Iris on science · June 26th

In this episode, I talk to award-winning historian, and novelist, Dr. Adrian Goldsworthy. He is the author of numerous books on ancient history, especially the Romans, and we’ll be discussing his latest one, which came out in May, Athens and Sparta: The Rivalry that Shaped Ancient Greece. Do you think readers will perceive any parallels between ancient Athenian politics and recent history? What are our sources like for this period? How biased are they? What’s missing? How Athenian were the Spartans and how Spartan were the Athenians? How did Athens and Sparta become rival powers? What set the stage for the Peloponnesian War? What can we learn about the strengths and weaknesses of democracy from the Athenians? What was the status of slaves and women in Athens and Sparta? What can we learn about how alliances work, or don’t work? What role did ancient “technological” advantage play in the outcome of the war? What would have happened if the Athenians had stuck to the military policies of Pericles? Was Sparta a bit of a myth? How distorted is the popular image of the Spartans today? If the Athenians had conquered Sicily and defeated Sparta, would they have invaded Persia? (What caused the Sicilian disaster?) Adrian Goldsworthy’s Amazon author profile Athens and Sparta on Amazon

I have a few one-on-one tarot sessions still open this summer. To read more about what they entail click here, and to book, click here. Dear Reader, For the last several years, I’ve sent Offerings out on weekend mornings and this week I decided I want to do something different. I’ll still send newsletters out weekly-ish, but they’ll come when they’re ready as opposed to the self-imposed deadline of Sunday mornings. My process around Offerings has been shifting as well, and I want to share more about that for those who might be interested. I started writing Offerings ten years ago, based on advice from my sister, who was in digital marketing then, that I should start building an email list. At that time, Offerings was a newsletter “about” tarot which is to say it was about whatever I was reading or thinking about, and could reasonably tie in with one or more of the seventy-eight ambiguous images I’ve now spent fifteen years looking at. I moved to Substack in 2021, and in 2023 announced that the newsletter would focus more specifically on grief, loss and mourning. The experience of narrowing has been so good for me. It affirmed something I’ve sensed a lot these last years, which is that slowing down and reading or listening more closely than you think you need to or should is one of the most generative things you can do. Not in in the sense of solutions or answers, but more interesting and enriching questions. So for the last three years, I’ve read as much as I could about grief. Open access philosophy papers, textbooks when I could access and/or afford them, grief memoirs, and publicly available testimonies like those in the Grief Survey database by philosophers at University of York. I wanted to interview lots of people about their work on grief and related topics, and managed to interview three: philosophers Ami Harbin and Matthew Ratcliffe, and psychotherapist Francis Weller. I also facilitated two, eight-week philosophies of grief reading groups in which we—a group of artists, therapists, grievers, writers, teachers, and more—read philosophy papers together and discussed them in light of our lives, work, and losses. I hosted four rounds of the major arcana meetings series, where many people spontaneously spoke about grief as we moved through the cards one by one. And I did a good bit of one-on-one tarot work, where I found people’s queries increasingly oriented toward the sorts of questions that swirl as one re-learns the world after loss. At some point I made the decision to de-center tarot in my writing and work. But the weekly meetings, especially—which were born from my own necessity to be with others during a grief-induced struggle for meaning—yielded an unexpected and deeper appreciation for the cards as a kind of modular school for what John Keats called “negative capability,” or the ability for “being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.1” (And I trust Keats on this, as he spent his short life “dogged by illness and poverty,” lost both of his parents at a young age, and succumbed to tuberculosis at twenty-five.) As someone who’s been “reading” tarot for more than a decade, and has never used cards to predict the future, I guess it’s not that surprising I’ve become fascinated with experiences that remind us how little we know and can know about what will happen.2 And I’ve gotten more and more curious about the creative activities we tend to do in such times; pulling cards, reading, writing, talking with others if we are lucky to have others to talk to, trying to discern what’s become and what might-yet-become as we transit the dark. This week, I’ve been thinking about tarot in terms of theologian Catherine Keller’s “dream reading,” a kind of prophecy that is not prediction, by rather a mode of attending “to what might yet be” through “the patterns of what has already become…” This is no simple knowing and telling, but a reading so meticulously close it reveals openings for what you did not see coming. And maybe that’s what I’m trying to do here: drafting and revising this letter to you, tracing my steps, looking at what’s become, describing and discerning a way forward that I don’t yet know. As I can imagine Keller might argue (and as I, a non-future-predicting-tarot-card-reader would surely agree) there are more ways to relate with “what might yet be” beyond the binary of knowing / not-knowing. Enjoying this? Consider hitting the like button! :)

The fire at the Lineage cold‑storage warehouse in Boyle Heights burned for several days, spewing a thick plume of smoke that pushed PM 2.5 levels into the “unhealthy” to “very unhealthy” range. Those particles are tiny enough to lodge deep in the lungs; an all‑day exposure at a very‑unhealthy AQI is roughly comparable to smoking half a pack of cigarettes. A well‑fitted N95 mask, or a home air purifier with a MERV‑13/HEPA filter, can filter out most of those particles, so staying indoors, closing windows, and avoiding outdoor exercise is the safest short‑term strategy.

The exact contents of the blaze are still unclear. The facility stored not just frozen food but also insulation, plastics, cleaning agents, and a refrigeration system that uses ammonia. While ammonia was detected inside the building early on, testing so far shows no measurable leak reaching the neighborhood. The bigger unknowns are the potential dioxins, furans, and heavy metals that can form when plastics and insulation burn—compounds that standard AQI monitors don’t capture.

Public monitoring has focused on particle counts, not chemical composition, and the local air district’s detailed results haven’t been released yet. That mirrors past incidents in Los Angeles, such as the 2025 Eaton and Palisades fires, where lead, cadmium, and other metals lingered on surfaces months after the smoke cleared. Community groups are calling for soil testing, surface sampling, and long‑term health surveillance to track any lingering effects.

Accountability will likely involve EPA and OSHA investigations, possible fines, and civil lawsuits. Lineage has a history of safety citations, and the broader regulatory context is shifting—recently the EPA rolled back some transparency tools that helped residents see nearby hazardous‑chemical sites. For now, keep an eye on real‑time air‑quality apps, use proper filtration, and stay tuned for the upcoming release of the detailed monitoring data.

Maxxing is the idea of pouring a lot of effort into one trait—most famously looksmaxxing, where people try to boost their appearance as much as possible. The practice feels absurd to many, and online it’s often met with ridicule, which is understandable given how extreme it can look.

What’s interesting, though, is the pull behind it: a desire to improve a single, visible part of ourselves, hoping it will reshape how we’re perceived and how we feel. That drive taps into deeper questions about identity and self‑worth.

The author isn’t dismissing the humor; instead, they’re curious about why the “max” mindset feels so tempting, even when it seems a bit ridiculous. It’s a reminder that our urge to perfect one thing can reveal larger, existential cravings for meaning and control.

The piece leans on a patchwork of technical standards, industry reports and public‑domain specifications rather than a single experiment—think ISO/IEC TS 27571, DICOM extensions, BIDS, FHIR, and the 2026 brain‑computer‑interface report. Those documents give it a concrete footing, so the argument isn’t speculative philosophy but a map of what’s already being built.

It starts with money, showing how modern finance gave “future” a write‑permission over the present, turning forecasts into binding contracts. That same logic now runs through climate data, genomic ledgers and neural‑data standards, turning money, identity, body and memory into interchangeable organs of a growing state‑scale apparatus.

From there the author follows the chain into personhood, contrasting the sovereign‑citizen critique (which sees legal personhood as a mask) with the emerging technical masks—decentralized identifiers, eIDAS wallets, C2PA provenance, GA4GH, and ISO 42001. The core question becomes whether the next layer of governance will embed extraction (exploiting those masks) or repair (protecting consent, revocability and provenance).

Finally, the text treats continuity as an engineering project: the architecture of neuro‑informatics, brain‑computer interfaces and digital archives (like the Arctic Code Vault) is already in place. The real stakes are political—who controls the “ingestion ports” that let machines read and shape our memories, genomes and even our future selves. In short, the site argues that civilization is already on a path of

The piece starts by saying the sacred is basically anything a group treats as uniquely valuable, and that shared reverence helps the group stick together.

It then likens that to an ideal sense of self: we feel we’ve nailed our identity when we become the easiest way for others to connect with something they care about.

So a good actor lets you feel a character, a teacher lets you grasp a lesson, a French person lets you sense the French way. The point is we’re not trying to flaunt our traits; we just want to be the conduit that draws others into that shared experience.

The piece points out that the “unforgivable sin” – blasphemy against the Holy Spirit – is a single line in Mark that most people never revisit after hearing it once as a teenager. It argues the fear that sticks around isn’t a sign you’re in trouble; it’s actually a sign the Spirit is still at work in your heart.

What’s more, the article suggests the anxiety around that verse is often kept alive by churches that label it a mystery and move on, leaving you to wrestle with it alone. The same pattern shows up with other hot‑button topics like baptism, speaking in tongues, or the rapture, where the fear‑based approach replaces honest conversation.

In the end, the author says the Bible isn’t trying to scare you. It’s meant to be read, questioned, and lived out, not used as a tool to keep you in a state of dread over a single, rarely‑discussed line. If you’re still uneasy, that unease is probably proof you’re still engaged, not evidence you’ve crossed a line you can’t cross.

The writer is testing their platform to see if anyone is actively reading their content. They're asking readers to engage by clicking, sharing, or commenting to confirm their presence. The writer also mentions that their work is supported by readers, and they have options for free or paid subscriptions. This seems like a simple check-in to gauge audience engagement and encourage support.

The piece argues that the modern mantra “be yourself” isn’t a timeless truth but a cultural story that’s taken on sacred weight. It points out that most societies before now didn’t see identity as a hidden interior to uncover; instead, people understood themselves through family, community, and shared practices. The article suggests that by moving the source of authority from religion to the individual, we’ve simply shifted where we look for meaning, not eliminated the need for an external guide.

Because we now expect each of us to author our own purpose, values, and truth, the pressure can feel overwhelming—an anxiety that persists despite the freedom we’ve gained. The author notes that our sense of self is actually formed, not excavated: language, relationships, culture, and even algorithms shape us long before we become aware of any “inner voice.” In other words, the idea of a pure, untouched core is more myth than fact.

The essay uses personal experience to illustrate this shift. After leaving a religious community, the writer expected to strip away every inherited belief to find a “real me.” What emerged instead was a self that had been continuously molded by connections, responsibilities, and loss. Recognizing that we’re participants in larger networks, rather than solitary authors, reframes authenticity as an ongoing integration rather than a final destination.

Ultimately, the article invites us to see authenticity not as a hidden essence to dig up, but as a lived process—one that acknowledges the many forces that shape us while still allowing room for genuine, evolving self‑understanding.

Feedback isn't sure what to make of a ground-breaking piece of research into the understudied topic of "subjective individual variability in onion tearing and its relationship to chemosensory sensitivity"