My friend Bennett’s Phylactery has written a great piece over at the Exit blog. You should read it. It is more wide-ranging than this one.
It’s about how humans relate to each other, and how we think we relate to each other. A currently popular paradigm is to assume that relationships for material benefit are the primary driver of history(“Death Games”); he contends that familial, kinship bonds, and those abstracted from them (“Honor Games”), have been overlooked, and are more powerful than we now conceive:
So the basic foundation of human social organization is neither the geriatric longhouse nor the bandit camp — it’s the tribe, the clan, or in modern contexts, a mafia — but always a family, and then a clan of families, bound by personal relationships between their patriarchs.
Cooperation and coordination are always hard to maintain, but that’s where the leap is the shortest, where biology is most strongly on your side — so that’s where a people invariably starts.
But unlike wolves, we are also capable of abstraction — which means we can stretch this instinct of kinship across other relationships.
Ibn Khaldun called this asabiyyah, which literally means kinship between men, and its his explanation for how the early Arabs were able to conquer the far wealthier and more numerous Byzantines. You can say similar things about the Greeks and the Persians, or the Mongols and the Chinese:
Brotherhoods playing honor games are orders of magnitude more powerful than armies of slaves and mercenaries playing death games.
I wholeheartedly endorse this essay, but a relevant illustration of it came to mind when talking to my wife: The Lion King
The Lion King opens with rule by very literal Honor Games: “Pride Rock.” The Mufasa-Simba relationship is very unequal, but no less loving. Much of it is focused on preparing Simba for the duties of the throne. These duties aren’t “self-assumed” or because they’re Simba’s private project, they are inherited from prior generations of lions (“The Great Kings of the Past”).
Mufasa’s envious brother Scar desires the throne—but only because he wants the benefits and accolades of rulership, not because he wants to actually put in the work of ruling. He convinces the hyena packs to support his coup—but his patron/client relationship with the hyenas is very different from the Mufasa-Simba patron/client relationship:
Scar holds the hyenas in contempt; he sees them as a useful means to an end, but has no actual affection or concern for them, and often insults them. Likewise, the hyenas have no loyalty to Scar in particular, but are wooed by his promises of full bellies, forever. At the end of the movie, when Scar is deposed, they eat him.
This strikes me as an almost uncomfortably good allegory for the modern liberal state: a High-Low alliance where the Low are bought but held in contempt, and where the High are resented but obeyed so long as they keep the material goods flowing. And just as Pride Rock fell into decay and disrepair from neglect and abuse, so are our states.
You should know about them! There is philosophy being done, Love of Truth, it is a minor Golden Age for those who can recognize it.
Cast not your pearls before swine. But swine do not read this blog, and it is Christmas.
Ruthless Divine Ambition, For Mortals
The first is by an old and new friend of mine. You must first know the LDS doctrine of the Fall is different; we see it as more of a removal of training wheels than a Great Mistake. To be sure, wounds were and are caused (as they are on bicycles), and needed and need to be healed; such was judged an acceptable side effect:
Damnation is not as deep as exaltation is high. Zero is a paltry opposite to infinity. The Fall was necessary to Rise. The happiness and glory utterly overwhelm the shadows cast by them but those shadows are still fixed in opposition. The existence of a moral law creates the capacity for its breaking.
Do you wish for redemption from sin? So do I, so should we all, but we have a Lord who will not be anywhere near done with us at that point. UP! Brighter, cleaner, clearer, stronger, more loving, more heroic, kinder, calmer, cooler, hotter!
Ye have said, It is vain to serve God: and what profit is it that we have kept his ordinance, and that we have walked mournfully before the Lord of hosts?
And now we call the proud happy; yea, they that work wickedness are set up; yea, they that tempt God are even delivered.
All pain and sorrow vanishes completely and forever once safely in the past. This is a cruel and ruthless thing to say to someone in the thick of it; it is nonetheless true. And so the calculations were done. Insane, horrific suffering on an unimaginable scale—permitted only because it was the price for glory, love, light, and deliverance on a scale as large compared to the suffering, as the suffering is to a stubbed toe. The answer to the lament Malachi describes is that righteousness is simply the only thing going anywhere; the only thing with a future. There was no other way for Christ; there was no other way in the Garden; there is no other way for us. We stood on a hill, safe but stuck; before us a dark desert; beyond, all things good. We walk the desert not because we love it, but because anywhere worth going takes us by that path.
George Bailey and Kingship
Dr. Bennett (a friend’s pseudonym) recently wrote a visionary post on George Bailey (of It’s A Wonderful Life). I’ll include some highlights here, but the core I took from it is that
a) the problems of modernity are too big to confront alone
b) however, we act individually, in a giant prisoner’s dilemma, and the easiest thing for any individual is to punt or hide
c) a king is useful and necessary because they can command everyone at once, avoiding the coordination problem
the last section:
It’s a Wonderful Life is a Christmas movie because all stories about The Good King are stories about Christ.
George Bailey has to pour himself out over a lifetime to win the trust of a skittish, short-sighted people.
Bailey’s personal virtue and sacrifice is what makes it possible for the people to credibly unite behind him and make their own sacrifices, take up their own cross — which they desperately want to do, because it’s the only way they can resist the malevolent, inhuman powers that threaten them.
The Christmas miracle is the return of the King who will set things right, and judge us with compassion. (To be judged with compassion is not to be infinitely indulged.) It’s a miracle because it is the defeat of the entropy that would otherwise be inevitable — the indifferent law that would judge us to our destruction.
The turning point of human history is God revealing himself, not as an impersonal force or energy or law, but as a Man — with a man’s heart and judgment and particular love.
My wife introduced me to The Last Airbender. There are (kinda) four Kingdoms, one for each of the classical elements. The Earth Kingdom, however, has had a silent coup, and now controlled by secret police, rather than the king. The chief of the secret police, Long Feng, has allied with Azula, the young, tyrannical princess of the Fire Nation. But the alliance is short-lived:
What are the aristocratic virtues? The natural ability to command? Knowledge of etiquette, fashion, and how to throw a good party? Prowess in war? Sheer confidence?
The definition I’ve settled on is: an aristocrat is someone who, left with nothing, would ascend. This can get clouded because we might look at “aristocrats” and admire their virtues—a talent for music, say—and then label those “aristocratic” virtues, because it is “aristocrats” who could afford to develop them. But you don’t give someone actual power just because they have a talent. The reason anyone cares, or did care, about aristocrats, is because they ascended. The ascent is essential, a music hobby accidental.
Is Azula right about having to be born with…something? What she’s right about is confidence. She’s right that confidence is not optional if you wish to rule. But she overweights it. She’s like a poker player who has learned that bluffing can work really, really well—and thinks that’s the whole game.
It’s a tall order to work your way to the top. It is a tall order to then not feel like an impostor once you’re there. It’s a hard thing I’m describing! It’s not an insult to say someone hasn’t fully achieved aristocracy any more than it is to say someone can’t bench press three hundred pounds.
Nonetheless: strive to be someone who would rise, and strive to help those under your care be the same.
Much love to you, reader. Keep plugging out there.
Well, things look very different from here, and very much the same.
I got married! And would you believe it, it was because of this blog. A young woman messaged me about one of the posts, and, well, now I am typing this quietly as she sleeps next to me. Come August, we will have been married two years. I am entranced.
And so I must also apologize for the blog being so quiet for so long. I have been occupied, but even worse I have felt like I had not much to say. That has changed recently, and you may expect to see more here.
Green leaves all fallen, withered and dry; Brief sunset fading, dim winter sky. Lengthening shadows, Dark closing in… Then, through the stillness, carols begin!
Oh fallen world, to you is the song— Death holds you fast and night tarries long. Jesus is born, your curse to destroy! Sweet to your ears, a carol of Joy!
Pale moon ascending, solemn and slow; Cold barren hillside, shrouded in snow; Deep, empty valley veiled by the night; Hear angel music—hopeful and bright!
Oh fearful world, to you is the song— Peace with your God, and pardon for wrong! Tidings for sinners, burdened and bound— A carol of joy! A Saviour is found!
Earth wrapped in sorrow, lift up your eyes! Thrill to the chorus filling the skies! Look up sad hearted—witness God’s love! Join in the carol swelling above!
Oh friendless world, to you is the song! All Heaven’s joy to you may belong! You who are lonely, laden, forlorn— Now unto you, A Saviour is born!
It looks bad. It is bad. Everywhere is under siege—past siege, in many places, in full surrender or betrayal.
But try as they might, Christmas endures, and never ends. Time will pass, and all their folly will crash down—but Christmas will endure, a giant rolicking party of laughter, sometimes temporarily paused or attenuated, but never extinguished.
It’s the same as ever: they push too hard, and wake some up—more than they expected. We are in for Saints again.
There are green shoots.
Beyond your sight, there are groups—some earthly, some heavenly—organizing, working, preparing in secret, to arrive to the rescue at the last minute.
Remember: if you’re reading this, you are the resistance.
I have been greatly enjoying Angel Studios’ The Chosen, a show depicting (a heavily dramatized/fictionalized version of) the life of Christ.
It has had quite an effect on me. I have tried, on this blog and in my life, to raise myself and others from the prosaic to the mythic. I think on a mythic plane.
But the show has reminded me that the Mythic made Himself accessible on the prosaic level—the kind of everyday companionship that can lead to genuine friendship.
It is one thing when the God of the Universe dies for everyone’s sins. It’s certainly nice, and very dramatic and all. But it’s sort of like hearing about a war hero sacrificing himself on some distant battlefield. You push yourself into being thankful, Thank Them For Their Service, etc. But it’s done, over, in the past. Not much you can do about it either way. It doesn’t invite your participation.
But it’s another thing when He shows some interest in you. Not “mankind” or “the children of men” or “the seed of Adam,” but—you. And then the invitation to—well, to what? “Follow me.” Why? Partly to learn, partly because you have some work to do, and partly because it will save your soul.
No one of these aspects—the personal touch, the miracles, the teaching— is compelling by itself. It’s the combination, the juxtaposition.
What are we to make of a God that refers to mortals as “my friends”?
Have been thinking of late that I have been a true believer, but could be a better friend. Obedience is good—but we do not worship Allah. Our god demands obedience in serviceof, ultimately, friendship.
The greatest thing Christ modeled for us was how He related to His Father—acknowledging His power, yes, but also his mercy, wisdom, and general good will. Christ asks us to trust Him, and showed us what that looks like in how He trusted the Father.
The first step in becoming a Friend of God is wanting to, and trusting Christ when He says it is possible.
What, exactly, is glory? Excellence? Appreciation? Must we all become martyrs, Olympic gymnasts, or spectators of such?
The thing is: excellence is relative. Appreciation is subjective. So could you just start…giving, and asking for them?
This came on the playlist recently:
Suggested: the reason high school and college are remembered so fondly by so many is because they are small and small-minded. They are an audience. You get to be seen.
The trick is, once you start respecting somebody, suddenly their respect means more to you, and…presto.
If the Gods invited you to feast with them, they would celebrate you. That’s what they do.
Here is an analogy I don’t think I’ve ever seen made (though it must have been): the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil <=> the Matrix’s “Red Pill.”
Both involve learning. Both involve exiting one world and entering another. Both have effects that are…morally ambiguous.
The effects are not uniformly good, and in a certain light, are generally bad. When Adam and Eve left the Garden, their eyes were opened and they were empowered by their new knowledge, but also sin and death entered the world. You don’t even have to be “simply” evil like Cain—the knowledge itself is dangerous. Cypher and Denethor are some of the worst examples, as their new knowledge drove them to despair.
But even among the “successes,” damage is done. I quoted this before, but it bears repeating:
‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.’
[Frodo replied,] ‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.
Something is lost when you start chowing down on red pills. You gain knowledge, but you lose innocence.
Sometimes I feel like I’m writing too dramatically, and I want to write, “This isn’t a big deal.” This is the opposite of that. This is a really big deal. Adapting yourself to the world is (by definition) a utilitarian endeavor. We can become uglier even as we become more successful.
Scott Alexander gave a good description of this in Meditations on Moloch (yes, it’s been seven years; it’s still relevant):
The Malthusian trap, at least at its extremely pure theoretical limits. Suppose you are one of the first rats introduced onto a pristine island. It is full of yummy plants and you live an idyllic life lounging about, eating, and composing great works of art (you’re one of those rats from The Rats of NIMH).
You live a long life, mate, and have a dozen children. All of them have a dozen children, and so on. In a couple generations, the island has ten thousand rats and has reached its carrying capacity. Now there’s not enough food and space to go around, and a certain percent of each new generation dies in order to keep the population steady at ten thousand.
A certain sect of rats abandons art in order to devote more of their time to scrounging for survival. Each generation, a bit less of this sect dies than members of the mainstream, until after a while, no rat composes any art at all, and any sect of rats who try to bring it back will go extinct within a few generations.
In fact, it’s not just art. Any sect at all that is leaner, meaner, and more survivalist than the mainstream will eventually take over. If one sect of rats altruistically decides to limit its offspring to two per couple in order to decrease overpopulation, that sect will die out, swarmed out of existence by its more numerous enemies. If one sect of rats starts practicing cannibalism, and finds it gives them an advantage over their fellows, it will eventually take over and reach fixation.
If some rat scientists predict that depletion of the island’s nut stores is accelerating at a dangerous rate and they will soon be exhausted completely, a few sects of rats might try to limit their nut consumption to a sustainable level. Those rats will be outcompeted by their more selfish cousins. Eventually the nuts will be exhausted, most of the rats will die off, and the cycle will begin again. Any sect of rats advocating some action to stop the cycle will be outcompeted by their cousins for whom advocating anything is a waste of time that could be used to compete and consume.
For a bunch of reasons evolution is not quite as Malthusian as the ideal case, but it provides the prototype example we can apply to other things to see the underlying mechanism. From a god’s-eye-view, it’s easy to say the rats should maintain a comfortably low population. From within the system, each individual rat will follow its genetic imperative and the island will end up in an endless boom-bust cycle.
Much sorrow stems from the innocent-seeming statement that being effective is not necessarily the same thing as being happy, or pleasant, or beautiful.
The solution to this was: split being into two sexes. One to face (and be transformed by) Moloch, and one to do exactly the opposite — to not be monstrous. To enjoy freedom from Moloch, and thus give meaning to the fight against It.
I’m saying really basic things here:
Red pill <-> masculine, blue pill <-> feminine.
Red pill <-> strong, blue pill < – > weak.
Red pill < – > cynical, worn down. Blue pill < – > innocent, fresh
Red pill <-> exposed, toughened. Blue pill < – > sheltered, delicate
I think this lens has legs. Some tidbits I may write more about later:
It used to frustrate me, meeting innocents (“sheeple!”). But the Lord specifically praises sheep, and refers to us as sheep. Now I realize that innocence is very valuable, even if it does sometimes require accommodation.
What constitutes “virtuous behavior” changes drastically from one pill to another. If your world is curated to be safe: you should be pleasant, agreeable, trusting by default, and more concerned with “being good” than “achieving good.” If your world is not curated at all: you should be alert, discerning, and more concerned with “achieving good” than “being good.”
This does not apply to just men and women—it is also a useful lens for the God<->Man relationship, and Parent<->Child.
Why did I write so much about this? Was there a shortage of amateur philosophy on the Internet?
No. What got me excited is how many different, seemingly unrelated things clicked into place at once:
how to live with Moloch and not despair
that women (relative to men) exist to be happy, and to make men happy—and, not, primarily, to “do things”
that the above is not a lesser calling, but deadly, deadly serious in the long term—though of course you don’t want to talk about that too much, or it kind of ruins the effect
I realized that any innocence I may retain brightens the universe from the Lord’s perspective. I’ve made it a new goal of mine to be more innocent.
It throws the Fall into perspective. Innocence by definition means there are certain aspects of reality barred to you—but curiosity is persistent.
We tend to have a lot of rules for women, and no coherent-sounding reason for them. This lens unties the knot. For women, the bluepilled, the innocent, the reason is “Because I (your father, your husband) said so.” That should be good enough for her (she doesn’t need to agree, just comply), but it’s not enough for him, because he does have to agree. The principle that “Innocence is a good, valuable thing, and that is to a large degree what women are for in relation to men” is an actual principle that isn’t culture- or time-specific.
It showed me a new perspective on obedience. It is extremely hard to communicate meaningfully across pill barriers, while retaining them. The Blue may say to the Red, “I love you,” but the Red knows there are dark things out there that would make Blue betray that, so Red can never fully believe Blue. Obedience—particularly blind obedience—is something Blue can offer that does instill confidence in Red. Commandments obeyed is every Red’s love language, be they God, husbands, or parents.
A girl I’d had a crush on died a few days ago. I don’t know how she died, exactly. Found out on Facebook.
I’d made some half-hearted attempts to ask her out, but the stars never really aligned. It’s a boring, mundane story I won’t talk about.
Instead I want to talk about her, and what I realized from thinking about her more after her death.
She was somewhat…sheltered, in the way that someone from a tight, loving family can be, and can afford to be. She’d said she wouldn’t kiss anyone until marriage, for instance. This is laughable to most women (and men)—but remember, you only need one guy. But it wasn’t just that. She treated people like they were good, as if the idea that they could be anything else never crossed her mind.
She was pretty. Not gorgeous, but pretty. Prettier still in memory.
But it’s that shelteredness I want to talk about.
From a tactical perspective, delicacy and fragility are strictly weaknesses. And being sheltered prevents you from receiving feedback, making you more vulnerable over the long term. No man should aspire to these.
But competence and usefulness have—design constraints. Gaining them changes you. For men, they are necessary changes. But not everything necessary is entirely good. There’s often a cost. A favorite saying of mine: “Each man is a little war.” If so, each man bears the scars of that war.
I would be remiss if I failed to include this passage from Return of the King:
‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.’ [Frodo replied,] ‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.
There are some virtues that independence precludes. Untroubled sleep, carefree enjoyment, an easy smile, reflexive kindness, innocent trust. Beautiful, impractical clothing. Faith in another. Goodness without power.
These are sacred, holy things, and we must treat them with care.
In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we have a lot of experience with hierarchy.
We have a lay clergy, but even to expand on that—every worthy male member is ordained a priest, of various stations.
The priests of an area are organized into quorums; a quorum has a president, who…presides. Above him is the local area bishop, and above him is the president of the “stake” — something like a diocese. Up and up it goes, until you have the President of the Church.
The reason I write about this is because I’ve grown up near many, many examples of men in positions of authority and trust. It’s not a foreign concept to me. I’ve been in some myself.
In a group of men in another context, that is somewhat unstructured, I thought, “Oh, we ought to appoint a leader.” It occurred to me that the naturalness with which the thought came to me, and the lack of worry, and the knowledge that said leadership position would be more of a burden than a boon, is perhaps not very common today, or at least not as much as it used to be.
I don’t know. It feels good, knowing men that know how to function in a hierarchy. It’s one of life’s great pleasures.
Calculated Bravery 