Paolo Veronese, The Adoration of the Magi, 1571 (source)
Attending to attentive canine figures in half a dozen paintings by Paolo Veronese, Thomas W. Laqueur explores the work of an artist whose love of dogs landed him in hot water with the Inquisition (and here)…
The art historian Kenneth Clark thought that Veronese was “the greatest dog lover of the Renaissance”. We have absolutely no biographical evidence to support this claim but we do have the evidence of numbers: there are a great many dogs in Veronese’s paintings. And Clark could have gotten support of a different kind from the great nineteenth-century critic John Ruskin. For Ruskin, Veronese’s dogs had a distinctive moral and social quality, which was especially prominent in one particular painting: Cupid with Two Dogs, a “great heroic poem”. Here, he wrote, two dogs are represented with the “highest, or spiritual view” of their nature: two magnificent mastiffs, “wildest of beasts perhaps they would have been by nature”. Between them is a beautiful boy, “golden quivered” — who represents, Ruskin thought, human love — holding the great beasts by a chain in his hands.
Paolo Veronese, Cupid with Two Dogs, 1580, a “great heroic poem” (source)
Love conquers savagery is how Ruskin interpreted the painting. But perhaps Cupid serves less as a stand-in for love (and its unpredictable nature) and more as a caretaker for these spectacular dogs, known for their steadfastness, who speak to a different kind of amorous union: one as faithful as dogs are to humans. The animals’ allegorical meaning, whatever it is, seems to me less important than the sweet intimacy with which the dogs are painted, grounded in their gaze and their sheer benign weightiness. The one on the right looks quizzically and seductively out at us; the other, the more relaxed one on the left, looks with Cupid toward the painter outside the frame. Perhaps contemporary viewers would have seen them as having been once the “wildest of beasts” but they seem very far from that now.
Visually they are the stars of the show in their almost psychedelically painted black-on-white spotted fur, their red tongues and glistening eyes like points of light. The curves of their backs frame the bathed, soft flesh of the Cupid figure; the leg of the dog on the left is intertwined with his leg — he is astride of it — and touches the left paw of the other dog. All this in a severely constrained space, a vignette, that stands at one end of a scale, with Veronese’s great theatrical scenes (and their dogs) at the other. This is a formally virtuosic painting, whatever else it is about or means, about dogs, doggishness, and the gaze. It would be a surprise, given his careful attention, if Veronese did not in fact love dogs…
[Laqueur considers other s of Veronese’s dogs…]
… We in fact have almost no documentary evidence why any painter, and Veronese in particular, was interested in thinking with dogs. But we do in his case have a tantalizing small hint because on July 18, 1573, he was called before the Inquisition to answer questions about one of his paintings, specifically about a dog that figures prominently, front and centre.
The Inquisitor asked if he had any idea why he had been summoned. Veronese replied that he did not although he speculated it might have been because the Inquisitors had summoned the Prior of San Giovani e Paulo who had commissioned a “Last Supper” from him as a replacement for a Titian on the same subject and “ordered him to have painted [in the picture] a Magdalen in place of a dog”. It had been more than three months since the painting had been finished; the dog was still there; no penitent prostitute had been added. Veronese confessed, that he had not done what they had ordered the Prior to order him to do. He told the Inquisitor that he would gladly do “everything necessary for my honour and for that of my painting”, but that he did “not understand how a figure of Magdalen would be suitable there.”
He had every reason not to understand. It is generally accepted that the painting in question was intended to be, as requested by the monastery, a Last Supper; we can identify it from all the detailed questions the Inquisitors asked and from its subsequent history. He might himself have caused some confusion by saying the painting was of the “Last Supper that Jesus Christ took with His Apostles in the House of Simon” when the Inquisitor asked what picture he was speaking about, although the Last Supper was neither at the house of Simon the Pharisee where the Magdalen story took place (Luke 7:36–50) nor of Simon the Leper (Mark 14:3–9) and Matthew 26:6–13) where Mary anointed Jesus. Veronese made no pretence in any of his feast scenes or other religious painting of faithfully illustrating a text. He was not unusual in this regard.
This was also not a Galileo moment: dogs in religious paintings did not threaten the teachings of the Church; there are plenty of them in paintings of The Last Supper. And they would be particularly appropriate in a commission from a Dominican monastery because of their well-known association with the order’s founder, St Dominic de Guzman. A black dog had announced to the saint’s mother “that she would bear in her womb a dog who, with a burning torch in his mouth and leaping from her womb, seemed to set the whole earth on fire”.6 She named her son after St Dominic of Silo, who had interceded on her behalf when she had failed to conceive. A dog with a torch in its mouth had already become in the late Middle Ages an iconographical sign for her son, the saint, in painting and sculpture for the order named after him and a logo until this day also for parishes named after the order’s founder. Everyone would know this. And, either in response to this story or independently much was made already in the Middle Ages of how the name of the order in Latin — Dominicanus — could easily be repurposed as Domini canis (“Dogs of the Lord”): dogs as the doppelgängers of the monks themselves, scurrying around corralling souls as in Andrea di Bonaiuto’s 1365 fresco Allegory of the Active and Triumphant Church.
But the problem was not, as Veronese first guessed, the presence of a dog instead of a Magdalen. In fact, he was not summoned in front of the Venetian Inquisition for heresy or even dubious iconography, although that charge was the ostensible subject of his trial. Veronese was collateral damage of local ecclesiastical politics, caught up in a struggle between Rome and Venice. The Inquisitor needed to prove himself to a new papal nuncio. In the context of the Counter-Reformation this painting could be construed as suspicious because of its indisputable theatrical extravagance; the Council of Trent had charged bishops with making sure that religious paintings were appropriately decorous and true to text.
Veronese’s only defence against this sort of attack — in addition to trying to claim he was no worse than Michelangelo in allowing his imagination full play — was a version of art for art’s sake: “We painters take the same licence the poets and the jesters take”. He filled the vast space of the canvas appropriately as his imagination dictated: his job was “to create the painting as I thought fit, it was large and could accommodate numerous figures”: “figures as ornaments, of my own invention”. The Inquisitor would have none of this. Everything in appropriate religious art, he was told, everything “befits the spiritual — there are no jesters, no dogs, no weapons, or any such silliness [as in yours]”. Veronese was ordered to “correct the painting” within three months.
In fact, all he did was put in a label where before there had been none. It read in the Latin of the Vulgate “Et fecit ei convivium magnum Levi in domo sua” (“Levi made the Lord a Great Feast”, Luke 5:29). A new name transformed Veronese’s Last Supper, in which soldiers and dogs and jesters might be regarded as sacrilegious and disrespectful, into a painting of a relatively obscure dinner with tax collectors and a great company of publicans at a rich man’s house to which Jesus had been invited. The Feast in the House of Levi, as the painting was now called, remained in the refectory of the priory for which it had been painted, watching over the monks as they ate, until it was moved to the Gallerie dell’Accademia in Venice in the nineteenth century.
Veronese, The Feast in the House of Levi (detail), 1573 (source)
* Martin Luther (speaking of his dog Tölpel [German for “klutz”]) in “Table Talk No. 2803” (1531), in Tischreden, vol. 3 (Weimar: Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1914) (author’s translation)
Quite a feet: Ig Nobel Prize winners took home this statuette, which was designed to celebrate the 2026 ceremony theme, fungi
It’s that time of year again: earlier this month, the Ig Nobel Prizes were awarded…
Scientists who studied cockroach milk proteins, splash-free urinals, and buried underpants garnered top honors at the 36th Ig Nobel Prize ceremony on Thursday, Sept. 3. The humorous honors, which are given “for achievements that first make people LAUGH, and then make them THINK,” were awarded in Zurich for the first time, after 35 years of ceremonies in the US. The Ig Nobel’s organizers at the magazine Annals of Improbable Research moved the ceremony because of safety concerns for international winners and journalists traveling to the US, according to Marc Abrahams, Ig Nobel founder and the master of ceremonies…
… The Ig Nobel in Biomechanics went to the University of Oxford’s Matilda Brindle and coworkers, who have redefined kissing as “non-agonistic interactions involving directed, intraspecific, oral-oral contact with some movement of the lips/mouthparts and no food transfer” after observing the behavior in ants, birds, polar bears, and primates (Evol. Hum. Behav. 2025, DOI: 10.1016/j.evolhumbehav.2025.106788).
The discovery that milk proteins from viviparous cockroaches—insects that nourish their developing offspring within their bodies instead of in an external egg case—possess three times as much energy as cow milk proteins garnered the coveted Chemistry Prize. A team led by Leonard M. G. Chavas at Dectris Japan and Subramanian Ramaswamy at Purdue University studied the proteins from living Diploptera punctata cockroaches (IUCrJ 2016, DOI: 10.1107/S2052252516008903).
For their study “Higher Social Class Predicts Increased Unethical Behavior,” Paul K. Piff at the University of California, Irvine, and coworkers took home the Economics Ig Nobel. Among other things, they learned that drivers of expensive, late-model cars were more likely to cut off other vehicles at a busy four-way intersection (Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 2012, DOI: 10.1073/pnas.1118373109)...
As we extol the eccentric, we might spare a thought for Orville Redenbacher; he died on this date in 1995. An agronomist and businessman, he was described by The New York Times as “the agricultural visionary who all but single-handedly revolutionized the American popcorn industry.” Redenbacher’s interest in popcorn blossomed early. It was the favorite snack on his family’s farm, and he grew it (and sold it from the back of his car) to earn extra spending money.
After graduating from Purdue, Redenbacher returned to agriculture, serving as a Farm Bureauextension agent, then working in fertilizer sales. In 1951, Redenbacher and partner Charles F. Bowman bought the George F. Chester and Son seed corn plant in Boone Grove, Indiana. Naming their company “Chester Hybrids,” they tried tens of thousands of hybrid strains of popcorn before settling on a hybrid they named “RedBow.” Over the next two decades, Chester became a worldwide supplier of popcorn seed while also selling its own varieties directly to consumers at its plant in Valparaiso, Indiana.
In 1970, the company introduced a new gourmet hybrid popping corn (developed by plant breeder Carl Hartman) and began distributing it to retail outlets. On the advice of an advertising agency, the product was branded under Orville Redenbacher’s name, and launched as Orville Redenbacher’s Gourmet Popping Corn (in 30-ounce jars)– with the tagline “World’s most expensive popping corn.”
While Orville Redenbacher-branded popcorn is still available, it is (a la last Wednesday’s post) no longer Orville’s passion product. In 1976, Redenbacher sold the company to Hunt-Wesson Foods, a division of Norton Simon, Inc. In 1983, Esmark purchased Norton Simon, which in turn was acquired by Beatrice Foods in 1984. In 1985 Kohlberg Kravis Robert acquired Beatrice with the goal of selling off businesses. In 1990, they sold the popcorn business and other old Hunt-Wesson businesses to agribusiness giant ConAgra.
Mardean Isaac, in The Republic of Letters, on chess and what it can– and can’t– teach us. He begins by recounting his personal history with the Royal Game, culminating in an intense period of play…
… Soon after I started my spree, I could already feel subtle cognitive re-wiring beginning to take place. The shape of those changes seemed to align with the objective lessons chess imparts; as if contemplating the findings on a psychedelic drug trip, the issue then becomes whether this is really the case.
People read themselves into interpretations of the greater significance of the game. For Vladimir Nabokov, like the sentence, chess reaches its most elevated form in the perfect rendering of problems into compositions. Stanley Kubrick, who used to put in 12 hour days playing in Washington Square Park, had a stab at life lesson stuff in an old Playboy interview: “Among a great many other things that chess teaches you is to control the initial excitement you feel when you see something that looks good. It trains you to think before grabbing, and to think just as objectively when you’re in trouble.” A 1966 profile of the director in the New Yorker reveals the grubbier material underneath that prudence. At the end of the piece, Kubrick sees the reporter eyeing what he perceives as a killer move, and breaks out in agony to encourage him to make it. But it turned out to be a trap; the move opened a pathway for Kubrick to win. The game’s laws are objective, and can be understood by analysing the outcomes of actions and potential actions. But while players are necessarily guided by explicit rules, they often gain their edge from covert ones. The edge-seeking on display there, rooted in an absence of institutional cushioning, would never leave Kubrick, as he strove to reach the apex of the most logistically burdensome and patronage dependent of art forms.
Chess is primarily a strategic, not a cultural, phenomenon. That is the key to its longevity: where culture changes and evolves, strategy survives and persists—merely as itself. Chess reveals the chiselled edges of strategic veracity: the failures that ensue from not registering your adversary; the complacency that sets in when seemingly comfortably in control; not recognising that risk is a constant, meaning that a good move, coming at the expense of a great one, can also harm you.
The logic of chess exists outside of us; and yet every move feels so personal. Is there an illustration of personal limits more acutely painful than making a truly dumb move, or not spotting a killer one? Not seeing things objectively is not only a guarantor of psychic torment—it often also leads to a kind of self-defeat anyway, because it shuts off routes to our own self-advancement, even if the solipsistic voice in your head might tell us otherwise.
This is where zugzwang (“move compulsion” in German) comes in. This strategic concept refers to a situation in which you have no choice but to make a move that will worsen your position. For example: you are in check, and have to protect your king by moving over a piece that will certainly be taken, reducing your pool of available pieces to the point where victory is made more difficult or impossible. (The only way out of zugzwang—resignation—is no way out at all: a fact which carries a dark metaphorical valence.) It seems to reach into the ultimate dynamic: biology set against time. The problem is: the onus is always on you—you who are always either preparing, or executing, the move you must make. The issue of needing to make a move; there being no such thing as stasis; and each one either advancing or worsening, is a kind of approximation of our biological existence. It’s a reminder that everything is advancing or hurting your cause. Whether or not you are creating the conditions for zugzwang boils down to the accumulated consequences of your own actions. It affirms that you are always responsible for advancing yourself—even, and especially, into oblivion. Worst of all, it affirms that you were responsible for creating the objective conditions that brought about your own drive towards defeat.
I can’t hang onto this moment any longer. It is up to me to decide whether I’ve played too many games for that, or too few. I can either accept that I now have to drive on into the endless forest of chess—or step back altogether, leaving this essay as the only footprint of my ramble across its periphery. As I contemplate the problems with either position, I realise I have already entered my own personal zugzwang…
Perhaps we’d do well to sort the “games” we play into those like chess worth playing, win or lose, and those that are not… Of those latter– especially of those the present themselves not so much as games, but as “the way things are”– as “Joshua / WOPR,” the computer in War Games, observes to “David Lightman” (Matthew Broderick) after thermonuclear annihilation is narrowly avoided: “A strange game. The only winning move is not to play.”
As we make a move, we might recall that it was on this date in 1964 that The Addams Family premiered on ABC. Based on a series of single-paneled cartoons by cartoonist Charles Addams for The New Yorker magazine that began in 1938, the series took the unnamed characters in the single-panel gag cartoons and gave them names, backstories, and a household setting. The main cast was: Gomez (John Astin), Morticia (Carolyn Jones), Lurch (Ted Cassidy), Pugsley (Ken Weatherwax), and Wednesday (Lisa Loring).
The show went off the air in 1966, but The Addams Family’s popularity never really died. Since that time, Hanna-Barbera created two different cartoon series based on the show, three feature films were released in 1991, 1993, and 1998 plus a direct-to-video movie in 1998. In 2019, MGM released a brand new full-length animated film which was pretty good followed by a sequel two years later which wasn’t. In 2022, Jenna Ortega starred in a Netflix show centering on the character of Wednesday Addams, but all of the Addams have supporting roles for the series Wednesday including Luis Guzman (Gomez), Catherine Zeta-Jones (Morticia) and Isaac Ordonez (Pugsley).
The U.S. workforce has just made the type of history it likely wishes it didn’t. Working Americans are taking home the smallest percentage of economic output, 52.8%, since the Bureau of Labor Statistics began tracking the metric in 1947.
But as the share of wealth workers take home through wages—called labor share—is shrinking, corporate profits have exploded, with the S&P 500 index gaining 600% since the beginning of the century, while wages have increased just 12.5% over the same period, adjusted for inflation.
In other words: Corporations are raking in cash, but American workers are reaping less and less of the rewards.
The consequences associated with shrinking labor shares are now becoming tangible. A recent Government Accountability Office (GAO) report found that across the 11 states sampled, Amazon, the country’s largest company by revenue, has 12,346 workers on the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) and 11,338 relying on Medicaid. That was nearly triple the number of Amazon employees in need of federal assistance compared to 2020, when GAO conducted a similar report. During that same period, Amazon saw an increase in annual profits from $11.6 billion to $77.7 billion. Amazon’s 2025 revenue soared 12% year over year, from $638 billion to a record $717 billion…
… Walmart and FedEx saw similar increases in the number of workers taking federal assistance, as did ride-share and delivery companies.
Kathryn Larin, director for education, workforce, and income security issues at GAO, told Fortune the data illustrates that the Americans taking advantage of social safety net programs today are overwhelmingly in the workforce, with most working full-time. The income threshold for SNAP eligibility is about 130% of the poverty line, suggesting that despite many of these workers clocking in at their jobs, they still don’t have enough money to meet their basic needs…
… Diane Swonk, chief economist and managing director at KPMG, recently warned of the hidden consequences of a shrinking labor share, particularly that despite economic indicators suggesting the economy is stable, most Americans are facing an ongoing affordability crisis. KPMG found in February that since 1982, corporate profits as a share of U.S. GDP increased from 8% to 15.85%. During that same period, employee compensation as a share of U.S. GDP shrank from 66.6% to 61.9%.
“This chart from my recent Economic Compass still haunts me,” Swonk said in a social media post at the time. [See chart at the top of this post.] “A friend refers to it as the ‘revolution chart,’ which [is] disturbing but telling. Inequality fuels social and economic instability.”
This trend has been about 50 years in the making, according to Anna Stansbury, an assistant professor of work and organization studies at the MIT Sloan School of Management.
Fewer workers in the U.S. are represented by unions—20.1% of U.S. workers in 1983 compared to 10.0% in 2025—giving them fewer opportunities to bargain for salaries and benefits, she noted. But more so, Stansbury blames the fissuring of the workplace, or the breakdown of the employer-employee relationship. In the past, the typical employer-employee relationship would be that of direct employment: A worker for a company does their work at the company they are employed by. For example, a large bank like Bank of America used to employ a janitor to clean its offices.
But “in more and more cases, that’s not actually people’s experience of the workplace, particularly in lower middle-income jobs,” Stansbury told Fortune.
Instead, large workplaces like retailers and banks hire gig workers or subcontractors to complete jobs once done by direct employees: Companies hire a security provider, which employs a security guard to work outside that large company’s office. Delivery drivers are contract workers, not full-time employees.
As a result, companies don’t have to provide those workers equity or benefits. If a subcontractor violates labor law, the company contracting them is not liable. In the meantime, these large companies are not only saving money on benefits, but are also getting to argue that they are increasing efficiency by not spending resources on workers whose roles are not directly driving revenue, Stansbury explained. A bank should employ bankers, not janitors, to get the most bang for its buck, the thinking goes…
[Rogelberg examines the argument that AI is a material contributor to the lowering of wages (see also here)…]
… Stansbury has a slightly different theory about AI. While the technology could begin to have an aggregate impact on the labor market, it’s still too early to say whether today’s shrinking labor share is part of a broader economic cycle, or if it’s a secular event, she said.
Unexpected inflation spikes, like what is currently happening, are usually associated with poorer real wages. If inflation is less volatile in the coming years and wage growth recovers, today’s trend of shrinking labor share could turn out to be cyclical, Stansbury said.
On the other hand, Stansbury noted, a tightening labor market should increase labor share, and the labor market is already relatively tight. If inflation stabilizes, employment remains narrow, and the labor share increases, it will be a sign of an economic cycle completing itself. A bigger problem will be if wage growth stays low even if inflation improves and the labor market stays tight.
“If those two things happen and the labor share continues to fall,” she said, “then it would suggest that there’s actually been a secular shift, a secular acceleration in the downward trend.”…
As we mind the gap, we might recall that it was on this date in 2011 that hundreds gathered in Zuccotti Park in the Financial District in Manhattan, to kick off the movement that became Occupy Wall Street by occupying the park. Fueled by wide distrust in the private sector after the Great Recession, the movement protested economic inequality, corporate greed, big finance, and the influence of money in politics. The OWS slogan was “We are the 99%.”
While the encampment, and the thousands who visited, were that anchor of the movement, Occupy Wall Street activists disseminated their message through social media, print magazines and newspapers (extant and OWS pop-ups like The Occupied Wall Street Journal), film, radio, and live streaming.
The protesters were forced out of Zuccotti Park on November 15, 2011– then turned their focus to occupying banks, corporate headquarters, board meetings, foreclosed homes, college and university campuses, and to social media.
Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello with Occupy Wall Street protesters outside of the Equitable Building in Lower Manhattan on Day 28 of OWS, October 14, 2011 (source)
Tracking the brands that got worse on purpose — and the ones that didn’t.
The Brand Ledger tracks 397 brands, from the tools in your garage to the pans in your kitchen. Who owns them, what they used to be, whether they’re still worth buying. Updated as things change…
On his blog, Worse on Purpose, he considers what quality is and how it is degraded. He begins with the story of his (now 15-year-old) Gibson Les Paul Studio guitar (a la the one pictured above), an exemplar, for Sapp, of “quality”…
… Everyone owns something like this: the old pair of boots, the battered wrenches, grandma’s cast iron pan, the 400,000 mile truck that will not die, etc…
Objects that wear in instead of wearing out. The ones whose quality you can feel the moment you pick them up.
Now try to explain what it is you feel.
Some quality lives in the guitar, the boots and the pan. You are able to detect it intuitively within seconds. But try to put to words precisely what it is you detect and you’ll discover a dilemma.
Your first instinct is to point at the materials. It’s mahogany. It has real humbuckers, a set neck, the best nitro lacquer. But that answer collapses the moment you notice the description fits every guitar on that wall. Two instruments leave the same factory in the same month, matching spec for spec down the line, and one sings while the other sounds weak. Every guitarist knows this, which is why nobody buys the model, they buy the individual guitar, only after noodling on it for a while. The spec sheet names everything the guitar is made of, and whatever quality is, it is not on the list of materials.
Fall back on “I just like it” and you sell the knowledge short, because standing in that store I wasn’t just voicing an arbitrary preference, I was detecting something. “This is a thing of quality. It is the one I want.” Fifteen years of ownership keep proving my instinct that day right.
That gap, between knowing good on contact and being able to say what good is, is one of the oldest open problems in Western philosophy. It is also the fundamental question this newsletter is attempting to answer.
Every investigation I’ve published documents the same story: a product stripped of what made it good while everything a shopper can check stayed intact. Same logo, same spec sheet, same four and a half stars, same price or higher. What got swapped out, the steel gauge, the stitch count and the years of service life, sits in the parts you can’t check from the aisle.
That gap between what you can verify and what actually matters is the whole game, for them and for you. They use it to slowly diminish the quality of the products you once loved without tripping an alarm. You can use it to watch the theft happen…
… In the late 1950s, a rhetoric instructor at Montana State College named Robert Pirsig noticed that his contract required him to teach “quality”. He asked around the faculty at the university and discovered that nobody could tell him what the word meant.
Teachers had been passing and failing students on the basis of quality for centuries without a definition. The problem ate at him for fifteen years, ultimately driving him to insanity. Pirsig’s best thinking on the nature of quality was eventually set down in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It stands alone as the most formative book I have ever read.
To illustrate the problem, Pirsig relays an experiment he ran with his students. He read four student papers aloud and had everyone rank them by quality on slips of paper. He ranked them himself, collected the slips, tallied the results on the blackboard, and set his own ranking next to the class average. His ranking and the students’ matched almost every time, across classes and semesters. A room full of undergraduates who could not define quality independently agreed on where it lived and where it didn’t.
So Pirsig landed on this problem statement:
“Quality is a characteristic of thought and statement that is recognized by a nonthinking process. Because definitions are a product of rigid, formal thinking, quality cannot be defined.”
Then he added the sentence that should be nailed above the door of every product team in America.
“Even though Quality cannot be defined, you know what Quality is.”
When colleagues demanded proof that an undefinable thing existed at all, he offered this subtraction:
Pull quality out of the world and street noise ranks with symphonies, slop ranks with dinner, and no made thing is worth choosing over any other. A world without quality would still function. You just wouldn’t want to live in it.
Similar threads have appeared across disciplines.
The architect Christopher Alexander encountered the same problem from a different angle. A career spent asking why some buildings feel alive and others feel dead ended in the same non-definition, a quality that in his words “is objective and precise, but cannot be named.”
What Alexander did about it is the useful part. If the thing itself could not be written down, the places where it reliably appears could be, so he and his collaborators catalogued 253 of them, pulled from centuries of buildings people love, and handed architects and builders a working method for producing quality in buildings and towns.
That is what every craft tradition is: a transmission system for the unnameable, carried in people rather than paper. It is why apprenticeship survives every technology invented to replace it: the judgment that produces quality transfers only by demonstration and correction, through thousands of supervised repetitions across years, from a person who has it to a person who does not yet.
That fact cuts both ways. The judgment that can only be carried in people is also the one thing no spreadsheet can measure.
Whatever resists definition resists measurement. Whatever resists measurement vanishes from the dashboard. And in a company run from dashboards, what vanishes from the dashboard vanishes altogether.
That blindness is not an accident of modern business. It was designed, it has an inventor, and the tragedy is that it was invented to do the opposite job. During World War II, a General Electric engineer named Lawrence Miles was tasked with scaling turbo-supercharger production for B-24 bombers from 50 a week to 1,000 while steel, copper and nickel were rationed to hell. He hunted substitute materials, and noticed the surprising fact that substitutes often made the part cheaper and better at the same time. In 1947 he formalized the method and called it value analysis. Identify the function a part serves, then find the best possible way to serve that function. Function first, cost second. Through this process, Miles built a machine for producing quality cheaper.
The method worked so well it quickly became universal. The Navy adopted it in the 1950s and renamed it value engineering. The Pentagon eventually wrote it into federal procurement rules. Miles’s 1961 handbook was translated into a dozen languages, and within a generation nearly every large manufacturer ran a version of the program. Continuous, itemized, never-ending review of everything a product is made of, scored in dollars saved. That framework is now as ordinary as accounting.
Unfortunately, his descendants now run the machine backward. The modern cost-down program starts from the spec sheet and asks what can be removed without a statistically significant change in buyer perception this quarter. The thinner steel passes the test. The glued joint passes. The plastic gear where the brass one was, the foam that loses a third of its resilience in two years etc…
Each change is approved in isolation, and each is too small for any buyer to notice on its own. That is the trick. No test compares the product to what it was ten years ago. Each product version is measured against last quarter’s, comes back as “no detectable difference,” and ships. So the degradation compounds beneath the threshold of every individual measurement, invisible at each step and enormous in total.
It is by this mechanism that quality, the unmeasurable property, erodes as a company places a greater insistence on measurement.
When we ask what quality actually is, only two answers exist. Either quality is objective, meaning a physical property located in the object itself. Or quality is subjective, meaning an opinion located in the person judging.
Take the first answer seriously. If quality is a physical property of the object, then instruments should detect it. We can measure a guitar’s weight, its neck relief, its fret height, its finish thickness down to the micron. No instrument has ever measured whether it is good. If quality sat inside the object the way mass sits inside the object, quality control would be a solved engineering problem and a factory could certify goodness the same way it certifies tolerances.
Now take the second answer seriously. If quality is only an opinion, then a quality judgment reports a fact about the judge and no fact about the object. Two things follow. First, quality judgments should distribute evenly, because nothing in the object itself would constrain them. Second, no quality judgment could ever be right or wrong, because there would be nothing objective in the world for it to be right about.
Ultimately, both answers fail.
Pirsig’s blackboard example demonstrates the failure of the first: his classes converged on the same rankings, semester after semester, with no criteria handed to them. They agreed independently on some notion of quality, recognized it, but could not explain it.
The second fails on an experience everyone reading this has had: being wrong about quality. Nobody has ever been wrong about liking vanilla, because a preference claims nothing factual about the world. A quality judgment claims plenty. When I decided that Les Paul was good, I was predicting that the neck would stay straight, the frets would survive the abuse, and the guitar would still be worth reaching for in fifteen years. Every one of those predictions could have failed, and with other guitars, for other players, they have. Boots that looked right have come apart in one winter, and every buyer of a bad pair has said the sentence that pure subjectivism cannot explain: “I was wrong about those boots.”
So if quality is not an objective property, since no instruments can detect it, and it is not just a subjective opinion because we are able to make predictions about the quality of an object that are verified in time, then what is it?
Pirsig’s answer was that the question itself smuggles in the false assumption that quality must be located in one place or the other. He argued instead that qualityis a feature of the relationship between the person and the object. Quality occurs when a person and a thing meet in use: the weight settling onto the shoulder, the wrench loaded to its limit and holding. Before they meet there is only a guitar and a player. Quality exists in the connection.
Apply this idea in the realm of consumer products, and the slow decline of quality starts making sense.
Every measurement a company takes lands on one side of the objective/subjective divide or the other. Spec sheets, tolerances, and materials testing measure the object alone. Surveys, star ratings, and focus groups measure opinions alone. And they sample the opinion at the wrong moment. A star rating gets filed in the first week of ownership, while the surface still shines, and the failures arrive in year three, when almost nobody returns to amend it.
Nothing measures the relationship, because the relationship only exists in use, in the hand, on the road and across years. So when quality drains out of a product, it drains from the one place no instrument points at. Both sets of numbers can hold perfectly steady while the thing between them disappears. That is how a product gets worse without a single metric moving. That is also how the people doing it stay convinced that nothing was lost.
What produced quality in the first place was care. Pirsig again: “Care and Quality are internal and external aspects of the same thing. A person who sees Quality and feels it as he works is a person who cares.”
A good object is a fossil record of care. Thousands of small selections made by people who could tell the good facts from the bad ones and picked the good, even when not doing so was cheaper or easier. The extra ounce of brass, the second coat of lacquer and the tolerance held a hair tighter than the drawing demanded. Every one of those selections survives for exactly one reason, which is that somebody with power over the object gave a shit.
That is why extraction works the way it does. When outside capital buys a great brand, nobody issues a decree that the product shall now be garbage. Instead, the people who previously made those thousands of selections either get laid off, retired out, or reorged into irrelevance, and the decisions migrate to a floor in an office building where nobody has ever actually used the product. Care cannot be exercised at that distance. Quality follows care out of the building, and the whole thing happens without any individual ever choosing badness directly. Absence does the job on its own…
…
… There are two ways to make money on quality. You can make a thing so good that people pay for it, keep it, and hand your name to their kids. That is the Miles road: quality found cheaper, profit as the receipt for care. Or you can buy the name after the caring is done, spend down four generations of accumulated trust, and be gone before anyone’s memory catches up…
* Plato’s Phaedrus (which means, as Sapp observes, that the question of quality is at least twenty-four centuries old)
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As we interrogate enshittification, we might recall that it was on this date in 1908 that Buick Motor Company head William Crapo Durant incorporated General Motors in New Jersey…
Durant, a high-school dropout, had made his fortune building horse-drawn carriages, and in fact he hated cars–he thought they were noisy, smelly, and dangerous. Nevertheless, the giant company he built would dominate the American auto industry for decades.
In the first years of the 20th century, however, that industry was a mess. There were about 45 different car companies in the United States, most of which sold only a handful of cars each year (and many of which had an unpleasant tendency to take customers’ down payments and then go out of business before delivering a completed automobile). Industrialist Benjamin Briscoe called this way of doing business “manufacturing gambling,” and he proposed a better idea. To build consumer confidence and drive the weakest car companies out of business, he wanted to consolidate the largest and most reliable manufacturers (Ford, REO, his own Maxwell-Briscoe, and Durant’s Buick) into one big company. This idea appealed to Durant (though not to Henry Ford or REO’s Ransom E. Olds), who had made his millions in the carriage business just that way: Instead of selling one kind of vehicle to one kind of customer, Durant’s company had sold carriages and carts of all kinds, from the utilitarian to the luxurious.
But Briscoe wanted to merge all the companies completely into one, while Durant wanted to build a holding company that would leave its individual parts more or less alone. (“Durant is for states’ rights,” Briscoe said. “I am for a union.”) Durant got his way, and the new GM was the opposite of Ford: Instead of just making one car, like the Model T, it produced a wide variety of cars for a wide variety of buyers. In its first two years, GM cobbled together 30 companies, including 11 automakers like Oldsmobile, Cadillac, and Oakland (which later became Pontiac), some supplier firms, and even an electric company.
Buying all these companies was too expensive for the fledgling GM, and in 1911 the corporation’s board forced the spendthrift Durant to quit. He started a new car company with the Chevrolet brothers and was able to buy enough GM stock to regain control of the corporation in 1916, but his profligate ways got the better of him and he was forced out again in 1920. During the Depression, Durant went bankrupt, and he spent his last years managing a bowling alley in Flint.
In the early 1900s public outcry over weak government regulation of gasoline-powered horseless carriages was significant. Durant clocked this public anger, and rather than relying on government regulations to improve their safety, he saw it as an opportunity to create a company which could improve the quality and safety of this new class of transportation. Fast forward just over a century and General Motors seems to have fallen prey to the extractive impulse that Sapp describes: the company and its cars are beset by myriadqualityissues.
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