What it’s like to groove on Earth’s only LED moon.

This is Atlantic Intelligence, a limited-run series in which our writers help you wrap your mind around artificial intelligence and a new machine age. Sign up here.In last week’s newsletter, I described artificial intelligence as data-hungry. But the technology is also quite thirsty, relying on data centers that require not just a tremendous amount of energy, but water to cool themselves with.Karen Hao, a contributing writer at The Atlantic, recently visited one such data center in Goodyear, Arizona. Microsoft owns the facility, which may eventually use an estimated 56 million gallons of drinking water each year—“equivalent to the amount used by 670 Goodyear families,” Karen notes. No one’s at risk of going thirsty, but as Karen writes, “the supply of water in the region is quite limited, and the more that’s taken up by data centers, the less there is for, say, supplying tap water to new housing.”I followed up with Karen to ask about AI’s growing demands on our environment. It’s still a matter of debate whether the technology is truly worth its immense costs, even as tech companies commit more and more resources to it. How should we be thinking about all of this? “Companies are laying down data centers faster than ever in the race to build generative AI, but there has been very little accounting of their impacts on the environment,” Karen told me. “There’s a narrowing window in which the public should be asking: Is this what we want? Once the facilities have been built, it will be much more difficult to reverse the decision.”— Damon Beres, senior editor Illustration by Erik Carter AI Is Taking Water From the DesertBy Karen Hao One scorching day this past September, I made the dangerous decision to try to circumnavigate some data centers. The ones I chose sit between a regional airport and some farm fields in Goodyear, Arizona, half an hour’s drive west of downtown Phoenix. When my Uber pulled up beside the unmarked buildings, the temperature was 97 degrees Fahrenheit. The air crackled with a latent energy, and some kind of pulsating sound was emanating from the electric wires above my head, or maybe from the buildings themselves. With no shelter from the blinding sunlight, I began to lose my sense of what was real. Microsoft announced its plans for this location, and two others not so far away, back in 2019—a week after the company revealed its initial $1 billion investment in OpenAI, the buzzy start-up that would later release ChatGPT. From that time on, OpenAI began to train its models exclusively on Microsoft’s servers; any query for an OpenAI product would flow through Microsoft’s cloud-computing network, Azure. In part to meet that demand, Microsoft has been adding data centers at a stupendous rate, spending more than $10 billion on cloud-computing capacity in every quarter of late. One semiconductor analyst called this “the largest infrastructure buildout that humanity has ever seen.” I’d traveled out to Arizona to see it for myself. The Goodyear site stretched along the road farther than my eyes could see. A black fence and tufts of desert plants lined its perimeter. I began to walk its length, clutching my phone and two bottles of water. According to city documents, Microsoft bought 279 acres for this location. For now, the plot holds two finished buildings, thick and squat, with vents and pipes visible along their sides. A third building is under construction, and seven more are on the way. Each will be decked out with rows of servers and computers that must be kept below a certain temperature. The complex has been designated partly for OpenAI’s use, according to a person familiar with the plan. (Both Microsoft and OpenAI declined to comment on this assertion.) And Microsoft plans to absorb its excess heat with a steady flow of air and, as needed, evaporated drinking water. Use of the latter is projected to reach more than 50 million gallons every year. Read the full article.What to Read Next Would limitlessness make us better writers?: “AI embodies hypotheticals I can only imagine for myself,” Rachel Khong writes. “But I believe human impediments are what lead us to create meaningful art.” Neal Stephenson’s most stunning prediction: “The sci-fi legend coined the term metaverse, but he was most prescient about our AI age,” Matteo Wong writes. P.S.Earlier this week, President Joe Biden signed legislation that could result in a TikTok ban if the app isn’t divested from its Chinese parent company. As Charlie Warzel writes for The Atlantic, this will be a more complicated process than it seems—particularly when it comes to the app’s powerful AI algorithm.— Damon

Near the end of Bad Bunny’s 2022 World’s Hottest Tour in Las Vegas, all the lights went out. The Puerto Rican singer and rapper filled the darkness before the song “El Apagón” with a six-minute speech in Spanish about what makes his home island bien cabrón—“really fucking awesome.” He highlighted not only Puerto Rico’s beauty but also its resilience in the face of immense challenges: corrupt governance, poor electricity and water access, a hurricane only five years after the devastation of Hurricane María. Although “it is always becoming harder for Puerto Ricans to live on the island,” he said, their strong sense of kinship saves them: “The leaders are the people, who always help one another.”His speech soon turned into a lament twinged with guilt. “Sometimes I see comments that are like, ‘Where is Bad Bunny?’” he told the stadium. “I’m here, in Las Vegas. This is my job.” The price of fame, he went on to suggest, was a type of exile—work that he cherished but that kept him from the island and people he loved.Community has long been central to Bad Bunny’s work. The Latin-trap superstar, who has set Spotify streaming records and repeatedly topped the Billboard 200 chart, seldom introduces himself without mentioning where he comes from (accepting the 2022 Video Music Awards Artist of the Year trophy, he declared, “I’m Benito Antonio Martínez, from Puerto Rico to the world!”). He famously resists singing or giving interviews in English. Many of his songs contribute to a long Caribbean musical tradition of rebellion against colonialism. Meanwhile, others form an archive of place; the mountains, rivers, and beaches of Puerto Rico seep into numerous perreo anthems. “This is my beach / This is my sun / This is my land / This is me,” ends the house track “El Apagón,” signaling an understanding of Caribbean people as inextricable from the islands themselves. Bad Bunny’s latest tour and album, however, mark a spiritual departure for the artist, finding him retreating inward to wrestle with cynicism and isolation at the top of the world.[Read: SNL didn’t need subtitles]The ongoing Most Wanted Tour, which began in late February, is less of a communal celebration and more of a solo rodeo. I don’t mean this only metaphorically: Midway through the Barclays Center concert I attended this month in Brooklyn, Bad Bunny appeared onstage atop a real, live horse. In the lead-up to this entrance, the stadium darkened as a three-minute video played on-screen, revealing a desert landscape of desolate sepia tones. “They tell me Jesus was in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights,” the singer growled in Spanish. “I’ve lost count of the years I’ve spent between sand and cactus.” In the video, a masked Bad Bunny, encased in a buckskin jacket, rode a slow-trotting horse into an apocalyptic sunset. “I remain like this,” Bad Bunny said. “Alone.” (At this point, my friend’s 78-year-old Puerto Rican grandmother, whom I attended the concert with, cried out in concern: “We’re here for you, baby!”)This new lonely-cowboy persona is in line with the artist’s most recent album, Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana, the 22-song trap opera behind this tour. In it, Bad Bunny explores what it means to be the caballo ganadór, or winning horse—at least that’s what he calls himself in the opening track, “Nadie Sabe,” an orchestral rap that samples trampling hooves. In 2022, he was, by several measures, the top artist in the world. Yet he doesn’t seem convinced that the hype is worth the stress. “Everyone wants to be No. 1,” he raps. “If you want it I’ll give it to you, motherfucker.” What fun is being No. 1 when no one can share it with you?From the get-go, the new tour has approached listeners from a more standoffish posture. “If you’re not a real fan, don’t come,” read the official ads. Instead of energetic house warming up the audience as happened in 2022, this year’s show opened with the longing strings of a classical orchestra. (My friend’s grandmother: “They’re putting me to sleep!”) The ensemble’s rendition of Charles Aznavour’s French ballad “Hier Encore”—which Bad Bunny’s “Monaco” samples—set an early tone for the evening of nostalgia, as if happier days existed largely in the past.Visually, the Most Wanted Tour was also decidedly placeless, leaning into minimalism and abstraction. At the World’s Hottest Tour show I attended in Las Vegas, the vibe was “beach party”: Bad Bunny appeared in an array of joyful pastels. Dancers in bikinis and denim shorts freestyled under string lights. Visuals showed cartoon dolphins swimming toward island oases. I remember feeling shocked when I left the stadium and stepped into the Mojave Desert’s hot and twisting air. The concert had felt like a portal home to the Dominican Republic, ready to rival JetBlue. I could almost feel the cool shine of the sea melting over my feet.Yet this time around, tropical maximalism was replaced by nondescript, arid visuals and monochrome Yeezy-style fashions. The dancers, dressed in all-black hoodies or chaps, appeared sparingly. Most often, Bad Bunny was onstage by himself, hopping from one end to another while performing trap bops in burgundy cowboy gear.For much of the performance, he also sported a Spider-Man-style mask or a studded nun’s habit (à la the Virgin Mary)—a tongue-in-cheek choice for a singer frequently criticized for his lewd lyrics. His hidden face added a layer of distance between him and the audience, seemingly signaling how much access to him we should really get to have. Bad Bunny has rebuked the parasocial aspects of fame, including people’s entitlement to his personal space. Throughout the Nadie Sabe album, he makes several references to a much-reported instance in which, during a vacation in the Dominican Republic, he threw a fan’s phone into some bushes after she photographed him without his consent.Yet despite the lingering specter of celebrity’s dark side, the show’s final act still managed to conjure a wider sense of connection within the audience. Bad Bunny ended with a slew of his reggaeton hits, old and new, and segued into his song “Tití Me Preguntó” with a roll call of places—asking where, among other groups, his Ecuadorians, Mexicans, Dominicans, and Puerto Ricans were at. With each mention, the stadium erupted into ecstatic screams of recognition. Flags rippled; decibels flared. The rare roar of a crowd of Dominicans, all in one place in the U.S., immediately brought tears to my eyes. Once the song started, we screamed back his lyrics about bringing a roster of girlfriends to his VIP table. We in the audience were there, together. Meanwhile, Bad Bunny looped the stage, alone again.

During the early months of the coronavirus pandemic, when many countries were enacting variations of lockdown protocols, air pollution and greenhouse-gas emissions decreased drastically. A meme began to spread across social media proclaiming that, with so many people spending most of their time at home, nature was healing. Images of clear canals, clean skies, and wild animals roaming empty city streets were accompanied by the phrase “We are the virus.” The memes quickly turned silly, and their core claims were roundly debunked as overly simplistic, plain wrong, and somewhat eugenicist. Beyond all this, the trend was deeply ironic: By diagnosing themselves as a pox upon the Earth, people were revealing their degree of self-obsession—a belief that humanity is so powerful and important that the briefest pause in our normal activities would have meaningful consequences for the planet.Nearly two centuries ago, the English author Mary Shelley confronted human beings’ instinctive anthropocentrism in her 1826 novel, The Last Man, which was published eight years after Frankenstein and has recently been reissued. Even then, Shelley might already have been thinking about humanity’s impact on Earth: As the scholar John Havard writes in his introduction to this new edition of the novel, at the time of her writing, “England was already responsible for most of the world’s carbon emissions. The wheels were in motion for the kind of Promethean unleashing of fire that created today’s climate change.”The Last Man is narrated by an Englishman named Lionel Verney, and takes place from 2073 to 2100, during which time he witnesses the beginning, middle, and end of a pandemic so deadly it appears to kill every single human on Earth except for him. Shelley’s wasn’t the first literary work to explore the notion of a lone survivor of an apocalypse; she was preceded even in her own century by Jean-Baptiste Cousin de Grainville’s novel, Le Dernier Homme, as well as by poems by Lord Byron and Thomas Campbell. But rather than viewing the end of mankind as the end of the world, Shelley examines the extinction of humanity on an Earth that keeps on living.[Read: Frankenstein reflects the hopes and fears of every scientific era]Shelley’s novel is preoccupied with how unnecessary human beings are to the planet’s continued revolution around the sun—its changing seasons, the survival of its other inhabitants. As the plague wipes out large swathes of the population, Verney mourns the loss of human relationships and creativity, but also recognizes that nature is full of its own unique bonds, rhythms, and beauty. Ultimately, The Last Man seems to celebrate the notion of life itself as worthy, whatever form it takes. Of course, we should attempt to reverse the damage we’ve wrought on the planet. But it might also behoove us to practice humility in the face of nature’s awesome forces.Shelley’s narrator has a unique relationship to the nonhuman world. His parents died when he was a child, and he was raised as a shepherd in service to a farmer in Cumberland. There, he grew up wild, “rough as the elements, and unlearned as the animals [he] tended.”Verney’s life changes suddenly as a teenager, when the English king’s son, Adrian, visits Cumberland. Verney’s late father had been friends with the king, and recognizing their shared history, Adrian lifts Verney up into the rarified world of the peerage. He invites the boy to live and travel alongside him, and under Adrian’s tutelage and with his resources, Verney studies poetry, philosophy, and science. Yet Shelley makes clear that Verney had never been ignorant: Having spent much of his youth laboring outdoors, he was deeply knowledgeable about “the panorama of nature, the change of seasons, and the various appearances of heaven and earth.” Given the years Shelley spent among some of the foremost Romanticists, including her husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and their close friend Lord Byron, it isn’t surprising that her protagonist finds, in the natural world, plenty to enrich the mind and spark curiosity.Part one of the novel is primarily concerned with conveying the richness of Verney’s social and political life, which is to say, the importance of his human relationships. But Verney’s narration also makes heavy use of natural metaphors and lengthy descriptions of landscapes; in one scene, for instance, he describes the love of his life, Idris, as a “star, set in single splendour in the dim anadem of balmy evening.” Shelley seems keen on demonstrating that despite the comfortable life of the mind Verney now lives, he never loses his reverence for nature.In the novel’s second part, the plague—an airborne virus with no clear pattern of contagion—makes its first appearance amid a Greek war of independencefrom the Ottoman empire. Beginning in Asia and spreading globally, the plague ends up turning the tide of the war as the residents of a besieged Constantinople fall ill and die quickly. One of the novel’s major characters, Lord Raymond, who is married to Verney’s sister, had traveled to the empire’s capital to join the war effort on the side of the Greeks; Verney and his cohort, including his sister, his wife, and Adrian, accompanied him there. Soon after, the plague strikes, and Verney and his circle retreat back to England, where they believe they will be safe from the disease. Before long, though, the plague arrives on England’s shores, ravaging the population.[Read: A pandemic novel that’s oddly soothing]Verney’s contingent survives the worst of the plague and soon leaves England in search of a climate less friendly to the disease. When they arrive in France, they find that their fellow survivors have broken into groups, including one whose extremist religious leader insists that humanity’s sinfulness is to blame for the plague’s spread. This section includes some of the novel’s most rapturous meditations on the natural world’s continued survival amid mass human death. Verney wanders among winter-stricken towns in whose buildings both wild and once-domesticated animals find shelter; watches as nature presents “her most unrivalled beauties” in lakes and mountains and enormous vistas; and, “carried away by wonder,” forgets about “the death of man.” As more and more humans disappear from the Earth, Verney and his companions are left to find solace in the planet’s ongoing cycles and the life that still inhabits it.By the end of the novel, Verney’s entire family and his closest friends have perished. Somewhat bitterly, he watches the thriving flora and fauna around him. But instead of cursing nature’s survival even as his species is going extinct, he recognizes the similarity between himself and the nonhuman animals who keep living: “I am not much unlike to you,” he proclaims. “Nerves, pulse, brain, joint, and flesh, of such am I composed, and ye are organized by the same laws.” Even the last man, as he believes himself to be, cannot begrudge the continued turning of the Earth and the flourishing of its creatures. The Last Man is only one radical guess at a potential future, but in it Shelley reminds her readers that humans need Earth far more than Earth needs us.

Last October, Indian authorities revived legal proceedings against the novelist and activist Arundhati Roy. In a case first registered against her in 2010, Roy stood accused of “provocative speech” that aroused “enmity between different groups” for having said that Kashmir was not an “integral” part of India. The charge carries a maximum sentence of seven years and kept her from traveling to Germany to deliver the opening address at the 2023 Munich Literature Festival.The assault on expression, and on virtually every other mainstay of democracy, has become commonplace under Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government, and it is the backdrop against which Indians have begun voting to elect their next Parliament and prime minister. Of the nearly 1 billion eligible voters, perhaps more than 600 million will cast their votes over a six-week-long process. Modi, who heads the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), is widely expected to win a third term as prime minister in his bitter contest against a motley alliance of opposition parties, the Indian National Development Inclusive Alliance (INDIA).[Read: What has happened to the rule of law in India?]The spectacle of hundreds of millions of Indians—many suffering severe material deprivation—performing their civic duty arouses both hope and wonder, often winning India the title of “world’s largest democracy.” But Indian democracy did not just begin to degrade under Modi: It has been eroding since the first years of independence. Modi has put that process on steroids and today presides over an autocracy in all but name.For decades, the Indian state has used coercive legal powers to suppress dissent and constitutional mechanisms to delegitimize votes. The judiciary has largely acquiesced, money has gushed into Indian politics, and Hindu nationalism has cast a dark shadow of division. What are treated now as anomalies have been the trajectory all along.Nonetheless, world leaders, including President Joe Biden, often describe India as a vibrant democracy. Even more nuanced analyses hold that Indian democracy will withstand the current crisis because Indians respect diversity and pluralism, the country’s democratic institutions are strong, and recovery is inevitable.This romantic view of an inherently democratic India is a fairy tale. According to the Swedish think tank V-Dem, India was never a liberal democracy, and today it is sliding ever more decisively toward autocracy. Even under its first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s impressive electoral apparatus did not guarantee equality before the law or ensure essential liberties to citizens. Subsequent leaders, rather than plugging the cracks in India’s constitutional foundation, expanded them, not least by using the state’s coercive power to circumvent democratic processes for personal or partisan advantage. Fraying democratic norms rendered free speech, dissent, and judicial independence casualties from the start.The constitution that independent India adopted in 1950 defined the country as a democratic republic committed to justice, equality, and fraternity for its people. But the democratic conception of the state suffered its first blow when the constitution was just 18 months old. Nehru, frustrated that Indian courts were upholding the free-speech rights of his critics, amended the constitution in June 1951 to make seditious speech a punishable offense. Only one person was actually convicted of sedition before Nehru’s prime ministership ended with his death. But several suffered for extended periods after lower courts found them guilty and before higher ones reversed the verdicts. That long legal limbo had a chilling effect on speech.The Indian constitution had other undemocratic features that Nehru deployed. It evinced a preoccupation with integrity and security, and emphasized the union, rather than autonomy, of the states it federated. If India’s central government deemed a state’s politics to be dysfunctional, it could place the state under a kind of federal receivership called President’s Rule, essentially disenfranchising the state’s electorate. Nehru imposed President’s Rule eight times during his tenure. The constitution had other significant gaps: It didn’t furnish social and economic equality to women, for example. Nehru tried to pass a bill that would override traditional Hindu patrimonial practices, but even in the postindependence glow of national unity, organized Hindu forces asserted their identity and political power. They stymied Nehru’s legislative efforts in 1951 and then the implementation of the laws that did pass later.Nehru, for all his faults, valued tolerance and fairness. The same could scarcely be said of his daughter, Indira Gandhi, who followed soon after as prime minister and initiated a steep decline from such democratic norms as existed under Nehru. In 1967, she responded to a peasant protest in Naxalbari, West Bengal, by passing the draconian Unlawful Activities Prevention Act, which allowed the police to arrest and hold people without trial, bail, or explanation. This legislation would become an instrument of repression for decades to come. She also placed West Bengal under President’s Rule, and her chosen governor used the police and armed forces to wipe out a generation of idealistic students who supported the peasants. In fact, Gandhi imposed President’s Rule nearly 30 times from 1966 to 1975, when she declared an internal emergency and assumed dictatorial powers. Gandhi called for elections in early 1977, hoping to legitimize her autocratic rule. But when a frustrated Indian populace threw her out, the University of Chicago political scientists Lloyd and Susanne Rudolph—echoing a commonly held view—happily concluded, “Democracy has acquired a mass base in India.”[From the April 1940 issue: India’s demand and England’s answer]That proved wishful thinking. Upon reelection as prime minister in 1980, Gandhi accelerated the erosion of democratic norms. She imposed President’s Rule more than a dozen times in her second stint in power, from 1980 to 1984. She also began pandering to the sentiments of Hindus to win their votes, opening the door to the hard-line Hindu-nationalists who have since become an overpowering force in Indian politics.Perhaps Gandhi’s most pernicious legacy was the injection of “black” money—unaccounted-for funds, accumulated through tax evasion and illegal market operations—into Indian politics. In 1969, she banned corporate donations to political parties. Soon after, her campaigns became extremely expensive, ushering in an era of “briefcase politics,” in which campaign donations came in briefcases full of cash, mostly filling the coffers of her own Congress Party. Criminals became election financiers, and as big-money (and black-money) politics spread, ideology and public interest gave way to politics for private gain. Legislators in state assemblies frequently “defected,” crossing party lines to bag ministerial positions that generated corrupt earnings.And yet, for all the damage done to it, many analysts and diplomats still cleaved to the romantic view of Indian democracy. Upon Gandhi’s assassination in 1984, a former U.S. foreign-service officer, writing in Foreign Affairs, described the monarchical-style handover of power to her son, the political neophyte Rajiv, as proof of the “strength of the republic and its democratic constitutional system.”Rajiv’s stewardship could rightly be seen in an entirely different light. He was the prime minister who let the gale force of Hindu nationalism blast through the door his mother had opened. He commissioned for the state-owned television network, Doordarshan, the much-loved Ramayana epic, which spawned a Rambo-like iconography of Lord Ram as Hindutva’s avenger. And he reignited a contest between Hindus and Muslims over the site of a 16th-century mosque called the Babri Masjid, which had been sealed since 1949 to contain communal passions. Hindu zealots claimed that the structure was built on Lord Ram’s birthplace, and Rajiv opened its gates. Then, in December 1992, Prime Minister P. V. Narasimha Rao’s Congress Party–led government dithered as frenzied Hindu mobs demolished Babri Masjid, triggering bloody riots and further advancing the Hindu-nationalist cause.The decade from 1989 to 1998 saw a series of coalition governments govern India—a development that the historian Ramachandra Guha has described as “a manifestation of the widening and deepening of democracy” because “different regions and different groups had acquired a greater stake in the system.” Democratic norms were, in fact, degrading at a quickening pace during this period. Big-money politics had bred mercenary politicians, who at the unseemly edge were gangsters providing caste representation, protection, and other services that the state could not supply. Politicians paid little attention to the public good—such as creating more jobs and improving education and health services, especially in the eastern states of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh—and learned that they could use plausible corruption charges against one another as a weapon.Hindu nationalism swelled. From 1998 to 2003, the BJP led a coalition government that began aligning school textbooks with a Hindu-nationalist agenda. A Congress-led government from 2004 to 2014 arrested this trend but presided over a steep descent into corruption: During that decade, the share of members of the lower house of Parliament charged with serious crimes—including murder, extortion, and kidnapping—reached 21 percent, up from 12 percent.[Read: India’s democracy is the world’s problem]Both the BJP and the Congress Party embraced a model of economic growth driven by the very rich, and both dismissed the injury to the economic interests of the weak and vulnerable, as well as to the environment, as necessary collateral damage. In Chhattisgarh, a Congress Party leader, with the support of the state’s BJP government, sponsored a private vigilante army to protect business interests, which included the exploitation of minerals and the mowing down of pristine forests in the tribal areas. When the supreme court declared the private vigilante army unconstitutional, Indian authorities responded in the manner of Andrew Jackson, who famously waved off the United States’ chief justice with the statement, “John Marshall has made his decision, now let him enforce it.”The anti-terrorism and anti-sedition provisions that earlier governments had supplied came in handy when the Congress-led coalition sought to suppress protests and intimidate opponents. The government also introduced and steadily widened the ambit of a new law, ostensibly for the prevention of money laundering, and it used the investigative powers of the state to its own benefit in whitewashing corruption: In 2013, a justice of the supreme court described the Central Bureau of Investigation as a “caged parrot” singing in “its master’s voice.”India, on the eve of the election that brought Modi to power in May 2014, could thus hardly be described as a robust democracy. Rather, all the instruments for its demolition had already been assembled and politely passed along from one government to the next. In the hands of a populist demagogue such as Modi, the demolition instruments proved to be a wrecking ball.As a candidate, Modi promised to right India’s feckless economic policy and countervail against the Congress Party’s corruption. These claims were not credible. Worse, as chief minister of Gujarat in 2002, Modi had failed to stop a bloody massacre of Muslims, thereby establishing himself as an avatar of Hindu-nationalist extremism. He couldn’t even get a visa to enter the United States.Nonetheless, many of India’s public intellectuals were sanguine. Antidemocratic forces could be no match for the pluralistic disposition of India’s people and the liberal institutions of its state, some insisted. The political scientist Ashutosh Varshney noted that Modi had eschewed anti-Muslim rhetoric in his campaign—because, Varshney inferred, Indian politics abhorred ideological extremism. Another political scientist, Pratap Bhanu Mehta, asked the BJP’s political opponents to reflect on their own fascist tendencies. The Congress Party, Mehta wrote, “had done its best” to instill fear in citizens and corrode the institutions that protected individual rights; Modi would pull India out of the economic stagnation that Congress had induced.Anti-Muslim violence spread quickly after Modi came to power. Prominent critics of Hindu nationalism were gunned down on their doorsteps: M. M. Kalburgi in Dharwad, Karnataka, in August 2015, and Gauri Lankesh in Bangalore in July 2017. And India was tumbling in global indicators of democracy. V-Dem has classified India as an electoral autocracy since 2018: The country conducts elections but suppresses individual rights, dissent, and the media so egregiously that it can no longer be considered a democracy in any sense of the word. Even the word “electoral,” though, in V-Dem’s designation, has become dubious since then.[Samanth Subramanian: Indian democracy is fighting back]Under Modi’s rule, India has taken a sharp turn toward autocracy, but to get there, the BJP had only to drive a truck through the fissures in the state’s democratic foundations that earlier governments had already widened. The government has seized the coercive powers of the state to fearsome ends, arresting activists and human-rights defenders under various provisions of the law. Successive Washington Post investigations have concluded that at least some of these arrests were based on planted evidence. One of those arrested, a Jesuit priest and human-rights activist, died in prison for want of medical attention when suffering from complications of COVID-19. Income and wealth inequalities have grown, in tandem with extraordinary expenditures even in state election campaigns. Demands for the demolition of more mosques have mounted. Inevitably, to woo Hindu voters, even opposition parties, including the Congress Party, have adopted a softer version of Hindu-nationalist ideology.The BJP government regularly brings charges against its critics in the media for tax lapses or anti-nationalism, among other pretexts. Reporters Without Borders describes India as one of the most dangerous countries for journalists. In 2023, it ranked India 161 out of 180 countries in press freedom, citing the takeover of media outlets by oligarchs close to Modi and the “horrific” online harassment by Modi’s “army of online supporters.”Can Indians really be said to vote freely under such circumstances? Even if the answer is yes, the government seems to have found the means to disenfranchise citizens after the fact. In August 2019, the government withdrew the constitutional provision that gave Kashmir special autonomy. It also downgraded Kashmir from a state to a territory, placing it under the direct control of the central government without consulting the people of Kashmir. Because the supreme court has refused to reverse this move, future central governments might similarly downgrade other states.The chief ministers of Uttarakhand and Delhi are both in jail, awaiting trial on money-laundering charges, and the government has frozen the bank accounts of the Congress Party on allegations of tax evasion. Many opposition-party members who face criminal charges join the BJP, effectively giving the ruling party greater political power in exchange for the dismissal of the charges against them. A recent supreme-court directive requiring transparency in a segment of campaign financing revealed signs of extensive corruption primarily benefitting BJP politicians but also opposition leaders in charge of state governments.Nevertheless, after Prime Minister Modi’s visit to the United States last June and his address to a joint session of the Congress, the White House’s joint U.S.-India statement read: “The United States and India reaffirm and embrace their shared values of freedom, democracy, human rights, inclusion, pluralism, and equal opportunities for all citizens.” In January, Secretary of State Antony Blinken referred to India as the “world’s largest democracy” and a vital partner, a position that the State Department continues to hold.Such statements are at odds with the Indian reality. Over the seven decades since independence, Indian democracy has betrayed its people, leaving the majority without dignified jobs, foundational education, public health, or clean air and water. Alongside that betrayal, the death by a thousand cuts of democratic norms raises the troubling question: Is India now an autocracy?If Modi wins this election, his victory will surely strengthen autocratic tendencies in India. But in the unlikely event that he loses, the erosion of democracy will merely have paused. Democracy is a fragile construct. When deviation from democratic norms persists for as long as it has in Indian politics, deviance becomes the norm. Reversing it becomes a monumental task. Especially if a winning opposition coalition fails to improve the quality of Indian lives, an electorally resurgent Modi and his Hindutva supporters could potentially seal democracy’s fate.

A volcanic eruption in Indonesia, a tilting tower in Taiwan, a growing refugee camp in Chad, the Tokyo Rainbow Pride Parade in Japan, humanitarian aid parachuted into Gaza, protests opposing Israel’s attacks on Gaza in the United States, a performance by Phish at the Sphere in Las Vegas, and much more

The Supreme Court seems to be endorsing his views on presidential power.

Fifty-six years ago this week, at the height of the Vietnam War, Columbia University students occupied half a dozen campus buildings and made two principal demands of the university: stop funding military research, and cancel plans to build a gym in a nearby Black neighborhood. After a week of futile negotiations, Columbia called in New York City police to clear the occupation.The physical details of that crisis were much rougher than anything happening today. The students barricaded doors and ransacked President Grayson Kirk’s office. “Up against the wall, motherfucker, this is a stick-up,” Mark Rudd, the student leader and future member of the terrorist Weather Underground, wrote in an open letter to Kirk, who resigned a few months later. The cops arrested more than 700 students and injured at least 100, while one of their own was permanently disabled by a student.In other ways, the current crisis brings a strong sense of déjà vu: the chants, the teach-ins, the nonnegotiable demands, the self-conscious building of separate communities, the revolutionary costumes, the embrace of oppressed identities by elite students, the tactic of escalating to incite a reaction that mobilizes a critical mass of students. It’s as if campus-protest politics has been stuck in an era of prolonged stagnation since the late 1960s. Why can’t students imagine doing it some other way?Perhaps because the structure of protest reflects the nature of universities. They make good targets because of their abiding vulnerability: They can’t deal with coercion, including nonviolent disobedience. Either they overreact, giving the protesters a new cause and more allies (this happened in 1968, and again last week at Columbia), or they yield, giving the protesters a victory and inviting the next round of disruption. This is why Columbia’s president, Minouche Shafik, no matter what she does, finds herself hammered from the right by Republican politicians and from the left by her own faculty and students, unable to move without losing more ground. Her detractors know that they have her trapped by their willingness to make coercive demands: Do what we say or else we’ll destroy you and your university. They aren’t interested in a debate.[Michael Powell: The unreality of Columbia’s ‘liberated zone’]A university isn’t a state—it can’t simply impose its rules with force. It’s a special kind of community whose legitimacy depends on mutual recognition in a spirit of reason, openness, and tolerance. At the heart of this spirit is free speech, which means more than just chanting, but free speech can’t thrive in an atmosphere of constant harassment. When one faction or another violates this spirit, the whole university is weakened as if stricken with an illness. The sociologist Daniel Bell, who tried and failed to mediate a peaceful end to the Columbia occupation, wrote afterward: In a community one cannot regain authority simply by asserting it, or by using force to suppress dissidents. Authority in this case is like respect. One can only earn the authority—the loyalty of one’s students—by going in and arguing with them, by engaging in full debate and, when the merits of proposed change are recognized, taking the necessary steps quickly enough to be convincing. The crackdown at Columbia in 1968 was so harsh that a backlash on the part of faculty and the public obliged the university to accept the students’ demands: a loss, then a win. The war in Vietnam ground on for years before it ended and history vindicated the protesters: another loss, another win. But the really important consequence of the 1968 revolt took decades to emerge. We’re seeing it now on Columbia’s quad and the campuses of elite universities around the country. The most lasting victory of the ’68ers was an intellectual one. The idea underlying their protests wasn’t just to stop the war or end injustice in America. Its aim was the university itself—the liberal university of the postwar years, which no longer exists.That university claimed a special role in democratic society. A few weeks after the 1968 takeover, the Columbia historian Richard Hofstadter gave the commencement address to a wounded institution. “A university is a community, but it is a community of a special kind,” Hofstadter said—“a community devoted to inquiry. It exists so that its members may inquire into truths of all sorts. Its presence marks our commitment to the idea that somewhere in society there must be an organization in which anything can be studied or questioned—not merely safe and established things but difficult and inflammatory things, the most troublesome questions of politics and war, of sex and morals, of property and national loyalty.” This mission rendered the community fragile, dependent on the self-restraint of its members.The lofty claims of the liberal university exposed it to charges of all kinds of hypocrisy, not least its entanglement with the American war machine. The Marxist philosopher Herbert Marcuse, who became a guru to the New Left, coined the phrase repressive tolerance for the veil that hid liberal society’s mechanisms of violence and injustice. In this scheme, no institution, including the university, remained neutral, and radical students embraced their status as an oppressed group.[Charles Sykes: The new rules of political journalism]At Stanford (where my father was an administrator in the late ’60s, and where students took over a campus building the week after the Columbia revolt), white students compared themselves to Black American slaves. To them, the university was not a community dedicated to independent inquiry but a nexus of competing interest groups where power, not ideas, ruled. They rejected the very possibility of a disinterested pursuit of truth. In an imaginary dialogue between a student and a professor, a member of the Stanford chapter of Students for a Democratic Society wrote: “Rights and privacy and these kinds of freedom are irrelevant—you old guys got to get it through your heads that to fight the whole corrupt System POWER is the only answer.”A long, intricate, but essentially unbroken line connects that rejection of the liberal university in 1968 to the orthodoxy on elite campuses today. The students of the ’68 revolt became professors–the German activist Rudi Dutschke called this strategy the “long march through the institutions”—bringing their revisionist thinking back to the universities they’d tried to upend. One leader of the Columbia takeover returned to chair the School of the Arts film program. “The ideas of one generation become the instincts of the next,” D. H. Lawrence wrote. Ideas born in the ’60s, subsequently refined and complicated by critical theory, postcolonial studies, and identity politics, are now so pervasive and unquestioned that they’ve become the instincts of students who are occupying their campuses today. Group identity assigns your place in a hierarchy of oppression. Between oppressor and oppressed, no room exists for complexity or ambiguity. Universal values such as free speech and individual equality only privilege the powerful. Words are violence. There’s nothing to debate.The post-liberal university is defined by a combination of moneymaking and activism. Perhaps the biggest difference between 1968 and 2024 is that the ideas of a radical vanguard are now the instincts of entire universities—administrators, faculty, students. They’re enshrined in reading lists and codes of conduct and ubiquitous clichés. Last week an editorial in the Daily Spectator, the Columbia student newspaper, highlighted the irony of a university frantically trying to extricate itself from the implications of its own dogmas: “Why is the same university that capitalizes on the legacy of Edward Said and enshrines The Wretched of the Earth into its Core Curriculum so scared to speak about decolonization in practice?”A Columbia student, writing to one of his professors in a letter that the student shared with me, explained the dynamic so sharply that it’s worth quoting him at length: I think [the protests] do speak to a certain failing on Columbia’s part, but it’s a failing that’s much more widespread and further upstream. That is, I think universities have essentially stopped minding the store, stopped engaging in any kind of debate or even conversation with the ideologies which have slowly crept in to every bit of university life, without enough people of good conscience brave enough to question all the orthodoxies. So if you come to Columbia believing in “decolonization” or what have you, it’s genuinely not clear to me that you will ever have to reflect on this belief. And after all this, one day the university wakes up to these protests, panics under scrutiny, and calls the cops on students who are practicing exactly what they’ve been taught to do from the second they walked through those gates as freshmen. The muscle of independent thinking and open debate, the ability to earn authority that Daniel Bell described as essential to a university’s survival, has long since atrophied. So when, after the October 7 Hamas attack on Israel, Jewish students found themselves subjected to the kind of hostile atmosphere that, if directed at any other minority group, would have brought down high-level rebukes, online cancellations, and maybe administrative punishments, they fell back on the obvious defense available under the new orthodoxy. They said that they felt “unsafe.” They accused pro-Palestinian students of anti-Semitism—sometimes fairly, sometimes not. They asked for protections that other groups already enjoyed. Who could blame them? They were doing what their leaders and teachers had instructed them was the right, the only, way to respond to a hurt.[Adam Serwer: The Republicans who want American carnage]And when the shrewd and unscrupulous Representative Elise Stefanik demanded of the presidents of Harvard and Penn whether calls for genocide violated their universities’ code of conduct, they had no good way to answer. If they said yes, they would have faced the obvious comeback: “Why has no one been punished?” So they said that it depended on the “context,” which was technically correct but sounded so hopelessly legalistic that it led to the loss of their jobs. The response also made nonsense of their careers as censors of unpopular speech. Shafik, of Columbia, having watched her colleagues’ debacle, told the congresswoman what she wanted to hear, then backed it up by calling the cops onto campus—only to find herself denounced on all sides, including by Senator Tom Cotton, who demanded that President Joe Biden deploy the United States military to Columbia, and by her own faculty senate, which threatened a vote of censure.The right always knows how to exploit the excesses of the left. It happened in 1968, when the campus takeovers and the street battles between anti-war activists and cops at the Democratic convention in Chicago helped elect Richard Nixon. Republican politicians are already exploiting the chaos on campuses. This summer, the Democrats will gather again in Chicago, and the activists are promising a big show. Donald Trump will be watching.Elite universities are caught in a trap of their own making, one that has been a long time coming. They’ve trained pro-Palestinian students to believe that, on the oppressor-oppressed axis, Jews are white and therefore dominant, not “marginalized,” while Israel is a settler-colonialist state and therefore illegitimate. They’ve trained pro-Israel students to believe that unwelcome and even offensive speech makes them so unsafe that they should stay away from campus. What the universities haven’t done is train their students to talk with one another.

The scrolls lay inside glass cases. On one, the writing was jagged; on others, swirling or steady. I was at the National Palace Museum in Taiwan, admiring centuries-old Chinese calligraphy that, the wall text told me, was meant to contain the life force—qi—of the calligrapher expressed through each brushstroke. Though I couldn’t read the language, I was moved to see the work of writers who lived hundreds of years ago, whose marks still seemed to say something about the creators long after they’d passed.I’m using my fingers to type this now, but every letter is perfectly legible and well spaced. Today, the human body behind the written word is less apparent. When I’m composing an email, Gmail makes suggestions I can deploy in one click: “Awesome!” “Sounds great!” “Yes, I can do that.” Artificial intelligence can produce instantaneous sentences. That a person is responsible for text is no longer a given.Last year, Alex Reisner reported in The Atlantic that more than 191,000 books had been absorbed into a data set called Books3, which was then used to train generative-AI large language models that may someday threaten to take the place of human writers. Among the books in question was my debut novel, Goodbye, Vitamin, which took me five years to complete. My new novel, Real Americans, took even longer: I began working on it in December 2016, and it’s being released at the end of April, seven years and four months later. Those numbers don’t even account for the years of reading, practice, and education (both formal and self-directed) that preceded the writing itself. Now ChatGPT and other LLMs, trained on a wide store of human-generated literature, stand on the cusp of writing novels in no time at all.[Read: What ChatGPT can’t teach my writing students]This seems, initially, discouraging. Here is an entity that can seemingly do what I do, but faster. At present, it “hallucinates” and gets basic facts wrong, but it may soon be able to generate text that can seamlessly imitate people. Unlike me, it won’t need sleep, or bathroom breaks, or patience, or life experience; it won’t get the flu. In fact, AI embodies hypotheticals I can just imagine for myself: If only I could write all day and night. If only I were smarter and more talented. If only I had endless knowledge. If only I could read whole libraries. What could I create if I had no needs? What might this development mean for writing?Considering limitlessness has led me to believe that the impediments of human writers are what lead us to create meaningful art. And they are various: limits of our body, limits of our perspectives, limits of our skills. But the constraints of an artist’s process are, in the language of software, a feature, not a bug.Writing is a blood-and-guts business, literally as well as figuratively. As I type with my hands, my lungs oxygenate the blood that my heart pumps; my brain sends and receives signals. Each of these functions results in the words on this page. In the Middle Ages, monks in the scriptoria wrote: “Two fingers hold the pen, but the whole body toils.” Typing this now, my upper back hurts. I am governed by pesky physical needs: I have to drink water and eat; my mind can’t focus indefinitely. My hands are too cold, and because I haven’t moved it, one foot is going numb. On other occasions, illnesses or injuries have affected my ability to write.The sensitivities of our fragile human bodies require that our labor takes time. Nothing is more discouraging when I am trying to complete a draft. But this exchange—my finite hours for this creative endeavor—imports meaning: It benefits the work, and makes it richer. Over weeks, months, and years, characters emerge and plots take surprising turns. A thought can be considered day after day and deepened.While revising my forthcoming book, one of my thighs erupted into a mysterious rash. Sparing gruesome details, let’s just say it disturbed and distracted me. But it also led me to a realization: I’d been approaching the creation of my novel as though it could be perfectible. In reducing my entire self to my cognition alone, akin to a computer, I’d forgotten the truth that I am inseparable from my imperfect body, with its afflictions and ailments. My books emerge from this body.In his book How to Write One Song, the musician Jeff Tweedy writes: “I aspire to make trees instead of tables.” He was talking about songs, but the concept was revelatory to me as a novelist. Unlike a table, the point of a novel isn’t to be useful or stable or uniform. Instead, it is as singular and particular as its creator, shaped by numerous forces and conditions. In spite of its limits and because of them, a tree is an exuberant organic expression. Though costumed in typeset words, a novel is an exuberant organic expression too.[Read: My books were used to train meta’s generative AI. Good.]AI is creating tables out of our trees. Its infinite iterations are pure veneer: bloodless and gutless, serviceable furniture made of the deforested expanse of human experience. A large language model doesn’t require experience, because it has consumed ours. It appears limitless in its perspective because it writes from an extensive data set of our own. Though writing comes out of these experiences and perspectives, it does not follow that unlimited quantities of each beget maximally substantial work. I believe that the opposite is true.Compared with AI, we might seem like pitiful creatures. Our lives will end; our memory is faulty; we can’t absorb 191,000 books; our frames of reference are circumscribed. One day, I will die. I foreclose on certain opportunities by pursuing others. Typing this now means I cannot fold my laundry or have lunch with a friend. Yet I believe writing is worth doing, and this sacrifice of time makes it consequential. When we write, we are picking and choosing—consciously or otherwise—what is most substantial to us. Behind human writing is a human being calling for attention and saying, Here is what is important to me. I’m able to move through only my one life, from my narrow point of view; this outlook creates and yet constrains my work. Good writing is born of mortality: the limits of our body and perspectives—the limits of our very lives.I can imagine a future in which ChatGPT works more convincingly than it does now. Would I exchange the hours that I spent working on each of my two books for finished documents spat out by ChatGPT? That would have saved me years of attempts and failures. But all of that frustration, difficult as it was in the moment, changed me. It wasn’t a job I clocked in and out of, contained within a tidy sum of hours. I carried the story with me while I showered, drove—even dreamed. My mind was changed by the writing, and the writing changed by my mind.[Read: Prepare for the textpocalypse]Working on a novel, I strain against my limits as a bounded, single body by imagining characters outside of myself. I test the limits of my skill when I wonder, Can I pull this off? And though it feels grandiose to say, writing is an attempt to use my short supply of hours to create a work that outlasts me. These exertions in the face of my constraints strike me as moving, and worthy, and beautiful.Writing itself is a technology, and it will shift with the introduction of new tools, as it always has. I’m not worried that AI novelists will replace human novelists. But I am afraid that we’ll lose sight of what makes human writing worthwhile: its efforts, its inquiries, its bids for connection—all bounded and shaped by its imperfections—and its attempts to say, This is what it’s like for me. Is it like this for you? If we forget what makes our human work valuable, we might forget what makes our human lives valuable too. Novels are one of the best means we have for really seeing one another, because behind each effort is a mortal person, expressing and transmuting their realities to the best of their ability. Reading and writing are vital means by which we bridge our separate consciousnesses. In understanding these limits, we can understand one another’s lives. At least, we can try.

Just a few months ago, America seemed to have licked the post-pandemic inflation surge for good. Then, in January, prices rose faster than expected. Probably just a blip. The same thing happened in February. Strange, but likely not a big deal. Then March’s inflation report came in hot as well. Okay—is it time to panic?The short answer is no. Core inflation (the metric that policy makers pay close attention to because it excludes volatile prices such as food and energy) is stuck at about 4 percent, double the Federal Reserve’s 2 percent target. But that’s a long way from the crisis of 2022, when core inflation peaked at nearly 7 percent and the price of almost everything was going up dangerously fast. Instead, we seem to be facing a last-mile problem: Inflation has mostly normalized, but wringing out the final few percentage points in a handful of categories is proving harder than expected. There are two conflicting views of what exactly is going on, each with drastically different implications for how the Federal Reserve should respond. One camp worries that the Fed could lose control of inflation all over again; the other fears that the central bank will—whoops— unnecessarily bring the U.S. economy to its knees.The “vanishing inflation” view is that today’s still-rising prices reflect a combination of statistical quirks and pandemic ripple effects that will almost surely resolve on their own. This camp points out that basically all of the current excess inflation stems from auto insurance and housing. The auto-insurance story is straightforward: Car prices spiked in 2021 and 2022, and when cars get more expensive, so does insuring them. Car inflation yesterday leads to car-insurance inflation today. That’s frustrating for drivers right now, but it carries a silver lining. Given that car inflation has fallen dramatically over the past year, it should be only a matter of time before insurance prices stabilize as well.[Annie Lowrey: Inflation is your fault]Housing, which made up a full two-thirds of excess inflation in March, is a bit more complicated. You might think that housing inflation would be calculated simply by looking at the prices of new homes or apartments. But for the majority of Americans who already own their home, it is calculated using a measure known as “owners’ equivalent rent.” Government statisticians try to determine how much money homeowners would reasonably charge for rent by looking at what people in similar homes are paying. This way of calculating housing prices has all kinds of flaws. One issue is that inflation data are calculated monthly, but most renters have one- or two-year leases, which means the official numbers usually lag the real housing market by a year or more. The housing market has cooled off considerably in the past year and a half, but the inflation data are still reflecting the much-hotter market of early 2023 or late 2022. Sooner or later, they too should fall. “The excess inflation we have left is in a few esoteric areas that reflect past price increases,” Ernie Tedeschi, the director of economics at Yale’s Budget Lab, told me. “I’m not too worried about inflation taking off again.”The “hot wages” camp tells a very different story. Its members note that even as price increases appeared to be settling back down at the beginning of 2024, wages were still growing much faster than they did before the pandemic. When wages are rising quickly, many employers, especially those in labor-intensive service industries, raise prices to cover higher salary costs. That may show up in the data in different ways—maybe it’s groceries one month, maybe airfares or vehicle-repair costs another month—but the point is that as long as wages are hot, prices will be as well. “The increase in inflation over the last three months is higher than anything we saw from 1992 to 2019,” Jason Furman, the former director of Barack Obama’s Council of Economic advisers, told me. “It’s hard to say that’s just some fluke in the data.”Adherents of the “vanishing inflation” idea don’t deny the importance of wages in driving up prices; instead, they point to alternative measures that show wage growth closer to pre-pandemic levels. They also emphasize the fact that corporate profits are higher today than they were in 2019, implying that wages have more room to grow without necessarily pushing up prices.Although this dispute may sound technical, it will inform one of the most pivotal decisions the Federal Reserve has made in decades. Last year, the central bank raised interest rates to their highest levels since 2001, where they have remained even as inflation has fallen dramatically. Raising interest rates makes money more expensive for businesses and consumers to borrow and, thus, to spend, which is thought to reduce inflation but can also raise unemployment. This leaves the Fed with a tough choice to make: Should it keep rates high and risk suffocating the best labor market in decades, or begin cutting rates and risk inflation taking off again?If you believe that inflation is above all the product of strong wage growth, then cutting interest rates prematurely could cause prices to rise even more. This is the view the Fed appears to hold. “Right now, given the strength of the labor market and progress on inflation so far, it’s appropriate to allow restrictive policy further time to work,” Fed Chair Jerome Powell said in a Q&A session following the release of March’s inflation data. Translation: The economy is still too hot, and we aren’t cutting interest rates any time soon.[Michael Powell: What the upper-middle class left doesn’t get about inflation]If, however, you believe that the last mile of inflation is a product of statistical lags, keeping interest rates high makes little sense. In fact, high interest rates may paradoxically be pushing inflation higher than it otherwise would be. Many homeowners, for instance, have responded to spiking interest rates by staying put to preserve the cheap mortgages they secured when rates were lower (why give up a 3 percent mortgage rate for a 7 percent one?). This “lock-in effect” has restricted the supply of available homes, which drives up the prices.High rates may also be partly responsible for auto-insurance costs. Insurance companies often invest their customers’ premium payments in safe assets, such as government bonds. When interest rates rose, however, the value of government bonds fell dramatically, leaving insurers with huge losses on their balance sheets. As The New York Times’s Talmon Joseph Smith reports, one reason auto-insurance companies have raised their premiums is to help cover those losses. In other words, in the two categories where inflation has been the most persistent, interest rates may be propping up the exact high prices that they are supposed to be lowering.The Fed’s “wait and see” approach comes with other risks as well. Already, high rates have jacked up the costs of major life purchases, made a dysfunctional housing market even more so, and triggered a banking crisis. They haven’t made a dent in America’s booming labor market—yet. But the longer rates stay high, the greater the chance that the economy begins to buckle under the pressure. Granted, Powell has stated that if unemployment began to rise, the Fed would be willing to cut rates. But lower borrowing costs won’t translate into higher spending overnight. It could take months, even years, for them to have their full effect. A lot of people could lose their jobs in the meantime.Given where inflation seemed to be headed at the beginning of this year, the fact that the Federal Reserve finds itself in this position at all is frustrating. But given where prices were 18 months ago, it is something of a miracle. Back then, the Fed believed it would be forced to choose between a 1970s-style inflation crisis or a painful recession; today it is deciding between slightly higher-than-typical inflation or a somewhat-less-stellar economy. That doesn’t make the central bank’s decision any easier, but it should perhaps make the rest of us a bit less stressed about it.

How do you get the albatross off your neck? You know, your albatross. Your own dank collar of bird carcass, bespoke feathery deadweight of shame/rage/neurosis/solipsism/the past/whatever, the price of being you as it feels on a bad day … How do you let it drop?In Taylor Swift’s “The Albatross”—a bonus track on her new double album, The Tortured Poets Department—the albatross is a person. A woman, to be precise. “She’s the albatross / She is here to destroy you.” Which could be a trope from some slab of 1970s misogynist boogie, Bad Company or Nazareth howling about a faithless woman and her evil ways, etc., etc., but—because this is Taylor Swift—it isn’t.Let me quickly locate myself in the Taylorverse. I’m a “Bad Blood”/“We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” guy. I like the bangers, the big tunes. Midnights was not my cup of tea: overdetermined as to lyrics (too many words), underpowered as to melodies (not enough tunes). For me, it was as if she’d taken the DNA of a maundering, heavy-breathing, medium-Swift song like Reputation’s “Dress” and unraveled it over a whole album, abetted by the soupy skills of Jack Antonoff. But what do I know? Midnights was one of the biggest albums of all time. And now, less than two years later: The Tortured Poets Department. And: “The Albatross.”[Read: Taylor Swift is having quality-control issues]Sonically, musically, we’re in Folklore territory with this song: the strings; the wending, woodwindy vocal line; the tender electronica; the muted mood; the pewter wash of tastefulness. Chamber music, if the chamber in question has been decorated by Bed Bath & Beyond. Is there a tune? I mean, kind of. Not one you’re going to be bellowing in a toneless rapture at the wheel of your car, but it’s there.Lyrically, however, things are more lively. There’s this woman, the albatross: a bad habit, a bad relationship, a self-ensnaring situation, a bundle of familiar negatives (“Devils that you know / Raise worse hell than a stranger”). People have warned you about this person. She’s bad news! And Swift, ever-alert to the opprobrium of the herd, cannot help identifying with her. The voice shifts to the first person: “Locked me up in towers / But I’d visit in your dreams.” Reputation-style vibes of slander and persecution are felt: “Wise men once read fake news / And they believed it / Jackals raised their hackles …” As always, the Swifties are speculating: Who’s this song for? Who is it about? Joe Alwyn? Travis Kelce—and the warnings he got when he started dating Swift? Is she his own stubborn albatross?By the end of the song, the singer herself has assumed the form of the albatross, and is flapping in to perform a “rescue.” “The devil that you know / Looks now more like an angel.” Embrace your shadow? Embrace your albatross? Embrace your partner with your own long-feathered and doom-laden albatross wings?This is not how it usually goes with albatrosses.[Read: Travis Kelce is another puzzle for Taylor Swift fans to crack]Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is the source, the fons et origo, of the albatross metaphor. In the Rime, a sailor shoots an albatross, and brings a curse upon his ship. Why does he shoot the albatross? No reason, or none given in the poem. Maybe it’s the old existentialist acte gratuit, more than a century early: Maybe he does it because the sun is in his eyes, like Meursault in Camus’s L’Étranger. He shoots it, anyway, prangs it with his crossbow, and the wind drops, and the ship slides into a hell-sea, and the dead bird, as punishment and emblem of shame, is hung around his neck.Back, then, to our question: How do you get rid of the albatross?Coleridge, fortunately for us, was very clear on this: You bless the water snakes. It’s all in Part IV of the Rime. The ship is becalmed, the sea is rancid, the crew are dead, and the Mariner—albatross slung Björk-ishly around his neck—is sitting on the deck in a state of nightmare. Meaning, purpose, a following wind: all gone. Perished with his shipmates. Now he’s in a scummy realm, a realm of mere biological outlasting. “And a thousand thousand slimy things / Lived on; and so did I …”But. However. And yet. With nothing else to do, with no phone to look at, he watches the slimy things as they writhe and flare in the water, super-white in the moonlight, darker and more luxuriously hued when in the shadow cast by the ship itself. And something happens. His heart opens. Or perhaps it breaks. He is mutely, selflessly stirred and awakened. With his core, from his core, he spontaneously exalts what is before him: He blesses the water snakes.And with a complicated downy loosening, and maybe a glancing clang from its beak, the albatross—fatal baggage of a bird—falls off into the sea.Taylor Swift is not the first musician to engage with albatrossness. There’s Fleetwood Mac’s beautiful instrumental “Albatross” from 1968—slow celestial wingbeats, bluesy exhalations over a dazzling sea. There’s Public Image Ltd’s trudging, splintering “Albatross” from 1979, interpersonal, more in the Swift vein: “I know you very well / You are unbearable.” Corrosion of Conformity’s “Albatross” is a kind of sludge-rocking, negatively charged “Free Bird”: “You can call me lazy / You can call me wrong … Albatross, fly on, fly on.”But for the full Coleridgean thing, the full voyage, nothing beats Iron Maiden’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The live version, preferably. This is a straight-up workingman’s adaptation of the poem, 14 minutes of galumphing rock opera, Coleridge’s words doggedly paraphrased by Maiden bassist–vision guy Steve Harris, and it succeeds spectacularly. Especially at the water-snakes moment, which the band orchestrates to perfection: a flicked and rushing pattern on the hi-hat, a trebly-warbly melodic figure on the bass, palm-muted chug-a-chug of one, then two (then three?) guitars, the tension blissfully building until Bruce Dickinson, with soaring all-gobbling theatricality, sings it out. “Then the spell starts to BREAK / The albatross falls from his NECK / Sinks down like LEAD / Into the SEA / Then down in falls comes the” [King Diamond–style infernal androgynous scream] “RAAAAAAIIN!!”So what are the water snakes? Coleridge’s Rime is not, for me, an allegory, so the water snakes are not representing or symbolizing something. They are something. A coiling and uncoiling beautiful-terrible, playful-awful force that breaks the surface in snaky loops and flashes. Wonderfully indifferent to us, horrifyingly indifferent to us. But mysteriously in relationship with us, because it is in our eyes that these water snakes, these incandescent reptiles, these limbless creatures of the deep, are made holy. We are the ones who can bless them.And you can’t decide to bless the water snakes, that’s the point. It’s not about gratitude. It’s not about improving your mental health. No squint of effort, no knotting or unknotting of the frontal lobes will get you there. The blessing arises by itself, or it doesn’t arise at all. Total brain bypass: a love so simple and helpless it barely even knows what it’s loving.[Read: James Parker on the Rick Rubin guide to creativity]So it becomes a question of orienting oneself to the possibility of this love. How to do it? I’m out of my depth here—which is just as it should be, for here we are in the zone of the mystics and the mega-meditators. We are full fathom five, where your feet don’t touch anything, because there’s nothing to touch. If you’re the Ancient Mariner—or perhaps if you’re addicted to opiates, as Coleridge was—you’ll have to go through it, all of it. You’ll have to be carried to the end of yourself. The blessing of the water snakes happens at the Mariner’s clinical bottoming-out: when he’s utterly isolated, on a suppurating sea, besieged by the forces of death.The rest of us, maybe we don’t have to go—or be taken—that far. Maybe there are other, less drastic, more everyday opportunities and invitations for us to be broken down and opened up. For our grip on the albatross to be unclenched. For the love to pour through us like Iron Maiden. For the albatross itself to wrap its angelic Taylor Swift wings around your inner Travis Kelce.One way or another, though, sooner or later, gently or with loud sunderings and burstings, it’s going to happen. Life, thank God—it’ll get you and get you again.This article has been adapted from James Parker’s upcoming book, Get Me Through the Next Five Minutes: Odes to Being Alive.

Want to stay current with Arthur’s writing? Sign up to get an email every time a new column comes out.The United States has long had a great deal of religious diversity, and was built on the idea of religious tolerance. But one type of belief was always rare: none. Until recently, that is. According to the Pew Research Center, the percentage of Americans who profess no religion (as opposed even to having one that they rarely or never practice) has risen from 16 percent in 2007 to 29 percent in 2021. (Back in the early 1970s, only about 5 percent of Americans espoused this position.)This phenomenon of declining belief is of great concern to many religious leaders, as one can easily imagine. The Catholic theologian and bishop Robert Barron has built an enormous internet-based ministry in no small part by seeking to reach these so-called nones. Rather than simply railing against a secular culture, Barron turns the criticism around and calls the growth of this disavowal “an unnerving commentary on the effectiveness of our evangelical strategies.”The growing phenomenon of the nones, however, is not evidence of a lack of interest in spiritual life. Many today who previously fell away from their faith—or never had one to begin with—are seeking something faith-like in their life. They are open to thinking about such commitments, but just don’t know what to look for. Maybe this describes you. If so, ironically, the research data on why people say they became nones in the first place might hold the answer of what to focus on to set you on your spiritual path.In tracking the rise of the nones in American religious life, Pew has also studied people who had faith in childhood but left it in adulthood. In 87 percent of the cases, this came down to one of three reasons: They stopped believing (49 percent), they felt too uncertain (18 percent), or they didn’t like the way the faith was practiced (20 percent). More concisely, most people leave their faith because of belief, feeling, or practice.[Derek Thompson: The true cost of the churchgoing bust]These are the reasons people quit religion, but we can also infer that these same three aspects of religious experience are central to maintaining faith—or to finding it anew and then keeping it. You might say that belief, feeling, and practice are the macronutrients—the necessary elements—of healthy faith. With only one of them, you will be spiritually malnourished: Belief alone is desiccated theory; by itself, feeling is unreliable sentimentality; practice in isolation is dogmatism. To build a new, sustaining spiritual diet, you need to focus on all three.Many great thinkers have made essentially this point. For example, the ardently religious Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy wrote in his book of daily pensées, A Calendar of Wisdom, that in times of trouble, “you have to embrace what the wisdom of humanity, your intellect, and your heart tell you: that the meaning of life is to serve the force that sent you into the world.”Feeling is fundamental to religious experience, as scholarship on emotion has shown. Some religions elevate trancelike states of ecstasy, such as samadhi in both Hinduism and Buddhism, which involves complete meditative absorption. Most faiths emphasize the role of the emotional adoration of the divine, as in the Prophet Muhammad’s teaching that believers should “love Allah with all of your hearts.” One cannot rely on feeling alone, however, because it is so mutable. As the 16th-century founder of the Jesuit Order, Saint Ignatius of Loyola, noted, faith features feelings of not only consolation but also desolation, at moments when God feels absent from one’s life.The second element of faith is belief, which are tenets you have accepted as truths, at least provisionally. These truths are not testable as scientific propositions are, so, in Thomas Aquinas’s definition, they are the “mean between science and opinion.” These are the propositions that you learn from reading and listening to other believers, and that you ultimately choose to accept; examples would be God’s laws for the Jewish people or the Eightfold Path to enlightenment for Buddhists.Accepting such beliefs as truth does not mean they’re impossible to revise. In fact, research has shown that spiritual people are generally open to reflection on existential questions and willing to modify their views. But these tenets of faith are based on considered arguments, rather than feelings, so they tend to be stable and enduring.[Peter Wehner: David Brooks’s journey toward faith]Finally, religious practice offers a set of actions and rituals that you commit to observing in order to demonstrate your adherence to the faith for yourself and others. This is the element of faith that takes it out of the realm of abstraction and makes it part of your real, physical life. You can say you believe in the ideas of Zen, but Zen itself will not become a meaningful part of your life until you practice Zen meditation. Similarly, you can say you believe in the divine inspiration of the Quran, but that doesn’t mean much if you don’t actually read it.You might assume that any practice requires both belief and feeling—entailing that, for example, you would feel impelled to go to a political demonstration only if you already believed in the cause. But you may have noticed the opposite occurring in your life: If you go to a demonstration uncommitted, you may find that the experience stimulates feelings and belief, which might then lead you to go to future demonstrations.This is a basic form of what academics call “path dependence,” a phenomenon in which past decisions lead to similar actions in future. The concept is usually used by economists and political scientists to explain institutional inertia or resistance to organizational change, but the same principle can suggestively be applied to individual human behavior. Such path dependence can be affected by both positive and negative feedback, the sense either that people’s choices elicit increasing returns or that they are self-reinforcing or “locked in.”That feedback loop can be a problem if your religious practice makes you become rigid in your ideology; economists, for example, have modeled that voter path dependence might be one of the causes of our increasing polarization. As it pertains to faith, the trick, then, is to be wary of your path dependence if it results in negative feedback: If you feel or behave like a “locked-in” party-line voter, you might be too rigid in your belief. Yet if you use path dependence on your faith exclusively for positive feedback—that is, your belief elicits increasing returns, perhaps boosting your altruism, community ties, or sense of meaning in life—then you will be using it as a force for good.Put simply, be completely honest with yourself about why you’re practicing your faith; if your belief spurs positive feedback, carry on.[Faith Hill: The messy line between faith and reason]A healthy faith thus requires all three sources of spiritual nourishment. The data suggest that when one or more of those elements—of belief, feeling, and practice—are missing, people fall away. So if you’re looking for faith in your life, you need to seek all three.Here is an optimal way to do so. In Tolstoy’s Calendar of Wisdom, he quotes an ancient Chinese proverb: “Those who know the rules of true wisdom are baser than those who love them. Those who love them are baser than those who follow them.” In other words, to develop a healthy faith, practice is more important than feeling, and feeling is more important than belief. This implies the reverse of what most people do to develop a spiritual life: They read and think to acquire knowledge and opinions—that is, beliefs—then they see if they “feel” their faith, and only then will they move on to practicing it. But as the proverb implies, this order of priorities won’t work very well.The right approach is to start practicing, notwithstanding your current state of belief and feeling. If the practice evokes sentiment in you, then study the faith to develop knowledge and opinions. This is an experimental, hands-on approach, much in the manner of how many inventions and innovations come about: An inventor tries something, sees whether it works, and then figures out precisely what’s going on.In a faith context, this means that you might go to a service of worship a few times. Then you could interrogate your feelings as to whether the services stimulated something deep within (or, alternatively, whether they left you cold). Finally, if the former feels true, you could start investigating the belief system intellectually.[Arthur C. Brooks: Jung’s five pillars of a good life]The three elements of faith can be useful to apply to many parts of life, not just your spiritual quest. Consider marriage, for instance: Without the feelings of love and affection, a relationship is dead; without knowledge and opinions about your spouse, it has no depth; without practicing the rituals of love, your partnership will wither. This same algorithmic progression of faith can also map out your path to marriage. You start out with practice in the form of a date; you continue the relationship if you feel attraction and the beginnings of love; the pairing develops as you gain knowledge and form favorable opinions about your partner.Obviously, this connubial example is not a random one. To find faith is to find a form of love—a love of the divine, or a rapturous spiritual connection with the universe. But like all good and worthwhile things in life, faith and love merit deep thought and serious effort.

In January, the writer Gary Shteyngart spent a week of his life on the inaugural voyage of the Icon of the Seas, the largest cruise ship ever. Like many a great novelist before him, he went in search of the “real” America. He left his Russian novels at home, bought some novelty T-shirts, and psychically prepared to be the life of the party. About halfway through, Shteyngart called his editor and begged to be allowed to disembark and fly home. His desperate plea was rejected, resulting in a semi-sarcastic daily log of his misery.In this episode of Radio Atlantic, Shteyngart discusses his “seven agonizing nights” on the cruise ship, where he roamed from mall to bar to infinity pool trying to make friends. He shares his theories about why cruise lovers nurture an almost spiritual devotion to an experience that, to him, inspires material for a “low-rent White Lotus.” And he shares what happened when cruise lovers actually read what he wrote about their beloved ship.Listen to the conversation here:Subscribe here: Apple Podcasts | Spotify | YouTube | Google Podcasts | Pocket CastsThe following is a transcript of the episode:Gary Shteyngart: Hi.Hanna Rosin: Hi. It’s Hanna.Shteyngart: Hi, Hanna. How are you?Rosin: Good.Rosin: I’m Hanna Rosin. This is Radio Atlantic.Shteyngart: It’s cloudy here.Rosin: It is? In a good way? In a way that makes your hair look full and rich?Shteyngart: Oh, yeah.(Laughs.) It does add fullness to my hair, which is always a good thing at this point. I think spring has finally sprung. And I teach in the spring semester, and I’m like, God, I just want this to be over. I just want to go out and play.Rosin: You teach fiction?Shteyngart: Yeah. I can’t teach rocket science.Rosin: (Laughs.)Shteyngart: Cruising technology.Rosin: This is writer Gary Shteyngart.Rosin: There’s just a Russian stereotype.Shteyngart: (Laughs.)Rosin: I’m like, You could teach astronomy or physics. I don’t know.Shteyngart: Chess.Rosin: Chess. Exactly.Rosin: Gary Shteyngart grew up in the Soviet Union and immigrated to the U.S. when he was 7. He’s written several award-winning novels, and he was a “literary consultant” on Succession, the HBO show.Mostly, he is known for his satire, which can range from gentle to deadly. So who better to write an article about the inaugural voyage of the largest cruise ship ever built?Shteyngart: This whole thing came about because I was on Twitter, and I saw a tweet that just showed the—may I use salty language here?Rosin: Yes.Shteyngart: The ass of the ship is how I describe it. I don’t know any of these terms, but, you know, with all the water parks and crap on it. And so I reposted the tweet, and I said, If somebody wants to send me on this cruise, please specify the level of sarcasm desired.Rosin: Really? (Laughs.)Shteyngart: And then—God bless The Atlantic—within seconds, I had an assignment.Rosin: That ass belongs to the Icon of the Seas, a ship that can hold more than 7,000 passengers and 2,000 crew. It has 20 decks with seven swimming pools and six waterslides. The ship itself is about five times bigger than the Titanic. And I’m pretty sure the Titanic did not have a swim-up bar, much less the world’s largest swim-up bar.In a recent piece for The Atlantic, Gary describes it this way: “The ship makes no sense, vertically or horizontally. It makes no sense on sea, or on land, or in outer space. It looks like a hodgepodge of domes and minarets, tubes and canopies, like Istanbul had it been designed by idiots … This is the biggest cruise ship ever built, and I have been tasked with witnessing its inaugural voyage.”To prepare for that voyage, Gary wore a meatball T-shirt he found in a store in Little Italy. More specifically, the shirt read: “Daddy’s Little Meatball.”Shteyngart: You know, I grew up in Queens and, being a spicy meat-a-ball, I thought it was funny. A lot of cruisers were angry. They thought I was being sexual or sexualizing. It’s very interesting because I thought that T-shirt was the bond between a child and his daddy or her daddy.Rosin: (Laughs.) You thought it’d just be a conversation starter.Shteyngart: I thought it’d be a conversation starter. If they had a “Mommy’s Little Meatball” T-shirt, that would’ve been preferable. I feel much more a mommy’s little meatball. But they only have daddy.I actually thought, My expectations are low, but I bet I’m going to run into awesome people. And I love to drink and chat, and this is—I guess that’s what you do on a cruise ship. And I knew I was going to have a suite, so I was like, Maybe I’ll throw a suite party.Rosin: (Laughs.)Shteyngart: Invite some people over. On land, I really am quite sociable. I remember I was just leaving a Columbia—I teach at Columbia—leaving a Columbia party, and somebody was saying, Well, there goes 75 percent of the party.Rosin: Oh, that’s a compliment.Shteyngart: It’s a compliment. I’m kind of a party animal. So I was super—I thought, you know, Look, 5,000 people. I’m going to find a soulmate or two.Rosin: Great writers before Gary have deluded themselves in this way before. Most notably: David Foster Wallace, who ended up spending much of his cruise adventure alone in his cabin. They venture out, looking to swim with some “real Americans.” And instead, they are quickly confronted by the close-up details, like the nightly entertainment—Shteyngart: There was a kind of packaged weirdness in the shows. Goddamn—the ice-skating tribute to the periodic table. What the hell was that?Rosin: The food—Shteyngart: It did not have the consistency of steak. It was like some kind of pleathery, weird—like this poor cow had been slapped around before it died.Rosin: And the physical touch of an actual “real American.”Shteyngart: He’d throw his arms around them drunkenly, and they’d be like, Ehh.First of all, I just want to say, Royal Caribbean—the people that run it are geniuses. The CEO’s name is—I’m not making this up—Jason Liberty.Rosin: (Laughs.)Shteyngart: His name is Liberty! I mean, I don’t know. What the hell? Like, exactly, if I was to write a novel character with, you know, Jason Liberty, people would be like, Oh, he’s being pretentious. But no. That’s his actual name.I think they know the tastes of their clientele so well and are able to mirror it back to them, but also to give them this feeling that they’re awesome for doing something like this. One of my favorite slogans—you get all this literature—This isn’t a vacation day spent. It’s bragging rights earned.Rosin: Mmm. It’s velvet ropey, like you’re in a club.Shteyngart: It’s a velvet ropey situation. You are an adventurer. You’ve earned this. You have bragging rights. But when you enter the ship, you’re in a mall. And the mall is large and multileveled, and you can buy a Rolex at three times what it would cost on land and all this other crap.And then there’s all these neighborhoods, and you can do whatever the hell you want. You can get trashed or have sex, which, whatever—I mean with your spouse, although there were some swingers on board. But you could do whatever you want in a way that you can’t on land, in a way, I think, because so many of these people are just working their asses off.Rosin: Right.Shteyngart: That was a topic of conversation that came up. People were like, Yeah, I work 90 hours a week, and this is my chance to just, you know, be blotto.Rosin: You’re hinting at this. Part of being on a ship is being inducted into the language and the levels of the ship, and can you walk us through that? You mentioned, for example: You walk in, you’re in a mall. But I bet, eventually, you start to see more. What are the neighborhoods? You said the word neighborhoods. What does that even mean? And what are the distinctions?Shteyngart: I think this ship and other Royal Caribbean ships of this size—although this is the biggest—try to create this idea of a city, like you’re in a city that happens to be at sea.One of the funniest neighborhoods is called Central Park, which is literally another mall but with a couple of shrubs growing out here and there. I thought that was really funny—also, using a New York City landmark in one of the least New Yorkiest milieus in the world.Rosin: I guess it just has to be terms—a word—people recognize. And people vaguely recognize it. They don’t need to know about Olmsted or live in Brooklyn.Shteyngart: (Laughs.) No, no.Rosin: They just vaguely recognize Central Park.Shteyngart: It’d be funny if I asked—boy, would I get a lot of flak if I came up to a cruiser and be like, I don’t think this really matches Olmsted’s vision of Central Park. I don’t know. Meatball not happy. Maybe I should have used a Russian accent. Like, Hello. I am Meatball.Rosin: Meatball not happy.Shteyngart: Meatball not happy with Olmsted. So there’s that. There’s Surfside, which is a very funny kind of Disneyland for kids with—Rosin: And are you walking—like, I still don’t get it. So you go in, and how big is a neighborhood? And then how do you get to the next neighborhood?Shteyngart: Right, so everything’s on decks, so you take these elevators. I think I spent half the cruise on elevators just going from one place to another.Rosin: Yeah.Shteyngart: But I thought I would be in the Suites neighborhood. Because this whole thing—and Royal Caribbean is also brilliant at this. These people—really, a Nobel Prize in Economics. It’s a constant scramble. You constantly want a higher status, especially if you’ve been cruising forever. You want to reach Pinnacle status, which you have to do after 700 days (or nights, rather) on the ship, which is two years, right? Almost.Rosin: Wow. And so what does that get you?Shteyngart: So the Pinnacles have their own—I mean, there’s some priority things they get. Like, I was not allowed to go into one dining room at one point, and the guy—I didn’t know what Pinnacle was, so I thought the guy was saying, It’s just pendejo dining. He had a thick accent. I was like, I’m wearing a meatball T-shirt. I am the essence of pendejo. And he was like, No, no, pendejos only. But he was trying to say Pinnacles, I guess. So that kind of stuff.They have their own little lounge, which I wasn’t allowed into. And some of the other cruisers who are not Pinnacles but have somehow gotten into the lounge, they’re very angry about being denied. And they’re like, There’s nothing in there. There’s just a coffee machine in there.But the other thing is the suite status, which I had because by the time The Atlantic commissioned this piece, almost all the cabins were sold out. Everybody wanted to be on this ship, and all that was left was a $19,000—Jesus Christ—$19,000 suite that didn’t even look out on the sea.Rosin: Wow.Shteyngart: It looked out on the mall or whatever. But it looked like the Marriott, in a way, which—I like Marriotts—I’m just saying.Rosin: So it’s just a plain—it’s like a hotel room.Shteyngart: It’s like a hotel room.Rosin: With a window.Shteyngart: And I had two bathrooms.Rosin: For yourself?Shteyngart: Just for myself, I know. Well, I think the idea of these suites is that more than one person goes on them, right?But there’s this—the Royal Bling. The Royal Bling is the jewelry store, such as it is, on board. And they introduced this thing called the something chalice. It’s a $100,000 chalice, and it entitles you to drink for free on Royal Caribbean once you’ve bought it.So this thing is hilarious. Just the concept of it is insane. Everyone’s trying to figure out: Should I buy this? What’s up with this? Should I get it for my 28-year-old kid? Will it earn out? How much does he drink? How much can I drink?So I talked to the wonderful Serbian sales lady. Everyone’s country of origin, if you’re on the crew, is listed on their tag.Rosin: Really?Shteyngart: Yeah, yeah, yeah.Rosin: That’s weird.Shteyngart: So you’re like, Oh, it’s Amir from Pakistan, or whatever.Rosin: That’s so weird.Shteyngart: Yeah. And she was, I don’t know, something Olga from Serbia, and she was amazing. They’re all amazing. Every crew member is excellent.And she was like, Well—she was trying to sell me the $100,000 chalice. I said, It’s really gold? And she’s like, No, it’s gold-plated. We couldn’t afford. She said, If it was really gold, it would be, like, a million dollars. I’m like, Okay. And then it has diamonds, and she’s like, Well, they’re actually cubic zirconia, again, because it would cost, like, $10 million if they were diamonds. I’m like, All right, this thing is sounding worse and worse.And then she said, But, you know, if you already have everything, this is one more thing you can have. And I thought that was almost like a Zen haiku, but about the American condition. If you already have everything, this is one more thing you can have.[Music]Rosin: So the ship has neighborhoods and levels and status in a very explicit way. And cruisers care about that. They care about it in a very deep, almost spiritual way that Gary didn’t quite appreciate until after he’d written the story.Shteyngart: One of the funniest things—somebody was telling me to look this up on, I guess, Reddit.Rosin: Mm-hmm.Shteyngart: There’s a huge cruising community. I think half a million people are on that thing and, boy, were they pissed!Rosin: That’s after the break.[Break]Rosin: During his time on the Icon of the Seas, Gary Shteyngart met a few memorable characters. There was the younger couple he called, “Mr. and Mrs. Ayn Rand,” who he drank with a few times. And the couple’s couple friends, he described as quote: “bent psychos out of a Cormac McCarthy novel.” And then, there was “Duck Necklace.”Shteyngart: He’s fascinating. He was drunk all the time, and he was being arrested—there is a security force—for photobombing.Rosin: I wonder if the laws are different on the ship. Like photobombing is a felony.Shteyngart: I’d love to do Law & Order: Icon of the Seas. That would be amazing.Rosin: (Laughs.) Right.Shteyngart: But then he went on this long, drunken, very elegiac thing about, Well, I’m 62, and if I fall off the ship, I’m fine with that. I just don’t want a shark to eat me. And I believe in God, and the Mayans have a prophecy. He just went on and on. And then I looked him up and, when not drunk and getting arrested on a ship, he’s the pillar of his community in North Chicago. There’s so much more to this guy. So he was my favorite, I think.Rosin: So maybe the ship creates a space where, if you’re grinding and working every day and being a pillar of the community, the ship is your space to contemplate and be philosophical or be an idiot or whatever it is you can’t be elsewhere.Shteyngart: Yeah. And I think you’re right. And I think a couple of people, especially older people—I mean, 62 isn’t that old—but a couple of the older people were trying to summarize their lives through their cruising experiences, including, for one woman, realizing that she wanted to divorce her husband. All these things happened on cruises.It’s like the cruise is the time when they’re—the way people say when you’re off land, it’s the rules of the sea. You’re in international waters; you can do whatever you want. I think for some people, the cruise affords them some weird way to look back on their lives and to make large decisions or to celebrate either happy moments or sometimes almost-elegiac moments. There were all these people who looked like they were about to die.Rosin: Literally?Shteyngart: Literally about to die, clearly coming off of chemo or on an oxygen tank. Or they had T-shirts celebrating a good cancer remission. So definitely there’s—and I hope this article, despite its very satirical tone, lends some of that poignancy. Because people are people, and this is the kind of stuff that they want to do, either to make an important moment in their lives or to think on the things that have happened to them.But I think that’s one of the reasons people were so butt hurt on that Reddit—to use a term of art—because I wasn’t just going after a hobby or something. I was going after something that is so key to their identity.Rosin: That’s interesting that people perceived it so badly. You both appreciated the earnestness of it and made fun of it at the same time. It was satirical but also present.Shteyngart: I don’t know. I think people really wanted a quote-unquote “journalist” to give an honest review of the ship. But look, I got this assignment by saying, What level of sarcasm do you want? But I didn’t deliver 11 on the sarcasm scale. I think it was, like, six or seven.I realized the humor part of this—and this is what I talk about in my humor class—the human comedy is that no one understands quite who they are. So I may go around thinking I’m a giraffe, and I keep talking about, Oh, I’m so tall, and I eat leaves off of tall trees. But in reality, I’m an aardvark. I’m a small furry creature, burrowing in the bush.And that, to me, felt like a lot of what people were saying on the ship. People would say, I feel like I’m on an adventure. And I’m like, Yes, but we’re in a mall, as you say this, that’s slowly steaming to all these islands. But many of the passengers wouldn’t even get off on these islands. They love the ship so much they wouldn’t leave.And I’ll say this, also: One of the most important things that happened to me—I was in Charlotte Amalie, which I guess is the capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands or Saint Thomas, and I’d wandered off the beaten path. And this elderly Rastafarian gentleman looked at me, and with the most—I’ve never been talked to like this—but with a sneer beyond anything, he said, Redneck.And I guess I did have a red neck at this point, and I was wearing this vibrant cap with the Icon of the Seas Royal Caribbean logo. But I realized, also, that people hate these cruisers. They hate what they do to their islands, their environment, everything. There’s just so much more happening here than just a bunch of drunken Americans on a ship.And this also goes to the fact that, obviously, there’s all these people, mostly from the global South, working below decks. They work nonstop. And it’s interesting because a lot of the passengers, they would say, Wow, these people work so hard, with a kind of like, Oh, I wish everybody back home would work so hard, or something like that. But at the same time, I was listening to a comedy act, and the comedian was making fun of quote-unquote “shithole countries.”So there’s definitely a kind of—even though cruisers keep talking about how much they love the people on the ship, it doesn’t translate.Rosin: It doesn’t translate. It doesn’t translate into politics.Okay, I’m turning it back on you—your story. You came into the boat with the story that Gary is a party guy, and Gary’s gonna have parties in Gary’s suite. So what did you realize along the way?Shteyngart: Yeah, it was like being an immigrant all over again. And, for me, assimilation into America was a very, very long process. So the meatball, or the lack of success of the meatball, really reminded me of that, too—like I’m always a step behind.And this did feel like, Oh, I was always a step behind. People would have casual conversations in the elevators, just shooting the shit, and I would try to banter with them. But I would always get it a little bit wrong, and I would realize it, too. Like, there was a lot of wind one day, and I was like, Oof, the frost is really on the pumpkin.Rosin: (Laughs.)Shteyngart: But I realized that that’s probably said in the fall, right? Before Thanksgiving. Is that right? The pumpkin is, you know—Rosin: So Immigrant Gary comes roaring back in those moments.Shteyngart: Oh, my god.Rosin: You want to be, like, Sophisticated Writer Gary.Shteyngart: Absolutely. So I was always sweating bullets. Like, I want to get into the conversation. And this was a big thing because there was a big contest, several contests—the semifinals or something? Quarterfinals? I don’t know—between the big teams. And I had no idea what the hell was going on, but everybody was talking about it. And everybody was wearing paraphernalia—that’s the other thing.Rosin: Paraphernalia. (Laughs.) You’re referring to team T-shirts.Shteyngart: But also everything! I don’t know. Name it: hats, T-shirts, all kinds of crap. And I had nothing. I had meatball, you know.Rosin: Right.Shteyngart: Look, the preparation for this article should have—I should have bought T-shirts with sports.Rosin: (Laughs.) T-shirts with sports.Shteyngart: And then I should have talked to people about all the rules of football. Maybe there’s a documentary that I can watch, something like that. And then maybe that would have been it.Rosin: Okay, so I’m reading this essay about this cruise ship, which has a little bit of politics, a little bit of cult, a little bit of status obsession. What am I understanding about America?Shteyngart: Well, I think we are, in some ways, a country that has been losing religion for a while. I know this is a strange approach to it, but people are looking for something to fill the void. Especially, among the hardworking middle class I think is where you feel it quite a bit. And I think because Americans are never satisfied, everyone’s always looking for, What’s my ancestry? Where do I come from? Somehow just the term American is not enough to fulfill people’s expectations of what life is.Rosin: Of what they belong to. Like, what they’re rooted in. Yeah.Shteyngart: And for me, this is an easier question because I actually just want to be an American. I’m an immigrant who just wants to be an American, right?So, on this ship, what I was seeing was people desperately trying to belong to some kind of idea. And I feel like the cruising life, because these people are so obsessed with the cruises that they wear these—half the people or more were wearing T-shirts somehow commemorating this voyage on the first day of the cruise. So I think I really offended a religion. I insulted not just a strange hobby that people engage in, but a way of life.And I think that’s the future. Trying to understand America today is to try to understand people desperately grasping for something in the absence of more traditional ideas of what it means to an American, right? And this is one strange manifestation of that. But it was, for me, an ultimately unfulfilling one.[Music]You know, God bless David Foster Wallace for being brilliant enough to start the genre, although there were a couple pieces before him, but the modern incarnation of this. Let’s stop this. I did not solve the question of what America is. None of that got solved.Rosin: So what are we R.I.P.ing? We’re not just R.I.P.ing the cruise ship piece? I just want to end the episode this way. R.I.P. what?Shteyngart: No, no, no, no. I don’t have that kind of cultural might.Rosin: (Laughs.)Rosin: This episode of Radio Atlantic was produced by Jinae West. It was edited by Claudine Ebeid, fact-checked by Isabel Cristo, and engineered by Rob Smierciak. Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio, and Andrea Valdez is our managing editor. I’m Hanna Rosin. Thank you for listening.Rosin: But was there a monkey on the ship?Shteyngart: No, there wasn’t. The monkey was on Saint Kitts.Rosin: Oh, okay. I remembered that wrong.Shteyngart: No, no, no. The Royal Caribbean did not spring for a monkey. They had a golden retriever, and he wore, like, a cap or something? But see, so everybody was going gaga, and I’m like, You’ve never seen a golden freaking retriever? What kind of lives do you live on land?Rosin: Right, right. But it’s an Icon golden retriever, so it’s different.Shteyngart: It’s an Icon golden retriever, and he’s, like, I guess, an emotional support dog for these people.