George Boole and the Calculus of Thought

by Richard Passov

42ecfaceabdf534121e824e991bc0a5f--george-boole-google-doodlesOn the night of December 8th, 1864, George Boole, 49 years of age, in the grips of pneumonia, expired. He left a wife, Mary, and five daughters. Unfortunately, Mary had always carried two of his beliefs: the health benefits of long walks and the healing powers of homeopathic remedies. Late in a winter evening, after finishing his work at the University, under a cold rain, George walked the two miles to his home. Over the next several days, guided by her belief that the cure lay in the symptoms, Mary repeatedly doused George in cold water.

* * *

George was born in a small rail hub one hundred and fifty miles north of London, in the den of a cobbler who, said his wife, was ‘…good at everything except his own business of managing shop.’ Unable to afford an education, Boole’s father nevertheless encouraged his son to study. Dutiful, George taught himself six languages, read the classics, read philosophy and studied his figures.

By twelve he had a reputation owing to his father’s submission to the local newspaper of a poem translated from ancient Greek. Interested readers were surprised to discover that the translator was an unschooled boy. The Town Councilor, fancying himself an amateur mathematician, provided George access to a library filled with mathematics.

George calculated that math would be more remunerative than his first love, theology. Some things don’t change. After enough self-study, hoping for tips from grateful parents he secured a position as an usher tutoring students in theater-sized classrooms. By nineteen, he opened his own school to which he gave the very unoriginal name: “The Classical, Commercial and Mathematical Academy.”

Teaching during the day, studying at night, living with and the sole support for his extended family, George mastered the complete cannon of contemporary math. Mastered to such an extent that in 1837 he responded to an advertisement from a newly established mathematical journal with an astonishingly original piece of work.

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The Great Clomping Foot: Worldbuilding and Art

by Thomas Manuel

WorldbuildingMore than ten years ago, in a now iconic pronouncement, the writer M. John Harrison decried worldbuilding as “the great clomping foot of nerdism“. He called on every science fiction story to represent “the triumph of writing over worldbuilding”, calling it dull and technically unnecessary. “Worldbuilding literalises the urge to invent”, he wrote. “Worldbuilding gives an unnecessary permission for acts of writing (indeed, for acts of reading). Worldbuilding numbs the reader’s ability to fulfil their part of the bargain, because it believes that it has to do everything around here if anything is going to get done.” To writers and readers of SFF, these words cannot help but be troubled. And yet, they demand being read again and again, as China Mieville said, “especially [by] those of us fortunate enough to look down and see the targets on our shirts, and look up and see one of the most important, savage and intelligent (anti-)fantasists of recent times aiming down the barrel of his scorn-gun at us.”

I am one such fortunate soul. As I write this essay, not five inches from my right hand, is a sheet of paper with the scribbled schematics of my mongrel, dream city of Orbaiz. I patched together this bastardized urban backdrop for an imminent tabletop RPG campaign and a less-imminent fantasy novel and have enjoyed every minute of it. And now, as intended, I am troubled.

It’s clear that Harrison doesn’t mean these words literally. He has, with a certain amount of arrogance clearly, thrown out this provocation, knowing full well that it lends itself to misinterpretation and enraged internet commentary. If the words hadn’t done the job, the tone of moral superiority and whiff of ‘high art’ sentimentality certainly would’ve. But Harrison isn’t a civilian and can’t easily be dismissed. As a writer, critic and editor, he looms over British SFF. He was a vital member of Michael Moorcock’s team at New Worlds, which ushered in the New Wave of the 60s and 70s. For those who are civilians, the New Wave was, in simplistic terms, the movement in SFF away from pulp to more artistic or literary ground. (Of course, the truth is more complicated. As Helen Mirrick writes in the Routledge Companion to Science Fiction, “For some it is “the single most important development in science fiction”, an era that “transformed the science fiction landscape”, but others suggest that it is a meaningless generalization or that it never really existed.”)

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Scheming Like A State

by Misha Lepetic

"A grandes problemas,
¡grandes soluciones!
~ Nicolás Maduro

Bc4One area where proponents of technology customarily get trounced concerns the consideration of unintended consequences. (This is also regrettably true for most commentators.) It's not that people don't take them into account, but rather that when they do, those consequences are extrapolated out to such hyperbolic extremes as to make these scenarios essentially useless. It's much more appealing and click-friendly to sound the alarm that artificial intelligence will turn the entire planet into an ocean of paper clips than it is to think deeply about how AI already influences decisionmaking within our existing social systems. By the same token, it's easier to be terrified of sudden, wholesale unemployment wrought by automation, when, as I noted recently, the far likelier outcome is that we will coexist with technology for a good while yet, with automation eroding work in a gradual, almost invisible fashion. And this is notwithstanding the fact that that there is plenty of room for a well-informed skepticism that questions whether technological unemployment is happening in any appreciable way at all.

Similarly, when proponents of bitcoin, blockchain and distributed technologies advocate for a wave of technologically-driven decentralization, it's rarely described in terms less than messianic. Unintended consequences seem to have gotten only so far as admitting an overenthusiastic consumption of electricity. Now, one of the principal targets of this revolution is the perceived tyranny of the nation-state itself. Janina Lowisz, the (alleged) first holder of an ID that is written into the blockchain, said in an interview with Vice that:

The technology allows for a lot of new possibilities for replacing what the state provides—like, one option would be to offer government services in packages so people can pay for whatever services they're going to use. That's how government should work: Instead of paying taxes that get wasted on things you don't even want, this way you can have a free choice and see exactly where your money is going.

I'll graciously pass over the heartstopping naïveté of this sentiment, but it's worth noting that this model of 'government as a cable TV package subscription' has deep roots. It is a direct ideological descendant of the ur-text of techno-libertarianism, John Perry Barlow's A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace, the charismatic and hopelessly romantic 1996 manifesto that Barlow delivered in Davos, of all places. For the purposes of this essay, I have pulled out the following bits:

Governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed. You have neither solicited nor received ours…You have not engaged in our great and gathering conversation, nor did you create the wealth of our marketplaces…We will create a civilization of the Mind in Cyberspace. May it be more humane and fair than the world your governments have made before.

Blockchain technologies pretty much take dead aim at fulfilling this mandate. Bitcoin's fair face, and the 1,518 ships that it has thus far launched, revel in the notion of decentralized authority. Political vicissitudes cannot devalue these aspiring currencies, and, in their purest forms, transacting in them means immunity from censorship or any other regulatory or even geopolitical restrictions. Except, no one has really thought to ask the nation-states what they think about this.

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Special K standing

Peter Williams. Special K Standing, 2017.

Oil on canvas.

"… Titled With So Little To Be Sure Of, the exhibition features a series of oil paintings, drawings, and a mixed-media installation that confronts viewers with the traumatic reality of systemic violence towards African Americans. Ossei-Mensah writes, “Commenting on the concepts of race, representation, white supremacy, oppressive social structures, humanity and grace, the works…proselytize their audience with narratives of social surrealism.”"

More here and here.

Thanks to Laura Raicovich for alerting me to this work.

More here, here, and here.

“Hype” or Uncertainty: The Reporting of Initial Scientific Findings in Newspapers

by Jalees Rehman

CoffeeOne of the cornerstones of scientific research is the reproducibility of findings. Novel scientific observations need to be validated by subsequent studies in order to be considered robust. This has proven to be somewhat of a challenge for many biomedical research areas, including high impact studies in cancer research and stem cell research. The fact that an initial scientific finding of a research group cannot be confirmed by other researchers does not mean that the initial finding was wrong or that there was any foul play involved. The most likely explanation in biomedical research is that there is tremendous biological variability. Human subjects and patients examined in one research study may differ substantially from those in follow-up studies. Biological cell lines and tools used in basic science studies can vary widely, depending on so many details such as the medium in which cells are kept in a culture dish. The variability in findings is not a weakness of biomedical research, in fact it is a testimony to the complexity of biological systems. Therefore, initial findings need to always be treated with caution and presented with the inherent uncertainty. Once subsequent studies – often with larger sample sizes – confirm the initial observations, they are then viewed as being more robust and gradually become accepted by the wider scientific community.

Even though most scientists become aware of the scientific uncertainty associated with an initial observation as their career progresses, non-scientists may be puzzled by shifting scientific narratives. People often complain that "scientists cannot make up their minds" – citing examples of newspaper reports such as those which state drinking coffee may be harmful only to be subsequently contradicted by reports which laud the beneficial health effects of coffee drinking. Accurately communicating scientific findings as well as the inherent uncertainty of such initial findings is a hallmark of critical science journalism.

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Algorithms and The Meaning of Explanation

by Daniel Ranard


We're surrounded by algorithms. Facebook uses an algorithm to curate your newsfeed, credit agencies use an algorithm to compute your credit score, and soon an algorithm may replace you in the driver's seat. As algorithms come to dictate larger swaths of life, it's important to understand exactly what they are, and especially how they're drastically changing.

On one hand, algorithms are nothing new. An algorithm is just a precise set of instructions for carrying out a task. Any chef with a cookbook already follows the written algorithms within: add two cups of water, mix until smooth. Unlike computer algorithms, these instructions are written in a language meant for humans, so they still retain some ambiguity: how should you go about lifting the cup, and what does it mean to mix until smooth? While most of us have the know-how to surmount these ambiguities, computers are designed to follow much more precise instructions. And unlike cookbook recipes, computer algorithms don't concern the manipulation of physical objects like cups and bowls, but rather the manipulation of abstract objects like numbers and bits. A computer algorithm might say: "Take two numbers as inputs, multiply the larger one by seven, then add them," and so on. Though a modern computer is designed to convert these instructions into physical manipulations of the electricity within, one might also use an abacus, or pen and paper. Indeed, some of today's algorithms have been around for centuries: the way a computer calculates square roots is not so different from the method prescribed by Hero of Alexandria.

So while we built bigger and better equipment to execute our algorithms in the 20th century, the central idea of the algorithm had remained unchanged for millenia. What would algorithms of the future hold? First, let's take a diversion and explain where we thought the most advanced algorithms were likely headed, decades ago. Then, we'll see how the recent success of machine learning methods has changed that vision for many, even posing new questions about the nature of knowledge and explanation.

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Wine and Food: Are They Craft or Art?

by Dwight Furrow

Winemaker at work 2The explosion of interest in the aesthetics of food and beverages over the past several decades inevitably raises the question whether certain culinary preparations or wines can be considered works of art. I have argued elsewhere that indeed food and wine can be works of art. But within the wine and food world many winemakers and chefs prefer to think of themselves as craft persons rather than artists, and in philosophy there is substantial resistance to including food and wine in the category of a fine art. The question of how we distinguish a craft from an art is thus germane to this debate.

Unfortunately, traditional ways of drawing the distinction between craft and the fine arts are inadequate. In fact, a too sharply drawn distinction between art and craft will mischaracterize both. Nevertheless, I think there is a distinction to be made between art and craft and at least some wines and culinary preparations are best viewed as works of art.

As Larry Shiner has pointed out, both the term "fine art" and the term "craft" are relatively recent inventions. ""Craft" as the name of a category of disciplines only goes back to the late nineteenth century when it emerged partly in reaction to machine production, and partly in reaction to the fine art academies' exclusion of the "minor," "decorative," or "applied" arts." Fine art, according to Shiner, was a phrase used to market works of art to the emerging middle class marking off craftwork, works that are merely useful, from works that were "the appropriate object of refined taste."

In the past we might have used the type of material being worked on to distinguish art from craft. Paint on canvas, words on a page, notes played by instruments were candidates for works of art. The transformation of wood, clay, metals or fabric was craft. But since the birth of installations and the expansion of materials used for artistic expression, artists today work in media such as textiles, plastics, metals and wood. So the type of material will no longer suffice to mark the distinction. Why then not food or wine as candidates for artistic expression?

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Making it up at MoMA

by Katrin Trüstedt

Irene 2On Friday, February 16, 2018, the screening of a documentary film titled The Rest I Make Up at MoMA's Doc Fortnight festival created something like a theatrical event. Moving images of the largely unknown avant-garde playwright Maria Irene Fornes (she goes by Irene) cast a spell on the audience that reacted with tears, laughter, and frenetic applause. The images of her, making up stories, walking down the street Cuba style, flirting with the camera, or questioning the whole filming project while lying on her bed, seemed to turn the basement film theater into an actual theatrical space, one that has always been Irene Fornes’s true habitat. The love story that this film is – the story of her love for the theater, for Cuba, for Susan Sontag, and, ultimately, for the film maker Michelle Memran – seemed to affect everyone in the audience, old friends as well as those who barely knew her name. And yet, as the event of this film had everyone so captivated (including me), I couldn't help but wonder: what exactly is the relation of an artist like Fornes to an institution like MoMA?

The title of this film The Rest I Make Up seems to perfectly capture a feature of her art essential to this relation. It points to a making up of stories and theater worlds that was the work of this writer, as well as to a practice as part of her now dealing with dementia: If she can't remember, she makes it up. Behind the charm and nonchalance with which she graces the screen, one senses an abyss of an unknown, terrifying darkness. It makes its presence felt in silences, glances, or the state that her kitchen is in. When Michelle and Irene return from their visit in Cuba, they stop in Miami to see Irene's sister; Irene cannot tell her about having just visited their family. She does not remember. But the title also seems to address the way Fornes's avant-garde theater used to work in the niche of the Off-Off-Broadway scene (and "Off-Off-MoMA," if you will): improvised and without support, institutionally or financially, it was experimentally "made up" as the productions moved along. Besides writing and directing the plays, Fornes would, for instance, also often do the costumes, with whatever happened to be there. And ultimately, the title also seems to speak to the filmmaking project itself. When I first met Michelle in Berlin about 15 years ago, she was not sure what exactly to do with her life. How to make money. Where to go. What to make. But she knew she was captivated by this playwright Irene Fornes (it was how I learned about her), and wanted to, in some way, do something with her, about her, for her. The rest she was going to make up "as we went along". It turned out to be this film, and she turned out to be a filmmaker in the process.

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Race, Religion and Radicalism: King and Du Bois

Edward Carlson in Black Perspectives:

Du-Bois-and-MLKOn the occasion of a dual anniversary—the year we ponder the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination and recognize the 150th anniversary W.E.B. Du Bois’s birth—the intersection of their legacy offers fertile ground for reflection.

King is largely remembered for having a dream. And while his “I Have a Dream” speech and other rhetorical flourishes stand at the pinnacle of what Americans know about him, his objectives remain unrealized. King articulated a radical socialist message, still unheard and often disputed, due to his anti-poverty, anti-materialism, and anti-war convictions, perspectives shaped within the framework of challenging American capitalism. Like Socrates, King’s teachings threatened the ruling class and the pervasive comfort of liberals. Today’s proclamation of King, witnessed recently in the appropriation of his words for a Super Bowl LII commercial, presents a revisionary tale. Months before King’s assassination, his assault on capitalism earned him a rebuke by many Black folks, who did not care for his evolving vision in challenging the economic inequalities promulgated by capitalism, and still more white folks, who expressed a disdain toward him.

Du Bois, on the other hand, was a global intellectual within a radical leftist framework; he fought for the liberation of peoples in the darker lands, as well as those occupied by the oppressive forces of capitalism. Du Bois persistently juxtaposed the American race problem with the endemic forces of global imperialism and capitalism. “The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line”: a recasting of that sentence’s inaugural iteration—most famously published in The Souls of Black Folk, but also the concluding sentence of the “To the Nations of the World,” collectively constructed by those attending the Pan-African Congress of 1900. We must also recognize that Du Bois’s radical evolution started with the Russian Revolution (1917). In seeking a solution to Black oppression, he became aware of his inner Bolshevism when and proclaimed, “I am a Bolshevik” after a 1926 visit to the Soviet Union. One must not attempt to recount Du Bois’s life and legacy just as a Pan-Africanist or civil rights activist, which society has done to King, but measure Du Bois and his internal struggles and maturation as an evolving radical and eventual member of the Communist Party USA (CPUSA). While King and Du Bois shared much in working for a reconfiguration of society, only Du Bois proclaimed in a pronounced fashion his full radicalness, leaving questions about King up for interpretation. Yet, both men had a dream and that dream was a society removed from capitalism’s despair.

More here. (Note: Throughout February, at least one post will be dedicated to honor Black History Month)

The gardener of Aden

Nicolas Pelham in More Intelligent Life:

Topiary_Web_header_1It began two years ago with a few snips to a Damas bush. Before the week was out, Omar Slameh, who heads a provincial department of environmental management in eastern Yemen, had his 24 municipal gardeners clipping shrubs into pyramids, globes and hearts. Soon they were decorating ancient thoroughfares with six-foot-high teapots, incense burners and doves. By the year’s end they could produce entire Quranic verses in living greenery. Such feats of topiary would have dazzled any city. That they should bud in a war-stricken country facing the world’s worst humanitarian crisis, and in an isolated corner regarded as al-Qaeda’s stronghold, beggars belief. But Slameh is convinced that horticulture is an effective method of peace-keeping. “They plant explosives. We plant trees,” he says, bristling with civic pride. Manicured foliage fosters a sense of normality and order, he argues.

Tucked in Wadi Hadramawt, a broad canyon that cuts 200km across the east of Yemen, Seiyun is half an hour’s drive from Osama bin Laden’s ancestral home. Seiyun itself has come under repeated attack from al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP), the jihadists’ most lethal affiliate. Over the past four years, it has raided the town’s central bank, stormed the airport, triggered car bombs outside its governorate and army bases, and driven 30-car convoys flying black ensigns through its streets. It has chased away foreign oil companies with a spate of kidnappings, assassinated several local officials and published manuals for lone wolves on how to sew suicide vests.

More here.

A Typical Day

Zack Bornstein in The New Yorker:

ScreenHunter_2976 Feb. 25 19.56Midnight–8 a.m.: Vividly hallucinate while paralyzed atop a cushion-topped box of metal springs.

8-8:05 a.m.: A small plastic box generates fast-moving vibrations strong enough for my eardrums to register them and communicate to my brain that it is time to switch from a hallucinating state to a state of gathering food and information. I smack the box.

8:05-8:15 a.m.: Spin a dial to release water that has travelled from the top of a mountain through a maze of lead pipes onto my outermost epidermal layer in order to rinse away the salty liquid that my body secreted through thousands of holes while I was hallucinating.

8:15-8:17 a.m.: Agitate a brush created by children halfway around the world to remove minuscule invisible creatures from the bones in my mouth that I use to turn all my food into soup before swallowing it. Spit out excess soap that is chemically designed to taste like food, but isn’t. “Forget” to floss.

8:17-8:20 a.m.: Tunnel my body into shapes made from interwoven threads of dyed plant refuse which have been pieced together by poor people a third of the way around the world to match the shapes of my limbs and my trunk.

8:20-8:23 a.m.: Tunnel my body into a different set of interwoven threads because the first one didn’t satisfactorily create the illusion that my body is desirably healthy for copulation as judged by a theoretical stranger whom I may encounter during the day.

8:23-8:25 a.m.: Look for my wallet.

8:25-9 a.m.: Strap myself into a small rocket-room that is powered by the burnt remains of prehistoric kelp, in which I avoid dying by spinning a plastic circle wrapped in optional cow skin.

More here. [Thanks to Elizabeth Cornell.]

Comfort history

David Wootton in the Times Literary Supplement:

Enlightenmentnow_cover_design_thumbnail_1__0This book consists essentially of seventy-two graphs – and, despite that, it is gripping, provocative and (many will find) infuriating. The graphs all have time on the horizontal axis, and on the vertical axis something important that can be measured against it – life expectancy, for example, or suicide rates, or income. In some graphs the line, or lines (often the graphs compare trends in several countries) fall as they go from left to right; in others they rise. In every single one, the overall picture (with the inevitable blips and bounces) is of life getting better and better. Suicide rates fall, homicides fall, incomes rise, life expectancies rise, literacy rates rise and so on and on through seventy-two variations. Most of these graphs are not new: some simply update graphs which appeared in Pinker’s earlier The Better Angels of Our Nature (2011); others come from recognized purveyors of statistical information. The graphs that weren’t in Better Angels extend the argument of that book, that war and homicide are on the decline across the globe, to assert that life has been getting better and better in all sorts of other respects. The claim isn’t new: a shorter version is to be found in Johan Norberg’s Progress (2017). But the range and scope of the evidence adduced is new. The only major claim not supported by a graph (or indeed much evidence of any kind) is the assertion that all this progress has something to do with the Enlightenment.

Since the argument of the book is almost entirely contained in the graphs, those who want to attack the argument are going to attack the figures on which the graphs are based. Good luck to them: arguments based on statistics, like all interesting arguments, should be tested and tested again. Better Angels caused a vitriolic dispute between Pinker and Nassim Nicholas Taleb as to whether major wars are becoming less frequent. In Taleb’s view the question is a bit like asking whether major earthquakes are getting less frequent or not: they happen so rarely, and so randomly, that you would need records going back over a vast stretch of time to reach any meaningful conclusion; a graph showing falling death rates in wars over the past seventy years won’t do the job. But it certainly will tell you that lots of generalizations about modern war are wrong. Much, indeed most, of Pinker’s argument survived Taleb’s attack, which in any case was directed at only one graph among many.

More here.

Science’s Inference Problem: When Data Doesn’t Mean What We Think It Does

James Ryerson in the New York Times:

IvoryTower-blog427Over the past few years, many scientific researchers, especially those working in psychology and biomedicine, have become concerned about the reproducibility of results in their field. Again and again, findings deemed “statistically significant” and published in reputable journals have not held up when the experiments were conducted anew. Critics have pointed to many possible causes, including the unconscious manipulation of data, a reluctance to publish negative results and a standard of statistical significance that is too easy to meet.

In their book TEN GREAT IDEAS ABOUT CHANCE (Princeton University, $27.95), a historical and philosophical tour of major insights in the development of probability theory, the mathematician Persi Diaconis and the philosopher Brian Skyrms emphasize another possible cause of the so-called replication crisis: the tendency, even among “working scientists,” to equate probability with frequency. Frequency is a measure of how often a certain event occurs; it concerns facts about the empirical world. Probability is a measure of rational degree of belief; it concerns how strongly we should expect a certain event to occur. Linking frequency and probability is hardly an error. (Indeed, the notion that in large enough numbers frequencies can approximate probabilities is Diaconis and Skyrms’s fourth “great idea” about chance.) But failing to distinguish the two concepts when testing hypotheses, they warn, “can have pernicious effects.”

More here.

All About Obama

Mark Schmitt in the Boston Review:

2965465261_90ed2013a8_zA month before the 2008 presidential election, the cover of The American Prospect, which I edited at the time, depicted an empty Oval Office and the headline, “The President Doesn’t Matter (As Much As You Think).” Inside we ran articles about the institutions of Washington, such as the Senate Finance Committee—and its feckless chairman, Max Baucus—and the Federal Reserve, explaining the limits they would impose on the scope of change that might be possible under an Obama administration.

The issue fell flat on the newsstand, and the Prospect’s board of directors was apoplectic about the cover. Even if my colleagues and I were right, the publisher complained, the cover “wasn’t appropriate to the moment.”

We were right, as it turns out. But it’s also true that it wasn’t an appropriate moment to make that point, because no one wanted to hear it. Remember when all we could talk about was the possibility of a “transformational president”? In the thrill of what was, for many of us, the first decisive Democratic victory in our lifetimes, and what seemed to be—and probably is—a demographic shift in the electorate toward the younger, the nonwhite, and the socially tolerant, it was too easy to imagine that the 30-year conservative era dating from roughly halfway through the Carter administration had ended with a bang and that change on the scale of an FDR or a Reagan was possible.

In that moment, many liberals forgot an insight that they had painstakingly learned—or should have learned—in the Bush era: conservative dominance was not just a matter of electing a president, but of building, in the words of former Senator Bill Bradley, “a stable pyramid” of organizations focused on policy development, grass-roots mobilization, and media, “at the top of which you’ll find the president.” That president could be almost anyone—even, as if to prove the point, George W. Bush—because the ideological and organizational infrastructure is more important. Democrats, Bradley argued in a 2005 New York Times op-ed, “invert the pyramid,” vesting all hope in individual presidential candidates, who are expected to build their entire infrastructure from scratch. Three years later Obama did exactly that.

More here.

Sunday Poem

The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner

Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere time transfigured me.

Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny,
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.

There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory,
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.

W.B. Yeats
from The Last Romantic
publisher: Clarkson N. Potter, 1990