Thursday, May 31, 2018

Dark Star Rising: Magick & Power in the Age of Trump by Gary Lachman

No collusion here, but revealing comparisons abound
Having become a fan of Gary Lachman’s work a few years ago, I’ve known that he’s had Dark Star Rising: Magick and Power in the Age of Trump in the works for some time. The time between his announcement of the project and his report that he’d sent the manuscript to the publisher was some months ago, so it’s been a long wait. As time passed my anticipation grew, and upon receiving the book I had to wonder whether the reality would match the level of my anticipation. The answer, I’m happy to report, is a resounding “Yes!”

I’d learned that Lachman would be exploring the complex of ideas that surround Putin’s regime in Russia, a daunting task given Russia’s cultural heritage that’s as tangled and enigmatic as a great Russian novel. Lachman delivers on this end of the story, but to my delight, he also shines his light upon the American side of this time of political turmoil. His consideration of American-as-apple-pie New Thought and its relation to Trump provides a valuable contribution to our understanding. How does one start with a train of thought that can claim greats like Ralph Waldo Emerson and William James—two of the most significant and encouraging of American thinkers—and arrive at Donald Trump?

Also, Lachman provides readers with a new lens through which we can better perceive the Trump phenomena. I’d initially perceived Trump as a clown in the mold of Silviu Berlusconi (Italy’s former PM)—a wealthy philanderer out to massage his own ego and line his pockets while his boorish behavior and grandiose promises distract voters long enough to pick their pockets (which seems all too acceptable in Italy). Later, I came to see Trump as a full-scale demagogue, precisely the type of candidate that political thinkers from Plato to the American Founders (Hamilton and Madison in particular) warned us about and against whom the Founders designed the Constitution. (This blog post addresses both of the first two of my Trump images.)Later, in part as a reaction to Scott Adams’s “Trump is a master persuader and can do no wrong” refrain (my initial response that I now find inadequate). I came to see Trump as a master salesman, a huckster in the classic American mold of hucksters. Only he didn’t sell land in Florida or shares in the Brooklyn Bridge; instead, he sold worthless educational certificates from Trump University and stiffed contractors and investors. A friend of mine captured Trump’s essence by describing him as “a man of low cunning.” More recently, and to use a more contemporary vocabulary, both Max Boot and Tim Egan (and undoubtedly others) have described Trump as a grifter. (Slate has an interesting piece that distinguishes a “grifter” from a “grafter,” but we needn’t quibble.) But while all of these characterizations hold validity, they’re not completely satisfying. While money is a VERY BIG THING for Trump (as it is, less ostentatiously, for Putin, who’s now probably richer than Trump), money alone doesn’t provide a satisfactory explanation for the Trump phenomena. Something more, something deeper is at play, and here’s where Lachman has provided us with a more revealing lens. Drawing on the writings of Colin Wilson that deal with “rogue messiahs” (gurus) and “Right Men” (those who cannot admit errors or flaws), Lachman establishes a strong connection between “gurus” and “demagogues.” When reflecting on the traits of gurus gone bad--most prove human, all too human--and demagogues like Trump or Putin, one discovers very similar traits.  Lachman follows this trail of traits to establish—for me at least—that Trump is not just not a normal politician (compromise, give-and-take, follows established norms), but a guru-demagogue in about every conceivable way. He's intolerant of criticism, lacks friends, prefers mass audiences of adulating fans, holds a simplistic worldview of “us versus them,” and so on. This trope of the bad guru fits as well as any . . . Well, except for one more perspective that Lachman provides us.

A more far-fetched, but most intriguing perspective, is to consider Trump a “tulpa,” (or ‘telly-tulpa”), a thought-form, an apparition (albeit one with some material reality) created by mental processes. Lachman draws the idea of a tulpa from Tibetan and magical lore. Whatever the empirical validity of such an entity, as a metaphor, it fits. From this, I can conjure a great opening for a piece about Trump: “A specter is haunting America, the specter of Donald Trump.” Catchy, don’t you think? Just keep in mind that this specter is not a friendly genie that will do our bidding and fulfill our wishes, but an evil jinn who seeks to entice us into our own imprisonment.

Lachman is a thorough, reliable guide through the under-explored and labyrinthian ways of experiencing the world that lies outside of the modern mainstream. Lachman has developed a solid reputation for exploring these less traveled by-ways, and this work proves no exception. And I must mention that Lachman approximates an ideal teacher. He informs his reader about ideas, events, and persons with a very light, unobtrusive touch. One must read carefully to get a sense of where his preferences and perspectives lie. He tosses off comments and asides that provide clues, but he’s never ponderous or pedantic. Only at the end of the book, as on the last day of class, does Lachman pull back the curtain and provide a direct statement of his perspective about what he’s shared. His peroration merits careful contemplation:

Exactly what guidelines we impose on our imaginations is, of course, a serious question . . . . But the very power involved suggests we should proceed with caution, as anyone of any seriousness would; only children play with matches. This does not mean timidly, but with care and an awareness of the responsibility involved. The future perhaps is not only in our hands, but in our minds, and the reality that awaits us in the time ahead may be germinating there now. Let us hope that when it arrives we will be equal to it and that it will bring clearer skies and brighter stars on the horizon. 
Lachman, Gary. Dark Star Rising: Magick and Power in the Age of Trump (p. 192). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
 As usual, I find myself mostly agreeing or at least sympathetic with Lachman's arguments, even about points where I’m more skeptical—or perhaps to say cautious—about conclusions and connections. All the points in his case merit careful consideration and invite us to a more in-depth exploration of the issues raised.

For me, a book that promotes—even demands—further explorations of its subjects merits the highest valuation, and this book meets this criterion. I could go on at great length sharing and then riffing on the many issues that Lachman’s book raises: the nature of persuasion; the relation between thoughts, beliefs, actions, and reality; the role of ideas in the material world of politics; the thinning barrier between appearance and reality (or simulacra and simulation); the distinction between “imagination” and “fancy” (or “creativity); critiques of modernity and alternatives to modernity; the illusions and deceptions of postmodernism; the potential for civilizational disruption; and (in my words), why the human herd is so spooked that we have stampeded toward a cliff.


I’ll save exploration of these issues for later blogs, but suffice it to say, I highly recommend reading this book to better understand and investigate the uncertain times in which we now live. 

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Once More Into the Breach!: A bit more about Jordan Peterson

Jordan Peterson
I didn't think I'd venture into the Jordan Peterson jungle again because I don't have strong feelings about him. I don't find what I've heard him say or what he's written to be offensive. On the other hand, I don't see him especially novel or insightful. My responses to his contentions tend to be "yeah, probably," "that's plausible," and "I knew that" (which comes to my mind far too often, but I'm working on it.). His biology doesn't seem outside accepted cannons, his liberalism is classical (think John Stewart Mill), and his psychology has a marked Jungian flavor. (But if you want to go beyond Jung, I recommend James Hillman.)
But then I saw and started to read a NYT article about Peterson. I have to admit that I didn't finish it out of frustration that it appeared to me to be another hatchet job (like Cathy Newman on Channel 4). I stopped when the reporter argued to Peterson that there are no dragons and witches.
"“May God us keep
From Single vision
and Newton's sleep.”
I would have let it drop there, but then I came across this article, and I found that it identified many issues that concerned me and that David Fuller's article captured most of my thoughts on these topics, saving me from imposing another word storm any unsuspecting reader.
Take away quote from the article:
"As Eric Weinstein, Bret’s brother, and another member of the unofficial ‘intellectual dark web’ said — “bad faith changes everything”. It’s possible to have any kind of discussion with people you disagree with so long as they are approaching it in good faith — as soon as they are not, they’re just looking to boost their position, look good in front of others or advance their career within their tribe — as Peterson alleged Cathy Newman was — then true exchange of ideas is impossible."
P.S. Following this post I'm going to post about an interview of Peterson by Joe Rogan that I listened to after completing this post. Crazy stuff ahead!

Listening that this podcast (see below), I couldn't find any real point of disagreement with Peterson. And that must mean . . . . Oh my goodness! I'm a member of the . . . . radical center!
I'm poised on the knife edge between chaos and order, between openness to experience and satisfaction with the status quo. I value equality and difference, reason and tradition, and I'm a member of more than one tribe. I'm both critical and appreciative of many thinkers and points of view. I put loyalty to what I believe to be true above loyalty to any one tribe. I believe that tribes are necessary and good but that tribalism is poison. I'm an individual embedded in tribes large and small. It's all so complex! How do people deal with all of this ambiguity, this uncertainty!?
And then I remember.
Just look around. We are--among our many human traits--profoundly ill at ease with ambiguity and uncertainty. We often want safety more than we want to explore and change. And when we crave safety, driven by fear, we really make mistakes. We panic. We buy snake oil remedies, we run for "daddy," who will fix everything if we only trust him. And instead, we get Big Brother. America First, the Fatherland, and so on. Different names, same M-O.
No thanks.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

The Road to Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America by Timothy Snyder

The Road to Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America

In his latest work, Timothy Snyder sets a high bar for himself: he compares his project to that of Thucydides in The Peloponnesian Wars. Snyder justifies the comparison by noting that Thucydides, like him, was writing about the events of his lifetime.

Can history be so contemporary? We think of the Peloponnesian Wars as ancient history . . . . Yet their historian Thucydides was describing events that he experienced. He included discussions of the past insofar as this was necessary to clarify the stakes in the present. This work humbly follows that approach. (12)

Snyder also explains his invocation of Thucydides on two additional grounds. First, with Thucydides, "History as a discipline began as a confrontation with war propaganda." Snyder continues,  "Thucydides was careful to make a distinction between leaders' accounts of their actions and the real reasons for their decisions." (10). In the remainder of the book, Snyder endeavors to lift the curtain that seeks to conceal the wizards who are busy pulling levers (or in more contemporary terms, programming content) to beguile the gullible. Second, Thucydides identified "oligarchy" as "rule by the few," and that term has since found its way into contemporary English via the Russian experience of the 1990s. (I, however, prefer the more old-fashioned American term, "plutocrats," but I concede the point.)

So does Snyder justify his audacious comparison in this book? Yes. I don't know that it will go down into history with the same staying power of Thucydides' classic work, but it certainly meets a similar need in our time.

Snyder provides a crucial scheme to give shape to his tale. He distinguishes three varieties of politics: the politics of inevitability, the politics of eternity, and their mutual alternative, which he doesn't label until the end of the book, but that I'll label the politics of action. (He doesn't explicitly reference the political thought of Hannah Arendt (although he does quote her), but I perceive that his political thinking is very much influenced by Arendt, so I propose the label the "politics of action" in her honor. N.B. In the next to last paragraph of the book he uses the term "the politics of responsibility," I believe the two terms interchangeable from this perspective.)

What Snyder labels as "the politics of inevitability" arises from the idea that "the future is just more of the present, that the laws of progress are known, that there are no alternatives, and therefore nothing really to be done." (7). He notes that Soviet Communism held these traits before it morphed into the politics of eternity, but he's most concerned that this type of politics marked American and European thinking at the end of the Cold War, at "the end of history." (Snyder, unlike many other writers on this topic, does not stop to slam Francis Fukuyama at this point, which I find refreshing, given that I believe Fukuyama has been at least in some measure unfairly maligned on this topic. Blog post.)

But when the inevitable doesn't arrive as promised, the politics of inevitability will collapse and "like a ghost from a corpse" (15) the politics of eternity will arise. In contrast to the good times promised by the politics of inevitability, the politics of eternity "places one nation at the center of a cyclical story of victimhood. Time is no longer a line into the future, but a circle that endlessly returns the same threats from the past. . . . Progress gives way to doom." (8). Yet despite their competing accounts of the schema of events, these two modes of politics share specific defining characteristics.

Inevitability and eternity translated facts into narratives. Those ways by inevitability see every fact as a blip that does not alter the overall story of progress; those who shift to eternity classify every new event as just one more instance of a timeless threat. Each masquerades as history; each does away with history. Inevitability politicians teach that the specifics of the past are irrelevant, since anything that happens is just grist for the mill of progress. Eternity politicians leap from one moment to another, over decades or centuries, to build a myth of innocence and danger. . They imagine cycles of threat in the past, creating an imagined pattern that they realize in the present by producing artificial crises and daily drama. (8-9). 
Each of these two visions has its own style of propaganda and creating a "political fiction" (9). It is at this point (and undoubtedly others) that the politics of action pushes back. As Snyder notes:

[W]hatever impression propaganda makes at the time, it is not history's final verdict. There is a difference between memory, the impressions we are given; and history, the connections that we work to make--if we wish. (9)
One final point about the distinction between Snyder's two models of misleading politics. Each, he claims, has "no ideas." This true in some sense, but it misses the point that these competing visions are both marked by one big idea (inevitability or eternity) that spin off the rest of (what passes for) for thought in these two regimes. Snyder spends most of a chapter on Ivan Ilyin, an early 20th-century fascist Russian "thinker" whom Putin and his court adopted to provide a model for the politics of eternity (and whose remains were brought back to Russia for re-internment more than 60 years after his death, with great ceremony). It seems that the politics of eternity does have "ideas," but that it does not entertain any novel ideas that are grounded in historical reality. (Again, we're reminded of Arendt, who emphasized plurality and "beginning" in her work.).

Beginning, before it becomes a historical event, is the supreme capacity of man; politically, it is identical with man's freedom.
--Hannah Arendt (1951) (p.111) 

Snyder chronicles the descent of the Soviet Union into the politics of eternity, the chaos after the fall of Communist rule, the early Putin years, and then Putin's gradual adoption of the politics of eternity. I found Putin's metamorphosis most interesting: in his first years of rule, he didn't promote the politics of eternity nor excessive hostility toward the West. Snyder suggests (and I have no reason to disagree) that Putin's takedown of the oligarchs as a political threat and resulted in access to their wealth that he took advantage of and that converted his regime into a full-blown kleptocracy (rule by thieves, in essence). In such a scheme, Putin and Russia could not compete with the West, and therefore, drawing upon a long-standing Russian inferiority complex (my term, not Snyder's), he turned to the politics of eternity. Putin and the politics of eternity practice what Snyder labels as "strategic relativism;" in short, if you can't reach up to your rival's level, then pull them down to yours. And this became Putin's operating principle viz. Europe and the U.S.

Snyder also untangles the confusion about the invasion of Ukraine by Russia and all the surrounding issues. As a seasoned historian of Eastern Europe (and knowledgeable in several of those languages), he watched events unfold in real time. He provides a coherent account of events as well as explaining how those events fit his rubric of the politics of eternity. Snyder realizes how vital the project of getting the facts straight is. As he notes, "To end factuality is to begin eternity" (160) and "The ink of political fiction is blood."  For just a moment, ponder the meaning of that quote in light of the character--or lack thereof--of the current American president.

The final section of the book deals with America. As Putin moved Russia moved more deeply into the politics of eternity, his government began to take what they term "active measures" to weaken and confound the United States. There best weapon? "Donald Trump, successful businessman," a fiction that Snyder describes as "the payload of a cyberweapon." I will not repeat the details here, but suffice it to say that if I'd read this a few years ago, I would have thought someone was trying to update "The Manchurian Candidate" (again, but don't bother with that one). So now when I read the paper, even earlier today, I'm not surprised. Snyder is as honest, forthright, and meticulous as the House Intelligence [sic] Committee was duplicitous in its claim that the Russians didn't favor Trump. (Thank you, Senator Burr, for some refreshing honesty and candor.) Of course, we Americans must take responsibility for the policies and developments that allowed so many Americans to be exploited by this Russian adversary (not the nation, the regime). We set ourselves up; they played us.

As Snyder's prologue was a call to question and understand, his epilogue is a call to action, the politics of action (or "responsibility," as he describes it below).

To experience its destruction is to see a world for the first time. Inheritors of an order we did not build, we are now witnesses to a decline we did not foresee.  
To see our moment is to step away from the stories supplied for our stupefaction, myths of inevitability and eternity, progress and doom. Life is elsewhere. Inevitability and eternity are not history but ideas within history, ways of experiencing our time that accelerates its trends while slowing our thoughts. To see, we must set aside the dark glass, and see as we are seen, ideas for what they are, history as what we make. 
. . . .
If we see history as it is, we see our places in it, what we might change, and how we might do better. We halt our thoughtless journey from inevitability to eternity; ad exit the road to unfreedom. We being a politics of responsibility.  
To take part in its creation is to see a world for a second time. Students of the virtues that history reveals, we become the makers of a renewal that no one can foresee. 

This is a brilliant history, meditation, and call to action. I heartily recommend it.  

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Timothy Snyder on History



Timothy Snyder, American historian & political Cassandra. Will we heed him? 

One of my abiding interests is the study and use of history. History not just as a discipline, but as a way of knowing the world. And one of my other abiding interests concerns political thought and action. Every once in a while I come across an insightful piece of writing about one or other of these topics, but here I get a twofer from Timothy Snyder in his recently published book, The Road to Unfreedom: Russia Europe America. In the prologue, Snyder writes:

History is and must be political thought, in the sense  that it opens a aperture between inevitability and eternity, preventing us from drifting from the one to the other, helping us see the moment when we might make a difference. 
As we emerge from inevitability and contend with eternity, a history of disintegration can be a guide to repair. Erosion reveals what resists, what can be reinforced, what can be reconstructed, and what must be reconcieved. Because understanding is empowerment, this book's chapter titles are framed as alternatives: Individualism or Totalitarianism; Succession or Failure; Integration or Empire; Novelty or Eternity; Truth or Lies; Equality or Oligarchy. Thus individuality, endurance, cooperation , novelty , honesty , and justice figure as political virtues. These qualities are not mere platitudes or preferences, but facts of history, not less than material forces might be. Virtues are inseparable from the institutions they inspire and nourish. 
An institution might cultivate certain ideas of the good, and it also depend upon them. If institutions are to flourish, they need virtues; if virtues are to be cultivated, they need institutions. The moral questions of what is good and evil in public life can never be separated from the historical investigation of structure. It is the politics of inevitability and eternity that make virtues seem irrelevant or even laughable: inevitably by promising that the good is what already exists and must predictably expand, eternity by assuring that the evil is always external and that we are forever its innocent victims. 
If we wish to have a better account of good and evil, we will have to resuscitate history.  
 
 The Road to Unfreedom: Russia Europe America (2018) 12-13. 

P.S. My review to follow soon.


Thursday, May 3, 2018

Explaining the "Jordan Peterson"

The infamous Jordan Peterson

No one ever accused me of being cutting edge; the closest I ever came was when my daughter said I was "stealthy hip," which was, I think, more an attempt alleviate my sense of dismay about my 
inability to keep up with contemporary trends. But like almost anyone who reads on the internet, earlier this year I came across Jordan Peterson. David Brooks wrote a column about him, and I investigated further. Brooks was generally complimentary, but when I looked into him further, I found Peterson had generated some controversy. I looked deeper. Pankaj Mishra (more or less) labeled Peterson a fascist in the NYRB. On the other hand, I listened to Peterson in discussion with feminist author Camille Paglia, and instead of a brawl, I found it a love-in. Hmm, quite a contrast from Mishra's screed. I listened to Peterson in an enlightening discussion with Iain McGilchrist, of The Master and His Emissary fame (one of the most exceptional books that I've read in recent years). I listened to Peterson interviewed by Russ Roberts on his podcast EconTalk. (Roberts also posted a piece post interview here on Medium.) I watched some videos. I watched the interview with BBC  that was a train wreck of the interviewer's making; Peterson was more composed than I think I would have been under such an attack (ineffective and off-putting as it was). I listened to him discuss his "12 Rules" (I haven't read the book). On the whole, I found him reasonable and persuasive. He is neither the second coming nor the devil incarnate. However, I did learn that he was (as he describes himself) " a classic British liberal" (think John Stuart Mill's On Liberty).  This breed, becoming all too rare, is hard to find these days, having become the target of hunters on both the Right and the Left. Also, Peterson resisted compelled speech. He did not purvey any "hate speech," he simply refused to acquiesce to a requirement to use new pronouns for those who claim no "binary gender."


Gary Lachman, trusted guide

But I've gotten ahead of myself, especially in the last couple of sentences. Until just recently, I hadn't gotten a real hold on what all of the fuss was about. (Mishra's piece was on whole uninformative; he doesn't like Peterson.) So when I saw that Gary Lachman had written a  review of Peterson, I was delighted, and I immediately read it (popping for the magazine price). Lachman has consistently displayed a patient, careful, and sensitive attitude toward ideas that are often esoteric and sometimes downright occult in addition to his consideration of more mainstream intellectual trends. My anticipation was justified. From Lachman's careful review of the circumstances, I've come to the conclusion that Peterson's notoriety, at least among his critics, comes from his critique of postmodernism. And here's where I fear I show my age.

I completed my formal education in 1979--before the wave of European postmodern thought had fully reached American shores. Of course, I've encountered it since then, but only by way of those who have provided what I've found to be devastating critiques. Several works by Ken Wilber and historian Richard Evans's In Defense of History come to mind. Not that postmodernism doesn't have some worthwhile insights but taken to extremes (as its adherents seem intent to do), it collapses under the weight of performative contradictions. As a successor to a more traditional Marxism, it looks weak and shallow, almost trite. Off-springs of postmodern thought, like "cultural appropriation," "identity politics," and "political correctness," each of which might have some validity in some circumstances, are taken to ridiculous extremes. As Lachman explains, Peterson's challenge to some of this, more than the substance of his thought, seems to be the lightning rod for most of the criticism leveled against him. As a classic liberal (a firm belief in free speech), he and those like him are caught between howling (online) mobs from both the left and the right. (Some on the alt-right seem to celebrate him, but it appears that this doesn't come from an understanding of his thought but from the desire poke the postmodern left in the eye.)

Free speech, including (but not limited to) rights under the 1st Amendment to the Constitution, presents a vexing set of issues. Anyone who's read judicial opinions about 1st Amendment free speech issues knows how complicated these issues can be. And most speech is not governed by the 1st Amendment (it's not regulated by the government), but standards are a matter of norms; that is, the everyday decisions and actions that we exhibit toward any speech. In fact, all of us are prone to intolerance; free speech and an attendant openness to ideas--even really crappy ideas not to mention worthwhile, consequential ideas--is something that we have to intentionally cultivate. We don't like attacks on our beliefs. Change comes about only slowly and grudgingly. Given half-a-chance, we'll backslide. But the struggle is worth the prize. Sometimes we have to suffer nonsense, and perhaps even vile, to assure that we have the freedom to pursue the truth, challenging as that always is.

So if Peterson is wrong about his psychology, philosophy, or his interpretation of texts, by all means, criticize him. And so if you believe him wrong about his choice of pronouns or even why he's wrong to resist compelled speech, say so, but do it on the merits (if any), not by name-calling, ad hominem attacks, or dismissive branding. As he might say, stand-up straight, pull back your shoulders, and argue your point.