Posts Tagged ‘philosophy’
“Historical oblivion is the default, not the exception”*…
Indeed. And that’s especially true of the institutions that guard the archives that are our cultural heritage. The ongoing transition from physical media sales to digital licensing markets has unleashed a new wave of archival ephemerality, which endangers these memory institutions’ core operations and threatens to plunge society into a digital dark age.
The stakes are high. As Haruki Murakami observed: “Robbing people of their actual history is the same as robbing them of part of themselves. It’s a crime… If our collective memory is taken from us – is rewritten – we lose the ability to sustain our true selves.”
Michael Menna (a Stanford Law Fellow who co-authored the “Our Future Memory” manifesto) and Lila Bailey (Senior Policy Counsel at one of the world’s most crucial repositories, The Internet Archive), call for four digital rights that would allow libraries, archives, museums, and other cultural heritage organizations (“memory institutions”) to uphold their shared public service mission of preserving history and providing access to information…
… We are living through a troubling paradox: Digital technologies have enabled the production and distribution of more information than ever, yet access to that information isincreasingly fragmented and fragile. These technologies should permit us to engage and learn from all the digital content at our fingertips. Instead, many of the basic rights we grew accustomed to in the physical world are now being overtaken by aggressive market tactics that do not reflect the public-interest values the law was meant to protect. If copyright, privacy, and other regulatory frameworks were designed to balance the interests of creators and users with the public’s need to access and contribute to the wealth of human knowledge, then our increasingly digital information economy has thrown that balance out of whack.
In this new media environment, publishers and other content providers have unprecedented power to control knowledge and culture with technical restrictions and exclusionary licensing terms. Governments also have an easier time censoring what people can see by scrubbing their websites and pressuring commercial platforms to do the same. These sudden changes will feel familiar to anyone who has logged onto a streaming service or social media app to find a movie or news story suddenly missing. But for libraries, archives, museums, and other cultural heritage organizations (“memory institutions”), it poses an existential risk to
their core public service mission of preserving culture and protecting history. When these organizations can no longer collect and provide access to digital materials, members of the public cannot place their trust in a stable record—which affects their ability to confidently participate in democratic discourse.
We write this paper from our perspective at the Internet Archive, a nonprofit research library that specializes in web archiving, digitization, and the preservation of media in all forms. We feel the harms from these shifts firsthand and hear many of the same complaints from our partner memory institutions around the world. That shared frustration with today’s digital landscape has given rise to an emerging consensus among libraries, archives, museums, and their allies, calling for better legal protections and practical options to continue their services and preserve cultural memory in today’s information age.
This two-part paper (1) presents the looming threat of “vanishing culture” as a first-order political crisis, and (2) discusses the key role that libraries and other memory institutions can play in meeting that crisis.2 In the first part, we examine the underlying causes of vanishing culture and trace its ripple effects along several different facets of modern life: (a) educational resources, (b) journalistic integrity, (c) civic engagement, (d) religious study, and (e) environmental policy. In the second part, we reintroduce a framework of four rights that would ensure memory institutions’ ability to work together to collect, preserve, and provide access to digital materials. This framework rests on the simple proposition that memory institutions should be allowed to do the same things in the digital world that they’ve historically done in the physical world. It originated in the 2024 statement titled Four Digital Rights for Protecting Memory Institutions Online3 before it became a global rallying cry for the Our Future Memory movement and its growing list of library, archive, and museum signatories. Together, these memory institutions are striving to combat the political causes and effects of vanishing culture by speaking with one voice to the importance of memory work in an age of digital ephemerality. That is why we call on all memory institutions, large and small, to sign onto the Statement and join the movement. Individuals and communities need memory institutions to educate themselves and freely participate in civic life, and every time a content provider lets critical information disappear online, it offers further proof that today’s digital markets alone do not constitute a viable alternative. If things do not change soon, we risk sleepwalking into a future where both memory institutions and the public they serve will become passive consumers, rather than active stewards of human knowledge…
Menna and Bailey explain the situation; unpack the four rights they propose: collection, preservation, access, and collaboration; then issue a call to action.
Eminently worth reading in full: “The Political Threats of Vanishing Culture and the Need to Protect Our Future Memory” (PDF here)
See also Vanishing Culture (full PDF here)
And consider joining me in supporting the Internet Archive.
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As we preserve and share, we might send open birthday greetings to a man who would surely have understood the importance of Menna’s and Bailey’s arguments: Sir Karl Raimund Popper; he was born on this date in 1902. One of the greatest philosophers of science of the 20th century, Popper is best known for his rejection of the classical inductivist views on the scientific method, in favor of empirical falsification: a theory in the empirical sciences can never be proven, but it can be falsified, meaning that it can and should be scrutinized by decisive experiments. (Or more simply put, whereas classical inductive approaches considered hypotheses false until proven true, Popper reversed the logic: conclusions drawn from an empirical finding are true until proven false.)
Popper was also a powerful critic of historicism in political thought, and (in books like The Open Society and Its Enemies and The Poverty of Historicism) an enemy of authoritarianism and totalitarianism (in which role he was a mentor to George Soros).
“I believe that we can forecast the ‘changing landscape of context,’ and thus get insight into when we are entering the danger zone”*…
Derek Thompson shares his interview with philosopher Agnes Callard…
Here are some questions that I consider self-evidently compelling about the modern world:
- Why is the news media so interested in telling you how much the world sucks all the time?
- Why are so many of us obsessed with distraction and managing our attention?
- Why is it so hard to stop comparing ourselves to others?
- And why does everything in art and design seem the same these days?
A week ago, I didn’t think these questions were related. I’m not sure I would have told you I had a good answer to most of them. And I certainly wouldn’t have made the audacious and borderline bonkers claim that one single theory could begin to explain all of them, at once.
But then I had the pleasure of speaking to Agnes Callard, the University of Chicago professor, about her new theory called “the uni-context.” It’s easily one of them most interesting conversations I’ve had all year. And once you’ve heard or read it, I think you might find it hard to think about anything else.
One way to prepare your mind for Callard’s theory of the uni-context is to think about the better-known concept of “context collapse.” If you post something to social media, it will be simultaneously visible to your boss, your parents, your ex, and total strangers. So, while your offline life might be distinct with each of these groups—you might be differential to your boss, childish with your parents, and bawdy with your friends—all of those distinctions are flattened on the internet. That’s context collapse, and you can think of it as the answer to a question: How do informational norms change when we’re all living in the same universal room?
Callard takes the idea significantly further. She asks: How do all other norms—our morals, our ethics, our sense of what is good for us and for others—change when we continually imagine ourselves to be living in a universal room with everybody else? The connections that Callard makes are consistently surprising, often quite funny, and ultimately mind-exploding…
A small sample…
… Thompson: Tell me if this is a fair recapitulation of our conversation so far.
For most of human history, people judged norms based on local context. A home had its own rules, a cathedral its own rules, and a classroom or bar or funeral parlor had its own rules. But now it is almost like we are constantly living in universal rooms, and the universal room we occupy is assumed to have universal values and universal norms. That has specific implications. First, rather than talk about what is good, which is context-dependent, we tend to focus about universal truths, and it’s easier to talk about universal bads than goods, so people focus on negativity. Two, character is context-dependent, so we talk less about character and more about its universalist equivalent, which is identity.
There’s a third implication that we should discuss. If everyone is on the same comparable plane, the same evaluative field, then comparison itself becomes a more inextricable part of life.
Callard: Exactly.
Thompson: Tell me how the uni-context leads to a world of more comparison and competition.
Callard: Imagine two school districts with two high schools that do things slightly differently. If you’re in district A, you go to school A, and if you’re in district B, you go to school B. There might be a lot of information about what they do, but people treat it as: I’m in this district, so I go to this school. Then they change the rule: You can go to either school no matter where you live. Suddenly there is motivation to compare. You had the information before, but no motivation to compare, because the schools were not in the same space of choice, the same evaluative field.
Now they are, so you find ways to compare them: graduation rates, what colleges people get into, how many AP classes they teach. And that affects the schools. Suppose one gets less popular because it doesn’t teach many AP classes. They were offering an individualized curriculum, but now everyone’s going to the other school, so they say, “We’ve got to teach AP classes too.” The process homogenizes the two schools, so they can compete. That’s not the only possible result. They could specialize, with one becoming the school for freshman and sophomore years, the other becoming the school for junior and senior years. But if they don’t recreate a normative barrier, you get homogenization from comparison.
As more things enter the same evaluative field, you make comparisons you never used to be able to make.
Thompson: There are three pieces I’m trying to keep straight.
One, the upstream phenomenon of the uni-context. Two, the downstream phenomenon of more fields of comparison. Three, the further downstream phenomenon of homogenization.
This is where the theory really starts to sing for me, because I think about sports. As the analytics revolution came for baseball, you had all these teams in possession of the same statistics by which they could compare players. Previously, you had 30 teams using their own private scouts, so their analysis was more context-dependent. But when an easily calculable statistic like on-base percentage or WAR becomes the conventional way to evaluate whether a player is good, all the players become part of the same comparative set. You can rank them one-to-250 easily on a spreadsheet.
But analytics didn’t just lead to more math, or more comparison. It led to more homogenization of strategy. One of the great critiques of baseball has been that every team essentially does the exact same thing: it’s the same strategies for pitchers; the same strategies for hitters; the three true outcomes; all the batters swinging for the fences. So you have the uni-context creating a comparative field, in this case analytics, which leads to homogenization.
Callard: What you said reminded me that I have a theory of the inflection point for the uni-context. I don’t think it started five or ten years ago. The moment it really showed up was around 1910.
One century ago, there were a bunch of people looking around at the world, thinking: What the hell is happening? Did culture break? A lot of those people were novelists, and they wrote a new kind of novel called the modernist novel, which is a novel about how to live in a world in which the uni-context is just coming into existence. Theorists of the time—such as Georg Simmel, Max Weber, and Martin Heidegger—they noticed something weird was going on. They tended to describe it in terms that sound almost like the opposite of the uni-context. They described it as the fragmentation of everything. All of a sudden, they said, everything is breaking apart. That was my first clue.
The reason I thought of this is that you said everything is becoming homogenous, and I thought, “in a way, yes, but that’s a later effect.” The first thing that happens when a bunch of stuff is unified in a single evaluative field is that you feel overwhelmed by your choices. It feels like stuff is fragmented, because you don’t know how to compare these things, because you haven’t yet developed technologies of comparing them.
So, the early feeling of the uni-context was a feeling of the world being fragmented. If you were a medieval peasant doing art, you were in art’s normative world. If you were in the church, you were in the church’s normative world. But in the 20th century, around World War I, you start to think: How do we reconcile the schoolteacher turned murderer, the soldier? How do we think about the relationship between art and religion? We’re suddenly trying to compare all these different values inside a single context, and the world feels dis-unified. Eventually we get technologies of commensurability. What fragmentation really means—and that part was invisible to these writers—is that suddenly everything is part of the same evaluative field. That’s why you experience a multiplicity where you used to experience one thing at a time…
There’s much more, all of it provocative. Here, the conclusion…
Thompson: I want to know what we should do about this.
A simple answer might be: When you’re having dinner with your family, you can be present with your family, or you can be on your phone, which is a universal room that makes you everywhere at once. So put away the phone. But that feels like a cheap and predictable answer. Do you have something prescriptive that isn’t just “put away the phone at family dinner?”
Callard: The question of whether the uni-context is good or bad is loaded, because the uni-context struggles to see good things. It’s better at seeing bad things. Pretty much everyone who hears me talk about the uni-context immediately responds that it’s bad. I’ve never had anyone say, “The uni-context sounds great!”But the thing is that this supposedly bad thing is a thing we’re creating. We’re choosing it over and over again. Even me talking to you from far away about an abstract thing [is the uni-context.]
The uni-context is a space of unruliness. It’s a space in which a certain thing about humanity gets expressed, namely our deep aversion to “world closure.” For almost all of human history, we have lived in closed little worlds, and those worlds presented themselves as the only world. A series of contexts presented the person with direction—here’s what you should do. What we are moving toward is a “world openness” that we hunger after, where I’m not just going to do things a certain way because that’s how we do things or where I was born.
Antonio Gramsci famously said, “the old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters.” So, how do we use openness, as Callard describes it, as space in which to create a world in which we want to live? How do we recover the wisdom imbedded in context– the accreted shell of our shared history– without context’s reactionary trappings? How do we build anew a better world?
In any case, once you learn what the “uni-context” is, you won’t stop seeing it everywhere: “A Philosopher’s One-Word Theory to Explain Why the World Feels So Weird,” from @dkthomp.bsky.social and @agcallard.bsky.social.
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As we muse on milieu, we might recall that it was on this date in 1963 that The Essex (a singing group composed of four active-duty Marines) reached #1 on Billboard R&B chart with their first release “Easier Said Than Done” (which had been intended as the B-Side of the record); it went on to top Billboard‘s Hot 100, and was the biggest hit of their career.
“This was not that the subject was simple enough to be explained without mathematics, but rather that it was much too involved to be fully accessible to mathematics.”*…
The idea of ‘biological agency’ — that life devises its own goals and behaves accordingly — complicates our understanding of what it means to be alive. But, Philip Ball asks, does it serve a scientific purpose?…
In 1993, a team led by the planetary scientist Carl Sagan tentatively concluded that there is life on Earth. Not much of a deduction, you might think — except that the researchers confined their evidence to observations made by the Galileo spacecraft, which had flown past our planet three years earlier on a looping journey to Jupiter. So great is the transformative power of life that its presence can be detected just from the light and radio waves our planet emits or reflects into space. Today we scan the cosmos for some of these telltale signatures light-years away.
Life leaves a mark, yet even now there’s no scientific consensus about what makes living things so different from inorganic substances like the rocks, gases, and oceans that are the sole components of dead worlds. Many scientists cite properties such as replication or metabolism. Others speak in more abstract terms about the way life is out of thermodynamic equilibrium with its surroundings. But some give another kind of answer. Living organisms are different because they do stuff for reasons.
It’s not enough to say that life is a nonequilibrium organized state through which there’s a constant flux of matter and energy. That description applies to hurricanes, too. But hurricanes just are. Only living entities have goals: to find food, to reproduce, to survive, sometimes simply to experience good things. (Dog owners will recognize that this is not just a human attribute.)
One way to express this idea is to say that living organisms have “agency.” It’s a hotly contested term. Some biologists reject it outright, at least for any organisms except humans, because we decide on our actions with conscious deliberation. (Whether we’re truly the only species to do so is another issue.) Others think that agency is a fundamental attribute of all life. Since there’s no agreed-upon definition of the term, to some extent it can mean whatever you want it to mean. But the debate about biological agency touches on fundamental issues in our understanding of what it means to be alive, because agency evokes a notion that biologists and philosophers have always wrestled with: teleology, the apparent purposiveness of life. If we admit agency into biology, do we open the floodgates to ideas about design, vitalism, or cosmic meaning? Or is it just a recognition of what makes life such a special state of matter?
To me, the notion of agency indeed speaks to our intuitive sense of what makes living things so special: not mere machines pushed around by environment and circumstance. I suspect that aversion to agency betrays a queasiness about confronting life as something more than some kind of genetic program. But there’s danger in the idea, too: It could so easily derail the work of studying the mechanistic explanations of how life works. I’m not looking to either bury or praise agency, but to explore whether it can be a scientifically productive idea…
[Ball unpacks the idea of agency, then reviews both scientific observations and the theories that they have provoked. He concludes…]
… I’m cautiously optimistic about the prospects of uniting such theoretical ideas with biological mechanisms. It seems unlikely to be coincidental, for example, that organisms that seem to show more agency also have molecular pathways that permit more openness to the influence of context and external information.
If we can get a clearer idea of what makes an agent, this could help us to understand how collective goals arise — as they did when multicellular organisms first arose long ago — and how they can break down, as in cancer. What’s more, a proper theory of agency might give us a clearer idea of what’s needed to make genuine artificial agents, not just computers and machines programmed with our own goals, but ones that can formulate their own. We might then also get a clearer idea of the potential benefits and dangers such truly agential machines might bring. But perhaps the most compelling argument for recognizing agency is that it might help us understand what makes life so different — not just humans, but life — that it is able to shape an entire planet in a manner visible from outer space.
Purpose? Goals? On the idea of “biological agency”: “Is Life Just Different?” from @philipcball.bsky.social in @quantamagazine.bsky.social.
* Erwin Schrödinger in What Is Life? (in which he wrestled, in his way, with Ball’s question, contending that life feeds on negative entropy) Full text here.
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As we wonder why, we might send frustrated birthday greetings to Ernő Rubik; he was born on this date in 1944. An architect and inventor, he created the Rubik’s Cube (in 1974), which has become the world’s best-selling puzzle game, with over half a billion sold.
A Rubik’s Cube consists of 26 small cubes that rotate on a central axis; nine colored cube faces, in three rows of three each, form each side of the cube. After the cube arrangement is randomized (the highest level of entropy), the player must restore order (that’s to say, practice “negative entropy”), returning it to the original condition of faces with matching colors on each side — which is one among 43 quintillion possible configurations.
“If it is not right, do not do it; if it is not true, do not say it.”*…
Stoicism is having a moment. The estimable Timothy Snyder considers the events of the day in the light of Marcus Aurelius‘ thoughts– and actions…
As Donald Trump announced his whimsy war in Iran, I was reading about another imperial campaign, long ago, against an Iranian people.
In the late second century AD, the Roman Empire confronted armies that had crossed the border at the Danube River and even broached the Alps in northern Italy. Among them were the Iazyges, speakers of an Iranian language, who hailed from the Ukrainian steppe.
In Ukraine this February, I was learning about an archaeological find which reveals the interactions of the Romans and the Iazyges, which included alliance as well as enmity. The Roman war against the Iazyges allies was commanded personally by Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who spent the years between 171 and 180 AD at the front. During that time he kept a philosophical diary, probably written at night in his tent. Discovered after his death, that text, known as the Meditations, is a great work of Stoic philosophy.
I turned to the Meditations to see if I could learn anything that would help me to understand the work of Ukrainian archaeologists about the interactions between Romans and Iazyges. I found something else: perspective on the wars of today, and a sense of why, beyond his obvious incompetence in military matters, Trump had to lose his.
It was shaming to read the bombast of Trump: (”no president was willing to do what I have done tonight”) alongside the reflections of Marcus (“when things have such a plausible appearance, show them naked, see their shoddiness, strip away their own boastful account of themselves.”) Trump broadcast his arrogance to millions of people; Marcus wrote for himself.
Despite the fact he was commanding an army at the front, Marcus never mentioned the war in his Meditations. War was simply something he had to do; he had no difficulty seeing the other side as people, or understanding their motivations. He mentions the Iazyges only once in the text: to make a broader point about hubris, to suggest that it was wrong for Romans to take pride in taking a prisoner of war.
Although Marcus did not broach the subject of my interest, I could not stop reading his Meditations. The contrast with Trump’s utterances was astounding, and vertiginous. The one could spend nine years in command and write a philosophical diary in which he did not even mention the war; the other immediately leapt to praise himself for a war he would lose in weeks…
[With an focus on the “adventure in Iran,” Snyder elaborates the (painfully unflattering) comparison…]
… The American leaders had no idea of who they were or what they wanted, aside from the satisfaction of their emotional needs by the killing of others. They were unable to imagine that people on the other side might have ideas about their own interests and plans for their own behavior. The could not see the world, even in its plainest representation as geography; whereas Marcus exploited a bend in the Danube River to tactical advantage to win a battle; Trump chose to ignore the physical limit the Straits of Hormuz can place on world trade. As soon as the war began, the Iranians did the obvious: they responded to American long-range attacks with the same; and they blocked the Straits.
Because the Americans were operating without a sense of themselves, of the world, or other people, this came as a surprise. Marcus Aurelius offers this mild comment: “How absurd — and a complete stranger to the world– is the man surprised at any aspect of his experience in life!”
The Americans, strangers to the world, reacted to their feelings of surprise with fantasies of destruction. The pleasure they took in killing became a vision of annihilation. Rather than confront the errors they made about war, the Americans leapt to visions of violence in which no one would ever have to think again. Trump lost control on Easter Sunday when he tweeted: “Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell.” He then promised that he would bomb Iran “back to the Stone Age, where they belong” and said that “a whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again.” In our modern legal and ethical language, this is of course genocidal language. The American bombast was followed by American surrender.
Marcus Aurelius won his war against the Iazyges. He combined victory and prudence, and for this he was and will be remembered. The defeated Iazyges returned to their previous role as Roman clients, offered thousands of cavalrymen as soldiers of Rome, and opened trade routes to the east. Marcus’s philosophical diary has been read for the better part of two millenia; so long as we are present as a literate civilization, it will be read. Despite Marcus’s certainty that we will all be forgotten, others built a victory column in his honor after his death; it still stands in Rome, more than one thousand eight hundred years later.
Another legacy of Marcus’s victory also touches the center of what we think of as Western culture. As part of the peace accord, he dispatched 5,500 Iazyges cavalrymen, taken into his service, to the north of what is now northern England, to defend the Roman border at Hadrian’s Wall. Their first commander was a man named Arthur, and it is possible that the Iazyges and some of their Iranian-speaking kin incorporated his name into stories of their own — of a lady in the lake, of a sword in a stone, of a quest for a golden cup — which, with time, became the legend of Christian chivalry. That is another story, and one worth telling.
But it is also part of the story of Marcus Aurelius, which, despite the fact that he chose not to tell it himself, or rather precisely for that reason, is instructive about our predicament today. Stoicism is a way not to be a stranger to the world; it can protect the powerful from vanity and folly. To fall into a stupor of self-absorption, as Trump has done, is to flee from reality. Few wars are worth fighting; those that are fought can only be won in the world, and not within the tortured confines of estranged minds. Trump hastens now towards our shared horizon of death, seeking honors that only posterity can accord and will not…
On what Trump could– and should– learn from Marcus Aurelius: “Of Stoicism and Stupor,” from @timothysnyder.bsky.social.
“We are the other of the other”
“Ask yourself at every moment, ‘Is this necessary?”
“Kindness is invincible.”
– Marcus Aurelius
(TotH to MKM)
* Marcus Aurelius
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As we barrel back to basics, we might recall that it was on this date in 1956 that Elvis Presley, working for the first time with backing vocal group the Jordanaires, recorded “Don’t Be Cruel,” which had been written by Otis Blackwell.
The single was released on July 13, 1956, backed with “Hound Dog.” Within a few weeks “Hound Dog” had risen to No. 2 on the Pop charts with sales of over one million. Soon after it was overtaken by “Don’t Be Cruel,” which took No. 1 on all three main charts; Pop, Country, and R&B. Between them, both songs remained at No. 1 on the Pop chart for a run of 11 weeks. “Don’t Be Cruel” was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2002. In 2004, it was ranked No. 197 in Rolling Stone’s list of 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.
“A Country is not a mere territory; the particular territory is only its foundation. The Country is the idea which rises upon that foundation; it is the sentiment of love, the sense of fellowship which binds together all the sons of that territory.”*…
The “nation state” as we know it grew from the Treaty of Westphalia (which ended the Thirty Years’ War in 1648) and the “Westphalian system” of states that it spawned. While scholars debate the emergence of the modern nation-state, most see it as a 19th-century European phenomenon facilitated by developments such as state-mandated education, mass literacy, and mass media.
From the beginning, some scholars (and speculative authors), pondered what might come after the nation-state. Some foresaw a global government; some, an evolution into communal anarchy or zero world government, in which nation states no longer exist. In the 1990’s, Samuel P. Huntington suggested the devolution of the world into clashing civilizations.
In the event, how are nation-states doing?
As we skate up toward the (date on which we choose to celebrate the) 250th “birthday” of the U.S., we might feel that the “idea,” that sense of love and fellowship in the U.S., is under strain. And as we look around the world, we see those “national virtues” fraying in country after country.
So it’s auspicious that Will Davies and Andrew Barry have collected several colleagues views on the state of The State…
Events in the 2020s have raised the question and problem of ‘the state’ anew, in ways that few could have predicted, even if there was a clear sense that neoliberalism was already faltering or dying over the previous decade. A new era of mercantilism, protectionism and economic nationalism apparently dawned, as successive US administrations increasingly sought to weaponize trade policy to resist rising Chinese power in the global economy. The Biden administration’s rhetoric, which elevated national security concerns alongside economic growth, questioned the allocative efficiency of international markets and pressured European powers to similarly foreground geopolitical considerations in their economic policies (Sullivan, 2023). The Inflation Reduction Act and CHIPS Act, both passed by the US Congress in 2022, demonstrated a more concerted effort by the Federal government to direct private and public sector investment towards strategic national security goals. The second Trump administration’s determination to press ahead with tariffs on dozens of US trading partners, despite causing financial instability and harm to US corporations and consumers, has further signalled a new era of state economic interventions and geopolitical tactics.
Significantly, one thing that distinguishes the present conjuncture from the immediate post-2008 world is that prominent liberal elites in ‘the West’ are now notably reflexive and at pains to declare a new policy paradigm (e.g. Foroohar, 2022). For example, following large investments by the Hewlett Foundation in 2018 and 2020, a research agenda developed in pursuit of ‘post-neoliberalism’, which has seen high profile attempts to draw a line under a ‘free market’ economic model. Indeed, some argue that there is a need to celebrate the state as a source of economic dynamism, security and technological strategy (Mazzucato, 2013, 2021). Ideas of ‘modern supply side’ economics, ‘new productivism’ and ‘abundance’ have also emerged in the United States to provide strategic direction for a more active and interventionist state (Klein & Thompson, 2025; Rodrik, 2022; Yellen, 2022). In a striking public manifestation of this movement, Britain’s then shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves, outlined a vision of what she termed ‘securonomics’ that wedded goals of prosperity with those of national security (Reeves, 2023).
The new fusion of geopolitical strategy and economic policymaking in the United States and Europe, evident in renewed enthusiasm for industrial policy, ‘onshoring’ and ‘friend-shoring’ of supply chains, was catalyzed in part by both the COVID-19 pandemic and the Russian invasion of Ukraine. It is also associated with the continuing long wave of competitive innovation in digital technologies, including AI, the rise of China as an alternative economic model, and the contested political response to climate change. In these circumstances, juridical problems of borders and sovereignty have become entangled with material problems of energy, natural resources and ‘critical minerals’, leading to heightened geopolitical interest in areas of the globe (such as the Arctic, the DRC, Ukraine, Venezuela) that are now thought to be of particular geological and strategic importance in an era of ‘transition’ (Barry & Gambino, 2024). Disruption to supply chains and energy security, following the crises of 2020–2022, led to worldwide inflation, driven by supply-side factors that policymakers were ill-equipped to respond to, and for which most incumbent political parties were punished in the 60 national elections of 2024 (Weber et al., 2024). Attention turned toward the capacity of states to govern in areas of national strategic importance, where infrastructure, technoscientific innovation, energy security and critical resources are needed to sustain competitiveness and boost productivity.
The international order appears to be in a state of flux, to a greater extent than at any point since 1989, and arguably earlier. The global economy is fragmenting along with the ideology of a ‘rules-based international order’ (Amoore, 2023). The decentring of ‘the West’ in the global economy and the over-arching challenges of technological change and climate breakdown are profoundly altering what is expected of ostensibly autonomous states vis-a-vis competitors. Assumptions about neoliberal or ‘advanced liberal’ rule which achieved hegemony in the 1980s and 1990s, no longer seem adequate in a geopolitical, ecological and technological context in which the state is being asked to do far more, by capital, by publics and by emerging technologically mediated epistemological arrangements that offer novel ways of perceiving, characterizing, classifying and knowing the increasingly uncertain world.
Arguably, the question and problem of the state have been posed most forcefully by illiberal, authoritarian nationalist regimes, driven by the rising popularity of many radical and far right political parties. ‘Populist’ parties of the Right have been in the ascendence in many democracies around the world since the global financial crisis (Hopkin & Blyth, 2019; Revelli, 2019). Given electoral successes in India, Brazil, Hungary, Italy and the United States, populist leaders and parties are no longer simply critics of the status quo. They have pushed forward policies for targeting their ideological and ‘cultural’ opponents, whether these are to be found in universities, the ‘old’ print and broadcast media, independent civil service and so on. In these states in particular, ethno-nationalist, patriarchal and ‘anti-woke’ agendas have been threaded through public policies in areas of education, culture, welfare and border control, with fiscal policy also being remade to serve radical Right agendas.
Here and elsewhere, rising authoritarianism and nationalism appear able to co-exist with a new strain of anarcho-capitalist libertarianism that further challenges liberal assumptions about jurisprudence and bureaucracy, as arbiters of public goods (cf. Hall, 2017). ‘Neo-reactionary’ and anti-democratic ideologies, which first achieved hegemony in relatively niche online communities, now threaten to disrupt the basic capacities of the modern bureaucratic liberal state, casting doubt on the value and durability of democracy and the rule of law (Slobodian, 2024; Smith & Burrows, 2021). As illustrated by the example of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) in the second Trump administration, the collapse of trust in government, politicians and the mainstream media in many democracies potentially offers greater freedom and political power to private wealth and rentiers, as a substitute for public institutions.
The above are somewhat disparate examples, drawn from the midst of a fast-moving situation of apparent state transformation for which we do not yet have an adequate theoretical framework or name. They may not all belong to the same tendency and may contradict each other in various ways. Despite the temptation, we should avoid the urge to bring them under a single conceptual umbrella, at least for the time being. Rather than offer a sweeping diagnosis of this conjuncture, then, in this collaborative essay, five members of the Editorial Board of Economy and Society each reflect on their own theoretical and conceptual equipment, its genealogy, possibilities and limitations for interrogating the present state of the state, especially in what we might call the ‘actually existing neoliberal states’ of the Global North.
In the 1980s and 1990s, this journal helped to forge a heterodox perspective on power in modern societies, urging scholars to look beyond the state to understand the power and politics of liberalism, to those non-state centres of calculation, knowledge, control and standardisation, which (after Foucault) were collectively understood as core to government (Burchell, 1993; Miller & Rose, 1990; Rose,1993; Walters, 1995). In an era when orthodoxy held that ‘neoliberalism’ was leading to a contraction of ‘the state’ and the expansion of ‘the market’, this journal exuded scepticism towards these categories and assumptions, in favour of empirical attention to the heterogeneity, historicity and contingency of shifting technologies of power. Deconstruction of familiar sociological and political categories allowed the play of power and politics in (neo)liberal societies to be seen afresh, without the conceptual edifice of ‘the state’ getting in the way.
We suggest that now is a useful moment in which to think again, to bring ‘the state’ back into view and examine the tools that are available to make sense of the present. The problems of the 2020s are different from those of the 1980s and 1990s, or indeed the 1930s or 1900s, and so should our problematizations be too. In this essay, we do not seek to name or singularly theorize the present crisis or conjuncture of the state, but rather to address it from different perspectives, both reflecting on and updating the journal’s longstanding preoccupations with the power and politics of knowledge and economy in liberal states.
The five contributions that follow do not offer a unified response to the question of the state of the state today. William Davies begins by situating analysis in debates over ‘neoliberalism’ that have, in many respects, dominated the social sciences in recent decades. Davies excavates a host of rich insights from a diverse range of perspectives, highlighting how the challenge of theorizing state transformation is closely bound up with wider reaching power relations of shifting ideas, policy paradigms and ideologies, alongside cultural and material transformations. In this reflection on post-2008 theoretical and empirical literatures, Davies invites us to think beyond historical precedents and models of ‘crisis’, and to recognize the heterogeneity of the present, the intermingling of ‘neoliberal’ and ‘post-neoliberal’ tendencies, which have contributed to the renewal of the problem of the state.
Samantha Ashenden’s contribution stresses the centrality of the idea of crisis to the current conjuncture. On the one hand, one might say that the state is ‘in crisis’ – a legitimation crisis to use Jürgen Habermas’s term. On the other hand, the state has come to act in the context of what proponents of state action themselves conceive as a series of crises. This has given a renewed justification for state action, or interstate action, whether to address financial, environmental and security crises or, as Ashenden argues, crises of fertility and population. What does the burgeoning of crisis talk tell us about the state today?
If the question of fertility – and population and demography – has long been a preoccupation and justification for the state, so is the milieu, the natural and unnatural environment. Andrew Barry’s contribution directs us to the way in which the chemical composition of the world has provided both the object and means for state action. The state has long been engaged in both managing and sustaining a ‘chemical regime of living’. Barry’s intervention points to the conjunction of state efforts to control access to mineral resources in the name of security (so-called ‘critical minerals’) with growing concern with what some have called the ‘chemical crisis’ of pollution and public health.
Ilias Alami’s contribution proposes an explicitly Marxist account of the present-day state. His contention is that state transformations are the manifestation of the political mediation of ‘determinate mutations in planetary capital accumulation’. He outlines a range of critical mutations, including the concentration of industrial production in East Asia, the displacement of labour by machines and consequent underemployment and industrial overcapacity, environmental degradation, and the geopolitical competition for resources. These are the conditions for growing economic interventionism by the state, and tighter relations between state and capital which are taking increasingly anti-democratic forms.
Finally, in her contribution, Linsey McGoey does not deny the significance of rising state intervention today. Yet, McGoey questions accounts of its history and its novelty. In doing so, she draws inspiration from Giovanni Arrighi (2009) who argued that the idea that the nineteenth century was an era of free trade is part of the mythology of the twentieth century, and from Friedrich List who highlighted the ‘inconvenient facts’ not acknowledged by Adam Smith. McGoey directs us to consider the history and politics of substantial efforts to deny the close relation between the state and the ‘free market’ which has been present all along…
Eminently worth reading in full: “The State of the State.”
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As we contemplate countries, we might recall that today is Juneteenth.
Though the Emancipation Proclamation was issued on September 22, 1862 (effective January 1, 1863), word was slow to spread. Indeed, in Texas (which had been largely on the sidelines of hostilities in the Civil War, had continued its own state constitution-sanctioned practice of slavery, and so had become a refuge for slavers from more besieged Southern states) it took years… and federal enforcement.
On June 19, 1865, Union General Gordon Granger, who’d arrived in Galveston, Texas, with 2,000 federal troops to take possession of the state and enforce the emancipation of its slaves, read “General Order No. 3” from a local balcony:
The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor. The freedmen are advised to remain quietly at their present homes and work for wages. They are informed that they will not be allowed to collect at military posts and that they will not be supported in idleness either there or elsewhere.
Former slaves in Galveston celebrated in the streets; Juneteenth observances began across Texas the following year, and are now recognized as state holidays by 41 states– and as of 2021, as a federal holiday.
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