Summer Break is approaching, which means unstructured time, our most precious resource. I plan on using that time to work on some long-delayed eBooks—including one on Christmas carols—and to teach my History of Conservative Thought course. I’m also hoping to rebuild my music lesson empire after The Virus sacked the imperial capital. There will also be lot of family time built in.
In addition to all of those wholesome and productive activities, there is also the siren song of video games. Video games can become a major time sink (I’m learning that with Stellaris), but they’re a good way to unwind, and require a bit more focus and decision-making than passively consuming television.
One of the major video games meta-series of my youth were the various Sim games from Maxis—SimCity, SimEarth, SimAnt, etc. (I had a particular fondness for the scope and breadth of SimEarth, which I obtained on a bootlegged 3.5″ floppy disk from my buddy Arun in high school, back before I knew about or respected intellectual property rights). The sandbox style in play, which encouraged experimentation and open-ended decision-making, really made those Maxis games fun (not unlike Minecraft, which also encourages exploration and free play).
The Internet is a funny thing. Anyone that’s ever gone down a Wikipedia hole realizes that, pretty soon, that one thing you needed to look up can turn into a two-hour deep dive into barely-related topics.
It’s also weird. There’s so much content—so much that we can’t really quantify it—you’re bound to stumble upon something interesting. It is, perhaps, a sad commentary of the human condition that, given unlimited access to information and knowledge, we use the Internet primarily for mundane purposes, and frequent the same dozen websites everyday.
Of course, that’s also the problem of abundance. People can’t handle that many choices, and there are only so many spare hours to cram in unorganized knowledge.
That’s how I came to stumble upon the topic of today’s post, thalassocracy, or “rule by the sea.” I recently purchased a very nerdy space exploration strategy game called Stellaris (itself a recommendation from a member of Milo’s Telegram chat). Stellaris has a steep learning curve, so it’s a game that basically requires the player to do homework to figure out what they’re doing (my race of peaceful, space-faring platypus people has surely suffered from my ignorance).
That homework assignment (no, seriously, it’s a fun game!) sent me down a rabbit hole on the game’s wiki, and one of the in-game events involves a group called the Bemat Thalassocracy. I’d never heard the term before, and searched out its meaning. That brought me to a website called Friesian, which is apparently a site promoting the philosophy of Jakob Friederich Fries, an eighteenth-century philosopher opposed to that ponderous windbag Hegel. The website dates back to 1996, when it began as a community college website.
It’s put me in a bit of a historical mood. In history, the important points—the Truth—is often in the details, but I’ve always appreciated the contemplation of the philosophical implications of historical events. Thus, my mini-essay on the American Civil War focused more on the cultural and political costs of the war than the nitty-gritty details.
The costs were, of course, considerable. Historians of a conservative bent will sometimes refer to “reconstitutions” in United States history, with the Progressive Era and its immediate offspring, the New Deal, often cited as a major “reconstitution.” The 1964 Civil Rights Act, which elevated anti-racism and social justice above the freedom of association, was another such reconstitution.
Similarly, the American Civil War, as I detailed yesterday, resulted in a reconstitution of the Constitution, as it served to centralize more power in the hands of the federal government, curtailing States’ rights in the process.
An observant reader will note that each of these “reconstitutions” reflected some revolutionary fervor or upheaval: the horror of war, the agitation of Progressive reformers, the privations of the Depression, and the struggle for equal rights. They almost all resulted in an increase in federal power, too, often to intrusive degrees. In each instance, the ratchet turned towards more centralization and fewer liberties overall.
But the American Revolution—which made the Constitution possible—is nearly unique in the annals of modern history—much less American history—in that it was a conservative revolution. That is, it was a revolution that sought to conserve—or, perhaps more accurately, to preserve—a set of traditions and privileges, rather than to tear them up, root and branch.
On Wednesday, 13 May 2020, blogger Audre Myers posted a piece at Nebraska Energy Observer entitled “What Do You Think?” The piece prompted readers to answer the question “Would we be the America we are if the Civil War had never been fought?”
Below is my response, which you can also view here. The TL;DR summary of my answer is that, while it was good that the Union was preserved and that slavery was abolished, it came with some heavy fees—the expansion of federal power (and the loss of liberty inverse to federal expansion), the erosion of States’ rights, and—most importantly—the triumph of Yankee progressivism over Southern traditionalism.
The temptation is always to reduce the American Civil War to being ONLY about slavery. Slavery was, obviously, a huge part of the Southern economy and culture, and motivated a great deal of Southern politics at the national level. But slavery was not the be-all, end-all of the “Lost Cause.” There were legitimate constitutional questions at play. Indeed, an open question—one the American Civil War closed by force of arms—was that, having opted into the Constitution, could States later opt out? John Randolph of Roanoke, among others, seemed to believe this question was legitimate, and such an exit was allowed—even acknowledged.
Of course, the slavery narrative serves modern progressive ends. It allows for throwing the baby—States’ rights—out with the bathwater. Suddenly, States’ rights becomes “code,” in the progressive mind, for justifying slavery or segregation. Yes, States’ rights was invoked to support wicked things. Nevertheless, it is fully constitutional—just ask the Tenth Amendment.
Nullification and secession were dangerous doctrines, but the loss of them also meant that the federal government could expand with far fewer limits on its power. The States lost the nuclear option, so to speak, of bucking unconstitutional acts (although, to be fair, States can challenge such acts more peacefully through lawsuits against the federal government—even if those cases are heard in federal courts). Seeing as we’re living in times when a peaceful separation between fundamentally opposed ideologies may be the most attractive option for the future of our nation, it’s worth reviewing the history of these ideas.
Well, that’s enough preamble. After two days of self-indulgent, girly navel-gazing, it’s time for some substance:
Every liberty-loving American can recall Benjamin Franklin’s famous quip that “Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.” It’s become also cliched to quote Franklin, but those words bear repeating, cliched or not, in The Age of The Virus.
The response to The Virus has been something akin to mass social and economic suicide, coupled with plenty of scorn for those not willing to go along with the kabuki theatre of our national hara-kiri. It seems that the early attempts at “flattening the curve” have worked at preventing hospitals from turning away afflicted patients, so much so that our hero nurses and doctors are staging elaborate Internet dance routines (and yet will also be the first to urge us to take their advice to shut everything down forever).
What I’m beginning to realize is that people truly fear The Virus. I don’t just mean they’re worried about getting it—I certainly don’t want to succumb to it—they’re worried about dying from it. That’s not an unrealistic concern for the elderly or those with preexisting health conditions, but I think that fear runs deeper.
Consider: the people most hysterically concerned with The Virus, in general, are deep progressives. Progressivism, at bottom, is a materialist philosophy: it can only conceive of existence in this realm. That’s not to say it isn’t a religion; rather, it’s a religion without an afterlife. That’s why progressives spend so much time attempting to create Heaven on Earth—to immanentize the eschaton, as William F. Buckley, Jr., warned us not to do.
It’s an ideology that constantly sacrifices the good to the perfect, because anything less than perfection isn’t paradise. And because there is no life after this one, the fear of death takes on a terrifying new dimension. Coupled with progressives’ lust for power and perpetual revolution, and you have half of the population ready to sacrifice everything—including liberty—to appease The Virus.
The British libertarian magazine The Spectator reached its 10,000th issue. It is the only magazine ever to reach this milestone. It began life as a newspaper in July 1828, becoming a magazine “more than 100 years” later, although it was apparently always a weekly.
Throughout its history, The Spectator took radical positions for the times. They supported the expansion of the franchise in Britain in 1832, and supported the Union in the American Civil War at a time when many Britons were concerned about the impact of cotton shortages on the British textile industry than they were about slavery (correctly or not, The Spectator cast the American Civil War in moral terms).
God Bless the weirdos at Quora for asking the questions the rest of us are too afraid to ask. Regular readers know that I relish Quora fodder, as questions range from the ridiculous to the thought-provoking, but usually fall into some kind of bizarre no-man’s land.
The top answer to the humanzee question is from Belinda Huntington, who explains how various species within the same genus can crossbreed, such as a horse and a zebra, or a lion and a tiger. The more mundane example is the humble mule, the result of a male donkey and a female horse.
Huntington then goes on to detail the many differences between humans and chimpanzees physiologically, and how such differences would make any offspring, if possible, extremely vulnerable and fragile—differences in spinal structure, arm and leg length, cranial capacity, etc.
She doesn’t get into the more interesting metaphysical questions, much less the moral ones—should we interbreed humans and chimps (answer: no)—but she does link to a piece about Soviet experiments to interbreed humans and chimps.
Leave it to a dangerously progressive, atheistic ideology to play God.
The late Reverend Pete Cooper, who was once the ornery, cantankerous, and thoroughly lovable chaplain of my little private school, once made the point that Christ’s Crucifixion wasn’t merely excruciating in a physical sense. In that moment, He took upon Him the weight of every sin ever committed, before or since. Whoa—talk about a sobering realization.
Imagine—as impossible as it is—being completely without sin, and then assuming ALL of it—undeservedly. It’s the greatest act in all of history.
So, let’s not let The Virus get us down. Christ endured far worse. Humanity has endured far worse, for that matter. But we can be secure in our knowledge that our Savior watches over us, and is always with us.
Happy Easter to everyone! Today’s post is another short one for this important holiday weekend (it also marks sixteen weeks of daily posts—shew!).
Jesus Christ died for our sins around 2000 years ago, and was resurrected three days later. Today, Christians all over the world celebrate His death and resurrection, and eagerly await His eventual return.
It’s hard to believe that Easter is this Sunday. The weather is just right for it, of course, with bees buzzing and flowers blooming, but with everyone cloistered away in their respective hovels, it sure doesn’t feel like the joyous, victorious Easter season.
Some perspective helps, though. Other people in other times have endured far worse at Easter. Just last year saw the Sri Lankan church bombings, a despicable act that itself came on the heels on the disastrous Notre Dame fire. It’s surprising—even though it shouldn’t be by now—that we’ve largely forgotten about those two terrible occurrences, both acts of Islamist terror—religious war (it’s a bit unclear in the case of Notre Dame—which ISIS overtly tried to attack in 2016—but come now).
There was also the 1975 Hamilton, Ohio “Easter Massacre,” a brutal family shooting in which Jimmy Rupert murdered his massive family of eleven in cold blood (it was so grisly, one website considers the house where the mass murder occurred haunted).
So, all things considered, staying home and watching horror movies isn’t all that bad (perhaps even a tad apropos). Still, it isn’t all that Easter-y.
To remedy that sensation, let’s look at a charming little piece from The Epoch Times about some rather unique—and extremely valuable—Easter surprises.
The Age of The Virus is unprecedented. Well, not entirely—major plagues and pandemics have swept the world before. What’s unprecedented this time is the wholesale closure of the most commerce, along with rigid governmental and social admonitions to “social distance” and “shelter-in-place.” Tin-pot municipal tyrants and State governors are engaged in a virtue-signalling race to see who can curtail liberties more rapidly and completely.
Pointing out this reality opens one to social scorn. It’s amusing—and a bit frightening—to see the earnestness with which some Americans cling to their new mantras, the articles of faith handed down from the CDC and various government apparatchiks. Even as our knowledge of The Virus seems to change daily, these public health acolytes cling to the every pronouncement from so-called “experts.”
Please don’t misunderstand me. Yes, we should be vigilant about washing our hands and avoiding the accidental infection of one another, especially the elderly.
What concerns me is how quickly so many of us have been willing to accept greater degrees of control over our lives in the name of combating an invisible threat. But now it feels like we’re living in the episode of Sliders called “Fever,” in which a totalitarian CDC cracks down on Los Angeles because, in that universe, penicillin was never discovered.
We’re not at Sliders levels—yet—but with that acquiescence has come an expansion of government power at nearly every level. I am not a libertarian, and I fully expect a robust federal response to a difficult international situation (remember, The Virus came from CHI-NA). But that doesn’t mean local, State, or even federal authorities can simply hand-wave away the Constitution.
The Framers surely knew disease and death in their time. When the Constitution was drafted in 1787, there was no capability for directing society with relative efficiency; even if there were, though, they would not have wanted to use it to suspend liberties. The Framers surely knew there would be plagues and sickness in the United States, yet they included no clause such as “in the event of widespread sickness, these Articles contained heretofore in are, and of right to be, suspended until such time as the Congress shall deem suitable for public safety and the common welfare.”
Yet we see officials at the lowest levels of government telling people not just to stay home, but threatening to shut down churches and other assemblies. Doesn’t that violate the First Amendment protections of freedom of religion and freedom of assembly? Again, the prudent approach is for churches to accommodate the health of their congregants with remote services or other workarounds, but shouldn’t they be allowed to hold traditional services if they so choose?
The critics and medical scolds by now are howling with rage. “What do these gossamer rights mean when we’re dead?” Is that all anyone cares about? What happened to Patrick Henry’s fiery cry of “Give me liberty, or give me death?” What’s worse: death from worshiping the Lord, or life in a soulless, gutless, freedom-less world?
I’m not alone in my assessment here. Bill Whittle ripped into New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio earlier this week, arguing that His Dishonor’s promise to shut down churches that continue to congregate would represent a high-handed assault on the First Amendment. Even Whittle’s colleague Scott Ott thought Whittle’s defense of the Constitution was a bit rich, basically arguing that the Constitution can take a break during this outbreak.
I’m perceiving similarly expedient arguments among others on the Right. It’s disgusting how many folks on our side are running like slavering dogs to lap up the crumbs of authoritarianism. Whittle in the video above makes the compelling point that the Constitution functionally means nothing if any government official at any level can simply ignore its protections. He also correctly points out that these rights are God-given, part of our very human nature. No government can legitimately deprive us of them.
Another one of the saner voices is RazörFist, who also sees a great deal of big government chicanery in this pandemic (warning, Razör’s videos often contain strong language):
Z Man has also expressed skepticism about The Virus—or, at least, our draconian responses to it—and has received his share of scorn and dismissal. But in his post Wednesday, “Fermi’s Paradox,” he made an interesting allusion to E.M. Forster’s novella “The Machine Stops,” originally published in 1909. That short story (which I highly recommend you read—it has the same chilling effect as Kipling’s “The Mother Hive”) details a world in which humanity exists in a state of mindless, perpetual comfort, its every need attended to by The Machine.
In the story, humans have become so accustomed to cloistering in their little cells that they abhor face-to-face interaction, instead communicating via blue discs across great distances. They are so dependent upon The Machine, they come to worship it (an interesting development, as their society has “advanced” beyond the “superstition” of religious belief—another subtle point from Forster). They only travel on rare occasions, and avoid it unless absolutely necessary.
Eventually, The Machine deteriorates, with disastrous results; I will likely write about the story in more detail next week. For our purposes, it sounds eerily like our current society: shelter-in-place, “Stay at Home” (as digital signs on the Interstate tell me, implicitly scolding me for being on the highway), watch Netflix, #AloneTogether, etc., etc.—we’re told to be comfortable and to crave safety and comfort above all else. They are the highest goods.
We’re through the looking glass here. I’ve been pessimistic that we’re even living under the Constitution anymore, especially after the intelligence agencies attempted to overthrow a sitting President. Vestiges and scraps of it still reign, but they seem to be the exception. And most Americans don’t seem to care, so long as they can watch TV, the WiFi is working, and there is pizza.
We’re no longer the Roman Republic, but we’re not the Roman Empire in the 5th century, either. We’re more like the Roman Empire in the 2nd or 3rd centuries: coasting along on the remnants of a functioning system, with a play-acting Congress shadowing the motions of republicanism.
The Portly Politico 