Jeremy L Foust at Psyche:
Finally, the vacation you’ve been waiting for is happening tomorrow. You and your friends are going on a two-week cruise, free of responsibilities and full of fun. You’re starting to pack when you feel a little bit lightheaded. You don’t think much of it because you’ve been stressed lately trying to get ready for the trip. Later, you start coughing. Probably just allergies, you think to yourself as you go about your day. When you wake up in the morning – the day of the trip – you have a sore throat and chills. You briefly think to yourself: This feels like it could be COVID. Maybe I should take a self-test. You start walking to your medicine cabinet, but then you pause. If you test positive, you’ll feel obliged to isolate from others and miss the trip. You’ve spent so much time thinking about the trip and paid a lot for the tickets. Your friends will be disappointed. I’m sure I’m fine. You decide it’s better not to know.
Whether you’ve actually been in this sort of situation or not, many of us have likely chosen not to know in other ways: for example, delaying a trip to the doctor to get checked out, declining to look at your credit score, or shutting down certain topics of conversation because you prefer to not find out what others really think. This process of choosing not to learn a piece of freely available information is called information avoidance.
More here.
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A senior researcher at Microsoft tells me that the sale of TikTok is more momentous to the fate of American democracy than the mobbing of the Capitol on January 6, 2021. He argues that the latter was a circumscribed event, while the enforced sale of TikTok will put the eyeballs of 170 million American users under the control of one of the two or three bidders already wealthy enough to buy it—such as Elon Musk. I find this view awfully grim, not because Musk has too many conflicts of interest to be a benign presence in government but because I find it dismaying that “American democracy” should occur in the same sentence with “TikTok,” let alone be identified with it. If the fate of American democracy rests on the ownership of TikTok, then maybe the towel has already been thrown in.
Many readers of this particular Substack may already realize that its very name—“Wondercabinet”—wends back, in terms of my own lifework, to my days covering the then-barely-nascent Museum of Jurassic Technology, for what became my 1995 book
Eddington
We’re living longer than ever—but those extra years aren’t unfolding the way many hoped. Instead of later years spent thriving, millions are instead facing
It’s now almost a reflex: An election is held, and someone pushes the big, red Death of Democracy panic button. When Donald Trump won in 2016, liberals saw a gold-plated Adolf Hitler in a red baseball cap. Then Joe Biden took over and conservatives warned of Joseph Stalin or Pol Pot reborn, an America where your kids would be forced to go to gay camp and pray to RuPaul before lunch. (They’re panicking again with Zohran Mamdani in New York’s mayoral race.) Now, we have Trump redux. The hysterias flip, but the impulse stays the same: to imagine top-down tyranny as a looming catastrophe.
It is no great secret that the undergraduate English department is in a state of decline: a shrinking number of English majors, a decrease in faculty, and a reputation of unemployability and irrelevance. Much has been written about this decline. Nathan Heller’s recent New Yorker piece,
One of the biggest stories in science is quietly playing out in the world of abstract mathematics. Over the course of last year, researchers fulfilled a decades-old dream when they unveiled a proof of the geometric Langlands conjecture — a key piece of a group of interconnected problems called the Langlands programme. The proof — a gargantuan effort — validates the intricate and far-reaching Langlands programme, which is often hailed as the grand unified theory of mathematics but remains largely unproven. Yet the work’s true impact might lie not in what it settles, but in the new avenues of inquiry it reveals.
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Have you ever sat through a dull or inappropriate toast at a celebration, desperately wishing for it to end? You’re not alone. Bad toasts have a way of dragging down events, resulting in awkward silences, eye-rolling, and seat shifting. The problem with these subpar tributes is that they often make the audience uncomfortable, drag on and on, or focus too much on the speaker, rather than the individual or occasion being honored. Bad toasts can easily drain the energy from the room, detracting from the purpose of the celebration—to unite people in a moment of joy, respect, or reflection.