a crime against humanity

Today, the elected leader of the United States said, “A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again. I don’t want that to happen, but it probably will.”

Even before we learn what actually happens, it is clear that the threat was a crime against humanity that will permanently mark the history and the reputation of our republic.

These are the two elements of the crime of genocide in Article II of the Genocide Convention (ratified by the United States, with the signature of Ronald Reagan):

  1. A mental element: the “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such”; and
  2. A physical element, which includes specific acts that include “killing members of the group,” “causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group,” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.”

Just as murder is a crime against a community, which removes an individual from the group, so genocide is a crime against humanity that removes a people or a civilization from the earth. And just as a threat to commit murder is a felony even if the murder is never committed, so a threat to commit genocide is a grave crime against humankind.

This President threatened genocide in order to force Iran to allow oil tankers to continue carrying the substance that is most responsible for global warming, after he had begun the sequence of events that caused the Strait to close in the first place.

As Americans, we might consider Karl Jaspers’ analysis of war guilt, which he presented to an very uncomfortable German audience during the winter of 1944-5:

  1. Criminal guilt is attributable to individuals who have broken specific laws. It merits individual punishment. Donald Trump is guilty in this sense. It is a much harder question whether military personnel bear criminal guilt for following orders, particularly if Trump’s threat turns out to be mainly bluster. It is also doubtful whether Trump will be found guilty in any tribunal. However, Jaspers’ argument implies that Trump should be condemned, not that he will be.
  2. Political guilt belongs to all members of a polity (a democracy or otherwise), because “Everybody is responsible for the way he is governed.” All Americans now bear political guilt for Trump’s actions, even if we have been organizing against him. This does not mean that we should feel personally ashamed or face punishment as individuals. In fact, to cultivate feelings of personal guilt or shame can be self-indulgent. Political guilt does mean that we have a responsibility to act in defense of humanity. We should also expect and be ready to pay a price for the isolation and marginalization of the United States.
  3. Moral guilt: This is what one ought to feel as a result of being connected to an evil, even if one wasn’t personally responsible for what happened. All else being equal, it is bad moral luck to be an American citizen right now, because that makes us morally inferior to citizens of many other countries. Moral guilt requires penance and renewal. We must change the context so that we can be better.
  4. Metaphysical guilt: Jaspers says, “There exists a solidarity among men as human beings that makes each co-responsible for every wrong and every injustice in the world, especially for crimes committed in his presence or with his knowledge.” This kind of guilt extends beyond the borders of the United States. I think one aspect of it is complicity. Billions of people will use (and will have to use) oil that will be cheaper if Trump’s threat works. Another aspect is self-awareness. We now know–if we didn’t know it already–that an educated and affluent population of free human beings can choose a leader who chooses to threaten another civilization with extermination. This is a fact about people. It would be convenient if it were only a fact about Americans, but we have learned that it is not. Our thinking about politics and ethics must be chastened by this reality about ourselves.

See also: Jaspers on collective responsibility and polarization;

why be introspective?

According to Thomas Chatterton Williams, some leading tech oligarchs are explicitly against introspection. The “venture capitalist Marc Andreessen says that he engages in ‘zero’ introspection—or at least ‘as little as possible.’” Similarly, the billionaire investor Peter Thiel “contends that looking inward can impede action.”

Both men think that introspection is a recent phenomenon, or at least a growing one. Thiel blames “hippies, who derailed American technological progress when they ‘took over the country’ in the late 1960s.” Andreessen says, “If you go back, 400 years ago, it never would have occurred to anybody to be introspective.”

They are definitely wrong about history. Exactly 400 years ago (in 1626), John Milton began his third elegy: “Silent I sat, dejected, and alone, / Making in thought the public woes my own” (citing Cowper’s translation of Milton’s Latin).

About 2,000 years before that, Socrates had said, “The unexamined life is not worth living for a human being” (Apology 37e), and his premise was echoed by all the Greek philosophical schools. Two millennia of Christian introspection resulted from this Greek heritage plus the Biblical injunction “For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). For example, St. Augustine wrote, “Do not go outside, come back into yourself. It is in the inner self that Truth dwells” (De vera religione, 39).

Meanwhile, verses like this were being attributed to the Buddha: “The mind is fast-moving and hard to subdue, / landing wherever it wishes; / it is good to train it— / a trained mind brings happiness” (Dhp 33–43). And, further east, “The Master [Confucius] said: ‘If you learn without thinking about what you have learned, you will be lost. If you think without learning, however, you will fall into danger'” (Analects 2.15).

Notwithstanding all this ancient advice, the tech bros may spend their entire lives taking pleasure from success and power without suffering the self-doubts and anxieties that result from introspection. Since I don’t happen to believe in a posthumous reckoning, I think their lives may conclude without any penalty for having been (as Williams says) “pathologically unreflective.” If a good life is one of pleasure, then their odds of attaining it are as high as anyone’s.

But is pleasure good? That is an ethical question, in the original sense of an ethos as a matter of character. Here is a very general account of what it means to be ethical:

  1. It is better to be good or right than bad or wrong
  2. This principle both applies inwardly and outwardly. That is, it is better to be good rather than bad to yourself and better to be good rather than bad to others.
  3. It is not obvious what being good entails. Neither the outcome (a good state) nor the appropriate means to reach this outcome is self-evident. For example, it is not obvious whether (or when, or to what extent) pleasure is good, either for oneself or for others.
  4. To know what is good requires wisdom or discernment, which is a matter of character.
  5. To improve one’s character requires knowing what it is.
  6. Therefore, introspection is crucial; the unexamined life is not worth living.

I presume that Andreeson, Thiel, Jeff Bezos, and other oligarchs (financial or political) would disagree with all of these points, and certainly with the final one.

So did Thrasymachus, as he is presented in Plato’s Republic. Thrasymachus has the arrogant, combative, proudly selfish air of a contemporary tech bro. Like them, he is successful, and he is developing a powerful technology (in his case, Sophistic rhetoric).

Socrates tries to prove to Thrasymachus that it is better to be just than unjust. Influenced by previous interpretations, I believe that Socrates essentially fails. Thrasymachus leaves, and Socrates’ disciples observe that he was unconvinced. Once he is gone, Socrates develops a detailed account of justice for them. This is a metaphor for the idea that ethical reasoning is persuasive for those who accept the first point listed above, but not for others. There are ethical reasons, but there are no reasons to be ethical.

Even before Thrasymachus exits the dialogue, Cephalus has departed. He is a character who has lived a conventionally respectable life–he has basically tried to do good but without asking what goodness is. I think his departure is a metaphor for the idea that it can be better to be good than to think too much about it, contrary to Socrates’ premise that the good life is an examined one.

It is possible to live beneficially without giving ethics too much thought, although success is then a matter of chance. It is also possible to live ethically–displaying some introspection and self-improvement.

An ethical life can serve as an example, but it will not inspire everyone. Those who are not drawn to ethics cannot be proven wrong and may not pay any price for their refusal. To the extent that their behavior threatens others, they must (like everyone else) face the restraints and penalties of the law. But they may not cause great harm or break major rules, and they have a right to organize their inner lives as they wish. Although their lives are worse for being unreflective, they will never know it.

See also: Cephalus; varieties of skepticism; introspect to reenchant the inner life, etc.

what is a brute fact?

During the twenties, so a story goes, [the former Prime Minister of France, Georges] Clemenceau, shortly before his death, found himself engaged in a friendly talk with a representative of the Weimar Republic on the question of guilt for the outbreak of the First World. War. “What, in your opinion,” Clemenceau was asked, “will future historians think of this troublesome and controversial issue?” He replied, “This I don’t know. But I know for certain that they will not say Belgium invaded Germany.” (Hannah Arendt, “Truth and Politics,” 1967, p. 239 )

Arendt uses this anecdote as an example of “brutally elementary data.” On p. 237, she mentions the “unyielding, blatant, unpersuasive stubbornness” of certain “truths seen and witnessed with the eyes of the body, and not the eyes of the mind.”

I agree that Belgium did not invade Germany in August 1914. (The reverse is true.) However, this example is complicated.

First, it is not a literal fact that “Germany” invaded “Belgium.” The name of any country is a concept, a metaphor, or a simplification. Perhaps the “brutally elementary data” is that some people moved from locations in German territory to locations in Belgian territory, and these people were (among other things) soldiers in the German Army. But even that formulation introduces information that would not be evident to an observer who was unaware of European politics.

Second, you and I do not remember seeing German troops cross the border. We believe that Germany invaded because that is what we have learned in school or from media. Our knowledge is entirely contingent on trust in these institutions.

Third, the word “invaded” is normatively loaded. An invasion isn’t necessarily bad. The Allied landings in Normandy were an invasion in a just cause. But Clemenceau uses the the word to imply that Germany broke its obligations and started the war. He would disagree with someone who said, “In August 1914, Imperial German troops had to extend the front into Belgian territory to protect the Fatherland,” even though that would also describe the same event.

Finally, Clemenceau used this example because he presumed–and expected his audience to presume–that the act of invading Belgium was the crucial causal factor. What if someone replied that the invasion was only one event in a sequence that begin with the assassination in Sarajevo on June 28, 1914, Austro-Hungary’s declaration of War on Serbia one month later, and Russia’s declaration of war against Austro-Hungary?

Clemenceau could have remarked, “They will not say that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand assassinated Gavrilo Princip.” (The reverse was the case). But he did not choose that example because his motive was to cast blame on Germany. There are infinite facts, and Clemenceau selected one to make a point.

Lenin argued that the cause of the First World War was imperialism. Europeans had run out of countries to conquer and exploit and had turned on each other. Some would say that Lenin’s thesis was an interpretation, whereas “Germany invaded Belgium” is a fact. But Clemenceau implied (or “implicated“) a whole interpretation by choosing a particular fact. And Lenin could cite many facts in support of his interpretation.

Insofar as we can know facts by direct observation or reliable methods, we don’t really need a variety of opinions to attain knowledge. If you think of a school, a university, or a newspaper as a purveyor of facts, then you may be uninterested in whether the people involved hold diverse views, and you may be suspicious when they seem to be editorializing. They should stick to the truth. Disagreement is a sign that an issue hasn’t yet been resolved–as it should be.

On the other hand, if you think that every important claim is an opinion, then you will see such institutions as forums for debate. (I think that is how Bari Weiss sees both CBS News and the University of Austin.) You may want these institutions to be pluralistic, but you won’t count on them to generate reliable information. And you may be quick to assert a right to disagree with any claim, no matter the nature of the evidence.

Presumably, we should navigate between these extremes, valuing both information and opinion and recognizing the two as intrinsically linked. Arendt wants us to remain connected to the actual world, and she is worried that ideology disconnects us from facts. But she also wants us to remain connected to other people, who inevitably have different interpretations. As she writes in The Human Condition (p. 57):

… the reality of the public realm relies on the simultaneous presence of innumerable perspectives and aspects in which the common world presents itself and for which no common measurement or denominator can ever be devised. For though the common world is the common meeting ground of all, those who are present have different locations in it, and the location of one can no more coincide with the location of another than the location of two objects. Being seen and being heard by others derive their significance from the fact that everybody sees and hears from a different position. This is the meaning of public life, compared to which even the richest and most satisfying family life can offer only the prolongation or multiplication of one’s own position with its attend ing aspects and perspectives. ….Only where things can be seen by many in a variety of aspects without chang ing their identity, so that those who are gathered around them know they see sameness in utter diversity, can worldly reality truly and reliably appear.

See also: ideological pluralism as an antidote to cliche; the case for viewpoint diversity; is all truth scientific truth?; holding two ideas at once: the attack on universities is authoritarian, and viewpoint diversity is important etc.

Civics in Higher Education: A National Summit

The Jonathan M. Tisch College of Civic Life at Tufts University and the Alliance for Civics in the Academy (ACA), with support from GBH, are proud to host a one-day national summit on the state of civics in higher education on Friday, April 10, 2026 from 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. on Tufts University’s Medford/Somerville campus. 

The summit will convene practitioners, faculty, administrators, and students from across the United States to explore, discuss and compare models of civic practice in higher education.

Please register here.

The agenda is now largely set:

Continental Breakfast & Poster Presentation 8:45 a.m. – 9:15 a.m. | Breed Memorial Hall

Welcome

9:15 a.m. | Breed Memorial Hall

  • Caroline Genco, Provost & Senior Vice President, Tufts University
  • Dayna Cunningham, Pierre and Pamela Omidyar Dean, Tisch College at Tufts
  • University Jonathan Holloway, President & CEO, Luce Foundation
  • Peter Levine, Associate Dean for Academic Affairs & Lincoln Filene Professor, Tisch College at Tufts University

Panel 1: Community at the Core: Transformational Civic Partnerships

10:00 – 11:00 a.m. | Breed Memorial Hall

Some institutions are deeply engaged with their neighboring communities. These partnerships provide opportunities for civic learning while generating knowledge and other public goods.

  • Fonna Forman, Professor of Political Science & Founding Director of the Center on Global Justice at the University of California, San Diego
  • Leslie Garvin, Executive Director, North Carolina Campus Engagement
  • Amber Wichowsky, Associate Professor of Public Affairs & Leadership Wisconsin Endowed Chair for the Division of Extension, University of Wisconsin-Madison
  • Moderator: Peter Levine, Associate Dean for Academic Affairs & Lincoln Filene Professor, Tisch College at Tufts University

BREAK | 11:00 – 11:15 a.m.
Panel 2: Civics in the Classroom: Curricula at U.S. 250Some institutions have developed curricular programs for civic education, ranging from courses to majors and even schools.11:15 a.m. – 12:15 p.m.| Breed Memorial Hall

  • Michael Clune, Professor, Salmon P. Chase Center for Civics, Culture, and Society, The Ohio State University
  • Tetyana Hoggan-Kloubert, Chair of Adult and Continuing Education, University of Augsburg,Germany
  • Bryan Garsten, Professor of Political Science and Humanities; Faculty Director, Center for Civic Thought at Yale University
  • Moderator: Josiah Ober, Constantine Mitsotakis Chair in the School of Humanities and Sciences, Stanford UniversityLUNCH | 12:15 – 1:15 p.m.


Remarks on Pluralism | 1:15 – 1:30 p.m.Eboo Patel, Founder and President, Interfaith America


Panel 3: Democracy Centers: Research for the Public GoodSome institutions are home to centers that study and aim to improve democracy. Among other functions, they involve students in their research, and they may study civic education.1:30 – 2:30 p.m. | Breed Memorial Hall

  • Jessica Kimpell Johnson, Director of Research, Karsh Institute of Democracy; Manager of the JohnL. Nau III Lab on the History & Principles of Democracy, University of Virginia
  • Amy Binder, SNF-Agora Professor of Sociology, Johns Hopkins University
  • Mindy Romero, Founder and Director of the Center for Inclusive Democracy (CID), University of Southern California’s Sol Price School of Public Policy in Sacramento
  • Jennifer Brick Murtazashvili, Founding Director of the Center for Governance and Markets;Professor, University of Pittsburgh Graduate School of Public and International Affairs
  • Moderator: Leela Strong, Newhouse Director of the Center for Information & Research on Civic Learning and Engagement (CIRCLE), Tisch College at Tufts University


BREAK | 2:30 – 2:45 p.m.
Panel 4: Where Do We Go from Here? Critique, Comments & Responses 2:45 – 3:45 p.m.

  • Andrew Delbanco, President, The Teagle Foundation; Alexander Hamilton Professor of American Studies, Columbia University
  • Jenna Silber Storey, Ravenel Curry Chair in Civic Thought; Senior Fellow in Social, Cultural, and Constitutional Studies, American Enterprise Institute (AEI)
  • Additional panelist(s) to be added
  • Moderator: Stefanie Sanford, Chair of the Board of Trustees, Institute for Citizens & Scholars

Closing Remarks 3:45 – 4:00 p.m.

Peter Levine, Associate Dean for Academic Affairs & Lincoln Filene Professor, Tisch College at Tufts University

Reception

Please join us for informal conversation and refreshments at this reception hosted by the Civic Studies Program at Tufts University.

4:30 – 6:30 p.m. | Tamper Café (340 Boston Ave, Medford)

are elites responsible for democracies’ crises?

At last week’s conference on Democratic Resilience at Boston College’s Clough Center, the star speakers were Steven Levitsky (a co-author of the bestselling How Democracies Die and a forthcoming book on democratic resilience around the world); Daron Acemoglu (the 2024 Nobel laureate in economics, whose forthcoming book is entitled “What Happened to Liberal Democracy?: Remaking a Politics of Shared Prosperity); and New York Times columnist Ross Douthat.

Each gave a long and rich talk that was basically a history of democracy in the past quarter century. Their narratives were quite different, as were their prognoses and recommendations, but they had one point in common. All three argued that elites across the world’s democracies have performed extraordinarily badly.

Levitsky decried elites’ weak efforts at combatting populist authoritarianism and their willingness to comply with authoritarians, as well as the uninspiring agendas of the center-left parties in almost all democracies. Acemoglu listed “sins of omission” (failing to address serious economic problems) and “sins of commission” (imposing unpopular policies). Douthat highlighted three spectacular failures: the so-called “War on Terror,” the response to China’s economic rise, and COVID policies, which he described as too stringent to be accepted and yet too weak to defeat the pandemic. In the discussions, people also referred to the corrupt and interconnected elite that appears in the Epstein Files.

I think all three speakers cited accurate facts and chose trenchant examples. Yes, it’s ironic that senior professors from Harvard and MIT and a New York Times columnist would decry “elites” before an invited audience at Boston College, but this does not mean that they were wrong.

For me, one puzzle is why elites should perform badly at the same time across the world, particularly if their predecessors generally performed better. Such a pattern seems to require a deeper explanation.

One hint came from Acemoglu, who mentioned that leaders after World War II could “pick the low-hanging fruit” by introducing public services that had not been provided before. Maybe it is simply harder to innovate in a popular way after your country has already launched things like public schools and welfare programs.

I am also a little puzzled why entrepreneurial pro-democratic politicians have not developed popular and effective policy agendas anywhere–if such agendas could exist.

In any given country, one can blame the specific elites. For example, people to the left of Barack Obama claim that the Democratic Party has been captured by neoliberals. But it is harder to explain why no party offers a successful alternative to populist authoritarianism.

The other limitations of these accounts is that I don’t know what to do as a result. Elites probably are at fault, but what does that leave us to do? My own contribution to the conference was certainly more modest and less original, but it has the advantage that it gives you and me an assignment: we should join and strengthen voluntary associations.

Now is hardly the first time in modern US history when elites have faced widespread criticism. In 1971, The New York Times published the leaked Pentagon Papers, some 7,000 pages of secret documents about the Vietnam War. Among them was a memo from an Assistant Secretary of Defense (John McNaughton) to the Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara. McNaughton wrote:

I think the [current draft strategy document for the Vietnam War] underplays a little bit the unpopularity of the war in the US, especially with the young people, the underprivileged, the intelligentsia and (I suspect) the women. A feeling is widely and strongly held that “the Establishment” is out of its mind. The feeling is that we are trying to impose some US image on distant peoples we cannot understand (anymore than we can the younger generation here at home), and that we are carrying the thing to absurd lengths. Related to this feeling is the increased polarization that is taking place in the United States with seeds of the worst split in our people in more than a century. (May 6, 1967)

This passage seems so timely in 2026 that I wonder whether US democracy has ever been free of irresponsible elites, and how we have managed–more or less–to rebound.

educating for democratic resilience

On Friday, I’ll be speaking on a panel about “Educating for Democratic Resilience” at a conference on Democratic Resilience at Boston College’s Clough Center. Here are some notes:

All my work is based on the theory that democracy is more resilient when many people belong to self-governing, autonomous associations. That was Alexis de Tocqueville’s insight, subsequently developed in different ways by John Dewey, Hannah Arendt, and others, and tested in recent decades by illustrious social scientists like Elinor Ostrom (who won the Nobel Prize for her work on this topic) and Robert Putnam.

I believe in it–not as an article of faith, but as a useful model. It does not always turn out to be right empirically. Democracies depend on many things, not simply on associations; and not all associations support democracy. But the model often explains phenomena that we observe in the world. More importantly, it often generates practical insights that we can use to act. Basically, by strengthening associations, we can improve the condition of our democracy. This is one of the main levers that we can pull.

Here is just one example of an empirical finding. The most recent available American National Election Study (2020) asked several items about civic participation, including this one: “During the past 12 months, have you worked with other people to deal with some issue facing your community?” That is a measure of Tocquevillian civic participation.

The ANES also asked several items relevant to the resilience of democracy. For instance, it asked whether “Much of what people hear in schools and the media are lies designed to keep people from learning the real truth about those in power.”

When controlling for education, age, gender, race, and ideology, respondents who participated in groups were much less likely to hold a hostile view of media and schools. Conservatives were more likely to be hostile, but when I included ideology in the model along with civic participation, ideology was no longer significant. In other words, irrespective of ideology, people who work with others to address local issues are more likely to trust schools and media.

From my perspective (which is contestable, obviously) approving of Donald Trump is a problematic sign. A person may vote for him for various reasons, but appreciating him as a leader suggests a lack of support for democracy. In the 2020 ANES, people who worked with others on community issues strongly disliked Trump. As expected, conservatives were more likely than liberals to approve of Trump. However, once I controlled for participation in local groups, conservatives felt no differently from liberals about Trump.

These are selected statistics, which should never be persuasive on their own. However, they illustrate the common patterns that are central to the work of Ostrom, Putnam, and others.

What does this model mean for education?

To form and sustain groups requires practical know-how. Traditionally, the most common way to obtain such knowledge was by growing up around successful organizations, but such experience has become rare as civil society has shrunk. Although US schools still teach American history and civics (with a focus on government), they do not regularly teach how to manage effective groups. Meanwhile, changes in the economy and media have created new challenges for voluntary associations, so that traditional know-how may no longer suffice.

The weakness of associational life has been evident recently. For example, when Donald Trump was elected president in 2016, informal groups popped up almost everywhere. They often attracted people who had never been involved in politics before. Stereotyped in the media as suburban white women, these citizens were informally named “The Resistance.” About a half-million of them attended the Women’s March in Washington on Jan. 21, 2017, with another 5 million marching in their home communities.

But the Resistance proved evanescent because the nascent groups mainly encouraged their members to support famous, large national organizations. About 350,000 people donated to the ACLU in just one weekend during Trump’s first month as president. People also shared and encouraged each other to follow news from national outlets, and digital subscriptions for The New York Times and The Washington Post tripled under Trump. A bit later on, many people gave money and time to Democratic Party candidates.

But this generosity and energy did not build local associations. Most–although not all–of the nascent groups faded away. As Erica Chenoweth and Zoe Marks observed, many committed and skilled activists emerged, yet we have “no established, organizational infrastructure that can facilitate sustained collective action across a multiracial, multiclass constituency.”

I believe one reason is that too few Americans understand the nuts-and-bolts of associations. An initial meeting often draws many concerned people, who may use the time to express strong feelings and to share ideas, some of which are excellent. But nothing concrete is decided. The second meeting draws some of the same people along with many newbies and recapitulates the first discussion. By the third meeting, most people are too frustrated to continue. The group needed an agenda, a committee of accountable, volunteer leaders, a decision-making process, and a budget.

The resistance in Minneapolis this winter may suggest a more optimistic story. In January, The Atlantic’s Robert F. Worth reported that local groups there had trained 65,000 residents in nonviolent civil resistance since the previous month. That is evidence of impressive organizational muscle.

Thomas Friedman recently celebrated the Minneapolis movement as “neighboring.” He quoted a local business executive who described its decentralized and participatory structure. “There were hundreds of leaders of this movement,” he said, “and I don’t know a single one of their names.” Geneva Cole argues that Minnesota groups that launched or expanded in the wake of George Floyd’s murder in 2020 have become strong enough–both as organizations and as a network– that they were able to accomplish disciplined mass action this winter.

That is a promising sign, but in general, associations remain too weak, and too few Americans have the necessary practical skills. Schools and colleges should devote more attention to the nuts-and-bolts of effective groups.

I would also love to teach older adults how to do those things, but it’s unrealistic to offer civic education to millions of older people. An alternative is to make processes easier so that groups can focus on the substance of their work.

After all, associations depend on documents: recruitment emails, agendas, minutes, job descriptions, and budgets, among many others. Say what you will about Large Language Models (LLMs), but they can quickly draft documents. I’ve launched an experimental helpdesk that uses an LLM that is trained on specific documents about voluntary organizations and instructed to respond to queries in specific ways.

The target user of this helpdesk is a newcomer to civic life who is highly concerned about a current problem: I call these people “Alarmed Complete Newbies” or ACNs. The helpdesk encourages them to find and join groups that already exist. If users needs to launch a new group or help to strengthen an existing one, the AI nudges them to request useful documents, which it then drafts for them.

The goals of this project are, first, to enable people to make progress together even if they never learned how to manage voluntary groups; and, second, to learn principles and skills from this experience.

The helpdesk is just an experiment, not a panacea. The underlying idea is that democracy and local communities will be stronger once more groups of concerned people gell into effective organizations that collect time and money from their own members, use their own resources to build their own capacity, make collective decisions, and act effectively. People must learn how to do those things. That is what I mean by “education for democratic resilience.”

making this site feel alive

Web designers use the phrase “social proof” for visible evidence that people are visiting and using a website. Without signs of life, a website looks about as inviting and reliable as an urban street without any pedestrians.

For almost two decades, my main social proof came from Facebook. I had installed a counter that showed how many times people shared any post or “liked” or commented on anyone else’s share. The maximum number of engagements for any single post reached almost 6,000 immediately after the 2016 election, but every post showed at least a few. Although I could not directly see most of the Facebook activity (which occurred on strangers’ pages), I think these statistics were accurate.

Early this month, Facebook stopped sharing engagement statistics. I have switched off the counts, which would look like zeroes even though people are still sharing my posts on Facebook. People often comment there or on LinkedIn, but those discussions are invisible here.

One suggestion would be to move to Substack, or at least cross-post there. But I have been blogging for so long (since January 2003) that I have seen various platforms come and go–and some have gone bad. I’m glad that I have kept plugging along on my own website.

I’ve added a line of code that shows the total number of visitors to this homepage since 2023 (currently: 327,001). It appears on the right-hand navigation bar. I’m hoping that it indicates some life without just looking braggy. I could present visitor data for each post, but that would require more complicated coding, and I’m not sure that it would add anything. Suggestions are welcome!

(This is also an opportunity to remind you that you can subscribe to get a free weekly email with my recent posts. The subscription link is at the bottom-right of this page.)

Juergen Habermas (1929-2026)

Jürgen Habermas died on Saturday. His death has been the occasion for several substantial and interesting obituaries. So far, I prefer Gal Beckerman’s in the New York Times.

I took a seminar on Habermas in 1988, when I was a college junior. Georgia Warnke was the professor, and I have kept her useful packet of readings to this day. Habermas crystallized my early thinking about politics and philosophy and has remained a pillar for me ever since. I discuss him in most of my books, with the most general and extensive presentation in chapter 5 of What Should We Do? A Theory of Civic Life (2022) The title of that book basically captures Habermas in a phrase. I have also recorded a 29-minute introductory lecture on him.

It is misleading to treat Habermas as a proponent of rational, civil discourse. (See “Habermas with a Whiff of Tear Gas,” 2018). I suspect that more Americans have read Iris Marion Young’s critique of Habermas (“Activist Challenges to Deliberative Democracy, Political Theory, 2011) than have read Habermas itself. The late and lamented Iris Young caricatured him in that article. If Habermas wanted everyone to talk calmly all the time, then why did he conclude his two-volume magnum opus, The Theory of Communicative Action, with a celebration of disruptive social movements?

Habermas lived so long and became famous so early that his public role is itself an interesting phenomenon. Apparently, Ronald Dworkin remarked that even Habermas’ fame is famous, and it is worth asking why someone who wrote such thorny theory occupied the position of (arguably) the most influential German thinker for half a century.

I took a whole semester course on Habermas–in English, on the other side of the Atlantic–when he still had 38 years ahead of him. That is an indication of his stature. But it does not mean that he shaped the course of history, or even of scholarship.

In Postwar, Tony Judt discusses “the demise of the continental intellectual.” On May 31, 2003, Habermas plus Jacques Derrida, Umberto Eco, Richard Rorty, and several other leading thinkers published coordinated essays against the Iraq War in distinguished European newspapers. The result “passed virtually unnoticed. It was not reported as news, nor was it quoted by sympathizers. No-one implored the authors to take up their pens and lead the way forward. … The whole project sputtered out. One hundred years after the Dreyfus Affair, fifty years after the apotheosis of Jean-Paul Sartre, Europe’s leading intellectuals had thrown a petition–and no one came” (pp. 785-7).

I am not quoting Judt today to cast aspersions on Habermas, whose work was deep and broad. I suspect that changes in media and communications have reduced the influence of serious intellectuals. Besides, Habermas may never have wanted to be the new Jean-Paul Sartre. Elsewhere, I have discussed how Michel Foucault (born just three years before Habermas) deliberately shunned the role of the “universal intellectual”; and perhaps we are better off without such people. By all accounts, Habermas welcomed criticism and learned from a wide range of responses. He modeled what he advocated: listening and learning from others. I think his work will long outlive him.

See also: introducing Habermas; saving Habermas from the deliberative democrats; Habermas with a Whiff of Tear Gas: Nonviolent Campaigns and Deliberation in an Era of Authoritarianism; Matthew G. Specter, Habermas: An Intellectual Biography, and many other posts.

Prisoner’s Dilemma in the Gulf

Although many people are using principles of game theory to analyze the Trump/Iran war and to predict the next steps, I haven’t come across an explicit model. Any model drastically oversimplifies reality but also serves to clarify assumptions.

The model that I present is essentially a Prisoner’s Dilemma. For each side, it is better to continue deadly offensive operations than to cease, regardless of what the other side does. Therefore, the model predicts that the war will continue (bottom-right box) even though both sides would be somewhat better off with a mutual ceasefire (top-left). That’s how a Prisoner’s Dilemma works.

The model presumes that both sides have the capacity to continue offensive operations–that the US won’t run critically low on munitions and Iran will retain drones, missiles, mines, and possibly sleeper cells abroad. To the extent that the US and Israel have a plan, it is to destroy Iran’s military assets so that Iran cannot choose to continue to bomb or lay mines. I cannot assess whether this is possible, but it seems doubtful. The recent reduction in the tempo of Iranian strikes may simply reflect a strategy of operating for a longer period.

The model is symmetrical, which is misleading. The Iranian leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, has already lost his father, wife, daughter, son-in-law, and 14-month-old granddaughter in a strike and could be killed himself. More than 1,000 Iranians (and probably many more) have died so far. Donald Trump is much safer, as are American citizens–presumably. On the other hand, Trump’s political fortunes are sensitive to exactly what happens in the war, whereas Khamenei and his team are trying to survive. For them, a difference in the length of the conflict or the number of casualties may be immaterial.

Another way that the model simplifies is by reducing the whole war to two parties. Israel is not shown. Nor are other major countries, such as Russia, China, Saudi Arabia, and others. Also, the two sides are shown as if they were unitary, but there are internal conflicts on both sides. In fact, each leader may care most about the struggle with his own domestic opponents. However, to some extent, that dynamic is captured by the outcomes shown in the model. For example, each side benefits domestically from being able to claim victory credibly, and each side loses domestically if it cannot.

See also: making our models explicit; Brag, Cave and Crow: a contribution to game theory

How do we know whether fish are happy? How do we know whether we are? (Zen, Aristotelian, and Taoist discussions)

When you watch fish swimming around in very cold water, they look fine. Human beings have a protein, TRPM8, that reacts to cold and affects our nervous system, causing discomfort or even pain when the temperature goes down. But fish do not have any TRPM8 (Yong p. 138). Thus we can infer that fish do not sense cold in the way we do.

This does not mean that we know what cold is really like, while fish do not. Nor does it mean that our pain is nothing real, as if we can make it go away by disbelieving it. Nor does it mean that we know what it feels like to be a fish. But we can perceive a difference between species.

Long before anyone knew about proteins, the behavioral difference between us and fish was obvious enough that it served as an example for several thinkers who asked whether experiences like pleasure and suffering are subjective. More deeply, they asked what happiness is.

Japanese Zen Buddhism uses the term kyogai. Often translated as “consciousness,” it literally means “boundary” or “bounded place,” deriving originally from the Sanskrit word visayah, in the sense of a pasture that has a boundary. The Buddhist Abbot Mumon Yamada (1900-1988) taught:

This thing called kyogai is an individual thing. …. Only another fish can understand the kyogai of a fish. In this cold weather, perhaps you are feeling sorry for the fish, poor thing, for it has to live in the freezing water. But don’t make the mistake of thinking it would be better off if you put it in warm water; that would kill it. You are a human and there is no way you can understand the kyogai of a fish.

I think the upshot here is humility: if things seem and feel very different to creatures that have different senses, we cannot really know how things are. We should be compassionate, but that is harder than it may at first appear because it requires knowing what another feels. It would not be compassionate to move carp to a warmer pond. Our humility must temper even our compassion.

Aristotle wants to distinguish wisdom, which is knowledge of objective truths, from practical wisdom or phronesis, which allows us to act well. For example, “straight” (using the term from geometry) always means the same thing. The line that takes the shortest distance between two points is straight, regardless of whether any creature sees it as such–or sees it at all. In fact, a line would be straight even if there were no sentient creatures. Hence geometry is a part of wisdom.

However, says Aristotle, different things are healthy and good for people and for fish, and human phronesis involves doing the healthy thing for us, not for them. The “lower animals” also have practical wisdom because they also know what to do. If we try to convince ourselves that our phronesis is wisdom because we are higher than fish, we are foolish because there are things far more divine than we are (NE 1143a).

The upshot, for Aristotle, is that each creature has its own nature, and the proper definition of happiness is acting according to that nature. This means that a fish is happy if it swims around in the cold, not because that behavior feels good to it, but because happiness is accordance with nature. One distinguishing feature of human beings is that we can also know wisdom, or glimpses of it, by studying things higher than ourselves. Thus, for Aristotle, observing the behavior of fish does not really encourage humility. It directs us to identify our proper nature and its place in the cosmos as a whole.

Now here is a passage from Zhuangzi:

Zhuangzi and Huìzi wandered along the bridge over the Hao river. Zhuangzi said, ‘The minnows swim about so freely and easily. This is the happiness of fish’.

Huìzi said, ‘You’re not a fish. How do you know the happiness of fish?

Zhuangzi said, ‘You’re not me. How do you know I don’t know the happiness of fish?’

Huìzi said, ‘I’m not you, so indeed I don’t know about you. You’re indeed not a fish, so that completes the case for your not knowing the happiness of fish’.

Zhuangzi said, ‘Let’s go back to where we started. When you said, “How do you know the happiness of fish”, you asked me about it already knowing that I knew it. I knew it over the Hao river’. (17/87–91)

I have virtually no knowledge of Taoism or its context, so it is risky for me to venture an interpretation. But I think the idea here is that neither of the men in the story can know the other, let alone the fish, and therefore all knowledge (including of one’s self) is illusory. However, Zhuangzi was right in the first place. “This” was the happiness of fish. He could not know its content or how happiness would feel to a fish, only that because fish were being fish, they were happy.


Ed Yong, An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us (Penguin Random House, 2022); Yamada as cited in Victor Sogen Hori, “Koan and Kensho in the Rinzai Zen Curriculum,” in The Koan: Texts and Contexts in Zen Buddhism (2000); Zhuangzi. The Complete Writings, translated by Chris Fraser (Oxford World’s Classics, p. 200). I translated Aristotle from the 1894 Clarendon edition on https://scaife.perseus.org/, but I have paraphrased here because the literal text is thorny. See also: some basics; Verdant mountains usually walk