Charlie Warzel of The Atlantic converses with Anil Dash.
44 minutes very well spent.
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The legal liability principle that finally caught up with Big Tobacco (in the wake of some 80 years of litigative and regulatory effort) was that of the 'Inherently Dangerous Instrumentality." In short, the product, used as intended and directed, inexorably leads to excessive customer harms—up to lethal outcomes. Social media companies' ad-based revenue/profitability models require maximization of user engagement. The impolite word is "addiction."
** Which, according to the most fervent "gun enthusiasts," also connects inseparably to the 1st Amendment, i.e., in that prancing around open-carry, dressed in Army-Navy surplus store cosplay coture is constitutional "free speech" emblematic of one's fealty to the shall-not-be-infringed 2nd.
And, yes, they can be used lawfully and "safely." C'mon.
…I have shown how we know that we are all here, both collectively and individually, through a series of accidents—cosmological, geological, and biological accidents. I have also shown how and why some of us will depart via accident.
Our chance-driven world is a profound revelation. It is astonishing that blind chance is the source of all novelty, diversity, and beauty in the biosphere. I hope that you are wonderstruck at what an asteroid, sliding tectonic plates, and a fibrillating polymer of just four bases have wrought.
But our chance-driven existence also poses the unsettling quandary that we don’t live in the best of all possible worlds, but a world as novelist Christian Jungerson put it of “unmerciful randomness, immense chaos, and constant biological vulnerability.” This view, of course, shatters traditional beliefs about humanity’s place in the larger scheme.
As Monod’s critics decried, chance puts God out of a job, or at least many of the jobs we have traditionally assigned to Him or Her. God is not in the conception business choosing the winning sperm and egg, nor the genetic engineering business designing creatures’ DNA and traits, nor the weather-making business, nor the cancer business, nor the pandemic business.
One recourse in the face of such claims is simply to deny chance. But should we have the courage to accept the pervasive role of chance, some challenging questions arise about the meaning and purpose of our lives: If we are here by accident, not by Design, what are we supposed to do? How might we live in the face of this knowledge?
My first impulse is to pull a Dr. McCoy (“Bones” from Star Trek) and plead, “Dammit, Jim, I’m a scientist, not a philosopher.” I think that these questions are for each of us to decide for ourselves…
Carroll, Sean B.. A Series of Fortunate Events: Chance and the Making of the Planet, Life, and You (pp. 164-165). (Function). Kindle Edition.
Two veteran tech journalists. One hour. No easy answers.
Jacob Ward (The Rip Current, NBC News, Al Jazeera) and Taylor Lorenz (User Mag, The New York Times, The Washington Post) go head-to-head on the biggest question in tech policy right now: Is the social media addiction crisis a genuine public health emergency — or is it a moral panic being weaponized by the same reactionary forces that came for rock and roll, comic books, and the telephone?
They agree on more than you'd expect. They disagree where it counts.
Topics covered:
- The 2012 collapse in adolescent mental health — correlation or causation?
- Jonathan Haidt's data and its critics
- Section 230, FOSTA-SESTA, and who really wins when tech gets "regulated"
- Why Meta is quietly funding the groups suing Meta
- Social casino games, behavioral harm, and the limits of US regulation
- What data privacy law could actually fix — and why we're not doing it
- The authoritarian endgame nobody's talking about
For the first time, speech has been decoupled from consequence. We now live alongside AI systems that converse knowledgeably and persuasively—deploying claims about the world, explanations, advice, encouragement, apologies, and promises—while bearing no vulnerability for what they say. Millions of people already rely on chatbots powered by large language models, and have integrated these synthetic interlocutors into their personal and professional lives. An LLM’s words shape our beliefs, decisions, and actions, yet no speaker stands behind them.
This dynamic is already familiar in everyday use. A chatbot gets something wrong. When corrected, it apologizes and changes its answer. When corrected again, it apologizes again—sometimes reversing its position entirely. What unsettles users is not just that the system lacks beliefs but that it keeps apologizing as if it had any. The words sound responsible, yet they are empty.
This interaction exposes the conditions that make it possible to hold one another to our words. When language that sounds intentional, personal, and binding can be produced at scale by a speaker who bears no consequence, the expectations listeners are entitled to hold of a speaker begin to erode. Promises lose force. Apologies become performative. Advice carries authority without liability. Over time, we are trained—quietly but pervasively—to accept words without ownership and meaning without accountability. When fluent speech without responsibility becomes normal, it does not merely change how language is produced; it changes what it means to be human.
This is not just a technical novelty but a shift in the moral structure of language. People have always used words to deceive, manipulate, and harm. What is new is the routine production of speech that carries the form of intention and commitment without any corresponding agent who can be held to account...
"Any corresponding agent who can be held to account?"
Language has always been more than the transmission of information. When humans speak, our words commit us in an implicit social contract. They expose us to judgment, retaliation, shame, and responsibility. To mean what we say is to risk something.
You might get Primaried. Perhaps doxxed. You might lose your job, your scholarship, your visa...
The AI researcher Andrej Karpathy has likened LLMs to human ghosts. They are software that can be copied, forked, merged, and deleted. They are not individuated. The ordinary forces that tether speech to consequence—social sanction, legal penalty, reputational loss—presuppose a continuous agent whose future can be made worse by what they say. With LLMs, there is no such locus. No body that can be confined or restrained; no social or institutional standing to revoke; no reputation to damage. They cannot, in any meaningful sense, bear loss for their words. When the speaker is an LLM, the human stakes that ordinarily anchor speech have nowhere to attach.
Speech without enforceable consequence undermines the social contract. Trust, cooperation, and democratic deliberation all rely on the assumption that speakers are bound by what they say.
The response cannot be to abandon these tools. They are powerful and genuinely valuable when used with care. Nor can the response be to pursue ever greater machine capability alone. We need structures that reanchor responsibility: constraints that limit the use of AI in various contexts such as schools and workplaces, and preserve authorship, traceability, and clear liability. Efficiency must be constrained where it corrodes dignity.
As the idea of AI “avatars” enters the public imagination, it is often cast as a democratic advance: systems that know us well enough to speak in our voice, deliberate on our behalf, and spare us the burdens of constant participation. It is easy to imagine this hardening into what might be called an “avatar state”—a polity in which artificial representatives debate, negotiate, and decide for us, efficiently and at scale. But what such a vision forgets is that democracy is not merely the aggregation of preferences. It is a practice of speaking in the open. To speak politically is to risk being wrong, to be answerable, to live with the consequences of what one has said. An avatar state—fluent, tireless, and perfectly malleable—would simulate deliberation but without consequence. It would look, from a distance, like self-government. Up close, it would be something else entirely: responsibility rendered optional, and with it, the dignity of having to stand behind one's words made obsolete.
Wiener understood that the whirlwind would come not from malevolent machines but from human abdication. Capability displaces responsibility. Efficiency erodes dignity. If we fail to recognize that shift in time, responsibility will return to us only after the damage is done—seated, as Wiener warned, on the whirlwind.
UPDATE: Someone's already on it.
Deb Roy is a professor of Media Arts and Sciences at MIT, where he directs the MIT Center for Constructive Communication, based at the MIT Media Lab. He is also the cofounder and chair of Cortico, a non-profit dedicated to building stronger civic networks.
1. American University
2. Boston College
3. Boston University
4. Brown university
5. Carnegie Mellon University
6. Case Western Reserve University
7. Columbia University
8. College of William and Mary
9. Cornell University
10. Duke University
11. Emory University
12. Florida Institute of Technology
13. Fordham University
14. Georgetown University
15. George Washington University
16. Harvard University
17. Hawaii Pacific University
18. Johns Hopkins University
19. London School of Economics
20. Massachusetts Institute of Technology
21. Northeastern University
22. Northwestern University
23. New York University
24. Pepperdine University
25. Princeton University
26. Stanford University
27. Tufts University
28. University of Miami
29. University of Pennsylvania
30. University of Southern California
31. Vanderbilt University
32. Wake Forest University
33. Washington University in St. Louis
34. Yale University
…What is arguably the defining trait of the second Trump administration, a bearing and a bullying that cast a noxious haze over all public discourse, which was already plenty polluted. This crew — Bondi, Stephen Miller, JD Vance, President Trump himself — don’t want to win opponents’ favor. They don’t even want to win the argument. Why sweat the delicate art of persuasion when you can use the brute force of condemnation? Comity and conciliation are a slog. They’re for suckers. Contempt is victors’ ready, heady prerogative.
It’s also what the MAGA movement was supposed to be rebelling against. Many people who flocked to Trump in all his spite and willful destructiveness were protesting the condescension and derision of the Democratic elite, who, they felt, held them in contempt. They were responding to Barack Obama’s lament about embittered Americans who “cling to guns or religion.” They were reacting to Hillary Clinton’s gibe about the “basket of deplorables.”
At least that’s one origin theory, one narrative thread.
But Trump, his aides and many of his supporters haven’t purged contempt from our politics. They’ve mainstreamed it. Purified it. Industrialized it. It’s their push-a-button pushback against everyone who challenges them and any circumstances that threaten to undermine them, an all-purpose way to pivot from the substance of a situation to an evasive and obfuscating ill will. Envelop everything in indiscriminate animosity and nothing real survives.
That’s what Kristi Noem, the homeland security secretary, and Miller, the impresario of ugliness, did when federal agents killed protesters in Minneapolis. Smear first, ask questions later (or, better yet, never)...
“We live in a world, in the real world, that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power. These are the iron laws of the world since the beginning of time.”—Stephen Miller, to CNN's Jake Tapper, Jan 5th, 2026
See my Sept 2025 post discussing Miller at Charlie Kirk's memorial.
Ten patterns that explain the universe
Brian Clegg, MIT Press, 2021
Introduction
We understand the world around us through patterns. These are not necessarily patterns in the visual sense, but rather occurrences that have some sort of regularity, distributed, according to consistent rules. It would be impossible to cope with the world if we didn’t have patterns. It would mean that every time we encountered an object, we would need to learn how to use it a new period instead, we build up patterns—mental models of reality—that inform us of how to deal with, say, an apple or a light switch, so that we don’t have to start from scratch each and every time.
OK, this is funny. From The New YorkerAnthropic’s headquarters, in downtown San Francisco, sits in the shadow of the Salesforce tower. There is no exterior signage. The lobby radiates the personality, warmth, and candor of a Swiss bank. A couple of years ago, the company outgrew its old space and took over a turnkey lease from the messaging company Slack. It spruced up the place through the comprehensive removal of anything interesting to look at. Even this blankness is doled out grudgingly: all but two of the ten floors that the company occupies are off limits to outsiders. Access to the dark heart of the models is limited even further. Any unwitting move across the wrong transom, I quickly discovered, is instantly neutralized by sentinels in black. When I first visited, this past May, I was whisked to the tenth floor, where an airy, Scandinavian-style café is technically outside the cordon sanitaire. Even there, I was chaperoned to the bathroom.
Tech employees generally see corporate swag as their birthright. New Anthropic hires, however, quickly learn that the company’s paranoia extends to a near-total ban on branded merch. Such extreme operational security is probably warranted: people sometimes skulk around outside the office with telephoto lenses. A placard at the office’s exit reminds employees to conceal their badges when they leave. It is as if Anthropic’s core mission were to not exist. The business was initially started as a research institute, and its president, Daniela Amodei, has said that none of the founders wanted to start a company. We can take these claims at face value and at the same time observe that they seem a little silly in retrospect. Anthropic was recently valued at three hundred and fifty billion dollars…
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| From NPR. Click here. |
"Bad Paper" companies traffick in debt that has been deemed uncollectible by its current owners and is written off their balance sheets -- hence "charged off." You may default on a loan, but down in the fine print is the staple loan contract provision that the account still represents an "asset" which can be sold to a "holder in due course" to whom you are subsequently legally accountable. Bad paper typically trades at between a fraction of a cent to several cents on the nominal dollar, depending on the buyers' assessed "quality" of its eventual collectibility.
We moved to Baltimore in April 2019 from the San Francisco area to be close to our son. In March 2020 we replaced the HVAC through a Baltimore/BGE initiative incentivizing homeowners to upgrade to more energy-efficient heating & cooling systems. Carrier was one of the participating HVAC suppliers.
Carrier is a $22B/yr corporation HQ'd in W. Palm Beach, FL. They remain unresponsive.
*NOTE, there's an embedded transcript. I'm trying to extract it for you. (Got it, here.)
Anyone who thinks the contemplative life amounts to a form of quietism or a retreat from the world’s suffering should spend some time shadowing Joan Halifax, the Zen priest and anthropologist. I’d been curious about Halifax for years, ever since I heard about an annual trek that she leads through the mountains of Nepal, bringing a cadre of doctors and dentists to remote mountain villages with little access to health care.
Each summer over the course of two weeks or so, this Nomads Clinic covers more than 100 miles on foot and horseback, at altitudes of nearly 18,000 feet. These “medical mountaineers,” as they’ve been called, all volunteers, sleep in tents, often in freezing temperatures. But after some 40 annual trips to Nepal—Halifax is normally based in Santa Fe—she recently decided it was time to hang it up. She had just turned 80.
In addition to bringing medical care to remote mountain villages half a world away, Halifax has ministered to the dying in hospice, worked with the homeless in New Mexico, cared for prisoners on death row, and led countless protests for peace. I don’t know if Halifax has shed the last remnants of her ego—she would say she hasn’t—but the selflessness she manifests in the conduct of her life is something to behold, a reminder of what the exploration of human consciousness can lead a person to do and be. This, too, is a Buddhist principle—that overcoming one’s own small self should lead to greater compassion for others, and that the suffering alleviated when we transcend the ego is not only our own.
For more than 30 years, Halifax has been the abbot at Upaya Zen Center, the retreat she founded in Santa Fe in 1990. I’ve had the chance to meet her a couple of times; once, we appeared together on a panel to talk about psychedelics. Halifax was married to the pioneering Czech psychiatrist Stanislav Grof for several years in the 1970s. Working together, they gave transformative doses of LSD to the dying. For a period of time, Halifax regularly took large doses of LSD herself. Her first psychedelic trip, while wandering the streets of Paris in 1968, showed her “that there was beauty behind the beauty I perceived, and that mind was both in here and out there. I was dumbstruck.”
I could relate. After years of curiosity about psychoactive plants, my own experimentation with mushrooms and LSD in recent years fundamentally changed the way I understand the mysteries of consciousness and the self. So in 2024, I emailed Halifax to see if I might pay a visit to Upaya. My idea was to spend a week or so in residence, meditating with the aspiring monks, performing monkish chores, interviewing Halifax, and seeing if I could make a little more progress untying the knot of self… [Michael Pollan]
yaje...
It is a winter’s night in Rio de Janeiro, 1987. It is raining and the boulevard in front of the Copacabana Hotel is deserted. The road is slick and shining in the light of the street-lamps. My wife, Trudie, and I are sheltering beneath an umbrella, while high above our heads two seagulls wheel recklessly in the wind; and the sea is a roaring threat in the darkness. A small car pulls up to the curbside. There are two figures silhouetted in the front seat, and an opened rear door beckons us inside.
A series of discreet phone calls have secured us an invitation to a religious ceremony in a church somewhere in the jungles that surround the great city. Our drivers, a man and a woman, tell us only that the church is located about an hour and a half from the Copacabana, that we will be looked after, and we shouldn’t worry. The church, while nominally Christian, is the home of a syncretic religious group that uses as its core sacrament an ancient medicine derived from plant materials known as ayahuasca, and it is said to induce extraordinary and profound visions…
(Musician) Sting. Broken Music: A Memoir (pp. 1-2). (Function). Kindle Edition.
More to come...