Adam Becker, More Everything Forever: AI Overlords, Space Empires, and Silicon Valley's Crusade to Control The Fate of Humanity (2025)

This is a good (not great) book. It opened my eyes to the truly vast ambitions of today's tech billionaires. Ambitions here does not refer to wealth or political influence or anything else merely of this world, but something incomparably greater. Key ideas are the Singularity (the imminent time when AI blows past human intelligence, creating a radically different situation); the importance and inevitability of human colonization of space, including eventually the entire universe, perhaps with swarms of nanobots carrying human consciousnesses in silicon form; long-termism (the valuing of all future lives as highly as those now alive), etc. While there is some disagreement among the carriers of these ideas, there's general consensus that the long term human (or human-AI) colonization of the universe is of such great importance that all other problems fall by the wayside. The Singularity will usher in utopia - or perhaps apocalypse. These highly dubious ideas would not matter much, of course, were it not for the fact that their advocates have so much wealth and power. Becker skillfully explains the main ideas and nearly as skillfully he debunks almost all of them. He points to the deep inconsistency between, on the one hand, the tech billionaires' championing of science and, on the other, their refusal to face basic facts. He also offers a plausible account of some of the origins of, and motivations behind, these ideas: ultimately, they are rooted in Christian hopes to escape death and reach some kind of heaven, now conjoined to technological salvationism. Disseminating and funding these beliefs, especially the philosophy of effective altruism, gives the tech billionaires a patina of intellectual and even moral respectability. Their insistence on the overriding importance of the Singularity and "aligning" AI's interests with humanity's allows them to sidestep all other contemporary problems as trivial. I sometimes wished Becker had dug more deeply into certain topics. He tends to rely on interviews for his evidence. When it comes to precursors to this generation of science-obsessed utopianists, Becker never considers Condorcet and mentions Frederick Winslow Taylor only once in passing. Sometimes Becker assigns guilt by association, however tenuous. For example, the fact that these people talk of "colonizing" the universe associates them with European colonists (the only kind, apparently) and hence with racism. Capitalism, racism, and white men are sometimes tossed in, casually, as stock villains. In the end, though, these minor gripes don't detract too seriously from Becker's timely, valuable work.

Michael Riordan and Lillian Hoddeson, Crystal Fire: The Invention of the Transistor and the Birth of the Information Age (1997)

This is a technically informed, empirically minded, and engaging account of an epoch-making invention (arguably one of the two or three most important inventions of the 20th century, other candidates being nuclear technology and antibiotics). Riordan and Hoddeson spend the bulk of their book on the technical aspects of work on the transistor, and they do this well, though after a point I had trouble following (for example, the apparently important difference between point contact and junction transistors). Along the way, they also pen deft portraits of the key figures and key organizations, above all, the incomparable mid-century Bell Labs. In terms of the technical aspects, both theoretical work (much of it coming from Europe) in quantum mechanics, in particular the behavior of electrons, and practical work, in obtaining purified forms of germanium and silicon and manipulating the flow of electrons, were crucial. Serendipity played a more frequent role than I would have imagined. Some of my take-aways and reflections include the following: 1) until reading this book, I hadn't fully understood that the key function of vacuum tubes and of transistors was to boost signals (even after reading the book, I didn't quite grasp how either of them did this). 2) nor did I understand that both of these technologies were developed with the transmission of telephone calls in mind (the primary business of ATT, Bell Labs' sponsor, after all). Their use in computers was, initially, a byproduct. For this reason, the full magnitude of the transistor revolution only dawned on people, including its inventors, a couple of decades after its invention in 1947. 3) the book did an excellent job illustrating the role of both collaboration and competition in scientific progress. 4) I was reminded of Robert Gordon's important book The Rise and Decline of American Growth. Gordon emphasizes the years 1920 to 1950 as a period of unprecedented and since unmatched growth in productivity. I don't think he explains exactly why that was the case (though come to think of it, he may attribute the surge in productivity to a more fully worked out application of electric power). I'm pretty sure he doesn't discuss the development of the transistor. Of course, while the transistor was invented at the tail end of this period, it only came into widespread use in the 1950s and 1960s. Its proliferation has coincided not with the increase, or even just maintenance, of productivity growth, but with its slowing down. Of course, it has changed entertainment, culture, news, politics, and much more quite dramatically. So a bit of a conundrum there. 5) this is not an original point, but this book, in conjunction with Gordon's, has led me to think of the transistor as a third "general purpose technology" of the last 200 years, alongside the steam engine and electricity.

Anton Barba-Kay, A Web of Our Own Making: The Nature of Digital Formation (2023)

I began this book with great hope - after all, Nicholas Carr, whose books on the internet (The Shallows) and social media (Superbloom) I have found so perceptive, had endorsed it. Alas, the work disappointed. Perhaps I was at fault, but I was never able to tap into its argument. A Web reads like an extended piece in the Feuilleton of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung - allusive, polemical, serpentine. The book prioritizes phenomenological observations about the nature of the web, which it renders in often poetical-paradoxical phrases and pretentious words. Barba-Kay provides scant evidence for his claims. He tends toward hyperbole (only "the bomb" - i.e. the nuclear bomb - rivals and parallels the web in eschatological significance). Not only did I not find myself persuaded by most of these big claims; I didn't even find them particularly arresting. After scant 100 pages, I put the book aside - something I rarely do. Given Carr's high standing in my eyes, though, maybe I'll look up reviews of the book and see if any of them can show me what I missed.

Joshua Meyrowitz, No Sense of Place: The Impact of Electronic Media on Social Behavior (1984)

This book was a huge - and very pleasant - surprise for me. I read it in connection with my course (and interest in) Media & Minds. I thought I had read or at least knew of the most important works in the field of media ecology - McLuhan, Ong, Goody, Postman, etc. No Sense of Place had only recently registered in my awareness. So my expectation was that it would, at most, fill in a few new details. Instead, what I found was a book that not only made a new, and very innovative, argument about the impact of television. Much more broadly, I think the book qualifies as a significant contribution to social theory (and it turns out it's been cited more than 8,000 times). Meyrowitz does this by combining Erving Goffman with Marshall McLuhan. Goffman, about whom only the title of his most famous book - The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life - had given me an inkling of his ideas, turns out to be more complex and interesting than I had realized. His theory is that we are performing on many stages (not just one, as I had thought), while also retreating to a "back stage" for rehearsal of our "front stage" roles and for rest. So it turns out that Goffman's theory is much more about roles than I had suspected, and hence is also relevant to explaining group formation. But Goffman's theory is static, and this is where McLuhan comes in. Meyrowitz argues that new media change informational flows, as with the introduction of TV, thereby changing "situations." These define roles, and so as situations change, so too do the borders between front stage and back stage. Meyrowitz applies this quite persuasively to explain many of the changes in American society since the 1960s, thus offering a worthy alternative to Ronald Inglehart's account, which revolves around the shift from material to post-material values. Just as Postman's Amusing Ourselves made arguments about TV that now also seem remarkably prescient about our digital age, so too do Meyrowitz's arguments regularly seem to anticipate changes we are now living through.

Nicholas Carr, Superbloom: How Technologies of Connection Tear Us Apart (2025)

This book came out the same day that Chris Hayes's The Sirens' Call did (see my previous post). Generally overlapping in their critical assessments of the digital revolution and even in the responses they recommend, the two books are still different enough to make them both well worth reading. While Hayes is perhaps flashier and more conversational, Carr - as in a previous book of his which I also highly recommend, The Shallows - argues more carefully and writes in sharper prose. One of the threads of Superbloom is the belief that more and more universal communication will knit ever-widening circles of humanity together. With antecedents in Enlightenment thought, this idea animated the early American sociologist Charles Cooley and, in the wake of WWII, Margaret Mead. In a section that I wish Carr had expanded a little, he shows that the same confidence lay behind the fateful lack of regulation of the internet in its 1990s infancy. In the 1996 Telecommunications Act, two key doctrines that had governed communications previously were quietly abandoned: secrecy of correspondence (the Faustian bargain we enter with Google and its ilk is that we get their services for free in exchange for allowing the content of our messages to be mined for opportunities to advertise to us) and the obligation of "broadcasters" to serve the public interest, which had been established in the original 1934 Communications Act but had already been eroded when it came to radio and cable TV in the 1970s. Interestingly, like both Jenny Odell (How to Do Nothing) and Hayes in The Sirens' Call, Carr doesn't place great hope in legal or policy remedies for the damage being inflicted by digital technologies. All three emphasize individual action, which may eventually inspire collective action. On the last page of his book, Carr recommends "the taking up of positions, first as individuals and then, perhaps, together, not outside of society but at society's margin, not beyond the reach of the information flow but beyond the reach of its liquefying force." This is almost exactly what Odell means by "standing apart." And it's how I'm trying to live my life.

Chris Hayes, The Sirens' Call: How Attention Became the World's Most Endangered Resource (2025)

I read this book (as well as Nicholas Carr's Superbloom, which came out on the same day - see my next entry) for the class I'm currently teaching, Media and Minds. Hayes's earlier book Twilight of the Elites (2012) had impressed me. Hayes seemed to be a creative thinker and observer, who was able to take concepts from one realm and apply them fruitfully in another (I still remember - and use - his adaptation of Robert Michels' "iron law of oligarchy" into an "iron law of meritocracy"). In Sirens' Call, Hayes again produces numerous insights into a field I thought I knew well. Here are some of the major nuggets I took from the book: - just as labor was turned into a commodity in the industrial revolution, attention is now undergoing the same process. Also in a Marxist vein, just as workers felt alienated from their labor, we now all feel alienated from ourselves. - grabbing attention (siren as in the wail of a firetruck) is easier than holding it (siren as in Odysseus's temptresses). Digital platforms try to do both, but have come to rely on the former. - the slot machine is the main model of digital addiction. - boredom didn't exist for hunter-gatherers, but has been historically conditioned, growing over time as our options have increased and as filling the hole left by boredom (and in turn regigging the hole) has become big business. - the explosion of entertainment over the last 150 years has arisen as industrial capitalism has solved the material struggle for existence. Assured of material comforts, we've lost a sense of purpose - what are we living for?I had previously focused on the suppy side - the technologies that made mass media and entertainment possible. Hayes, drawing on Keynes and others, makes a plausible case for demand-side reasons. - attentional regimes, like raising your hand when you want to speak in a classroom. In our current politics, there no longer is one. Anyone who wants can scream for attention at any time, practically in any way. Despite these considerable strengths, perhaps the book could have used another round of editing to make its argument and writing even tighter. For example, it doesn't fully support its central claim, that attention is now the world's most important resource.

Jenny Odell, How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy (2019)

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Odell is widely, eclectically read and weaves her reflections on everyone from Diogenes the Cynic to David Hockney's art together with vignettes from her own life in the Bay Area. Odell is a digital artist and also an avid watcher and friend of birds and nature. Both art and nature play a big role in her reflections. She makes a thoughtful, eloquent case for "standing apart" from the attention economy - neither retreating fully, nor succumbing. Standing apart as individuals, she hopes, may prepare the way for collective standing apart and then collective action. I may try to incorporate passages from this book into my current course on Media and Minds.

Sven Birkerts, The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age (1994)

I stumbled upon this in my search for readings for my course Media and Minds, and it's a gem. Birkerts first drew me in because of some biographical overlap: growing up the child of European immigrants (in his case, both parents from Latvia, in mine my mother from Germany, but my father, with his rejection of his Irish Catholic background and of American culture and his interest in East Asia, might well have been an immigrant), Birkerts was painfully aware of how he didn't fit in with his peers, and wanted to assimilate. Eventually, however - and this is just my surmise - Birkerts's outsider status has given him a perch from which he castigates the entire drift of our culture in our electonic age. The book is a worthy sequel and complement to Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death. Written 10 years after Postman's work, and on the cusp of the internet revolution, Gutenberg Elegies is astonishingly prescient in its picture of what has come to pass: the fracturing of attention and selves, the loss of interiority, etc. First, though, Birkerts gives an account of how "deep reading" (a term he coins here and which Maryanne Wolf, in Reader, Come Home, borrows) - which was on its way out already 30 years ago - allows us to explore other worlds and uncover or invent other selves, other versions of us.

David T. Courtwright, The Age of Addiction: How Bad Habits Became Big Business (2019)

I wholeheartedly recommend this book. The topic has been on my mind for the last decade, as I've become increasingly alarmed by our phone-based lives. Courtwright has read very widely and integrates evidence and ideas from many fields. His writing is taut, witty, often masterful. His judgment, at least in my eyes, is superb - for example, while castigating "limbic capitalism" - a term he coins here - he pays homage to the great good done by its benevolent twin, plain capitalism. He contrasts undisciplined and disciplined pleasures. The book belongs on the shelf of anybody interested in "big history." Courtwright starts with hunter-gatherers, who generally stumbled on limited pleasures in their diverse habitats, before he quickly and skillfully moves through the role of trade and the first globalization in creating globally homogeneous pleasures (as well as glocalized ones). The last two-thirds of the book consider the accelerating pleasure revolution of the last two hundred years, as pleasures, vices, and addictions have been engineered and relentlessly marketed. Courtwright makes interesting observations about the reasons why the anti-vice movement of the Progressive Era generally lost out to the pro-vice movements of World Wars and rising affluence. He cautiously subscribes to the recently emerging consensus that all addictions share the same neural footprint, all being diseases of the brain. Courtwright acknowledges that his emphasis on the supply-side of addiction (engineered pleasures, big business) must be complemented by the demand-side story, which traces the rise in addiction to the dislocation, isolation, and anomie of modern life. Bruce Alexander has pursued this story in The Globalization of Addiction. Age of Addiction was persuasive enough to make me rebalance my assessment of capitalism. Its somber assessment must now join Shoshanna Zuboff's indictment of surveillance capitalism and Fred Hirsch's and Robert Frank's works on zero-sum status competition (as well as older works by Joseph Schumpeter and Daniel Bell on the cultural contradictions of capitalism) as another dark, and possibly growing, stain on capitalism's reputation.