Recently, I read an extremely insightful book by Peter Turchin, named "War and Peace and War," which examines the cycles of imperial nations. This book seeks to examine what it is that makes empires rise (and fall), and does so in an exemplary fashion. In reading the book, I could not help but reflect upon my own dislikes of the center and my love of the periphery in the cultures I inhabit, and this book deals with those issues as well. The word asabiya itself comes from the pivotal work on Magreb (that would be North African) political cycles by the historian Ibn Kahldun. Asabiya, in English, roughly translates to "social capital," or the sum total of social forces holding a society and its institutions (political, social, familial) together.
Empires, apparently without exception, come from those frontier regions on the edge of what are termed "metaethnic fault lines." The situation of bordering entirely alien civilizations causes an extremely tight "us-against-them" mentality that leads to high levels of social cohesion, allowing large scale businesses and socieities to develop. The same may be true in religious groups as well, and is a subject worthy of further personal study in that regard (For example, can the Church of God and the wider Sabbatarian and Messianic movements be considered on the meta-religious fault line of Christianity, and if so, does that mean that right now we are on the downward slide of an asabiya cycle? More on that later.). Asabiya is apparently acquired through that survival instinct that forces social conflict to be submerged in the face of a grave and common threat where high levels of egalitarianism and high levels of sacrifice among leaders reduce the problems of rivalry and social division. In the absence of such external threats, the selfish acquisition of wealth and power (and the rising inequality between the elite and common population of a society) reduces asabiya and leads to periods of social disintigration (such as what is currently going on in the United States, and what has gone on in Southern Italy, to name one famous example, for the last 2000 or so years). Certain practices, like slavery, appear to lead to "asabiya black holes" in the words of Turchin, which explains why the southern part of the US, with its low asabiya, has such poor wages and such a dismal political record (See in particular the state of Louisiana, the last "core" of the southern slaveholding culture before the civil war, which still shows large amounts of corruption, a sign of low asabiya.).
Core regions of a given society develop because of high asabiya, but the increase of imperial territory inevitably brings the frontiers far beyond the core (for reasons of safety and security, empires do not like their capitals/cores to be in periphery regions). The movement of frontiers beyond the core region mean that the forces that once brought unity to a people leave elsewhere. Through cycles of rising and falling social cohesion, an empire gradually loses steam, and eventually crumbles in what is termed, appropriately enough, imperialpathosis. Once a critical amount of asabiya is lost, an empire is finished. It is only in the frontier regions on either side of the fault lines (which move based on the performance of societies along the fault lines) that new imperial peoples gradually develop. Metaethnic lines are not to be trifled with. Consider, for example, the difference between Israel and its neighbors. Israel is a democratic, secular, Western nation, and its neighbors are highly corrupt, often intensely fundamentalist, and not particularly enlightened in their social views or their terroristic behavior. The border between Israel and its neighbors is a metaethnic line similar to those between the Mediterranean society Israel springs from and the uncultured barbarians who viewed its wealth and power jealously but who did not wish to become civilized themselves. (Incidentally enough, the Arabs did become civilized during the time they were on the outside of the metaethnic fault line between Mediterranean and Persian civilizations and the outside barbarians, but their civilization fell apart before the Turkic and Mongol invasions, followed by European colonization, and it is only recently when their asabiya has risen again as a result of the new fault lines, though it appears not to have civilized them again, yet).
What I found most interesting about the book and its contrast between core regions and peripheries, is that the book managed to pull together two strands in my own thinking. One strand was my personal preference for being far away from core regions, to be a border dweller (something that, not surprisingly, is apparently a longstanding family trait among my ancestors, who long dwelt in frontier regions in Europe and the US), far away from the centers of power. For it is in frontiers, when one is faced with alien and hostile enemies, that one learns how to join together with others for survival and finds the greatest social cohesion. However, the link with the second strand, my firm and strident concern for egalitarianism as opposed to social stratification, gives the moral justification for this preference. In periphery regions, the fierce conflict between at the fault lines leaves a low population (i.e. not many people survive there) that is so engaged in fierce struggle that they do not have the time to engage in pettier differentiation or in the hoarding of goods that separate the haves and have-nots. Instead, everyone is in it together. In core regions, by contrast, elites show off their wealth and power and engage in all sorts of petty intra-elite competitions for power and its accutrements that serve to embitter the less privileged majority of groups and distract those elites from their task of holding together their society/civilization. In other words, they fiddle while Rome burns, and they live in luxury while the legions who dwell roughly and in poverty protect the empire from the barbarian hordes across the wall/river/desert. This breeds a lot of well-earned resentment.
The well-organized and presented thoughts from Mr. Turchin should give those dwellers of core regions a lot of pause. Too often, especially in periods of declining asabiya, power is seen not for how it can serve the people, but how it can serve the officeholder, and this leads to a lot of popular cynicism that leads people to focus energy on civic duties and more energy on getting ahead themselves, which, as the "knave mentality" furthers the decline in asabiya and destroys the society from within, leaving it vulnerable to any more cohesive rival on its borders. Others, the "saints," will serve even as everyone else takes advantage, getting taken advantage of without any gain to the society they thanklessly help. It is those in the middle, the "moralists," of which I am one, who seek to punish and condemn the knaves, and in so doing reduce the cynicism of others and allow for social cohesion to develop once again. The book gave an excellent framework for some very interesting ideas, and his analysis of the modern world empires (the USA, Europe, the Middle East, Russia, and China) is frightening and dead-on. In other words, this is an exceedingly good book, and one which relates to a great many subjects on my mind.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Dark Heroes For A Dark Time
Our heroes speak much about ourselves. Most of us are not the heroic sort of people, but inside of us we hold a certain admiration (and maybe a bit of fear) about the type of people we need to preserve the safety and security most of us hold dear. At times of great optimism, our heroes are idealistic servants of the public good, perhaps of a wealthy background, but at any rate serving within the system to fight against an external system of unspeakable evil (think, for example about the Nazis or the Commies in the writings of patriotic Americans of the '40's and '50's, as opposed to the more complicated writings of those who were themselves Communists and who resented the "simplistic" rubric of good and evil). In darker and more corrupt times, our heroes are themselves darker, torn between the duality of good and evil in their natures (a representative of the tension between dark and light in society and in the people themselves), fighting against corrupt authorities, dark and terroristic villains, and the powerful darkness in their own minds and spirits.
Our heroes reflect ourselves because of the (sometimes rather distressing) fact that we see things not as they are, but as we are. As heroes struggle against the great wrongs that people see in the world around them 9whether internal corruption or external threats), those heroes and their environments are a representation of the hopes and fears of the people they reach. In short, it is possible to reconstruct the concerns of a mostly silent (and not particularly articulate) society through the sorts of heroes that are most popular in a given time. Dutiful, hard working heroes (think of Horatio Alger tales) who succeed modestly based on pluck, hard work, virtue, and connections, speak of societies that wish for modest security and believe in the basic justice of the existing social system. On the other hand, the most recent Batman movie, "The Dark Knight," which I will spend the rest of this entry discussing, gives a much darker picture of our times.
At the heart of this movie are a group of sharply individualized characters who represent, in varying amounts, great idealism and cynicism (sometimes in the same person) in a corrupt society of Gotham City which resembles our own society in many powerful and deeply unsettling ways. Batman himself is a dark vigilante, working outside the law because the law is powerless. By day Bruce Wayne is a wealthy playboy served well by able idealists (like Lucius Fox) and a worldly wise butler. The forces of law are represented by the police and the justice system. Commissioner Gordon is representative of the idealistic but powerless forces of the police who are aware of their own limitations of power (he can't even protect himself, much less the city of Gotham, without the help of corrupt fellow cops and Batman, and he is bitterly aware of this weakness, even as he struggles to do the best he can). Harvey Dent, the supposed White Knight of Gotham (but in reality a two-faced, literally and figuratively, character) and his girlfriend and assistant Rachel Dawes (a former girlfriend of Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight) represent the hard-working and threatened prosecutors, and the judges and mayors fare even worse.
And these are the forces of good. The forces of evil, ultimately including Dent, after he goes insane with rage over the death of his beloved which he was helpless to prevent, are an event more troubled lot. They include a bevy of corrupt cops who are willing to make deals with mobsters and the Joker (the most evil of the lot, a terrorist in love with chaos who nonetheless represents the moral chaos of the world around, personifying it and seeking to corrupt, terrorize, or destroy any who would oppose his nihilistic vision of destruction). The corrupt cops and mobsters (and, pointedly, Chinese businessmen) are knaves, feeling the pinch from Dent and Batman, who seek to rid Gotham of the corruption and vice they peddle and profit from. Their concern for the grubby profits of evil leads them to be surprised when the Joker, who has no such materialistic concerns and who merely wishes for Gotham to be destroyed, betrays them.
In such a dark world we can easily see our own. The ideals of civil servants can become corrupted by dealing with the evil and venality all around them. Cops abuse their power, politicians are controlled by corrupt business interests, and those who defend the law faithfully cannot even defend themselves. The wealthy live a life of insane privilege far beyond the comprehension, much less the reach, of the people, who inhabit "the lower fifth" and view the police and the wealthy and powerful with barely covered mistrust. The great mass of people trudge from day to day without grand hopes and dreams, merely hoping to make it, and greatly hostile (though nearly entirely helpless) against those who would disturb their drudgery. This world is our own, becoming more and more unequal, riven with intra-elite squabbles and great corruption and oppression of the common people. Who can be trusted in this world? Even the great heroes must wear masks and act outside the law (significantly, in darkness and disguise) to defend the people who mistrust them but cannot live without them. Such is our fate, for the heroes we need are not the heroes we deserve, and the heroes we deserve are not the heroes we need. As Dent says truthfully, "We either die as heroes or live to become what we hate." And so it is with us as well.
All of this bodes ill for our world. It would appear that our redemption is outside of our own hands. Though the movie does not explore the means of this redemption in a systematic manner, we may do so here. For one, hope cannot succumb to despair. The power to deliver ourselves from the powerful and deep evil in our midst (which has infected politics, religion, education, law, the family, media, indeed all of our culture and society) cannot come from ourselves, for all of us are darkened by the dark world in which we reside, often in powerful and complicated ways. But are we so corrupted by our world that we cannot recognize and admire the true hero we need to deliver us, Himself unspotted by the world and above all the corruption that we are mired in? Even so, Lord, come.
Our heroes reflect ourselves because of the (sometimes rather distressing) fact that we see things not as they are, but as we are. As heroes struggle against the great wrongs that people see in the world around them 9whether internal corruption or external threats), those heroes and their environments are a representation of the hopes and fears of the people they reach. In short, it is possible to reconstruct the concerns of a mostly silent (and not particularly articulate) society through the sorts of heroes that are most popular in a given time. Dutiful, hard working heroes (think of Horatio Alger tales) who succeed modestly based on pluck, hard work, virtue, and connections, speak of societies that wish for modest security and believe in the basic justice of the existing social system. On the other hand, the most recent Batman movie, "The Dark Knight," which I will spend the rest of this entry discussing, gives a much darker picture of our times.
At the heart of this movie are a group of sharply individualized characters who represent, in varying amounts, great idealism and cynicism (sometimes in the same person) in a corrupt society of Gotham City which resembles our own society in many powerful and deeply unsettling ways. Batman himself is a dark vigilante, working outside the law because the law is powerless. By day Bruce Wayne is a wealthy playboy served well by able idealists (like Lucius Fox) and a worldly wise butler. The forces of law are represented by the police and the justice system. Commissioner Gordon is representative of the idealistic but powerless forces of the police who are aware of their own limitations of power (he can't even protect himself, much less the city of Gotham, without the help of corrupt fellow cops and Batman, and he is bitterly aware of this weakness, even as he struggles to do the best he can). Harvey Dent, the supposed White Knight of Gotham (but in reality a two-faced, literally and figuratively, character) and his girlfriend and assistant Rachel Dawes (a former girlfriend of Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight) represent the hard-working and threatened prosecutors, and the judges and mayors fare even worse.
And these are the forces of good. The forces of evil, ultimately including Dent, after he goes insane with rage over the death of his beloved which he was helpless to prevent, are an event more troubled lot. They include a bevy of corrupt cops who are willing to make deals with mobsters and the Joker (the most evil of the lot, a terrorist in love with chaos who nonetheless represents the moral chaos of the world around, personifying it and seeking to corrupt, terrorize, or destroy any who would oppose his nihilistic vision of destruction). The corrupt cops and mobsters (and, pointedly, Chinese businessmen) are knaves, feeling the pinch from Dent and Batman, who seek to rid Gotham of the corruption and vice they peddle and profit from. Their concern for the grubby profits of evil leads them to be surprised when the Joker, who has no such materialistic concerns and who merely wishes for Gotham to be destroyed, betrays them.
In such a dark world we can easily see our own. The ideals of civil servants can become corrupted by dealing with the evil and venality all around them. Cops abuse their power, politicians are controlled by corrupt business interests, and those who defend the law faithfully cannot even defend themselves. The wealthy live a life of insane privilege far beyond the comprehension, much less the reach, of the people, who inhabit "the lower fifth" and view the police and the wealthy and powerful with barely covered mistrust. The great mass of people trudge from day to day without grand hopes and dreams, merely hoping to make it, and greatly hostile (though nearly entirely helpless) against those who would disturb their drudgery. This world is our own, becoming more and more unequal, riven with intra-elite squabbles and great corruption and oppression of the common people. Who can be trusted in this world? Even the great heroes must wear masks and act outside the law (significantly, in darkness and disguise) to defend the people who mistrust them but cannot live without them. Such is our fate, for the heroes we need are not the heroes we deserve, and the heroes we deserve are not the heroes we need. As Dent says truthfully, "We either die as heroes or live to become what we hate." And so it is with us as well.
All of this bodes ill for our world. It would appear that our redemption is outside of our own hands. Though the movie does not explore the means of this redemption in a systematic manner, we may do so here. For one, hope cannot succumb to despair. The power to deliver ourselves from the powerful and deep evil in our midst (which has infected politics, religion, education, law, the family, media, indeed all of our culture and society) cannot come from ourselves, for all of us are darkened by the dark world in which we reside, often in powerful and complicated ways. But are we so corrupted by our world that we cannot recognize and admire the true hero we need to deliver us, Himself unspotted by the world and above all the corruption that we are mired in? Even so, Lord, come.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Lady Mondegreen
One of the new words added this year to the Mirriam-Webster dictionary is a word I was not familiar with, but which describes many of my experiences singing along to my car radio (or along to some fine music video on Youtube): mondegreen. The word itself is quite obscure, but it describes the lyrics I sing very well. Why is that, you might ask? Well, mondegreen refers to misheard song lyrics. To wit, the word mondegreen itself, not surprisingly, comes from a misheard song lyric. Lady Mondegreen is the name for a lyric that actually says "laid him on the green."
This is far from the only song (and not even the most familiar example to most people) that has flagrantly misunderstood lyrics. For example, there is a rock song known as In-a-gada-da-vida, which really was intended to be "In The Garden Of Eden." This misheard lyric is so common that it ended up becoming the name of the song. This is quite remarkable and unusual in the history of mondegreens. The word mondegreen itself was first cited in 1953, but the word has toiled away in undeserved obscurity until now. In fact, this word is such a common facet of my own singing that I will probably use it a lot more often, know that I know the word (especially since it suits me well).
One song I enjoy listening to a lot right now is the song "Violet Hill" by Coldplay, the first single from their Viva La Vida, or Death And All His Friends album. My favorite lyric in the song is probably the following: "Bury me in honor, when I'm dead and hit the ground." Of course, when I hear and sing along to the song, it goes like this: "Bury me in armor, when I'm dead and hit the ground." I just think it's cooler (given my love of castles and that sort of thing) to be buried in armor than buried in honor, not that I'm sure that would be even possible anymore (given the absolute scarcity of honor, that is).
This is far from the only song whose lyrics I butcher. I remember slaughtering the lyrics to Norah Jones' tune "Don't Know Why" while in the car with some friends of mine. This sort of tendency to slaughter the lyrics of tunes in spectacularly public ways has made me a bit gunshy when it comes to kareoke. Despite my love of singing, I actually have never sung kareoke before, though I almost sung "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!" with some friends as a joke once at a Winter Family Weekend in Lexington in 2002. Thankfully, I spared myself much embarassment, I think, by not ending up singing that particular tune.
I'd be curious to hear about some favorite misheard lyrics from my loyal readers, because these sorts of funny stories are way too good to keep private. Why not share them with a world that probably includes many people who have done the exact same things. Come, let us take a stroll with Lady Mondegreen and reflect upon our common human frailty, and the tendency of the mind to hear, sometimes, what it wants to hear and not what is.
This is far from the only song (and not even the most familiar example to most people) that has flagrantly misunderstood lyrics. For example, there is a rock song known as In-a-gada-da-vida, which really was intended to be "In The Garden Of Eden." This misheard lyric is so common that it ended up becoming the name of the song. This is quite remarkable and unusual in the history of mondegreens. The word mondegreen itself was first cited in 1953, but the word has toiled away in undeserved obscurity until now. In fact, this word is such a common facet of my own singing that I will probably use it a lot more often, know that I know the word (especially since it suits me well).
One song I enjoy listening to a lot right now is the song "Violet Hill" by Coldplay, the first single from their Viva La Vida, or Death And All His Friends album. My favorite lyric in the song is probably the following: "Bury me in honor, when I'm dead and hit the ground." Of course, when I hear and sing along to the song, it goes like this: "Bury me in armor, when I'm dead and hit the ground." I just think it's cooler (given my love of castles and that sort of thing) to be buried in armor than buried in honor, not that I'm sure that would be even possible anymore (given the absolute scarcity of honor, that is).
This is far from the only song whose lyrics I butcher. I remember slaughtering the lyrics to Norah Jones' tune "Don't Know Why" while in the car with some friends of mine. This sort of tendency to slaughter the lyrics of tunes in spectacularly public ways has made me a bit gunshy when it comes to kareoke. Despite my love of singing, I actually have never sung kareoke before, though I almost sung "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!" with some friends as a joke once at a Winter Family Weekend in Lexington in 2002. Thankfully, I spared myself much embarassment, I think, by not ending up singing that particular tune.
I'd be curious to hear about some favorite misheard lyrics from my loyal readers, because these sorts of funny stories are way too good to keep private. Why not share them with a world that probably includes many people who have done the exact same things. Come, let us take a stroll with Lady Mondegreen and reflect upon our common human frailty, and the tendency of the mind to hear, sometimes, what it wants to hear and not what is.
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