Much that appears suddenly happens slowly.

The United States has now spent the first fifth of the 21st century more or less acting drunk. And although we were more or less welcomed back to our usual seat at the head of the table in 2008 — in spite of a ginned-up invasion, torture, mercenaries, and a financial crisis — the world started learning to hedge against us.

A dozen years, a handful of government shutdowns, and 200,000 Covid deaths later, it should come as no surprise that we’ve authored much of the instability we struggle to comprehend.

Twenty years is a long time to be out of ideas. The rest of the world is moving on — as best they can in the presence of a drunk uncle who could dynamite the whole party at any time.

[Assuming there is a 22nd century, I’m convinced two histories will be written: one will be a history of the nuclear presidency from Truman to Bush 41. The other will be a history of the post-Cold War nuclear presidency — the story of an institution entrusted with unprecedented powers to meet one threat becoming the prize of a process totally overwhelmed by internecine squabbles.]

Continuing the happy theme of recent weeks, the read of the week is the Atlantic‘s recent article on right-wing militias in the United States.

Although this got a quick media burst after “stand back and stand by,” it’s important to understand something of the history of this movement and some of its most influential groups.

Even this article is a little present-focused — but that makes sense given that it’s framed around the election. The two seasons of the Bundyville podcast go into far more detail on the origins and spread of the movement, as well which dots the militias are connecting and how to arrive at their worldview.

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Also worth reading is a rancher’s firsthand account of searching for his cattle after a wildfire ripped through his summer forest range.

When searching for historical analogies that might illuminate our current struggles, too many of us have too strong a tendency to look for U.S. examples.

Is this more like the Revolution, the Civil War, or Watergate? If we really want to be crass about it, Hitler will come up at one point or another.

This reinforces two easy misconceptions: (1) that our problems are completely novel, or (2) that any history we’re bound to repeat will be our own.

The “exceptional” narrative loves edge cases. But there are plenty of other examples of countries that slid into a more banal sort of permanent dysfunction.

We might want to start looking around.

There’s a heuristic I enjoy playing with that asks, what if you could only subtract in order to solve problems?

We’re so conditioned to add: a new productivity routine, a new habit, a new car … yet we know from experience that acquisition rarely makes things better over the long term.

If you’re insufficiently excited about the upcoming election, consider this frame instead: even if you can’t see a way to get everything you want from a candidate, which one wouldn’t you vote for, if you were trying to remove the most problems?

Two and a half years ago, I had the great joy of attending the On Being Gathering — a long weekend in the California redwoods with several hundred fascinating people.

What united that group was (and is) one of the big insights of On Being‘s founder and host, Krista Tippett: spiritual wisdom (from many traditions) is hardly irrelevant to modern times — in fact, it might be the most practical, present guidance we have.

I know I’m not the only one in my circles who’s both skeptical of institutional religion and eagerly seeking wisdom beyond the headlines. Walking in the gardens of the National Cathedral yesterday, I pondered why that might be. Here are some early hypotheses:

• Other cultures in other times knew some important things that we have mostly or completely forgotten.
• While we can’t ignore those cultures’ sins — the cathedral gardens consciously emulate those built and tended by serfs under the power of often-warped religious and political systems — we shouldn’t ignore their wisdom, either. A midday walk among manicured plants, subtle water features, and iconic statuary is not only a privilege but an exercise in nourishing and flourishing.
• From the Founders’ references to “Divine Providence” to explicit mentions of (and fights over) religion today, U.S. politics have always looked beyond politics proper. Today, though, our politics are so poisoned that it’s frankly difficult to see a purely political way out — perhaps there is such a thing as purely secular forgiveness, but I suspect what’s really required of us now is better described in spiritual language. (Richard Rohr’s “include and transcend” phrase comes to mind.)
• In short, the destruction, denigration, or denial of one’s neighbor is a (secular) political act. But if we are to remain united as a political community, we’re going to have to get over ourselves in a way that our sclerotic, spectacle-addicted, ad hominem political culture does not readily provide us good language for.

And so a show like On Being, or a sage like Martin Shaw, or a teacher like Howard Thurman might be exactly the right place to turn right now.

Or, as Martin Shaw says, the wisdom we need now might have showed up right on time, thousands of years ago. And walking in the garden or beside large bodies of water, or listening to music that moves us, or even just sitting quietly for a while, might be the most practical advice there is or ever was.

What had the power to shock you five years ago?

What, if anything, has the power to shock you now?

As some perceptive people predicted, we’ve gone from “build the wall” (which didn’t happen) to repeated failures to firmly denounce nationalism, extremism, or foreign interference — or to accept and abide by the results of an election.

It can be hard to hear because we’re all so numbed by now, but we need to be really clear that the question has shifted from “How could he be elected?” to “How will we preserve an electoral system?”

Tonight’s event is unlikely to be either presidential or a debate.

If you must watch (for what, exactly?), just remember: playing a role on TV is one thing, but actually performing the role in real life is quite another.

The way things are going — in society, on Twitter, and with Covid — it is extremely likely that the majority of people who actually show up to vote in person on November 3 will be wearing similar hats and casting similar votes.

The way things have been going in our media for years, it is virtually guaranteed that TV will show endless images of voting the way we expect it to look. After all, it has the twin advantages of showing us the process we expect and sowing fear about a result we don’t want.

Do not despair. Just because a mail-sorting center is kind of chaotic, not too photogenic (if they can even get in there), and difficult to explain, that doesn’t mean it’s not where a lot of ballots are going.

Remember, open-outcry trading ceased to matter years ago. The traders we see on TV are mostly there so they can be shown on TV — the real action happens in nondescript server farms far away from the trading floors.

So, by all means, cast your ballot safely and properly. But don’t assume that who or what you see live from the polls is the part of the election that matters.

Three excellent readings to consider this week — each offering valuable insight in themselves, and together painting a compelling and concerning picture of where we might be headed:

1. First up, in the FT, Noreena Hertz excerpts her forthcoming book, The Lonely Century: Coming Together in a World that’s Pulling Apart. In this article on “Why Loneliness Fuels Populism,” she shows how more and more people are feeling more alone — socially, economically, and politically — and are turning to the tradition, song, and camaraderie of populist parties to feel alive and connected.
2. Also in the FT, Martin Sandbu writes that “Populists and Kleptocrats are a Perfect Match.” It’s easy to fixate on “populists'” accumulation of power, but what if power is only the means to their real end: money? We shouldn’t be too surprised if those who attempt to buy power intend to use power to build wealth.
3. In the Atlantic, Barton Gellman chillingly examines “The Election That Could Break America.” From the mechanics of running an election in the midst of a pandemic to the norms that continue to enable rather than restrain the president, the setup doesn’t look good. And then you add in the character of a person who has never lost or conceded anything in his life (at least in his mind), and ask yourself, how will he concede the most powerful position in human history?

If there’s one branch of government that almost everyone agrees isn’t working, it’s Congress.

And what we’ve seen in the past week from the executive and in the courts makes clear how important it is to get serious about legislation.

For years (and several administrations), we’ve become accustomed to focusing on the bounds of interpretation — as (generally) pushed by the executive and checked by the judiciary. To cite one popular example, presidents are still waging war around the world on the basis of the blank check given to George W. Bush after the 9/11 attacks. And this week brought fears about overturning Roe — which of course is an interpretation in its own right.

It’s not enough to be right on the merits or in line with the culture. Often, it’s not even enough to be ahead in the polls. Sooner or later, it’s time to legislate.