La Fin

September 17, 2026

Raymond Geuss is one of the most erudite political philosophers of our day. Entering his ninth decade this December, Geuss’s modest 1981 book The Idea of a Critical Theory has had an outsized influence on how we understand (from an analytic perspective) the power of Continental philosophy. Today, Geuss may be better known for his indictment of liberal political ideas and his revulsion at moralizing of any kind, especially that proffered by titans like Jürgen Habermas and John Rawls, who see justice or rational deliberation as desiderata of the open society. Power and ideology play a far more decisive role in Geuss’s analysis, as does political realism.

In his essay for The Ideas Letter, originally presented as a talk in China, Geuss argues that all this yammering about the polycrisis is missing what’s at stake: Western civilization is undergoing a systemic breakdown. This is not some series of overlapping crises but a general dissolution of the Western way of life, in which the ideational “carapace” of Western civilization is “fatally cracked.” Is there any hope left? Or, as was once prophesied by the Sex Pistols, is there “no future, no future, no future for you?”

After Geuss’s stiff drink, JS Tan and Emily Mazo restore our faith by explaining that resistance is alive in the belly of the beast—corporate AI. And this isn’t your mother’s tech-workers’ resistance, but a new form of labor politics taking shape in an industry reshaped by layoffs and starkly unequal bargaining power. Instead of a unified tech worker movement, two distinct labor politics are now forming: one rooted in deteriorating material conditions and the other in the catastrophism stoked by generative AI.

Noortje Marres, a student of Bruno Latour, uses the philosopher Hans Blumenberg to reframe contemporary debates about AI and religion. Her central provocation is that Pope Leo’s recent encyclical critiquing AI as Promethean hubris is a strange spectacle, because the world-transforming ambitions of technoscience are hardly a revolt against Christianity—on Blumenberg’s account, they are an emanation of the Judaeo-Christian tradition itself.

Randy Weston is a great pianist and composer who should be a household name. His music set precedents for the integration of African rhythms and sensibilities into modern jazz. Writer and scholar Hisham Aidi marks Weston’s centenary in this tribute, tracing how Weston’s music became caught up in the political and intellectual battles of Pan-Africanism, above all in Morocco, where he helped create what came to be called Gnawa-jazz.

For our curated section, we lead with an essay from Textual Practice that recovers the great literary critic Raymond Williams’s understanding of growth as an alternative to both capitalist growth-worship and contemporary degrowth. Williams sympathized with critiques of economic growth but refused to abandon the word “growth” because of its deep etymological bond with culture—from the Latin colere, “the tending of natural growth.”

We also have a wonderfully edifying video discussion of the particularities of South Indian classical music. All you wanted to know about this expansive tradition but were afraid to ask—performance included.

Finally, we are thrilled that Hisham Aidi is also the guest music curator for Issue 72, a musical tribute to, natürlich, Randy Weston! Here are Hisham’s recommendations:

These tracks trace the arc of Randy Weston’s musical life, from his early explorations of jazz to his deepening engagement with Africa and Morocco. “Hi-Fly” (1958) is the pianist’s most enduring composition, and likely one you’ve heard before—a seemingly simple, quirky melody covered by vocalists and big bands alike. “Portrait of Vivian” (1960), written for his mother and later made a standard by tenor saxophonist Booker Ervin, reveals the tender side of Weston’s writing.

With “African Cookbook” (1969), the pan-African dimension of his music comes into full view: Weston used the piece to fuse African rhythms and instruments directly into jazz, closing nearly every concert with it—including performances during his 1967 State Department tour of Africa—and often stretching it well past twenty minutes, as he memorably did in Cairo. Then there is “Blue Moses (Ganawa),” the title track of his Tangier-inspired album Blue Moses (1972), a smooth, electric production that became Weston’s best-selling record despite his own ambivalence toward the song. The piece shows a specific spiritual connection to Morocco: it is adapted from “Sidi Moussa,” the blue spirit invoked in Gnawa ritual music, with which Weston felt a deep affinity. Two decades later, “Chalabati Blues” (1993), from the Volcano Blues album with Pharoah Sanders, arranged by Weston’s longtime collaborator Melba Liston, makes the dialogue between Moroccan music and jazz even more explicit.

—Leonard Benardo, vice president at the Open Society Foundations