By now they are used to sharing their knowledge with journalists, but they’re less accustomed to talking about themselves. Many of them told me that they feel duty-bound and grateful to be helping their country at a time when so many others are ill or unemployed. But they’re also very tired, and dispirited by America’s continued inability to control a virus that many other nations have brought to heel. As the pandemic once again intensifies, so too does their frustration and fatigue.
America isn’t just facing a shortfall of testing kits, masks, or health-care workers. It is also looking at a drought of expertise, as the very people whose skills are sorely needed to handle the pandemic are on the verge of burning out.
They had been public servants their whole careers. But when Hillary Clinton lost the 2016 election, two departing Obama officials were anxious for work. Trump’s win had caught them by surprise.
Sergio Aguirre and Nitin Chadda had reached the most elite quarters of U.S. foreign policy. Aguirre had started out of school as a fellow in the White House and a decade later had become chief of staff to U.N. Ambassador Samantha Power. Chadda, who joined the Pentagon out of college as a speechwriter, had become a key adviser to Secretary of Defense Ash Carter in even less time. Now, Chadda had a long-shot idea.
They turned to an industry of power-brokering little known outside the capital: strategic consultancies. Retiring leaders often open firms bearing their names: Madeleine Albright has one, as do Condoleezza Rice and former Secretary of Defense William S. Cohen. Their strategic consultancies tend to blur corporate and governmental roles. This obscure corner of Washington is critical to understanding how a President Joe Biden would conduct foreign policy. He has been picking top advisers from this shadowy world.
To be sure, enlightened progressives were committed to science, positivism, and liberal democratic values—all of which the reactionaries rejected in favor of hierarchy and a highly traditionalist, and exclusively Catholic nationalism. It would seem to be a clear-cut struggle between the modernists and the antimodernists, but not as as Péguy saw it. He found the progressive faith in a scientifically driven and ever-improving future no more immanentizing, and no more modernist in its deepest aspirations, than the reactionaries’ vision. “These wrathful particularists,” Maguire explains, “often intimate a loyalty to older notions of transcendence—including religious faith and its avowal of abiding truths—but they conceive of that which transcends time only as an arrested immanence. They often present an amalgamated past as a unity…which now must be reinserted mechanically into the present, without creativity or surprise.” More ironically, some of the faux antimodernists (including the right-wing Action Française founder Charles Maurras, an admirer of the positivist Auguste Comte) also believed that “‘science’ would “confirm their particularism and prejudices.” Péguy’s critical stance toward both broad coalitions made him neither a modernist nor an antimodernist, Maguire argues, but something quite distinctive and instructive: an amodernist.
“I see no reason not to consider the Brontë cult a religion,” writes Judith Shulevitz. She calls the thousands of books inspired by the Brontës midrash, “the spinning of gloriously weird backstories or fairy tales prompted by gaps or contradictions in the narrative.”
Martin’s Branwell dilates one such gap: the “unspeakable acts” Branwell was said to have committed at Thorp Green. In both Daphne du Maurier’s 1962 The Infernal World of Branwell Brontë and Martin’s book, Branwell’s claim of an affair with his employer’s wife, Mrs. Robinson, is seen as a screen for a homosexual liaison. The scholar Richard A. Kaye calls Branwell a queer speculative biography. He suggests that “queering the Brontës often involves an imaginative disregard for the available evidence regarding Brontë’s family secrets in order to take advantage of unresolved biographical cul-de-sacs.”
I come across pictures of two rubber bullets nestled in a palm, their nose tips black and rounded like a reporters’ foam-covered mic. The caption reads These maim, break skin, cause blindness. Another photo—a hollow caved into a woman’s scalp, floating hands
in blue gloves dabbing at the spill. An offhand comment in the replies—are you sure that rubber bullet caused that type of damage?—the question hollowed of genuine concern. The page refreshes. A black man melts into a street curb from exhaustion, his skin blotched with sweat and red. Protester’s hands cover
his body, and this is church. A baptism—cover me with the blood. And there are more. Hand- drawn threats—shoot the FUCK back. Police cars skinned of their lettering and paint from the bullet- aim of Molotov cocktails in Budweiser bottles. Black Lives Matter marked in thick letters below the hollow
outline of the black power fist. A gas mask’s eye-hollows glinting with tears. The page refreshes. Undercover cops wearing matching armbands like a gang. A black army tank crawling through city streets the way a hand may tip-toe up a thigh. The page refreshes. A bullet list of places to donate if I can’t put my skin
in the game protesting in the streets. The snakeskin pattern of fires from a bird’s-eye view of DC. Hollowed Target storefronts. The page refreshes. Rubber bullets pinging a reporter and her crew as they run for cover, a white woman’s reply—things are getting out of hand— punctuated with heart emojis. Protester’s shadows blacking
the fiery backdrop of the riots. Badge numbers blacked over with tape. The page refreshes. A man skinned by the asphalt when pulled from his car with both hands up. A police car plowing into a peaceful crowd. The hollow promises from white friends to “do better”—a cover- up for how quickly they will bullet
into our inboxes and ask us to hand them the answers. Black rubber bullets—the page refreshes—a woman’s forehead skin split—page refreshes—a bloody hollow—refresh—take cover.
When Howard Wolinsky was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, he expected to kiss bagels goodbye — too many carbs. But a personalized diet based on his own gut microbiome offered a pleasant surprise: “It turns out those little bugs in my guts seem to like bread, if it’s combined with fats and proteins,” he says.
Wolinsky’s diet came from DayTwo, a company that uses research from the Weizmann Institute of Science in Israel to create customized advice for people with diabetes. From his home in suburban Chicago, Wolinsky, 71, sent the company a stool sample and a completed questionnaire, and he got back guidance about precisely which foods would spike his blood glucose and which would keep it steady. He was also taking an oral medication for his diabetes. “I could have a bagel, with cream cheese and lox,” he says. “That combination got a really good rating on the DayTwo scale.” He was amazed to find that when he followed DayTwo’s advice, his blood sugar remained within a normal range. It didn’t spike the way it would for foods outside their recommendations.
News Flash: Diets Aren’t One-Size-Fits-All
DayTwo has plenty of company in the personalized diet business. At least a dozen outfits offer nutrition advice customized to your body, based on DNA or blood tests, microbiome profiling, or a combination of those. Several promise weight loss, while others focus on specific conditions or just general “wellness.” Each uses its own proprietary process, and for some, the science behind it gets murky. Costs range from under $100 to nearly $1,000 for different services. DayTwo, for example, charges $499 for a microbiome testing kit, personalized app, orientation call with a registered dietitian, and microbiome summary report.
In her 2019 book, “Learning from the Germans: Race and the Memory of Evil,” the philosopher Susan Neiman examines the different ways in which Germany and the United States have confronted their past sins. Neiman, who grew up in the American South and now lives in Berlin, describes how Germany has reckoned with the Nazi era, through memorials, official acts of remembrance, and various forms of reparations. Indeed, just as the Nazi period has become the ultimate example of unadulterated cruelty, postwar Germany has become the paradigmatic example of a country that has fully considered its past. Could something similar be possible in the United States? As Neiman’s book seeks to answer this question, it also serves as a conscious attempt to “safeguard” Germany’s confrontation with history, at a time when the far right is on the rise there, as it is in many countries.
I recently spoke by phone with Neiman, amid renewed discussions in the U.S.—sparked in part by the killing of George Floyd—about how to remember slavery and segregation, and increasing controversy over whether Confederate memorials have any place in modern-day America. During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed why it took the Germans longer than many people think to come to grips with Nazism, the different ways East and West Germany approached the legacy of the Third Reich, and what the German experience with reparations can teach the United States.
A man finds himself in Antwerp with nothing to do. Then he remembers, among other things, that this is the town where the painter Peter Paul Rubens made his home. At first, this annoys him, because he has no interest whatsoever in the painter. But then he thinks, why not write a book about Rubens.
Why not, indeed?
Essayist and critic Morgan Meis sets out to develop a new style of writing about art, one that is informed by a passionate looking. One could argue that this is not new, that Meis is returning to a time when intellectuals had charmingly erudite conversations about paintings, history, and music. Not only could they bedazzle at a cocktail party, but they could write about it too ‑ art inspired by art. Meis’s long essay about one particular Rubens painting reminded me of William Golden’s classic discourse on Thermopylae or John Pope Hennessy’s study of the “Best Picture in the World”. For in the examination of the particular we are able to ponder deep truths. And like the greatest essayists before him, Meis is scholarly but not encyclopedic, meandering instead of direct.
Creativity is one of those things that we all admire but struggle to define or make concrete. Music provides a useful laboratory in which to examine what creativity is all about — how do people become creative, what is happening in their brains during the creative process, and what kinds of creativity does the audience actually enjoy? David Rosen and Scott Miles are both neuroscientists and musicians who have been investigating this question from the perspective of both listeners and performers. They have been performing neuroscientific experiments to understand how the brain becomes creative, and founded Secret Chord Laboratories to develop software that will predict what kinds of music people will like.
Noam Chomsky, Margaret Atwood, Salman Rushdie, John McWhorter, and many others, in Harper’s Magazine (also published in Le monde, Die Zeit, La Repubblica, and El País):
Our cultural institutions are facing a moment of trial. Powerful protests for racial and social justice are leading to overdue demands for police reform, along with wider calls for greater equality and inclusion across our society, not least in higher education, journalism, philanthropy, and the arts. But this needed reckoning has also intensified a new set of moral attitudes and political commitments that tend to weaken our norms of open debate and toleration of differences in favor of ideological conformity. As we applaud the first development, we also raise our voices against the second. The forces of illiberalism are gaining strength throughout the world and have a powerful ally in Donald Trump, who represents a real threat to democracy. But resistance must not be allowed to harden into its own brand of dogma or coercion—which right-wing demagogues are already exploiting. The democratic inclusion we want can be achieved only if we speak out against the intolerant climate that has set in on all sides.
The free exchange of information and ideas, the lifeblood of a liberal society, is daily becoming more constricted. While we have come to expect this on the radical right, censoriousness is also spreading more widely in our culture: an intolerance of opposing views, a vogue for public shaming and ostracism, and the tendency to dissolve complex policy issues in a blinding moral certainty. We uphold the value of robust and even caustic counter-speech from all quarters. But it is now all too common to hear calls for swift and severe retribution in response to perceived transgressions of speech and thought.
Editor’s Note: We at 3QD stand fully behind Steven Pinker. Please also see this public statement published today in Harper’s, Le monde, Die Zeit, La Repubblica, and El País with signatories such as Noam Chomsky, Margaret Atwood, Salman Rushdie, John McWhorter, and many others.
Scott Aaronson in Shtetl-Optimized:
Steven Pinker
If there were ever a time for liberals and progressives to put aside their internal squabbles, you’d think it was now. The President of the United States is a racist gangster, who might not leave if he loses the coming election—all the more reason to ensure he loses in a landslide. Due in part to that gangster’s breathtaking incompetence, 130,000 Americans are now dead, and the economy tanked, from a pandemic that the rest of the world has under much better control. The gangster’s latest “response” to the pandemic has been to disrupt the lives of thousands of foreign scientists—including several of my students—by threatening to cancel their visas. (American universities will, of course, do whatever they legally can to work around this act of pure spite.)
So how is the left responding to this historic moment?
This weekend, 536 people did so by … trying to cancel Steven Pinker, stripping him of “distinguished fellow” and “media expert” status (whatever those are) in the Linguistics Society of America for ideological reasons.
Yes, Steven Pinker: the celebrated linguist and cognitive scientist, author of The Language Instinct and How the Mind Works (which had a massive impact on me as a teenager) and many other books, and academic torch-bearer for the Enlightenment in our time. For years, I’d dreaded the day they’d finally come for Steve, even while friends assured me my fears must be inflated since, after all, they hadn’t come for him yet.
I concede that the cancelers’ logic is impeccable. If they can get Pinker, everyone will quickly realize that there’s no longer any limit to who they can get—including me, including any writer or scientist who crosses them.
As a boy in Brownsville and in Bed-Stuy, I was tormented by the question of protection, because, of course, I, too, wanted to be protected. Like any number of black boys in those neighborhoods, I grew up in a matrilineal society, where I had been taught the power—the necessity—of silence. But how could you not cry out when you couldn’t save your mother because you couldn’t defend yourself? Although I had this in common with other guys, something separated me from them when it came to joining those demonstrations, to leaping in the air when black bodies were threatened. My distance had to do with my queerness. The guys who took the chance to protect their families and themselves were the same guys who called me “faggot.”
For a while, I thought their looting and carrying on had to do with enacting a particular form of masculinity: if white men and cops could wreak havoc in the world, why couldn’t they?
What is to be done with hope? Ali Smith is a great artist of possibility. Think of the role chance plays in her work, from The Accidental to How to be Both’s thrillingly shuffled structure that meant you had a fifty-fifty chance of getting the contemporary narrative first or the historical one. But these are bleak times – from Smith’s perspective, anyway, which I should state here is broadly my own too.
This perspective is that of the dejected liberal for whom life in the past half-decade has been a succession of shocks punctuating the grand underlying horror of global warming, so that every time I make the mistake of thinking ‘well maybe democracy/the press/the public sphere will be OK’, I free up my brain to think about forty-degree summers instead and then I feel worse. Sometimes I wonder if the particular love I have for Smith’s post-Brexit writing has anything to do with the lofty ideals of sympathy I like to think apply to fiction or is really just the pleasure of looking in a flattering mirror.
Outside a bar in Santillana del Mar, I am drinking café con leche where the bella donnas & bleeding hearts decant the eye with the same pitch as your arms swelling Alberta. The Torture Museum only charges 3.50 Euro to cruise iron maidens, punishing shoes. There’s rumor of human femurs fashioned as ritual trumpets across the street & these cobblestones throb with the eternal question: “Should I Stay or Should I Go.” (Clash fan?) Pot-bellied pigs punctuate our days & sifra by starlight. Hawks & wind & the rocking lemons of Cantabria! Weeks of foot after foot. We eat fish & mushrooms at noon beneath cowbells & dowsing rods—a bit like sitting below your own divine guide. You might wonder: Where’s that phial of Mary’s milk, the foreskin of Jesus, splinters from Calvary? They elude me. I pick field flowers for you & Cooley in Cigüenza on a day lost to construction: Bright tape & gravel, the blah blah blah of hard hats obscuring this ancient way. Each morning, the cliffs of Finisterra prepare themselves in blue. This costa del morte, this end of the world. We will burn rough bread, an emery board; we will drink an earthy red to what will be.
by Lea Graham from Four Poems From the End of the World @ The Typescript
Many historians have noted the intimate connection between the theory of natural selection and the ascendant political and economic views of the society in which Darwin was a well-placed member. The Victorian elite were committed to the idea that the unfettered competition of Adam Smith and David Ricardo’s free market would drive economic and social advancement. In Darwin’s theory, they found nature’s own reflection of the social system they favored. As J.M. Keynes put it, “The principle of the survival of the fittest could be regarded as a vast generalization of the Ricardian economics.”
Yet while this observation has often been made in relation to Darwin’s work, the theory of thermodynamics has largely escaped similar contextualization. Perhaps physics, in all its rigors, is deemed less susceptible to social involvement. In truth, though, Darwinian and thermodynamic theories served jointly to furnish a propitious worldview—a suitable ur-myth about the universe—for a society committed to laissez-faire competition, entrepreneurialism, and expanding industry. Essentially, under this view, the world slouches naturally toward a deathly cold state of disorder, but it can be salvaged—illuminated and organized—by the competitive scrabble of creatures fighting to survive and get ahead.
As with Darwin’s work, the extension of thermodynamic theory into areas where it did not strictly apply has often led to faulty conclusions. William Thomson himself stumbled into this pitfall when he tried to estimate the age of the Earth. It was a fraught and momentous question—How old is the planet?—because Darwin had just published On the Origin of Species, and the evolutionary process he had proposed required great stretches of time to produce the diverse and exquisite structures of plants and animals. In truth, no one had yet developed those elements of evolutionary theory that permit a well-informed estimate of how long the evolution of life on Earth must have taken. Yet somehow, Darwin had a sense, and he figured it must have taken at least a billion years.
A patient suspected of having cancer usually undergoes imaging and a biopsy. Samples of the tumor are excised, examined under a microscope and, often, analyzed to pinpoint the genetic mutations responsible for the malignancy. Together, this information helps to determine the type of cancer, how advanced it is and how best to treat it. Yet sometimes biopsies cannot be done, such as when a tumor is hard to reach. Obtaining and analyzing the tissue can also be expensive and slow. And because biopsies are invasive, they may cause infections or other complications.
A tool known as a liquid biopsy—which finds signs of cancer in a simple blood sample—promises to solve those problems and more. A few dozen companies are developing their own technologies, and observers predict that the market for the tests could be worth billions. The technique typically homes in on circulating-tumor DNA (ctDNA), genetic material that routinely finds its way from cancer cells into the bloodstream. Only recently have advanced technologies made it possible to find, amplify and sequence the DNA rapidly and inexpensively.
I was slightly nervous before my first meeting with the author Mirza Athar Baig, in the winter of 2017, at the Big M restaurant in Lahore’s Shadman Market. I had recently signed a book deal for my translation of his 2014 Urdu novel Hassan’s State of Affairs, and I was meeting him to discuss the first round of edits.
When I entered the restaurant, he was already at a table, waiting for me. I was embarrassed about being late, but this would happen every time I met him. Baig is impeccably punctual in a city that runs perpetually late. He was wearing a grey suit, slightly big for his build, and an old leather bag was on the chair next to him. The manuscript of the translation I had sent was placed neatly on the table in front of him, and he was scanning it with what seemed to be perturbed eyes. His expressionless face appeared forbidding, but as I found soon enough, Baig easily bursts into laughter, adding an unexpected softness to his apparent stoicism.
The restaurant was nearly full the whole time we were there, but no one recognised Baig. People have long stopped recognising writers in this city, and even if they did, they probably would not notice Baig.