by David Winner

A neighbor I ran into out walking his dog in our Brooklyn neighborhood asked me about my recent trip to Chile and relayed his own experience there. He loved the skiing, the landscapes, the wine, but he could not abide the stray dogs.

But stray dogs, more than anything, had brought me to summertime-Chile this January towards the end of the first year of Trump’s second term. Hazel, my wife Angela’s and my large yellow mutt, had died a terrible death a few months before, and, in my mourning, I was besotted by dogs. And similar to shorter humans who are only attracted to much taller humans, I am a smaller man with a taste for larger beasts. The dogs of neighbors and friends, the dogs on the Internet, were just not enough. In Chile, I knew dogs would be everywhere, big ones.

I visted three places: Puerto Montt, a rugged medium sized city in the south, looking out on the Reloncavi Sound, which connects to the Pacific, Castro, a smaller city on Chiloe, the large island off the southern coast, then San Pedro de Atacama, a tourist town in the desert far in the north.

Dogs in Chile straddle a line between housed and unhoused. I don’t know their real stories, and I romanticize what I observe. They appear healthy, friendly, cared for on some level, but free to do as they please, providing glimpses of true dog nature that we don’t get with fully domesticated canines. Fifteen years ago, I watched a pack of them chase madly after passing vehicles on a desolate boulevard in Punta Arenas in Patagonia. Dogs strolled and slept just about everywhere around Villarica in the Lake District when I visited just before the pandemic. Read more »

Utkarsh Makwana. Detail from ‘Finishing Touches’, 2022. Courtesy: Akara Art.

More here, here, and here.

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NEW POSTS BELOW

by Charles Siegel

In one of my first columns for 3 Quarks Daily, I began by noting that my law firm had just filed, along with other firms, a petition for habeas corpus relief in federal court in Dallas.  Our client was Leqaa Kordia, a Palestinian woman living in New Jersey, who was imprisoned in a detention center in Alvarado, 40 miles away.  Last week, almost exactly one year after she was detained, Ms. Kordia was freed.  We are, of course, relieved and beyond happy that she has been released from detention. But her case was an utterly grotesque abuse of the American immigration justice system.

Leqaa grew up in the West Bank. Her parents divorced when she was young and her mother moved to Gaza, and eventually to the United States where she remarried and had other children.  In 2016 Leqaa joined her mother in New Jersey, obtained a student visa, attended classes and worked as a waitress and at other jobs. At home, she took care of her mother, who is severely asthmatic, and her autistic half-brother.

Her mother, who is a U.S. citizen, filed a “family-based” petition for Leqaa to begin the process of obtaining permanent residency. This petition was approved, but this also created a tripwire that ultimately seriously disadvantaged her: a teacher told her, mistakenly, that with the family-based process underway, she did not need to maintain her student-visa status.

On October 7, 2023, Hamas attacked Israel from Gaza, killing approximately 1200 people, mostly civilians, and taking 250 hostages.  Israel responded with unrestrained fury, bombing Gaza into ruins for two years and destroying the basic infrastructure of life there. Nearly 30 months into the war, conservative estimates are that at least 75,000 deaths have occurred in Gaza.  The Israeli army itself has accepted a figure of 70,000 deaths.  These numbers may well be undercounts, but even if they aren’t, they indicate that for every single Israeli killed by Hamas on or after October 7, 2023 (including hostages who were later killed or who died in captivity), nearly 50 Gazans have died.

Among those tens of thousands of victims are close to 200 of Leqaa’s extended family. Read more »

by Jeroen Bouterse

In his Confessions, Augustine remembers his state after the death of a beloved childhood friend. He writes: “Everywhere I looked I saw death. […] My eyes sought him everywhere, and did not see him. I hated all places because he was not in them.” An unfailingly moving passage, and a testament to Augustine’s power as a thinker – for profound as his account of his loss is, we are already being led along for a much bigger point. Almost immediately, Augustine moves on to chastise his former self: “fool that I was then, enduring with so much rebellion the lot of every man”. A soul that tethers itself to mortal things, rather than lifting itself up to God, will naturally be bloodied when it inevitably loses them.

I was brought back to these passages by the parallels with Christopher Beha’s account in Why I am not an atheist (2026). Beha is modest enough to suggest less exalted models, but of course he is aware of the echo of Augustine. It’s not just that this is another account of an intellectual who returns to the Catholic faith. Beha also shares with the Church father the admirable skill of rendering now-abandoned perspectives with a language that makes their original pull understandable. Here he looks back on his thoughts after nearly losing a friend:

“I still had so much to lose, and I would eventually lose all of it. Everyone I loved would be taken from me, unless I was taken from them first.”

Like Augustine, Beha finds powerful and honest words for a state of mind he used to inhabit, but makes sure these words contain the seeds of self-criticism too. At this point in the narrative, Beha’s meditations on suffering and death push him away from religion; after a book-long journey through godless alternatives, however, he will find a less self-absorbed form of love, one presumably more resilient to the thoughts that dislodged him from his faith. Read more »

Another Piece of Eternity

I’m peeling back a page reading a new day
by the light of a new sun.

Mom died years ago,
or was it yesterday?

I once read something similar by Camus
but was too new to understand that time bleeds,
its dyes are not fast but run between years
and sometimes as in old cloth the colors of time
become homogeneous,

……but here’s this day blaring like a fanfare
……from a new horn crisp as frost on glass
……its brink sharp as the edge of a blade
……slicing off another piece of eternity

by Jim Culleny 4/29/12
from Odder Still
Leana’s Basement Press, 2015

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by Tim Sommers

Having previously discussed Ethics Bowl here, I can’t resist bragging just a little, tiny bit.

On Sunday, May 8 in St. Louis, Missouri the Ethics Bowl team from William & Mary – our team! – became the 2026 APPE International Ethics Bowl® Champions. The crew on the stage, led by Team Founder/Coach Bernardo Jimez, won the trophy with the support of the whole William and Mary team. For discussion, research and analysis, participation in other Bowls, and practice, practice, practice, the team also includes Teddy Friesz, Chaewon Kang, Nicholas Leonard, Lydia Kipp, Sheoli Lele, Dani Munrayos, Ben Schatz, and Harper Willim. Oh. And me. The humble Faculty Advisor/Coach.

Ethics Bowl focuses on a small number of sensitive, controversial, and challenging cases of applied ethics with new cases coming out every semester. The Championship Bowl featured fifteen cases including, what to do about a hypothetical billionaire experimenting with geoengineering to mitigate global climate change without cooperating with any nation or group? Can medical professionals who refuse to be vaccinated or give vaccinations be justifiably limited in completing clinical rotations or securing a residency? How are our views of consent and intimacy perniciously influenced by reality television? Is it immoral to idolize so Luigi Mangione, the man who shot the CEO of UnitedHealthcare?

It interesting to watch such a diverse and intelligent and motivated group of people – not just my team, all the teams – focus so single-mindedly on a relatively small set of ethical questions. It taught me a few lessons over the last few years – or at least raised some issues I am still ruminating over. Here are three. Read more »

by Nils Peterson

Something about Hamlet makes us want to love him, some mysterious quality of his being. I was maybe 15 or 16 when I first met the Prince and sitting next to Boots Schneider at the Olivier movie which had just opened in New York. Yet Hamlet held my attention even more than her hand because somehow he was saying things I had always wanted to say, but not only did I not know how to say them, up to that moment I didn’t know I wanted to say them. What I wanted to say had something to do with authority, something to do with those large figures who hold in their hands the powers of the world, something to do with the joy of saying to Polonius “Excellent well, you are a fishmonger,” and some kind of recognition of Hamlet’s deep sense of betrayal. This is the Prince’s dominant emotion, the feeling that lacerates his being, and his perception of the world is accurate; he has been  betrayed.

There are the human betrayals: his uncle usurps his throne; his mother marries with that uncle so fast, so fast; his  girl withdraws her presence; his young friends come and, for a moment, he looks to them for comfort, but it is soon clear that he is their stepping stone to royal favor. He is betrayed by the old as well, by what they have learned to call wisdom and how they are satisfied with it – for surely it is true that for the  first part of the play Hamlet’s real opposite is Polonius. What is more opposite to the philosopher than the philosophizer?

There are the non-human betrayers. As he is betrayed by Wisdom, he is betrayed by Vocation. He is called to be a king and yet he is not king. He is betrayed by Death who has carried  his father away (and by his father who has allowed death to carry him off – for is that not one of the great betrayals? Our parents die and leave nothing, no barrier, no guard for us between this world and the next). And as fearful as this is, when his father returns, there is a worse betrayal, for his father wants revenge, and what worse thing can a parent do to a child than to make that child live out or finish up the parent’s destiny and not urge the child to find his own own? Revenge would be the completion of the older Hamlet’s life, not the growth of a life out of the seeds of the young man’s own being. Some too have suggested that Hamlet is betrayed by his own five wits. Read more »

by Ken MacVey

There are many things about who we are that we take for granted yet can still find mysterious. Why do we sleep? Why do we dream? Why do we sing and dance? Why do we laugh? Another, perhaps, is why do we get angry at inanimate objects? You might pinch your finger on a closing door and pound the door in payback. Your car won’t start in the morning and you slap the steering wheel. Your laptop crashes and you swear at it.

We all know better. Doors don’t act on their own. Cars don’t have minds. Laptops don’t have feelings. Yet we still behave, at least in the moment, as if they do. The Stoic philosopher Seneca in his essay “On Anger,” written two thousand years ago, observed how irrational it is to get angry at inanimate objects. He commented we can be angry at “inanimate things, such as the manuscript which we often hurl from us because it is written in too small script or tear up because it is full of mistakes, or the article of clothing which we pull to pieces because we do not like them.”  He went on: “But how foolish it is to get angry at these things, which neither deserve our wrath nor feel it! . . . it is the act of a madman to get angry at things without life …” (Trans. John W. Basose; Loeb Classical Library.)

Even Jesus is not spared from this apparent madness. One morning Jesus was hungry and “he saw a fig tree in the way, he came to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only,  and said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward ever, And presently the fig tree withered away.” (KJ V Matthew 21:18-19.)  Yes, even Jesus could get “hangry,” and getting angry at a tree makes no more sense than getting mad at a rock. (Maybe for that reason some take the story as an allegory about the spiritual barrenness of the times.)

Stoics had a term for immediate, involuntary, automatic reactions, such as blushing, or yelping when jostled: “propatheia,” which roughly means “pre-emotion.” These reactions are treated as essentially forgivable human physiological and psychological reactions of the moment. Immediately hitting back at  a door that pinched your finger might fall in this category. But  according to Stoics letting such a reaction grow into  sustained anger means surrendering to unnecessary and unhelpful passion. And to allow the reaction to blossom into full-fledged  destructive acts like tearing up manuscripts or clothes, as Seneca suggested, is irrational and unacceptable.

Nevertheless, there is a long history of taking formal and deliberative actions against objects where the concept of “propatheia” seems not to apply. Read more »

by Christopher Hall

There’s a certain problem with the status of the word “criticism” in the phrase “literary criticism.” The critical part seems to be concerned, as criticism is in general, with separating the wheat from the chaff, but the literary part seems already to have made a judgement about quality – as long as we take term “literary” to be evaluative and not referring to a particular genre, distinct from the many forms of popular, commercial fiction. There is a curious void between judgement and analysis in literary studies; in one sense, you are working with a set of texts that have “survived,” that have survived a crucial filter of judgement to become worthy of intense study. Even if literary critical methods can be fruitfully applied to “forgotten works” or even non-literary cultural artifacts, this is an elevating of the object’s status; we don’t do the work of digging out a novel from some hidden corner of the 19^th century just to pronounce, finally, that it’s worthless. Literary criticism has thus evolved into thinking of itself as something like an empirical study, which observes but is expected, like polite patrons of a theater, not to judge, at least not too loudly.

In my years as a student of literary studies, I don’t think I encountered – from my professors, at any rate – much literary criticism which was devoted to the evaluative enterprise. If a work of secondary quality was to be discussed, it was under the assumption that it had something of value to say, faults and all. I don’t think much has changed in this regard. Perhaps, as we struggle to define a place for literary study in universities being run like intellectual private equity funds, we ought to reconsider this approach. When evaluation is occurring, it usually happens on the basis of some political failing, some inconsistency with modern moral standards in the object work. I’m talking about something much more basic: students, quite simply, are not being told they have permission to say “this sucks” on a strictly aesthetic basis. This is a shame, because there is both value and a kind of joy in not only declaring that something sucks, but also in carefully teasing out exactly why it sucks. Read more »

Three mountains. Looking northward from Franzensfeste, South Tyrol.

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If you value what we do, please consider supporting 3QD with a contribution by clicking here. Thank you in advance!

NEW POSTS BELOW

by Lei Wang

I’ve been under the weather for about three weeks now: not so incapacitated as to make watching bad TV the only respite, but not quite well either. A persistent, on-off sniffleupagal achiness. The CDC says respiratory illness rates in Iowa right now are Very High, the highest it’s been in years, and I was relieved to hear I was not imagining my woes. Anecdotally, I know something has been going around (many of my friends and 1/3 of my singing a.k.a. breathing in each others’ faces group was sick last week). But some part of me still thinks perhaps I am making up my own symptoms, afraid that my physical lackadaisicality is just moral lassitude, an excuse for avoiding my book and other productivities.

I have written before about how my best friend and I luxuriate in those times when we feel totally “off the hook” from the things we feel so much pressure to accomplish: times of sickness and travel, when you are socially privileged to find respite in creature comforts. But to be only mildly malaised is to be in purgatory, and I feel anew for those with chronic illness and fatigue—to be not just under the weather but under the climate. Esme Wang famously offers a course on writing with limitations—the Unexpected Shape Academy—which includes tips for bursts of writing on the phone or notecards or from bed, rather than long laptop sessions. I wrote this column mostly via texts to myself, and now I sound rather virtuous, but I assure you I do not feel that way.

The other night, in a limbo state of foggy brain, I was lolling about the house in the presence of someone who I admired as Very Efficient. He had been home-schooled and unlike other home-schooled kids who wasted their time without official structure, he finished his schoolwork and then read several extra books a day. Before we started dating, he went to the library’s private closet-sized study rooms on weekends to do college physics problems without interruption for 10 hours straight (he does not study or work in anything relevant to physics). That night, he was reading a thick book about the Cold War, after having already read a thinner book on it. He felt like a laser, and I felt like a lump.

And I noticed how I wanted to have him be gone, so I could be an unperceived potato by myself, which is what I like about living alone. Read more »

by Brooks Riley

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by Jonathan Kujawa

For several years now, the AI companies have been using the annual Putnam exam as one of these benchmarks. The Putnam exam is taken every December by thousands of undergraduates around the world. It has twelve problems, each worth ten points, for a total of 120 points. The exam notoriously difficult [1]. Earning two points on the exam puts you in the top 50%. If you’d like to try this year’s questions, you can find them along with their solutions here.

As this article describes, a number of AI systems were tested against this year’s Putnam exam. The best of them scored 103 points, putting it among the top three humans. Even the worst model earned 58 points, making it comparable to the human ranked 78th (out of the 4329 who took the exam).

One advantage of this benchmark is the Putnam problems are written from scratch every year. It is unlikely that the AI systems are simply repeating answers they’ve seen in their training data [2]. On the other hand, comparing AI Putnam results with those of humans is rather artificial. The AI systems can throw massive amounts of effort against the problems. If you gave me a million well-trained undergraduates in a windowless data center, I bet I could generate a pretty impressive solution set [3]. Read more »

by Robert Jensen

Not so long ago, the conventional wisdom in most liberal/left circles was that people concerned about population growth tended to be racists, nativists, and eugenicists. And mostly old white guys, according to a leading UK environmental writer.

“It’s no coincidence that most of those who are obsessed with population growth are post-reproductive wealthy white men: it’s about the only environmental issue for which they can’t be blamed,” wrote George Monbiot.

That description was a caricature when Monbiot wrote it, but today’s wealthiest white men (think Elon Musk) are more likely to advocate population expansion, not reduction. Environmentalists who highlight the problem of population growth—the threats to the health of ecosystems from too many people consuming too much—can’t be dismissed with slurs and stereotypes.

Nandita Bajaj—who is brown, female, and definitely not wealthy—defies those stereotypes. She chose not to have children and has dedicated her life to research and advocacy on behalf of women, vulnerable people, animals, and planetary health. Bajaj is executive director of Population Balance, a group that includes no racists, nativists, or eugenicists. Instead, its members face tough questions about the trajectory of the outsized human presence on Earth. Read more »

Sughra Raza. Who’s Jealous?!. Celestun, Mexico, March 2025.

Digital photograph.

More here.

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by Ashutosh Jogalekar

When people hear that we should empathize with our adversaries, the reaction is often uneasy. Empathy sounds like softness. It sounds like moral compromise, even capitulation. Why should we try to understand those who compete with us, oppose us, or even threaten us?

The confusion lies in a simple mistake. Empathy is not sympathy. To empathize with someone is not to agree with them, excuse them, or endorse their actions. It is only to attempt to see the world as they see it, to understand what they fear, what they value, and what they believe they must defend. As Ralph White of the United States Information Agency put it, it’s the ability to step into someone else’s skin and experience the world through their eyes. We rarely need to exert ourselves to empathize with friends; shared assumptions do most of the work. It is with adversaries that empathy becomes difficult, and therefore essential. When trust is low and stakes are high, misunderstanding becomes dangerous. Two Cold War episodes make the point, in opposite ways.

The Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962 brought the United States and the Soviet Union to the brink of nuclear war. We now know that the Soviet missile deployment in Cuba was larger and more advanced than American officials understood at the time. A small miscalculation could have triggered catastrophe and the deaths of hundreds of millions. During those tense days, Nikita Khrushchev sent President Kennedy two communications. One was public and defiant. The other was private and conciliatory in tone. The instinctive response that Kennedy was considering was to answer the public challenge directly, to demonstrate strength.

At that moment, one man in the room possessed something rare: lived familiarity with the adversary. Read more »