Uncertainty #1: Mind the Gaps
Adaam dispatches our first newsletter from a lush, beautiful clime — and so of course starts musing about the harsh, water-scarce desert and the comprehensibility gaps that divide us.
Why, hello there. Fancy seeing you here!
After much deliberation, Vanessa and I reached the conclusion that we owe you some lagniappe. In the weeks between new episodes we thought it could be an interesting experiment to debrief (briefly — we’ll try), share with you where our minds are at post-interview, and tease what we’re working on and what’s coming down the pike.
Last week we spoke with Walter Russell Mead. The theme was (as admittedly often happens when I talk to people) how things — namely, foreign policy things — get distorted by American perceptions.
Mead makes a very strong case that Israel occupies a bizarre place in the minds of America’s decision makers and public. The causes of distortion are many: anti-Semitism, Orientalism, traces of Calvinistic predestination, America’s special relationship with the Enlightenment and the theology of progress, and, of course, the imminence of the end times.
But I actually want to write about water.
This Argument Holds Water
I'm writing this first dispatch from the Adirondacks. To be surrounded by this opulence, fresh air, and natural beauty is not just humbling, but also possibly the closest I'll ever get to encountering an alien civilization. I can't imagine being regularly confronted by such grandeur, let alone taking it for granted. There's a story about the importance of gratitude (and the complexity of privilege) in there somewhere, but it'll have to wait for another post.
On my first day, after being shown around the camp, I was taken to a lookout to have the surroundings explained to me. The encampment is enclosed between two dazzling lakes. My guide pointed at one of the wild streams that stretched into the horizon and called it “a pond.” This pond was larger than some of the things we call “sea” in Israel. In the Middle East, water is the thing you protect, the object of scarcity, the cause of wars. Here, it’s so abundant it almost stops being impressive.
It's neither good nor bad, but it starkly shows the comprehensibility gap that can form in the minds of people trying to make decisions about other corners of the world. Can someone who thinks water is synonymous with abundance (for whom the danger in water is flood and overflow, rather than shortage) really fathom what it means to launch a nation state in the middle of the desert? I don't want to overstrain this thought experiment, but it's helpful to recognize just how much we — and our intuitions about the world — are shaped by the material and natural landscapes in which we live.
Dune Squirm
All this talk of water and cultural perceptions reminded me of my favorite quote in Dune. To anyone who hasn’t read the book or watched one of the many screen adaptations, Dune tells the story of Paul Atreidis, a trans-galactic immigrant who’s ordered to move into the dry, brutal wasteland of Arrakis from his vernal, paradisiacal home planet, Caladan. In Arrakis, Paul quickly becomes a cult guru of sorts, gaining the trust of the native Fremen, and eventually taking the role of their spiritual leader, if not deity. Paul constantly dreads his own influence over his followers, his ability to inspire blind and fiery loyalty, recognizing in it the potential for both greatness and horror. By the end of the book, Paul’s hold over the minds of the Fremen becomes absolute. He is accepted as the prophesied savior, who the Fremen call the Lisan al-Gaib (“Voice From Another World”). The crucial moment in which this fidelity is locked isn't grandiose, but rather devastatingly subtle. It happens when Paul casually remarks on something that to him seems trivial but to his Fremen companions, having known nothing in their entire lives but drought and desolation, appears mystical. Here Paul is speaking to the Fremen leader Stilgar, who until this moment was his friend and mentor, but is now mesmerized by Paul's messianic implications.
"My mother's sick with longing for a planet she may never see," Paul said. "Where water falls from the sky and plants grow so thickly you cannot walk between them."
"Water from the sky," Stilgar whispered.
In that instant, Paul saw how Stilgar had been transformed from the Fremen naib to a creature of the Lisan al-Gaib, a receptacle for awe and obedience. It was a lessening of the man, and Paul felt the ghost-wind of the jihad in it.
Between the evergreen fields of Caladan and the arid nightmare of Dune there’s another one of those comprehensibility gaps, and in that gap there’s enough space for a new religion, new fanatical prejudices, and even a new holy war.
Things Worth Your Time ⏰
📕 Well, obviously you should read Walter Russell Mead’s The Arc of a Covenant from cover to cover. Trust me, if you’re even moderately interested in American foreign policy, it’s worth it.
🎧 Speaking of how anti-Semitism (and unexamined philo-Semitism) can rot people’s brains, give a listen to our chat with literary scholar Dara Horn, author of People Love Dead Jews.
🗞You might be interested in my piece for Newsweek from last month, unleashing my frustration with the American foreign policy discourse. Somewhere in the previous sentence I should have used scare quotes, just not sure where.
What We’re Working On ⏭
For our next talk, Vanessa is going to take the reins, and I will be shouting comments from the gallery. We’re talking with urbanist Vishaan Chakrabarti about why cities are so expensive and how bad policy has led to culture-war-politics on the local level. An early glimpse into our pre-interview editorial meeting will be available shortly for our beloved paid members! Wanna sign up? We’re not gonna stop you.
One Last Certain Thing…
This is Tootsie. His indelible loveliness has the power to close any comprehensibility gap.