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I was saddend to learn Melvin Bragg retired from In Our Time. Whilst I understand some listener’s complaints, especially in recent years, of Bragg’s performance, I considered him essential to making the programme as legendary as it is. A show spanning decades with the same host will naturally have its ebb and flows. As with
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When it comes to what defines and shapes our relationships—what forms the fabric of the social world and its systems—ideas matter. If we want to understand why one culture embraces better philosophical ideas, or produces greater artistic achievements, or falls into greater dysfunction than another, we must examine the origins of its ideas. This is
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I find the central thesis about The Great Stagnation compelling. The thesis posits that the rate of technological progress, particularly in transformative areas that significantly enhance productivity and living standards, has slowed since the 1970s. I think there are some particularly sound empirical arguments that support this theory in view of the trends since the
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Within the first few pages of SPQR by Mary Beard, one reads about scientific studies of human excrement found in a cesspit in Herculaneum, Southern Italy (playfully, I have to say that first reading this made me think of the Latin phrase, scientia non olet). Beard then comments that, at least in this region, ancient
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The great Richard Feynman once said (Caltech commencement address in 1974): “The first principle is that you must not fool yourself — and you are the easiest person to fool”. What Feynman is speaking to here is the tendency toward self-deceit – to think, even implicitly, that one knows absolutely, and for one to believe
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Election night in America has come and gone, and anyone surprised by the result clearly has not been paying close enough attention. It was entirely predictable, with the only real surprise being the magnitude of the Trump’s victory by popular vote. The democrat campaign was abysmal. The policies, the tone, the condescending and arrogant moral
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The other day I had an overwhelming itch to read something a bit more experimental and perhaps even slightly avant-garde. There is a shelf on one of my bookcases that houses a number books that fall under this category. One will find the likes of Ulysses by James Joyce, Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett,
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I have fallen so far behind in my blogging and also more generally in my writing, I have started to become annoyed. It is one of those personal things – for whatever reason, if I don’t have enough time to write – it doesn’t have to be a longform essay, but even just a short

