Friday, June 19, 2026

 BOOKS BRIEFING

The Thinkers Who Explain This Baffling Era

These philosophers are less arcane—and more relevant—than some readers might think.

People in Washington, DC before the UFC fight
Matt McClain / Getty

This is an edition of the Books Briefing, our editors’ weekly guide to the best in books. Sign up for it here.

My favorite essays feel like surprising chemical reactions: Their materials combine into something novel and combustible. The French philosopher Roland Barthes’s 1957 essay “The World of Wrestling,” which examines the “amplification of the tragic masks” in professional (fake) grappling, certainly fits this category. So does an article in The Atlantic this week, in which the staff writer Gal Beckerman invokes Barthes’ essay to explain the symbolic importance of UFC 250, the gaudy display of blood sport that Donald Trump staged in front of the White House on Sunday. As Beckerman’s editor, I love the way he explains the news through the writings of philosophers, making an implicit case that they are less arcane—and more relevant—than some readers might think. So I decided to ask him to recommend a few more thinkers who might shed some light on the baffling era we’re living through.

First, here are four recent stories from The Atlantic’s Books section:

Boris Kachka: Has the UFC fight sent you back to other writers beyond Barthes?

Gal Beckerman: Yes. Philosophers, even those who produce some fairly dense theory, have asked the kinds of big questions that can help us make sense of two men covered in sweat and blood on the White House lawn. Another book that came to mind last weekend was Elias Canetti’s Crowds and Powerfrom 1960—particularly when I took in the scenes of tens of thousands of mostly men watching the fights from screens set up at the Ellipse. Canetti saw the impulse to join a crowd as part of a deeply human desire to dissolve individual boundaries, to both lose yourself and experience a kind of emotional release, a sense of power, that comes with feeling many times larger than just your isolated self.

Kachka: So Barthes analyzes the spectacle, and Canetti gets into the spectator’s head. Who helps you understand other forces behind Trump’s rise? What about, say, vaccine skepticism?

Beckerman: Bruno Latour, who died in 2022, was a sociologist of science who argued that what we think of as scientific truth is actually created through multiple subjective forces—such as funding and politics and personality. He meant to upend the idea of science as this pure process, and instead to understand it as a completely human one. I’m not sure that he anticipated Robert F. Kennedy Jr., but everyone can now understand Latour’s central point, which is that individuals influence the direction that science takes and the kinds of truths it produces. One of his more accessible and relevant books is The Pasteurization of France, which examines Louis Pasteur’s success in making germs a central focus of public health in the 19th century—not as a scientific triumph so much as the result of a subtle war, built on alliances with various interest groups.

Kachka: That must have been revelatory at a time when most people seemed to believe that science was infallible. But expertise has been downgraded—and more people are getting their information from podcasters and influencers. Who could help us understand this shift?

Beckerman: The shift that I’m most interested in is an enormous one: the coming end of the very long historical moment in which written culture has dominated the Western world. AI takes this a step further, because so many basic aspects of human thinking feel threatened by it. The best analogy we have to this kind of seismic change is the reverse—the long-ago move away from oral culture—and the best book I know on this topic is Walter J. Ong’s 1982 work Orality and Literacy. It’s a fascinating look at how the new technology of writing fundamentally restructured human consciousness, moving us into more abstract and analytical ways of thinking but also eroding the great capacity humans once had for memorizing and visualizing information. I don’t know what this new shift will do to our brains, but Ong’s work suggests that we may be headed toward a new experience of being human.

Kachka: Post-literacy and AI—now we’re moving into really big ideas. Who’s one writer who can give us a real galaxy-brain take on our brave new world?

Beckerman: I’ll take any opportunity to bring Hannah Arendt into the chat. Although she is mostly remembered as the philosopher who analyzed totalitarianism, she also wrote extensively about the strange limbo of modernity. She tried to express what it was like to have left behind traditional ways of life—religious, political, cultural—without yet having new models to replace them. On this theme, I’d recommend her 1961 essay collection, Between Past and Future. She was looking at what it meant to live during such a disorienting moment, from the perspective of education, authority, freedom, culture, truth, and politics. This should ring a bell. Such works don’t have the clear and obvious answers of self-help books, but they provide us something to think with, which is the most we can hope for as we muddle our way toward the future.

The UFC fight at the White House
Matt McClain / Getty

The Theory That Explains Trump’s UFC Fight

By Gal Beckerman

By staging a “spectacle of excess” on the White House lawn, the president expressed the violent essence of his worldview.

Wednesday, June 17, 2026

 Silence makes people uncomfortable when they know you are thinking, which keeps you in control. Keep what you have in mind in your mind until you are ready to reveal.

Tuesday, June 9, 2026

 


I welcome the American history wars and debates. This is the essence of my fascination with our history that has been with me since Winter Quarter of 1973 taking the course on the history of the Reconstruction Era with Dr. Belser at Auburn University, the seminal history course for me. Yoni Applebaum summarizes the debate in the current edition of The Atlantic. Here is an excerpt. The essence of her view is that we have lost our vision as Americans of our history. There has to be a reckoning. My own view is firmly on the liberal interpretation.
Yoni Applebaum in The Atlantic
Americans, of course, have never exactly agreed on why this country was founded or what it stands for. Fierce arguments over those questions have long divided families and roiled politics, and even once produced a bloody civil war. But throughout the 19th century and well into the 20th, a simplistic patriotic narrative prevailed. “Providence designed that on this continent should be seen an example of democratic government,” a textbook explained to young students in 1872, “which means government ‘of the people, for the people, by the people.’ ”
Americans defined their nation in this way, by their commitment to a common creed—of equality, rights, and opportunity—and to a corresponding set of democratic ideals that they were modeling for the world. In practice, they generally fell short of those principles, sometimes seeming to pursue their abnegation more than their fulfillment. But the white men who built their fledgling republic around an idea, instead of around a common ancestry, opened the possibility that any who subscribed to its creed could become a citizen. Over time, other Americans demanded that the nation live up to its ideals and recognize their equality. For more than two centuries, our creedal nationalism has been a source of strength, binding together Americans of diverse faiths and backgrounds.
But lately, we have discovered that it is also a vulnerability. A nation defined by blood and soil—built around a shared religion or ethnicity—can survive divergent narratives. To a country built on an idea, though, and bound together by a shared understanding of our history, the inability to tell a common story might well prove fatal.
Yoni Appelbaum
Yoni Appelbaum is a deputy executive editor at The Atlantic

Sunday, June 7, 2026

 


Machines are astonishingly good at analysis. But humans do more. We live in a complex world inhabited by other humans.
The computer scientist Yann LeCun has pointed out that human intelligence is not merely computation. It is embodied experience, social understanding and emotional cognition layered over millions of years of evolution. And so perhaps we should stop imagining human beings as inferior computers.
We sometimes reduce intelligence to narrow forms of analytical reasoning — the kinds of things that machines can optimize. But as the author Michael Pollan reminds us, human consciousness is richer and more mysterious than that.
A machine can write a sad poem, but it cannot weep at a funeral. It can generate a love letter, but it cannot fall in love. It can describe fear, but it cannot lie awake at 3 a.m. worrying about whether it has wasted its life. And this matters because the most important dimensions of being human are the experiences that we live.
The more powerful AI becomes, the more we may rediscover how much we value the distinctly human.
-Fareed Zakaria in the WaPost

Saturday, June 6, 2026

Jeffrey Rosen

 Fred Hudson

28m 
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AMERICAN DEMOCRACY WASN’T DESIGNED FOR THIS
Can our 18th-century institutions survive 21st-century technology?
By Jeffrey Rosen
Democracy has been resilient for a long time, but that doesn’t mean it can’t reach a breaking point. Social media is an unprecedented challenge: In every way, it represents the Founders’ nightmare. Madison wanted to slow down communication to allow for thoughtful decision making; social media encourages instant responses and emotional, ad hominem arguments. Madison worried about factionalism; social media encourages it. More than any previous communications technology, social media has the effect of herding users into likeminded communities where they never have to hear an opposing point of view. In a 2020 article in Science, 15 psychologists and political scientists wrote that America’s political divisions were being amplified by “popularity-based algorithms that tailor content to maximize user engagement.” If the Founders had been able to spend an hour on X, they would have been a lot less optimistic about human beings’ capacity to govern themselves by reason rather than passion
JUNE 6, 2026, 7 AM ET
In 1787, as the founders gathered in Philadelphia to draft the Constitution, Alexander Hamilton wrote in “Federalist No. 1” that there was more at stake than the future of a single country. The American experiment would “decide the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident and force.”
The Founders were hopeful, in part because the information environment of the late 18th century was favorable to “reflection and choice.” A flourishing newspaper industry kept Americans informed and fostered vigorous debate. But the number of publications was limited—about 100 total in the 13 states—and the authority of editors and writers meant that a free press didn’t turn into a free-for-all. And at a time when nothing traveled faster than a horse or ship, the sheer size of the new country meant that news spread slowly, an obstacle to impulsive public decisions. Given time for deliberation, passions would cool, and elected representatives could focus on the country’s long-term good rather than short-term gratification.
Today, those advantages have disappeared, thanks to a technological revolution the Founders could never have imagined. The internet has turned everyone into a potential publisher, able to instantly spread facts or falsehoods to millions. Most people get information about politics and current events not from newspapers but from social media, which discourages engagement with human beings of different political persuasions. Now the rise of AI is discouraging engagement with any human beings at all; instead, more and more people are forming their views in conversation with a machine that lacks moral sense. As America approaches its 250th anniversary, the biggest question for our democracy is whether a system designed for the communications technologies of the 18th century can survive those of the 21st.

 Democracy has been resilient for a long time, but that doesn’t mean it can’t reach a breaking point. Social media is an unprecedented challenge: In every way, it represents the Founders’ nightmare. Madison wanted to slow down communication to allow for thoughtful decision making; social media encourages instant responses and emotional, ad hominem arguments. Madison worried about factionalism; social media encourages it. More than any previous communications technology, social media has the effect of herding users into likeminded communities where they never have to hear an opposing point of view. In a 2020 article in Science, 15 psychologists and political scientists wrote that America’s political divisions were being amplified by “popularity-based algorithms that tailor content to maximize user engagement.” If the Founders had been able to spend an hour on X, they would have been a lot less optimistic about human beings’ capacity to govern themselves by reason rather than passion.

Jeffrey Rosen from The Atlantic

 

AMERICAN DEMOCRACY WASN’T DESIGNED FOR THIS

Can our 18th-century institutions survive 21st-century technology?

Illustration by Shira Inbar

In 1787, as the founders gathered in Philadelphia to draft the Constitution, Alexander Hamilton wrote in “Federalist No. 1” that there was more at stake than the future of a single country. The American experiment would “decide the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident and force.”

The Founders were hopeful, in part because the information environment of the late 18th century was favorable to “reflection and choice.” A flourishing newspaper industry kept Americans informed and fostered vigorous debate. But the number of publications was limited—about 100 total in the 13 states—and the authority of editors and writers meant that a free press didn’t turn into a free-for-all. And at a time when nothing traveled faster than a horse or ship, the sheer size of the new country meant that news spread slowly, an obstacle to impulsive public decisions. Given time for deliberation, passions would cool, and elected representatives could focus on the country’s long-term good rather than short-term gratification.

Today, those advantages have disappeared, thanks to a technological revolution the Founders could never have imagined. The internet has turned everyone into a potential publisher, able to instantly spread facts or falsehoods to millions. Most people get information about politics and current events not from newspapers but from social media, which discourages engagement with human beings of different political persuasions. Now the rise of AI is discouraging engagement with any human beings at all; instead, more and more people are forming their views in conversation with a machine that lacks moral sense. As America approaches its 250th anniversary, the biggest question for our democracy is whether a system designed for the communications technologies of the 18th century can survive those of the 21st.