Mencius Moldbug presents a bold and unconventional approach to the creation of ideologies in his thought-provoking essay. In "A Formalist Manifesto," Moldbug challenges the notion that ideologies must be inherited, offering a critique of progressivism, conservatism, and moderation along the way. He argues for the importance of formalism and its potential to shift the paradigm of political discourse. Moldbug's witty and engaging style of writing promises to captivate readers as he dives into his unique perspective on ideology-building. Prepare to have your assumptions challenged and your views reshaped in this compelling exploration of political thought.

A formalist manifesto

In this thought-provoking essay, Mencius Moldbug challenges the prevailing belief in democracy. Drawing parallels to religious indoctrination, Moldbug questions our blind adherence to the democratic system and presents ten "red pills" for readers to consider. From examining the relationship between democracy and freedom to scrutinizing the power structure of the West, Moldbug challenges the conventional wisdom and offers an alternative perspective that may challenge your preconceptions. Dive into this article and explore the provocative arguments that challenge the foundations of democracy.

The case against democracy: ten red pills
Have you ever considered the possibility that democracy is bunk?
I grew up believing in democracy. I’ll bet you did too. I spent 20 years
of my life in democratic schools. I’ll bet you did too.
Suppose you were a Catholic in 16th-century Spain. Imagine how hard it
would be for you to stop believing in Catholicism.
You are a Catholic. Your parents were Catholics. You were educated by
Catholics. You are governed by Catholics. All your friends are
Catholics. All the books you’ve ever read were written by Catholics.
Sure, you’re aware that not everyone in the world is a Catholic. You’re
also aware that this is the cause of all the violence, death and
destruction in the world.
Look at what
Protestants do when they get into power. They nail genitals to the city
gates. They behead their own wives. Crazy stuff! And let’s not even
start on the Turks…
Now suppose you’re you. But you have a time machine that lets you talk
to this 16th-century Spanish Catholic version of you.
How do you convince this guy or gal that the answer to all the world’s
problems is not “more Catholicism”? How do you say, um, dude, this
Trinity thing—the virgin birth—transubstantiation… ya
know…
So you see how hard it is to explain that democracy is bunk.
Of course, I could be wrong. Who the heck am I? No one. And everyone who
is someone agrees: democracy is wonderful.
So I’m not telling you that democracy is bunk. I’m just suggesting you
might want to consider the possibility.
Or even just consider considering the possibility. The way you consider,
like, UFOs, or something. Put it down in the “extremely improbable, but
not inherently impossible” category.
One way to consider this question is to look at an alternative. You
can’t beat nothing with something. If you didn’t believe in democracy,
what would you believe in? Here’s
my
answer. (Warning: it’s long.)
Another classic approach, though, is just to write up a list of
heretical theses. Red
pills, you might say. It worked for Luther—why shouldn’t it work for
me?
I won’t (in this post) attempt to explain or justify these theses. They
are for you, the reader, to analyze, to justify or refute.
For convenience, I’ve matched each red pill with a blue pill. The blue
pill represents the orthodox democratic perspective. If I’m wrong and
democracy is not bunk, the blue pills are reality and the red pills are
poisonous lies. Swallow at your own risk.
Ten pills: 

Peace, prosperity, and freedom

blue pill:
Democracy is responsible for the present state of peace, prosperity,
and freedom in the US, Europe and Japan.

red pill:
The rule of law is responsible for the present state of peace,
prosperity and freedom in the US, Europe and Japan.


Democracy, freedom, and law

blue pill:
Democracy is inseparable from freedom and law.

red pill:
At best, democracy is sand in the gears of freedom and law. At worst
it excludes them entirely, as in Iraq.


Fascism and communism

blue pill:
The disasters of fascism and communism demonstrate the importance of
representative democracy.

red pill:
Fascism and communism are best understood as forms of democracy. The
difference between single-party and multiparty democracy is like the
difference between a malignant tumor and a benign one.


The nature of the state

blue pill:
The state is established by citizens to serve their needs. Its
actions are generally righteous.

red pill:
The state is just another giant corporation. Its actions generally
advance its own interests. Sometimes these interests coincide with
ours, sometimes they don’t.


The power structure of the West

blue pill:
Power in the West is held by the people, who have to guard it
closely against corrupt politicians and corporations.

red pill:
Power in the West is held by the civil service, that is, the
permanent employees of the state. In any struggle between the civil
service and politicians or corporations, the civil service wins.


The extent of the state

blue pill:
The state consists of elected officials and their appointees.

red pill:
The state consists of all those whose interests are aligned with the
state. This includes NGOs, universities, and the press, all of whose
employees are effectively civil servants, and side with the civil
service in almost all conflicts.


The danger of right-wing politics

blue pill:
Right-wing politicians, and the ignorant masses who support them,
are a danger to democracy. They must be stopped.

red pill:
Right-wing politicians are a classic democratic phenomenon. Domestically, they have little power and are mostly harmless. Their
international adventures are destructive, but they are inescapable
consequences of democracy itself.


Democracy and nonpartisan government

blue pill:
True democracy is not merely the rule of politicians. For a
democracy to succeed, a nonpartisan decisionmaking process is
essential. Civil servants, especially judges, must be isolated from
politics, or they will become corrupt.

red pill:
Democracy is politics. Any other definition is Orwellian. The
absence of politics is the absence of democracy, and apolitical
civil-service government is indeed better than democracy. But this
is a low standard to surpass.


The history of Western government

blue pill:
The present system of Western government is the result of adapting
19th-century classical liberalism to the complex modern world.

red pill:
Western governments today are clones of the quasi-democratic FDR
regime, whose best modern comparisons are leaders like Mubarak,
Putin or Suharto. Its origin was the Progressive movement, which
broke classical liberalism, then complained that it didn’t work.


The future of Western government

blue pill:
The Western world is moving toward a globalized, transnational free
market in which politics is increasingly irrelevant, and
technocratic experts and NGOs play larger roles in fighting
corruption, protecting the environment, and delivering essential
public services.

red pill:
Civil-service government works well at first, but it degrades. Its
limit as time approaches infinity is sclerotic Brezhnevism. Its
justification for ruling is inseparable from democracy, which is
mystical nonsense and is rapidly disappearing. It cannot survive
without a captive media and educational system, which the Internet
will route around. Also, its financial system is a mess and could
collapse at any minute. The whole thing will be lucky if it lasts
another ten years.




« previous
next »

The case against democracy: ten red pills

Mencius Moldbug delves into the fascinating question of why atheists believe in religion. Exploring the significance of recognizing the distinction between "religious" and "nonreligious" phenomena, Moldbug questions whether this belief is helpful or confusing. He examines the argument that religion is an important category due to the prevalence of religious people in society, but he highlights the fallacy in assuming that this distinction is clarifying or essential. Moldbug challenges atheists to focus on beliefs about reality rather than getting caught up in metaphysical doctrine. Discover the thought-provoking insights in this intriguing essay.

Why do atheists believe in religion?
Not everyone these days believes in God. But pretty much everyone
believes in religion.
By “believing in religion,” I mean recognizing a significant
categorical distinction between “religious” phenomena, and those that
are “nonreligious” or “secular.”
For example, the concepts of “freedom of religion” and “separation of
church and state” are dependent on the concept of “religion.” If
“religion” is a noninformative, unimportant, or confusing category,
these concepts must also be noninformative, unimportant, or confusing.
Since most atheists, agnostics, etc., consider the First Amendment
pretty important, we can assume they “believe in religion.”
My question is: why? Is this a useful belief? Does it help us understand
the world? Or does it confuse or misinform us? Once again, our team of
crack philosophers is on the case.
Let’s rule out the possibility that “religion” is noninformative. We
can define “religion” as the attribution of existence to
anthropomorphic paranormal entities. This definition has its fuzzy
corner cases, notably some kinds of Buddhism, but it’s short and it’ll
do for the moment.
We are left with the question: is “religion” an important or
clarifying category? Or is it unimportant and confusing?
If you believe in God, obviously you have to believe in religion. Religion is an important category because your religion is true, and all
other religions are false. (As Sam Harris puts it, “everyone’s an
atheist with respect to Zeus.”)
For atheists of the all-around variety—including me—the question
remains. Why do we believe in “religion?”
One obvious answer is that we have to share the planet with a lot of
religious people. If you are an atheist, there is no getting around it:
religion, as per Dawkins, is a delusion. Deluded people do crazy things
and are often dangerous. We need to have a category for these people,
just as we have a category for “large, man-eating carnivores.” Certainly, religious violence has killed a lot more people lately than
lions, tigers, or bears.
This argument sounds convincing, but it hides a fallacy.
The fallacy is that the distinction between “religion” and
other classes of delusion must be clarifying or important. If
there is a case for this proposition, we haven’t met it yet.
Peoples’ actions matter. And peoples’ beliefs matter, because they
motivate actions.
But actions in the real world must be motivated by beliefs
about the real world. Delusions about the paranormal world are
only relevant—at least to us atheists—in the special case that they
motivate delusions about the real world.
So, as atheists, why should we care about the former? Why not forget
about the details of metaphysical doctrine, which pertain to an ethereal
plane that doesn’t even exist, and concentrate our attention on beliefs
about reality?
If you believe that nine Jewish virgins need to be thrown into Mt. Fuji,
you are, in my opinion, deluded. Whether you believe this because you
are receiving secret messages from Amaterasu Omikami, or because it’s
just payback for the dirty deeds of the Elders of Zion, affects neither
me nor the virgins.
If you believe “partial-birth abortion” is wrong because it’s
“against God’s law,” or if you think it’s just “unethical,” your
vote will be the same.
If you are tolerant and respectful of others because you think Allah
wants you to be tolerant and respectful of others, how can I possibly
have a problem with this? If you stab people in the street because
you’ve misinterpreted Nietzsche and decided that morality is not for
you, is that less of a problem?
Lots of people have delusions about the real world. People believe all
kinds of crazy things for all kinds of crazy reasons. Some even believe
sensible things for crazy reasons. Why should we establish a special
category for delusions that are motivated by anthropomorphic paranormal
forces?
A reasonable answer is: why not?
Certainly, religion is an important force in the world today. Certainly
at least some forms of religion—“fundamentalist,” one might
say—are actively dangerous. No one is actually stabbing people in the
street because of Nietzsche. The same cannot be said for Allah.
How can it possibly confuse or distract us to recognize and protect
ourselves against this important class of delusion?
To see the answer, we need to break Godwin’s Law.
Suppose Hitler had declared that, rather than being just some guy from
Linz, he was Thor’s prophet on earth. (Some people would have
been positively delighted by this.) Suppose that everything the Nazis
did was done in the name of Thor. Suppose, in other words, that Nazism
was in the category “religion.”
This is by no means a new idea. Many writers, including
Eric Voegelin,
Eric Hoffer,
Victor Klemperer,
Michael Burleigh,
etc., etc., have described the similarities between Nazism and
religions. But Nazism does not fit our definition of religion above—no
paranormal entities. This is the definition most people use, so most
people don’t think of Nazism as a religion.
The Allies invaded Nazi Germany and completely suppressed Nazism. To
this day in Germany it is illegal to teach National Socialism. I think
most Americans, and most Germans, would agree that this is a good thing.
But if we make this one trivial change, turning Nazism into Thorism and
making it a “religion,” which as we’ve seen need not change the
magnitude or details of Nazi crimes at all, the acts of the Allies are a
blatant act of religious intolerance.
Aren’t we supposed to respect other faiths? Shouldn’t we at least have
restricted our unfriendly attentions to “fundamentalist Nazism,” and
promoted a more “moderate” version of the creed? Suppose we gave the
Taliban the same treatment? What, exactly, is the difference between
Eisenhower’s policy and
Ann
Coulter’s?
It gets worse. Another one of Voegelin’s “political religions,” which
by our definition are not religions at all (no anthropomorphic
paranormal entities) is Marxism. Let’s tweak Marxism slightly and assert
that the writings of Marx were divinely inspired, leaving everything
else in the history of Communism unchanged.
Marxism, unlike Nazism, is still very popular in the world today. A
substantial fraction of the professors in Western universities are
either Marxists, or strongly influenced by Marxist thought. Nor are
these beliefs passive—many fields that are actively taught and quite
popular, such as
postcolonial
studies, seem largely or entirely Marxist in content.
This is certainly not true of Nazism. It is also not true of
Christianity or any other “religion” proper. Many professors are
Christians, true, and some are even fundamentalists. But the US
educational system is quite sensitive to the possibility that it might
be indoctrinating youth with Christian fundamentalism. “Creation
science,” for example, is not taught in any mainstream university and
seems unlikely to achieve that status.
If Marxism was a religion, Marxist economics would come pretty close to
being the exact equivalent of “intelligent design.” But, again,
Marxism as religion and Marxism as non-religion involve exactly the same
set of delusions about the real world. (Of course, to a Marxist, they
are not delusions.)
Should non-Marxist atheists, such as myself, be as concerned about
separating Marxism from state-supported education as we are with
Christianity? If Marxism is a religion, or if the difference between
Marxism as it is in the real world and the version in which Marx was a
prophet is insignificant, our “wall of separation” is a torn-up
chainlink fence.
But there was a period in which Americans tried to eradicate Marxism the
way they fight against “intelligent design” today. It was called
McCarthyism. And
believers in civil liberties were on exactly the opposite side of the
barricades.
As non-Marxist atheists, do we want McCarthy 2.0? Should loyalty oaths
be hip this year? Should we schedule new hearings?
This is why the concept of “religion” is harmful. If trivial changes
to hypothetical history convert reasonable policies into monstrous
injustices, or vice versa, your perception of reality cannot be correct. You have been infected by a toxic
meme.
If memes are analogous to parasitic organisms, believing in “religion”
is like taking a narrow-spectrum antibiotic on an irregular schedule. The Dawkins
treatment—our latest version of what used to be called
anticlericalism—wipes
out a colony of susceptible bacteria which have spent a long time
learning to coexist reasonably, if imperfectly, with the host. And
clears the field for an entirely different phylum of bugs which are
unaffected by antireligious therapy. Whose growth, in fact, it may even
stimulate.
In the last two centuries, “political religions” have caused far, far
more morbidity than “religious religions.” But here we are with
Dawkins, Harris, and Dennett—still popping the penicillin. Hm. Kind of
makes you think, doesn’t it?
(Update: before commenting on this post, please see my
new
comments policy.)


« previous
next »

Why do atheists believe in religion?

In his signature style, Mencius Moldbug dives into the issue of improper political influence over government decision-making. At a time of heightened awareness of this problem, Moldbug's thought-provoking essay challenges conventional thinking and offers a fresh perspective. Get ready to question the status quo as Moldbug fearlessly examines the implications of political influence and its impact on our governance. Brace yourself for a unique and unapologetic take on a pressing issue that has far-reaching implications for society.

Improper political influence over government decision-making
In lieu of the usual prolix prose, I’d like to offer any readers as yet
unoffended by my irascible disposition and extremist politics the
opportunity to meditate briefly on this remarkable phrase, which
appeared yesterday in the
LA
Times.
“Improper political influence over government decision-making.”
Sometimes I worry that everyone else is perfectly normal, and it’s
actually me who’s insane. But then I read the paper and I can relax
again.


« previous
next »

Improper political influence over government decision-making

Mencius Moldbug dives into the realm of poetry, challenging the notion that it has lost its brilliance in the modern age. In this thought-provoking essay, Moldbug introduces the poetry of Alan Dugan and praises his ability to transcend the sentimentality and mediocrity often found in contemporary works. Dugan's poem, "Plague of Dead Sharks," uses vivid imagery and powerful metaphors to explore the enigmatic nature of the sea. Moldbug invites readers to rediscover the gems of late 20th-century poetry, urging them to seek out and appreciate the hidden brilliance that still exists within the art form.

Plague of Dead Sharks, by Alan Dugan
Most people these days think poetry is shite.
Certainly our glorious educational system generates a vast supply of
Soviet toilet paper, coarse on the tenders and stamped with pure
nothing. Certainly our glorious publishing industry seems to
delight—I’m thinking primarily of The New Yorker—in selecting
the blandest and most vapid plums from this great brown smorgasbord, and
presenting them to the educated elite as though they were offering a
silver bowl of egg-sized pearls to the Shah of Iran.
In fact there is just as much good poetry from the late 20th century as
from any other period. Possibly even more. It’s just extremely difficult
to find. If anyone has any pointers, please don’t hesitate to leave them
in the comments section!
Here’s a nice bit from a poem by
Alan
Dugan:
Plague of Dead Sharks
Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes?
The wading, wintered pack-beasts of the feet
slough off, in spring, the dead rind of the shoes’
leather detention, the big toe’s yellow horn
shines with a natural polish, and the whole
person seems to profit. The opposite happens
when dead sharks wash up along the beach
for no known reason. What is more built
for winning than the swept-back teeth,
water-finished fins, and pure bad eyes
these old, efficient forms of appetite
are dressed in? Yet it looks as if the sea
digested what it wished of them with viral ease
and threw up what was left to stink and dry.
Now that’s some damned prosody for you. And Dugan, though I get the
impression he was a bit of a Marxist (something no more objectionable in
a poet than Christianity), is utterly free from the noxious
Hallmark-hippie sentimentality, out of Whitman by M. Valdemar, dead for
at least fifty years and reeking of committee, that fills your little
magazines today. If you care at all for this sort of stuff he’s worth a
gander.


« previous
next »

Plague of Dead Sharks, by Alan Dugan

Mencius Moldbug dives into the essential idea of leftism and posits that at its core, leftism advocates for governance by scholars. In this thought-provoking essay, Moldbug challenges the reader to consider if there are any exceptions to this rule and explores the implications of this concept on mass movements. With his characteristic wit and intellectual rigor, Moldbug invites readers to engage in a lively discussion on the role of scholars and intellectuals in shaping our society. This thought-provoking piece is sure to captivate your mind and challenge your preconceived notions.

The essential idea of leftism
The people cry out for shorter, more controversial posts!
The essential idea of leftism is that the world should be governed by
scholars.
(By “scholar” what I mean is, of course, “intellectual.” But I don’t
like this word, for the same reason I don’t like the word “liberal”—it
makes me sound like Rush Limbaugh. Once any collective description
acquires negative connotations in anyone’s mind, it is no longer useful. Also, note that there is
no
meaningful distinction between a scholar and a priest.)
Can anyone find an exception to this rule—i.e., a mass movement that
is generally described as “leftist,” but which does not in practice
imply the rule of scholars, or at least people who think of themselves
as scholars? Your comments, as always, are welcomed with enthusiasm.


« previous
next »

The essential idea of leftism

Mencius Moldbug, known for his unconventional and independent views, announces his new comments policy in this intriguing article. Rather than restricting offensive language, Moldbug focuses on the importance of comments being informative or entertaining to readers. With a touch of humor, he emphasizes that the internet allows for freedom of expression, even if it means being offensive. Moldbug's unique approach to moderating comments will surely pique the curiosity of readers interested in exploring alternative perspectives.

My new comments policy
Thanks to
Andrew
Sullivan for the link. Andrew’s was one of the first blogs I read
regularly, although that was a few years ago. My politics have since
become less mainstream and his, I think, more. But for someone who (I
assume) spends most of his time in DC, he is still remarkably
independent-minded and often has interesting things to say.
I had assumed this URL was more or less restricted to a few marginal
eccentrics, but if A-listers are going to link to it (and why shouldn’t
they? Who am I, Jonathan Franzen?), I’m afraid it is going to need a
comments policy.
My policy is that all comments must be interesting—to people who are
neither me, nor the author of the comment. When you comment, please try
to keep in mind that your goal is to inform or entertain others who may
be reading the comments section. I will decide what is informative or
entertaining. The penalty is deletion and there is no appeal.
Please feel free to be as offensive as you want, though, whether to me
or to others. One of the great things about the Internet is that it
routes packets, not sticks or stones.
(Update: I’ve been blogging for four days and I already hate deleting
comments. It makes me feel like Hitler. I may have my
own
crazed ideology, but I am seriously not cut out for world domination. If it’s obvious to me that you believe your comment is informative or
entertaining, I am very unlikely to delete it. However, I’ll respond
only to comments that I myself find informative or entertaining. I also
discourage drive-by commenting—please comment only if you’re
interested in discussion.)


« previous
next »

My new comments policy

Mencius Moldbug delves into the complex concept of "religion" and its impact on our understanding of belief systems. He argues that our obsession with categorizing beliefs based on their position on the paranormal hinders our ability to recognize patterns and evaluate their potential dangers. Moldbug suggests a remedy: inventing new words to separate beliefs about the real world from the realm of the paranormal. Drawing inspiration from computer programming, he relates "kernel" to our set of received beliefs about the real world and "monitor" to the trusted institutions that distribute these beliefs. The article offers a fresh perspective on the nature of belief systems.

Jaroslav Hašek and the kernel-monitor meme
The
other day I suggested that “religion” is a useful concept only if
you’re interested in theology, which I’m not.
The post was probably too long, and it certainly confused some. So let
me try and summarize.
First, I argued, “religion” is the study of the thoughts or actions of
paranormal entities. If paranormal entities were observable, they
wouldn’t be paranormal. Beliefs about paranormal entities (“Baal hates
Jews”) are only relevant to the observable world inasmuch as they imply
beliefs about the observable world (“To please Baal, we must burn the
Jews”), and thus motivate actions in the observable world (burning the
Jews).
So why do we categorize other’s beliefs first and foremost by their
positions on the paranormal? Why not focus on beliefs about the real
world, which are what actually affect us?
Second, I argued, this irrelevant categorization is dangerous, because
it impairs our ability to recognize patterns across the categorical
boundary. When comparing two delusions, when one is “religious” and
the other is merely “fallacious” (i.e., it purports to be derived from
pure reason but in fact is not), we have a hard time deciding which of
the two is more dangerous.
“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil,” said Burke, “is for
good men to do nothing.” Well, technically, he was right. But in
practice evil will do a lot better if it can get the good men to side
with the greater evil, and fight against the lesser. Being, of course,
evil, it seldom overlooks this device.
This is a nasty situation. And I think it calls for a remedy which is
too drastic for most household uses, but which has to be retained as the
philosopher’s last resort: inventing new words.
I actually prefer to borrow words from other fields. As a computer
programmer, I have an enormous stock of gobbledegook to choose from,
from which I choose “kernel” and “monitor.”
(It’s a waste of time to go into the technical meaning of these words. There is an analogy, but it’s very loose.)
Let’s say that a religion is a “kernel” and a church (the institution,
not the building) is a “monitor.” But let’s try and define these words
without reference to the paranormal world.
Your kernel is your set of received beliefs about the real world. A
belief is “received” if you got it from someone else, if it is not
something you observed or decided yourself. I always hate using the word
meme, because it makes me
sound like an asshole, but there’s no denying that it says “received
belief” with a lot fewer wiggles of the tongue.
A kernel has two parts: the set of statements (about the real world)
that you consider true or false, and the set of actions (in the real
world) that you consider righteous or wrongteous. The Greek words
logos and ethos are handy here. We can speak of a
“logical kernel” and an “ethical kernel.”
(I believe these concepts are human universals—that is, the words
“true” and “false”, “right” and “wrong” translate into all
languages. If you disagree, you’re welcome to, but I wonder how you can
function at such a refined philosophical level.)
The interesting question is: where do you get your kernel? How is it, as
it were, installed?
Installing memes is a privileged operation. It requires trust. Some
people believe everything they hear—or, worse, read on the Internet. But most of us are a little sharper than that.
You have three basic classes of trusted party: your parents, your
friends, and the monitor or monitors which you credit.
A monitor is a trusted institution. You apply some intrinsic
credibility to the memes this institution distributes. Trust may not be
boolean. It just means that you are more likely to install a meme into
your kernel if you get it from a monitor to which you ascribe some trust
level, than if you, say, read it on some anonymous blog. If you ascribe
any trust at all to any monitor, we’ll say you credit it.
For example, I am not a physicist. So if I have to believe something
about physics, I may turn to Luboš
Motl or Peter
Woit. I trust these people—on the subject of physics—not because I
know them personally, but because Harvard was willing to hire the one
and Columbia the other. This is pretty strong evidence that Harvard and
Columbia are in the monitor business, and that I credit them—at least
on the subject of physics.
You may find it interesting to try to describe the kernels and monitors
you see in the world around you. Discuss. (I always wanted to say,
“discuss.” And now, thanks to Blogger, I can.)
But all this philosophy is thirsty work. I could certainly use some
Laphroaig, and as a matter of fact I think I’ll have some. Who says it’s
too early in the morning? I’d share, but unfortunately the Internet,
“series of tubes” though it may be, isn’t very good at routing Scotch.
So instead I thought I’d appropriate a bit from the Great Czech Novel:
Jaroslav Hašek’s
The
Good Soldier Švejk (1923). As you’ll see, it’s highly pertinent. However, it can’t really be described as philosophy, so if your only
interest in Unqualified Reservations is in the deep-thought department,
class is definitely over.
From page 136:
In the evening they received a visit from the pious chaplain who had
wanted to serve the drumhead mass for the sappers that morning. He was a
fanatic who wanted to bring everyone close to God. When he had been a
catechist he had developed religious feelings in children by slapping
their faces and there had appeared from time to time in various journals
articles about ‘the sadistic catechist’, ‘the slapping catechist’. He
was convinced that a child learns the catechism best with the help of
the birch.
He limped a little on one foot, which had been caused by a visit made to
him by the father of one of his pupils, whose face he had slapped for
having expressed certain doubts about the Holy Trinity. He got three
slaps on the face himself. One for God the Father, a second one for God
the Son and a third for the Holy Ghost.
Today he had come to lead his colleague Katz on to the right path and to
have a heart-to-hard talk with him. He began it with the remark: ‘I’m
surprised that you’ve got no crucifix hanging there. Where do you say
your breviary prayers? And there’s not a single portrait of the saints
on the walls of your room. What’s that hanging over your bed?’
Katz smiled: ‘That’s Susanna and the Elders, and that naked woman
underneath is an old friend of mine. On the right there’s something
Japanese, depicting the sexual act between a geisha and an old Japanese
Samurai. Very original, isn’t it? The breviary’s in the kitchen. Švejk,
bring it here and open it on the third page.’
Švejk went away, and from the kitchen could be heard the sound of corks
being drawn from three bottles of wine.
The pious chaplain was aghast when the three bottles made their
appearance on the table.
‘It’s a light sacramental wine, brother,’ said Katz, ‘of very good
quality, a Riesling. It tastes like Moselle.’
‘I’m not going to drink,’ said the pious chaplain stubbornly. ‘I’ve come
to have a heart-to-heart talk with you.’
‘That’ll dry up your throat, my dear colleague,’ said Katz. ‘Have a
drink and I’ll listen. I’m a very tolerant fellow and can listen to
other views.’
The pious chaplain drank a little and rolled his eyes.
‘It’s a devilish good wine, my dear colleague, isn’t it?’
The fanatic said sternly: ‘It has not escaped me that you are swearing.’
‘That’s habit,’ answered Katz. ‘Sometimes I even catch myself
blaspheming. Pour the chaplain out some more, Švejk. I can assure you
that I also say: “Himmelherrgott, krucifix and sakra.” I think that
when you’ve served in the army as long as I have you’ll find yourself
doing it too. It isn’t at all difficult or complicated and it’s very
familiar to us clergy—heaven, God, the cross and the holy sacrament. Doesn’t that sound marvellously professional? Drink a bit more, my dear
colleague.’
The former catechist sipped mechanically. It was obvious that he wanted
to say something, but could not. He was collecting his thoughts.
‘My dear colleague,’ continued Katz, ‘cheer up! Don’t sit there so
miserably, as though they were going to hang you in five minutes’ time. I’ve heard about you, how once on a Friday by mistake you ate a pork
cutlet in a restaurant, because you thought that it was Thursday, and
how you stuck your finger down your throat in the W.C. to get rid of it,
because you thought God would obliterate you. I’m not afraid of eating
meat in Lent and I’m not afraid of hell-fire either. Excuse me, please
go on drinking. Are you better now? Or do you have progressive views
about hell and keep up with the spirit of the times and the reformists? I mean, instead of ordinary cauldrons with sulphur for poor sinners,
there are Papin’s pots and high-pressure boilers. The sinners are fried
in margarine, there are grills driven by electricity, steam rollers roll
over the sinners for millions of years, the gnashing of the teeth is
produced with the help of dentists with special equipment, the howling
is recorded on gramophones, and the records are sent upstairs to
Paradise for the enjoyment of the just. In paradise sprays with eau de
cologne operate and the Philharmonic Orchestra plays Brahms so long that
you prefer hell and purgatory. The cherubs have aeroplane propellers in
their behinds so as not to have to work so hard with their wings. Drink,
my dear colleague! Švejk, pour him out some cognac. I don’t think he’s
feeling well.’
When the pious chaplain came round he started to whisper: ‘Religion is a
matter of rational reasoning. Whoever does not believe in the existence
of the Holy Trinity…’
‘Švejk,’ Katz interrupted him, ‘pour out one more cognac for the
chaplain, so as to bring him round! Tell him something, Švejk!’ ‘Humbly
report, sir,’ said Švejk, ‘near Vlašim there was a dean who had a
charwoman, when his old housekeeper ran away from him with the boy and
the money. And this dean in his declining years started studying St
Augustine, who is said to be one of the Holy Fathers, and he read there
that whoever believes in the Antipodes will be damned. And so he called
his charwoman and said to her: “Listen, you once told me that your son
was a fitter and that he went to Australia. That would be in the
Antipodes and according to St Augustine’s instructions everyone who
believes in the Antipodes is damned.” “Reverend sir,” the woman
answered, “after all my son sends me letters and money from
Australia.” “That’s a snare of the devil,” replied the dean. “According to St Augustine the devil doesn’t exist and you are just
being seduced by the Anti-Christ.” On Sunday he anathematized her
publicly and shouted out that Australia didn’t exist. So they took him
out of straight out of the church into the lunatic asylum. More people
like him ought to be put there. In the Convent of the Sisters of St
Ursula they have a bottle of the Holy Virgin’s milk with which she
suckled the baby Jesus, and in the orphanage at Benešov, after they’d
brought them water from Lourdes, the orphans got diarrhea the like of
which the world has never seen.’
Black spots were dancing in front of the pious chaplain’s eyes and he
only came to himself after another cognac, which went to his head.
Blinking his eyes he asked Katz: ‘Don’t you believe in the Immaculate
Conception of the Virgin Mary? Don’t you believe that the thumb of St
John the Baptist, which is preserved in the Piarists’ monastery, is
genuine? Do you believe in the Lord at all? And if you don’t, why are
you a chaplain?’
‘My dear colleague,’ answered Katz, patting him familiarly on the back,
‘until the state recognizes that soldiers who are going to their death
at the front don’t need the blessing of God for it, the chaplaincy
remains a decently paid profession, where a chap isn’t overworked. It
was better for me that running around on the drill-ground and going on
manoeuvres. Then I used to get orders from my superiors but now I do
what I like. I represent someone who doesn’t exist and myself play the
part of God. If I don’t want to absolve anyone’s sins then I don’t, even
if they beg me on their bended knees. But you’d find bloody few people
nowadays who’d go that far.’
‘I love God,’ declared the pious chaplain, beginning to hiccough. ‘I
love him very much. Give me a little wine. I respect God,’ he continued. I respect and honour him very much. I respect no one as much as I
respect him.’
He struck the table with his fist until the bottles jumped. ‘God is an
exalted being, something unearthly. He’s honourable in his dealings. He’s a radiant revelation, and no one’s going to convince me of the
contrary. I respect St Joseph too, I respect all the saints, except St
Serapion. He’s got such an ugly name.’
‘He ought to apply to have it changed,’ observed Švejk.
‘I love St Ludmila and St Bernard,’ continued the former catechist. ‘He
saved many pilgrims in St Gothard. He carries a bottle of cognac around
his neck and looks for people caught in snow drifts.’
The conversation took a new turn. The pious chaplain started getting
completely muddled. ‘I honour the Innocents. They have their Saints’ day
on the twenty-eighth of December. I hate Herod. When the hens sleep, you
can’t get any new-laid eggs.’
He gave a guffaw and began to sing ‘Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of
Sabaoth.’
He broke off at once, and turning to Katz and getting up asked him
sharply: ‘You don’t believe that the fifteenth of August is the day of
the Assumption of the Virgin Mary?’
The fun was in full swing. More bottles appeared, and from time to time
Katz could be heard saying: ‘Say that you don’t believe in God,
otherwise I won’t let you have a drop!’ It was as though the times of
the persecution of the early Christians had returned. The former
catechist sang a song of the martyrs of the Roman arena and yelled out:
‘I believe in God. I won’t forswear him. You can keep your wine. I can
send for some myself.’
Finally they put him to bed. Before he fell asleep he proclaimed,
raising his right hand in a solemn oath: ‘I believe in God the Father,
Son and Holy Ghost. Bring me the breviary.’
Švejk put into his hand a book which was lying on the night table. The
pious chaplain then fell asleep with Boccaccio’s Decameron in his
hand.
(If anyone is having trouble with the Š’es, please pop by the comments
section and let me know what browser and OS you’re using…)


« previous
next »

Jaroslav Hašek and the kernel-monitor meme

In this compelling essay, Mencius Moldbug delves into the concept of journalistic independence and raises thought-provoking questions about its true nature. Drawing attention to the potential power wielded by the press, Moldbug challenges our assumptions and invites us to consider the implications of a media that influences and shapes the government. Prepare to have your beliefs challenged and your perspective on the relationship between journalism and politics expanded in this thought-provoking piece.

Journalistic independence
All decent, reasonable men are horrified by the idea that the government
might control the press.
None of them seem concerned at all that the press might control the
government.
(If aphorisms are your bag,
Deogolwulf is your man.)


« previous
next »

Journalistic independence

Mencius Moldbug delves into the intriguing topic of terminology and how it relates to our understanding of religion. With his characteristic wit and thoughtfulness, Moldbug presents his ideas for a new vocabulary, suggesting terms such as "kernel" and "repeater" to describe belief systems and institutions. He invites readers to join him in the discussion, welcoming better suggestions and fostering a community of learning and growth. Get ready for an intellectual journey filled with humor and an open floor for your comments. Don't miss it!

Terminology and an open floor
The
other day I tried to design a paranormal-independent terminology for
talking about the phenomenon we call “religion.” I suggested calling a
received belief system a “kernel” and an institution that transmits
received beliefs a “monitor.”
On further reflection I don’t like “monitor.” Too many things are
called monitors. (In case anyone cares, what I meant was not the square
thing that sits on your desk and shows you my blog, but a
virtual machine
monitor—an ancient, rather mainframey terminology.) But I’d rather go
with a hardware analogy—“repeater.” (See the
Wik.)
If any of my readers (perhaps two or three have stuck around after the
Andrewlanche) has any better suggestions, I am certainly open to them. (Unqualified Reservations is not a mere outlet for my deranged,
extremist rants. It is a community of individuals whose
goal is to learn, grow, and change together. Please let me
know if I’m layin’ it on too thick.)
So a religion is a kernel, and a church is a repeater. But not all
kernels are religions, and not all repeaters are churches.
The interesting question then becomes: how do we separate repeater and
state?
The floor is open for your comments. Also, in case you have any large
chunks of text from obscure Eastern European novels to paste into the
window, this is not only allowed, it is encouraged.


« previous
next »

Read Unqualified Reservations

Choose Your Reading Path

Full Backlog

Best Hits

You'll start with:

A formalist manifesto

The case against democracy: ten red pills

Why do atheists believe in religion?

About Unqualified Reservations