Rejecting the ‘Proposition Nation’

Brion McClanahan writes for Chronicles:

In January, Donald Trump’s President’s Advisory 1776 Commission released its 45-page “1776 Report,” which, according to The New York Times, is “a sweeping attack on liberal thought and activism that…defends America’s founding against charges that it was tainted by slavery and likens progressivism to fascism.” Joe Biden scrapped it the day he entered office, and the report has since been scrubbed from all government websites.

This is perhaps for the best. However noble the intentions of the Commission’s members, their document is a profoundly flawed vision of American history, one that places the Declaration of Independence and Abraham Lincoln at the center of the American experience. That Lincolnian vision is now the accepted “conservative” consensus regarding American history.

American conservatives looking for an intellectual home should avoid claptrap like the 1776 Commission and its intellectual sibling, “The 1619 Project.” They are in reality two sides of the same coin. Both rely on a fantasy about the founding that Lincoln invented at Gettysburg in 1863. Accepting the assumptions behind either view of America is tantamount to a coin toss in which the rules are heads they win, tails you lose.

Trump created the 1776 Commission in September 2020 to combat The New York Times’ “1619 Project,” which paints American history as a story of black slavery and white supremacy. However, his appointments to the Commission led its report down a predictable path.

Trump tapped Hillsdale College President Larry Arnn to head the Commission and appointed 17 other academics and politicians to serve in advisory roles. Vanderbilt University Political Science and Law Professor Carol M. Swain and Hillsdale Constitutional Government Professor Matthew Spalding served as vice-chair and executive director, respectively. Swain’s prior publications focused almost exclusively on race and the dangers of “white nationalism,” including tomes fully in accord with the credo of the Southern Poverty Law Center. Spalding penned the popular We Still Hold These Truths (2009), a book steeped in neoconservative deceit.

Other appointments included Thomas Lindsay, director of the Texas Public Policy Foundation, who drafted most of “The 1776 Report,” as well as conservative historian Victor Davis Hanson. While Hanson has recently bemoaned the effects of cancel culture on American history, for years he never found a Confederate statue he did not want removed.

Consider the required reading recommendations for American students from “The 1776 Report,” which include the 1848 Seneca Falls Declaration calling for women’s suffrage, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Stanton looked to the form and substance of the Declaration of Independence in crafting the Declaration, and King asserted that the Declaration and the Constitution constituted a “promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.”

No contemporary of Stanton or King would have confused either for a “conservative.” Stanton sided with the Republican Party during the 1850s because she perceived it as a conduit for reform, and complained loudly of betrayal when it refused to back women’s suffrage following the Civil War. King flirted with communism, and like the academics who crafted “The 1776 Report,” viewed the Declaration’s “self-evident” truth that “all men are created equal” as a foundational promise betrayed by bad actors in American history, mostly from the South.

Michael Anton responds:

Teachers, friends, and colleagues of mine from the Claremont-Hillsdale school (or “CHS,” after where most of us were trained, and many now teach) have spent years making a concerted effort to find common ground with fellow travelers on the Right who may be broadly understood as paleoconservatives.

I’m happy to say that, to a large extent, the effort has borne fruit. Many paleoconservatives have been published in the Claremont Review of Books and American Greatness, while many Claremont and Hillsdale scholars (myself included) have written for Modern Age and The American Conservative. There is more cross-pollination and friendly dealing today between the two groups than ever, with each side attending and speaking at the others’ conferences and so on. I think we’ve even learned from each other. I know I have. Exposure to paleo ideas has influenced my thinking on trade, immigration, and foreign policy, among other subjects.

My commitment, however, to the core tenets of the Claremont-Hillsdale school—which I consider to be nothing more (or less) than an attempt to understand Americanism, without any alterations or admixtures—has never shaken.

“Others . . . insist that the key to everything is to refight the Civil War until no one left alive denies that Lincoln was a tyrant and the father of all evil among us. I once asked such a person whether, with the militant Left coming for both our throats, we could for the time being put aside such fratricide, turn our attentions against our common enemy, and then get back to killing one another over Lincoln after we win. He said no, it was much more important to kill me over Lincoln right now.”

[LF: I suspect it did not happen this way.]

* I really do agree with the paleo positions on trade, immigration, and war. Moreover, I believe that the American founders did, too, and that their principles provide the strongest possible support for those positions, much stronger than anything Chronicles offers here.

[Is Anton saying that the founders opinions provide the strongest support for those positions, as opposed to any other form of support, such as what is in the best interests of the American people now?]

* If the American Republic fails, then the question of what follows takes on paramount importance. There will still be people alive on the American continent. How will they organize themselves? According to what understanding and which principles? The same questions with which the founders were forced to wrestle will again be front and center. Before we reject their solutions, we had best know what they were, and then evaluate them against the available alternatives.

[What comes next will come out of the predispositions of the people wielding power in America. As Samuel T. Francis stated: “The civilization that we as whites created in Europe and America could not have developed apart from the genetic endowments of the creating people, nor is there any reason to believe that the civilization can be successfully transmitted to a different people.” Different peoples tend to organize themselves differently. People don’t usually operate in a deductive fashion (from general principles to the specific, but rather peoples have ways of doing things, and you might later try to ascribe principles to these practices).]

* McClanahan’s attack on the Trump Administration’s 1776 Commission report is never clear on what exactly it’s asserting. Something is said to be terribly wrong, but what? Is it the actual founding or a later interpretation? Were the founding principles wrong? If so, is that because the founders made an honest mistake? That is, were they true to their own self-understanding but nonetheless mistaken in their account of the nature of political things? Or did they not really mean what they plainly said? And if the latter, were they deliberately misleading, using elevated rhetoric to cover more earthly or self-interested motives? Or did they just not understand or think through the implications of what they said, thus unwittingly paving a way for the modern egalitarian catastrophe?

[He’s asserting that we are not a proposition nation and that we do not depend upon the assertion of certain philosophic principles to organize in our self-interest. Anton is a political philosopher, so he might put more importance on philosophy than most of us who simply regard America as exceptional to us because we live here.]

* The very grave question of whether the founders blew it or got it right but had their work corrupted matters. We can’t really know where we are without knowing how we got here, nor can we get to a place we want to go without knowing which routes to take and which to avoid. If the founders blew it, we should abandon their ideas. If, however, they got something—anything—right, we still have something to learn from them that may aid us going forward.

[Does it matter that much? Are we truly unable to know where we are without knowing history and philosophy? If Anton is truly curious about McClanahan’s answers to his questions, has he consulted any of Brion’s six books, numerous articles, podcasts, interviews and videos? Here’s the blurb to one of the books: “The Politically Incorrect Guide to the Founding Fathers proves that the Founders had a better understanding of the problems we face today than do our own members of Congress. McClanahan shows that if you want real and relevant insights into the issues of banking, war powers, executive authority, freedom of the press, freedom of speech, freedom of religion, states’ rights, gun control, judicial activism, trade, and taxes, you’d be better served reading the Founders than you would be watching congressional debates on C-SPAN or reading the New York Times.”]

* McClanahan further says that placing “the Declaration of Independence and Abraham Lincoln at the center of the American experience” makes the commission’s report “profoundly flawed.” This is an extraordinary claim. Say what one will about Lincoln, it nonetheless remains a fact that he is, and has been almost since his assassination, the most revered of American presidents (or perhaps tied with Washington). The Civil War which he fought and won was certainly, for good or ill, “cent[ral] to the American experience.” Indeed, does not the whole paleoconservative argument hinge on this very claim, that Lincoln and the war fundamentally changed absolutely everything? But now this is blithely dismissed simply because people McClanahan doesn’t like also say it.

[Perhaps Brion does not regard rhetoric and civil war as the center of the American experience. Perhaps he views the common cause of Americans to establish themselves as a separate nation and to expand across the continent as the center? Perhaps he sees lived experience of Americans rather than rhetoric as the center? Perhaps how much reverence one has for presidents from 150 to 220 years ago does not matter much for making the best of now?]

* it is flatly—almost perversely—ahistorical to deny the centrality of the Declaration of Independence to America. This is literally the document that founded the country, the date of whose adoption is still (for now) celebrated as America’s birthday, the first organic law of the United States, and the most widely quoted and imitated political document in the history of mankind. That’s before one even turns to the importance of that document’s principles to our country’s subsequent history and self-understanding, which the rest of McClanahan’s piece may be said to attempt to cover.

[Did this document found America or did people found America?]

* McClanahan next states, rightly, that the 1776 Commission was created to “combat” the aforementioned “1619 Project” which “paints American history as a story of black slavery and white supremacy.” It would seem, then, that to attack the 1776 Commission, McClanahan would have to do one of two things. First, he could argue that America and American history do not deserve a defense against the charges of the “1619 Project” because that project basically got it right: America is racist and evil, hence the 1776 Commission’s defense is false. Or he could defend the founding on the ground that it was just as racist as the “1619 Project” says it was, but assert that the founders’ (alleged) racism is true and just, and that therefore the 1776 Commission defense is false both in the historical sense (untrue to what the founders actually believed) and in the philosophic sense (untrue to the realities of nature).

McClanahan doesn’t say either of things, but neither does he really reject either. The reader is instead left in suspense. Was the founding racist and good? Racist and bad? Not racist but still bad? The one thing we can deduce is that it cannot have been both non-racist and good, because that is precisely what the 1776 Commission report asserts, and if McClanahan is clear about one thing, it’s that the report is very bad.

One wishes to ask McClanahan: does the American founding, and America itself, deserve a defense against the “1619 Project” and other more or less identical attacks that are now ubiquitous from academia, the media, corporations, and every level of government? If it does, on what grounds?

[Maybe he finds it ridiculous to defend the founding of the nation?]

As I understand it, this is a clash between liberalism (Anton) and nationalism (McClanahan). Liberals see the world as primarily composed of individuals who are born with certain inalienable rights. Nationalists see people born into nations with responsibilities and rights that vary depending upon circumstance. Anton is articulating an individualist perspective and McClanahan gives a national view.

Anton sees America as a state in service of ideas. McClanahan sees America as a state in service of its citizens.

Did the Declaration of Independence shape Americans or was it more a rhetorical expression of Americans? Was the Magna Carta central to British history or was it more of an embodiment of the character of the British? Particular people produce particular documents more than particular documents produce particular peoples. DNA>culture>politics>documents, not documents>politics>culture>people.

Anton and McClanahan differ over the significance and wisdom of Lincoln’s Gettysburg address:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Lincoln is articulating a new vision for America and a new understanding of its history. Few Americans who founded and built up the country prior to Lincoln regarded their national enterprise as “conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” Rather, they saw themselves building a home for themselves and for their posterity. As the preamble to the U.S. Constitution states: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

Anton’s approach conceives of the founders as working out philosophical ideas in political practice. The other view sees politics as a way to promote the general welfare, and part of that welfare is insuring the rights of Englishmen.

Brion writes:

The attempt by the authors of “The 1776 Report” to beg absolution from the political left for the sin of slavery is a fatal miscalculation. The left’s game is cancel culture, and it’s a game in which conservatives will always be playing defense. You cannot play the left’s game on their field and by their rules and hope for success. Charges of racism are emotional, not intellectual, and are used—successfully—to change the narrative. Instead of focusing on the contributions antebellum Americans made to Western civilization, we are instead debating who was the least racist and bigoted among them. This is unproductive….

“The 1776 Report” admits that the founding generation never spoke of America as a proposition nation, even though its authors appear to believe that the propositional idea can be discerned in the penumbra of the founding documents. It was Lincoln, the abolitionists, and black Americans who popularized that concept (in reality, fabricated it) for political reasons.

Joe* emails:

I think you really have to get Paul Gottfried’s perspective on this. The problem is that the Claremont School following Harry Jaffa, not only venerate Lincoln, but also take their lead from Leo Strauss. The proposition nation, which is an increasingly popular way to look at America, is that it has certain ideals, some of which are enshrined in the Declaration and the Constitution, some of which are actually in the Articles of Confederation (which governed America between Yorktown and the adoption of the Constitution) the Federalist and Anti Federalist Papers, the arguments over Nullification and the Gettysburg Address. The Claremont Schools really focuses on the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the promotion of the primacy of the declaration in the Gettysburg address as the propositions that any person can adopt and become an American.

The other are based on a belief that American values and government were based not on these documents, but on the person who settled America and bequeathed their ideas of what a just society should act like. Thus, since our government and legal system are taken from English law, the emigrants from England shape the values in a way that immigrants from Latin America do not share. Our entire sense of responsibility and civic order may well be something entirely unrelated to the constitution, but related to the large number of German and Scandanavian immigrants starting in the mid 1800’s. You still see their influence both in large cities (Cincinnati) and small cities throughout the midwest and northwest even today.

The problem with the 1776 project according to them is that although the counter narrative promulgated by Howard Zinn and now the 1619 project is clearly false, it is also filled with propaganda or myths that have become accepted facts as of today. One of the main myths according to the Paleos relates to the civil war which the Paleos see as something that was avoidable and something that led to increasing Federal power at the expense of state autonomy as well as increasing executive power well beyond what the constitution anticipated. There remains the recurring fight over Wilson and WWI. Wilson was always thought of as a progressive and in some ways the forerunner of the next Democratic president Franklin Roosevelt. But Paleos feel he broke his promise to keep America out of war (and as an example, although Williams Jennings Bryan is ridiculed since he ran and and lost for the presidency three times, and was thoroughly made fun of for his position in the Scopes Trials where he said he believed every word of the bible literally as Wilson’s secretary of state, he resigned out of principle because he saw Wilson leading the U.S. into the war.)

Recent history is even more of a problem. Was there really much difference between FDR and Mussolini when FDR tried to push through the NRA? Although almost all Paleos believe Hitler was evil, many believe that the Soviet Union was an equal if not greater evil. Was WWII really a fundamentally different type of war or was it basically an attempt by the maritime powers (the U.S. and Britain) to maintain control of the world by controlling the oceans (including destruction of the Japanese fleet so they would be unchallenged in the far east) and was the clash between Germany and Russia simply a continuation of power struggles between the two great continental powers for dominance?

After the war, how much of the tension between the U.S. and Soviet Union was the fault of the Soviet Union. If you believe American history books, almost all of it. But the U.S. played no small part in maintaining tensions.

Anyway, I could go on all day, but suffice it to say that Trump wanted American textbooks to teach American exceptionalism and American triumphalism in the same way he was taught when he went to school. Most scholars realize that this model has serious flaws, not the least of which is that it often times is inaccurate. It doesn’t matter how many times Anton and others (such as Hugh Hewitt) say Larry Arnn is brilliant, all an open minded person has to do is listen to him and conclude that perhaps at one point he was a serious and respected scholar, and he may even now be considered a great teacher by his pupils, but he fully embraces all the mythic heroic parts of American history and downplays anything to the contrary.

In his book The Politically Incorrect Guide to the Founding Fathers, Brion McClanahan wrote:

Thomas Jefferson, author of the well-regarded pamphlet A Summary View of the Rights of British America (1774), was chosen to lead a committee in drafting a declaration of independence. Work began in June 1776. Congress approved independence from Great Britain on 2 July 1776, and the final wording of the Declaration was hammered out over the next two days.

Many years later, Jefferson told Henry Lee that he wrote the Declaration “not to find out new principles, or new arguments, never before thought of … it was intended to be an expression of the American mind, and to give to that expression the proper tone and spirit called for by the occasion.”

Many historians, including Jefferson’s most important biographer, Dumas Malone, believe Benjamin Franklin changed Jefferson’s draft of “we hold these truths to be sacred and undeniable” to “we hold these truths to be self-evident,” a much more powerful expression. Jefferson himself probably borrowed language from George Mason’s Virginia Declaration of Resolves, written a month before Jefferson authored the Declaration. Mason had argued, similarly to Jefferson, that “all men are by nature equally free and independent, and have certain inherent rights … namely the enjoyment of life and liberty, with the means of acquiring and possessing property, and pursuing and maintaining happiness and safety.” It seems likely that Jefferson simply shortened Mason’s wording. But even that wording was not new. The idea that Englishmen had a right to “life, liberty, and property” went back at least to John Locke and his Two Treatises on Civil Government in 1689, which itself was meant to couch England’s “Glorious Revolution” of 1688 in the rights of Englishmen, established in 1215 when King John was forced to sign the Magna Charta at Runnymede. These rights were thus common parlance not only in Britain but in America. They were, for instance, part of the Carolina Charter, which Locke may have helped author. Most colonists did not consider themselves to be solely “Americans.” They were British subjects pleading with the king for relief from taxes and laws that violated their “natural” rights as Englishmen. Indeed, Americans were proud to be British. And, why not? Englishmen were the freest and most prosperous people in the world.

Jefferson insisted that the colonists had suffered patiently while the king and Parliament assumed tyrannical rule over the colonies, but only the “present King of Great Britain” deserved the condemnation of the patriot leaders. Jefferson never declared that all kings were unjust, just George III. It is true that Jefferson was not a monarchist, but it is equally true that he thought there were worse things than monarchy. When the French Revolution, of which he was an early proponent, had proven itself to be unmistakably extremist, with the revolutionary government lopping off heads at a rapid pace, Jefferson called for a restoration of the royal family in France. Moreover, contrary to what the historian Joseph Ellis says, Jefferson never suggested that government was an “alien force.” Government, in Jefferson’s words, should protect the “safety and happiness” of the people. Only after a “long train of abuses and usurpations” reduced the people “under absolute Despotism” did the people have the “right” and “duty, to throw off such Government and to provide new Guards for their future security.” They could “alter or abolish” a tyrannical government, but Jefferson did not consider the British system of government per se to be unjust, only the government of King George III. Even conservatives like John Dickinson knew their grievances would not be addressed by a Parliament determined to maintain its sovereignty over the king’s subjects, no matter what the cost. Independence was justified because it was the only way left for the colonists to preserve their inherited rights.

Myth: The Founding Fathers really believed everyone was equal The most famous line in the Declaration of Independence is “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal… . ” But the Founders meant something very different by that phrase than most of us have been taught to believe.

It was written, of course, by a slaveholder— by Thomas Jefferson— and politically correct historians mock him, for that very reason, as a hypocrite. But they do so by ignoring what he meant.

When the Founders talked about liberty and equality, they used definitions that came to them from their heritage within an English culture. Liberty was one of the most commonly used terms in the Founding generation. When Patrick Henry thundered, “Give me liberty, or give me death!” in 1775, no one asked Henry to define liberty following his speech. Similarly, when the Founders talked about equality, they thought in terms of all men being equal under God and of freemen being equal under the law. But the distinction of freemen was important. The founders believed in a natural hierarchy of talents, and they believed that citizenship and suffrage required civic and moral virtue. Jefferson wrote, “If a nation expects to be ignorant and free in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and what never will be.” To that end, restricting the status of freemen was essential, in the Founders’ view, to the liberty of the republic, which is why some states initially had property qualifications for voting, and why equality did not extend to slaves (or for that matter to women or children). Most of the Founding generation favored a “natural aristocracy” consisting of men of talent and virtue. They believed that these men would be, and should be, the leaders of a free society. The Founders were not at all egalitarian in their sentiments, as might be clearer if we quote Jefferson at greater length: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness— that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed … .”

…It is a politically correct myth that the colonists sought to create a radically new conception of political and civil rights. The popular historian Joseph Ellis has fueled this misinterpretation in his American Creationby concluding that the Declaration of Independence was a “radical document that locates sovereignty in the individual and depicts government as an alien force, making rebellion against it a natural act.” 10 On the contrary, colonial protests and America’s founding documents always relied on a common understanding, and a reassertion, of the rights of Englishmen, which is why the British statesman Edmund Burke supported the colonists in Parliament. Hardly a radical, Burke is considered the founding father of Anglo-American conservatism. American leaders justified their protests against Parliament in terms of the Magna Charta of 1215 and the 1688 English Bill of Rights. The Revolution intended to preserve these “ancient constitutions” of their forefathers. In the eyes of the Americans, it was the British Parliament that was making a radical departure from tradition, usurping powers to itself (principally the power of taxation) that rightly resided in the colonial legislatures. It was this sense of traditionalism, of conservatism, that separated the American Revolution from the later and more ideological French Revolution that sought to create an entirely new politics and even a new religion. The Americans were looking to keep what they had: liberties that had been developed over centuries of English history and law.

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The Last Love Song: A Biography of Joan Didion

Here are some highlights from this 2015 book:

* “I belong on the edge of a story,” Didion once said. Temperamentally, she is a reader, not an on-the-spot reporter or a stringer chasing witnesses down the street. In 1976 she signed on to cover the Patty Hearst trial for Rolling Stone. She wrote to the magazine’s editor, Jann Wenner, that being in the courtroom on a specific day was not important to what she was writing. Wenner seemed dismayed at this news, but Didion insisted she was thinking of Hearst as an idea of California rather than as a defendant in a trial. She said she would probably spend more time in the Bancroft Library than she would in the courtroom.
Always, she has stressed the limits of traditional reporting: Rarely will a place reveal its past or a person tell you the truth. Most first-person accounts are predictable, self-serving, and bland (she has been especially scornful of the “insider” reporting practiced by Bob Woodward, who often gets chummy with his subjects and whose interviews, she argues, are leaks by officials spinning events). Rather, what’s required of a writer is a thorough investigation of the public record. She feels that the surfaces of things—the stated claims of legal contracts, the walls and floors of gas stations, high schools—reveal as much as, if not more than, their depths. She abhors abstractions. Wary of interpreting behavior as a clue to character (the addiction, the sexual insecurity, the psychic wound repeating itself in each new relationship), she seeks, instead, fruitful inconsistencies. Thus, her careful linguistic construction of Joan Didion, her emphasis on the brute world’s shaping of identities, on the importance of actions and facts—or, more accurately, the forms assumed by “facts” (documents, essays, architecture); her reluctance, especially in early work, to judge or qualify.

* Her coolness was apparent in interviews she had given over nearly five decades in which she’d revealed little of herself, in which she’d crafted another persona, not entirely at odds with the Joan Didion in her formal writing but not completely consistent with it, either. In interviews, Joan Didion was generally looser, funnier—but just as deflective. “Clearly, I’d say anything!” she admitted merrily in 2011, on tour for Blue Nights, when pressed about nonanswers she’d offered in the past. Time and again, she’d repeat particular anecdotes, writerly wisdoms, and calculated confessions. Always, her interviewers noted her famously frail physique, her halting voice hovering just above a whisper. The details were accurate so far as they went, but their repetition tended to create what we think of today as a brand, and it was first promoted by Didion herself. In the preface to Slouching Towards Bethlehem, she had written, “I am so physically small, so temperamentally unobtrusive, and so neurotically inarticulate.” This is the Joan Didion we would come to know, to the exclusion of all others, no matter what she said in interviews. Obviously, no reporter was going to get much out of her that she didn’t want out.

* a desire to write tends to bloom in “lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.”

* Didion revealed that one of her mother’s most common utterances—on any subject—was “What difference does it make?” She rarely dusted the house or made the beds because “they just get slept in again.” Though she was “passionately opinionated on a number of points,” she seemed to believe in nothing.

* There is a “vast emptiness at the center of Western experience,” Didion wrote, “a nihilism antithetical not only to literature but to most other forms of human endeavor, a dread so close to zero that human voices fade out, trail off, like skywriting.”

* Clark Kerr, Berkeley’s chancellor, joked that his job was to “provide parking for the faculty, sex for the students, and athletics for the alumni.”

* If the world was pointless but we had to live in it, we did so by investing importance in objects, people, ideas, and social roles. How and why these things came to embody the meanings we gave them—this was the burden of analysis, a way of decoding life’s grammar. In novels, comedies of manners depended on seeing beneath the social niceties, separating what people said and did in public from who they were in private.

* In his landmark essay, “Technique as Discovery” (1948), Schorer advanced the New Criticism. The content of novels was less important than the “form and rhythm imposed” on them by the writer’s techniques, he said. Technique not only “ contains intellectual and moral implications … it discovers them,” transforming the “world of action” into “texture and tone,” creating a new and unique area of human experience. Didion now grasped Hemingway’s appeal for her: His “early subject, the exhaustion of value, was perfectly investigated and invested by his bare style,” Schorer wrote.
Furthermore, he said, writers expose their subjects through style: Didion built a career on this argument. Writing was not polemical. It was a kind of music, with major and minor keys.
For Schorer, point of view was the main technique propelling a writer “toward the positive definition of a theme.” No one manipulated point of view better than Joseph Conrad. In Heart of Darkness, the horror swallowing Marlow and Kurtz is made more terrible by its passing from one person to the next and finally to the reader. The book’s theme is not the madness it depicts, but our complicity in it, manifested by the point of view, making us the recipients of an old and tragic tale.

* And then she was back in Sacramento, in the listless arms of her family.

* She projected her own lassitude onto people she met and witnessed only what she wanted to see (her critics have always charged her with this).

* “Every real American story begins in innocence and never stops mourning the loss of it,” she declares. “[T]he banishment from Eden is our one great tale, lovingly told and retold, adapted, disguised, and told again, passed down from Hester Prynne to Temple Drake, from Natty Bumppo to Holden Caulfield; it is the single stunning fact in our literature, in our folklore, in our history, and in the lyrics of our popular songs.” But mourning the loss of Eden leads to dolor. Now, in the mid–twentieth century, with the recognition that reclaiming Eden is impossible without forking over a theme-park admission fee, the only escape from dolor is a “sense of the absurd, the beginning of a kind of toughness of mind; and to win that particular victory is to cut oneself irrevocably loose from what we used to call main currents of American thought.” This is so because “hardness of mind is antithetical to innocence, it is not only alien to us but generally misapprehended. What we take it for, warily, is something we sometimes call cynicism, sometimes call wit, sometimes … disapprove as ‘a cheap effect,’ and almost invariably hold at arm’s length, the way Eve should have held that snake.”

* Tom Wolfe was another interloper getting a lot of mileage out of the West, writing about California car culture. Didion found his prose hit-or-miss—his editors were too lax with him, she thought—and when he sent Dunne a business letter on colored construction paper, she wondered about his sexuality.

* She met Tom Wolfe. He seemed androgynous to her, not a “fairy,” she told Mary Bancroft, but something entirely new.

* Isherwood’s longtime partner, Don Bachardy, told me, “Well, it was obvious why Chris didn’t warm to Joan. She doesn’t like fags. Really—I always thought, What’s she doing, married to John? I’ve never been as cruised by anyone as I was by him. He wouldn’t take his eyes off my crotch. He always seemed very queer to me, and so did his brother Nick. I couldn’t understand how John could be so obvious about it. It was embarrassing to me. And Joan was around the whole time. She had to know. Women who are married to queers or who find out later … it has to be very peculiar for them. And it’s easier to blame the queers than the husband.”
Bachardy’s remarks should be taken with heavy pitchers of salt; they’re best understood in light of Dunne’s class background, which made him feel perpetually excluded from whatever was happening, intensely curious about experiences he might be missing. Hence, his voyeurism, his reporting, his fascination with crime and prostitution (obsessions he would play out in his fiction), with getting invited to every party in town, a need he shared with his brother Nick (who, as it happened, admitted his bisexuality shortly before his death in August 2009).

* Since 1945, he was told, mechanization had reduced Hawaii’s sugar workforce from 35,000 to 10,500. Chavez’s agitation in the valley would only hasten the growers’ move toward machinery. Cesar was ensuring his own doom, the doom of his movement, the ultimate sacrifice of the people who had placed all their faith in him.

* One chilly late-summer night, near the end of the Dunnes’ stay in the valley, in the foothills of the Sierra, Dunne watched a “California golden girl,” probably a student, seduce a “panicky young farm worker” from Mexico. The girl “worked hard and loyally for Chavez,” but “no amount of good faith on her part could bridge the chasm of social and sexual custom” between her and the young man. The encounter was bound to end badly, Dunne thought, just like the long, dusty struggle for justice: “I remember the boy still desperately picking on his guitar even as he was being led off to the bedroom”—maybe the last love song he’d ever sing.

* The “New Journalists,” as Wolfe would call them, competed fiercely for the same subjects, many of them—car culture, hippies, NASA, Las Vegas—featuring Western settings or connections. “When I started writing in what became known as my style, I was trying to capture the newness and excitement of the West Coast thing,” Wolfe said. “It’s where all the exciting youth styles were coming from. They certainly weren’t coming from New York. Everything I was writing about was new to the East Coast.”

* Perhaps the starting point was 1946: Persuaded by data sheets that the American populace was crippled with neuropsychiatric disorders, the U.S. Congress signed into law the National Mental Health Act, budgeting $4.2 million to study dysfunctions and to treat their manifestations through medicine. In this context—in tandem with the military’s aim to develop mind-control drugs—two Bay Area psychologists, working with Oakland’s Kaiser Hospital, published a study arguing that mental patients receiving psychotherapy fared no better after nine months than patients getting no treatments; mood-enhancing drugs, then, might be a profitable area of research. The primary author of this study was a young man named Timothy Leary.

* “I think sex is a lot darker than Kate Millet does,” Didion said. “It seems to me a fairly right fantasy … that men want to ravage and women want to be ravaged.”

“I agree with every single thing that Norman Mailer puts down on paper … [H]e is one of the few people who can write about sex without embarrassing me.”

* Several months later, in her review of Play It As It Lays in The New Yorker, Kael accused Didion of bringing to the screen the “ultimate princess fantasy,” which is “to be so glamorously sensitive and beautiful that you have to be taken care of; you are simply too sensitive for this world—you see the truth, and so you suffer more than ordinary people, and can’t function.”

* Toward securing establishment recognition, Didion’s major cachet was her inclusion in Tom Wolfe’s 1973 anthology, The New Journalism. She didn’t know why she’d appeared in such company—“Certainly I have nothing in common with Hunter [Thompson],” she had said—but her name in the table of contents, as only one of two women (Barbara Goldsmith was the other), among such notables as Truman Capote, Norman Mailer, Michael Herr, Gay Talese, Terry Southern, and George Plimpton, began a process of canonization, planting Didion as a geodetic mark in the American literary landscape. In his introductory manifesto, Wolfe made his now-familiar argument that the New Journalism was an exciting new prose form, more with-it than the novel. But what really made the anthology a benchmark, and its writers a posse to be reckoned with, was the growing recognition that this exciting new form championed more or less traditional American values.

* These criticisms stirred the debate, once more, between mainstream journalism and the New Journalism. In a useful overview, Sandra Braman, a teacher of mass communications at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee, compared Raymond Bonner’s reporting for The New York Times from June 1982 to Didion’s coverage of the events in El Salvador during the same narrow period. Bonner filed thirteen stories, on deadline, in June. “According to the text,” Braman writes, “Bonner collected facts by attending public ceremonies and press conferences, reading newspapers and magazines, listening to the radio (or reading CIA-supplied transcripts of broadcasts, per a description of the process provided by Didion), and then making phone calls or seeking personal interviews with officials to get their responses to statements made by other officials.” By contrast, Didion kept a running list of random notes and personal observations throughout the month. “She attended to information from her own senses of sight, smell, hearing, and touch,” Braman says. “Her written and aural sources were extremely diverse.”
The “geographic source of news” for most of Bonner’s dispatches was San Salvador and Washington, D.C., political capitals in the business of dispensing official information. By contrast, Didion “participated in informal and formal social gatherings, and absorbed facts during daily transactions such as at the drugstore or in a restaurant … quasi-official sites such as the morgue, and unofficial sites like a number of neighborhoods.”
Braman concludes, “Bonner and The New York Times rely almost exclusively upon facts that list numbers—of dead, of disappeared, of land titles, of votes—and names—the Land for the Tillers program, the election, the president. Didion, on the other hand, specifically notes the uselessness of this kind of fact in El Salvador: ‘All numbers in El Salvador tended to materialize and vanish and rematerialize in a different form, as if numbers denoted only the “use” of numbers, an intention, a wish, a recognition that someone, somewhere, for whatever reason, needed to hear the ineffable expressed as a number.’” Bonner’s accounts were “disjointed.” “Two kinds of stories appeared: Ray Bonner reported on the violence, and the next day there was an anonymous story repeating a State Department statement that the killing had declined.” For Didion, “[c]ollecting facts was a 24-hour job and occurred whether a situation was explicitly reportorial or not.”
As Braman says, whatever one thinks of the virtues of traditional reporting versus the techniques of the New Journalism—or even if one acknowledges the benefits of both—it’s impossible to ignore the fact that corporate news outlets exist primarily to disseminate “the passage of bureaucratically recognized events through administrative procedures.” For better or worse, subjective accounts remind us that human life is a “perpetual frontier.”

* [James] Atlas said, “I came away from [it] with the distinct suspicion that [John] Kennedy’s assassination was set in motion by members of the Cuban community operating out of Miami.”
“I think there was a conspiracy,” she admitted. As she spoke, she leafed through The Report of the Select Committee on Assassinations on her coffee table. “I don’t have any idea who instigated it, but the way people were thinking encouraged whatever did happen. There’s a kind of collective amnesia about the whole thing. The Warren Commission constructed its mission to be restoring equilibrium. No one really wanted to know.”

* The problem with conspiracy theories is threefold: They are impossible to prove; they attract extremists stoked by paranoia; and they have become so popularized in movies, TV dramas, and on the Internet, their claims are easily dismissed as entertainment. “The truth is out there” was just another advertising slogan.
What distinguishes Joan Didion from an exploitative figure like, say, Oliver Stone, and the rabble of Web voices, is her disciplined thinking, her organization in the midst of fragmentation…

In the final analysis, Didion’s attraction to conspiracy tales, particularly in the 1980s, has less to do with the intrigues themselves than with her persistent longing for a narrative, any narrative, to alleviate the pain of confusion.
“We tell ourselves stories in order to live”—and if the story is not readily apparent, we will weave one out of whatever scraps are at hand; we will use our puzzlement as a motivating factor; we will tell our way out of any trap, or goddamn seedy motel.

* In New York, narratives were damage control. In Los Angeles, they were opportunistic slogans, the war cries of unchecked capital formation.

* At LAX, she got on a bus for a Jackson rally in South Central. The afternoon sunlight was gorgeous. The freeway looked stunning. “I was just in tears the whole way,” Didion said. “I couldn’t even deal with the rally because it was so beautiful. Los Angeles was so beautiful, and I had given it up. It took me a while to get sorted out.”

* Listening, observing, she came to think of her fellow reporters as part of a “small but highly visible group of people who, day by day and through administration after administration, relay Washington to the world, tell its story, agree among themselves upon and then disseminate its narrative.”
She wrote, “They report the stories. They write the op-ed pieces. They appear on the talk shows. They consult, they advise, they swap jobs, they travel with unmarked passports between the public and the private, the West Wing and the green room. They make up the nation’s permanent professional political class.” They also moved through restricted landscapes, speaking obscure languages the rest of the country couldn’t even begin to access.

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Trickle-Round Signals: When Low Status Is Mixed with High

From The Journal of Consumer Research:

* While high-status individuals can afford to depart from the norms without penalties because of their blanket social acceptance, middle-status individuals are more concerned because their position is less certain (Feshbach 1967; Hollander 1958; Rao, Monin, and Durand 2005). As such, middles tend to refrain from choosing any items that might compromise their already-tenuous standing and opt for clear status symbols (e.g., loudly branded products) to compensate for their insecurity (Rucker and Galinsky 2008).

Middles may also avoid items associated with lows because the likelihood of misidentification is higher. Indeed, more similar out-groups pose a greater threat to distinctiveness because they are more likely to be confused or associated with the in-group
(White and Langer 1999). This, combined with the anxiety to demonstrate their social standing, leads middles to strongly avoid items associated with lower strata…

In summary, avoidance by middles should make some low-status items particularly appealing for high-status individuals. Because emulating lows is costly and risky for middles, doing so provides an alternative way for highs to distinguish themselves. Rather than a linear percolation upward, we argue that tastes and styles may move directly from the bottom of society to the upper class, only then diffusing to the middle—that is, trickling round rather than trickling up. We do not suggest that selecting low-status items is the only way highs can differentiate themselves. Instead, we simply argue that this signaling strategy, which is gaining momentum in the marketplace, provides a valuable alternative that is not captured by prior theories on fashion and diffusion of status symbols.

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Haredim Ask For Adult Supervision

From the Times of Israel:

After Meron calamity, Haredim question the price of their own autonomy

Ultra-Orthodox media figures are calling for a commission of inquiry, and lashing the state for letting their community endanger itself.

A few overpowering facts, not least that nearly all the victims were Haredi, are driving an unusual new introspection, and leading the major media outlets of the community to turn against one of its characteristic traits: its longstanding and much-criticized “autonomy” from the Israeli state.

Haredi Israelis are simultaneously part of and apart from broader Israeli society. Making up as much as 12 percent of the Israeli population, the community is not uniform; different sects and subcultures interact in very different ways with the state and with other subgroups. While the “autonomy,” as Israelis often refer to the phenomenon, does not encompass all Haredim, it encompasses enough of the community to be — so growing numbers of Haredim now believe — a serious problem.

One sees the autonomy in studies of Israel’s cash economy that point to mass tax evasion in the Haredi community; in routine clashes with police in parts of Mea Shearim, Beit Shemesh, and other places; in the refusal to take part in national service; in school networks that refuse to teach the basic curriculum taught in non-Haredi schools; and, most recently, in the refusal of many Hasidic sects over the past year to obey pandemic lockdowns.

It is a community that talks about itself in the language of weakness, always a street scuffle or political squabble away from talk of “decrees,” “persecution,” and “antisemitism.” Proposals for welfare cuts or calls to introduce more math education in their schools are described in Haredi media in terms borrowed from czarist oppression in Eastern Europe.

That rhetoric of weakness and victimhood has a purpose: to cloak or perhaps to justify the opposite reality. As a group, Haredim are not weak. They are powerful enough to constantly expand and defend their separate school systems, to found towns and neighborhoods for their communities, to maintain a kind of self-rule that forces Israeli politicians to literally beg Haredi rabbinic leaders — usually unsuccessfully — to adhere to coronavirus restrictions.

The story of the Meron disaster cannot be divorced from this larger story of Haredi autonomy, from the Haredi habit of establishing facts on the ground that demonstrate their strength and independence, and then crying “persecution” when those steps are challenged.

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Margarita Interview (Posture, God, Morality, Neuroscience, Redpills) 4-30-21

Excerpt taken from full show 4-30-21:

Margarita, essayist: https://twitter.com/margaritaevna95
00:00 Margarita’s Substack, https://margaritasmanuscript.substack.com/
01:20 Sincerity and loneliness
05:20 Margarita’s worldview
11:20 Margarita was raised Hindu
23:00 Feminism
27:30 Getting redpilled
35:00 Jordan Peterson
1:24:30 Philosophy of health
1:28:00 Prozac and anti-depressants, https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2011/06/23/epidemic-mental-illness-why/
1:45:00 Favorite books
1:50:45 Internet and attention span
1:55:00 Painting

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