by Mike O’Brien

This is a conversation I recently had with Dr. Larry Busk, a professor of philosophy who focuses on democracy and climate change, particularly within the sub-fields of critical theory and radical democratic theory. I trust it is not too opaque to an audience that is not familiar with these fields, or with Busk’s work in particular. For those who wish to have some more context in hand while reading/listening, I recommend the following freely accessible works. (Links to more of Busk’s work are included below the transcript).

– Climate X or Climate Jacobin? (with Russell Duvernoy), Radical Philosophy Review 23 (2): 175-200. 2020. (Regarding Mann and Wainwright’s book “Climate Leviathan”)

– Power to the (Right) People: Reply to Critics, Critical Review: A Journal of Politics and Society 36 (1-2): 92-118. 2024. (Regarding Busk’s book “Democracy in Spite of the Demos”)

– What Is “Totalitarian” Today?, Philosophy Today 67 (1): 35-49. 2023. (Regarding Arendt)

– Schmitt’s democratic dialectic: On the limits of democracy as a value, Philosophy and Social Criticism 47 (6): 681-701. 2021. (Regarding Schmitt)

-Beginning of transcript-

MO: So, if you want to just briefly introduce yourself, your role, your position, where you’re at in your research…

LB: Sure. I’m Larry Busk, I’m visiting assistant professor at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida.

MO: Great. So, I first came across your work in a paper that you co-authored, that was criticizing Mann and Wainwright’s book “Climate Leviathan”, and I went on to read a bunch of the rest of your work, and it largely circulates around this theme of criticizing the use of “democracy” as a critical concept in radical democratic theory, critical theory… How did you arrive at this area of research, this viewpoint, in your research? I mean, you’re still quite early on in your academic career, so I gather this is something that has carried on quite directly from your doctoral studies…

LB: Yeah, it absolutely has. My first book is really about the most sustained discussion of this theme that you’re talking about. The first book was actually, pretty much, almost verbatim my dissertation project, so you’re quite right that it started during my graduate studies. This idea, it really emerged out of my reading a lot of material, both in more popular forums and in more academic literature, that wanted to, in various ways and to varying degrees, point to popular movements, popular movements like Occupy Wall Street or Black Lives Matter or things like this, as exemplifying the normative and descriptive essence of “the political”- should I explain those terms, “normative” and “descriptive”? Read more »

by Alizah Holstein

How are we to live, to work, when the house we live in is being dismantled? When, day by day, we learn that programs and initiatives, organizations and institutions that have defined and, in some cases, enriched our lives, or provided livelihoods to our communities, are being axed by the dozen? Can one, should one, sit at the desk and write while the beams of one’s home are crashing to the floor? Or more accurately: while the place is being plundered? There have been moments of late when I’ve feared that anything other than political power is frivolous, or worse, useless. In those moments, I myself feel frivolous and useless. And worse than that is the fear that art itself is useless. Not to mention the humanities, which right now in this country is everywhere holding its chin just above the water line to avoid death by drowning. It can take some time to remember that these things are worth our while, not because they’ll save us today, but because they’ll save us tomorrow.

In my previous essay for 3 Quarks Daily, I wrote about how the acronym for the Department of Government Efficiency—DOGE—is possibly an allusion to the Venetian doge. For most of the Middle Ages, the doge was the city republic’s chief magistrate and its highest-ranking oligarch. The connection linking DOGE and doge, I suggested, was the video game Civilization V: Brave New World. In this game, players can choose to play the blind Doge Enrico Dandolo, who at ninety years old led the Venetian and crusader troops on the Fourth Crusade, ultimately diverting the crusade from its initial objective of Egypt and instead attacking two Christian cities, first Zadar on the Dalmatian coast, and then, more famously, Constantinople. Someone who has spoken publicly about playing this game is Elon Musk, and if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he learned some of his history from it.

What does the Fourth Crusade look like in a video game? A Civilization V wiki supplies us with historical background and a summary sketch of Doge Enrico Dandolo: “He took control,” it explains, “of a mercantile power in decline, riven by corruption and inefficiency, challenged by great and small powers across the region. Trade had declined, and its military was moribund. By his death he had ended all outside threats to its influence, and made it the dominant power in Mediterranean trade again.” Corruption and inefficiency: those words ring a bell. Declining trade and complaints about a feeble military? Those too.

And yet there is much history that the wiki omits. Importantly, it neglects to mention that Doge Dandolo defied Pope Innocent III’s explicit prohibition against attacking allied lands. The pope excommunicated him for it, though in the two and a half years that Dandolo lived before dying on the crusade, the pope’s condemnation never appears to have made much of a difference. And another thing the wiki neglects to mention is the shocking violence of the plundering of Constantinople. Read more »

by Richard Farr

I read somewhere that Mexico City has more museums and art galleries than any city in the world except London. Seems plausible: two weeks wasn’t enough, and would not have been enough even without all the hours spent wandering the boulevards, exploring labyrinthine food markets, and drinking tall glasses of maracuya juice chased by marginally smaller quantities of pulque and mescal. The problem is, you can only gulp down so many cool historically significant artifacts before you cease to be able to see clearly, a fact that a single institution was enough to illustrate.

You get to the Museo Nacional de Antropología through Bosque de Chapultepec, nearly 2,000 acres of lakes and flowering trees that includes both the ruins of Moctezuma II’s private hot tub and so many lesser museums that they outnumber the squirrels. Built in 1964, the national cultural flagship is “only” a third the size of the Louvre but seems at least as big.

I’ve long assumed I’ll be on the shortlist if there’s ever a Nobel Prize for Loathing Brutalist Architecture, but I’m here to withdraw my nomination: Pedro Ramírez Vázquez’s design is clever, appropriate, imaginative, and (strange word amid all that concrete, but I’ll use it) lovely. And once you’ve absorbed the improbable grandeur of the monopole-canopied courtyard, everything inside seems monumental too, not just the twenty-ton carvings. 

The rooms devoted to “Introduction to Anthropology” looked fascinating but not all that specific to the story of digging up Mexico. So we skipped through it, were also pretty cavalier about the acres of modern ethnography upstairs, and instead concentrated our minds on the Toltecs. The Oaxacans. The Maya. The Olmecs. The Zapotecs. The Mixtecs. The Aztec/Mexica… 

It’s a brilliant assemblage beautifully displayed. Among many other thoughtful features, the main rooms open out into a series of gardens that are continuous with the indoor collection. But after four or five hours you reach historical-cultural overload – and the evidence for this is that you’re standing in front of something exquisite and realize guiltily that you’ve yet again confused Teotihuacán with Tenochtitlán. You’ve also started to hallucinate about the possibility of staring into space for half an hour over a plate of chilaquiles. Read more »

The Tao that can be thought of is not the real Tao;
therefore, the Tao that can be spoken is not real either;
so, the Tao that can be named is likewise no thing too.
………. —Lao Tzu, sort of

My Religious life

I was Catholic,
but was not universal enough
when I was.

I was Protestant,
but did not protest enough
when I was.

I was a Trancendental Meditationist,
but was not transcendent enough
when I was.

I was a dilettante Buddhist.
but unlike the lotus I failed to bud
when I was.

Now as a Taoist
in an inscrutable plan
I’m most content, because
it’s nothing I can really talk about
if I am.

by Jim Culleny,
from Odder Still,
Leana’s Basement Press, 2015

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by Eric Schenck

I love public transportation. As an American, I know that makes me weird. Over the years, from both family and friends, I’ve heard many complaints about it:

• Public transportation is dirty
• Public transportation is slow
• The people using it are weirdos
• Why bother when I have a car

These are all perfectly valid but I’m still convinced that public transportation is something everybody should try. And in this article – I’d like to show you why. What follows are six different modes of “public transportation” I’ve enjoyed, what they’ve taught me, and why maybe, just maybe, you should give public transportation a go yourself. 

Egyptian Taxis

My first real experience with public transportation is taxis in Egypt. It starts weird. I don’t know that you’re supposed to tell the driver where you want to go before you hop in (in Egypt, they can and often do refuse). This leads to a few awkward conversations.

I learn fast though. Within just a few weeks I’ve got it down, and like many Egyptians, taking a taxi simply becomes a routine.  

Living in Cairo and regularly flagging down taxi drivers makes me feel like I’m some banker in New York. But instead of banking, I’m going back and forth between English lessons. And instead of the bright lights of New York, I’m surrounded by women in burqas and giant mosques. 

Taxi rides are forever intertwined with my time in Egypt. I lived in Cairo for three years. About 1,000 days. Probably something closer to 2,000 taxi rides. 

Almost always a man. Recitings of the Koran playing over the radio. Looking at the Nile go by. Seat belts that either don’t work, or don’t exist. These are the things that will forever define Egyptian taxis for me.  Read more »

by Thomas R. Wells

There is no good reason for small countries to exist, and we should stop making more of them.

The World Bank classifies 40 countries as ‘small states’ on the basis of having a population smaller than 1.5 million. Some are as small as 11,000 (Tuvalu), and the total population of all of them put together is only 20 million. Nevertheless, each of these countries has ‘sovereignty’ – meaning that the organisations that rule over the populations within these territories has special and equal rights under international law – to exploit the resources that fall within their exclusive economic zone, for example, or to vote on matters of global importance at the United Nations, or to make up their own regulations about corporation tax and secrecy.

This is absurd, but also far from harmless.

Small countries do not make economic sense in their own right because their populations are too small to sustain the large scale markets required for specialisation and economies of scale and hence the economic productivity required for real prosperity. The lack of real economic opportunities leads many of their citizens to want to leave. Hence most of these countries are very poor, simply because the borders have been drawn around too small a population.

It is true that some small states manage to prosper despite their singular disadvantage. But the ways in which they do so provide no general justification for the existence of small states.

Most of the small states who prosper do so by exploiting the only thing they have in abundance: the legal sovereignty gifted by the international order. Most obviously, they use their right to make their own laws to convert crimes into opportunities for money laundering and tax avoidance for international companies and wealthy individuals. This is economic parasitism because it contributes nothing of economic value to the world. Read more »

by Steven Gimbel

The list of Nobel laureates in physics, chemistry, and medicine includes men and women, Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and atheists, gay men, lesbians, and cis-scientists, people from Europe, Asia, Africa, North America, South America, and Australia. So, is the ultimate example of meritocracy also the epitome of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion?

Absolutely not. All of these figures who form the zenith of human intellectual achievement come from the same small group. One and all, they are nerds. The irony of our times is that the people leading the charge to have government agencies wipe away remembrance of the achievements of people of color, women, gay and trans heroes in the name of anti-DEI not only harbor animosity for people of color, women, and members of the LGBTQ+ community, they really hate nerds.

I know this because I am a white nerd. My heritage traces back to Eastern Europe and I teach logic and critical thinking at the collegiate level, I hold a Ph.D. for a dissertation on the philosophical ramifications of Einstein’s general theory of relativity, I am the occupant of an endowed named professorship, and I was bullied in elementary school and middle school by people who probably applaud the white supremacy that is trying to use the progress made by other nerds who happened to be white as evidence of their superiority. They tried to copy off my test in sixth grade and now they are trying to do it again on a grander scale.

My doctoral work was undertaken at Johns Hopkins University, an institution that has been hit excessively hard by cuts to science and other intellectual pursuits, a school that raises the ire of anti-DEI power mongers because, like the rest of the locations where high-powered research is done, it looks like the United Nations. Control for any property—skin color, gender, hair color, sexual orientation, favorite ice cream flavor—and a small percentage will be nerds. We come in every size, shape, and color and as a white nerd, I have more in common with them than I do with those trying to usurp nerd-created intellectual successes for their own bigoted purposes. Read more »

A pedestrian bridge hangs over the river Eisack in Franzensfeste, South Tyrol, suspended from two of these cables which are anchored to these concrete abutments on the two sides of the river. It is a somewhat odd bridge in that the cables from which it hangs are mostly lower than the top parts of the bridge, which is also arched for greater strength. See photo below to understand what I mean.

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by Derek Neal

Some weeks ago I made a note to myself on my phone:

Describe the artistic encounter—the aesthetic experience, its effect on the reader

I made this note because I wanted to try something different in my writing. In most of my essays, without ever articulating this idea to myself, I’ve attempted to understand and interpret a text or a film, and I’ve tried to present this to the reader. Here is what the text means, I say. Here is what the movie means. I have figured it out and now I am showing it to you as evidence of my intellect. This is the correct reading of the novel, the proper explanation. I am right; other people are probably wrong. When I write in this way, I often efface myself linguistically, giving my writing the semblance of objectivity while also positioning myself as an authority on a given subject—but I’m not sure I want to write like this anymore.

In describing the artistic encounter or the aesthetic experience, which I’m contrasting with the above description, the text or the film is no longer understood as a whole, autonomous object but as one unfinished half that must be completed by the reader or the viewer. Rather than a dead thing it becomes a living being animated by the recipient. The film that I watch is not the film that you watch because I am not you and you are not me. In my previous understanding, the art object was a sort of safe that needed to be unlocked through a series of interpretative moves, allowing its secrets to be revealed. In this new understanding, the safe is more like one of those little libraries you see on people’s lawns; it’s always open and you can find treasures inside, but you can and should also put your own things inside to help create the library. If you don’t, something is missing. The art object is incomplete without the reader or the viewer.

I’m not sure how I came to this new idea, although I have some vague notions. It may partly be a result of engaging with art that is impossible to interpret. I’m thinking in particular of the films of Andrei Tarkovsky, which I’ve attempted to write about here and here. Read more »

by Brooks Riley

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by Barry Goldman

One day many years ago my wife got stuck in the shower. She doesn’t know exactly how it happened, but that’s the gist. She finished taking a shower, pushed on the door to get out, and it wouldn’t open. She jiggled the door, and she banged on the door, and she pushed on the door, and she wiggled the door, and the door would not open.

So she stopped and thought about it. She couldn’t climb over the door. She couldn’t go around the door, and she couldn’t go through the door. She was standing in the shower naked and wet, and she couldn’t get out. Now what?

So she started over. She jiggled and shook and banged. No result. Could she dismantle the door? She didn’t have any tools. She had a washcloth, a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo, nothing she could use to dismantle a shower door. Could she get help? She could yell, but it’s not likely anyone would hear her. She could call someone if she had a phone, but she didn’t have a phone. She was in the shower.

Okay, this is getting serious. She pushed the door some more. She shook the door. She banged on the door. This is not amusing anymore. Pretty soon she’s going to have to take some serious measures. But what would those be?

She could launch herself at the door and try to smash through it. Maybe that would work. It’s not generally a good idea to crash through a glass door naked, but if it’s necessary it’s necessary. Even then, they probably make those doors so they’re not easy to break. Susan only goes about 100 pounds. It’s not clear she could bust through a glass shower door even if she tried.

Okay, now she’s getting cold. She could warm up by turning the shower back on, but then what? She is beginning to run out of options. Pretty soon the situation is going to turn desperate. And when it turns desperate, then what? Read more »

by Rachel Robison-Greene

These days, there is a common unpleasant routine in the lives of well-informed, civic-minded individuals.  They wake up in the morning, check the news, and are immediately bombarded with stories about events in the world that elicit strong negative emotions such as grief, fear, helplessness, and anger.  In such disturbing times, it seems as if a person’s mental health cannot be maintained under the trauma assault to which they are subjected daily.  It is unreasonable to suggest that we all simply feel different emotions than those that we feel—what we feel in a given moment is not something that can be consciously controlled.  That said, though we may not be able to change the emotions themselves, it might be possible for us to change the emotional climate we occupy; we could feel fewer negative emotions simply by consuming less news.  Is this something a responsible citizen can do?  Is it a defensible form of anger management?  Is anger an appropriate response to injustice, or ought we to try to banish it from our emotional repertoire?

The ancient Stoics maintained that anger is a destructive emotion that gets in the way of the thing that is actually important and, in a meaningful way, up to us: the cultivation of virtue.  In his treatise, On Anger, Seneca writes,

Some of the wisest of men have in consequence of this called anger a short madness: for it is equally devoid of self-control, regardless of decorum, forgetful of kinship, obstinately engrossed in whatever it begins to do, deaf to reason and advice, excited by trifling causes, awkward at perceiving what is true and just, and very like a falling rock which breaks itself to pieces upon the very thing which it crushes.

In her book Anger and Forgiveness, the philosopher Martha Nussbaum also advises that we ought to avoid anger. She argues that anger is almost always normatively incoherent.  She sees it as backward-looking insofar as it encourages the person who lingers in it to focus on some past perceived harm.  She argues further that anger frequently involves a payback wish—a strong desire for the person who has done wrong to compensate for the harm they’ve done.  Read more »

Sughra Raza. Found “Imaginary Being” (after Jorge Luis Borges). March 2025.

Digital photograph.

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by Malcolm Murray

By 2030, we will have countries of geniuses in data centers, but we won’t know what to do with them.

In my 10+ years as a Superforecaster, I have picked up many techniques and lessons regarding forecasting. Given the fractured state of the debate on Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) and AI progress, it seems useful to apply these Superforecaster lessons to the debate.

AI is a rich topic and of course contains many parallel debates, but one of the most heated (and most interesting) is regarding the expected continued speed of progress. That debate can probably be boiled down to the question of whether people are “feeling the AGI” or not. A phrase coined or at least popularized by Ilya Sutskever while at OpenAI, “feeling the AGI” has become a shorthand for a set of arguments saying that advanced AI will transform the world within a few years. This is the viewpoint of the people in the AI labs, for sure. See e.g. the statements from the leaders of the three leading AI labs – Sam Altman says “We are now confident we know how to build AGI”, Dario Amodei says “I think [powerful AI] could come as early as 2026”, and Demis Hassabis says “I think we’re probably three to five years away [from AGI]”. You can also find the frenzied AGI heads on X that greet every AI development with a collective genuflection of “AGI is near!”

In the other camp, you have the AGI naysayers, who for various reasons all believe that AI will not transform the world, or at least not in the near future, or without significant additional technological breakthroughs. Gary Marcus is a leading voice in this camp, other prominent members include Fei-Fei Li and Yann LeCun. The recent AI Paris Summit also showed that many politicians fall into this camp, from Macron seeing the summit as solely an investment opportunity to Vance’s speech downplaying any transformative effects AI might have.

We can try to make sense of this debate using some of the Superforecaster techniques and approaches. The first thing we need to do is to formulate the question more precisely. This is often one of the key reasons why people disagree, or debates get unresolved – a lack of precision in the question being discussed. This is very clearly the case with “feeling the AGI”. Read more »

by Rafaël Newman

This year marks the 80th anniversary of the end of the Third Reich, and thus of the industrialized mass murder known as the Holocaust, or Shoah—although 1945 was not the end, according to Timothy Snyder, of World War Two. That conflict, the historian maintains, was pursued by the otherwise victorious imperial powers in their respective independence-minded colonies, and only concluded with those powers’ defeat and withdrawal, or with the substitution of some variety of “post-colonial” economic system (The Commonwealth, La francophonie) for classic empire. To say nothing of the “mercantilist neo-imperialism” currently looming.

In any case, eight decades after 1945, there are fewer and fewer survivors of the Nazi regime still alive—a recent publication, urgently entitled Bevor Erinnerung Geschichte wird (“Before memory becomes history,” 2022), contains interviews with a remaining handful of eyewitnesses to the Shoah. Today, with well-publicized settlements (or at least public investigations) of notorious thefts by the Third Reich such as those involving the “Nazi gold” transports, “dormant” bank accounts, and the Bührle Art Collection in Zurich, literary commemoration of the period has begun to turn from lived human suffering to what has been (or might have been) left to succeeding generations: to what has been materially bequeathed, in distinction from the traumatic psychological legacy of second and third-generation survivors. Increased attention is being paid to the physical estates of the victims of terror and genocide; to the belongings that were stolen from them, lost, or destroyed; to the property that individual members of targeted populations were obliged to leave behind, to sell for a pittance, or to have forcibly auctioned off. As if, having dealt comprehensively with the Third Reich’s violations of the Sixth Commandment—“Thou shalt not kill”—we have moved on to a reckoning with its infringements of the Eighth—“Thou shalt not steal.” Is any form of individual compensation, of making-good-again still possible, now that the physical and mental suffering of the victims has been largely acknowledged, their deaths publicly mourned? What would a literary performance of the acknowledgment of theft, and reparations for it, look like? Read more »