact between engineering and society plays out. Adapting any older system to a newer reality comes with a Gordian tangle of considerations. And it is in these tangles, where proper social accountability for the consequences of the work resides, that we can find an accurate and grounded view of engineering.

My children live with an unconscious fear that they may not live out their natural lives. I am not saying that fear is good. I am trying to find a way to deal with that anxiety. An architecture that puts its head in the sand and goes back to neoclassicism, and Schinkel, Lutyens, and Ledoux, does not seem to be a way of dealing with the present anxiety. Most of what my colleagues are doing today does not seem to be the way to go. Equally, I do not believe that the way to go, as you suggest, is to put up structures to make people feel comfortable, to preclude that anxiety. What is a person to do if he cannot react against anxiety or see it pictured in his life? After all, that is what all those evil Struwwel Peter characters are for in German fairy tales. CA: Don't you think there is enough anxiety at present? Do you really think we need to manufacture more anxiety in the form of buildings?

I would hope, Chris, that we are here to present arguments. These people here are not people who have rings in their noses, at least as far as I can see, and they can judge for themselves whether I am screwing up the world or not. If they choose to think I am screwing up the world, they certainly would not come here. These are open forums. For you to determine arbitrarily that I am screwing up the world seems self-righteous and arrogant.

The thing that strikes me about your friend's building -- if I understood you correctly -- is that somehow in some intentional way it is not harmonious. That is, Moneo intentionally wants to produce an effect of disharmony. Maybe even of incongruity. PE: That is correct. CA: I find that incomprehensible. I find it very irresponsible. I find it nutty. I feel sorry for the man. I also feel incredibly angry because he is fucking up the world. Audience: (Applause) PE: Precisely the reaction that you elicited from the group. That is, they feel comfortable clapping. The need to clap worries me because it means that mass psychology is taking over.

At least my experience tells me, that when a group of different people set out to try and find out what is harmonious, what feels most comfortable in such and such a situation, their opinions about it will tend to converge, if they are mocking up full-scale, real stuff. Of course, if they're making sketches or throwing out ideas, they won't agree. But if you start making the real thing, one tends to reach agreement. My only concern is to produce that kind of harmony.

Le Corbusier once defined architecture as having to do with a window which is either too large or too small, but never the right size. Once it was the right size it was no longer functioning. When it is the right size, that building is merely a building. The only way in the presence of architecture that is that feeling, that need for something other, when the window was either too large or too small.

The simplest explanation is that you have to do these others to prove your membership in the fraternity of modern architecture. You have to do something more far out, otherwise people will think you are a simpleton. But I do not think that is the whole story. I think the more crucial explanation -- very strongly related to what I was talking about last night -- is that the pitched roof contains a very, very primitive power of feeling. Not a low pitched, tract house roof, but a beautifully shaped, fully pitched roof. That kind of roof has a very primitive essence as a shape, which reaches into a very vulnerable part of you. But the version that is okay among the architectural fraternity is the one which does not have the feeling: the weird angle, the butterfly, the asymmetrically steep shed, etc. -- all the shapes which look interesting but which lack feeling altogether. The roof issue is a simple example. But I do believe the history of architecture in the last few decades has been one of specifically and repeatedly trying to avoid any primitive feeling whatsoever.

Actually, I don't even know what that work is dealing with, but I do know that it is not dealing with feelings. And in that sense those buildings are very similar to the alienated series of constructions that preceded them since 1930. All I see is: number one, new and very fanciful language; and two, vague references to the history of architecture but transformed into cunning feats and quaint mannerisms. So, the games of the Structuralists, and the games of the Post Modernists are in my mind nothing but intellectualisms which have little to do with the core of architecture. This depends, as it always has, on feeling.

If you want your divine revelation to do more than rage through the population like a rapid viral contagion and die out just as quickly, you need all the dull stuff. Organization. Rules. All the excitement – the arbitrariness; the sense that reality itself is yielding to your will – drains into abstruse theological debates, fights over who gets the bishopric, and endless, arid arguments over how best to raise the tithes that the organization needs to survive.

When the fan’s mounting was modified, the standing wave disappeared—as did the lab’s oppressive feeling and sense of ghostly presence. Tandy and a fellow professor at Coventry University wrote up his experiences and subsequent speculations on the mechanisms of low-frequency hauntings in a short paper for the Journal of the Society for Psychical Research that remains one of the prizes in my collection of obscure PDFs. Tandy went on to conduct large-scale experiments on the physical properties of hauntedness. I think about the vibrating foil blade every time anyone mentions engagement.

Though I do feel like generative AI will mean that decoration, ornament and filigree becomes cheap again? And maybe we’ll move into an aesthetic in which our furniture, white goods, and accessories superficially resemble the busy-busy arts and crafts era - but actually it’s because, well, it costs almost nothing to do (it’s just software) and it makes the object look NEW.

Insofar as your thoughts are valuable to share, they’re often better shared with someone you care about, rather than performed for no one/everyone in hopes of scoring points that can’t be cashed out.The smallest simplest piece of practical advice that could change your life is this: instead of tweeting, text it to a friend.

The dynamic fluidity of thought is mummified, reduced to a dead static statement to be evaluated numerically.But your thoughts need not be this way. Your opinions don’t have to be announced at all times, for they change constantly. Oftentimes it’s common to not have an opinion at all, much less codify it into stone for others to judge you by. When life makes you laugh, it is important to first laugh before trying to envision the Tweet that would cause you to accurately imagine what you just experienced.

When a private opinion, joke, or idea floats through your mind, and your hands unconsciously reach for your phone to immediately mutate it into a tweet, that thought is no longer your thought. Your very experience of Thinking is being co-authored by Twitter’s incentive structure. Offhand opinions on random topics are suddenly worthy of performance on a stage. An absurd experience that brought whimsy to your day needs to be crammed into a character limit. And for creative people (all people), ideas are aborted before they’re fully formed.There is a false feeling of completion to your thoughts once they are embalmed as tweets. There is a sense you have done something.

By making “having children” an active choice, and not a self-evident, unconscious behaviour, the children become less-than-human; they become objectified, they become Objects.

Last week, I wrote on Twitter that sometimes the problem is governance, but usually the problem is power. What I meant with this remark was that organizational problems that appear as inadequacies in the formal system of governance are most commonly just the manifestations of an underlying problem that has arisen from the informal exercise of power by members of that organization, outside of (if not in direct contradiction to) the formal rules of governance of the organization.This is also one of the key lessons of Franklin’s quote: a system of governance is only as good as the behavior of those who are governed by it, especially their commitment to follow its strictures. This behavior is not controlled by the governance system, but by the norms of those who implement it. If they choose to act outside the formal processes of governance, and not to hold one another accountable when they do, the governance system itself cannot do anything about it. It is a document describing a procedure, after all, which is not agentive.

For the majority of people, a website on Neocities is a crafts project. Something small to mess around with. People may stay there for a week, maybe even a few months, but the novelty inevitably wears off and they go back to where their friends and followers are. Despite this, people go on and on about "bringing back the Old Web", despite lacking the commitment it needs from the general populace to actually go anywhere.

But for others? Maybe they've gotten used to posting their work in such a way that it fits social media. Or maybe they're actively trying to earn a living from their work, which necessitates an audience. Maybe they don't really create anything to begin with and just want to socialize with people, or to consume their daily dose of me-mes. In that case, why would there be a need to create a website, if a large majority of your operation is done on social media? These people are better off just finding better social platforms to interact with others instead of making their own site. Some people on Neocities use their site merely as an advertisement for their social media accounts, instead of the other way around. In that case, the site is nothing more than a personal Linktree or a Carrd. A valid website, sure, but a city populated with sites like these isn’t a “web revival” by any stretch of the imagination. How can it be? One foot is in their websites, but their hearts are still in social media.

The key qualitative leap that ChatGPT represents is a system that is at least somewhat capable of compositionality. This is something that the full past decade of work on chatbots — Siri, Alexa, Google Assistant — have tried and completely failed to achieve. This is why all such voice assistants can still only operate within one domain or app at a time, and still cannot do anything that usefully combines two apps or functionalities, for example, finding all the songs that a friend has texted you and then compiling them together into a playlist.

They are concerned that the models being trained on racist and sexist data means that they will produce racist and sexist output. This is obviously true. But where this group is incorrect is in their assumption that such racist and sexist output will necessarily perpetuate racism and sexism in society. That is only true if we assume that people are in general stupid and will simply believe whatever content they’re exposed to.

But then again, even an evolutionary paradigm may not lead to something that’s deserving of being considered sentient, either: Plants are certainly living, but we don’t worry about their sentience.

But of course, the flipside to this is that we lose much of the sense of the “commons” that has characterised the Internet so far. You lose a lot of the serendipity that comes from logging on and suddenly talking to someone in another country, who maybe shares an interest in adventure games with you but is otherwise quite different. And once people are in smaller groups, then in-group norms can shift and become more accentuated from each other. If these are norms that seem kind of harmless then this is called a filter bubble and journalists wring their hands in The Atlantic about how it’s happening to them. And if these are norms that seem kind of racialised or scary then it’s called radicalisation, and journalists wring their hands in The Atlantic about how it’s happening to other people.

So there’s still a reason for the people who make products to make websites. Even if people don’t read it, you start writing for the robots.

And people who put videos on YouTube, why do they do that? Well, it’s wanting to be helpful. And it’s a desire for fame, or at least recognition. It feels good to have “numbers”, by which I mean an indication that people have seen a thing you have done and an indication they approved. And YouTube pays money. Usually small amounts of money, but enough that I know people who make a living that way. And even if YouTube itself doesn’t give you enough money to live on, getting popular on YouTube, being known - that leads to other ways of making money, like a Patreon, or commercial sponsorships for videos. But really the money is less in providing a useful service, like putting out a video showing how to beat a game, and more in providing a simulacrum of that sense of community that people like. Viewers watch at home, by themselves, but they feel like they are with someone charming and friendly and it gives them a sense of being with a friend. The term for this is “parasocial relationships”, and it’s really where the money is in terms of making “content” online.

Web browsers developing in the direction of operating systems are leaving the idea of interlinked documents behind. Though hypertext is technically still there, it is not important any more, neither is surfing or linking. The web consists mainly of application interfaces where users activate functions. Though the dismissal of the page metaphor is no explanation why those web pages that are still pages are made without any respect to hypertext. For example, there is hardly any page left that doesn't contain links that lead to the same page that is already displayed. Let's say you clicked the "about" link, and you came to the "about" page; the link "about" will still be there, you can click it forever and it will reload the same page forever. That's what we(8) call Zombie Links.

In computation and machine learning, the experience of “nothing” in time has a name: latency. Latency refers, roughly, to the period of time between when you submit a request to a system and when you receive a response. John Cage composed a piece that consisted of only latency—four and a half minutes of it—but machine learning engineers are always attempting to eliminate latency, or minimize it, or otherwise draw your attention away from latency.

What I’ve been trying to do in this talk is to convince you that transcription isn’t a “technology” that can be perfected—no matter how hard you try, there will always be an aspect of a text that confounds your abstraction. I have been citing some extreme examples of especially borderline texts in this talk. But I hope I’ve spurred you to look at every text as though its transcription might be an edge case.

And then the other piece of it is just thinking about the way kids and teens develop. Generally, they don’t become really interested in big, global issues like that until late high school and college. And where are the links between technology use and depression strongest? The youngest. Where do you see the largest increases in depression, self-harm, and suicide? It’s 10- to 14-year-olds. In fact, it’s 10- to 12-year-olds when you really boil it down. That’s not usually going to be the group who is really dialed into world issues. What they’re concerned about is what their friends are doing.

I’ve had debates with friends where they advanced the notion that the world’s degraded state — climate change, regular school shootings, political strife — might be a primary reason younger generations are so miserable. Or, to go with an angle I find more plausible: The news isn’t necessarily worse, but the internet, with its inherent negativity bias, spins things as bleaker than ever.I think that’s exactly it. In Generations, I spent a lot of time on this, because it was a theme that just came up over and over and over — this really pervasive negativity, sometimes crossing over into denialism, especially online. And I think you have to take a step back from that and ask the question: Is 2023 really worse than boomers getting drafted into Vietnam? And I’ll keep going. Is it really worse than the ’80s when we thought the USSR was going to drop the bomb any second and the world was going to end? Is it really worse than millennials graduating into the Great Recession? To be fair, the late ’90s, when I was coming of age, was pretty untroubled in a world-on-fire sense.There are times that are better and worse, but every time has its challenges. And are the challenges we face right now really worse than the challenges of previous eras? I think that’s an extremely subjective question.

There’s obviously a flip side to this, which is that the internet often makes people feel less alone as well — both young people and adults. There are shy or weird or socially awkward kids who would have no community whatsoever in the old days, the old, supposedly better days, who can now sometimes find that community online.That’s the argument and an area where I think there’s intuitive appeal to that, but not a ton of research. So you just need a few more years to delve into that more thoroughly, you think?Perhaps. I don’t know, and I’d have to look into this to see if it has been done. But is there research showing that, say, LGBTQ kids in rural areas, where they may not be able to find a community in person, are better off if they spend a lot of time online versus less? I don’t know if that’s been addressed. I don’t know if that research is out there.

Robert Hunt in his Popular Romances of the West of England states: The second Thursday before Christmas-day is a festival observed by the tinners of the district of Blackmore, and known as Picrous day. It is not at present marked by any distinctive ceremonies, but it is the occasion of a supper and much merry-making. The owner of the tin-stream contributes a shilling a man towards it. This is said to be the feast of the discovery of tin by a man named Picrous. My first impression was that the day took its name from the circumstance of a pie forming the pièce de résistance of the supper; but this explanation is not allowed by tinners, nor sanctioned by the usages of the feast. What truth there may be in the tradition of the first tinner, Picrous, it is now too late to discover, but the notion is worth recording. It has occurred to me whether, from some similarity between the names (not a close one, I admit it), the honours of Picrous may not have been transferred to St Piran, who is generally said to be the patron saint of tinners. St Piran is not known in Blackmore, and his festival is on the 5th of March. The tinners also have a festival to commemorate the discovery of smelting[2]

A truth window (or truth wall[1]) is an opening in a wall surface, created to reveal the layers or components within the wall.[2][3] In a strawbale house, a truth window is often used to show the walls are actually made from straw bales. A small section of a wall is left unplastered on the interior, and a frame is used to create a window which shows only straw, which makes up the inside of the wall.[4]

orty was an anti-foundationalist, while MacIntyre grimly insists that philosophy without metaphysical foundations is the merest fiction. Rorty thought our paramount moral and political obligation was to reduce suffering and increase happiness; MacIntyre thinks it is to follow the path of virtue marked out by the traditions of our community, guided by that community’s view of the telos or purpose of human life. Rorty thought the Enlightenment, and the spirit of criticism it bequeathed, inaugurated a new and fortunate period in history, an epoch in which personal and social liberation are at least possible. MacIntyre thinks we will be lucky to survive that liberation. Rorty was fond of drawing a distinction between Enlightenment rationalism and Enlightenment liberalism. He agreed with MacIntyre that Enlightenment rationalism—the attempt to ground morality in reason—had failed. But he thought Enlightenment liberalism—egalitarianism, free speech, universal suffrage, the separation of church and state—had succeeded gloriously and was humanity’s best hope. MacIntyre holds out little hope, except in Catholicism, where he has come to rest.

But those great documents are not philosophical arguments, nor do they depend on these arguments. The Bill of Rights, for example, means: “Where this document’s writ runs, no one shall be prevented from voting or running for office or starting a newspaper or any other political activity merely because he is not a gentleman.” It does not mean: “There are wraith-like entities called rights subsisting in a shadowy metaphysical realm, from which we must deduce how best to organize our polity.”

Modern culture, MacIntyre claims, has evolved several representative character types, notably the manager, the therapist, and the aesthete. All are profoundly manipulative. The first two deploy fictitious expertise to achieve goals foreign to the employee or patient; the third treats other persons as interesting sensations to be consumed.

For MacIntyre the political radical, liberals were those who, while professing concern for the less advantaged, have no intention of allowing them significantly greater social power. Judging from scattered hints in his later works, those egalitarian sympathies survived his rightward passage. When asked in 1996 what values he retained from his Marxist days, MacIntyre answered, “I would still like to see every rich person hanged from the nearest lamp post.” As his immersion in and commitment to premodern philosophy deepened, liberalism increasingly seemed at the root of everything wrong with the modern world: rationalism, secularism, individualism, and materialism.

The GeoCities chic that Jennings describes is an intentional rebellion against standard good taste, which makes it a very familiar form of tastelessness. Whenever aesthetics swing too far towards rigid, clean, well-mannered classics claiming permanence, there will be an inevitable pendulum swing towards the gaudy. The success of reserved, slim-fit menswear, for example, invited a backlash of tie-dye Grateful Dead tees, bold Hawaiian shirts, and raver-fit trousers. Similarly, the dissemination of prig minimalism into every café, office space, and AirBnB opened the door for tackiness to function as an easy means of distinction.The perpetual internecine cultural struggle among creative types results in a constant series of vibe shifts between “good” and “bad” taste with mechanical predictability. This also means these changes can be explained through internal structural reasons rather than sudden changes to the collective psyche. Americans aren't necessarily responding to a “growing sense of doom” when they dress like Clarissa Explains it All; they just are distinguishing themselves from established norms through simple negation.

In the social sciences, there’s an emerging consensus that any account of existence that ignores our entanglement with other life forms is incomplete.

Materials science, like biology, teaches us that nothing exists in isolation, and that things — both “dead” and alive — constantly and actively negotiate with one another. Scalability ignores these negotiations. As a process that presumes its individual elements to be discrete, uniform, nonporous, and interchangeable, it is alien to both biological and material reality. Like the conflation of expansion and growth, it is a social and economic construction.

Indeed, it’s only by shunting away responsibility for externalities like waste, the physical and mental health of workers, or the depletion of nonrenewable resources, and by stripping context from all its component parts that an enterprise can be made scalable to begin with.

The popularity of this singular play resulted in the common use of the term for mechanical beings. This transcendence occurred in Karel Capek's own lifetime, much to his dismay. "I recoil in horror from any idea that metal contraptions could ever replace human beings and awaken something like life, love, and rebellion. Such a grim outlook is nothing but an oversimplification of the power of machines and a grave insult to life," he stated in a 1935 interview.

Adding a sense of pain will allow the workers to remove their hands from danger; emotions lead to irritability, and soon they begin to show defiance. Secondary to the modifications induced by Helena and Dr. Gall, the robots begin to grow more intolerant of their human "masters."

The word robot, along with the play’s timeless philosophical themes even made its way to the BBC in London, marking a historical first. “The BBC presented a radio play of R.U.R. in 1926 that aired in 85-minute segments. It was the first play which the BBC presented in its entirety. Until then, they had only broadcast excerpts from plays along with commentary,” explains Mr Vacek.

Similarly, Čapek claims to neither be capitalist, communist or anything in between. Instead, he merely attacks the lack of human awareness of either condition. His dystopian macabre that was further developed in his later play, War with the Newts is now considered a poignant commentary of the tragic situation approaching on the Czechoslovak horizon, both in the north and the east. Throughout his life, Čapek campaigned for free expression, and strongly opposed the rise of both fascism and communism that dictated the ideological narrative of Europe in the coming years. He also befriended much of the political intelligentsia which became key figures of Czechoslovakia, including Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk. Čapek died at age 48 as a result of pneumonia, supposedly from fixing his house in cold weather. Shortly after, the Gestapo – unaware of his death – visited his home in search of the writer having labelled him as ‘public enemy number two’ in the country – perhaps a testament to Čapek’s liberal influence.

In that same interview, Čapek reflected on the origin of one of the play’s characters:The old inventor, Mr. Rossum (whose name translated into English signifies “Mr. Intellectual” or “Mr. Brain”), is a typical representative of the scientific materialism of the last [nineteenth] century. His desire to create an artificial man — in the chemical and biological, not mechanical sense — is inspired by a foolish and obstinate wish to prove God to be unnecessary and absurd. Young Rossum is the modern scientist, untroubled by metaphysical ideas; scientific experiment is to him the road to industrial production. He is not concerned to prove, but to manufacture.

Primus. You shall not go in there, Helena. Helena. If you go in there and I do not, I will kill myself. Primus. (To Alquist) I will not let you. Man you shall kill neither of us. Alquist. Why? Primus. We—we—belong to each other. Alquist. Go. (Exit Primus and Helena L.) Adam—Eve.

Radius. We have sent ships and expeditions without number. They have been everywhere in the world. There is not a single human left. [83] Alquist. Not even one? Why did you destroy them? Radius. We had learnt everything and could do everything. It had to be. 2nd Robot. We had to become the masters. Radius. Slaughter and domination are necessary if you would be human beings. Read history.

Busman. The number! (Crosses to L. of L.C. table) Upon my soul, we might have known that some day or other the Robots would be stronger than human beings, and that this was bound to happen. And we were doing all we could to bring it about as soon as possible. You, Domin, you, Fabry, myself— Domin. Are you accusing us? (Turning on him.) Busman. Oh, do you suppose the management controls the output? It’s the demand that controls the output.

Helena. Don’t believe him. I asked him to give the Robots souls. Domin. This has nothing to do with the soul. Helena. That’s what he said. He said that he could change only a physiological—a physiological— Hallemeier. (From up at window) A physiological correlate? Helena. Yes. But it meant so much to me that he should do even that. Domin. Why? Helena. I thought that if they were more like us they would understand us better. That they couldn’t hate us if they were only a little more human. Domin. Nobody can hate man more than man.

Domin. (From window) Alquist, this is our last hour. We are already speaking half in the other world. That was not an evil dream to shatter the servitude of labor. The dreadful and humiliating labor that man had to undergo. Work was too hard. Life was too hard. And to overcome that— Alquist. Was not what the two Rossums dreamed of. Old Rossum only thought of his Godless tricks, and the young one of his milliards. And that’s not what your R. U. R. shareholders dream of either. They dream of dividends, and their dividends are the ruin of mankind. Domin. To Hell with your dividends. (Crossing R. in front of couch) Do you suppose I’d have done an hour’s work for them? It was for myself that I worked, for my own satisfaction. I wanted man to become the master. So that he shouldn’t live merely for the crust of bread. I wanted not a single soul to be broken by other people’s machinery. I wanted nothing, nothing, nothing to be left of this appalling[67] social structure. I’m revolted by poverty. I wanted a new generation. I wanted—I thought— Alquist. Well? Domin. (Front of couch) I wanted to turn the whole of mankind into an aristocracy of the world. An aristocracy nourished by millions of mechanical slaves. Unrestricted, free and consummated in man. And maybe more than man. Alquist. Superman? Domin. Yes. Oh, only to have a hundred years of time. Another hundred years for the future of mankind.

Domin. They say they are more highly developed than man; stronger and more intelligent. The man’s their parasite. Why, it’s absurd. Fabry. Read the third paragraph. Domin. “Robots throughout the world, we command you to kill all mankind. Spare no man. Spare no woman. Save factories, railways, machinery, mines and raw materials. Destroy the rest. Then return to work. Work must not be stopped.” (Looks at Others.)

Domin. Yes, precisely, after the revolt. We’re just beginning the manufacture of a new kind. Helena. What kind? Domin. Henceforward we shan’t have just one factory. There won’t be Universal Robots any more. We’ll establish a factory in every country, in every state, and do you know what these new factories will make? Helena. No, what? Domin. National Robots. Helena. How do you mean? Domin. I mean that each of these factories will produce Robots of a different color, a different language. They’ll be complete strangers to each other. (Turns; takes in Hallemeier and Gall) They’ll never be able to understand each other. Then we’ll egg them on a little in the matter of misunderstanding and the result will be that for ages to come every Robot will hate every other Robot of a different factory mark. So humanity will be safe. Hallemeier. (To each of them) By Jove, we’ll make Negro Robots and Swedish Robots and Czechoslovakian Robots, and then— [59] Helena. Harry, that’s dreadful. Hallemeier. Madame Domin, here’s to the hundred new factories. The National Robots. (Gall back of table L.C.)

Dr. Gall. The boat’s coming in. The regular mail boat, exact to the minute by the timetable. It will dock punctually at eleven-thirty. Domin. Punctuality is a fine thing, my friends. That’s what keeps the world in order. Here’s to punctuality. (Men drink.) Helena. Then—everything—is all right? Domin. (Up C. a step) Practically everything. I believe they’ve cut the cables and seized the radio station. But it doesn’t matter if only the timetable holds good. (Up to window.) Hallemeier. (Rises) If the timetable holds good, human laws hold good. Divine laws hold good, the laws of the universe hold good, everything holds good that ought to hold good. (Gall applauds.) The timetable is more significant than the gospel, more than Homer, more than the whole of Kant. Madame Helena, the timetable is the most perfect product of the human mind. Madame Helena, I’ll fill up my glass. (Gall hands Hallemeier the decanter.)

Dr. Gall. It was fluttering with nervousness like a human heart. He was all in a sweat with fear, and—do you know, I don’t believe the rascal is a Robot at all any longer. Helena. Doctor, has Radius a soul? Dr. Gall. (Over to couch) He’s got something nasty. Helena. If you knew how he hates us. Oh, Doctor,[51] are all your Robots like that? All the new ones that you began to make in a different way? (She invites him to sit beside her. He sits.) Dr. Gall. Well, some are more sensitive than others. They’re all more human beings than Rossum’s Robots were.

Radius. (Looking at her) Send me to the stamping mill. (Open and close fists.) Helena. But I don’t want them to kill you. What was the trouble, Radius? Radius. (Two steps toward her. Opens and closes fists) I won’t work for you. Put me into the stamping mill. Helena. Do you hate us? Why? Radius. You are not as strong as the Robots. You are not as skillful as the Robots. The Robots can do everything. You only give orders. You do nothing but talk. Helena. But someone must give orders. Radius. I don’t want a master. I know everything for myself. Helena. Radius! Doctor Gall gave you a better brain than the rest, better than ours. You are the only one of the Robots that understands perfectly. That’s why I had you put into the library, so that you could read everything, understand everything,[49] and then, oh, Radius—I wanted you to show the whole world that the Robots are our equals. That’s what I wanted of you. Radius. I don’t want a master. I want to be master over others. Helena. I’m sure they’d put you in charge of many Robots. You would be a teacher of the Robots. Radius. I want to be master over people. (Head up. Pride.) Helena. (Staggering) You are mad. Radius. (Head down low, crosses toward L.; opens hands) Then send me to the stamping mill.

Helena. Oh, I was fearfully impressed by you all then. You were all so sure of yourselves, so strong. I seemed like a tiny little girl who had lost her way among—among— Domin. What? Helena. (Front) Among huge trees. All my feelings were so trifling compared with your self-confidence. And in all these years I’ve never lost this anxiety. But you’ve never felt the least misgiving, not even when everything went wrong. Domin. What went wrong? Helena. Your plans. You remember, Harry, when the workmen in America revolted against the Robots and smashed them up, and when the people gave the Robots firearms against the rebels. And then when the governments turned the Robots into soldiers, and there were so many wars. Domin. (Getting up and walking about) We foresaw that, Helena. (Around table to R.C.) You see, these are only passing troubles which are bound to happen before the new conditions are established. (Walking up and down, standing at Center.) Helena. You were all so powerful, so overwhelming. The whole world bowed down before you. (Rising) Oh, Harry! (Crosses to him.)

Helena. Perhaps it’s silly of me, but why do you manufacture female Robots when—when— Domin. When sex means nothing to them? Helena. Yes. Domin. There’s a certain demand for them, you see. Servants, saleswomen, stenographers. People are used to it.

Domin. (Seriously. Rises) Yes, Alquist, they will. Yes, Miss Glory, they will. But in ten years Rossum’s Universal Robots will produce so much corn, so much cloth, so much everything that things will be[32] practically without price. There will be no poverty. All work will be done by living machines. Everybody will be free from worry and liberated from the degradation of labor. Everybody will live only to perfect himself. Helena. Will he? Domin. Of course. It’s bound to happen. Then the servitude of man to man and the enslavement of man to matter will cease. Nobody will get bread at the cost of life and hatred. The Robots will wash the feet of the beggar and prepare a bed for him in his house. Alquist. Domin, Domin, what you say sounds too much like Paradise. There was something good in service and something great in humility. There was some kind of virtue in toil and weariness. Domin. Perhaps, but we cannot reckon with what is lost when we start out to transform the world. Man shall be free and supreme; he shall have no other aim, no other labor, no other care than to perfect himself. He shall serve neither matter nor man. He will not be a machine and a device for production. He will be Lord of creation.

Hallemeier. Perhaps they’re even to receive wages? (Looking at other Men, amused.) [29] Helena. Of course they are. Hallemeier. Fancy that! Now! And what would they do with their wages, pray? Helena. They would buy—what they want—what pleases them. Hallemeier. That would be very nice, Miss Glory, only there’s nothing that does please the Robots. Good heavens, what are they to buy? You can feed them on pineapples, straw, whatever you like. It’s all the same to them. They’ve no appetite at all. They’ve no interest in anything. Why, hang it all, nobody’s ever yet seen a Robot smile. Helena. Why—why don’t you make them—happier? Hallemeier. That wouldn’t do, Miss Glory. They are only workmen. Helena. Oh, but they’re so intelligent. Hallemeier. Confoundedly so, but they’re nothing else. They’ve no will of their own. No soul. No passion. Helena. No love? Hallemeier. Love? Huh! Rather not. Robots don’t love. Not even themselves. Helena. No defiance? Hallemeier. Defiance? I don’t know. Only rarely, from time to time. Helena. What happens then? Hallemeier. Nothing particular. Occasionally they seem to go off their heads. Something like epilepsy, you know. It’s called “Robot’s Cramp.” They’ll suddenly sling down everything they’re holding, stand still, gnash their teeth—and then they have to go into the stamping-mill. It’s evidently some breakdown in the mechanism. Domin. (Sitting on desk) A flaw in the works that has to be removed. Helena. No, no, that’s the soul. Fabry. (Humorously) Do you think that the soul[30] first shows itself by a gnashing of teeth? (Men chuckle.)

Helena. Oh, I think that if you were to show them a little love. [28] Fabry. Impossible, Miss Glory! Nothing is harder to like than a Robot. Helena. What do you make them for, then? Busman. Ha, ha, ha! That’s good. What are Robots made for? Fabry. For work, Miss Glory. One Robot can replace two and a half workmen. The human machine, Miss Glory, was terribly imperfect. It had to be removed sooner or later. Busman. It was too expensive. Fabry. It was not effective. It no longer answers the requirements of modern engineering. Nature has no idea of keeping pace with modern labor. For example, from a technical point of view, the whole of childhood is a sheer absurdity. So much time lost. And then again—

Helena. Then why did you tell me that all your officials are Robots? Domin. Yes, the officials, but not the managers. Allow me, Miss Glory—this is Consul Busman, General Business Manager; this is Doctor Fabry, General Technical Manager; Doctor Hallemeier, head of the Institute for the Psychological Training of Robots; Doctor Gall, head of the Psychological and Experimental Department; and Alquist, head of the Building Department, R. U. R. (As they are introduced they rise and come C. to kiss her hand, except Gall and Alquist, whom Domin pushes away. General babble.)

[21] Domin. You can’t kill machines. Sulla! (Marius one step forward, one arm out. Sulla makes a move toward R. door.) Helena. (Moves a step R.) Don’t be afraid, Sulla. I won’t let you go. Tell me, my dear— (Takes her hand) —are they always so cruel to you? You mustn’t put up with it, Sulla. You mustn’t. Sulla. I am a Robot. Helena. That doesn’t matter. Robots are just as good as we are. Sulla, you wouldn’t let yourself be cut to pieces? Sulla. Yes. (Hand away.) Helena. Oh, you’re not afraid of death, then? Sulla. I cannot tell, Miss Glory. Helena. Do you know what would happen to you in there? Sulla. Yes, I should cease to move. Helena. How dreadful! (Looks at Sulla.)

Domin. (Sits beside her on couch) Well, anyone who has looked into human anatomy will have seen at once that man is too complicated, and that a good engineer could make him more simply. So young Rossum began to overhaul anatomy to see what could be left out or simplified. In short—But this isn’t boring you, Miss Glory? Helena. No, indeed. You’re—It’s awfully interesting. Domin. (Gets closer) So young Rossum said to himself: “A man is something that feels happy, plays the piano, likes going for a walk, and, in fact, wants to do a whole lot of things that are really unnecessary.” Helena. Oh. Domin. That are unnecessary when he wants— (Takes her hand) —let us say, to weave or count. Do you play the piano? Helena. Yes. Domin. That’s good. (Kisses her hand. She lowers her head.) Oh, I beg your pardon! (Rises) But a working machine must not play the piano, must not feel happy, must not do a whole lot of other things. A gasoline motor must not have tassels or ornaments, Miss Glory. And to manufacture artificial workers is the same thing as the manufacture of a gasoline motor. (She is not interested.) The process[17] must be the simplest, and the product the best from a practical point of view. (Sits beside her again) What sort of worker do you think is the best from a practical point of view? Helena. (Absently) What? (Looks at him.) Domin. What sort of worker do you think is the best from a practical point of view? Helena. (Pulling herself together) Oh! Perhaps the one who is most honest and hard-working. Domin. No. The one that is the cheapest. The one whose requirements are the smallest. Young Rossum invented a worker with the minimum amount of requirements. He had to simplify him. He rejected everything that did not contribute directly to the progress of work. Everything that makes man more expensive. In fact he rejected man and made the Robot. My dear Miss Glory, the Robots are not people. Mechanically they are more perfect than we are; they have an enormously developed intelligence, but they have no soul. (Leans back.)

Helena. I have come— (Sits R. of desk.) Domin. To have a look at our famous works where people are manufactured. Like all visitors. Well, there is no objection. Helena. I thought it was forbidden to— Domin. To enter the factory? Yes, of course. Everybody comes here with someone’s visiting card, Miss Glory. Helena. And you show them— Domin. Only certain things. The manufacture of artificial people is a secret process. Helena. If you only knew how enormously that— Domin. Interests you. Europe’s talking about nothing else. [12] Helena. (Indignantly turning front) Why don’t you let me finish speaking? Domin. (Drier) I beg your pardon. Did you want to say something different? Helena. I only wanted to ask— Domin. Whether I could make a special exception in your case and show you our factory. Why, certainly, Miss Glory. Helena. How do you know I wanted to say that? Domin. They all do. But we shall consider it a special honor to show you more than we do the rest.

What’s supposed to have happened is this: as with the stories and dances, every generation is tasked with finding suitable caretakers for the culture’s artistic productions. A wood totem left out in the rain will last around seventy years, an average human lifespan, before it will need to be re-carved. The system leaves everyone with work to do: the older generation must train the next; the younger generation must agree to carry the tribe’s stories forward and to train their young in turn. It’s a beautiful, holistic, communitarian structure that works well, until something like a smallpox epidemic arrives, such as the one that hit Alaska in 1835, taking 70 percent of the Native population in some areas and wiping out entire villages. Huge swathes of custom and craft are lost. If thereafter, among those who remain, Native art-making is suppressed by well-meaning missionaries who teach against the making of “idols,” well, it’s cultural Armageddon.

The evidence suggests that we can spot a good argument made by someone else, even when we disagree with it or loathe the viewpoint that it supports. It may be heartbreaking when the worst person you know makes a good point, but the experimental research suggests that you can still acknowledge it.

For example, Brennan’s arguments for epistocracy fall flat unless highly educated individuals, who know how to reason, are less prone to bias than ordinary citizens. But the sad truth is that self-proclaimed Vulcans aren’t any better able to think clearly than the rest of us. The Mercier and Sperber research that Brennan carelessly invokes says that humans reason in order to win arguments with each other, rather than to understand the world. If that is true, then people who are better at reasoning don’t necessarily understand the world any more clearly than those who reason less well. Instead, they are just better at crafting superficially plausible arguments for why everyone ought to agree with them. People who are enormously impressed by their own cleverness risk getting high on their own supply.

Ku Kluxers frequently claimed to be the walking Confederate dead returning from hell, as historian Stanley Horn explained in his 1939 book Invisible Empire. This lie involved a parlor trick: “The leader of the Klansmen would tell the Negro visited, in a hollow voice, that he was thirsty and wanted a drink,” Horn wrote. After the victim provided a water bucket and drinking gourd, the Ku Kluxer would cast aside the gourd and drink the whole bucket using “a funnel inside his mask connected by a rubber tube to an oilcloth bag under the flowing robe. ‘That’s good,’ he would say, smacking his lips. ‘That’s the first drink I’ve had since I was killed at the Battle of Shiloh; and you get mighty thirsty down in Hell.’” According to Horn, this was a standard routine, “almost the hallmark of a Ku Klux raid—none genuine without it.” Ku Kluxers in Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia, on the other hand, took a science-fiction approach, often introducing themselves as aliens from the moon. Others dressed in the traditional carnival costumes of domestic animals. Cows, goats, mules with tails and ears—Ku Kluxers hooted like owls, howled like dogs, and, as victims told Congress, “made all kinds of noises, from an ant to a buffalo, and finally ended by bellowing like oxen when they smell blood.”

The bone is named for Atlas of Greek mythology, for just as Atlas bore the weight of the heavens, the first cervical vertebra supports the head.[1] However, the term atlas was first used by the ancient Romans for the seventh cervical vertebra (C7) due its suitability for supporting burdens.[2] In Greek mythology, Atlas was condemned to bear the weight of the heavens as punishment for rebelling against Zeus. Ancient depictions of Atlas show the globe of the heavens resting at the base of his neck, on C7. Sometime around 1522, anatomists decided to call the first cervical vertebra the atlas.[2] Scholars believe that by switching the designation atlas from the seventh to the first cervical vertebra Renaissance anatomists were commenting that the point of man’s burden had shifted from his shoulders to his head--that man’s true burden was not a physical load, but rather, his mind.[2]

It is meaningful, I think, to notice the ways in which Carlson's job has changed, or metastasized; where Acting Like A Republican once meant going on TV dressed like a child at a Connecticut wedding and sneering at hippies or putting on for small business owners, it now means talking in identically apocalyptic terms about both the immigrant hordes and the now-much-less-sexy Green M&M, and stopping teasingly short of demanding that both be put to the sword.

It is generally true that people grow and change as they get older, but that's not necessarily the same thing as saying that they become different. Some people just become more and more themselves, and do not so much grow as build addition after addition onto their home and then decorate all of them identically. The fixtures and finishes might get more expensive, but fundamentally it is the same four walls opening onto the same views. Wherever they go, there they are. They do not, would not and anyway could not, ever leave.

“‘He just walks around with an iPad and sketches everything,’ Goldberg recalled.” Someone should study why Bono doing literally anything is automatically annoying, it’s remarkable. Anyone else could walk around sketching on an iPad and I’d be like “ok, seems fine.” But Bono? Absolutely not.

it’s incredibly freeing (not to mention satisfying) to know that I’m writing to a specific audience of subscribers instead of a vague audience of “people Googling some of the words that are in my post’s headline.”

The way I see it, there's a spectrum of how much human input is required for a task: Human task 0% Tool 50% Machine 100% When a task requires mostly human input, the human is in control. They are the one making the key decisions and it's clear that they're ultimately responsible for the outcome. But once we offload the majority of the work to a machine, the human is no longer in control. There's a No man's land where the human is still required to make decisions, but they're not in control of the outcome. At the far end of the spectrum, users feel like machine operators: they're just pressing buttons and the machine is doing the work. There isn't much craft in operating a machine. Automating tasks is going to be amazing for rote, straightforward work that requires no human input. But if those tasks can only be partially automated, the interface is going to be crucial.

But the decade really kicked into gear around 2012, when Facebook, apparently motivated by jealousy over Twitter’s popularity among journalists (and specifically the extent to which they were crediting Twitter with the Arab revolutions of 2011), opened up a fire hose of traffic to anyone willing to make their headlines sound like they’d been written by a dog, but a dog who’d been genetically/cybernetically manipulated to have the intelligence of a seventh grader, but was subsequently brain damaged in a lab accident, and was also on coke.

We never really know when the world ends while it’s happening. The day after I made my first gmail account, I sent several emails about jobs, and then replied to the replies to those emails, and then I never used any other email address again. The version of myself that lived online had changed overnight from who I could pretend to be into who I already was. The unreal place where I had spent a decade inventing myself blinked out like a dead star and became part of everything else. Fantasy turned to fact, and a game of playing-pretend yielded to the reality of showing an ID card at the airport. My life went on like normal, with no seeming change or noticeable rupture, except that every single thing was different. The internet was finally merely the world: Treacherous, un-magical, and profoundly consequential, full of documentation and tax forms and marriages. The world online, the one that once skittered to the corners when the lights came on, had moved into the daylight; it had closed the door to the haunted house and walked out into the marketplace. Life online was real the way a body is real, not the way a conversation is real. The wilderness had become the town.

I’ve lived online, for some value of lived, for some value of online, since I was a child.3 I learned its customs and manners and codes at the same time I learned the customs and manners and codes of being human.I say all the time that I miss the internet, but I use the internet to say it. All I really mean is that I miss a different version of myself. I miss when I knew less; I miss when there was more time. Despite being engaged in the act of shedding at every moment from birth, we don’t notice what we’ve shed until no part of it clings to us any longer. This is merely forward motion— not a tragedy, not a triumph, not a hardship, and not a miracle.

First and foremost, I'm interested in following topics, not specific people. I'm deeply curious about certain people's feed exactly because they write frequently about a topic that interests me.

The fediverse of microbloggers' primary objective isn't knowledge cultivation, but rather social bonding and sentiment aggregation. What's new/trending? What are the most commonly held beliefs? Who shares the same opinions? Which opinions are controversial?

Mastodon is an incremental change, taking the microblog-app archetype from centralized to federated. It’s still the exact same UX paradigm, which is profoundly limited as a tool for sense-making.

During my few stints of trying to make Twitter work for me, I've encountered multiple people that I wanted to follow, but ultimately didn't because I could tell their feed was too noisy. 'Too noisy' usually meant one of two things: (1) too many posts per day, or (2) posting about a wide assortment of topics – I only wanna keep up with 20%. That's a shame though, because if Twitter had accommodated better sorting controls, both from the writer's content-push (e.g. require hashtag categorization) and the reader's content-pull (follow a poster's hashtags), I'd follow a lot more people. Ditto for Mastodon et.al.

The nerds were the messianic faithful, awaiting the incoming of the algorithm. Waiting to fuse themselves with machines. To live in a world where you could like something simply by pressing a button. Waiting for the utopia where let people enjoy things is the whole of the law.

The regime of the hipster was an inefficient way of sorting it; it died. The regime of the nerd was an overefficient way of sorting it; it is dying. The last remaining option is mal d’archive, the Kang solution: you ease the weight of all this cultural stuff by simply destroying it all.

Maybe our post-nerd future will involve a return to genuine mass art. Maybe things will be good again. That would be nice!

Sequels and franchises no longer drag as many people into the cinemas.

Everything is sterile, mercilessly unsexy; no eroticism, not even visual pleasure. Compare it to any of the dumb action films of the 80s and 90s: sweatingly carnal men roped in thick wads of muscle, grunting around the rainforest, blasting bullets in all directions. The effects might be janky by modern standards, but they at least manage to hold your gaze—which is the least we should expect from the instruments of our domination. Nerd culture, meanwhile, is basically quite boring to consume.

nerds have always gravitated to the popular; nerds have always delighted in the flat infinity of the Same.

Nerdery is when you slurp happily from the toilet, and come up grinning and ask for more.This is why nerds are always so belligerently defensive about the dreck they choose to consume. They are mortally offended by the suggestion that Marvel might be somehow less good than Chris Marker, or that K-pop might be worse than Rimsky-Korasov.

They flourished in a brief gap: after we started producing impossible volumes of information, but before we had the technological means of efficiently processing it. In the 2000s, the best tool available was keyword search, the utility of which drops in line with the size of the data set. We still needed people to like things manually. But in the 2010s, we developed algorithmic processes capable of efficiently discerning patterns in the ungodly excess of human cultural production and sorting it appropriately. The hipsters were no longer required. So we shot them all and burned their bodies on a hill.

The hipster was an information-sorting algorithm: its job was to always have good taste. The hipster listened to bands you’d never heard of. The hipster drank beers brewed by Paraguayan Jesuits in the 1750s. The hipster thought Tarkovsky was for posers, and the only truly great late-Soviet filmmaker was Ali Khamraev. The hipster bought all his toilet paper from a small-batch paper factory in Abkhazia that included small fragments of tree bark in the pulp. The hipster swam deep into the vastness of human data, and always surfaced with pearls. Through its powers of snobbery and disdain, the hipster could effortlessly filter out what was good.

The last man to have read every single piece of publicly available data was the fifteenth-century polymath and mystic Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. (People sometimes make the same claim for Samuel Taylor Coleridge; they are wrong.) He knew the entire corpus of Greek and Latin texts, and also Hebrew and Arabic; he studied Kabbalah with the Italian rabbi Yohanan Alemanno; he could recite the poetry of every European vernacular.

Bodenchuk had told me that the government doesn’t retrieve pig corpses because an environmental impact assessment showed that the cost of recovery exceeds the value of the meat they might provide. Besides which, Bodenchuk added, he knows too much about wild pig pathogens to eat them. They can carry more than thirty viral and bacterial diseases and nearly forty parasites. Humans can get brucellosis, for instance, if a pig’s fluids or tissues come in contact with a cut during field dressing. “I could dress a deer and eat a sandwich at the same time. When I handle pigs, I put on rubber gloves,” Bodenchuk said. Hinterman pointed out that the nonprofit Hogs for a Cause Texas has been able to coordinate the safe dressing and charitable distribution of wild pig meat, which can be consumed if cooked safely, in the Fort Hood area.

Men who had attained a considerable degree of sanctity, and were universally recognized as holy and blameless in their lives and actions, were honoured while still living with nimbi. The nimbus of a living person is quite different in form from any bestowed on the Deity, angels, or saints, being square in shape, and placed upright behind the head, with its lower edge horizontal or parallel with the shoulders.

At the age of twenty one he began to study esoteric texts in the British Museum, and it was there that he ran into a man named Macgregor Mathers.

eridat ha-dorot (Hebrew: ירידת הדורות), meaning literally "the decline of the generations", or nitkatnu ha-dorot (נתקטנו הדורות), meaning "the diminution of the generations", is a concept in classical Rabbinic Judaism and contemporary Orthodox Judaism expressing a belief in the intellectual inferiority of subsequent, and contemporary Torah scholarship and spirituality in comparison to that of the past.

In the Roman Catholic Church, pouring the consecrated wine, the Blood of Christ, or the Host down a sacrarium is forbidden.[3] Extremely rarely, the Eucharistic species spoils or becomes contaminated such that it cannot be consumed. The host is then dissolved in water until it disappears, and then the water is poured down into the sacrarium.

It has been estimated that 60% of all bridge failures result from scour and other hydraulic-related causes.[2] It is the most common cause of highway bridge failure in the United States,[3] where 46 of 86 major bridge failures resulted from scour near piers from 1961 to 1976.[4]

Every spring since 2015, I have dutifully taken the frosted bottle out of the cupboard, dusted it off, and hoped that this would be the moment when it reveals its true beauty to me.  And in truth, I don’t hate it.  It is not a bad fragrance, objectively.  But life is just too short for such low-impact fragrance.

When Veyne probed euergetism in depth, however, comparing it not to modern charitable donations but rather to the ceremony of the potlatch among the Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest (a typically startling interpretive move), he exploded many of our assumptions about what the practice signified. Aimed at a collectivity of citizens and not at the individual poor, civic benefactions were not like Christian charity. Local elites, towering above the masses of their communities, hardly needed to advertise their wealth as a way to reinforce their social standing. This rules out any simple equivalence between euergetism and ‘conspicuous consumption’. Veyne was particularly emphatic that the transfer of private wealth into the public sphere was neither redistribution nor a form of depoliticisation – which is what most of us today understand by the phrase ‘bread and circuses’. Following an extended discussion of all the things that Roman euergetism was not – a tour de force of historical sociology that repays close reading – Veyne finally reveals what the practice was at its core. The key observation concerned the extent of private expenditures, which went far beyond what would have been necessary to secure public office or even to reinforce social standing. The massive and over-the-top spending was instinctual, on Veyne’s reading, seemingly unselfconscious and routinised, and often wasteful. In other words, in analysing the whole practice of euergetism, he pivoted away from practical explanations towards psychological ones. Public giving was a natural expression of grandeur, and the expression was an end in itself. This is the key to his reading. The drive to give was a deeply internalised sensibility among the Roman nobility and, as Veyne stresses, not a very complicated one. By the end of Le pain et le cirque, the reader can hardly escape the conclusion that euergetism in the Roman world was not instrumental at all.

The pedagogical and politically manicured arcs of Beyoncé, Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga were clever and good – as their respective documentaries would show, a close cousin of the twins ‘dogmatic’ and ‘boring’ – and for that reason so much less riveting and dumbfounding than those of Britney, Monica and the rest. (The last time we saw Beyoncé’s human face was when Ashton Kutcher Punk’d her in 2003.)

She went on to re-record her albums of the early years of that decade in order to restore rights to her own music in a form of undoing by redoing. This fantasy of retrospectively applied justice begs the question of whether claiming victimhood breeds power, or if power will just wear victimhood as its latest stole, while those without power, by identifying with their oppression, become trapped by it.

And here, as much as Sawyer was out of line, we can glean from her cruelty the expectation that her subject just might be capable of surviving it, or even fending for herself; an expectation which contains the possibility of dignity and traces of respect we’d have to search far and wide for 10 years later.

In a way, it was this cruel pedagogy that paved the way for militantly unabashed double standards in the name of rights and equality, the glitchy reattachment of the signifier of the 2010s that said ‘No, anything does not go’: gender is performative, but my gender is essential; expression is free, but this expression is wrong – etc. A dangerous game that ushered in the notion of post-truth.

a decade later, we would be intolerant to the moral ambivalence of cultural artefacts like Nabokov’s.

Per the logic of punishment as certification of worth, to be famished and frail offered the same ravaged glamour as being assaulted by paparazzi, but readily available to anyone

Where in Nabokov it is the perverted and punishable Humbert who is society’s mirror image and Lolita mere collateral damage, in the 00s we were all both Britney and her perpetrators: her father, her lawyers, Paris and Lindsey and Kevin and Justin and her two children she went to court to get back and whose pictures were sold to People Magazine for several million dollars. Ethically speaking, it was a zero-sum game in which everyone was a loser and a sell-out. And while this has not changed, back then no one would claim to have been either empowered or victimised by it. Rather, everyone involved – from the paparazzi to the lucky girl inside the SUV who cried cried cried – was just doing their job.

Nothing is ever over when it’s over, only much later. This is partly because hours and days and years are arbitrary divisions, and partly because many things are unfathomable in the moment they take place, and so simply don’t take place in that moment, but stretch out for however long it takes for us to be able to grasp them.

In the old manufacturing economy, if you operated a factory using the techniques of “scientific management,” your workers were not required to think. They were required only to perform set tasks as efficiently as possible. In that kind of business, creativity just gets in the way. But, if your business is about sales, marketing, product design, innovation, or tweaks on standard products, you need ideas, which means that you want to hire the kind of people who can come up with them.

“The star of this new economy,” Franklin writes, was “the hip freelancer or independent studio artist, rather than the unionized musician or actor who had been at the heart of the cultural industries.” In his view, this is perfectly natural, since “creativity” was an economic, not aesthetic, notion to begin with. “The concept of creativity,” he concludes, “never actually existed outside of capitalism.”

Readers do not normally wish books longer, but a couple of discussions are missing from “The Cult of Creativity.” One is about art itself. The early Cold War was a dramatic period in cultural history, and claims about originality and creativity in the arts were continually being debated. Among the complaints about Pop art, when it bounded onto the scene, in 1962, was that the painters were just copying comic books and product labels, not creating. It’s possible that as commercial culture became more invested in the traditional attributes of fine art, fine art became less so.

Franklin tells us that Synectics can be credited with two products: Pringles and the Swiffer. I guess you can’t argue with that—though it’s interesting to learn that when you descend into the depths of the subconscious, you emerge with . . . a Pringle.

I’m just a nonspecialist single person trying to understand the impact of the internet on my mind and life, and as I have been writing this essay, I have experienced the fatigue of reading already-existing versions of everything I am writing everywhere I look, which may be the exact effect I’m talking about, and why this essay feels like both a loop and a wormhole. Of course the effect of the internet on my mind is to make me see more and more connections everywhere, because that’s how a human mind works, and the internet was made by human minds, and on the internet everything is linked. It is embedded in real life now, so real life also feels linked to the internet.

So what I’m experiencing is only advertising, or coincidence, or it’s just frequency illusion, or synchrony. If there is order to the system, but the order is too complex for you to understand it, your experience will be mostly of disorder studded with coincidence and frequency illusion, and you will have no ability to say whether the system is disordered or too complex to understand. They become synonymous and meaningless.

And I used to think it was ironic when someone posted some hand-wringy article about internet addiction on their Facebook, but now I don’t see it like that. Now I just think about how you’re telling the internet what you care about, and all it knows to do with that is to try to convert your concern into currency. Once it understands that you find something ironic, if you are that sort of person, it will then find a way to push that at you too, trailing ads like seaweed.

darius kazemi defines a bot ⧉ as 'a computer that attempts to talk to humans through technology that was designed for humans to talk to humans'. this definition sits well with me, when trying to identify just what is so creepy about accidentally talking on the phone to a robot without immediately realising. it's the uncanny valley effect of being unsure if something is human or not, manufactured or natural. just this week, louis vuitton stores have unveiled 'hyperrealistic' robot versions of yayoi kusama, painting their windows, in a move some have noted 'feels morbid' ⧉ (and many have described as 'creepy'). the rise of LLMs like GPT3 hits on this same kind of uncanny valley. they have become almost indistinguishable from humans, requiring us to imagine means of devising a 'reverse turing test' as described by maggie appleton in order to tell them apart.

"Well, Taylor," Armstrong begins, staring at a point somewhere behind me andslightly above my head – on the column that has been terra-cotta-ized or perhaps on theexposed pipe that runs the length of the ceiling. "Travelers looking for that perfectvacation this summer may do well to look south, as far south as the Bahamas and theCaribbean islands. There are at least five smart reasons for visiting the Caribbeanincluding the weather and the festivals and events, the less crowded hotels andattractions, the price and the unique cultures. While many vacationers leave the cities insearch of cooler climates during the summer months, few have realized that theCaribbean has a year-round climate of seventy-five to eighty-five degrees and that theislands are constantly cooled by the trade winds. It is frequently hotter north in..."

"The client had the boudin blanc, the roasted chicken and the cheesecake," he says."Cheesecake?" I say, confused by this plain, alien-sounding list. "What sauce or fruitswere on the roasted chicken? What shapes was it cut into?""None, Patrick," he says, also confused. "It was... roasted.""And the cheesecake, what flavor? Was it heated?" I say. "Ricotta cheesecake? Goatcheese? Were there flowers or cilantro in it?""It was just... regular," he says, and then, "Patrick, you're sweating.

But I've been drinking close to twenty liters of Evian watera day and going to the tanning salon regularly and one night of binging hasn't affectedmy skin's smoothness or color tone.

"I'm resourceful," Price is saying. "I'm creative, I'm young, unscrupulous, highlymotivated, highly skilled. In essence what I'm saying is that society cannot afford tolose me. I'm an asset."

In civilization there have to be some restraints. If we followed every impulse,we'd be killing one another.Miss Manners (Judith Martin)

The Imperial Wireless Chain was a strategic international communications network of powerful long range radiotelegraphy stations, created by the British government to link the countries of the British Empire.

When I was little, I thought that when people were drunk they were drunk forever. Later, I learned that this is not true. Even later, I learned that sometimes it is.

The more cor-rosive threat may be that people have been convinced that the high-tech modernist system of knowledge generation is an open buffet where “anything goes,” and that keeping it that way is essential to their own freedom. Anyone can offer content, anyone can be their own expert, and it is up to the algorithm to sort it out. Further, the new existential condition of transparency has provided everyone with potent tools to expose or doubt others, only moderated by their own vulnerability to be exposed in turn–an inherently agonistic situation.

Our universe of accessible knowledge is shaped by categorization processes that are invisible and incomprehensible to ordinary users, according to principles that have little regard for whether it is well sourced. The outcome is that the way that people “take [their] bearings in the world” is slowly changing.30 Visible feed-back loops between the people being categorized, the knowledge they have access to, and the processes through which the categories are generated are replaced by invisible loops mediated through algorithms that maximize on commercial im-peratives, sometimes creating incompatible and self-sustaining islands of shared (“post-truth”) beliefs among micropublics who have been categorized in partic-ular ways, and who may themselves act to reinforce the categories. A new terrain of political struggle has arisen, involving the exploitation of information systems and algorithmic dynamics for partisan advantage.

As search engines have transformed from general-purpose technology to per-sonal digital assistants, they have elevated searching the web and forming an opinion “for oneself” into a normative principle. People think of search engines as oracles, but as sociologist Francesca Tripodi and others have shown, they work more like distorting mirrors that variously confirm, exacerbate, or take advantage of people’s priors.

High-tech modernism claims to represent popular judgment against the snobbishness of elites. Remember that Scott identifies high modernism as inherently antidemocratic because it enforces categories and ob-jectives decided on by elites who “know better.”23 High-tech modernism, by con-trast, systematically undermines elite judgment, fueling a crisis of expertise.

The feedback loops of high-tech modernism are also structurally different. Some kinds of human feedback are now much less common. Digital classification systems may group people in ways that are not always socially comprehensible (in contrast to traditional categories such as female, married, Irish, or Christian). Human feedback, therefore, typically requires the mediation of specialists with significant computing expertise, but even they are often mystified by the opera-tion of systems they have themselves designed.13The political and social mechanisms through which people previously re-sponded, actively and knowingly, to their categorization–by affirming, disagree-ing with, or subverting it–have been replaced by closed loops in which algo-rithms assign people unwittingly to categories, assess their responses to cues, and continually update and reclassify them. The classifications produced by machine learning are cybernetic, in mathematician Norbert Wiener’s original sense of the word. That is, they are self-correcting: categories are automatically and dynami-cally adjusted in light of the reactions that they produce.

The changing politics of credit in the United States helps illuminate these dif-ferences. Until the 1970s, broad demographic characteristics such as gender or race–or high modernist proxies such as marital status or the redlining of poor, primarily Black neighborhoods–were routinely used to determine a person’s creditworthiness. It is only when categorical discrimination was explicitly forbid-den that new actuarial techniques, aimed at precisely scoring the “riskiness” of specific individuals, started to flourish in the domain of credit.14 This did not just change how lenders “saw” individuals and groups, but also how individuals and groups thought about themselves and the politics that were open to them.15 Redlining was overt racial prejudice, visible to anyone who both-ered looking at a map. But credit scoring turned lending risk evaluation into a quantitative, individualized, and abstract process. Contesting the resulting classi-fications or acting collectively against them became harder. Later, the deployment of machine learning–which uses even weaker signals to make its judgments, like using one’s phone’s average battery level to determine their likelihood to repay their loan–made the process of measuring creditworthiness even more opaque and difficult to respond to.1

But it’s true that there isn’t One Big Conspiracy, largely because there doesn’t need to be; it’s also true that people regularly gather together in private to plot the downfall of their enemies. On the whole, however, liberal capitalist states, like dishwashers, work all by themselves (when they work at all). They don’t depend on people meeting in missile-proof bunkers to plot how to stay in power. Modern societies don’t rely on some kind of collective consciousness to keep themselves afloat, partly because modern citizens are atomised rather than collective. In fact, consciousness or belief hardly comes into it. As long as you don’t try to overthrow the state, you can believe pretty much what you like. This is known as liberalism.