March 12, 2026 How Do You Explain Men Who Can But Don’t Cheat On Their Wives? Luke Ford No sacred cows.

How Do You Explain Men Who Can But Don’t Cheat On Their Wives?

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

The simplest answer is that the opportunity to do something and the desire to act on it are two different things. A man who does not cheat when he could has made a choice, and the reasons vary considerably from person to person.
Some men simply love their wives. Not as an abstraction, but in a specific, daily way that makes the prospect of betrayal feel genuinely unappealing. The other woman, however attractive, represents a disruption to something they value more than novelty.
Some are risk calculators. They see what infidelity costs when it comes apart, and they have watched it come apart in other marriages. The beautiful young woman is also a potential catastrophe: a divorce, estranged children, financial ruin, public humiliation. The arithmetic does not work in their favor and they know it.
Some men have a strong identity built around being trustworthy. Their self-image depends on being the kind of person who keeps his word. Cheating would not just damage the marriage; it would damage how they see themselves, and that matters to them more than the short-term gain.
There is also the factor of genuine satisfaction. A man who feels respected, desired, and at ease in his marriage experiences temptation differently than one who feels unseen. This does not mean unhappy men always cheat, but it does mean that happiness at home changes the weight of what is being offered elsewhere.
Finally, some men have a moral framework, religious or otherwise, that they take seriously enough to live by rather than simply profess. Belief, when it is real rather than performative, shapes behavior.
The interesting thing is that none of these explanations require the man to be a saint. They require him to have something he values more than what is being offered. That is less about virtue in the abstract and more about what a particular man, in a particular life, has decided matters.
Studies on men with high status, wealth, and access consistently show elevated rates of infidelity. Power reduces inhibition, increases opportunity, and often comes with a social environment where other men behave the same way, which normalizes it further. The research on politicians, executives, and celebrities broadly supports the idea that access and infidelity correlate.
It might be that fidelity among men with serious opportunity is the exception rather than the rule, and that the men who resist are outliers shaped by unusually strong marriages, unusually strong religious conviction, or an unusually powerful fear of consequences. That would not be a flattering portrait of men as a class, but flattery is not the same as accuracy.
Evolutionary psychology would say men evolved in an environment where reproducing with multiple women increased the number of offspring carrying their genes. A man who felt strong desire for sexual variety and acted on it left more descendants than one who did not. Over thousands of generations, that preference got baked in. The contemporary man inheriting that psychology did not choose it any more than he chose his height.
Robert Trivers’ work on parental investment is foundational here. Because women bear the greater biological cost of reproduction, they evolved to be more selective. Men, who can in principle reproduce with minimal investment, evolved toward a greater appetite for novelty and number. David Buss has documented this cross-culturally at length, finding that men across very different societies consistently report stronger desires for sexual variety than women report.
The specific scenario of a man with wealth and status having access to attractive young women maps almost perfectly onto what evolutionary psychology predicts would maximize male temptation. Youth and physical attractiveness are signals of fertility. High status in the man correlates historically with resources that could support offspring. The setup is, from a purely biological standpoint, close to optimal conditions for the evolved drive to fire hard.
Where evolutionary psychology gets more careful is in distinguishing desire from behavior. The framework predicts strong temptation, not inevitable action. Humans also evolved the capacity for long-term pair bonding, for reputation management, for caring deeply about their children’s welfare in stable households. These pressures cut the other way. Steven Pinker and others have argued that evolution gave us competing drives rather than a single override switch.
The honest summary from that field would probably be: the drive is real, the temptation under those conditions is intense, and most of the forces keeping men faithful are social and psychological rather than biological.
A study published in the British Medical Journal using data from the National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project found that among men aged 75 to 85, about 39 percent remained sexually active. That means a majority had stopped by that age range, suggesting the median cessation falls somewhere before 75. Other research points to the late 60s as the period when frequency drops sharply for many men, though a meaningful minority remain active well into their 80s.
The range is enormous. Health is the dominant factor, more than age itself. Cardiovascular disease, diabetes, obesity, testosterone decline, and medication side effects all suppress sexual activity significantly. A healthy 75-year-old man may have a more active sex life than an unhealthy 60-year-old.
Relationship status matters too. Men without partners stop having sex at higher rates than men in relationships, which reflects opportunity as much as desire.
Charles Taylor‘s distinction between the buffered and porous selves comes from A Secular Age, where he contrasts the pre-modern porous self with the modern buffered self. It adds something genuinely interesting to the adultery question.
The porous self of pre-modern culture had no firm boundary between inside and outside. Spirits, forces, social obligations, and divine commands penetrated the self directly. A man in that world experienced his obligations to wife, family, and God as external forces that inhabited him, not merely rules he had chosen to follow. Violation carried a weight that was almost physical, something closer to pollution or contamination than to rule-breaking. The social and sacred world pressed in on him constantly.
The buffered self that Taylor associates with modernity has erected a wall. The modern individual experiences himself as the author of his own meaning, protected from external forces by a sense of inner sovereignty. Moral commitments become choices rather than constraints imposed from outside. Religion, social expectation, and even love become things the self ratifies rather than forces the self submits to.
Applied to adultery, this suggests something worth taking seriously. The buffered man experiences temptation differently. He does not feel the weight of violated sacred order pressing in on him. He reasons about consequences, calculates risk, consults his preferences. The question becomes not “what kind of cosmos am I violating” but “what do I actually want and what will it cost me.” That is a much lighter set of restraints.
Taylor would not say the buffered self is simply more selfish. But he might say it is more alone with its desires, less held in place by forces larger than itself. A porous man in a religious community with a thick sense of honor and sacred obligation carries the community inside him. The buffered man has to generate his own reasons to resist, and that is a harder thing to sustain when a beautiful young woman is in the room.

But It Violates A Canon!

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

I feel like I’m getting ripped off when an expert explaining religion or politics points out how this or that manifestation violates the canon of this or that, as though canons are universal, transcendent, and global rather than post hoc rationalizations for alliances.
The appeal to canons works as a rhetorical move precisely because it sounds neutral. The expert positions herself outside the fray, above the messy business of interest and power, armed with a rulebook. But the rulebook got written by people who had already won certain fights.
Canons in religion are especially good at this. The Council of Nicaea didn’t just settle a theological dispute about the nature of Christ. It settled who got to define orthodoxy going forward, which meant it settled who could call everything else a deviation. The losers didn’t lack canons. They had their own texts, their own councils, their own arguments. They lost politically and militarily, and then they lost canonically, which is the cleaner way to lose because it makes the victory look like it was always already true.
Political canons work the same way, though the timescale compresses. Constitutional originalism is a version of this. The document becomes the standard against which current behavior gets measured, but the interpretation of the document is itself a contest, and whoever controls that interpretation wins without having to argue on the merits. They just point to the text.
What the expert-commentator move does is borrow the authority of the settled canon while hiding the fact that the settlement was itself a power struggle. It says: I am not attacking you politically, I am simply noting that you have failed to meet an objective standard. But the standard didn’t fall from the sky. Someone put it there, and someone benefits from its being there.
The frustrating part is that canons aren’t useless. Institutions need internal standards or they fall apart into pure faction. But that’s different from treating canons as though they were discovered rather than made, as though appealing to them ends the argument rather than relocating it.
This move occurs most often the past 50 years when some scholar tells us that Islamic terror violates the canons of Islam. This rhetoric has a specific political function. It reassures a nervous liberal audience that Islam is not the problem, extremism is the problem, and here is a credentialed Muslim scholar to prove it. The scholar gets to be both insider and referee simultaneously, which is a powerful rhetorical position.
The trouble is that the canon of Islam, like every religious canon, contains multitudes. You can find Quranic verses and hadith that support violence against apostates and unbelievers, and you can find others that forbid it. You can find jurisprudential traditions that authorize jihad in expansive terms, and others that confine it narrowly. The extremists are not simply making things up. They are reading certain texts, certain traditions, certain scholars, and finding genuine support there. The moderate scholar who says they violate the canons is also reading genuinely, but she is reading selectively, as everyone reads selectively, because the canon is large and contradictory enough to support multiple conclusions.
This doesn’t mean the two readings are equivalent in terms of their human consequences. It matters enormously which interpretation gains ground. But it does mean the argument that terror violates Islamic canons is a political argument dressed as a textual one. It is an argument about which reading should win, which scholars should be authoritative, which traditions should be centered. That’s a real argument worth having. It just shouldn’t be disguised as a neutral finding.
There’s also something slightly condescending baked into the whole exercise. The implicit audience is non-Muslim Westerners who need to be reassured, and the implicit message is that the real Islam is the one that fits comfortably within liberal democratic assumptions. The extremists, on this account, are not just wrong but somehow not authentically Muslim. That framing serves Western political needs more than it serves any honest account of what a 1,400-year-old tradition actually contains.

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Populism & The Rise Of Trump

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

Populism is a useful frame for understanding Trump’s rise, but it is neither sufficient on its own nor always the sharpest lens available. The debate among political scientists and historians has produced several competing frameworks, each illuminating different aspects of the same phenomenon.
The populist frame, developed most rigorously by theorists like Jan-Werner Müller, treats Trump as an expression of a recurring democratic pathology. On this view, Trump drew on a logic that divides the world into a virtuous, unified “real people” and a corrupt elite that betrays them. The appeal of this framing is that it explains the moral register of his campaign, the relentless attacks on institutions, and the claim that only he could restore what had been stolen. Populism also connects Trump to a global pattern, letting analysts place him alongside Orbán, Bolsonaro, and others in a comparative framework. That comparative reach is the strongest argument for keeping populism in the analytical toolkit.
The problem is that populism, as a concept, does not do much causal work on its own. It describes a rhetorical style and a political logic, but it does not explain why that style found such a large audience in the United States at that particular moment. For that, other frames become indispensable.
The most compelling competitor is the status threat and cultural backlash framework, associated with scholars like Pippa Norris and Ronald Inglehart. On their account, Trump’s coalition mobilized not primarily around economic grievance but around a perceived threat to the social status of white, non-college, largely rural Americans. Decades of cultural change, including growing visibility of nonwhite, immigrant, and LGBTQ communities, combined with elite valorization of higher education, left a large segment of the country feeling displaced, condescended to, and invisible. This framework has more predictive power than populism alone, because it explains the geography and demography of Trump support better than income-based explanations do. Many Trump voters were economically comfortable but socially anxious.
A third major frame emphasizes partisan sorting and institutional dysfunction. Scholars like Jacob Hacker and Paul Pierson argue that Trump did not arrive from outside the Republican Party but was incubated by it. Decades of partisan media, primary structures that rewarded ideological purity, and a Congress that had abandoned bipartisan governance created the conditions for a figure like Trump to capture the nomination and the base. This frame is less dramatic than populism but arguably more structurally rigorous.
There is also a tradition, rooted in the work of historians like Richard Hofstadter, that places Trump within a long American pattern of conspiratorial, anti-intellectual political culture. Hofstadter’s “paranoid style” identifies a recurring strand in American life in which political opponents are not merely wrong but actively malevolent. This is perhaps the oldest and most distinctly American of the available frames, and it connects Trump to movements from the Know-Nothings to McCarthyism.
Each frame captures something real. Populism captures the rhetorical structure and the delegitimation of institutions. Status threat captures the sociological base. Partisan sorting captures the systemic conditions that made his rise possible. The paranoid style captures something about the emotional texture and historical continuity of Trumpism. The most complete analyses tend to combine all of these rather than elevating one. Populism is a good entry point, especially for comparative purposes, but it risks becoming a shorthand that substitutes for the harder work of explaining why American democracy was vulnerable to this kind of politics when and where it was.
Academics occupy a peculiar position in the status landscape that populism targets. They are credentialed, institutionally embedded, and heavily invested in the idea that expertise confers legitimate authority. Populism, in its most direct form, attacks exactly that claim. When Trump mocked experts, dismissed scientists, and declared that he alone could fix things, he was not just performing anti-elitism for the cameras. He was delegitimizing the very class of people who would later write papers explaining why he was a populist threat to democracy.
There is a real conflict of interest here that most academic treatments of populism do not acknowledge. A scholar at a research university diagnosing Trumpism as irrational, authoritarian, or driven by status anxiety is also, whether consciously or not, defending the legitimacy of his own institutional position. The framing tends to place the analyst above the phenomenon, looking down at a distorted politics that fails to meet the standards of rational deliberation that, not coincidentally, credentialed experts are supposed to embody.
This shapes the literature in subtle ways. Status threat and cultural backlash frameworks, for instance, can function as a way of pathologizing Trump voters, treating their resentments as psychological distortions rather than reasonable responses to real changes in power and recognition. The academic says: these people feel displaced, and that feeling drives irrational politics. But the displacing forces are real. The condescension is real. The sense that a college degree now functions as a class marker and a ticket to social legitimacy is not a paranoid fantasy.
There is also a selection effect in who studies populism. Political scientists and sociologists at elite institutions are among the people whose status populism most directly threatens. They have strong professional and psychological incentives to frame populism as a problem to be solved rather than a symptom worth taking seriously on its own terms. That does not mean their analyses are wrong, but it does mean the genre has a structural bias worth accounting for.
The academic framing of populism is itself a political move, not a neutral description. Calling something populism, with all the connotations of demagoguery and irrationality that trail behind the word, is a way of discrediting it without directly engaging its grievances. By the time you have classified Trump as a populist, you have already decided that his supporters’ anger is a malfunction rather than a signal.
That said, the critique has limits too. Some of what gets called populism really is cynical and manipulative. Trump exploited genuine grievances without doing much to address them. That academics have a stake in the diagnosis does not automatically make the diagnosis wrong. But it does mean the frame deserves more skepticism than it typically receives from the people most likely to apply it.

Scholars of populism generally fall into three camps: those who see it as a “thin ideology,” those who view it as a political style or performance, and those who treat it as a radical democratic corrective. Their bias usually stems from their underlying normative definition of democracy.

Cas Mudde is a leading figure who defines populism as a “thin-centered ideology.” He argues that populism divides society into two homogeneous and antagonistic groups: the pure people and the corrupt elite. Mudde suggests populism is not inherently right-wing or left-wing but attaches itself to “host ideologies” like nativism or socialism. His framework is rooted in liberal democracy. He views populism as essentially illiberal because it rejects pluralism and minority protections in favor of a monolithic “general will.” While he acknowledges it can be a “corrective” to elitism, his work often leans toward a defensive posture of liberal institutions.

Jan-Werner Müller, author of What is Populism?, offers a more restrictive and critical definition. For him, the defining feature is not just being anti-elite, but being anti-pluralist. Müller argues that populists claim that they, and only they, represent the “real people.” Anyone who does not support them is excluded from the body politic. His bias is strongly pro-institutional and pro-pluralist. He views populism as a threat to the foundations of democracy because it delegitimizes political opposition. He focuses heavily on how populists govern (mass clientelism and state occupation) to argue that the movement is inherently authoritarian.

Benjamin Moffitt shifts the focus from what populists believe to how they behave. He defines populism as a “political style” performed for the media. He identifies three key stylistic traits: an appeal to “the people” versus “the elite,” the use of “bad manners” (breaking political decorum), and the staging of a crisis or threat. Moffitt’s bias is more descriptive and less normative than Müller’s. He views populism as a symptom of a mediated age where politics is a performance. He tends to be skeptical of “technocratic” mainstream politics, arguing that the populist style often exposes the dry, unresponsive nature of modern liberal governance.

Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe: Unlike the scholars above, Laclau and Mouffe (often associated with “Left Populism”) view populism as the very essence of politics. They argue that all politics involves creating a “we” against a “them.” Populism is a tool to unite disparate grievances into a single movement to challenge entrenched power. Their bias is radical and anti-liberal. They believe liberal democracy has become a stale, technocratic consensus that ignores the needs of the working class. They advocate for populism as a necessary way to “re-politicize” society and achieve social justice.

The late Margaret Canovan provided an influential bridge between these camps, arguing that democracy has two faces: the “pragmatic” (institutions and rules) and the “redemptive” (the promise of the people taking charge). She argued that populism is a permanent shadow of democracy that emerges whenever the pragmatic side becomes too distant or bureaucratic. Canovan is often seen as a centrist, but recent critiques suggest she had a conservative, anti-progressive lean. She was suspicious of “elitist” intellectual projects and held a romanticized view of the “common sense” of ordinary people, making her more sympathetic to populist impulses than her peers.

Cas Mudde and Jan-Werner Müller treat Viktor Orbán and Donald Trump as prime examples of the populist threat to liberal democracy. They argue that these leaders use a thin ideology to separate a pure people from a corrupt elite. Müller specifically points to Orbán as a model for how populists move from rhetoric to state capture. He notes that once in power, these figures claim an exclusive moral mandate that allows them to dismantle institutional checks and balances.

Scholars such as Benjamin Moffitt focus on the performance of these leaders. He analyzes how Trump uses bad manners and stages crises to maintain a sense of urgency and direct connection with his base. This perspective treats the behavior not just as a personality trait but as a calculated political style. It explains how leaders bypass traditional media to speak directly to the people.

Critics of the liberal consensus like Chantal Mouffe see the rise of these figures as a response to the failures of technocratic governance. They argue that when mainstream parties ignore the needs of the working class, a space opens for a populist to re-politicize society. From this view, the bias of scholars like Mudde and Müller is their commitment to a status quo that has failed many citizens.

The comparison between Hungary and the United States often centers on the idea of illiberal governance. Gabor Scheiring and other researchers suggest that Orbán provided a blueprint for using democratic tools to weaken democratic institutions by reshaping the judiciary and the media to ensure that the ruling party remains in power indefinitely.

Further Reading:

The People by Margaret Canovan. This book provides a philosophical and historical analysis of the term the people and its role in modern politics. It argues that populism is a permanent shadow of democracy, emerging from the tension between the pragmatic need for institutions and the redemptive promise of popular power.

The Populist Temptation: Economic Grievance and Political Reaction in the Modern Era by Barry Eichengreen. This book examines the economic history of populist movements in the United States and Europe. It argues that populism is a recurring response to economic insecurity and the failure of political elites to address the downsides of globalization and technological change.

Democracy’s Resilience to Populism’s Threat: Countering Global Alarmism by Kurt Weyland. This book compares populist movements across several decades to assess their actual impact on democratic survival. It argues that while populists often challenge liberal norms, existing political institutions are frequently more resilient than alarmist accounts suggest.

Populism by Benjamin Moffitt. This book offers a clear overview of the different ways scholars define and study the phenomenon. It argues that populism is best understood as a political style used by leaders to perform a crisis and claim a direct connection with the people against a perceived elite.

The Great Recoil: Politics after Populism and Pandemic by Paolo Gerbaudo. This book describes the shift from the era of neoliberal globalization to a new period focused on sovereignty and protection. It argues that both left-wing and right-wing populism represent a return to the state as the primary site of political struggle and social security.

Authoritarian Nightmare: Trump and His Followers by John Dean and Bob Altemeyer. This book argues that Trump’s rise depended on a large pool of citizens with authoritarian psychological traits who were primed to follow a strong leader. It draws on decades of research into the “authoritarian follower” personality and applies it directly to the Trump phenomenon. It provides a psychological frame that cuts across the sociological ones.

What Is Populism? by Jan-Werner Müller. This short, precise book defines populism as an inherently anti-pluralist claim to exclusively represent the “real” people. It argues that populism is not just political style but a distinctive and dangerous logic. It is the best single starting point for understanding the populism frame and its limits.

Let them Eat Tweets: How the Right Rules in an Age of Extreme Inequality by Jacob Hacker and Paul Pierson. This book argues that the Republican Party chose to mobilize voters through cultural and racial grievance precisely because its economic agenda served the wealthy and could not win majorities on its own. It places Trump within a deliberate long-term political strategy rather than treating him as an anomaly or rupture.

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The Art Of The Deal

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

Donald Trump’s approach to leverage centers on a few ideas he developed long before politics, most clearly in his 1987 book “The Art of the Deal.” The core principle is that leverage comes not just from what you have, but from what the other side believes you might do. Perception matters as much as reality. He has said plainly that he courts controversy because attention itself is a form of power.
Several things distinguish his approach from conventional negotiating theory.
He treats unpredictability as a resource. Most negotiators signal reliability to build trust. Trump does the opposite. By keeping adversaries uncertain about his next move, he forces them to hedge, which puts them on defense. He applied this in trade talks with China, pulling out of agreements or threatening tariffs in ways that kept counterparts off balance. The logic is that a predictable opponent is an easy opponent.
He also escalates first and negotiates second. Where most parties open with a reasonable position and work toward compromise, Trump tends to open with a maximalist demand, sometimes one that seems absurd, and then treats any concession as a win. Critics call this bad faith. Supporters call it anchoring. Either way, it shifts the midpoint of any eventual deal in his direction.
He personalizes leverage. Corporate and diplomatic negotiators usually separate the institutional relationship from the immediate dispute. Trump collapses that distinction. He makes deals feel personal, which raises the emotional stakes for the other side and can extract concessions that a purely rational actor would never give just to end the discomfort.
What makes this unusual is that most of these tactics carry serious long-term costs in traditional contexts: burned relationships, reputational damage, broken alliances. Trump seems to calculate that he operates in contexts where he can absorb those costs, or where the short-term win outweighs them, or where the other party simply has no good alternative to dealing with him anyway.

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The Disinterested Expert Who Says, ‘I Hope’

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

I often read or listen to what poses as expert objective analysis, and then the professor says, “I hope…”
That construction bothers me. It’s hard enough to explain reality, and now you want to go normative on me? I don’t like it. Decide what team you are playing for — the describing team or the prescribing team. No man can serve two masters at the same time.
Academic language is supposed to describe and analyze, not prescribe outcomes. When a scholar says “I hope the two-state solution prevails” or “I hope regional actors choose diplomacy,” they slip from analysis into advocacy without announcing the shift. The listener has no warning that the register just changed.
It also signals something about whose hopes count. An academic at a prestigious institution who says “I hope” is not just expressing a private wish. They are lending the authority of their credentials to a political preference. The framing implies that their hope is informed, considered, and perhaps more legitimate than the hopes of the people actually living through the conflict.
There is also something evasive about it. “I hope” can function as a soft way to avoid making a direct argument. If a scholar says “the evidence suggests that X policy increases civilian casualties,” that is falsifiable and open to challenge. But “I hope for stability” floats above the evidence entirely. Nobody can argue with a hope. It costs nothing analytically and risks nothing professionally, while still positioning the speaker as morally engaged.
The jarring quality comes from that gap between the pose and the substance. The scholar sounds human and humble, which is appealing, but the hope itself often smuggles in assumptions that deserve scrutiny. Which stability? Whose peace? At what cost? “I hope” tends to close those questions rather than open them.
The mixing is the problem, not the choosing. A scholar who argues openly for a position at least gives you something to push back against. You can examine the premises, challenge the evidence, dispute the conclusion. That is honest work.
But slipping between description and prescription without flagging the transition is a kind of intellectual sleight of hand. The authority built up through years of careful analysis gets quietly transferred to a political preference. The listener, who came for the analysis, ends up receiving the advocacy without quite realizing the transaction occurred.
Weber called this the distinction between the scholar and the prophet. He thought the lecture hall was the wrong place for prophecy, not because values are illegitimate, but because the power relationship between professor and student makes genuine disagreement nearly impossible. The student cannot easily say “that is your hope, not mine” to someone who controls their grade or their reputation. The same applies, in softer form, to the public intellectual and their audience.
The problem compounds in Middle East commentary specifically because the stakes feel so high that people believe silence equals complicity. That pressure pushes scholars toward the normative register even when they have nothing analytically useful to add. So you get a lot of “I hope” and “we must” dressed up in the vocabulary of expertise, which is worse than plain advocacy because it borrows credibility it has not earned through argument.
It feels like almost every prominent commentator has a team. Robert Fisk was honest about his sympathies. Bernard Lewis was honest about his. The ones who pretend to pure analysis while hoping loudly are the ones to watch carefully.
Pick a lane is not an unreasonable demand.

Further Reading:

Science as a Vocation by Max Weber. This lecture is a classic of social thought that addresses the precise distinction between the scholar and the prophet. Weber argues that the lecture hall is the wrong place for political advocacy because the power relationship between a professor and a student makes genuine disagreement nearly impossible. He insists that a teacher should impart knowledge and logical clarity rather than personal political views.

The Politics of Expertise by Stephen P. Turner. This work examines the institutional means by which the distribution of knowledge and the distribution of power are connected. Turner highlights how experts often mask political stakes with technical language, creating problems for democratic legitimacy. The work explores the legitimation of knowledge in a way that provides a framework for understanding why expert claims often drift into normative territory.

The Collapse of the Fact/Value Dichotomy by Hilary Putnam. This book challenges the idea that facts and values can be strictly separated in everyday discourse. While Putnam argues they are often entangled in our vocabulary, his analysis is a rigorous exploration of the boundary scholars cross when they slip into advocacy. It provides the philosophical tools to recognize when a speaker is attempting to treat a value judgment as an objective fact.

Objectivity in Social Research by Gunnar Myrdal. Myrdal argues that a value-free social science is an impossibility, but his solution is not the “I hope” construction. Instead, he advocates for scholars to be explicitly clear about their value premises from the beginning. By announcing one’s biases openly, the analysis becomes more honest and the reader has a fair chance to push back against the underlying assumptions.

The Sociological Imagination by C. Wright Mills. This text is a chronicler of how personal values and social structures intersect. While Mills believes that values give vitality to social inquiry, he insists on an articulation and defense of those values rather than a subtle slip into advocacy. This book provides a model for how a scholar can remain morally engaged without sacrificing the structural depth of their analysis.

What Is Academic Freedom? A Century of Debate, 1915–Present by Daniel Gordon. This history outlines a century of commentary on what constitutes acceptable professional behavior in the classroom and public sphere. Gordon reviews arguments about the boundary between academic work and political activism. It provides the historical context for the tensions that arise when institutional neutrality is suspended for personal preference.

Toward a Pragmatist Sociology by Robert G. Dunn. This work draws from Weber and others to argue about the role of values in the study of human behavior. It explores how our perceptions and choices as researchers are framed by evaluative criteria. The book is useful for understanding the intellectual sleight of hand that occurs when the subject matter of social science is treated as purely objective while smuggling in normative goals.

Expert Political Judgment by Philip Tetlock. This work is essential. Tetlock spent decades tracking the predictions of political experts and found that most performed no better than chance, with the most confident and famous pundits performing worst. It is a demolition of the idea that expertise in description translates into reliable prescription.

A Conflict of Visions by Thomas Sowell. This book explains why smart people persistently disagree about policy. Sowell argues that most political disputes trace back to different underlying assumptions about human nature rather than different readings of evidence. It helps explain why “I hope” statements feel so loaded, because they compress a whole vision of human nature into a wish.

The Revolt of the Elites by Christopher Lasch. This work is sharp and useful for these purposes. Lasch argues that the professional class seceded from common life and common obligation while congratulating itself on its cosmopolitanism. He wrote it in 1994 and it reads like it was written last week.

Public Opinion by Walter Lippmann. This 1922 book is where much of modern expert culture finds its justification. Lippmann argues that democracy needs a class of trained analysts to interpret a complex world for ordinary citizens who lack the time and tools to understand it themselves. He meant well and the book is brilliant, but it planted a seed worth examining.

The Public and Its Problems by John Dewey. Dewey wrote this partly as a response to Lippmann, arguing that Lippmann’s vision was aristocratic and corrosive to democratic life. The Lippmann-Dewey debate is an important argument in American intellectual history for thinking about expertise and democracy.

The Imaginary War by Guy Oakes. This book is about how social scientists were enlisted during the Cold War to give policy a veneer of scientific legitimacy. It shows how early the marriage between expertise and advocacy got formalized.

The Best and the Brightest by David Halberstam. This text tells the same story through the lens of the Vietnam War, showing how credentialed confidence produced catastrophe. It remains a great American book on what happens when the describing team decides it runs the prescribing team too.

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Robert Caldini vs Robert Greene

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

Both Robert Cialdini and Robert Greene write about power and persuasion, but they approach the subject from very different angles and with very different intentions.
Cialdini is a social psychologist who spent his career studying why people say yes. His most famous book, Influence, draws on decades of experimental research and field observation. He identified six principles, later expanded to seven, that explain how people get persuaded: reciprocity, commitment, social proof, authority, liking, scarcity, and unity. His work is grounded in academic psychology, and he wrote it partly as a warning. He wanted ordinary people to recognize when these techniques were being used on them. The tone is measured and explanatory. He presents himself as a scientist first.
Greene is a writer and cultural observer with no academic credentials in psychology. His books, The 48 Laws of Power, The Art of Seduction, The 33 Strategies of War, draw on history, biography, and philosophy rather than controlled experiments. He writes like a strategist advising you from the shadows. His tone is amoral by design. He does not moralize about whether the people he profiles were good or bad. Caesar, Catherine the Great, P.T. Barnum, and Machiavelli all get equal treatment as case studies in how power moves through human behavior.
Where Cialdini explains, Greene instructs. Cialdini shows you the mechanism behind the curtain so you can defend yourself. Greene shows you the mechanism and says, use it. This is the sharpest contrast between them. One writes as a defender of the ordinary person, the other as a coach for anyone ambitious enough to want an edge.
Their audiences overlap but are not identical. Cialdini became required reading in business schools and marketing departments. Greene developed a cult following among entrepreneurs, musicians, athletes, and people who feel the mainstream success literature is too soft or dishonest about how power works. Jay-Z and 50 Cent have cited Greene publicly. 50 Cent co-wrote a book with him.
Cialdini’s weakness is that his framework, while useful, can feel clinical and tidy. Human persuasion is messier than six principles. Greene’s weakness is the opposite: his books are sprawling and sometimes rely on historical anecdotes that are oversimplified or stripped of context. He can make Napoleon or Talleyrand sound like they were following a playbook, when history is rarely that clean.
Both men, though, share a core belief. People are more predictable than they like to think, and understanding that predictability gives you leverage. They just disagree about whether to hand you a shield or a sword.
I find Robert Greene pseudo-profound and shlocky. It’s self-help of the basest kind. The core problem with Greene is that he works backward. He finds a historical outcome he wants to illustrate, selects the details that fit, and discards the rest. That is not analysis. It is storytelling dressed as wisdom. When Talleyrand survives every regime in France, Greene calls it mastery of power. He does not seriously consider luck, timing, the structural conditions of post-Revolutionary politics, or the dozen other advisors who tried similar things and lost their heads. The survivor gets the chapter. The failures disappear.
His prose style compounds this. The aphoristic format, the numbered laws, the portentous chapter openings, all of it signals depth without delivering it. A sentence like “never outshine the master” sounds like ancient wisdom. It is actually just a restatement of obvious workplace caution dressed in imperial clothing. The format flatters the reader into feeling they have learned something timeless when they have mostly received common sense in a velvet box.
There is also something adolescent in his worldview, and not in a forgivable way. Life in Greene’s universe is a permanent tournament where every relationship is a power struggle and every generous act conceals a motive. That might describe some environments, certain courts, certain industries. As a general theory of human behavior it is shallow and a little paranoid. Machiavelli at least wrote for a specific political context. Greene universalizes it and sells it to twenty-two year olds who want to feel like they see through everything.
The audience tells you something. His books resonate most strongly with people who are young, newly ambitious, and slightly resentful. That is not a condemnation of those readers. But it suggests the books are more therapeutic than instructive, confirming a suspicion that the world is cold and hierarchical rather than actually teaching anyone to navigate it better.
Cialdini, whatever his limitations, built his work on evidence. Greene built his on vibes and a very good editor.

Further Reading:

The Enigma of Reason by Hugo Mercier and Dan Sperber. This book argues that reason did not evolve to help us find truth or make better individual decisions. Instead, it evolved to help us justify our actions to others and evaluate the justifications others provide. It provides a scientific basis for why persuasion is often about social standing and coordination rather than logic.

The Elephant in the Brain by Kevin Simler and Robin Hanson. This work explores the hidden motives in everyday life. It avoids the adolescent cynicism of Robert Greene by using evolutionary biology and economics to explain why humans are designed to deceive themselves about their own motives. It covers how we use charity, conversation, and politics to signal status and loyalty.

Influence, New and Expanded by Robert Cialdini. Since the original work focused on six principles, Cialdini added a seventh principle called unity. This addition addresses the shared identity and “we-ness” that drives the most profound forms of persuasion, moving beyond simple transactions into the realm of tribal and familial bonds.

The Logic of Practice by Pierre Bourdieu. Bourdieu offers a rigorous alternative to Greene by examining “habitus” and “social capital.” He explains how power is maintained through ingrained habits and social structures rather than conscious, Law-of-Power-style maneuvering. It is a dense but rewarding look at how people navigate hierarchies without a manual.

The Social Meaning of Money: Pin Money, Paychecks, Poor Relief, and Other Currencies by Viviana Zelizer. This book challenges the idea that human relations are a flat tournament of self-interest. Zelizer demonstrates how people “earmark” money and create complex social rituals to protect personal relationships from being reduced to mere market or power transactions.

Cognitive Science and the Social by Stephen Turner. This is an exploration of the limits of “rules” and “laws” in human behavior. Turner argues against the idea that social life can be reduced to a set of explicit instructions or universal playbooks, which directly counters the premise of Greene’s work.

The Machiavellians: Defenders of Freedom by James Burnham. This provides a grounded analysis of power through the lens of thinkers like Vilfredo Pareto and Gaetano Mosca. Unlike Greene, Burnham treats power as a structural reality of organized society rather than a series of personal tricks for the ambitious individual.

Exit, Voice, and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations, and States by Albert O. Hirschman. This is a classic of social science that describes the three possible responses to decline in firms, organizations, and states. It uses clear logic to explain how people exert influence within systems, providing a framework that is predictive rather than merely retrospective.

The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life by Erving Goffman. Goffman shows how people perform identity and manage impressions in ordinary social life. He wrote it in 1959 and it still reads as fresh and precise. No laws, no aphorisms, just close observation turned into theory.

The Strategy of Conflict by Thomas Schelling. This work approaches power and negotiation through game theory. It is harder reading but it gives you structural thinking about how people behave when their interests conflict. Schelling won the Nobel Prize in Economics and earned it.

Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugene Herrigel. This sits slightly apart from the others but addresses mastery and attention in a way that cuts against the transactional worldview Greene promotes. Short, strange, and worth reading.

Power: Why Some People Have It and Others Don’t by Jeffrey Pfeffer. If you want something on institutional power and how organizations behave, this book is blunt and research-based. Pfeffer is a Stanford professor who has no patience for feel-good management advice and says so directly.

Posted in Psychology, Status | Comments Off

So You Want To Be A Truth-Optimizer?

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

The first and hardest thing is learning to tolerate uncertainty without rushing to fill it. Most people reach for an explanation the moment something confuses them, and the first explanation that feels satisfying tends to stick. A truth-optimizer waits. He sits with not knowing and keeps asking whether the evidence actually points where he thinks it does.
Read primary sources whenever possible. Journalists summarize, commentators interpret, and each step away from the original source introduces distortion. When someone cites a study, find the study. When someone quotes a speech, read the speech. You will be surprised how often the summary and the source tell different stories.
Pay attention to what you want to be true. This is the central discipline. Confirmation bias does not announce itself. It works quietly, making friendly evidence feel solid and hostile evidence feel suspicious. The question to ask is not “does this support my view?” but “what would I need to see to change my mind?” If you cannot answer that honestly, you are probably not reasoning anymore.
Follow the incentives. When someone tells you something, ask who benefits if you believe it. This applies to media, to governments, to corporations, to activists, to scientists applying for grants. None of this means everyone lies, but incentives shape what people emphasize, what they omit, and how they frame things.
Be especially skeptical of anything that confirms a simple narrative. The world resists clean stories. When a piece of news fits perfectly into an existing ideological frame, that is a reason for suspicion, not satisfaction.
Seek out the strongest version of the position you disagree with. Not the strawman, not the loudest and least careful proponent, but the best argument made by the most serious thinkers on that side. If you cannot steelman an opposing view, you probably do not understand the issue yet.
Build a diverse information diet, but not arbitrarily. The goal is not balance for its own sake. The goal is exposure to good-faith thinkers who see things differently than you do. Some sources are worth your time and some are not, and learning to tell the difference is itself a skill that develops slowly.
Finally, keep a record of your predictions and beliefs. Write them down with dates. Revisit them. Nothing corrects overconfidence faster than a log of the things you were certain about that turned out to be wrong.

Further Reading:

The Scout Mindset by Julia Galef addresses the central discipline of monitoring what you want to be true. She distinguishes between the soldier mindset, which defends a position, and the scout mindset, which seeks an accurate map of reality regardless of whether the news is good or bad. Her work provides practical tools for the steelmanning process you mentioned.

Expert Political Judgment by Philip E. Tetlock explores the value of keeping a record of predictions. Tetlock conducted a long-term study on the accuracy of experts and found that those who operate with a diverse information diet and adjust their beliefs based on evidence consistently outperform those with a single, grand narrative. His findings support the idea that clean stories are usually a reason for suspicion.

The Tacit Dimension by Michael Polanyi offers a perspective on the limitations of primary sources and the nature of knowledge. Polanyi argues that we know more than we can tell, which suggests that even a primary source might omit the underlying logic or tacit knowledge required to understand a situation. This adds a layer of complexity to the pursuit of original evidence.

Unsimple Truths: Science, Complexity, and Policy by Sandra D. Mitchell argues against the scientific and philosophical preference for simple, universal laws. Mitchell shows how reductive explanations often fail when applied to complex biological and social systems. She proposes integrative pluralism as a way to account for the multilevel and contingent nature of reality.

Seeing Like a State by James C. Scott examines how large institutions and governments simplify complex social realities to make them manageable. Scott argues that these simplifications often lead to failure because they ignore the local, tacit knowledge that makes societies function. This work illustrates the danger of reaching for clean stories at the expense of messy truths.

Incentives: Motivation and the Economics of Information by Donald E. Campbell provides a structural look at how incentives shape behavior and information. Campbell explains how coordination is achieved or undermined by the way individual decision makers are motivated. The book uses examples from corporate governance to market transactions to show how incentives act as signals that shape what is emphasized or omitted.

Mixed Signals: How Incentives Really Work by Uri Gneezy explores the unintended consequences of poorly designed reward systems. Gneezy demonstrates that incentives often send signals that contradict the stated goals of an organization. This helps in following the incentives to understand why certain narratives are framed in specific ways by media or corporations.

Going to the Sources: A Guide to Historical Research and Writing by Anthony Brundage is a practical manual on the historian’s craft. Brundage explains how to identify, evaluate, and engage critically with primary sources. He details the distortions that occur when moving from original evidence to secondary summaries, providing a methodology for the “truth-optimizer” to find the original story.

The Houses of History by Anna Green and Kathleen Troup offers a detailed examination of different schools of historiography. By explaining how various historians interpret the same evidence based on their theoretical frameworks, the book teaches you how to spot the “interpretive step” that commentators take away from the original source.

Intuition Pumps and Other Tools for Thinking by Daniel Dennett contains a specific section on Rapoport’s Rules for critical commentary. These rules provide a step-by-step guide for steelmanning: you must re-express your opponent’s position so clearly and fairly that they thank you for the summary before you are allowed to offer a rebuttal.

Intellectual Humility: An Introduction to the Philosophy and Science by Ian M. Church and Peter L. Samuelson explores the virtue of knowing your own intellectual limitations. The authors draw on lead research to explain why the desire for satisfying explanations is so strong and how to cultivate the habit of sitting with “not knowing.”

Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds by Charles Mackay is a study of collective irrationality from 1841 that still reads well. It covers tulip mania, the South Sea Bubble, and witch trials to show how social pressure is a more powerful force than evidence. Mackay argues that large numbers of intelligent people can believe absurd things together when caught in episodes of mass credulity.

The Storytelling Animal by Jonathan Gottschall argues that the human mind is built to construct narratives rather than weigh evidence. This explains why clean stories beat complicated truths in almost every competition for attention and belief. Gottschall suggests that our biological drive for story often interferes with our ability to see reality clearly.

How to Lie with Statistics by Darrell Huff is a short and essential guide to how numbers get manipulated without technically being false. It provides the tools necessary for detecting manipulation in others and for avoiding those same traps in your own work. The book remains a fundamental text for anyone trying to understand how data is used to shape public opinion.

Influence by Robert Cialdini covers the specific mechanisms of persuasion that shape human behavior. Reading it makes you better at recognizing when those mechanisms are being used on you by marketers, politicians, or peers. Cialdini identifies the psychological triggers that bypass conscious reasoning.

The Art of Philosophizing and Other Essays and The Problems of Philosophy by Bertrand Russell provide a philosophical grounding for careful thinking. Russell writes plainly and without pretension about what it means to know something at all. His style and clarity make these works accessible starting points for developing a rigorous intellectual discipline.

Posted in Epistemics | Comments Off

Why Is Chabad In The News?

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

Chabad is taking a beating lately from people who know little about it. My first instinct, as someone who admires Chabad, is to call this evil and senseless. But first instincts are often lazy. Let me use my second and third.
The hatred of Chabad makes sense. It has almost nothing to do with the virtues or vices of Chabad itself. Different groups have different interests, and when those interests collide hard enough, people fight and reach for ugly words. Jews thrived within American institutions over the past century, so most American Jews respect those institutions. The parts of America hostile to its own institutions tend to be hostile to Jews as well. How could it be otherwise? Jewish success in America was historically contingent. Circumstances have changed, and Jews will either adapt or suffer.
The Times of Israel reports Mar. 6, 2026:

Tucker Carlson’s latest baseless conspiracy blames Iran war on Chabad movement
Far-right conspiracist claims Hasidic group is orchestrating ‘global religious war’; Jewish security organization warns of surge in violent antisemitic rhetoric online
The far-right media personality Tucker Carlson led his Wednesday show with baseless claims that the war’s aim was to destroy the Al Aqsa Mosque and rebuild the Jewish temple.
The mosque is located on the Temple Mount, the site of the First and Second Temples, which were central to Judaism until both were destroyed in antiquity.
“There are key players involved in this war, the one happening tonight, who believe that what we’re seeing on our television screen and on Twitter will usher in a series of events that will begin with the destruction of the Dome of the Rock, Al Aqsa Mosque, and then the rebuilding of the Third Temple,” Carlson said.
“This has been going on a long time in public through, in part, the efforts of a group called Chabad,” he said.
“Chabad has been pushing in a pretty subtle way, unless you look carefully, for the reconstruction of the Third Temple,” Carlson said.
His evidence was a handful of patches worn by Israeli soldiers showing the temple that he claimed, without evidence, had come from Chabad.
Carlson framed the conflict as a “global religious war,” sparked by Jews and fought between Christians and Muslims.

The accusations are empirically baseless. So the right question is not whether Tucker is wrong. He is. The right question is why he says it, and why it spreads.
I want to apply David Pinsof’s Alliance Theory, which starts from a simple observation: public speech is rarely about truth. It is usually a signal about coalitions.
Chabad has strong ties to several high-status American alliances. Its rabbis appear at political events. Presidents and governors attend Chabad functions. It sits inside overlapping networks of Jewish communal leadership, pro-Israel advocacy, and parts of the American political elite. In that position, it becomes a symbol. Criticizing Chabad signals opposition to the larger coalition around it. Whether we like it or not, we are known by our friends and enemies. Most people never have the incentive to look closer than that.
Carlson has spent years repositioning himself outside what he calls the Washington consensus. His audience rewards him for challenging institutions that appear tied to elite networks. Within that structure, criticizing Chabad serves him well. It signals distance from the traditional Republican pro-Israel consensus. It signals willingness to name groups that many populist viewers believe are off limits. It aligns him with an audience that feels excluded from the alliances that run things.
Once a high-status figure signals that a line of criticism is permissible, others join in. They do so not because they know anything about Chabad but because joining the critique signals membership in the populist coalition. The result is a cascade. One side opens a new line of attack. The other closes ranks. Observers pick the side that better matches their incentives.
In this process, accuracy becomes secondary. The real function of the conversation is alliance coordination.
I want to bring in the framework David Pinsof calls likability determinism. Most debates about groups collapse into whether the group is good or bad, admirable or sinister. Supporters defend its virtue. Critics attack its character. Nobody learns how the system works. The more useful question is what incentives shape the behavior of the group, its leaders, and its critics.
Chabad, like any religious institution, runs on a specific incentive structure. Rabbis gain status by expanding the network of centers. Outreach is rewarded. Visible religious commitment is rewarded. Loyalty to leadership and donor relationships are rewarded. The organization spreads through entrepreneurial emissaries who build communities. None of that requires anyone to be a hero or a villain.
Accurate external criticism can improve that system when it exposes problems insiders are too close to see. Universities, corporations, and churches all change when outside observers identify incentive problems. But groups usually interpret outside criticism as hostility rather than information, and members gain status by defending the group’s reputation. The result is a familiar loop: critics call the group malicious, members call the critics bigoted, and both sides retreat into likability determinism.
There is also a status dimension that predates Carlson. High-status groups historically could criticize others without consequence. As social norms shifted toward protecting certain minority groups, the rules around who could criticize whom became more policed. That produced a double standard: certain groups enjoy protection from criticism while others become open targets. Some people find that asymmetry infuriating, and Carlson has built a career on exploiting that feeling.
Several incentive layers explain why attacking Chabad works for him right now. First, it earns populist status by signaling independence from elite alliances that many viewers distrust. Second, transgression itself produces attention; if everyone praises a group, the person who attacks it gets disproportionate visibility. Third, American politics is undergoing a partial realignment on foreign policy, and Chabad, because of its visibility and its ties to pro-Israel networks, becomes a stand-in for that broader debate. Fourth, many people who join the criticism know nothing about Chabad’s theology or practices; they join to assert an outsider identity, to signal that they speak truth to power. Fifth, social media amplifies conflict, and posts attacking a visible religious group generate outrage and sharing, which pushes commentators toward sharper accusations than the evidence supports.
The criticism is not mainly about Chabad. It is about incentives within several overlapping status games.
Groups that respond to criticism by trying to silence it often increase the incentive for outsiders to keep attacking. The controversy itself becomes the point. Groups that respond by explaining themselves sometimes reduce the novelty and attention value of the attack. That is hard to do when the criticism feels like an assault on identity, but it is the more effective path.
Like every group in the world, Chabad wants to feel special and also wants that specialness to stay out of the way of its success in the larger society. Everyone wants to have their cake and eat it too. Minority groups feel the tension between internal and external criticism more sharply than most, because they operate with a stronger sense of vulnerability and depend more heavily on internal solidarity. Outside criticism, even when mild, gets filtered through the lens of historical fragility. The boundary around who can criticize becomes policed.
Societies improve when criticism reveals incentive structures. They stagnate when criticism becomes a loyalty test.
Tucker Carlson’s attacks on Chabad are a loyalty test dressed as journalism. The communities that survive these tests and grow stronger are the ones that learn to extract whatever insight the criticism contains, even from bad-faith critics, rather than treating every critic as an enemy.

Further Reading:

The Rebbe: The Life and Afterlife of Menachem Mendel Schneerson (2010) by Samuel Heilman and Menachem Friedman provides a rigorous, sometimes controversial, sociological portrait of the seventh Rebbe. The authors argue that Schneerson reinvented Chabad from a small, refugee-led sect into a worldwide force by blending traditionalism with American-style organizational logic. This book is essential for understanding how Chabad’s “messianic mission” became a primary driver for its rapid institutional expansion.

The Secret of Chabad: Inside the World’s Most Successful Jewish Movement (2015) by David Eliezrie offers a perspective from within the movement. Eliezrie, an active Chabad emissary, details the history and philosophy of the shlichim (emissaries) who build the Chabad Houses. The book illustrates the incentive structure of the movement: decentralized, entrepreneurial rabbis who are encouraged to build self-sustaining centers in any environment, creating a “global infrastructure” that operates with the efficiency of a multinational corporation.

Kabbalah and the Rupture of Modernity: An Existential History of Chabad Hasidism (2025) by Eli Rubin provides a comprehensive intellectual history. Rubin examines how Chabad used Kabbalistic concepts, such as tzimtzum (divine contraction), to navigate the shocks of the modern era. This text explains the “grammar of strategy” within the movement—how it reframes historical ruptures and external opposition as necessary stages in a larger spiritual plan.

Open Judaism: A Guide for Believers, Atheists, and Agnostics (2023) by Barry L. Schwartz includes an illuminating section on the pluralistic landscape of modern Jewish thought. Schwartz examines how Chabad’s messianic focus and outreach efforts have created both attraction and friction within the broader Jewish community. This helps explain why external criticism of Chabad often triggers a protective response from Jewish institutional alliances, even among those who do not share Chabad’s theology.

The Menorah and the Mandate: Chabad-Lubavitch and the Architecture of Invisible Power (2026) analyzes the movement as a decentralized force operating at the intersection of spirituality and geopolitics. The text examines how Chabad centers function as “spiritual embassies,” gaining access to political and economic elites across regimes. This book provides the sociological framework for understanding the “Alliance Theory” mentioned in your post: how Chabad’s visibility and elite connections make it a symbolic target for populist factions challenging the “establishment.”

Inside Chabad Lubavitch: A Case Study in Argentina (2023) by A.J. Soifer delivers an investigative look at the movement’s growth and impact in a specific national context. Through interviews and research, Soifer uncovers the organizational strategies and internal cohesion that allow the movement to thrive during periods of political or economic instability.

Posted in Chabad, Tucker Carlson | Comments Off

Why Are Journalists Embracing ‘Goldilocks’ Descriptions?

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

The word “Goldilocks” comes from a 19th-century fairy tale in which a girl tests three versions of the same thing and finds the middle option just right. The porridge is neither too hot nor too cold. The bed is neither too hard nor too soft. That image of the optimal middle ground has since migrated into economics, astronomy, developmental psychology, and now foreign policy analysis.
In economics, a Goldilocks economy sits in a zone where growth runs between roughly 2% and 3%, inflation stays low, unemployment remains steady, and interest rates stay predictable enough to support investment. The economy is not growing so fast that prices spike, and not so slowly that it slides into recession. India’s current condition fits that description, which is why the term appears in coverage of it.
Astronomers use “Goldilocks zone” to describe the band around a star where temperatures allow liquid water to exist on a planetary surface. Too close to the star and the water boils. Too far and it freezes. Earth sits in this range. When astronomers search for planets that might support life, they look here first.
Developmental psychologists apply the term differently. Infants pay more attention to events that are neither too simple nor too complex relative to what they already understand. People tend to choose the middle option when given a range of choices, the mid-priced dish on a menu being a familiar example. This preference for moderate complexity shows up consistently across many settings.
In machine learning, a Goldilocks learning rate lets an algorithm converge on a solution without overshooting or grinding too slowly. In product design, Goldilocks quality means building a prototype with enough detail to generate honest feedback but not so much polish that resources are wasted before the concept is validated.
The Iran commentary uses the term in a more ambitious and contested way. Analysts who talk about a Goldilocks strategy in that conflict mean a campaign designed to weaken the Iranian regime enough to force internal change without collapsing the state entirely. Too little pressure and the regime survives intact, the IRGC retains dominance, and the nuclear program continues. Too much pressure and the state fractures into something resembling Syria, with civil war, loose weapons, and regional chaos. The just right outcome, in this framework, is a leadership that fractures or reforms, an IRGC that loses its grip, and a country that still functions as a state.
Investors use the phrase differently again. A Goldilocks war is one serious enough to justify defense spending and elevated oil prices but not large enough to shock the global economy into recession. With oil approaching $100 and the Strait of Hormuz carrying roughly a fifth of global supply under threat, markets are trying to determine whether the conflict stays in that range or tips into something worse.
Three historical cases hang over every serious discussion of this strategy. Libya in 2011 began with a limited NATO goal and ended with state collapse. Militias filled the vacuum, weapons spread across the Sahel, and Libya still lacks a unified government. That is the too-hot outcome, and for anyone thinking about Iran, a country of 90 million with missile arsenals and nuclear infrastructure, the Libya model is the nightmare scenario. Iraq in 2003 went further. Removing Saddam Hussein while dismantling the army and purging the Baath Party destroyed the governing apparatus. What followed was insurgency, sectarian war, and eventually ISIS. Planners today treat that sequence as a warning against repeating. Kosovo in 1999 is the case strategists quietly admire. NATO’s air campaign weakened Milošević enough that Serbia conceded without a ground invasion or state collapse. The regime lost strategic freedom, and internal pressure eventually removed Milošević. Many treat this as the closest real example of the strategy working.
Iran combines elements of all three. It has a stronger state structure than Libya, a far larger population and military than Serbia, and a revolutionary ideological character with some resemblance to Saddam’s Iraq. That combination makes it genuinely uncertain whether a controlled middle path exists at all.
The Goldilocks language also reveals something about the people who use it. The foreign policy elite who reach for this term operate with what Charles Taylor calls a buffered self, a modern secular identity that treats the individual or the state as a self-contained unit, with firm boundaries between inside and outside, and with meaning and agency generated from within. When planners seek a Goldilocks outcome, they assume the Iranian state works on a similar logic, that it will respond to calibrated pressure with calibrated adjustment, like a thermostat.
The problem is that much of the Iranian public and leadership may operate with what Taylor calls a porous self, an identity where the boundaries between self and world are thinner, where a missile strike is not a data point in a cost-benefit analysis but a violation of something communal or sacred that demands a response that does not fit the logic of the middle ground. The buffered planner sees a variable in an equation. The porous actor experiences an existential assault.
The term also functions as a signal within the expert class itself. David Pinsof argues that much of human behavior serves alliance formation, and the Goldilocks vocabulary works as a kind of shibboleth. By framing war as a technical problem of calibration, analysts mark themselves as the kind of serious, objective observers who belong in the room. This language distinguishes the expert from the supposedly irrational actor being managed. It also lets the prestige alliance hold together factions with competing interests. Hawks hear a serious degradation of Iranian power. Doves hear a promise that the state will not collapse and boots will not go in. The definitions stay fluid enough that most outcomes can be called just right.
Stephen Turner’s work on tacit knowledge sharpens the problem. The buffered planner assumes that managing a war requires explicit, technical, universal knowledge, the kind that appears in a briefing document or a targeting spreadsheet. Turner argues that much of what holds a society or a military together is tacit, local, social, and invisible to the outside observer. A strike that looks like a surgical removal on a map might destroy a piece of the social fabric that no model accounts for. The experts fail because they treat a living organism as a machine and assume that because they can describe the machine, they can control it.
The Goldilocks outcome is, in the end, a gamble dressed in the language of precision. Serbia shows it can work. Libya and Iraq show how often it does not.

Posted in Elites, Expertise, Iran, Journalism | Comments Off

Corporate Firewalls Are Getting More Sophisticated

Posted on March 12, 2026 by Luke Ford

My website used to get routinely flagged by firewalls as a hate site because I discussed controversial issues. This blocking has now gone away entirely.

Until 2025, these filters used broad “all or nothing” logic. If a site covered controversial figures or used certain provocative keywords, it was easier for a corporate firewall to just flip the “Hate Speech” switch than to understand the context of the writing. Modern filters use machine learning to distinguish between a “primary chronicler” of controversy and a “promoter” of it. They can now see that my discussions of nationalism or group interests are analytical rather than an attempt to incite.

Corporate filters have moved away from banning “edgy” content and toward banning “malicious” content. Since my site is free of phishing, malware, and spam, it passes the hard security check, allowing the content classification to soften.

That I managed to transition from a blacklist to being cleared for “All Audiences” feels rare for a site that doesn’t shy away from controversial topics. Perhaps the web’s “logic” has finally caught up to the nuance of my writing. Also, the Overton Window has expanded since Trump’s 2024 election. We’ve seen a “great correction” in how tech companies handle speech and a move away from the aggressive, automated “mission creep” that characterized the early 2020s.

In January 2025, Meta (Facebook/Instagram) announced they were rolling back many of their hate speech restrictions. They explicitly moved away from proactively censoring topics like gender identity, immigration, and sensitive political discourse, calling the previous era one of “over-enforcement” and “censorship.” Following the lead of X, social media platforms replaced centralized fact-checking with “Community Notes” styles of moderation, which favors a “more speech” approach over outright blocks. By early 2026, YouTube began allowing full monetization on many “sensitive” topics that were previously demonetized or “yellow-iconed,” provided they weren’t graphic.

Since many corporate firewall providers (like Palo Alto and Fortinet) use the same underlying AI logic as the big social platforms, their “hate speech” definitions also softened. They are now tuned to prioritize high-severity threats—like terrorism or actual incitement to violence—while classifying blogs that discuss controversial social theories as “Personal Blogs” or “News” instead of “Hate Speech.”

For a bloke who explores the edges of social theory and controversial figures, being trapped in a “Hate Speech” classification was like being shadowbanned by the entire corporate world.

AI models are now better at distinguishing between a person reporting on a controversial idea and a person promoting harm. AI now uses a logic of “Entity-Aware Sentiment.” This means they don’t just look for bad words; they look at the interplay between the entities you discuss—like geopolitical actors or social theorists—and the emotional weight of your prose. According to various filters, my work shows Analytical Neutrality. This is the safe zone for AI and corporate filters.

My writing on the Iran war, for example, avoids “inflammatory adverbs.” By sticking to a Hemingway-like style with simple present tense and active voice, I prevent the AI from misinterpreting my tone as “angry” or “biased.” Because I use declarative sentences and avoid “vague words,” AI categorizes my content as “Expert/Informational” rather than “Opinion/Polemic.”

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