The Demonization of Authority

My dear Wumpick,

So. The patient is questioning her attitude towards authority, and you are not sure what to do with it? I can almost hear your tremulous stutters as you pour out your concern. Never fear, Wumpick. Change is always dangerous for us—we prefer the slow, steady, stable road to the depths of Our Father Below. But changes present opportunities for us as well as for the Enemy, and with a little finesse you can make good use of this one.

The first thing is to get your facts straight. You must remember that authority, like so many other things, is neither here nor there for us demons: it is what the human beings make of it. This great rule, dubbed by its discoverer Screwtape the “Principle of Relativity,” is simply a practical extension of one of the first doctrines promulgated by Our Father Below, that all things are subjective, meaning subject to him (or else they soon will be).

You, it appears, have forgotten this fact, being misled by the human beings’ endless debates on the topic of authority, and how much of it is good for them, especially in the political arena. Monarchy, democracy, republic, anarchy—can you not see, Wumpick, it is none of our business? The point is to get the patient to make it her business. See if you cannot drive her into some extreme on the matter. Extremes are always to be desired.

Past ages had a tendency to valorize authority. The current age by and large decries it. Only in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries would anyone dare, as the anarcho-libertarians have done, to commend the absence of all authority! (Of course, even while the Left and the Right are in various ways demonizing “authority,” there is plenty of good old authoritarianism going around, in the Church and in government and the universities. But don’t allow them to notice that.)

One of the most useful things about this demonization of authority is that we can get people to blame all sorts of sins on it. Where past ages might have recognized lust or greed or pride at work, this age looks rather at the station of the lusty, greedy, and proud man and concludes that everything would be solved if only there were enough oversight to prevent “that kind of person” from doing any harm. Of course, the real answer would be to make sure that no child grows up to be “that kind of person” in the first place. But by having Authority to blame rather than the vices really at fault, we evade ever having to face such a surplus of virtuous people.

Read the rest at the Register.

The L Word

It used to be that I avoided confessing weaknesses.  Part of that, no doubt, was growing up in a large family of unrepentant teasers with elephant-trap memories.  I still shudder at the recollection of assorted siblings chanting “Chesterton packs more pleasure / Because Chesterton is more perfectly packed!”  In retrospect, given his aphoristic style, it was probably funnier even than they realized at the time.  And I probably was insufferably in love with his style (cf. the title of this blog).

But now, being older and wiser, I am beginning to come to terms with certain … eccentricities that previously seemed too dark and devious to confess in the light of day.  (Speaking of which, we won’t talk about fear of the dark; that’s for another post.)  For example …

There is an entire category of words that I avoid using.  Anglo-Saxon words?  Well, no, for all the elaborate Victorian prose that sometimes festoons this blog, I do love a good British word when I find one: girth, for example, or hog.  Swear words?  Well, admittedly, this is not the most likely place to go looking for those.  But that is as much a matter of principle as anything else; and I am speaking of matters of taste (because what else does this blog exist to dispute about, hmmmm?).

Source

Here it is, the dirty truth: I don’t much like the word “soap,” and I really can’t stand “shampoo” and “lotion.”

Now before you start to back away with your hand over your nose (can I prevail upon you to take a sip of coffee?), let me assure you that I have no objections to routine ablutions.

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Mind you, as small children multiply, these routine ablutions may be …

curtailed in frequency and length. 

But I digress..

I fully understand that the difference between us and the Middle Ages is that we are clean and they weren’t, and that’s why we don’t have the Black Death.

Source

Actually, none of that is true.  Europe in the Middle Ages was relatively clean;

 and there are lots of other differences that are more important anyway. 

But again, I digress.

But that doesn’t alter the way I feel about these words.  The things themselves may be necessary; the words describing them are nasty.  Especially the L word.  Why could we not (instead of that) say, for example, rubcob?  Would not s--- be more fittingly represented by the sound poom?  And s------ by pillibalm?

But I digress; for my purpose was not to propose these alternations but to deliver a warning.  Here’s where things grow dark.  

 

There’s a conspiracy out there, mon frères.  A deep, dark, devious conspiracy to surround me with the L-word.  I’m not entirely sure what the motivation behind it is, and it probably won’t do me any real harm; but let me just lay the facts out before you.

First, I should observe that a number of my acquaintances, especially mothers of young kids who wash their hands multiple times an hour, frequently discuss their favorite L-products.  Church, barbecues, Facebook, store check-out lines, you name it: no place is safe from the mention of the L-word.

Second, it is becoming abundantly clear that, with the rise of Etsy and similar online platforms, as well as the Organic movement, more and more people are swapping and sharing recipes for home brews of the L-thing.  And if “home brew” makes you think of comforting autumnal beers rich in oatmeal and amber, think again: we’re talking more like witches’ brews here.

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I’m just waiting for them to come up with a “Pumpkin Spice” hand ----.

Third—and here is where the plot really thickens into something you wouldn’t want to stick your fingers into—there is an obvious plan to introduce young children to the L-thing at an early age, so that we are all inevitably surrounded by a generation Z+ who, having been swaddled from cradle to school bus in the loathsome stuff, will take it to college with them, enroll in classes on how to market it to an unwilling public, and then probably install it in wall dispensers everywhere, just like they have h—d s----izer now.

Skeptical?  Don’t think it’s a real conspiracy?  I dare you to google “baby bedtime routines.”  Just go do it, for me.  See what pops up.  Yep, that’s right.  It’s mentioned in every routine.  Every single one.  “Bath, l-----, books, bed.”  Maybe with a little “quiet play” or a “song” thrown in to sweeten the deal and make you ignore the obvious weirdness.  I mean, how many young kids do YOU know who like being slathered in stinky slimy soapiness at the end of the day?

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Oh, you do know some?

And where do you think they learned such disgusting heathen behavior?

Who’s responsible for this conspiracy?  Well, Big Pharma, clearly.  After all, someone needs to be making these (probably medicated) products for small children to use.  Big Organic probably has a hand in it as well.  The Freemasons are doubtless players (you’ll notice NONE of those “bedtime routines” mentions night prayers at all; it’s like they don’t exist; L is the new god of the One World Order).  And Silicon Valley is obviously involved, otherwise the Google results wouldn’t be so uniform.

Now, I’m not saying that I’m their target.  I don’t have those kind of delusions.

Source

Other kinds, now …

But I am saying that you should consider, very carefully, what’s happening around you.  I know it’s scary, but we can’t put our heads in the sand forever.  Awareness is everything.  Preparedness is all.  I recommend buying lots of canned goods, and don’t forget the can opener.

Oh.  And remember, whatever you do, don’t say the L-word.

The Perilous Whiteness of Pumpkins

Color me still naïve, but when I first saw the headline for this piece (from which I have more or less stolen this post’s title), I assumed it was an entertaining spoof, dealing with the absurdity of the gourmet decorative pumpkin explosion.  Since it was something a tad more serious, I offer here my own assessment of our current state of emergency.  If anyone has further thoughts about how to saw through this gourdian knot, by all means leave them below.

It has come to my attention that in recent years, we have descended as a nation from our previous greatness, the greatness established by our foremothers in the kitchen—and our forefathers in the field—in their ceaseless efforts to perfect the perfect pumpkin for the hallway, the table, and the pie.  Having reached Peak Pumpkin sometime around 1950 or so, we now find ourselves in a strange, psychedelic world in which you have only to imagine any kind of pumpkin you like in order for it to appear.

Pumpkins are no longer orange; they are white; green; brown (brown?! the rainbow’s most boring color); even on occasion a hideous, sickly yellow.  No longer smooth, but bewarted.  No longer round, but distorted, tortured, even squashed—and they were already squash.  Once invariably large, they now come (like heroes) in all shapes and sizes.  The used to be respectable vegetables, and now their attitude can only be described as punkin’.

If you saw a produce product at any other time of the year that looked like this …

… would you ask it out? take it home?  I thought not.  You would shudder, avert your eyes, and wheel the grocery cart on.  If this turned up in the back of your fridge, you would shriek and call for your husband to remove it, stat, even though it was probably your fault that it got that way.  If teenagers left this in your driveway, you would call the police.  If its white cousin …

… apparated anywhere within a block of your house, you would dive for the holy water, in sure and certain fear of having seen a ghost.  Ghosts, respectable ghosts, anyway, used to buddy-buddy with pumpkins; they certainly did not impersonate them.  But to such depths we have fallen.

This, my friends, is what has gone wrong with our democracy.  Not education, not the lack of any virtue in particular, but our inability to distinguish proper vegetables from the escapees or a horror film has brought us to this pass.

It may already be too late to salvage your Halloween, but may I proffer an humble suggestion?  Find the nearest sledgehammer, walk outside to your front porch, and smash those pumpkins now. I promise, the kids on the block will be impressed.  Think of the example you will have set for future generations.

As for Thanksgiving: please keep those winter wonders in the appropriate sizes, shapes, and dimensions.  You don’t want to serendipitously poison the pie.

Don’t even get me started on Indian corn.

A Few News Stories I Would Like to See

Since I expressed a lack of interest in the predominant news of the current cycle in my last, I thought it might be a public service to mention a few news stories which I would actually enjoy reading.  (And no, if the Onion or the Toast or any such interesting website named after an item normally ingested before being digested is the source, it doesn’t actually count.  One must draw a line somewhere.)

Libertarian Party Nominates Socially Conservative Candidate

Paul Ryan explains that, following GOP collapse, boyhood fascination with Ayn Rand made party a “logical choice” for him, and him a “logical choice” for party.

Beloved Dentist Eaten by Black Bear; Appalachia Mourns

“Who will brush Bessie’s teeth now?” asked Mae Lou Ellis Stevens.

France Offers Asylum to Fifteen Christian Homeschooling Families after Expulsion from Germany

England has agreed to take in comparable groups from Sweden, Denmark, citing excellent record with WWII refugees.

Listeria Epidemic Linked to Organic Food Market in San Jose

Monsanto donates 1.6 million kg of tomatoes to replace damaged goods.

More Tractors Are Being Made, Bought, Used in U.S.

Fathers everywhere happy.  Also teenage boys, wives, and mothers.

Japan Erects Statue Honoring Francis Xavier

Reparations expected to descendants of the Christian missionaries and converts executed by Japanese government.

Vladimir Putin Eaten by Black Bear; Russian Orthodox Sings Hymns

Since we don’t know Russian, and all Russian music is sad, we don’t know how they really feel.

Summer Expected to be Cool, Moderately Dry in D.C.

Lawyers call climate changes “bad for business.”

California’s Crops Lovin’ the Rain

Mudslides demolish two-thirds of Hollywood Hills; iconic sign destroyed.

Ayatollah Khomeini Eaten by Black Bear; Iranians Wave Flags

Since we don’t know Farsi, we don’t actually know what’s written on the flags either.

ISIS Eaten by Army of Black Bears

Special “Black Ops Down Under” Mission was best-guarded secret of U.S.-Australian alliance.

Sheryl Sandberg to Retire and Care for Children; Will Be Replaced by Black Bear Named Bo

Bo swears he’s not carnivorous; has stayed away from children ever since that unfortunate incident with vegetarian Goldie Lochs (“Was she Scotch or Jewish?  I don’t even know …”); regular attendant of AA meetings since 1994.

That’s All, Folks!

Wumpick and the Angels of the Simple Life

y dear Wumpick,

Yes, the simple life is an excellent opportunity—like Gnosticism in the Ancient World and Manicheism in the Dark Ages—to practice that time-honored bait-and-switch in which we teach men to think of themselves as angels, only to reveal the truth to them too late.  You may recall some of Screwtape’s classic advice on using human chastity: let them think they’re above it all, develop sense of pride about where they stand as opposed to ordinary people, and then, when they’ve become just complacent enough to imagine that they’ve developed some kind of virtue in the area, shoot off a volley of your best imagery and watch the fireworks go.  Certainly, you can approach the matter of simple living in the same way.

But the appetite for possessions, unlike the reproductive drive and the desire for nourishment, does not provoke the same level of visceral disgust in human beings as gluttony and promiscuity.  Because it is more closely connected to their rational than their animal natures, it is difficult for even the most excessive manifestations of the appetite to become so obviously subhuman.  Exceptions exist, of course—the extremes of hoarding reported by American TV, or the excesses of certain public personalities in the matter of statuary and gold leafing may, perhaps, trigger something like the instinctive revulsion that the refined man feels at seeing another man “pig out”; but by and large it is far easier to tempt a person to despair after an impulse towards gluttony or unchastity than after an impulse buy.

On the whole then, I do not think the sudden attack is helpful against those who practice Simple Living—in which group I include everyone from the strictest minimalist to the casual recycler.  Anyone who sees good in using or wasting little is a potential target: one has only to take the good of frugality and make it contrastive.  From Mrs. DeForest wanting to leave her grandchildren a healthy planet to Mrs. DeForest looking down on Mrs. Frimp for putting bottles in the wrong receptacle is one short step for mankind, one great leap for Our Father Below.  This is the kind of thing that the virtue Simple Living most naturally lends itself too: the minor sins of vanity and uncharitability which, taken to their natural conclusion, can eat up a lifetime of good works like a carpet of ivy on a crumbling brick wall.

It is also possible, of course, to simultaneously make the obvert choice of Simple(r) Living a shield under which the native human condition of greed can take cover.  Is it possible, you ask, for someone who owns only fifty items in his Spartan apartment to be greedy?  Oh, Wumpick, it is.  Do you recall a certain man, known for his singularly uninteresting clothing and his habit of emblazoning every product his company produced with a faux-humble lowercase “i”, whose once-bare apartment was adorned by a Tiffany lamp?  A single necessary item can become an object of great indulgence for those who live simply.  And of course, this kind of hypocrisy is not limited to secular people: one recalls the nun whose vow of poverty forbade her to use more than one pin, but who confessed guiltily to her superior that she had been keeping a second one.  Her conscience was bothered.  But there is no reason that the ordinary Simple Liver’s should be.

An additional use of Simple Living is of course as an incentive to pride.  Vanity, and uncharitable comparisons to one’s neighbors, I have already mentioned.  But pride—not the desire to be seen as better, but the deep-seated belief, needing no assurance, that one is better than, indeed on a whole different level from other people—that should be the real goal of a tempter whose patient shows an inclination to the Simple Life.  Comparisons will be necessary; fortunately, as I suggested in my last letter, many are already beginning to be culturally established.  A previous generation, for example, would simply have thought Gothic Cathedrals in bad taste, or (if they belonged to the stricter sort of Puritanism) said that it was a wicked thing that the money wasn’t rather given to the poor.  But our simple secularists see the very act of living well as being something to be ashamed of.  Take care that they compare that living well to their well-living, and do not notice the similarities.  Like Mrs. DeForest, let them begin by imagining that they are doing this for others, but do not let them think about it too much.  They know intellectually that no amount of abstemiousness on their part will—in and of itself—guarantee a bowl of rice for one more child; do not let them ask what would.  If the question crosses their mind, let the little well of warm emotions radiate briefly—they are thinking of others, after all!—before dissipating it quickly with a question about whether Uber or Zipcars are less extravagant.  And of course, make sure that they determine the answer through extensive calculations leading to an arbitrary and contingent conclusion which no amount of argument with their friends can shake.  Let them think that they have mastered the art of simplicity; purified their nature to the point of an almost angelic abstemiousness.

For they do aspire to be like angels, Wumpick—make no mistake about that.  That is what lies at the root of this attraction to simplicity after all, just as it lies at the root of the love of mammon.  Both the outrageously wealthy and the unbearably simple are after one thing: autonomy.  No human being, of course, can ever really be autonomous.  But we can tease them with the prospect, encouraging them as they divest (or increase) themselves one good at a time to think with each object that they are becoming more and more independent from the world and the flesh.  What a surprise it will be to learn, finally, that all the time their “autonomy” was a mere pale and impotent emulation of the autonomy of that third and greatest enemy against whom the old monks, those earlier and more dangerous Simple Livers, so carefully guarded themselves.

Then, if you like, there will be despair—not the despair of having sinned through weakness against the god Simplicity that they worshiped, but the despair of knowing that, in the end, no human being is worthy or capable of measuring up to the glorious self-sufficiency of Our Father Below.

Your affectionate uncle,

Slangrine