The Reader might wonder, whether or not, either Micklethwait or Wooldridge, have been brought back by Zanny Menton Beddoes, as experts on wheather Putin is losing his grip?
Editor: Reader just by the hyperbolic tone of this collection of paragraphs, this can’t be the measured tones of Micklethwait or Wooldridge, these Oxbridgers would quale at such feline tones!
IT ARRIVED NOT as an event but as a sensation, felt everywhere at once: Vladimir Putin has led Russia into a dead-end and nobody has a map for what comes next. The first manifestation is a shift in the language used by senior officials, regional governors and businessmen: they have stopped using the first-person plural when talking about the actions of authorities in the country.
As recently as last spring, everything was “we” and “ours”. Mr Putin’s war on Ukraine may be reckless and failing, but it was shared. “We” were inside it, and it would be better for all of “us” if it ended sooner. Now they describe what is happening as “his” story, not “ours”. Not our project, not our agenda, not our war.
His decisions are described as “strange”. Even stranger is the fact that he decides anything at all. It is not only about falling approval ratings. The future is no longer discussed in terms of what Mr Putin will decide, but as something that will unfold independently of him—and possibly already without him.
This shift in language does not signal a rebellion. The authoritarian system can survive for a long time on fear, inertia and repression. It still has a monopoly on violence, but has lost its monopoly on shaping the future. In the past, the regime, for all its lies, had some project it could tout: “restoring statehood”, reasserting itself as an “energy superpower”. There was even “modernisation” before the U-turn to ultra-conservatism and war.
Editor: A change of tone manifest itself: Irony of a kind?
The irony is that Mr Putin started the war to preserve power and the system he has created. Now, for the first time since the conflict began, Russians are starting to imagine a future without him. This is down to a confluence of four factors.
First is the growing cost of fighting. The war in Ukraine was meant to be a special military operation conducted by selected groups who received financial incentives for their trouble, while the rest of society carried on as normal. This model crumbled as the war grew in length and scale. It has led to higher inflation and taxes, neglected infrastructure, increased censorship, endless prohibitions. It is not a national war, but it is paid for nationally—and society is not being offered any purpose in return.
Second is a growing demand for rules among elites who have been forced back into Russia, along with their capital. Previously their property rights were outsourced to the West. They used London courts, offshore structures and international arbitration to resolve conflicts or seek protection. Now conflicts must be resolved domestically, without functioning institutions. Demand for rules grows more urgent as redistribution of assets gathers pace.
In the past three years assets worth around 5trn roubles ($60bn) have been seized from private businessmen and either nationalised or handed to loyalists and cronies, the largest redistribution of property since the mass privatisation of the 1990s. It is not that the elites have suddenly discovered a taste for the rule of law or democracy. But even those loyal to the regime crave rules and institutions that can resolve conflicts fairly.
Third is the change in geopolitical climate that Mr Putin himself helped bring about. Russia sees itself as reshaping the global order. In reality it is a mere catalyst: Russia’s war on Ukraine has accelerated the crisis of Western democracy, the rise of populism and globalisation fatigue. Russia now finds itself in a world where rules are weak and where economic and technological strength and brute force dominate. In the rules-based world, Russia could exploit asymmetries: Europe’s dependence on its gas, its seat on the UN Security Council, the Soviet nuclear legacy. But Europe now buys its gas elsewhere, Russia’s Security Council seat has been devalued with the UN itself, and its nuclear blackmail has undermined the non-proliferation regime, depriving Russia of its status as an arbiter. When the order itself begins to crumble, the benefits of Putinist revisionism quickly disappear.
At the same time, Russia is suffering an identity crisis. For the first time in generations it lacks an external model to define itself against. Historically it defined itself in relation to Europe and the wider West. They were there to catch up with, to fall behind, to confront. That old axis is gone. The West as a single cultural, military and political entity is in crisis. There is no “there” against which one can define “here”. This is not an ideological issue. It is structural. Any development in Russia has to have an internal source of meaning—and the government is unable to provide it.
Fourth is growing ideological control without any balancing dividend. The previous social contract, whereby the state stayed out of people’s private lives while citizens stayed out of politics, has collapsed. In the past the system bought people’s loyalty with convenience, services and consumption. Now all it can offer is repression, intrusion and censorship—of which this year’s internet restrictions are the most striking manifestation.
The issue is not so much repression itself as repression without purpose. An ideology by definition presupposes an image of the future. This one demands discipline without offering one. People are required to be loyal without being told what future that loyalty serves. The political reality does not look desirable even for most of the technocrats involved in its construction. Optimism has been burned out from within.
Running out of moves
All four factors create a situation which in chess is known as a Zugzwang: when every move worsens the position. The system can persist for as long as Mr Putin remains in power. But his every move to preserve and expand it accelerates decay. His instinctive response may be to intensify repression. He may start another war. But these actions would only make things worse. He cannot restore the connection between power and the future. He can only make the rupture bloodier and more dangerous. ■
Newspaper Reader posits that this collection of ‘Economist Chatter’ passed through many, many hands!
Sir Keir Starmer killed the Labour Party for Israel
May 08, 2026
The 2026 local elections have delivered exactly the nightmare scenario so many of us predicted for Starmer’s Labour. Yet, bizarrely, some of his closest allies are acting like they don’t understand why voters have deserted them. This isn’t just a bad night at the polls, it’s proof of how hopelessly out of touch the corrupt neoliberals running the country truly are. The Starmer project is collapsing under the weight of its own emptiness.
Labour appears to be on course to lose up to three-quarters of the seats it was defending–potentially 1,900 councillors. The party has lost control of historic heartlands, such as Tameside, Hartlepool, and Wigan, and swathes of the North and Midlands. Reform has made massive gains, but the data shows Labour lost most of its vote share to the Greens.
Zack Polanski has achieved the Greens’ strongest-ever local election performance, despite a relentless smear campaign. The antisemitism nonsense once weaponised against Jeremy Corbyn was not so effective against the UK’s only Jewish political leader.
Exit polls show 42% of 18-34 year-olds backed the Greens, compared to just 28% for Labour–a 14-point swing since the 2024 general election. Working-age families rejected Labour outright and the party only consolidated support among older boomers. Labour is no longer the party of labour.
Professor Sir John Curtice told ITV News: “Labour’s vote share drop is the largest for a governing party in local elections since 2010. The Greens have successfully positioned themselves as the authentic voice of progressive voters concerned about climate and inequality.”
Starmer is now haunted by his infamous line from the campaign trail: “If you don’t like the changes that we’ve made, I say the door is open and you can leave”. Voters have bolted through that open door. Now he stands alone, wondering why his rivals are sharpening their knives. The irony is that Labour has no credible replacement so they are stuck with the liar they helped into power. Starmer deliberately blocked Andy Burnham (arguably the only figure with broad appeal) from becoming an MP.
After 14 years of Tory rule, the public were desperate for genuine change. Instead, Starmer offered more of the same: more privatisation, more austerity, more authoritarianism. The wipe-out was entirely predictable–and for those who warned about it from the moment the Labour right sabotaged Corbyn in 2017, this is a cathartic “I told you so” moment.
The Labour right spent years systematically destroying the left’s influence with no real plan beyond that. Starmer wasn’t just handed the leadership, he was backed by a network of lobbyists and donors who rigged the rules, purged the party, and stole the membership’s power to choose a transformative leader.
Among Starmer’s key backers was pro-Israel lobbyist Trevor Chinn, who quietly donated £50,000 to Starmer’s leadership campaign (a donation only declared after the contest). The Israel lobby funded around half of Starmer’s cabinet. Corporate interests and think-tanks like Labour Together played their part. The plan worked beautifully: the membership was sidelined for a genocidal rogue state, and Starmer’s Labour became a moral vacuum.
While there are many layers to Labour’s unpopularity, the driving force behind Starmer’s leadership has been his unwavering Zionism. He purged critics of Israel, stripped away protest rights, treated pensioners and activists as “terrorists”, censored the internet, pandered to the Israeli ambassador, and continued arms supplies to Israel while pretending otherwise. Who can forget his chilling statement that Israel has a right to withhold food, water, and energy from Palestinians?
A decision was made early on to protect Israel at all costs, depriving the UK of much-needed progressive change. The Israel lobby is more than happy to see Labour die because the Tories and Reform are also on their side. Corporate media won’t touch this story, of course. They’re not even allowed to acknowledge the lobby exists or mention the Forde Report. Instead, they paint Starmer as a decent man in a tough spot who simply misjudged a few things. The truth is the man has no desire to improve anyone’s life but his own. He lied to Labour members to become leader and to the electorate to become prime minister. Even worse, mainstream journalists slapped him on the back for doing so.
Ever since he made his notorious ten pledges, Starmer’s record has been a litany of U-turns and betrayals. He scrapped the £28 billion green investment pledge, cut winter fuel payments for millions of pensioners, kept the two-child benefit cap (until his hand was forced), pushed cruel welfare and disability reforms, and flip-flopped on delaying local elections to avoid humiliation.
Add in scandals like Peter Mandelson’s ambassadorial appointment, NHS and military contracts for Palantir, Trump using our airbases to illegally bomb Iran, and the broken promises on workers’ rights, and Labour’s collapse is no mystery.
Starmer insists he is staying put because the public’s concern is simply the “pace of change,” rather than what he is offering, but everyone across the political spectrum is rejecting him, including the centrists who got behind his People’s Vote campaign.
The principle-free David Lammy repeated the “don’t change the pilot mid-flight” line, but Jonathan Brash is demanding Starmer set out a departure timetable. All Starmer has achieved is transferring the energy and enthusiasm of the Corbyn era to the Greens while handing the far-right a shot at power. It’s clear he would prefer a Reform government to a Green one. He has always attacked the left more viciously than the right.
UK politics is now a four-way split that’s rapidly becoming a new two-party system: Reform on the right, Greens on the left. This is the result of 47 years of Thatcherite failure. If only Reform voters understood their party is also Thatcherite at heart. If only they knew Nigel Farage praised Liz Truss’s disastrous mini-budget! We still have time to help them understand what they are supporting.
Starmer’s refusal to resign might actually be the best thing for the Greens right now. A snap general election would risk handing Reform a victory. The longer Starmer clings to power, the more he haemorrhages progressive support. A moderate replacement could slow that momentum.
Reform voters recoil when confronted with their party’s actual policies whereas the public tends to agree with Green policies—this means televised debates would favour Polanski over Farage. Another positive factor is that young voters are more likely to vote in general elections than local elections. A higher turnout of young voters means a higher vote share for the Greens.
Clearly, the Greens need more time to build, but this political climate makes a 5-10% surge by the next general election entirely realistic. The local elections are the beginning of a political realignment, one that will either result in socialism or fascism. Take your pick.
Thank you for reading. All of my content will always be freely available, but if you wish to support my work, you can do so at Ko-fi or Patreon. Likes, shares and comments also help massively.
Editor: The rules of this game are predicated upon the fact that the reader must first accept the fact that Mr. Stephens plays a kind game here! That game is that Stephens can some how play the role of an objective observer, of Jake Auchincloss, of a particular kind or iteration ? While he is still in fact a Zionist Loyalist, whose desires somewow demonstarte that his flueny somehow denotes actual insights. While not forgettiing the propinquity of Class that features in the Auchincloss and Stephens maufactured relations.
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Among Majority Democrats’ founding members are Abigail Spanberger, the governor of Virginia; Mikie Sherrill, the governor of New Jersey; Ruben Gallego, the senator from Arizona; and Elissa Slotkin, the senator from Michigan.
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Mainly, though, it’s about championing working- and middle-class concerns against the interests of what he calls “an ossified American aristocracy.” And it’s about restoring an old type of patriotism, based on foundational American ideals, against the blood-and-soil patriotism championed by the likes of JD Vance.
In the interviews, I sometimes found myself disagreeing with Auchincloss. But I conducted them to learn things, not to get into an argument. He thinks deep and provoked me to think more deeply, whether the subject was the estate tax or the war with Iran. Our talks have been condensed and edited for clarity.
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Editor: Reader always be aware, of the continuing note of self-congetulation in Stephens intejections/comments. And this exchange between the two as evidence of a kind of … see Auchincloss reply to Stephens comments in italics.
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Bret Stephens: It looks right now like Democrats will do well in the midterms. Does that mean the overall state of the party is improving?
Jake Auchincloss: Yes, but I think what you’re also asking is: Can Democrats extrapolate from the midterms to potential for 2028? And my argument would be no. I think that we should be pretty cleareyed and introspective about that. You’ve written a lot, Bret, about “move to the center, Democrats.” I would complicate that a little bit because I think what you’re saying is move to the center as though there’s sort of a one-dimensional tug of war. And I’d say if we played that game, we’d probably lose in ’28.
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Editor: Does this next exchange between Stephens and Auchincloss even surprise the the reader!
Stephens: You have been, much more so than most of your caucus, outspoken in your defense of Israel’s right to defend itself. Do you worry that the Democrats are becoming an anti-Israel party? And do you worry about the antisemitic current running in at least some parts of the progressive left?
Auchincloss: Yes, about the antisemitic current running in parts of the Democratic left, and the antisemitic current running on the MAGA right. We have a horseshoe phenomenon here. Tucker Carlson and Nick Fuentes are much more influential in their party than any antisemitic hashtags are in the Democratic Party, and we should be cleareyed about that. It’s unacceptable on both sides, and it needs to be called out by political leaders of their own parties when it happens on both sides.
When I think about antisemitism, in the arc of history, it’s usually a symptom of a failed society, of a rotten society. Whether it was medieval European cities, whether it was 19th-century Imperial Russia, whether it was parts of the Middle East, it’s usually societies that are degrading.
One of the early symptoms of that is the othering of the Jew and the scapegoating of the Jew. And when I think about modern antisemitism, I think of it as a very clear example of the fact that our digital realm has become a failed society. And antisemitism on TikTok and on X, which is where it is mushrooming, is really just an example that these social media platforms have become failed states and failed societies.
Which is why I’ve been directing so much legislation against them about their liability, about their tax profile and, frankly, just trying to drive the pitchforks toward them.
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Stephens: Then what’s the best way of going forward?
Auchincloss: The assertion Democrats make right now is: This war was a failure. We want to insist that any agreement inked with Iran would require a two-thirds vote in the Senate. We say, War Powers Resolution, going to take over the steering wheel from a guy who should not be in charge of war and peace.
Then we have an “ideas primary” for the 2028 presidential contenders on the Democratic side, because we have to have a point of view about how to build back from strategic failure. My core argument would be that it has to be based on knitting together NATO with the Abraham Accords through energy, defense and infrastructure.
Stephens: Say more.
Auchincloss: So you’ve got a few projects underway. One is, you’ve got an air-defense concept of an Abraham Accords air-defense system. [Under relations established by the Abraham Accords, Israel is said to have sent air-defense systems to the United Arab Emirates to defend against Iranian attacks.] That needs to be put on the urgent level where you bring in Ukraine.
Ideally, you actually take the Russian frozen assets, you use them to invest in the Ukraine defense industrial complex, and you help Ukraine monetize its drone and counter-drone capabilities by selling them to the Gulf states to harden their energy infrastructure, which they desperately need.
Then we need to double down on IMEC, the India-Middle East-Europe Economic Corridor, which was put in place a few years ago. It’s sometimes called the new Golden Road — really the counter to China’s Belt and Road Initiative. Functionally, it’s a series of energy and infrastructure investments that knit together India, the Middle East and Europe.
Stephens: Is part of the idea here a strategy of containment for the newer, younger, more hard-line Iran that emerges from this war as you see it?
Auchincloss: Yes, it’s neutralizing not just Iranian, but I would argue Sino-Iranian influence. In an even bigger context, it is finally making good on President Obama’s pivot to Asia.
It’s basically saying to NATO and to the Abraham Accords, all right, we’re going to work with you. We’re going to invest in you. We want to do all these things with you as allies. But you’re paying for it. And you’ve got to harden yourselves and knit yourselves together because we can’t let China have home field advantage in the Indo-Pacific. We’ve got to be there in the South China Sea. We’ve got to be there in Southeast Asia. And that’s where our focus has to be.
Stephens: Final question. If there is one thing you learned in the Marine Corps which every American should know, what is it?
Auchincloss: Officers eat last.
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Editor: The Reader cannot be surprised by the comments by Stephens nor Jake Auchincloss they are fellow travelers!
The American-Israeli attack on Iran was more than a bad idea; it has turned into a watershed in the decline of the American empire. Some might prefer the word “hegemony” to describe the world order the United States leads, since its flag does not generally fly over the lands it protects or exploits. But the rules are the same: Imperial systems, whatever you call them, last only as long as their means are adequate to their ends. And with the Iran war, President Trump has overextended the empire dangerously.
A Middle Eastern military misadventure is one of the last ways a casual observer would have expected Mr. Trump’s presidency to go wrong. The problems he alluded to in all three of his presidential campaigns had mostly resulted from our leaders’ governing beyond their means. At home, proponents of wokeness underestimated the costs and difficulties of micromanaging interactions between groups. Abroad, the mighty American armed forces proved to have no particular talent for democracy promotion, and there was the recent debacle in Iraq to prove it. Overextension was a danger that President Joe Biden contemptuously dismissed. “We’re the United States of America,” he used to say, “and there’s nothing we can’t do.”
Powell, who died in 1998, has been castigated as a racist and condemned, not to say vilified, by the liberal left; but as Christopher Caldwell argues in his provocatively titled book, Reflections on the Revolution in Europe: Immigration, Islam, and the West, his demographic predictions have proved remarkably accurate. In one of his speeches Powell shocked his audience by predicting that Britain’s nonwhite population of barely a million would reach 4.5 million by 2002; according to the Office of National Statistics, the size of Britain’s “ethnic minority” population actually reached 4.6 million in 2001. His predictions for the ethnic composition of major cities such as Wolverhampton, Birmingham, and Inner London were similarly on target. Britain’s Commission for Racial Equality predicts that by 2011 the population of Leicester will be 50 percent nonwhite, making it the first major British city without a white majority.
This pattern is being replicated in cities throughout Western Europe. According to Caldwell, Europe is now a “continent of migrants” with more than 10 percent of its people living outside their countries of birth. The figure includes both non-European immigrants and citizens of countries belonging to the enlarged European Union who are permitted to move freely within its territory. But it also includes a substantial body of immigrants—namely Muslims—whom Caldwell regards as posing “the most acute problems” on account of their religion (an issue never mentioned by Powell in his speeches).
The statistics are highly variable since many countries do not register the religion of their citizens. However, it is generally assumed that there are now upward of 13 million Muslims, and possibly as many as 20 million (Caldwell’s preferred figure), living in the European Union. The largest concentrations are in France with more than 5 million, Germany with around 3 million, Britain with 1.6 million, Spain with a million, and the Netherlands and Bulgaria with just under a million. Overall, the proportion of Muslims now residing in the European Union (including the indigenous Bulgarian Muslims) remains at 5 percent, a proportion twice that of the “nearly seven million American Muslims” mentioned by President Barack Obama in his Cairo University speech last June.
Editor: The fact that America is the land of Political/Moral Reinvention? Recall ‘The New Nixon’? Or is that an inconvient fact of political hacks, who must reinvent themselves in order to be in a usable catorgory? Consider the voice of Art Critic Harold Rosenberg in his ‘The Tradition of The New’ as a way of considering, in fact judging, what is actual, rather than resort to the prestidigitation’s of a political hack. The final paragraphs of Caldwells intervention, on ‘Imperial Decline’ offers ?
It is tempting to ask where in the process of imperial decline the United States now finds itself. It certainly has elements in common with Britain a century ago: deindustrializing, overcommitted, complacent. On the eve of World War I, Britain was dependent on Germany for industrial and even military technology — and unwilling to re-examine the free-trade system on which German supremacy had been built. By the eve of World War II, Britain was essentially bankrupt. There are parallels in America’s dependence on China today.
The skepticism about American hegemony that led Americans to turn to Mr. Trump was a healthy one. If a globalist system built on free trade, democracy promotion and mass migration is so great, Trump voters asked, then why have we had to borrow $35 trillion since we took it up? That’s a genuinely good question. Mr. Trump was the perfect candidate for Americans who suspected something had gone wrong with their elites. His argument, basically, was that American-led globalism was so beneficial to politicians that once in power, they would defend it even against their voters, no matter what they said while campaigning. Events, alas, have proved him right.
Editor: The fact is that both Republicans and New Democrats, are not just amismal failures, but are bought and paid for political political minions, to the The Zionist Faschist State’s continuing Crimes! Not the speak of American Billionires whose alligence is the that Murderious State!
The bumptious Canadian Frontiersman Jordan Peterson has become the latest, in a long line of moral/political reactionaries, defending the waning power of the ubiquitous White Male, and his ebbing control over the lesser beings of the planet.
It is no surprise that he would mount a campaign against The New-New Dealers in the Democratic Party Ilhan Omar , Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez & Rashida Tlaib. Not to forget Tulsi Gabbard & Bernie Sanders as part of the reformer coterie. Peterson and ally defend the New Democrats i.e. Neo-Liberals who are the ‘hard-working mainstays’ of the Party of The Clinton’s i.e. Reaganites in Democratic Party Drag.
The Democrats will lose in 2020 because they will nominate Hillary Clinton or her clone, the current number of candidates is now 20? while ignoring the Reformers, that Peterson and his co-author find so insidious. While Rep. Nadler and his House allies fritter away their political capital on the Impeachment mirage.
That Mr. Peterson has gained fame, and or infamy, with his war on the self-invented ghost of ‘Marxist Post-Modernism’ ,while framing his own work in psychology in ‘Jungian Archetypes’ produces credulity of the most insidious kind in his acolytes. That leads some to believe that he is a Prophet, indeed a Visionary. Such is Mr. Peterson’s new status that he was asked to write an introduction to Aleksander Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago 1918-56. Stephen Kotkin voices a telling critique of Peterson, full time political/ cultural hysteric , in the TLS:
(The clinical psychologist Jordan B. Peterson contributes a new twelve-page foreword excoriating Marxism, which in its banalities adds nothing to Ericson’s original foreword.)
P.S. Note that Mr. Kotkin’s remark on Peterson is parenthetical!
Your last statement gives the game away, the preposterous ‘as if’ being, that the Posh Boys at the Financial Times,are callabos via an ‘apotheosis of certain Democratic outliers’ firmly places you in Trump Political territory!
Melissa Zinkin, Depth: A Kantian Account of Reason, Oxford University Press, 2024, 296pp., $99.00 (hbk) ISBN 9780197786802.
Reviewed by Anastasia Berg, University of California, Irvine
2026.04.1
In his review of Susan Neiman’s The Unity of Reason: Rereading Kant (1997), an early entry in the “unity of reason in Kant” scholarly genre, Paul Guyer complained that the things Neiman describes as evidence for Kant’s single conception of reason, one account which can unify the apparently disparate realms of inquiry—theory and practice—and, correspondingly, being—nature and freedom—were “really similarities in our use of reason in the various areas of our inquiry and conduct.” (Guyer, 1997, 292). With this, Guyer set a basic standard for any subsequent attempt to answer the vexing question of the unity of practical and speculative reason in Kant. The question, to be sure, is Kant’s own. The “two separate systems” of philosophy, that of nature and that of freedom, are, Kant claims in the first Critique, “ultimately… a single philosophical system” (A840/B868), and he similarly insists in the Groundwork that “in the end there can be only one and the same reason,” unified “in a common principle (4:391, cf. also 5:91). But what that common principle might be Kant never stated clearly.[1]
Melissa Zinkin’s Depth: A Kantian Account of Reason is only one of the most recent attempts to secure the common principle or function that will lay bare the unity of the Kantian conception of the faculty of reason. It joins a diverse list of entries: reason’s regulative use in positing the practical postulates of God, soul and freedom (Pauline Kleingeld, Paul Guyer); practical reason’s ultimate object: the highest good (Jens Timmermann); the categorial imperative (Onora O’Neill, Alix Cohen); the standard of healthy human understanding (Melissa Merritt); a conception of reason as ‘comprehension’, understood a capacity for a specific kind of systematic understanding (Karl Schafer) and the principle of purposiveness (Sabina Vaccarino Bremner).
Every attempt to discover the hidden key to the unity of Kant’s theoretical and practical philosophies is ambitious, and Zinkin’s is no exception. Zinkin argues that what unifies reason is a principle, the principle of systematicity, which is the principle of “deep cognition and comprehension” (248). When reason judges in accordance with this principle, its judgments, theoretical and practical, have cognitive depth. (Zinkin’s argument thus, in its broad outlines, closely resembles Karl Schafer’s recent argument in Kant’s Reason: the Unity of Reason and the Limits of Comprehension in Kant, and indeed, it would have been helpful to hear more from Zinkin herself about how she views the differences between them.)
According to Zinkin’s Kant, human beings ought not only form correct judgments regarding the world, works of art and what to do but “become deep thinkers” (185), which means thinkers who strive not only to know what things are but why they are so: why horses are mammals, human beings rational and good actions good. Characterizing our mental lives as intrinsically aiming at depth is an attractive proposition, but I worry that the way Zinkin finds room for it in Kant risks depriving our so-called ordinary epistemic and moral lives of rationality itself.
The book is divided into two parts, dedicated to Kant’s theoretical and practical philosophy, respectively, with about half of the first part dedicated to Kant’s reflections on aesthetic judgment in the third Critique. In its pages, Zinkin illuminatingly weighs in on a number of open questions, e.g., Kant’s seven levels of cognition (Ch.1), the moral worth of Huckleberry Finn’s refusal to turn Jim in, contrary to his conception of his duty (Ch.5), and the transition from Section I to Section II in the Groundwork (Ch. 6). Limitations of space prevent me from going into these discussions’ interesting details, and I will have to limit myself to introducing and commenting on her central, broadest claims.
Zinkin is on surest footing in her treatment of Kant’s theoretical philosophy. In the first chapter, Zinkin introduces the claim that, for Kant, reason is the faculty of deep systematic judgment, which she identifies with Kant’s account of both “comprehension” in the Jäsche Logic (9:65) and reflective judgment in the third Critique. Zinkin rightly emphasizes that Kant’s concern with reason is not merely a negative one: to deny us knowledge by means of reason of anything that is beyond the bounds of experience and restrict the use of reason to a formal logical function as the store of the rules of inference. Rather, reason emerges as “a transcendental faculty that contains the conditions for the possibility of the cognition of objects”, where the cognition in question is not that of determinative judgments about what things are but “the insight into or comprehension of why something is what it is, that is, its organizing principle” (47).
The welcome redemption of reason comes, however, at a high cost. Zinkin asserts a sharp distinction between ordinary determinative judgments of experience and reflective judgments of reason: while determinative judgments are superficial, relying on “pre-given” concepts, deep reflective judgments are ones that employ concepts I “discover for myself”. This is the distinction between making the judgment x is p, say an animal is a mammal, because “it matches a description I have read in a book” (72), and making the same judgment “by discovering for myself that it has mammary glands.”
In the second judgment, “I, myself, have acquired the reason for making this judgment” (72). We already encounter a difficulty: even if there is a meaningful distinction to be drawn between the way in which I know most mammals, i.e., by learning about them from others, and the way I know those few where I happen to have had the occasion to observe the presence of their mammary glands “for myself”, is it right to think of the latter, DIY concepts, as inherently less superficial than the former, which I obtained from experts via written text?
Zinkin goes so far as to claim that ordinary determinative judgments are “mechanical and automatic, determined by habit or some already-given concept” (84). And correspondingly claims that when we judge determinatively, we judge “unreflectively and automatically, as when I am influenced by prejudice” (85). This seems to fly in the face of Kant’s profound concern with securing the rationality of our judgments, the sort of rationality that makes them fit to be the basis of inferences.
By contrast, for Zinkin, deep cognition amounts to cognitive “Freedom”: “the flexibility to apply what we have learned to new contexts—to think further and more deeply about something” (80-81fn14). The strong contrast between ordinary determinative judgments and deep ones threatens to preclude the expansion from one to the other since, and this I take to be of Kant’s most basic lessons, the gap between the mechanical and automatic and the rational is not one that can be easily bridged.
It is, of course, undeniable that our conceptual mastery can expand, as when a basic ability to identify, say, a dog, by a few basic characteristics of its appearance and behavior, develops into a broader and more systematic grasp not only of its form of life but also animal life in general, the division into species and genera, the history of human’s manipulation of dog’s breeds, etc. At the same time, we want an account of this development to illuminate the possibility of this development. This is precisely what characterizing basic determinative judgments in an empiricist fashion as “mechanical” and “automatic” obscures.
Moreover, while in learning what makes dogs dogs, I am deepening my understanding; arguably, the possibility of this expansion is already implicit in my basic determinative judgment. It is, in other words, constitutive of my basic, initial determinative judgments that they can be expanded by means of my gaining further information about what makes things the things they are.
And, finally, the process by which I come to know more things about dogs than I did initially is often no different than the one by which I came to learn to make my initial, simple judgment: by means of others. If I go deep sea diving, I may first consult a quick guide to identify a new life form I have never heard of, but surely in order to expand that knowledge, I am not really required to perform any experiments myself. I may continue to rely on others, my diving instructor, the authors of my guides, as I grow my understanding of this life form and connect it, systematically, to the rest of my knowledge of marine life. This is not the contrast between “mechanical, superficial judgment” (90) and “good, deep judgment”. It is rather the transition from fully rational and adequate empirical judgment employing a rudimentary grasp of concepts to rational empirical judgments employing a better—we might say deeper—grasp of concepts.
Finally, if ordinary exercises of empirical judgment were defective in the way that Zinkin suggests, it would not only be a mystery how I go from the superficial to the deep myself, but it would be unclear how any humans have ever come to possess “comprehension”, for the mechanical prejudicial judgments would hardly be fit to perform the justificatory role that they must in the growing of our complex, systematic empirical knowledge, i.e., what Zinkin’s “comprehension” is all about.
Moving to aesthetic judgements, we find Zinkin assimilating them without remainder to the judgments of comprehension. Beautiful objects, Zinkin claims, give us pleasure because they “deepen our cognition”. The unity and coherence of the beautiful object is, however, not sui generis; it is rather “precisely the systematic unity of reason”, the unity that “makes comprehension possible” (108). Zinkin speculatively proposes that beautiful objects occasion the following cognitive process: we encounter a particular X (e.g., a human being), for which the understanding has a rule, Xs are Fs (e.g., a human being is a rational animal). Then the imagination comes up, of its own accord, with an image of something else, we know not why or wherefrom, that could serve as a possible counter example to the rule (in her example, a cyborg). This prompts a reflection on the original rule: “The imagination playfully asks, ‘Could this thing be an instance of that object (the human)?” (111)
Recall that this process of contemplating a counter example to a rule is meant to be the basis of the judgment, this X is beautiful. Indeed, Zinkin goes so far as to suggest that “for Kant genius is the ability to come up with a good counterexample” (113 fn39). But nowhere does Zinkin take up the question of how the alleged capacity of an object to provoke the imagination to come up with “counter examples” relates to any familiar conception of beauty.
For the sake of argument, let us accept this picture of what gaining further understanding of a concept entails (it is far from clear that we should: Kant’s attempt to answer what human beings are does not proceed by imagining counter examples but takes the form of, among other things, three Critiques of our mental faculties). Surely, any specimen of X, beautiful or otherwise, would do as a basis for the initiation of this kind of furthering of understanding. Why think that the beautiful horse provokes our imagination to come up with fanciful counterexamples more that an average one would?
With this, we arrive at Kant’s practical philosophy. Zinkin’s basic account here parallels the one she offers of his theoretical enterprise. The familiar distinction between performing an action from a motivation that can be traced to our self-love and performing it in recognition of a necessity that can be traced to the very form of our rational capacities is replaced with an internal distinction within moral motivation: the distinction between “superficial” moral motivation and “deep” one. Zinkin claims that this distinction is analogous to the distinction between a case where I do something inscrutable because a friend, whom I trust, instructs me to (“throw this egg outside right away!”) and a case where I understand the end that my action will promote.
In the same way, Zinkin claims, an agent can grasp their duty in an ordinary moral judgment “tentatively and mechanically” (128) or, when contemplating the end of moral action, deeply and systematically. What the end of moral action is exactly varies: one ought to act in order to “cause my will to be good” (158); “give its actions moral worth” (159); “for the sake of humanity” (159); “for the sake of its own reason” (162); to “promote my own rationality” (162) or further “my own rational nature as an end in itself” (163); for “the end of promoting one’s own rational nature ” (241); and “for the sake of humanity as an end in itself” (232). This seems not only to give up on the idea of securing the sense in which, in acting from consciousness of the moral law, we do something that is good for its own sake, but to get things backwards. We do not treat human beings as ends to cause our wills to be good, we treat them as ends because this is our duty, because this is what respect for the moral law means, because it is the right thing to do.
Now, to be sure, it is reasonable to suppose, as Zinkin does, that one is likely to be more motivated, if only because far less perplexed, where one has a sense of why one is to do what one should. And one welcome consequence of this position that should be mentioned is the idea that to respect someone’s humanity is to respect their capacity for deep thought (192). This means that what I owe another human being extends far beyond not interfering with their power to choose as they happen to see fit but includes treating others as capable of reflective thought and deep comprehension. It follows that respecting other rational agents implies a duty to provide them with the opportunities necessary to develop their cognitive capacities. Moreover, this means that it is not enough to not treat others as means in a technical sense, by obtaining bare consent by whatever means necessary; treating others as ends in themselves means engaging their capacities of understanding and judgment fully.
But it is far from clear that this distinction between the superficial moral judgments and deep ones is helpful in understanding the distinction between common moral cognition and the sort of moral cognition made possible by philosophical inquiry. In effect, Zinkin assimilates ordinary moral judgments, those I have not “thought through” in the relevant way, to actions performed merely in accordance with the law, not from recognition of duty but from empirical motives. Accordingly, and startlingly, she goes so far as to claim that ordinary moral judgments’ prescriptions are “arbitrary”, “not authoritative and cannot obligate us” (158), and therefore, acting in accordance with such moral judgments has no moral worth (196). The implications are intolerable: anyone without philosophical grasp of morality is not obligated by the moral law.
For his part, however, Kant insists on the moral adequacy and worth of common human reason and its moral cognition. In the introduction to the Groundwork, he writes that while common human reason may “not think so abstractive in a universal form”, it nevertheless has the moral principle “always before its eyes and uses [it] as the norm for its appraisals” (4:404). He goes on to insist that “all moral concepts have their seat and origin completely a priori in reason, and indeed in the most common reason just as in reason that is speculative in the highest degree” (4:411).
Philosophy is not required to make moral action possible: “I do not, therefore, need any penetrating acuteness to see what I have to do in order that my volition be morally good” (4:403). We need moral philosophy not because without it, ordinary moral judgments remain without worth, but because though ordinary people are “capable of the idea of a practical pure reason”, their moral judgments “remain subjects to all sorts of corruption” (4:390). Innocence, Kant writes, is “splendid”, but “it cannot protect itself very well and is easily seduced” (4:405). By articulating the principle of pure practical reason vividly, practical philosophy helps us defend against these temptations. None of this is to suggest that it is prima facie unacceptable to advance a different, heterodox interpretation, but it is to say that such apparently straightforward statements must be addressed, and a case must be at least attempted to explain why we should be on better exegetical or philosophical ground in overlooking them.
Returning to Guyer’s standard: if Zinkin describes a single conception of reason, as a faculty of cognitive depth in theoretical, practical and aesthetic judgment, I remain skeptical that it is Kant’s. Even so, Zinkin articulates a valuable idea: our rationality finds expression in our ambition not only to get things right but to gain further and further insight, by means of expanding and systemizing our knowledge, whether of the world or of how we should conduct ourselves in it. I remain hopeful that it is possible to find it in Kant, and articulate it philosophically, without dismissing so much of our ordinary, pre-philosophical mental lives.
REFERENCES
Guyer, The Philosophical Review, Vol. 106, No. 2, April 1997.
[1] Kant’s works are cited according to volume and page number in Kants Gesammelte Schriften, ed. Deutsche (formerly Königlich-Preussische) Akademie der Wissenschaften (Berlin: G. Reimer, 1900–19; De Gruyter, 1920–). The Critique of Pure Reason is cited according to the page numbers in the first (‘A’) and/or second (‘B’) editions. Whenever available, English translations are taken from Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant, abbreviated as ‘CE.’
Against Aristotelian Character Education: Practical Wisdom, Flourishing, and Liberal Democracy
Benjamin Miller, Against Aristotelian Character Education: Practical Wisdom, Flourishing, and Liberal Democracy, Routledge, 2025, 290pp., $160.00 (hbk) ISBN 9781032960685.
Reviewed by Kirsten Welch, Baylor University
2026.05.1
Character education is having a heyday. Established in 2012 at the University of Birmingham, the Jubilee Centre for Character and Virtue is just one among many organizations dedicated to furthering character education; the Centre claims to have influenced education in the UK and beyond, having formed partnerships with other character-focused organizations and individuals in over 175 countries (Harrison, 2023). The Jubilee Centre, in good company with many of its peer organizations, draws explicitly on Aristotelian foundations and centers its character education framework on concepts of human flourishing and phronesis (Jubilee Centre, 2022).
It is against this backdrop that Benjamin Miller presents the argument of his book Against Aristotelian Character Education: Practical Wisdom, Flourishing, and Liberal Democracy. Whereas many Aristotelians and neo-Aristotelians trot along their merry way, invoking ideas from Aristotle as they shape contemporary character education initiatives, Miller demands that these educators slow down and consider whether this path is in fact one they ought to be following. His book considers a simple but too often unasked question: Is Aristotelian character education actually compatible with liberal democracy?
Miller’s answer to this question is a firm “no”. His basic argument is as follows:
1. Either we can practice Aristotelian character education, or we can support liberalism, but we cannot do both.
2. We ought to support liberalism.
3. Therefore, we must not practice Aristotelian character education.
Against Aristotelian Character Education focuses primarily on establishing the truth of the disjunctive first premise; in other words, Miller’s main concern is to demonstrate the incompatibility of Aristotelian (and also any variety of neo-Aristotelian) character education with liberal democracy. Although, as Miller acknowledges, there are some thinkers who argue that the second premise is false (in other words, that we should give up on liberalism), he notes that most people who endorse some version of Aristotle-inspired character education also consider themselves to be staunchly in favor of liberalism. “Liberalism is the bedrock justification for civil liberties” (240) writes Miller; therefore, giving up on liberalism means giving up on “the types of personal freedom and equality that characterizes [sic] democracies around the world today” (41). This, he thinks, is not a bullet even most die-hard Aristotelians would be willing to bite.
Miller’s argument for the truth of the first premise above divides into two main steps. In the first half of the book, through some careful exegetical work focused on the Nicomachean Ethics, Eudemian Ethics, and Politics, Miller seeks to establish that, for Aristotle, being virtuous involves what he calls an “extensive knowledge requirement”. This extensive knowledge requirement takes the form of a “specifiable, detailed, and complete value theory” (43), which includes a correct conception of the best human life. Expressed negatively, the extensive knowledge requirement says that it is impossible to be virtuous without extensive knowledge of what is objectively valuable in the world, in what order those things are valuable, and why those things are valuable.
Miller offers three separate arguments in support of the extensive knowledge requirement. First, he surveys what Aristotle explicitly has to say about the knowledge needed for virtue, making a presumptive case for the truth of the extensive knowledge requirement. Second, turning to Eudemian Ethics 8.3 and Politics 2.9, he examines Aristotle’s critique of the Spartan regime in order to show that extensive ethical knowledge is required for virtue—the Spartan regime failed because the Spartans “get the order of the value hierarchy wrong” (96), which means that the Spartans are wrong about what it means to flourish as a human being. And third, Miller argues that extensive political knowledge is required for virtue because, for Aristotle, political expertise and practical wisdom are exactly the same thing: “the fully virtuous person must have extensive knowledge related to politics to be virtuous, because this knowledge is part of practical wisdom” (111).
Miller’s argument here relies on the way in which practical wisdom is an integral feature of Aristotle’s virtue theory. Miller’s interpretive argument is compelling, and in my view, one of the most significant contributions in this first part of the book is the way in which he reveals how many scholars within Aristotle studies “are at least implicitly committed” to the extensive knowledge requirement, even though they often leave this commitment unstated or even seek to deny it (79).
Miller’s main audience, however, is not other scholars of Aristotelian texts. Rather, he makes a point of identifying his intended audience as those who seek to apply Aristotelian thought to the sphere of education (4). It is to this audience that he turns in the second half of the book, addressing this question: If we’re going to do some version of Aristotelian character education, what must we necessarily import along with it? Must we also endorse the extensive knowledge requirement? Miller offers a resounding “yes!”, claiming that his main goal for the non-specialist applicators of Aristotle in his audience is “to recognize that the Aristotelian theory of virtue, even modernized versions of it, are inexorably committed to the view that Aristotelian virtues require Aristotelian values” (44). Miller argues that, if contemporary character educators want to hang onto the most attractive features of Aristotle’s theory—his focus on human flourishing and his integration of practical wisdom—then they too must endorse something along the lines of the extensive knowledge requirement for virtue.
The problem, of course, is that endorsing the extensive knowledge requirement is exactly the thing that makes Aristotelian character education incompatible with liberalism. The extensive knowledge requirement ought to make Aristotelian character education a non-starter for anyone committed to liberalism because of the way in which liberalism involves endorsement of two central features, pluralism and antipaternalism, both of which stem from and are necessary for liberalism’s commitment to equality and freedom. Pluralism, according to Miller, is “the idea that there are many different and incompatible ways of living a good human life” (152), and antipaternalism is “the idea that the government should not forcibly impose ways of valuing, believing, and living on its citizens using the argument that the government knows better than the citizens what is best for them” (152).
But, because “Aristotelian virtues require Aristotelian values”, practicing Aristotelian character education involves affirming and educating students into one and only one ultimate vision of the good life. Therefore, Aristotelian character education cannot allow for pluralism. Similarly, any attempts at this sort of character education will necessarily involve imposing ways of valuing on people that they themselves have not chosen. Therefore, Aristotelian character education violates the principle of antipaternalism. As a result, Aristotelian character education undermines equality and freedom and has no place in a liberal society.
Miller argues that even the best recent attempts to avoid these pitfalls fail to do so; he considers Kristjánsson’s (2015) ACE theory and Curren’s (2013) Aristotelian necessities theory as two influential examples. There are at least two ways in which neo-Aristotelian character educators might try to escape the strong demands of the extensive knowledge requirement. First, they might seek to “soften” the contents of Aristotelian value theory, hedging on what exactly constitutes “human flourishing”. This approach is an attempt to deny that the knowledge required for virtue must be extensive and is at the heart of the “thick but vague” strategy, which tries to present a conception of human flourishing that is thick (so that it can ground character education) but also vague (so that it can accommodate various understandings of the good life).
Miller’s contention is that gutting a conception of the good human life enough to make it compatible with liberalism requires us to give up on thinking about the good human life in terms of objective “flourishing” because of the way in which that flourishing, within an Aristotelian framework, depends on having extensive knowledge of what a good human life is. But backing away from the centrality of human flourishing undermines Aristotelian character education both by making it unfeasible (it depends on an appeal to flourishing) and by undermining one central motivation for pursuing it in the first place, which is to help people flourish as human beings.
The second way in which character educators who want to hold onto an Aristotelian approach might resist Miller’s argument is by rejecting the claim that knowledge of value is a requirement for virtue. If we need not convey knowledge of value to students in order to engage in character education, then we need not violate the principles of pluralism and antipaternalism, because we are not telling anybody what they ought to care about or believe. Miller argues that this sort of strategy likewise fails because to say that virtue does not require knowledge is to completely undermine the virtue of practical wisdom, which is a type of knowledge about value.
There are two main consequences of this strategy: first, practical wisdom is the virtue that makes all the other Aristotelian virtues possible, so throwing it out makes Aristotelian character education impossible; and second, practical wisdom is the other main feature of Aristotle’s approach that makes him so attractive, so throwing it out makes Aristotelian character education much less appealing. The upshot of the second half of the book is that Miller attacks Aristotelian character education where it hurts most: he shows how two of its most attractive features—a focus on human flourishing and the centrality of practical wisdom—are the very things that make it incompatible with liberalism and the very things that must be abandoned by anyone who is committed to supporting liberal democracy.
Miller’s argument is clear and compelling, and his book enters into a conversation that is crucial to continue within the field of character education. Against Aristotelian Character Education, nevertheless, leaves several important questions hanging. These questions do not undermine Miller’s project in this particular book—in fact, the two I bring up here are ones he notes that he does not have the time or space to address fully—but I raise them here in the spirit of continuing the conversation where Miller leaves off.
First, Miller notes early on that his argument is meant to apply only to public education (35). Private education, insofar as it is not mandatory, does not run the risk of undermining liberalism in the same way that state-sponsored public education does. Although Miller makes it clear that this is not his area of concern, it is an area that is worthy of exploration with respect to Miller’s argument, especially given that many Aristotle-inspired character education initiatives do happen in private educational contexts. Does Miller’s argument against Aristotelian character education undermine the projects of these contexts too?
Second, Miller’s suggestion at the end of the book is to shift the focus of character educators to the cultivation of “civic virtues”, especially civic virtues that “can help to mediate potential conflicts between citizens’ personal worldviews and their commitments to democratic freedom and equality” (31). Miller is sure to point out that his recommendations here are, in many senses, preliminary, and I agree that fleshing them out is a project beyond the scope of this current book. Nevertheless, I was left wondering about how exactly Miller conceives of “civic virtue” and whether such a virtue—especially one that mediates “potential conflicts” between personal worldviews and commitments to freedom and equality—could itself escape the demand of some sort of extensive knowledge requirement regarding a value hierarchy.
Against Aristotelian Character Education deserves the careful attention of both Aristotle scholars and those who seek to apply Aristotelian insights to the sphere of education. Aristotle interpreters, translators, and applicators alike should take note and seriously consider Miller’s challenge to interrogate more closely the commitments that underlie the work of character education.
REFERENCES
Curren, Randall, 2013, “A Neo-Aristotelian Account of Education, Justice, and the Human Good,” Theory and Research in Education, 11 (3): 231-249.
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