The slow death of liberalism is not something you can mark and point to on a calendar. No monuments will be built to commemorate its passing. There won’t be a funeral, no chorus of mourners gathered in the streets. There’s something far too theatrical about the notion of
The modern world has perfected the art of making us feel like we are never enough. Every waking moment is steeped in a vague, simmering anxiety, a sense that we could be doing more, achieving more, optimizing more. Productivity apps and fitness trackers, morning routine gurus and dopamine detox evangelists
The death of liberalism is not an explosion. It’s not a scandal, a conspiracy, or some epic historical event that demands commemoration. It’s a whimper. A slow fade into irrelevance, marked by polite nods at dinner parties and wistful New York Times op-eds. Once, we were the steady,
We revere the tangible above all else — money, technology, and measurable connections. These are the things we can see, touch, quantify, and display as proof of our progress and success. We dedicate ourselves to chasing traditional forms of leverage. We work tirelessly to accumulate wealth, believing it will grant us
The human species isn’t on a steady decline into stupidity—it just feels that way. Why? because now everyone has a microphone. A few decades ago, the loudest voices in the room were filtered by effort, editors, publishers, broadcasters, academics, or sometimes just the looming threat of social ostracization.
The world is crumbling in real time—I’m not here to argue that point. We’ve got rising seas swallowing cities, political chaos run by arsonist clowns with their pants on fire trying to set everything else alight, inequality so vast it feels cosmic, wars driven by fragile egos
The moment we started numbering world wars like entries in a blockbuster movie franchise, we set ourselves up for failure. The war of 1914 was called The Great War at the time. But when we renamed it “World War I,” it was both a historical label and an unintentional promise.
In 1763, a revolutionary paper on human thinking was published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. The author, Thomas Bayes, had died two years earlier, never knowing his work would fundamentally change how we reason about uncertainty. The paper, edited and submitted by his friend Richard Price, contained
Today, we’re talking about Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher—the Prussian general who helped take down Napoleon.
The act of watching changes what’s being observed. In physics, this is known as the Observer Effect. Electrons, photons—they behave differently when under our gaze, as if they’re aware of the scrutiny. It's a principle that applies pretty consistently across the board. Even penguins act
We have witnessed a multi-generational decline in reading comprehension. We read less, retain less of what we read, and struggle to engage in critical analysis. And if this trend continues, we risk undermining the very foundations of our society.