by Tim Sommers

“If guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.” I can’t find the origin of this unfortunate slogan, but it’s been around – and oft repeated – at least since the 1970s. “To stop a bad guy with a gun, it takes a good guy with a gun.” That’s Wayne Lapierre, CEO of the National Rifle Association, the day after the Parkland Shooting. The trouble with slogans and bad arguments like these is that it takes much less time to make them than it does to break them. The point of outlawing guns is to make it the case that outlaws and bad guys won’t have as many guns. But Sam Harris, prominent “rationalist”, denies that “restrictions would make it difficult for bad people to acquire guns illegally.”  (Compare, restrictions on bank robbery or speeding don’t make it any more difficult for people to rob banks or speed.) Sometimes, you get a more neutral argument along the same lines. “Maybe, having a lot of guns around will lead to more violence. On the other hand, maybe, having more guns around will prevent more violence than it causes. We can’t know.”

But this is not an unknown. It’s known. More guns cause more homicides. More guns cause more suicides. It’s a simple equation. More guns = more death. There are hundreds of studies (done in just about every which way), asking whether or not increasing the availability of firearms contributes to more suicides and more homicides. It does. At this point, it’s like asking whether evolution is real, whether smoking causes cancer, or whether the increase in the level of certain gases in the atmosphere is causing global temperatures to trend upward. The answers are yes, yes, yes, and yes. These are all things we do, in fact, know.

This is important. Guns are now the leading cause of death among teenagers. And children. How can people not know that more guns lead to more deaths? Read more »

by Brooks Riley

Editor’s Note: Thomas O’Dwyer wrote almost fifty essays for 3QD which you can see here.

by Michal Yudelman-O’Dwyer

Thomas O’Dwyer, my husband, died on Wednesday. He wouldn’t approve of this beginning. In his articles he always came up with something original or intriguing to draw the reader in.

Thomas was so many things, but first of all a writer. He never stopped seeking facts and information up to his last night in hospital. He had a quick Irish temper and no patience for slow understanding or explaining things twice, which sometimes made things difficult, especially if you were always asking him how to do this or that on the computer, or to edit something you wrote, as I did.

He was also generous and caring and had a weakness for street cats, which he fed every day in our building’s back yard until the last trip to the hospital. All our house cats over the generations were street cats who’d wandered in, or which he’d found as kittens.

As a fearless war correspondent, he had hair raising tales, sometimes sounding, how shall I put it, somewhat enhanced. But there was nothing enhanced about his reporting. His pursuit of the truth was relentless and everything he wrote depended on the background of his vast knowledge and understanding.

His daughter Fiona said he’d told her as a child, when he was Reuters’ bureau chief in Nicosia, that as a journalist it was his responsibility to know the history of “every country in the world.” Read more »

by Ethan Seavey

It’s my last day in Paris, and a liminal one. I have to leave for the airport by 14:00 to retrieve my suitcases from my friend. 

[…]

I intended to write several sentences before writing the climax of this short piece—that I wish France would say goodbye to me, that someone French would notice my absence—when a young man walked up to where I am sitting on the lawn. He wore brown sandals and a soccer uniform in bright orange and blue. His hair fell to his shoulders and he said: 

« T’écrit ? »

“Sorry?” I responded.

“You are writing?”

“Yes.”

I glanced back down and finished my sentence, “…from my friend.” 

He laughed softly.

“Sorry.”

He left. He walked down the lawn, and then across another.

1

I suppose he was Paris coming to say goodbye. I reacted to him as I did to the city. I engaged lightly but held back; I didn’t know how to respond to his existence; I buried my head in my journal; I kept writing to end the conversation; I pretended that I was as important as any other expatriate writer in Paris; I wanted to appear lofty and crafty; I wanted to walk away with the city’s last muse, sitting in the dregs of their coffee cup.

When I wanted to be seen by Paris, I felt ignored. On my very last day I am noticed. He has altered my premature past.  Read more »

Surface of a pond in Vahrn, South Tyrol.

by Pranab Bardhan

All of the articles in this series can be found here.

In the 1990’s Andrei Shleifer was only one among many in the proselytizing army of reformers who went out to the transition economies, mainly in Central and Eastern Europe but also in developing countries, to make them ready for capitalism. They were in a hurry to implement reforms of liberalization and privatization according to some general, often one-size-fits-all, formula. The purse strings of emergency financial help by international organizations like the IMF and the World Bank and US agencies like USAID were also controlled by stern macro-economic ideologues of ‘structural adjustment’. The reformers were in possession of the canonical gospels which it was their sacred duty to spread among the heathens as quickly as possible, given the golden opportunity after the fall of the godless communists and socialists.

I went to some of the international conferences on the Economics of Transition in this period, held usually in cities like Budapest or Prague or Riga. Soon I gave up going to such conferences as I felt I did not know enough of those countries to really say anything that’d make sense to the local audience. But I did go to one organized in Kolkata by the eminent political economist Mancur Olson. (Mancur grew up in a Norwegian-American family in North Dakota. When he came to know that the name Mancur, a traditional name in such Scandinavian families, was a variation of the Arabic name Mansoor, he speculated: “In fanciful moments, I imagine a Viking raid on the Levant.”)  I had admired his past work on collective action and I thought he deserved a Nobel Prize for that work, which he did not get. When he asked me to contribute to a collection of essays on institutional economics he coedited, I gladly did. Read more »

by Charlie Huenemann

“Thus the concept of a cause is nothing other than a synthesis (of that which follows in the temporal series with other appearances) in accordance with concepts; and without that sort of unity, which has its rule a priori, and which subjects the appearances to itself, thoroughgoing and universal, hence necessary unity of consciousness would not be encountered in the manifold perceptions. But these would then belong to no experience, and would consequently be without an object, and would be nothing but a blind play of representations, i.e., less than a dream.” (Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, p. 112(A))

[IN OTHER WORDS: Without concepts, experience is unthinkably weird.]

Back in the 17th century, some philosophers tried to place all knowers on a level playing field. John Locke claimed the human mind begins like a blank tablet, devoid of any characters, and it is experience, raw and unfiltered, that gives the mind something to think about. Since everybody has experience, this would mean everybody could develop knowledge of the world, and no one would be inherently better at it than anybody else.

It’s a valuable idea, and in the neighborhood of a great truth, but not very plausible as a model of how we manufacture knowledge. Later philosophers argued that, if this is how we do it, then we really don’t know much. For example, David Hume could not see how anyone could ever develop the idea of causality: you can watch the events in a workshop all the livelong day, and though you might see patterns in what happens, you will never see the necessity that is supposed to connect a cause with an effect. (Philosophers writing about this stuff have a hard time avoiding italics.) 

But clearly we do end up with causal knowledge, as Hume himself never doubted, and we manage to navigate our ways through a steady world of enduring objects. We somehow end up with knowledge of an objective world. And we don’t remember that arriving at such knowledge was all that difficult. We just sort of grew into it, and now it seems so natural that it’s really hard to imagine not having it, and it’s even difficult not to find such knowledge perfectly obvious. But in fact it is anything but obvious (as Jochen Szangolies recently explored).  Read more »

“This guided Theseus thro’ the Maze;
And sent Him home with Life . . . “
………………… —Matthew Prior

Love is a Cord, a Chord, Accord

a boy at his labyrinth’s door
grasped the end of the string of a spool
proffered in the hands of a woman
who knew that once within, if
without tether, if no more than
a floating mote, if bound to nothing,
disoriented, he would, at each
critical turn, run the risk
of being zero or fool

once you step in, she sang,

— and a chorus swelled behind
— and a drummer struck a chime
— and a cornet blew a mind
— and an artist drew a line
— and a poet spoke divine:

do not release this thread, she sang,
even as you reach the core

it’s the one way true,
your only means to find again
this door

Jim Culleny
6/2/22

by David J. Lobina

It was no accident that it was an immigrant who revived the debate. While Marxist thought provided (…) a lens through which to observe the nation from the outside, the experience of living as an “alien” (…) proved an almost indispensable condition for (…) more advanced tools of observation.

—Shlomo Sand, The Invention of the Jewish People.

Who he? Exactly.

An “anarchist rabbi” nowadays mostly known for a book on Anarcho-Syndicalism as well as for his involvement with the Jewish anarchist movement in East London at the turn of the 20^th century, the life and work of the German thinker Rudolf Rocker has much to teach us in these most modern of times, if only we were to read him more often. Of particular interest to me is his magnum opus, Nationalism and Culture, a work now basically forgotten but which was regarded as a genuine contribution to the study of nationalism (and other topics) when it was published in 1937 by people as diverse as Bertrand Russell, Albert Einstein, and Herbert Read. The book, and Rocker himself, are now due a revisit.[i]

The first thing one notes when approaching Nationalism and Culture is its impressive combination of breadth and depth. The book covers multiple time periods, thinkers, and artistic developments, and in doing so Rocker chronicles how the state and the nationalist worldview have combined to shape the contemporary world, influencing life and manners, thought and culture, and much else – and for this alone it should be more widely known.[ii]

But I’m getting ahead of myself. As is often the case, Rocker’s outlook was partly a product of the times he lived, so let’s start with that first and I will come back to the book next month. Read more »

by Brooks Riley

by Mark Harvey

I’m not a schoolteacher so I don’t know the exact routine that teachers have every morning before they leave their house, but I’m certain it shouldn’t involve checking the magazine of a 9mm Glock and perhaps even chambering a round before their commute to school. I have known several teachers and in general, they are idealistic, hard-working, and underpaid. The challenges of teaching 30 hyper 10-year-olds how to write a clear sentence or conquer fractions has to be consuming enough without also having a counter-assault plan in the back of your mind.

The ideal of school as a safe, wholesome place for learning has been part of American culture since the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock. Obviously that ideal isn’t always achieved and failures in our educational systems abound. But the notion of arming teachers—a notion that always comes up after mass killings in schools—suggests a societal failure at nearly every level. Teachers should be armed with things like chalk, markers, and pencil sharpeners, not 9mm pistols. And there was a time when our society was safe enough for schools to be open, breezy places, not “soft targets” that needed to be “hardened.”

What has to have been the worst day of their lives for the surviving children, teachers, and parents of Cobb School in Uvalde, Texas, is, I’m sorry to say, so routine in American life that one can predict the ensuing national dialogue, almost word for word, without any effort. It’s predictable, repetitive, and only punctuates the short spans between mass shootings. And it isn’t doing any good. Read more »

Two Versions after Iqbal

Withered Rose

With what words shall I call you
desire of the nightingale’s heart?

In a Country of Roses
you were named Laughing Rose,

the morning breeze was your cradle,
a garden a tray of perfumes.

My tears rain like dew
and in my barren heart your ruin

is an emblem of mine.
A reed plucked from its native soil

I sing sweet songs of souls in exile.
My life is a dream of roses

Bright Rose

You cannot loosen the heart’s knot,
perhaps you have no heart,

no share in the turmoil
of this garden, where I yearn

but gather no roses.
Of what use to me is wisdom?

Once out of the garden,
you are at peace.

I am anxious,
scorched as I search.

Even *Jamshid’s empty cup
foretold the future: may wine

always satisfy my mouth
that open circle in the mirror.

***

* The mythical Persian king Jamshid saw the reflection of all events in a wine cup.

By Rafiq Kathwari

Just a spider web I noticed in a parking lot in Brixen, South Tyrol.

by Pranab Bardhan

All of the articles in this series can be found here.

Even though I have attended most of the meetings of the September group over the last 40 years, my own participation in the group has really been more like that of an interested outsider looking in. This is for mainly two reasons. One is that my research primarily being on developing countries, it had very little overlap with research areas of almost everybody else in the group. I often hesitated presenting my research because I thought the specialized details of my work might bore the rest of the members, even though I knew they’d politely listen to me. So I often participated more actively in the session in each meeting reserved for some topical global issue for general discussion rather than for presentation of original research.

The second reason was a matter of my personal inclination. Even though over the years I have been a lucky beneficiary of the high-quality of the discussion in a diverse array of disciplines (and wished some of the more narrowly-specialized, even tunnel-visioned, economists in my profession were exposed to such richness and diversity of concepts and approaches), I’d sometimes lose patience with the intricacies of ethical-conceptual debates among the high-powered moral philosophers in the group. While they sharpened my understanding of many conceptual issues of social justice in ways which I had not thought about before, I sometimes found that the attention lavished in some of the discussion to ethical purity and depth was out of proportion with the practical political difficulties of even remotely reaching anywhere near the outer, coarser, periphery. As primarily a political economist I am more interested in the political feasibility of many general ideas of justice and egalitarianism and the nature of the concrete obstacles than in the ever-finer conceptual refinement of the desirable normative goals. With the possible exceptions of Adam Przeworski and Robert Brenner, most members in the group at least in the early years, have been more interested in moral-philosophical issues of justice than I have been, after a point. Read more »

by Martin Butler

A UK politician recently suggested that people could combat the cost-of-living crisis by working more hours or getting a better job. This is one more in a long line of instances where societal problems have been framed as being solvable by individual actions. One of the earliest I can remember was when Tory minister Norman Tebbit, following a claim that the riots of 1981 were caused by high unemployment, cited his own father as a salutary example of self-responsibility. ‘I grew up in the 30s with an unemployed father,’ he said. ‘He didn’t riot. He got on his bike and looked for work, and he kept looking till he found it.’ More recently British TV personality Kirsty Alsop recommended that young people start saving earlier and cut out the fancy coffees, gym membership and Netflix subscriptions as a way of combatting unaffordable house prices.

These ‘solutions’ have a homespun attraction and are indeed the kinds of advice you might give to an individual. Lurking behind this approach however is the assumption that societal problems can be reduced to the particular problems of individuals, that getting individuals to make the right decisions is a viable solution. Those who don’t make the right decisions, it is implied, only have themselves to blame, and must also take responsibility for the wider problems of society.

Let’s look at some of the forms this argument takes. Read more »

by Michael Abraham

My mom always told me if I didn’t separate my lights from my darks, I would ding my white laundry. I always thought this was nonsense. And, in fact, in the fancy washing machine in the apartment I shared with my husband, this was nonsense. Oh, I was absolutely reckless! I would toss bright red shirts in with white sheets and black jeans in with cream-colored t’s. And it was always alright in the end. The whites stayed white, and the colors did not fade. I was confident in my millennial assessment that separating the lights from the darks was simply Gen X anxiety, old wisdom, no longer applicable, démodé even. 

Divorce means many things, and, well, one of the things that mine means is that I no longer have a fancy, in-unit washing machine. So, I am at the laundromat as I write this. And I have just finished the wash cycle. I pull my clothes out one by one to put them into the wheeled hand cart that will transport them to the dryer. I pull out a few pink shirts and a few blue shirts, and these look fine, smell fresh. And then I pull out the first white one, and it is gray. And then the next white one: gray. And so on and so forth. They are all dinged, ruined, good only for sleeping in. (My mother tells me on a phone call that I can bleach out this mistake, and this time I trust her Gen X wisdom.) I hold in my frustration. I try to chuckle about it. I load the dryer, and I go for a drink at the bar down the street (it is Sunday after all), where—after a rousing conversation with the bartender, Pedro—I continue to write this. I pray that, if someone steals my laundry, they only steal the once-white, gray t-shirts. At this point, I don’t much care.

The laundromat is an apt metaphor for where I’m at in my life right now. Read more »