perception—My favourite unreliable narrator. We humans love to believe we’ve got nature all figured out. Venomous snakes are brightly coloured to scream “danger.” Butterflies have wings so clever they double as invisibility cloaks. Zebras blend into their herds like barcodes in a supermarket scanner. Simple, right? Evolution explained; case closed.
But then something like this tiger meme smacks you upside the head, reminding you that the animal kingdom didn’t evolve just for our benefit—or our eyes. To a deer or a boar, that glaring orange tiger we associate with breakfast cereal is practically dressed in camouflage green. What we see as flamboyant and conspicuous is, in their dichromatic world, stealth at its finest. It’s not just our story, folks. The world doesn’t revolve around us, no matter how much we try to make it so.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast discussing this topic.
And that’s the punchline here: all those neat evolutionary narratives we’ve packaged up with a bow? They’re “just-so” stories built on our limited sensory toolkit. What if the zebra’s stripes aren’t just for blending into the herd but also for confusing a lion’s depth perception? What if those venomous snakes’ colours aren’t only a warning but also a mating ad in wavelengths we’ll never see? What if we’re just projecting human logic onto a planet with millions of other perspectives—each living in its own bespoke version of reality?
The meme about the tiger is a perfect metaphor for this broader idea. It’s not just about what we see; it’s about what others—be they animals, cultures, or people—experience. The tiger isn’t orange to them. What feels blindingly obvious to one perspective might be invisible to another. It’s a simple truth with profound implications, not just for understanding nature but for navigating the world we humans have made.
Take any argument—politics, culture, morality—and you’ll find the same principle at play. Everyone’s a trichromat in their own little world, convinced they’ve got the full spectrum of truth, when in reality, they’re missing entire wavelengths. Just like the deer who doesn’t see orange, we’re all blind to what we’re not built to perceive.
So next time someone insists their worldview is the only valid one, you might want to remind them that to some creatures, even the loudest tiger is just part of the scenery. Nature didn’t evolve for human eyes alone, and neither did the truth.
Kurt Gray’s Outraged! is a fascinating romp through the minefield of moral psychology and outrage culture. It’s snappy, it’s clever, and it’s… shallow. Whilst Gray positions himself as the maestro conducting the cacophony of modern outrage, his approach has left me wondering if the symphony is little more than noise. Here’s why:
Audio: Podcast discussion on this review content.
Oversimplification of Moral Psychology
Gray’s central thesis that “all morality stems from perceptions of harm and threat” is bold, sure, but also reductive. Morality isn’t just a harm detector. It’s a rich tapestry of loyalty, authority, sanctity, and liberty—concepts Gray conveniently glosses over. His approach feels like reducing a fine Bordeaux to “it’s just fermented grapes.” Sure, technically correct, but where’s the depth?
The Age of Competitive Victimhood
By focusing so heavily on harm perception, Gray risks fueling the very outrage culture he’s critiquing. Welcome to the Hunger Games of victimhood, where everyone races to be crowned the most aggrieved. Instead of deflating this dynamic, Gray’s analysis may inadvertently add more oxygen to the fire.
Lack of Diverse Perspectives
Gray’s attempt to bridge divides is commendable but flawed. Critics point out that he gives more airtime to controversial right-wing figures than the left-leaning audience he’s presumably trying to engage. It’s like building half a bridge and wondering why no one’s crossing. If you alienate half your audience, how exactly are you fostering dialogue?
Contradictory Messaging
The book also suffers from a classic case of ideological whiplash. Gray tells us not to get offended by microaggressions, then argues that offensive content needs more careful handling. Which is it, Kurt? Either you’re driving the “sticks and stones” bus, or you’re preaching kid-glove diplomacy. You can’t have it both ways.
Limited Practical Solutions
Like many pop psychology books, Outraged! excels at diagnosing problems but falters when offering solutions. Gray’s suggestion to use personal stories of harm to bridge divides is charmingly naive. Sure, storytelling might work for interpersonal tiffs, but try applying that to global crises like climate change or systemic inequality. Good luck narrating your way to a greener planet.
Oversimplifying Complex Issues
Gray’s harm-based morality seems like an attempt to cram human behaviour’s messy, chaotic sprawl into a tidy spreadsheet. Real moral debates are nuanced, tangled, and frustratingly complex. By filtering everything through the lens of harm, Gray risks missing the bigger picture. It’s morality on Instagram—polished, curated, and ultimately hollow.
Final Thoughts
Outraged! isn’t without merit. Gray is a masterful storyteller and a sharp thinker, but the book feels like a soufflé: all air, no substance. While it might offer a quick, engaging read for those looking to dip a toe into the outrage pool, anyone hoping for deeper insights will come away unsatisfied.
In the end, Gray delivers a sizzling trailer for a movie that never quite materialises. Fun to watch, but ultimately forgettable.
If you are reading this, you are likely familiar with David Chalmers’ idea of the Hard Problem of Consciousness—the thorny, maddeningly unsolvable question of why and how subjective experience arises from physical processes. If you’re not, welcome to the rabbit hole. Here, we’ll plunge deeper by examining the perspective of Stuart Hameroff, who, like a philosophical magician, reframes this conundrum as a chicken-and-egg problem: what came first, life or consciousness? His answer? Consciousness. But wait—there’s a slight snag. Neither “life” nor “consciousness” has a universally agreed-upon definition. Oh, the joy of philosophical discourse.
Video: Professor Stuart Hameroff and others promote the idea that consciousness pre-dates life. A fuller version is available at IAI.
Audio: Podcast on this topic.
For the uninitiated, Hameroff’s stance is heavily flavoured with panpsychism—the idea that consciousness is a fundamental feature of the universe, like space or time. In this worldview, consciousness predates life itself. From this vantage, Hameroff’s proposition seems inevitable, a tidy solution that fits neatly into a panpsychistic framework. But let me stop you right there because I’m not signing up for the panpsychism fan club, and I’m certainly not prepared to let Hameroff’s intellectual sleight of hand go unchallenged.
To make his case, Hameroff engages in a curious manoeuvre: he defines both life and consciousness in ways that conveniently serve his argument. Consciousness, for him, is not limited to the complex phenomena of human or even animal experience but is a fundamental property of the universe, embedded in the very fabric of reality. Meanwhile, consciousness eventually orchestrates itself into life—a secondary phenomenon. With these definitions, his argument clicks together like a self-serving jigsaw puzzle. It’s clever, I’ll grant him that. But cleverness isn’t the same as being correct.
This is the philosophical equivalent of marking your own homework. By defining the terms of debate to fit his narrative, Hameroff ensures that his conclusion will satisfy his fellow panpsychists. The faithful will nod along, their priors confirmed. But for those outside this echo chamber, his framework raises more questions than it answers. How does this universal consciousness work? Why should we accept its existence as a given? And—here’s the kicker—doesn’t this just punt the problem one step back? If consciousness is fundamental, what’s the mechanism by which it “pre-exists” life?
Hameroff’s move is bold, certainly. But boldness isn’t enough. Philosophy demands rigour, and redefining terms to suit your argument isn’t rigorous; it’s rhetorical trickery. Sure, it’s provocative. But does it advance our understanding of the Hard Problem, or does it merely reframe it in a way that makes Hameroff’s preferred answer seem inevitable? For my money, it’s the latter.
The real issue is that panpsychism itself is a philosophical Rorschach test. It’s a worldview that can mean just about anything, from the claim that electrons have a rudimentary kind of awareness to the idea that the universe is a giant mind. Hameroff’s take lands somewhere in this spectrum, but like most panpsychist arguments, it’s long on metaphysical speculation and short on empirical grounding. If you already believe that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of reality, Hameroff’s arguments will feel like a revelation. If you don’t, they’ll feel like smoke and mirrors.
In the end, Hameroff’s chicken-and-egg problem might be better framed as a false dichotomy. Perhaps life and consciousness co-evolved in ways we can’t yet fully understand. Or perhaps consciousness, as we understand it, emerges from the complexity of life, a byproduct rather than a prerequisite. What’s clear is that Hameroff’s solution isn’t as tidy as it seems, nor as universally compelling. It’s a clever sleight of hand, but let’s not mistake cleverness for truth.
My reaction to Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus continues with Chapter 4, “Errors: The Fantasy of Infallibility.” Spoiler alert: Harari makes a critical misstep by overly defending so-called self-correcting institutions compared to non-self-correcting ones.
Harari provides a solid account of how religious institutions and other dogmatic ideological constructs are slow to change, contrasting them with relatively faster self-correcting systems like science. Once again, he underscores the tension between order and truth—two critical dimensions in his worldview and cornerstones of Modernist beliefs.
Audio: Podcast conversation on this topic.
I agree with Harari that the lack of self-correction in institutions is problematic and that self-correction is better than the alternative. However, he overestimates the speed and efficacy of these self-correcting mechanisms. His argument presumes the existence of some accessible underlying truth, which, while an appealing notion, is not always so clear-cut. Harari cites examples of scientific corrections that took decades to emerge, giving the impression that, with enough time, everything will eventually self-correct. As the environment changes, corrections will naturally follow—albeit over long spans of time. Ultimately, Harari makes a case for human intervention without recognising it as an Achilles’ heel.
Harari’s Blind Spot
Harari largely overlooks the influence of money, power, and self-interest in these systems. His alignment with the World Economic Forum (WEF) suggests that, while he may acknowledge its fallibility, he still deems it “good enough” for governance. This reflects a paternalistic bias. Much like technologists who view technology as humanity’s salvation, Harari, as a Humanist, places faith in humans as the ultimate stewards of this task. However, his argument fails to adequately account for hubris, cognitive biases, and human deficits.
The Crux of the Problem
The core issue with Harari’s argument is that he appears to be chasing a local maxima by adopting a human-centric solution. His proposed solutions require not only human oversight but the oversight of an anointed few—presumably his preferred “elite” humans—even if other solutions might ultimately prove superior. He is caught in the illusion of control. While Harari’s position on transhuman capabilities is unclear, I suspect he would steadfastly defend human cognitive superiority to the bitter end.
In essence, Harari’s vision of self-correcting systems is optimistic yet flawed. By failing to fully acknowledge the limits of human fallibility and the structural influences of power and self-interest, he leaves his argument vulnerable to critique. Ultimately, his belief in the self-correcting nature of human institutions reflects more faith than rigour.
Chapter 2 of Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus centres on the power of stories and their role in shaping human societies. For Harari, stories are not merely narratives but essential tools that have elevated human-to-human networks into human-to-story networks—a transition he frames as unadulterated Progress™, reflecting his dyed-in-the-wool Modernist perspective.
Audio: Podcast on this content
The Power of Stories
Harari argues that fictional stories underpin the strength of social networks, enabling constructs like nations and economies to thrive. He celebrates these intersubjective frameworks as shared functional experiences that facilitate progress. While Harari’s thesis is compelling, his tone suggests an uncritical embrace of these constructs as inherently good. Branding and propaganda, for example, are presented as valid tools—but only when used by those on the “right side” of history, a position Harari implicitly claims for himself.
Order Above All Else
One of Harari’s key claims is that order trumps truth and justice. He justifies limiting both for the sake of maintaining stability, positioning this as his modus operandi. This prioritisation of order reveals a functionalist worldview where utility outweighs ethical considerations. Harari goes further to define “good” information as that which either discovers truth or creates order, a reductionistic view that leaves little room for dissent or alternative interpretations.
By extension, Harari endorses the concept of the “noble lie”—deception deemed acceptable if it serves these ends. While pragmatism may demand such compromises, Harari’s framing raises concerns about how this justification could be weaponised to silence opposition or reinforce entrenched power structures.
Alignment with Power
Harari’s alignment with institutional power becomes increasingly evident as the chapter progresses. His discussion of intersubjective constructs positions them as the bedrock of human achievement, but he appears unwilling to scrutinise the role of institutions like the World Economic Forum (WEF) in perpetuating inequalities. Harari’s lack of criticism for these entities mirrors historical justifications of despotic regimes by those aligned with their goals. He seems more concerned about AI’s potential to disrupt the plans of such institutions than about its impact on humanity as a whole.
Fiction as a Weapon
Harari concludes with an implicit hope that his narrative might gain consensus to undermine opposition to these power structures. His fondness for fiction—and his belief that “a story is greater than any truth”—positions storytelling as both a tool and a weapon. While this reflects the undeniable power of narratives, it also underscores Harari’s selective morality: stories are good when they align with his perspective and problematic when they don’t.
Final Thoughts
Chapter 2 of Nexus is a study in the utility of stories, but it also reveals Harari’s Modernist biases and alignment with institutional power. His prioritisation of order over truth and justice, coupled with his justification of noble lies, paints a picture of a pragmatist willing to compromise ethics for stability. Whether this perspective deepens or is challenged in later chapters remains to be seen, but for now, Harari’s narrative raises as many concerns as it seeks to address. I don’t mean to be overly cynical, but I can’t help but think that this book lays the groundwork for propagandising his playbook.
I question whether reviewing a book chapter by chapter is the best approach. It feels more like a reaction video because I am trying to suss out as I go. Also, I question the integrity and allegiance of the author, a point I often make clear. Perhaps ‘integrity’ is too harsh as he may have integrity relative to his worldview. It just happens to differ from mine.
Chapter 1 of Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus, ironically titled “What is Information?” closes not with clarity but with ambiguity. Harari, ever the rhetorician, acknowledges the difficulty of achieving consensus on what ‘information’ truly means. Instead of attempting a rigorous definition, he opts for the commonsense idiomatic approach—a conveniently disingenuous choice, given that information is supposedly the book’s foundational theme. To say this omission is bothersome would be an understatement; it is a glaring oversight in a chapter dedicated to unpacking this very concept.
Audio: Podcast related to this content.
Sidestepping Rigour
Harari’s rationale for leaving ‘information’ undefined appears to rest on its contested nature, yet this does not excuse the absence of his own interpretation. While consensus may indeed be elusive, a book with such grand ambitions demands at least a working definition. Without it, readers are left adrift, navigating a central theme that Harari refuses to anchor. This omission feels particularly egregious when juxtaposed against his argument that information fundamentally underlies everything. How can one build a convincing thesis on such an unstable foundation?
The Map and the Terrain
In typical Harari fashion, the chapter isn’t devoid of compelling ideas. He revisits the map-and-terrain analogy, borrowing from Borges to argue that no map can perfectly represent reality. While this metaphor is apt for exploring the limitations of knowledge, it falters when Harari insists on the existence of an underlying, universal truth. His examples—Israeli versus Palestinian perspectives, Orthodox versus secular vantage points—highlight the relativity of interpretation. Yet he clings to the Modernist belief that events have an objective reality: they occur at specific times, dates, and places, regardless of perspective. This insistence feels like an ontological claim awkwardly shoehorned into an epistemological discussion.
Leveraging Ambiguity
One can’t help but suspect that Harari’s refusal to define ‘information’ serves a rhetorical purpose. By leaving the concept malleable, he gains the flexibility to adapt its meaning to suit his arguments throughout the book. This ambiguity may prove advantageous in bolstering a wide-ranging thesis, but it also risks undermining the book’s intellectual integrity. Readers may find themselves wondering whether Harari is exploring complexity or exploiting it.
Final Thoughts on Chapter 1
The chapter raises more questions than it answers, not least of which is whether Harari intends to address these foundational gaps in later chapters. If the preface hinted at reductionism, Chapter 1 confirms it, with Harari’s Modernist leanings and rhetorical manoeuvres taking centre stage. “What is Information?” may be a provocative title, but its contents suggest that the question is one Harari is not prepared to answer—at least, not yet.
I’ve just begun reading Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus. As the prologue comes to a close, I find myself navigating an intellectual terrain riddled with contradictions, ideological anchors, and what I suspect to be strategic polemics. Harari, it seems, is speaking directly to his audience of elites and intellectuals, crafting a narrative that leans heavily on divisive rhetoric and reductionist thinking—all while promising to explore the nuanced middle ground between information as truth, weapon, and power grab. Does he deliver on this promise? The jury is still out, but the preface itself raises plenty of questions.
Audio: Podcast reflecting on this content.
The Anatomy of a Polemic
From the outset, Harari frames his discussion as a conflict between populists and institutionalists. He discredits the former with broad strokes, likening them to the sorcerer’s apprentice—irrational actors awaiting divine intervention to resolve the chaos they’ve unleashed. This imagery, though evocative, immediately positions populists as caricatures rather than serious subjects of analysis. To compound this, he critiques not only populist leaders like Donald Trump but also the rationality of their supporters, signalling a disdain that reinforces the divide between the “enlightened” and the “misguided.”
This framing, of course, aligns neatly with his target audience. Elites and intellectuals are likely to nod along, finding affirmation in Harari’s critique of populism’s supposed anti-rationality and embrace of spiritual empiricism. Yet, this approach risks alienating those outside his ideological choir, creating an echo chamber rather than fostering meaningful dialogue. I’m unsure whether he is being intentionally polemic and provocative to hook the reader into the book or if this tone will persist to the end.
The Rise of the Silicon Threat
One of Harari’s most striking claims in the preface is his fear that silicon-based organisms (read: AI) will supplant carbon-based life forms. This existential anxiety leans heavily into speciesism, painting a stark us-versus-them scenario. Whilst Harari’s concern may resonate with those wary of unchecked technological advancement, it smacks of sensationalism—a rhetorical choice that risks reducing complex dynamics to clickbait-level fearmongering. How, exactly, does he support this claim? That remains to be seen, though the sceptic in me suspects this argument may prioritise dramatic appeal over substantive evidence.
Virtue Ethics and the Modernist Lens
Harari’s ideological stance emerges clearly in his framing of worldviews as divisions of motives: power, truth, or justice. This naïve triad mirrors his reliance on virtue ethics, a framework that feels both dated and overly simplistic in the face of the messy realities he seeks to unpack. Moreover, his defence of institutionalism—presented as the antidote to populist chaos—ignores the systemic failings that have eroded trust in these very institutions. By focusing on discrediting populist critiques rather than interrogating institutional shortcomings, Harari’s argument risks becoming one-sided.
A Preface Packed with Paradoxes
Despite these critiques, Harari’s preface is not without its merits. For example, his exploration of the “ant-information” cohort of conspiracy theorists raises interesting questions about the weaponisation of information and the cultural shifts driving these movements. However, his alignment with power concerns—notably the World Economic Forum—casts a shadow over his ability to critique these dynamics impartially. Is he unpacking the mechanisms of power or merely reinforcing the ones that align with his worldview?
The Promise of Middle Ground—or the Illusion of It
Harari’s stated goal to explore the middle ground between viewing information as truth, weapon, or power grab is ambitious. Yet, the preface itself leans heavily toward polarisation, framing AI as an existential enemy and populists as irrational antagonists. If he genuinely seeks to unpack the nuanced intersections of these themes, he will need to move beyond the reductionism and rhetorical flourishes that dominate his opening chapter.
Final Thoughts
I liked Hararis’ first publication, Sapiens, that looked back into the past, but I was less enamoured with his prognosticating, and I worry that this is more of the same. As I move beyond the preface of Nexus, I remain curious but sceptical. Harari’s narrative thus far feels more like a carefully curated polemic than a genuine attempt to navigate the complexities of the information age. Whether he builds on these initial positions or continues entrenching them will determine whether Nexus delivers on its promise or merely reinforces existing divides. One thing is certain: the prologue has set the stage for a provocative, if polarising, journey.
As the clock ticks us into 2025, a peculiar tale has surfaced in the blogosphere: a dark twist on the classic fable of the “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” served with a side of nihilistic absurdity. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find the original story over at Blog for Chumps. It’s a biting little narrative that turns traditional moralising on its head. Here’s why it deserves your attention.
Audio: NotebookLM Podcast on this topic.
The Tale in Brief
A hungry wolf, tired of dodging vigilant shepherds, decides to forgo subterfuge altogether. He waltzes into the flock, making no effort to hide his predatory nature. A naïve lamb follows him, and predictably, the wolf claims his meal. Later, the wolf returns to the sheepfold, where the shepherd — instead of protecting his flock — teams up with the wolf. Together, they butcher a sheep before abandoning the scene entirely to indulge in McDonald’s, leaving the traumatised sheep to accept their grim new reality.
Not exactly bedtime reading for the kids.
Themes: A Cynical Mirror to Our World
This tale is not merely a grotesque subversion of pastoral simplicity; it’s a scalpel slicing into the rotting carcass of modern society. Here’s what lurks beneath its woolly surface:
1. Cynicism Towards Authority
In most fables, the shepherd embodies protection and care. Here, he’s a collaborator in senseless violence. The shepherd’s betrayal critiques the notion of benevolent authority, suggesting that those entrusted with safeguarding the vulnerable often act in their own interests or, worse, align themselves with destructive forces. Sound familiar? Think political complicity, corporate greed, or any number of modern failures of leadership.
2. Normalisation of Atrocity
The sheep, described as cognitively intact, accept their grim reality without resistance. This isn’t a story about oblivious innocence; it’s about the horrifying human capacity to adapt to systemic violence. It reflects how people, faced with injustice, often acquiesce to their oppressors rather than challenge the status quo.
3. Inversion of Expectations
The wolf doesn’t even bother with the traditional sheepskin disguise. His audacity mirrors the brazen nature of modern exploitation, where bad actors operate in plain sight, confident in the public’s apathy or resignation. It’s a commentary on the erosion of shame, accountability, and even the pretence of decency.
4. Absurdity and Nihilism
The shepherd and wolf ditch their victim to grab fast food, trivialising the violence they’ve inflicted. The juxtaposition of archaic brutality with banal consumerism is absurd yet disturbingly resonant. It suggests that, in our era, even cruelty can be relegated to a footnote in the pursuit of comfort or convenience.
Symbols: Layers of Meaning
The tale brims with symbolic resonance:
The Wolf: A stand-in for unchecked greed or predatory systems, the wolf’s brazen behaviour highlights the dangers of apathy and unchallenged power.
The Shepherd: His betrayal symbolises the failure of institutions — governments, corporations, or other entities — to protect those they claim to serve.
The Sheep: Far from being simple-minded, the sheep’s acceptance of their grim new reality is a biting critique of societal complacency.
McDonald’s: A modern symbol of triviality and consumerism, it underscores the absurdity of senseless violence in a world driven by shallow comforts.
A Stark Commentary on Power Dynamics
At its core, the story is a brutal satire of power and complicity. Though ostensibly adversaries, the shepherd and wolf unite to exploit the powerless. It’s a chilling reminder of how often power structures protect their own interests at the expense of the vulnerable.
The sheep’s passive acceptance is equally damning. It forces readers to confront their own role as silent witnesses or even complicit actors in systems of oppression. What happens when we’re no longer shocked by atrocity but instead integrate it into the fabric of our existence?
The Satirical Edge
What makes this story particularly effective is its dark, sardonic, and unapologetically hyperbolic tone. It revels in absurdity while delivering a grim truth about human nature. The shepherd and wolf’s nonchalance is as hilarious as it is horrifying, making the tale an unsettling mirror of a society where injustice and apathy often go hand in hand.
Final Thoughts
This fable may be short, but its implications are vast. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of complacency, the betrayal of trust, and the absurdity of modern priorities. More importantly, it’s a call to resist the normalisation of harm — to recognise wolves and shepherds for what they are and demand better from ourselves and those in power.
So, as we usher in a new year, let this tale serve as a grim reminder: the wolf doesn’t always need a disguise, and the shepherd isn’t always your friend. Sometimes, they’re just two blokes on their way to McDonald’s.
In the great philosophical tug-of-war between materialism and idealism, where reality is argued to be either wholly independent of perception or entirely a construct of the mind, there lies an underexplored middle ground—a conceptual liminal space that we might call “Intersectionalism.” This framework posits that reality is neither purely objective nor subjective but emerges at the intersection of the two. It is the terrain shaped by the interplay between what exists and how it is perceived, mediated by the limits of human cognition and sensory faculties.
Audio: Podcast conversation on this topic.
Intersectionalism offers a compelling alternative to the extremes of materialism and idealism. By acknowledging the constraints of perception and interpretation, it embraces the provisionality of knowledge, the inevitability of blind spots, and the productive potential of uncertainty. This essay explores the foundations of Intersectionalism, its implications for knowledge and understanding, and the ethical and practical insights it provides.
Reality as an Intersection
At its core, Intersectionalism asserts that reality exists in the overlapping space between the objective and the subjective. The objective refers to the world as it exists independently of any observer—the “terrain.” The subjective encompasses perception, cognition, and interpretation—the “map.” Reality, then, is not fully contained within either but is co-constituted by their interaction.
Consider the act of seeing a tree. The tree, as an object, exists independently of the observer. Yet, the experience of the tree is entirely mediated by the observer’s sensory and cognitive faculties. Light reflects off the tree, enters the eye, and is translated into electrical signals processed by the brain. This process creates a perception of the tree, but the perception is not the tree itself.
This gap between perception and object highlights the imperfect alignment of subject and object. No observer perceives reality “as it is” but only as it appears through the interpretive lens of their faculties. Reality, then, is a shared but imperfectly understood phenomenon, subject to distortion and variation across individuals and species.
The Limits of Perception and Cognition
Humans, like all organisms, perceive the world through the constraints of their sensory and cognitive systems. These limitations shape not only what we can perceive but also what we can imagine. For example:
Sensory Blind Spots: Humans are limited to the visible spectrum of light (~380–750 nm), unable to see ultraviolet or infrared radiation without technological augmentation. Other animals, such as bees or snakes, perceive these spectra as part of their natural sensory worlds. Similarly, humans lack the electroreception of sharks or the magnetoreception of birds.
Dimensional Constraints: Our spatial intuition is bounded by three spatial dimensions plus time, making it nearly impossible to conceptualise higher-dimensional spaces without resorting to crude analogies (e.g., imagining a tesseract as a 3D shadow of a 4D object).
Cognitive Frameworks: Our brains interpret sensory input through patterns and predictive models. These frameworks are adaptive but often introduce distortions, such as cognitive biases or anthropocentric assumptions.
This constellation of limitations suggests that what we perceive and conceive as reality is only a fragment of a larger, potentially unknowable whole. Even when we extend our senses with instruments, such as infrared cameras or particle detectors, the data must still be interpreted through the lens of human cognition, introducing new layers of abstraction and potential distortion.
The Role of Negative Space
One of the most intriguing aspects of Intersectionalism is its embrace of “negative space” in knowledge—the gaps and absences that shape what we can perceive and understand. A compelling metaphor for this is the concept of dark matter in physics. Dark matter is inferred not through direct observation but through its gravitational effects on visible matter. It exists as a kind of epistemic placeholder, highlighting the limits of our current sensory and conceptual tools.
Similarly, there may be aspects of reality that elude detection altogether because they do not interact with our sensory or instrumental frameworks. These “unknown unknowns” serve as reminders of the provisional nature of our maps and the hubris of assuming completeness. Just as dark matter challenges our understanding of the cosmos, the gaps in our perception challenge our understanding of reality itself.
Practical and Ethical Implications
Intersectionalism’s recognition of perceptual and cognitive limits has profound implications for science, ethics, and philosophy.
Science and Knowledge
In science, Intersectionalism demands humility. Theories and models, however elegant, are maps rather than terrains. They approximate reality within specific domains but are always subject to revision or replacement. String theory, for instance, with its intricate mathematics and reliance on extra dimensions, risks confusing the elegance of the map for the completeness of the terrain. By embracing the provisionality of knowledge, Intersectionalism encourages openness to new paradigms and methods that might better navigate the negative spaces of understanding.
Ethics and Empathy
Ethically, Intersectionalism fosters a sense of humility and openness toward other perspectives. If reality is always interpreted subjectively, then every perspective—human, animal, or artificial—offers a unique and potentially valuable insight into the intersection of subject and object. Recognising this pluralism can promote empathy and cooperation across cultures, species, and disciplines.
Technology and Augmentation
Technological tools extend our sensory reach, revealing previously unseen aspects of reality. However, they also introduce new abstractions and biases. Intersectionalism advocates for cautious optimism: technology can help illuminate the terrain but will never eliminate the gap between map and terrain. Instead, it shifts the boundaries of our blind spots, often revealing new ones in the process.
Conclusion: Navigating the Space Between
Intersectionalism provides a framework for understanding reality as a shared but imperfect intersection of subject and object. It rejects the extremes of materialism and idealism, offering instead a middle path that embraces the limitations of perception and cognition while remaining open to the possibilities of negative space and unknown dimensions. In doing so, it fosters humility, curiosity, and a commitment to provisionality—qualities essential for navigating the ever-expanding terrain of understanding.
By acknowledging the limits of our maps and the complexity of the terrain, Intersectionalism invites us to approach reality not as a fixed and knowable entity but as an unfolding interplay of perception and existence. It is a philosophy not of certainty but of exploration, always probing the space between.
“Ours may become the first civilisation destroyed, not by the power of our enemies, but by the ignorance of our teachers and the dangerous nonsense they are teaching our children. In an age of artificial intelligence, they are creating artificial stupidity.”
Image: Thomas Sowell with superimposed quotation cited above.
What a delightfully loaded statement. Sowell—a man whose intellectual credentials are as impeccable as his sweeping generalisations – manages, in a single breath, to malign teachers, dismiss contemporary education, and suggest that we’re hurtling towards some dystopian abyss because children today aren’t being taught…what, exactly? Latin declensions? The works of Burke? Perhaps the art of deference to authority? He never specifies. And why should he? Specifics would ruin the vibe.
This statement is a masterpiece of rhetorical dog-whistling. To those predisposed to Sowell’s worldview, it’s just common sense. Teachers are ignorant, modern education is a farce, and our children are doomed to a future of robotic ineptitude. It sounds plausible enough, provided you don’t stop to ask pesky questions like, “Which teachers? What nonsense? How, exactly, does one create artificial stupidity?”
The Cult of Common Sense
Let’s take a moment to examine the talismanic invocation of “common sense,” a concept as revered as it is elusive. Voltaire’s quip that “common sense is not so common” seems particularly apt here. What Sowell calls common sense is really shorthand for a monolithic worldview where civilisation is a neatly defined entity under siege by radical educators and their progressive agendas.
The problem? This worldview collapses under even cursory scrutiny. Civilisation is not a singular, static entity but an ever-evolving tapestry of conflicting ideas, cultures, and innovations. Teachers are not a homogenous cabal conspiring to dismantle society but an underpaid, overworked group trying their best to navigate a minefield of bureaucracy and societal expectations. And as for the “dangerous nonsense” being taught? Well, your guess is as good as mine. Critical thinking? Equity? Heaven forbid, empathy?
Ignorance as a Natural State
Sowell’s fans bristle at any suggestion that their intellectual idol might be guilty of hyperbole. But let’s consider the claim that teachers are “creating” stupidity. This presupposes that stupidity is an artificial construct rather than the natural baseline of humanity. The average IQ is, after all, 100 by design. For Americans, it hovers slightly below that at 97. This isn’t new. Stupidity doesn’t need to be created; it’s the default. Education’s job is to chip away at this deficit, not conjure intelligence ex nihilo.
To cast educators as villains in this endeavour is a disingenuous sleight of hand. Are there systemic issues in education? Of course. But to claim that teachers are actively fostering stupidity is akin to blaming firefighters for the existence of fires.
The Paradox of Intellectual Elitism
Here’s the kicker: Sowell himself is an intellectual. An elitist, no less, if we’re using his own fans’ definition. Yet his critique of intellectuals resonates with his audience precisely because they perceive him as an exception to the rule. “He’s one of us,” they say, failing to notice the irony. It’s the classic populist manoeuvre: position yourself as the voice of the people while enjoying all the privileges of the elite.
This paradox is not unique to Sowell. It’s the same dynamic that fuels the cult of Jordan Peterson, another intellectual who rails against intellectualism while wielding its tools. The result is a rhetorical echo chamber where dissent is dismissed as ignorance and agreement is lauded as truth.
The Dog Whistle Symphony
Sowell’s statement is, at its core, a symphony of dog whistles. It’s designed to resonate with those who already believe that modern education is a hotbed of progressive indoctrination. To this audience, it’s not a call to debate but a rallying cry. The terms – civilisation, ignorance, nonsense, artificial stupidity – are intentionally vague, allowing listeners to project their own fears and grievances onto them.
This vagueness is both the strength and the weakness of the argument. It’s compelling to those who share Sowell’s worldview but collapses under scrutiny. What is civilisation? What constitutes dangerous nonsense? Without definitions, these are just buzzwords masquerading as profundity.
Reframing the Conversation
So, how do we engage with such rhetoric? First, by refusing to accept its premises without question. Who are these teachers, and what are they allegedly teaching? What does Sowell mean by “civilisation”? Without specifics, his statement is not an argument but an incantation.
Second, by exposing the contradictions. If intelligence is the antidote to societal decline, as Sowell implies, then dismissing intellectuals wholesale is self-defeating. If education is the solution, then scapegoating teachers undermines the very people tasked with implementing it.
Finally, by recognising the emotional appeal at play. Sowell’s rhetoric taps into a deep-seated fear of change and loss. Addressing this fear requires empathy and nuance – qualities absent from his statement but essential for meaningful dialogue.
Conclusion
Thomas Sowell’s warning about “artificial stupidity” is less a diagnosis of societal decline than a litmus test for ideological allegiance. It’s a brilliant piece of rhetoric but a poor substitute for critical analysis. By unpacking its assumptions and exposing its contradictions, we can move beyond the echo chamber of dog whistles and engage in the kind of nuanced, constructive debate that Sowell’s own critique ostensibly calls for.
But then, nuance has never been common sense, has it?
