What should one eat while traveling in London? I’m glad you asked! I have been overwhelmed, actually, by requests from family, friends, blog readers, acquaintances, and strangers who heard that I am traveling in London.

“Okay, so you are in Europe,” they say to me. “Okay, so there’s art and culture and fascinating people and bloody weird language permutations and beautiful buildings and elaborate ceremony and centuries of history and a bridge that is falling down, my fair lady. All very good. But what did you eat?!!”

All right, all right, all right! By popular demand, here is a blog post about food in London.

And I would like to note that we are definitely on the same page here. Truly, I believe that feeding oneself properly is of utmost importance in life. And that goes for not just physical food . . . but also spiritual food. Oh, I fed myself well in London!

Food for Mind, Senses, and Spirit: Theatre

I partook well of the theatres in London: This is some seriously good sustenance. I saw three productions that blew me away. They were quite similar in theme—which I didn’t realize would be the case when purchasing my tickets. They were about women and the societal forces that keep them (us!) in submission.

Here is a photo of the chandelier at Duke of York’s Theatre, where I saw Rosmersholm by Henrik Isben. If it had not been for the characters’ clothing, this play, written in 1886, could have taken place in modern times. The themes—politics, gender, and religion—are just as relevant today as they were 100+ years ago.

I had the feeling that I had heard the name of the heroine before: Rebecca West. She must feature large in literary criticism, and rightfully so. This play is a masterpiece that I somehow missed studying in college. It’s about the constraints of society. It’s about people who disagree with the majority opinion and must choose to either conform (and stifle themselves) or, bravely, live uniquely and work to change society (and risk becoming an outcast and losing everything).

Ditto pretty much all of the above in regard to The Three Sisters by Anton Chekhov. How did I miss encountering this masterpiece earlier in my life? The Three Sisters was written in 1900 and, like Rosmersholm, spotlights the plight of an intelligent woman—that is, three intelligent women, who are being stifled by the town and circumstances in which they live. Also like Rosmersholm, the production was spectacular. The choreography, costumes, lighting, dancing, and acting were phenomenal. I laughed, I cried; it was great. (Thanks to R. for recommending this theatre and production to me!)

Embarrassingly, I could not stop crying through Emilia by Morgan Lloyd Malcolm, a play written last year. This does not usually happen to me. Near the beginning of the play, tears began streaming down my face and dripping off my chin. I controlled myself. It happened again in the middle of the play. Again, I controlled myself. At the end of the play, however, it was a losing battle. I was sobbing outright, though I managed to say silent. Luckily, I was sitting far back in the orchestra section (so far back that opera glasses were available for rent), so I felt inconspicuous. Also, there were empty seats around me. When the production ended, I slipped out of the theatre with a wet face and crazy eyes. Instead of descending into the Tube, I walked for a couple of miles, weeping in the dark of the London streets. OMG, I’m tearing up again—let me move on and write about something else!

But I suppose I should explain the cause of all this emotiveness. The heroine of Emilia, Emilia Bassano, is a historical figure who lived in Shakespeare’s time and may have been the “Dark Lady” he writes about in his sonnets. I do not know how much of the play was based on known facts, how much was speculation, and how much exaggeration. In any case, the play dramatizes the plight of a woman who wanted to be a writer, despite prejudice against her due to her gender, and who wrote feminist poetry (that survives today!). The play uses many of Emilia’s own words, written 400 years ago. And it is very funny. It features an all-female cast, who play both the female and male characters—which is hysterical considering that in Shakespeare’s time only men acted (men dressed as both men and women on the stage).

Food for Thought

Amidst all of this theatre going, I visited many cafes and bars, seeking out quaint places to work on my laptop. I found some adorable venues and ate some delicious food: I remember a lot of eggs, avocado, fancy cheese, spinach, nuts, and smoked salmon, along with numerous pots of tea with milk. However, I was starting to get frustrated because I kept choosing places to work where the music was a bit too loud, or the chairs and tables a bit too crowded together for comfort. And then, one day when I was feeling homesick for my quiet office in my house in Maryland, I experienced the glory of stumbling across . . . a Starbucks! I ordered a cup of tea! The barista poured milk into my tea without asking permission, but that was okay with me! The music was low! And it wasn’t very crowded! God bless the USA!!!!

More Food for Thought: Books

My original strategy on book buying was that I must not buy any books. Why heft a book across an ocean, when I can have it delivered to my home?

Naturally, that didn’t work out so well. I see a bookshop, I enter it. I enter it, I see a book. I see a book, I want to buy it. Well, I compromised by buying only small, skinny books.

So now I must heft a huge pile of small, skinny books across an ocean. Sigh.

The silver lining is, skinny books are quicker to read and thus will help me reach my goal of 50 books per year. LOL.

Also: Have you read Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins? (That book about a grown woman on a train?) Well, I took a train from London to the Midlands and, very truly, the backs of houses are lined up against the train tracks! (I did not see any people suspiciously kissing, though.)

Food for Ears: Music

I traveled to the Midlands to see Kate Rusby, who was performing in Derby to celebrate the release of her new album, Philosophers, Poets and Kings. As she explained during the performance, the title track is not about philosophy, poetry, or royalty. It’s about wine: now that’s a song I can get behind! (With due moderation, that is: and there ends my similarity to the grown woman on the train.)

Kate Rusby’s performance was impeccable, really wonderful. I love the simple beauty of her folk music. She sings on universal themes like love, death, birds, and the night sky. She often takes centuries-old ballads and sets them to her own music. I adore her—thanks for a great time, Kate!

Next, I saw Thea Gilmore in concert at Union Chapel. What a beautiful venue this is! Thea Gilmore is a singer and songwriter whose lyrics are remarkable for their wit, insight, and irreverence. It felt strange (in a way that is apropos to her music and persona and vibe) to see her perform in a church. However, this is a church with a bar. Alcohol is not permitted in the chapel itself; but for some reason, irreverent, subversive music is completely acceptable. . . .

Thanks, Thea, for an amazing performance. I adore your (literal and metaphorical) voice!

Food for Companionship

As long as we’re back to playing our old game of Find the Hidden Item in the Photo (did you find not one but two fluorescent signs amidst the ornate architecture and Biblically themed stained glass in that last one?), let’s move on to the story of this photo.

While sitting in a Parisian cafe in London—not to be confused with a Parisian cafe in Paris—I asked the man sitting at the next table to take a photo of me, which he kindly did:

As the well-dressed men behind me had a serious conversation about Jesus, my companion and I had a witty conversation about, among other things, the genius of Bertrand Russell, of whom both of us, it transpired, are fans.

However, as this blog post is about food, our conversation is irrelevant. And so—per your request—here’s what we ate in London over the next few days: Yorkshire pudding with meat, potatoes, and vegetables; beer; a cocktail garnished with an origami bird (me) and a virgin drink (him); tea; Caesar salad with chicken (me) and steak and potatoes (him). Also, we wished to order gelato at one restaurant, but the waiter didn’t visit the outdoor table where he’d seated us for half an hour, so we gave up on that idea.

At one point while walking around London, half lost (and half not), we stumbled across this church. It’s called All Souls Langham Place. Do you see something notable, hidden in the narrow gap between the church and a nearby building? (I was going to try to read a deeper meaning into this; however, thinking better of it, I shall move on to the final sentence in this paragraph.) It was nice to have a companion to hang around with during my stay in London, and we parted friends (and nothing more: nobody freak out).

Food for Eyes: Art

On my last full day in London, I visited Tate Modern, a spacious museum of modern art that looks, from the inside, like an empty factory. I saw many thought-provoking and lovely pieces, but the most nourishing food there, which sat best in my belly, was the Mark Rothko room. Mark Rothko is famous for his large, abstract expressionist paintings. These works of art often have just a few, large bands of color. They are beautiful. Furthermore, studying them quietly can offer one a meditatively spiritual experience. Here’s one of the Rothko paintings I saw.

I entered the Mark Rothko room, which was lighted only dimly, and sat on one of the benches in the center. The nine paintings surrounded me. I sat and looked at the paintings, occasionally turning to peer in different directions to see them all.

After two or three minutes, something astonishing happened. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the colors of the paintings emerged in all their brilliance. It was like the rising of the sun: a meditative and spiritual arising that I had not anticipated.

After a few more minutes, something else astonishing happened: the blocks of color began to invert. Whereas I had been seeing numerals like 0, I, and II, suddenly the inverse space appeared to be prison bars. But they were not imprisoning bars; no, they were safely nestling me in the meditative space. They were keeping me in a place of understanding and compassion, while sheltering me from the outside world of ignorance and cruelty. For me, the paintings had suddenly transformed into an expression of the life of the introvert: you erect shields to save yourself from the chaos of the outside world. Your shields keep you safe from panic, while warning others not to intrude. I was honored to be shielded by Rothko’s paintings for those few minutes of my life.

A brochure I received at the Tate Modern advertised a Vincent van Gogh exhibition at the Tate Britain, a museum in a different part of the city. I wanted to go, but I had a ticket for a matinee performance of The Merry Wives of Windsor at Shakespeare’s Globe. After the show (which was funny and silly—but not one of Shakespeare’s masterpieces), I completely forgot about the exhibition. So I stood here for ten or twenty minutes, listening to a street performer in front of the Tate Modern and, when I turned around, admiring the view of the Millennium Bridge over the Thames:

Then I moseyed on over somewhere else, whereupon I noticed that I had access to WiFi. That’s when it hit me that I should look up how to get to the Tate Britain and get there ASAP! So that’s what I did. I had to walk to the subway, take two trains, and walk to the museum. I got lost, and encountered a fellow traveler (from Sweden or Finland, I believe) who was also searching for the museum and the exhibit. We found the museum and entered 20 minutes before it closed. She had a museum pass already. As I was purchasing my ticket for £22 (about $29), the woman behind the counter warned me that there wasn’t enough time and asked whether I really wanted to buy it. I really did. Next, the man who took my ticket at the door looked at me in horror and said,

“A ticket, at this hour?!!”

I mainly wanted everybody to stop talking, so I could see the exhibit! So I quickly entered. And it was spectacular: another spiritual experience. Here are some of the Van Gogh paintings I saw. Ignoring the paintings not by Van Gogh, I focused on the masterpieces: and so they were. Looking at the paintings, I had this repeated thought: “He gets it. He gets it!” He understands this life. He understands the beauty and strangeness and spirituality and liveliness of the world. Every brushstroke, every color, is perfectly placed in those paintings. Looking at them, I feel as if I’m peering into the soul of the world, the essence of reality, something much more real than even reality itself. It’s hard to explain what I mean, but here’s another attempt:

There was a room full of paintings of sunflowers. I think these sunflowers were painted by contemporaries of Van Gogh—though I can’t be sure, as I did not dawdle to read the descriptions. I glanced at each of the paintings to see if it was by Van Gogh, until finally I came across the Van Gogh. My thoughts went like this: “Hmm, a painting of sunflowers, another painting of sunflowers, okay more sunflowers, geez lots of sunflowers in this room, here’s another vase of sunflowers, these sunflowers are kinda boring, more sunflowers over here . . . WOW—THOSE ARE SUNFLOWERS!!!!”

Yes, I had seen reproductions of that particular work of art before. No, it’s nothing like seeing the painting in person.

I made it through the ten or so rooms of the exhibit in ten minutes, which was exactly what I needed to do, as the guards started hustling people out ten minutes before the museum closed. The experience was worth every penny. (That is to say—it was worth all the pence!)

Food for a Brick in the Belly: Traditional British Fare

Then there was the day that I decided to go full-on traditional with my food. I had British tea with milk—always in England tea is served with milk—and carrot cake at a British bakery, as you can see here. Later, I had fish and chips, peas, and beer at a tavern. I don’t particularly like cake, fried food, or peas, and the beer was subpar; but I ate and drank with gusto anyway. (I thoroughly enjoyed the tea with milk.) The next day, my belly felt not so good. Despite that inconvenient fact, God save the Queen!!!!

TL;DR

I know, this blog post is very long. So here’s the bottom line on what to eat in London. If you ever decide to travel to this truly great city, I recommend that you nourish yourself with theatre, books, music, art, companionship, tea with milk, alcohol, and, for good measure, actual food.

I’m off to Paris now. (If you’re wondering why, see my blog post about the unconscious mind.) Until next time—bon appétit!

Humor me for a moment, and mentally discard all those books that are, in your opinion, page-turners. Any reads that you find to be quick, easy, fun, fascinating, lovely, exciting, or otherwise engrossing are irrelevant to this discussion.

Next, add to that discard pile all those books that lack redeeming qualities, as far as you can tell. You’ve read a few pages and are bored senseless. And the book is not highly acclaimed by any reputable source. And you doubt you will learn or otherwise gain anything useful from it. These books are also irrelevant to our discussion.

What do we have left, once we toss aside the books that are a delight to read and the books we’re better off skipping? That’s right—difficult books that have value.

By now, you probably know me well enough to guess what I would advise you to do upon encountering such a book. (Hint: It doesn’t involve throwing anything across a room.) So I’ll skip the preachy lecture and proceed to the main discussion. What’s the best way to read a difficult book that has value—that has the capacity to teach you something or otherwise enhance your worldview?

1. Commit to a daily page count.

Since the only way to tackle a large project is to break it into manageable steps, I recommend setting a daily page count goal for yourself. Once you’ve decided on a goal, don’t think about how many hundreds of unread pages remain. Instead, focus on how many pages you plan to read today.

My usual goal is 40 pages per day. This is a loose goal. If one day I don’t read very much, the next day I try to exceed my goal amount. It’s also a loose goal in that I change it depending on the book. Books have different page sizes, font sizes, and reading difficulty levels. If it’s a denser or harder book than average, or if for another reason it takes me longer than usual to turn a page, I might make my daily goal 30 pages. If it takes me less time than usual to turn a page, I might make my daily goal 50 pages.

Forty pages per day is an ambitious goal for me. It’s hard to achieve, and I don’t always succeed; but I often do. It’s a good practice to aim high. Just remember to not only congratulate yourself on your achievements, but also cut yourself some slack if life gets in the way for a few days.

2. Skip the introduction, or read it afterward.

If the introduction was written by someone other than the author, do not read it first.* Once you’ve finished reading the actual book, you can, if you want, go back and read it; but this is optional. While introductions are often interesting and enlightening, they are supplementary material. They are commentary on the text itself—which is the main show.

Reading the introduction first can be a disheartening experience, one that may even cause you to abandon the book before making it to page 1! The introduction’s intended audience is a person who has already read the book and is curious about what someone else thought. Therefore, the introduction may mention scenes without explanations of what was going on, with the assumption that the reader has read them already and does not need such background information. If this isn’t the case, confusion is likely to result. The introduction may also include spoilers; and who needs those?

So why are introductions placed before the main text, if they are meant to be read after it? That’s a very good question! Like most everything in this world, it probably has to do with someone making money. When a publisher reissues an old classic, it tries to drum up excitement among potential buyers for a product that is, after all, passé by including a new, laudatory critique of the book, often by a famous author or someone with special expertise on the book. A person who has already read the book might buy it for the introduction. A person who hasn’t read the book might also buy it for the introduction; but even in that case, it not should be read before the main text.

3. Look up words and references you don’t understand.

Strike a balance between not looking up enough and looking up too much. Try to figure out which words are vital to understand, and which can safely be passed by. The danger of not looking up enough is that you might fail to understand what’s going on. The danger of looking up too much is that you might lose the flow of the reading, take so long that you start forgetting what happened earlier in the book, get lost in details and fail to grasp the big picture, or give up due to the tediousness of it all.

Your first step should be to guess what things mean based on context. If you don’t have a good guess, use your favorite search engine.

A couple decades ago, the main challenge was access to the information, as physical dictionaries and encyclopedias are bulky and heavy. Today, the main challenge is not getting sucked in to the Internet when you go there to look something up. Watch yourself while using your wifi-connected device!**

4. Avoid noise and disruption.

Everyone has different levels of tolerance as regards studying environments. For example, some people can study on a bus, while others find it too noisy and bumpy. However, everyone comprehends difficult texts better when outside stimuli and interruptions are reduced. If the book you’re reading is difficult, trying to read it in poor conditions will only result in frustration.

To avoid noise, obviously a quiet room is best. If that’s not possible, wear earplugs, noise-cancelling headphones, or both.

To avoid disruption, (1) silence your phone; (2) pretend that the Internet exists only as a surrogate dictionary/encyclopedia, and that clicking to other sites or apps will shock you (like a dog collar, preventing one from crossing the line!); and (3) practice extreme antisociality (you might warn your family and friends beforehand!).

If all else fails, take your book to a quiet corner of the library, and don’t leave until you have reached your daily page count goal.

5. Keep pressing forward, even if you don’t understand.

Some people mistakenly believe that reading the first chapter over and over will improve comprehension. Rereading may improve memory, but it likely won’t improve comprehension very much, unless you do something different the second time around. For example, if you were just skimming or flipping through during the first read, rereading the section in a more serious or methodical way is likely to help. Or perhaps you didn’t look up essential terms, in which case rereading while looking up terms may help. Or perhaps you were trying to read in a noisy, disruptive environment; rereading in different circumstances may improve your understanding.

Generally speaking, though, it’s better to press on. If you keep reading, you are likely to catch on to what the author’s trying to do. In fact, many difficult books are supposed to feel confusing at first; a big part of their appeal is the challenge of figuring them out. Think of a difficult book as a jigsaw puzzle when you have lost the picture on the box lid. You wouldn’t put together a few pieces, and then take them apart and put them together again just because you didn’t understand how the entire picture would look. The clues to “getting” a book are often located deeper within. If you keep moving forward, you may surprise yourself. Your big breakthrough realization about chapter 1 may not occur until chapter 10. And that’s okay.

6. Eat and sleep.

The brain needs food and rest to function. The more hungry or tired you are, the less effective it will be in doing the complicated work of translating text to meaning. If you’re following the tips above but still aren’t getting it, grab a snack or take a nap, and try again. You will be amazed at how much more intelligible everything suddenly is.

7. Don’t give up.

This is the one that trips up the most people. So, make a commitment to yourself to finish the book, and diligently work toward your goal, until you achieve it.

Remember that finishing a high-quality book is a worthy goal, since many books don’t impart their fullest wisdom until you have made it to the end. And, nope, skipping to the end won’t work. You won’t acquire the wisdom unless you get there the hard way.

Best of luck with your reading endeavors. I know you will make it through that big one on your nightstand! With persistence, many things are possible.

*While I feel strongly about this, some people feel differently. To read arguments on both sides, check out the Keeping Up With the Penguins blog post Do You Read the Introduction First?

**Avoiding distraction in the Internet age is a large and important topic; see also my blog posts about the book Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport.

On New Year’s Day, the inquisitive one sat down with a brand new pad of paper and brand new pen, both received as gifts the previous month.

The inquisitive one thought very seriously for a few minutes, biting softly on a thumb. Then suddenly, the inquisitive one removed the thumb from the mouth, picked up the pen, and wrote a string of words on the pad, reciting them aloud while writing:

“This year, I resolve to GROW more VEGETABLES, RUN more MILES, READ more BOOKS, and COOK more HEALTHY MEALS than I EVER have in ANY YEAR before!”

The inquisitive one underlined the key words several times and then drew little illustrations of veggies, running shoes, books, and cooking utensils all around the sentence on the pad. Happily, the inquisitive one tore the top sheet off the pad and taped it to the fridge.

But a week or so later—alas!—things were not going well as regards the resolution. You see, the inquisitive one had had some pretty impressive years in the past, in the realms of vegetable growing, mile running, book reading, and healthy meal cooking. This year so far, the inquisitive one had been sadly neglecting those activities, in favor of relative entertaining, light bulb replacing, nose blowing, highway driving, obscure fact Googling, schmancy gala attending, and frantic HVAC guy calling.

To make up for lost time, the inquisitive one tossed some dry beans, frozen kale, and stock in a crock pot, drove to the gym, got on a treadmill, and attempted to run while alternating between reading a novel and browsing a seed catalogue.

By the end of that day, the inquisitive one had decided to grow tomatoes, variety TBD; run half a mile; read half a page; and cooked a healthy meal that tasted like pebbles in a polluted stream.

Angrily, the inquisitive one snatched the resolution off the fridge, crumpled it up, and threw it away. The inquisitive one got out the special pad and pen and wrote a sentence on the topmost sheet, reciting the words while writing:

“This year, I resolve to make NO New Year’s resolution!!”

The inquisitive one, having neglected to draw anything around the sentence, proudly ripped off the sheet and taped it to the fridge.

The next day, however, the revised resolution did not sit well with the inquisitive one. Every time the inquisitive one went to get some string cheese, hummus, broccoli, butter, or whatever, the sentence seemed to stare outwards with menace.

After a couple of days of repeated, unsettling intimations from the fridge door, the inquisitive one tore down the paper, crumpled it up, and threw it away.

Once again, the inquisitive one got out the deliciously beautiful, and amazingly functional, pad and pen. Once again, the inquisitive one chewed softly on a thumb. And once again, suddenly the inquisitive one wrote and recited a sentence:

“This year, I resolve to make a New Year’s resolution.”

The inquisitive one decorated the page with illustrations of flowers, birds, clouds, and special pads and pens; boogie danced on over to the fridge; and taped it up.

The next day, the inquisitive one spent a lot of time working on a project for the boss, shopping for clothes, and talking on the phone.

The day after that, the inquisitive one went on a long run, finished reading the novel, and baked a big batch of granola.

And the day after that, the inquisitive one, with great excitement, decided to plant a variety of sweet pepper that was, according to the seed catalogue, “very productive,” “early maturing,” and “displease resistant.”

One thing Émile Zola handles particularly well in his novel The Ladies’ Paradise is contrast.

The existence or absence of contrast in a novel is, in fact, a pretty good indicator of quality. After all, it is only in relation to other things that we are able to perceive anything with any degree of accuracy or understanding.

Can we fully understand and appreciate joy and excitement without having sometime seen sorrow and frustration? What is virtuous living—or to use a more modern and secular term, wholehearted living—if not something to be contrasted with despicable or tormented living?

And so we have, in Zola’s novel, a rich character who hosts a social gathering “in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the brasses and brocatelle of which shone out with a clear gaiety.”

Her well-off guests drink tea and eat sponge cake surrounded by luxurious brass furnishings and brocatelle—the word means “raised design on upholstery or curtains”—and it is all very fancy and sophisticated and immaculate and charming.

Meanwhile, the employees of The Ladies’ Paradise dine noisily in the damp basement: all packed in together, eating less than palatable food. Everyone feels crowded, overworked, and hungry. And then comes one of my favorite lines in the novel:

“The walls reeked with moisture, a slow asphyxia fell from the moldy ceiling.”

This is, of course, a translation from the original French; but in English, anyway, it’s a stunning line. Asphyxia cannot actually fall from anywhere—the word means “lack of oxygen” or “suffocation” . . . and yet we know precisely what is meant. We can feel it! I wish I could read this line in the original French and experience it as it was written; but I’ll have to remain content, for now, with this version—and I’m more than content with it!

What are the best and worst social dining environments you’ve experienced?

I laughed aloud when I read this passage from Matthew B. Crawford’s book The World Beyond Your Head:

“I recently visited Las Vegas, a place designed for the single purpose of separating you from your money.”

It’s funny because—beneath the surface—it’s true. Las Vegas is exciting because it’s full of things humans are hard-wired to pay attention to: bright, flashy lights and shows; sexy cowboys and cowgirls, along with the prospect of easy sex; food chock-full of sugar, fat, and salt; alcohol for every taste and price range; free stuff; and the prospect, no matter how long the odds, of acquiring gobs of money with little effort—just to name a few of the attractions on offer in this photo alone. However, what appears to be an abundance of exciting choices is actually an elaborate series of funnels toward addiction and loss of control over one’s money and other resources, painstakingly calculated and orchestrated by those in control.

I have never experienced what it is like to be addicted to gambling; but I have experienced addiction to food. When Crawford talks about the “death instinct” of addiction to gambling, I know what he means. He spoke to gamblers who explained that they often feel the need to spend all their money—to “zero out”—so they can go home and rest. If there’s money left in their pocket, they feel a tension in the uncertainty of whether they will spend it. It feels more comfortable to spend it all, so you can relax.

Give me a big bag of chips, and I feel the same way. Even if my stomach is full to bursting and my mouth is burning from the salt, how could I possibly leave any of it uneaten? Then I will just worry endlessly, wondering whether I will eat the remainder. It’s better to keep eating until it’s impossible to continue, because it’s all gone or I’m too sick, or to somehow find a way to throw it out irretrievably. Then I can relax.

But . . . what about willpower? What about freedom of choice? Shouldn’t gamblers be allowed the freedom to spend their money as they wish? Shouldn’t I be allowed to eat an entire big bag of chips in one sitting, without some sort of food cop ripping the bag from my hands? If we choose to do these things, isn’t that our prerogative, and our responsibility to face the consequences?

Well, yes, of course. However . . . we should also think about society as a whole and what people are being funneled toward by entities (like big corporations) with exponentially more wealth and power than most individuals. We should think about ways that society, as well as individuals, might put checks on that wealth and power. Do people who live hundreds of miles from the nearest casino experience lower odds of becoming addicted to gambling? (Yes.) Do people who live hundreds of miles from the nearest junk food outlet have lower odds of becoming addicted to sugar, fat, and salt? (Yes.) Here’s some more wisdom from Crawford:

“We abstain on principle from condemning activities that leave one compromised and degraded, because we fear that disapproval of the activity would be paternalistic toward those who engage in it. We also abstain from affirming some substantive picture of human flourishing, for fear of imposing our values on others. This gives us a pleasant feeling: we have succeeded in not being paternalistic or presumptuous. The priority we give to avoiding these vices in particular is rooted in our respect for persons, understood as autonomous. ‘People should be allowed to make their own decisions.'”

Crawford’s point (that is, one of his many points), and it’s a subtle one, is that people are not wholly autonomous. A person does not live in the bubble of his/her own head. By definition, a human being is a creature residing in a real world and interfacing with that real world, every second of every day.

Do we want a real world full of slot machines and people mindlessly pushing buttons, and full of junk food outlets and people mindlessly stuffing chips down their throats until they get sick? Of course, there are many things that individuals can do to avoid such traps as much as possible; for example, I avoid keeping chips around the house and strive to form and keep healthy eating habits. But what can society, as opposed to individuals, do to reduce the number of people who are funneled into, as Crawford says, “activities that leave one compromised and degraded”?

Dare we imagine another world, a better way?