Showing posts with label Sexuality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sexuality. Show all posts

Beautiful Women conceal their Hotness to attract Nice Guys

By sulthan on Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Dateline: NEW YORK—A growing number of beautiful single women curse their physical charms, fearing that worthy men aren’t attracted to them so much as intimidated and liable to defecate in their pants before even thinking of approaching them.

Suzanne Kroener is a model and considered a ten on men’s “hotness scale.” Instead of reveling in her facial symmetry, luxurious hair, flawless skin, long legs, and hourglass figure, however, she laments these physical features.

“In some ways, having perfect breasts is an advantage,” she admits. “When I want to manipulate a guy, my beauty comes in handy. But what if I want to attract a mate, a potential husband? In that case, my hotness works against me. It’s actually a nightmare.

“The only guys who will approach me in a bar or a supermarket or anywhere else are the slicksters and sociopaths, the arrogant and vain assholes who are too dumb to deal with their flaws.

“Sure, they’re fearless and they think they deserve to date a woman like me, because they’re usually fit and handsome. The problem is they’re able to approach me not because they’re courageous or confident, but because they’re douchebags. They’re con artists, selling lies and interested only in the ‘conquest,’ in hooking up with a trophy girl, using her up, and then moving on to their next prey.”

Michelle Bordeaux agrees with Suzanne. A lawyer and also widely considered a smoking hottie, Michelle can scan the men at a bar and tell who will approach her and who is “pissing in their pants.”

The irony, she said, is that those who are cowed by her beauty are “the nice guys who would make for the best boyfriends or husbands, if only they had more self-esteem. But the more self-esteem a guy has, the closer he is to being a jerk.

“It’s no accident that the nice guys piss themselves as soon as they see me looking at them in a bar. They’re hypersensitive and overly familiar with all their weaknesses; all day long they’d apologize for being unworthy to breathe the same air as I do. And so the only guys left standing are the game-playing phonies. They may have money and good looks and so they’re great for hooking up with, but if you’re looking to form an emotional connection with a guy, you’ve got no one and it’s all because of your slamming, smoking hot body.”

Michelle once tried approaching a nice guy at a bar, but before he could stammer his response to her flirtatious remark, he ran screaming to the restroom. He died of a heart attack ten minutes later, sitting with diarrhea on the toilet.

“I literally have looks that can kill,” Michelle said, “which is fine if I want to seize power as a tyrannical queen like some babe out of Game of Thrones. But that’s a fantasy. In reality I just want a nice guy for a life partner. And sooner or later every guy I hook up with reveals himself to be a scumbag. Again, that’s no accident, because a nice guy couldn’t even say hi to me without urinating all over the floor or dying from anxiety.”

Frustrated by “the irony that feminine beauty doesn’t belong in this godless world,” as their manifesto states, Michelle and Suzanne teamed up to form Hotties for Nice Guys, an association of women who train to disguise their heart-stopping beauty so as not to burden ordinary men with a vision of womanly splendor.

“Instead of dressing up for the bar scene, we dress down, way down,” said Natasha, a recruit of HNC. “I wear busted-up glasses and the grossest baggy clothes to hide my assets. I wear no makeup except for fake scars, warts, and pimples I apply to my skin to look hideous. Then I walk into that bar with bed head and nauseating body odour, and I hit on the nice guys for all I’m worth.”

No longer compelled to lose control of his bodily functions, the “properly-shielded nice guy” feels as though he’s on more equal ground and the pair can engage in a meaningful conversation.

“Eventually, however, the moment arrives when I have to reveal my true form,” said Natasha. “I dated a nice guy a few times, thanks to my homely disguise, and everything was going well.

“Then I showed up at his place for dinner, all dressed up, my disguise left in my drawer at home. When he saw I was in reality a smoking hottie, he screamed and fell to the floor, pulling his hair out of his head. Then he ran around the room breaking everything he owned. He kept shouting that he could never keep me, because of the competition from superior men, and that he could endure seeing beautiful women only in porn. I tried to comfort him, to build up his confidence a little, but he fainted like he was a little boy and I was the monster creeping out from under his bed. So that was a bust.”

“We babes who want nice guys are caught between a rock and a hard place,” said Michelle. “First, we have to build up the nice guy’s self-esteem slowly, before revealing our outer beauty. But we can’t build it up too much or he’ll tip over into sociopath territory and lose his niceness. So it’s a delicate balancing act.

“Honestly, I never thought I’d have to work so hard to land a good guy.”

Men, however, doubt the very existence of “alleged hotties who want nice guys,” said Todd Gunderson, an auto mechanic and a nice guy who maintains that the assumptions of HNC are absurd.

“They’re just out to take your money,” he said, “these babes with a so-called heart of gold. Then when your guard is down, they’ll laugh in your face and move on to the next sucker. The nice guys who don’t hit on the smoking hotties in bars or who run away screaming? It’s not because they’re scared; it’s because deep down they know better, not to believe in something that’s too good to be true.

“If good looks usually corrupt guys, why would it be any different for good-looking women?

“That’s why I prefer to date women who are genuinely threes or fours on the hotness scale. Leave the beautiful women for the hunky guys. They deserve each other.”
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Sexual Bliss and the Anguish of Enlightenment

By sulthan on Sunday, May 22, 2016

Why in the first half of the twentieth century were women’s ankles considered sexy in the United States? Why are breasts considered intimate parts in industrialized places but not in poorer ones where breasts are thought of in more utilitarian terms? Why in conservative societies, such as those in the Middle East, are women’s whole bodies, including their wrists and hair, considered indecent if publicly exposed? Why is public nudity taboo in Canada and the US, but less so in Europe?

The answer must begin with the fact that whereas biology determines the sexual practices of animals, psychology and culture are factors in human sexuality. Specifically, no human body part is inherently sexy, not even the genitals which have primarily sexual functions as far as biologists are concerned; for example, nudity in the locker room or in a life drawing class or on the operating table isn’t so sexually arousing. Social context matters: the historical evidence indicates that under certain conditions, the tantalizing concealment of any body part can cause sexual arousal in a brain in which the imagination rather than just the sex hormone dictates sex appeal. In a prudish culture, visually-oriented men must make do with limited offerings, and so American men in the 1930s imagined ways in which the ankles of long-dress-wearing women could be thought of as sexy. Likewise, bored Middle Eastern men might rhapsodize about women’s hair curls and eyelashes, which are the sole body parts that some Islamist dictatorships permit to be publicly exposed. Most male body parts have the tedious evolutionary function of being muscular to make the man an effective protector, and so women starved for some novelty in their sexual diet imagine that beards can be sexy. Just as the long dress which covers the legs and ankles allows the woman to choose how high to raise the garment, creating an air of mystery and of being so near and yet so far from the promised land, as it were, the beard can obscure lantern jaws which are symbols of strength and stability, and the facial hair tantalizes as the man chooses to shave and to allow the hairs to grow to varying lengths.

Evolutionary psychologists are certainly right to point out that the underlying mechanisms of arousal have biological, reproductive functions, but culture isn’t an impotent byproduct of genes and hormones. We rewire our brains by modifying the environments to which we must adapt to survive, and our artificial environments are energized by ideologies, including those that determine the purpose of the tools, machines, and other artifacts we rely on throughout civilized life. Thus, whereas the mechanism of female arousal may originate from the woman’s desire to have her clitoris stimulated by a penis, for the evolutionary reason that sexual pleasure facilitates the transmitting of genes by sexual reproduction, that desire has evidently been exapted after what Yuval Harari calls the cognitive, agricultural, and scientific revolutions. Thus, women can be turned on by the way a beard makes the man seem withdrawn or wayward and in need of mothering and instruction. The biological mechanisms are repurposed to achieve cultural, often idealistic or fantastic goals. Sex acquires meanings that have little to do with that which is paramount from the gene’s eye view. In particular, sexual ecstasy is comparable to the religious kind, which in turn is akin to the experience of existential horror, to the revelation of that which transcends and so humiliates not just our comprehension but our standing as entities.

The Revelation of Sex

The degree of lust and of the giddiness of being on the threshold of sexual contact may be inversely proportional to the degree of familiarity with the partner’s body or with sex in general. The more sex you have, the less earth-shattering it becomes over the years, unless your sex drive is low or your expectations are curbed by cultural conventions. This is one reason that adultery is commonplace among able-bodied individuals who have options: to renew the height of ecstasy enjoyed when sex in general or with a particular partner was novel. Sex for virgins is typically overwhelming because they haven’t yet solved the mysteries of sex. Unfamiliarity with the other’s body parts or with the sex acts that are generally kept secret accounts for why even ankles, wrists, calves, beards, or hair can be deemed sexy even though those parts are irrelevant from the genetic standpoint. In hunter-gatherer tribes, for example, breasts have no sex appeal because they’re constantly exposed and so their men’s imagination isn’t fired by the fantasy of what they would look or feel like were they revealed. They’re exposed because the tribes are consumed with the purpose of surviving in harsh, perhaps exceptionally humid natural lands and have no time for luxuries such as fashion. By contrast in the individualistic West, fashion is an art form and we individuate ourselves by showing off our possessions, thereby forgetting about the fleshy bodies toiling to maintain so many artificialities. Indeed, as Morris Berman argues in Coming to Our Senses, we in the West are virtually disembodied; we live in our heads and in a noosphere of abstractions—until, that is, in all infantile innocence we find ourselves drawn back to that which is hidden by the products of our labour, to the shapes, sounds, and tastes of each other’s flesh. 

This lack of public familiarity is a precondition for assigning breasts an intimate status such that their public exposure might be judged indecent. Men or lesbians in industrialized societies long to spy or to feel women’s breasts only if those sensations remind us that reality can be hidden. Presumably, lesbians are less aroused by the opportunity to gawk at another woman’s breasts, because they’re familiar with their own, and the same should be true for gay men regarding their degree of pleasure taken from an experience with another man’s genitals. Token newness must suffice, because unfamiliarity with the typeof flesh is out of the question for homosexual individuals. In any event, the limit case of sexual lust is felt by one who has no direct knowledge of the other’s body parts but whose fantasies have been inspired by enticing indirect knowledge, such as pornographic representations, tall tales in the schoolyard, or partial revelations in the form of sexy clothing. 

Like people, animals have mating competitions so that the fulfillment of climax for them lies at the end of some rituals they must complete, but unlike domesticated people’s, animal bodies aren’t selectively hidden from the world. Animals don’t know or care that they’re naked, whereas we don our fig leafs to recover our dignity in light of our self-awareness and our greater understanding. The experience of being a person is that of having our virtually supernatural (anomalous) mind confined to a natural, animal body. When we understand that absurdity, we fear what calamities might be visited upon us in such a godless universe, and so we sweep the evidence under the carpet, as it were, concealing our nakedness so that we can pretend to be the disembodied gods we worship. Our sex instinct remains as an animal calling, at least for most of us, but that instinct is bound up with our understanding and our imagination, because our minds are godlike. Thus, mating between people isn’t just a degrading competition, as it is for the animals that are puppets driven by their genes rather than by egoistic interests to understand their place in the world and to rectify their position by altering that world. In addition to the foolish, ethically dubious dances we perform to attract a mate, we set up an existentially symbolic dynamic in which the heaven of sexual ecstasy, the ego’s dissolution in intimacy with a partner, and thus the paradoxical experience of disembodiment achieved in a bout of unreserved objectification happen only when we unmask ourselves by removing our clothing and the accompanying pretenses of civility.

The Anticlimax of Enlightenment

Reality, too, is hidden from us, not just because we’re small creatures that aren’t in direct contact with the whole of time or space, but because our cognitive tools humanize the world, putting comforting metaphors and preoccupations between us and what Eugene Thacker calls the horror of the world-without-us. In Thacker’s analysis, the world-for-us is how it appears to us at the height of our naiveté, when we don’t appreciate that our anthropomorphisms are self-serving projections as well as practically-necessary lies. The world-in-itself is the world in its essence without anything extraneous left behind by the process of coming to know the world’s nature. This is the Kantian noumenon which isn’t entirely conceivable, since every act of knowing, including the scientific or mathematical kind, leaves behind artifacts on that which is known. The world-without-usis perceived by the cognitive trick of imagining the objective world-in-itself as though it were inhabited by someone else who is suitably indifferent to or ignorant of us. For example, we can follow H.P. Lovecraft and imagine that our planet is really a playground for monstrous, slumbering deities who will eventually awaken and annihilate us and everything we stand for as so many extraneous growths. The world-without-us is how the world-in-itself would seem without the presence of humanity, if that world could nevertheless be experienced by someone else. After we’re extinct like any other species and all traces of our civilizations are lost, only the world-without-us will remain, the world as it’s always really been despite the lies we presently tell ourselves to avoid confronting the fact that we’re all fundamentally homeless. The last person standing after the zombie apocalypse, for example, would behold the party that continues after most of us have left the club, the cycles that proceed having always had nothing essentially to do with any of us.

The horror of the world-without-us, which is really just a debilitating glimpse of the impersonality of the world-in-itself, is obscured by the fig leaf of the world-for-us.In our religious fictions which we call myths, we imagine heroic mortals ascending to the abode of the gods. Moses climbed remote Mount Sinai where the world-in-itself was revealed to him in the form of a supernatural bush that burns without being consumed by the flame. The world’s essence which transcends our feeble, often parochial conceptions can present itself in miracles, according to old stories which are exoterically read as being about divine breakthroughs into nature by the personified Beyond; of course, that theistic interpretation is the mere conservative one that reinforces our vanity which we need to function in the unheroic, animal fashion. We’d like to think that we’re one with the world’s essence and that nature is fundamentally alive and even knowing and moral like us; that way, we wouldn’t be existentially homeless, after all, and horror wouldn’t be our most authentic experience, the deepest appreciation of reality. So Jews imagined not just the paradoxical burning bush, but a voice that spoke to Moses from the transcendent world-in-itself. Likewise, after Jesus’s baptism, “heaven was opened,” a dove descended, and Jesus heard a voice telling him that God loves him. Esoterically, all religious myths are horror stories, as cosmicism must replace theism for those who love knowledge more than themselves and the convenience of their station.We can have an intimation of the world-in-itself, but only with the accompanying dread that that world was, will be, and is fundamentally now the world-without-us.Stripped of our reassuring delusions, the burning bush is voiceless or if it speaks, it speaks in a language we can’t translate so that we’re frustrated eavesdroppers or fifth wheels. The dove that descends from the clouds only vacates its bowels on Jesus’s head and the skies are silent when he’s executed as a result of a hideous, Kafkaesque mistake about his identity.

There is, then, an analogy between human sexuality and philosophical revelation. First there are the tantalizing clues that something longed for is hidden; if only you could entice this other creature to shed its outerwear, you could have sex, build a partnership, and establish private grounds for intimacy. Sex feels rapturous as though we were swept off to a transcendent plane, even if that’s only because we must first degrade ourselves as we strip off our clothes, hide ourselves from public glare, and pretend that we deserve a private space that shouldn’t be regulated by ethical rules of conduct. We “transcend” civility, by acting as animals, going backward rather than forward, as it were, but we nevertheless experience bliss in that state of undress just as we feel love and contentment when we’re emotionally intimate in our private life with our partner. With regard to sex, we shrug off the yoke of civility and thus much of the world-for-us, and are rewarded with waves of pleasure followed by orgasm, by a fleeting moment of joy.

Similarly, with regard to cognition we lift the veil of ignorance as we learn the embarrassing epistemic status of our cherished metaphors and myths. We discover that our best knowledge of the world-in-itself succeeds only by its wholesale objectification and demythologization, leaving us disenchanted with nature. What bubbles up then is revelatory horror and giddiness at the suspicion that we’re satanically free—at least during those brief occasions when we take up Spinoza’s eternal perspective, or God’s-eye-view, and appreciate everything’s place in the world-without-us. Reality is revealed to us when we depersonalize it and ourselves, but instead of finding utilitarian pleasure, as in the case of the orgasm that binds a pair of mates together and encourages them to reproduce, the intrepid philosopher is rewarded with incendiary, satanic insight. Religious revelation ought to be apocalyptic indeed, since for the enlightened individual, that revelation of the world-in-itself destroys the world-for-us. In reality, we’re all horrifically free—free of gods that don’t exist, free of homes that are nullified by their transience, free of social codes that we negate whenever we revert to our animal fixations. We’re as free and as aimless as the void we represent when we grasp the world’s objectivity and its necessary indifference to us. Nature seems to unfold with much regularity and thus by way of restrictions rather than freedom, but that seems so only from our pathetically-limited perspective. In quantum reality or at the level of the megaverse, everything happens all at once and on a virtual whim, with no intermediate mechanisms or local transactions whatsoever, not to mention for no reason and with no plan in view. Particles pop into existence just because—like our entire universe, in a timeless state of being. And when we understand those sobering facts, however imperfectly that may be; when we learn that “humanity” in the normative, progressive and vain sense is a joke, we become as monstrous as the world that thereby “speaks” through our mystical or indirect representations of it. Terror, angst, sorrow, or madness is the fruit of those cognitive loins. The orgasm of philosophical insight is the glee of insanity or the queer relief of the omega outcast who is alienated from the grotesqueries of mass society; those existential pains are stages of mourning for the loss of the world-for-us. What mentality emerges from our oneness with the depersonalized world-in-itself, by means of our contemplating the horrors of the world-without-us can hardly be described in polite company.

Fathoming the Alienness of the World-Without-Us

But let’s investigate with the aid of a science fictional thought experiment. Imagine that you’ve gone where no one else has been. Moreover, you’re at where no one else will be because no one else can reach there. Suppose, for example, you’re Ant Man, as in the movie, who shrinks to the subatomic scale and is condemned to drift there for eternity unless he can puzzle his way out. Or perhaps you’re one of the scientists in the movie Sunshine, who penetrate the sun’s corona. Or you’re in a spaceship that’s travelled faster than light, leaving you alone on a planet in another galaxy. Astronauts are known to experience a deflating sense of life’s worthlessness when they return to Earth and when they’re permitted to leave aside the politically-correct blather they’re forced to emit to encourage society’s support of space exploration. The world must seem fragile and lost from orbit, but the astronaut is also largely alienated from that world; only the commitment to carry out the scheduled tasks provides a lifeline and prevents the astronaut from slipping into a miasmic depression due to such a confrontation with nature’s inhumanity. However, alone and in a vast and unchartered wilderness, say, the explorer would also feel childlike glee, the rebel’s freedom of being unburdened by social conventions. The Starship Voyager is sent to the other side of the galaxy and the crew wrestles with whether Starfleet’s code of conduct applies to their predicament. Of course, the Captain believes that that code is their lifeline, their one chance of retaining their humanity. The crew members must carry out their duties and struggle to return home; otherwise, horror would dawn upon them as they’d realize that in light of the fact that the galaxy is evidently so large to allow for such estrangement from the bulk of humanity, their jobs at Starfleet have always been farcically insignificant.

Imagine, though, you’re alone on an alien moon, the star around which Earth orbits nowhere in the night sky, your lightship a wreck on the moon’s surface. Before you fall and rise stone formations never glimpsed by anyone. Your scientific training equips you with concepts to objectify your surroundings, to quantify the mighty craters and mountains, and even to begin to use them to your benefit. But you have the nagging feeling that the moon’s existential significance surpasses such understanding and utility. With the trappings of culture and civility so far away, with your family, friends, and coworkers nowhere to comfort or to preoccupy you, and confronted by the alien vista, you muse that you must have been reborn because the world-for-us has vanished for you. There is no us on that moon, only you, and you haven’t the creativity or the fortitude to create a new web of conventions, a fresh host of fictions to obscure nature’s alienness. The horrifying implications of the objective world’s impersonality overpower you in your alienation, and you’re treated to a revelation of the world-without-us. What are you in that monstrous world that flexes its causality with no goal or remorse? What are you but part of it and nothing more, as the illusions and hypocrisies of civilized life fade to irrelevance? As on Mount Sinai, the remoteness of your location makes the ground on which you tread holy, but there's no reassuring voice from beyond, just the enveloping silence of the outer reaches. Now you realize that the heavenly bliss promised by the world’s religions was only ever a misleading metaphor; that as we’re united with the inhuman essence of reality, true liberation from our social roles is baneful; that God is a fiction we project onto nature to turn the wilderness into an encouraging mirror image of ourselves, and that the reality of Being is best captured in the experience of horror.

You’ll appreciate that sex, too, must always have been an allegorical pantomime signifying the pilgrim’s “progress” from theistic and other conventional delusions to cosmic awe at the pseudo-audacity of the universe that was never made for us. You smile as you grasp why the dictatorial (monotheistic) religions always posited that sex is sinful, because the cosmicist wonder which sex facilitates competes with the bogus payoff of the politically-motivated religious scriptures. The end of sex isn’t transformation into a spiritual body that lives forever with God in heaven, but a fleeting, drug-induced (hormonal) pleasure that’s nevertheless the ultimate goal of most human activities, and that’s achieved only after the suspension of all cultural niceties. As the blinders of the world-for-us are removed and the enthralled individuals degrade themselves in sessions of sexual foolishness, the climax of so much absurdity can only be as anticlimactic as the naturally-understood orgasm. There is no eternal bliss in heaven, because quantum timelessness has no personal attributes. There is world-ending revelation, but it’s nothing to boast about, let alone something that vindicates the troops of evangelists who knock on doors to spread the “good news.” The greatest heroes of cognition aren’t the scientists who formulate objective models of natural processes, but the philosophers hiding under rocks who make the best of the wider, destructive implications of those models. The satanic heroes earn the hell of their wisdom. When, lost in their sexual throes and convulsions, somewhere on a “home” planet to which these heroes can never return, the masses cry out, “Oh, God! Oh, God!” they effectively and absurdly praise themselves as the sources of the theistic metaphor. They believe they’re thanking ultimate reality for sustaining such joy, but that reality is deaf and dumb, and the noblest sexual joy quickly turns to despair.
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Sex and the Authentic Self

By sulthan on Sunday, May 1, 2016

We’re most embarrassed about that which almost all of us most want to do: we’re most secretive about our sex lives. If you could force the bureaucrats in control of state secrets—those in charge of the contents of the lower levels of Area 51, the Top Secret vaults of CIA headquarters, the volumes of the Vatican Secret Archive—to expose to the world either those earth-shaking revelations or videos of their squalid private sex acts, they would be torn, at the least, and may well prefer to topple governments by releasing the state secrets. This fear of being caught in the naughty act may have evolved from animals’ preference to find a secluded spot to swap genes, to protect themselves from predators when they’re vulnerable. Of course, animals are much more open about having sex than are people, as farmers and zookeepers and birdwatchers can attest. Animals have little capacity for shame and those that can feel embarrassment have no special fear of being observed in flagrante delicto—unless their coupling upsets their dominance hierarchy and the pair is afraid of the alpha’s wrath. Those billions of us who live in private residences need no longer fear being mauled while sexually occupied; home invaders would be more interested in robbing us, and even when we’re naked and engrossed, we can easily arm ourselves by making use of our many technological extensions (a bat, an alarm clock, a shoe, etc). And the exposure of a sex tape poses no direct physical threat to the couple.

So the terror of releasing the details of our sex lives to the public is peculiarly human. With the exceptions of exhibitionists and porn stars, we prefer to keep private that which we most prize or long for, and we have no compelling practical reason for doing so. When a celebrity sex tape is stolen and the thief threatens to publish it on the internet, the agonized celebrity can spend millions in court to prevent the undermining of his or her public image. But why, in the first place, would that image be ruined by the leaking of a sex tape? Once again, if it’s a question of the participants’ identity, as in the case of adultery, the fear would be practical: the hypocrite, for example, may have cultivated an image of righteousness or of heterosexuality, and so wouldn’t want evidence to the contrary to become widely available. But there’s also a more general, underlying ambivalence about the sex act itself. We all cultivate a public image, an ideal version of ourselves: we prefer to be thought of as peoplewith human rights, whereas sex would have us be animals. We prefer to think of ourselves as dignified moral agents, destined for immortality, whereas our sexual lust indicates we’re cosmically insignificant and headed towards extinction like any other phase of natural concatenations. That’s the existential dread of sex which only self-proclaimed people can suffer.

Compare that dread to the surprisingly-rational fear of choking on our vomit in response to our eating the flesh of dead animals. That ignominious fate we avoid by keeping ourselves in the dark about the gruesome treatment of livestock. The very word “livestock” is Orwellian in its smoothing over of the holocaust of objectification that occurs in all pens and cages torturing pigs, chickens, and the like. “Stock” is a supply of goods, meaning things owned, and “live” indicates something that isn’t just a thing or an object. The contradiction is palpable. Were we to tour a slaughterhouse and then be offered a free meal of steak or back ribs, I expect most of us would be overcome with nausea and would have to decline the cooked remains. Our ignorance is by design so that we can enjoy eating meat. Although the pleasures of sex far exceed gustatory ones, except perhaps for gluttons, that’s also by biological design, to distract all sexual creatures from the implications of sex’s physicality: our dignity is naturally a sham and is belied by our loving sex more than our purported gods. Moreover, asexual critics needn’t be lined up to spread this unpopular word. The hiddenness of our sex acts, which even the law typically makes mandatory, demonstrates that we already know that we’re wronged by our sex instinct, that by lusting after bodies, by yearning to fondle breasts, balls, or buttocks, to taste each other’s juices and to be penetrated or stroked in ways that would constitute the severest breaches of decency in public life, we are made into objects of ridicule, reduced to clowns by natural forces so that we exacerbate the absurdity that belongs to the physical aspect of all things.

Is there, however, a way to be sexual without forfeiting our intellectual integrity, let alone our existential authenticity? After all, the aesthetic burden of sex is that it’s utterly commonplace. Sexual reproduction is biologically creative, of course, but artistically unoriginal since we’re passive in our role as baby-makers; the hormones do all the work as our puppeteers. But we are exorbitantly creative in our adapting of the sex instinct to myriad purposes that supersede the reproductive function. We’ve even invented birth control mechanisms seemingly to usurp nature’s power over us. Haven’t we, then, made sex dignified by making it non-animalistic, by incorporating it into our more elevated pursuits? Let’s explore the possibilities of existentially viable forms of sexuality.  

Pleasure and Closet Nihilism

Most conspicuously, we have sex for pleasure, not just for the bioengineering of babies. The pleasures are as diverse as our tastes and perversions, as is evident in the lists of sexual fixations aggregated in many places on the web. Virtually all things in the world, including food, uniforms, and even urine and dead bodies have been integrated into our sexual fantasies. The imagination alone is the limit of what we might find sexually attractive, which means that sexual pleasure morphs into other kinds such as the delights in deviating from conventions, in sublimating painful memories, or even just in keeping a humiliating secret in the first place. The “naughtiness of being horny” is a euphemism for when we participate in the antihuman, nihilistic undermining of civilization on behalf of the unconquerable natural kingdom. We relinquish our right to be called presidents, doctors, lawyers, teachers, carpenters, or bus drivers when we derive our deepest pleasure from forbidden sexual attachments, when our fantasies would subvert civilized norms were they consistently and fully realized instead of enacted in our sacred taboo spaces.

Is sex-for-pleasure, then, creative in an existentially viable way? Does this form of humanized sex sustain the existence of non-animalistic creatures? Are we peoplein so far as we pursue our sexual perversions, that is, when we carry out our non-reproductive sex acts? Although some other species, particularly pigs, dolphins, and some primates have sex for pleasure and thus deviate from the reproductive norm, humans are anomalous in the boundlessness of our sexual creativity. We do thereby become something other than animals when we mix sex with every facet of life. That doesn’t mean this sort of sex is ennobling; the question remains whether sexual pleasure is constructive or destructive. In so far as we unconsciously yearn for civilization to end so that we might satisfy our basest, most demented cravings in a chaotic free-for-all, that is, in so far as we secretly long to be in hell, sexual pleasure turns us into avatars of nature, into representatives of mechanisms and cycles that are indifferent to our survival.

Were we to universalize our sexual fantasies, we would subvert the social order in which, for example, nuns, hogtied slaves, spanked students, family relations, feces, and dogs aren’t objects of human sexual pleasure. We would become heralds of carefree natural Evolution, flowing with the tide of change unto oblivion at time’s end, making impossible the rational resistance to nature’s indifference to the life it happens to generate. Any systematic transcendence of natural processes in the form of artistic and existentially heroic artificiality would be swamped by pansexuality, by all-encompassing lusts. For example, the firemen who would show up at the doorstep of a building set ablaze would be detained by passersby who would be free to vent their longing for grimy workers in uniform, leaving the building to collapse. In Kantian terms, the contradiction between the reality of human transcendence and the fantasy of deviating by way of being solipsistically sovereignty over all is hidden by the gratuitous division between our public and private lives. Similarly, the hypocrite preserves a false sense of dignity by some such rationalization, but her hypocrisy is nevertheless apparent from an external vantage point. Whenever our sexual pleasure depends on the tantalizing prospect of civilization’s end, when the fun of sex derives from the fantasy that anything whatsoever can serve our short-sighted sexual agenda, we prepare for that apocalypse and are thereby agents of destruction.

What, then, is non-biologically created by sexual pleasure? Certainly, we spawn the thriving world of porn, but that world may be just a record of our deviance that testifies to the contradiction in question, which should only increase our cognitive dissonance. By consulting the pornographic library on the internet, we can now verify the extent of our private acknowledgment of what Freud called the discontents of civilization; we can each of us prove that we have implicitly nihilistic, antisocial cravings, that the coupling of sex with the imagination must be kept taboo or the contradiction will be expressed as the collapse of the cultured, humane social order. The problem is that our existential mission is fundamentally bleak, not gratifying. Pleasure can be a respite from war, as in the case of schadenfreude or glee from satirical humour at the enemy’s expense, but the confinement of sexual pleasure to any such utilitarian role would be far from sexy. The holy mission of sustaining transcendent, autonomous human life for the sake of preserving a respite from nature’s monstrosity is endangered by sex’s capture of the imagination, which converts X into its sexual counterpart, bringing sexual lusts to the fore in any conceivable circumstance.

Power and Performance Art

What about sex-for-power, as in rape or domination games? Rape isn’t original, let alone ethical, since rape is rampant in the animal world. Mind you, the rapist isn’t robotic in ignoring the reproductive function and in prioritizing his pleasure at the victim’s expense, but neither is rape constructive or conducive to our existential enterprise. Once again, were the urge to rape universalized, civilization would collapse. Moreover, rape is bound up with misogynistic, social Darwinian culture, according to which women crave brutish but exciting men and wish to repent for their support for feminism that’s emasculated men, making them less heroic or attractive in so far as men must pretend to be equal to women in all respects. Women are supposed to yearn to be manhandled and dominated as long as the alpha males know when to allow women their illusion of equality. The woman can be compelled to submit as long as the dominator doesn’t err in forcing her to “go full retard,” as it were. Thus, simulated rape is acceptable to this Men’s Rights movement, as is sex that looks just like rape but that supposedly includes the woman’s subconscious approval. This movement is at odds with liberalism, but it’s also as effectively destructive as conservatism itself. The hallowing of economic or social inequalities only rehashes the pecking order, the latter being impersonal nature’s mechanism for establishing stable arenas for perpetuating genetic codes.

Still, there are consensual forms of sexual power play, as in sadomasochism, hatefucking, swinging, and so on. These are forms of theater that caricature elements of social life to facilitate the players’ cathartic release. The grimy business of managing our positions in our dominance hierarchies is converted into a sexual game that reduces these relationships to their bitter essence, to the master-slave, friend-enemy, or family-stranger relation. The master dominates the slave just as the aristocrat, theocrat or capitalist rules over his or her underlings, and the slave obeys the master just as the masses bow to the whims of the upper class. Our appalling, often arbitrary and unwarranted social arrangements are thus showcased in sexual performance art pieces. The office manager can complete his inferior’s submission, without fear of violating public codes of conduct, or else can fulfill his fantasy of being abused by his underling (because the grass is always greener…), by taking up the whip or the blindfold in the sacred taboo space of a BDSM dungeon. The black colour of the leather typically worn in such performances signifies the blindness and nihilism of natural forces, which flow through the participants when they’re immersed in power relations, while the leather itself reinforces that association by bestializing the wearers. The more PC culture imposes an unnatural overlay onto the postmodern masses who aren’t entranced by the supportive liberal secular humanistic myths, the more sexual games of dominance and submission can be expected to flourish underground. When human rights must be respected in a hypersensitive workplace, whereas science itself has superseded the modern glorifications of our freedom and rationality that were meant to be the bedrocks of those rights, savvy individuals will retreat to their sacred private spaces to perform sex rituals that vent their frustrations. Naturalistic BDSM would replace more theistic or anthropocentric sex rites such as those of tantric sex.

If such games are creative, are they ennobling or degrading? Who has the last laugh, as it were, our potential for miraculous transcendence (for anomalous, anti-natural artifacts) or the impersonal flow of nature? This depends on whether the sexual performances satirize or glorify the underlying power dynamics. For example, if sex is mocked in the swinger’s party in which the swingers hook up blindfolded to exacerbate the dumbness of sex hormones and mating calculations, this sort of ritual could be compatible with our existential obligation. In short, sex is redeemed when it takes on a viable aesthetic or comedic value. But if the participants wallow in nature’s intrusions into our artificial worlds, by degrading themselves as they play out purified versions of their roles in the pecking order, they once again serve as double agents, betraying their better half for their grounding in the world that will one day annihilate everything we’ve ever stood for.

Seduction, Romance, and Ennui

Sex can also be the payoff of the art of seduction, in which case sex is eventually interpreted in an egoistic, economic context. The troubadours of the twelfth century sang songs that spread the Islamic and feminist, proto-humanistic culture surrounding the upper class fiction of courtly love, which encouraged nobles to prove their chivalry by their character and deeds, not by their bloodline and wealth. The tragically-doomed, modern individual with his or her rich inner life of often unfulfilled longings was constructed as a Shakespearian ideal that attracted a wide following. In reaction to the Catholic Church’s prudishness and patriarchy, the feminine yearning for romance, for heroic men worthy of their affections and for an emotional outlet that was often unavailable in arranged marriages fuelled the culture of courtly love that swept across Europe and fed into the wider early modern rebirth of classical humanism, of Ovid, neoplatonism, and so forth. Courtly love subverts monotheistic justice by immanentizing the eschaton, to borrow Eric Voegelin’s phrase. The emphasis was on morality, as it was in Christianity and Islam, but noble women replaced the patriarchal deity and sex here and now stood in for heaven in the afterlife. The ideal of unrequited love thus parodies the monotheistic con of delaying the reward for moral behaviour beyond the point at which the theological predictions could be confirmed with evidence sufficient to compel rational consent. The promise of heaven or hell is vindicated only after death, and so the believer must wrestle now with profound uncertainties, fearful and trembling in the shadow of the great unknown. Likewise, feelings of romantic love are futile when the man is attracted to an aloof maiden or when the call to crusade in a distant land lures away the knight. The tactics of seduction thus substitute for the requisite steps of the religious creed that are supposed to guarantee eternal happiness, since the hope that our tragedy isn’t absolute, that life isn’t fully absurd is buttressed by the availability of a lesser heaven in the form of orgasm as an award for success in the romantic quest for the beloved’s affection.

Of course, late modern seduction does away entirely with the theistic metaphor, and the art of seduction becomes an economic pseudoscience. In the Darwinian culture that predominates in the US, women are only demiurges who like to think they’re the ultimate judges of men’s worth, whereas the true God is the marketplace itself, the chain of cause and effect that results in an ordering of winners and losers who ruthlessly compete to increase their earthly utility. Men seduce women by peacocking or by otherwise exploiting evolutionary weaknesses in women’s mating strategies. Women who capitalize on their physical beauty by allowing themselves to be seduced by egotistical or sociopathic alpha males are often condemned to loneliness in middle age when their beauty fades. Meanwhile, the shunned beta males attempt to learn the techniques of “game” so that they can pretend to be the clowns that confused Western women seem to want. These are some of the fruits of individualism, of the culture that lauds the individual to the point of hypermodern solipsism, in which myths that bind collectives are anathema. Women are abandoned in a forest of male predators, while men must shame themselves in a dehumanizing mating contest that’s marked by a continual lowering of humanistic standards, as occurs in every unregulated market. And men and women are set at odds in the battle between the sexes, so that the pleasures of seduction mingle with those of the hunt. Women muse that in a progressive future, men may not be needed anymore, while men form grudges in condescension to women who select the double standards they wish to preserve. The pornographic spectacle popularizes rough sex and the “cum shot” in the woman’s face that symbolizes the victory at the hunt’s end, the execution of the prey.

In internet dating websites, technology accelerates the downward spiral, by forcing the male competitors and female demiurges to adapt to an environment comprised of machines which are already inhuman. The Tinder app perhaps occupies the nadir of this regression, since it offers only a binary choice of swiping Yes or NO, based purely on an image that displays the users’ superficial appearance. Indeed, “hookups,” a name denoting the culture that encourages casual, unemotional sexual encounters is apt for its invocation of technology—presumably the pair are imagined to latch onto each other with hooks instead of hands—since the participants are dehumanized the more they compete not just with each other in the individualistic monoculture, but with the coldhearted machines. The sex that follows from hypermodern seduction is consequently empty and meaningless and so it adds to the prevailing ennui.

Pity and Camaraderie

Finally, there’s the notion of friends-with-benefits, of a sexual relationship between friends with no monogamous commitment to each other. In this case, the “benefit” of sex is compared to a luxury in the workplace such as health insurance, vacation time, or sick leave, which employers use to attract or retain certain workers. As the government withdraws from its democratic role in sustaining a social safety net, employers are forced to take up the slack. As you might feed your pet a treat for obediently staying put while you untangle her fur, the oligarchic capitalist takes pity on the worker as she’s groomed to ascend the corporate ladder. Similarly, the sexual benefit of friendship may be pity-based. The friends would recognize that they have sexual needs and they may choose to help each other out in that respect just as they might go out of their way on occasion to pick the other up from work or to loan the other some money. The friends in question assume that the sex instinct is a handicap that can be accommodated, as opposed to nourishing the metanarrative of romance or traditional marriage. This sexual realism is potentially in line with our existential mission that persists despite the postmodern incredulity towards all grand stories.  

To see how, compare friendship-with-benefits to the hippies’ free love movement. Both reject marriage, although the reasons differ: the young men who befriend women reject marriage because they’ve been coddled by politically correct parents as they were growing up and so they’re ill-equipped to meet the responsibilities of fatherhood, or else they’re cynical about that social expectation or they prefer to game the system, exploiting the feminist principle, that women shouldn’t be owned by men, as an excuse to be able to date multiple partners; the young women reject marriage on the basis of that feminist rationale, because they want to be autonomous or predatorial like men even though they’re not biologically equal to men and so often must choose between their career and having children. By contrast, hippies were libertarians who wanted to extend the free market to sexual relationships, to free sex from government regulation. This opened the door to drug-fuelled promiscuity in the 1960s; again, the lack of central planning lowers standards from a humanist’s perspective.

In any case, while the libertarian principles behind free love express confidence in the individual’s powers, the marijuana that was part of this movement’s backdrop must have had a contrary effect. Far from inflating the ego in the manner of cocaine, cannabis has such common psychoactive effects as
a general alteration of conscious perception, euphoria, feelings of well-being, relaxation or stress reduction, increased appreciation of the arts, including humor and music (especially discerning its various components/instruments), joviality, metacognition and introspection, enhanced recollection (episodic memory), increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation, increased libido, and creativity. Abstract or philosophical thinking, disruption of linear memory and paranoia or anxiety are also typical.
The hallucinations, euphoria, relaxation, joviality, and shared creativity reduce antagonism and foster a humbling, egalitarian vision of everyone’s equality, while the philosophical fear likewise counteracts the aggressive ambition that capitalism promotes, by humbling the users, burying them beneath the weight of platonic ideals.

However, the main difference between friends-with-benefits and free love is that intimacy is central only to the former. Sex is supposed to be an afterthought to the warm, cozy personal connection between the friends, whereas the sexual relationships of heavy cannabis-users are likely to be as impersonal as mystical experiences, since the drug diminishes the sense of self. Intimacy is like the Vulcan mind meld, a sharing of personal peculiarities until the pair proceed as though they were united in a collective, third mind. Without those unique habits that accrue in a person’s ego, there can be no such bond. Like pity-based sex, intimacy is compatible with a realistic philosophy of our tragic and absurd place in nature. Asymmetric pity would rather be associated with the capitalistic ideology: we would pity others but not ourselves, because we’d be competing with them and so might employ our sexual charms as part of some strategy for economic advancement. But universal pity brought on by a dark, mystical appreciation of our cosmic insignificance, that is, by misanthropy that includes self-loathing, could arouse the humbled soul to seek comrades and to help them out in recognition of their shared burden, their animal sex drive. In combat, soldiers consider each other brothers in arms; they sacrifice in honour of their shared burden of being put in mortal danger for some presumed greater good. Likewise, in so-called peacetime, the philosophically-informed and so more existentially-authentic individuals find themselves at war against the world’s absurd godlessness. Their mission? To create meaning that’s worthwhile in spite of being doomed in the long run. Sex between enlightened friends or existential soldiers could be motivated by the sad indulgence of their shared weakness. And sexual intimacy could contribute to the existential mission by enhancing morale by way of camaraderie: the introverts could bounce their ideas and their bodies off each other, stepping out of seclusion to maintain their sanity as social creatures, welcoming the bond between compatriots in the ultimate war between all living things and their undying maker.
Selengkapnya

Freedom and Equality: A Critique of Roosh V.’s Antifeminism

By sulthan on Sunday, October 4, 2015

Roosh V. is a cosmopolitan pickup artist and an author and blogger of some renown. He was recently in the news in Canada because his scheduled talks in Montreal and Toronto were protested. 42,500 Canadians signed a Change.org petition to bar him from entering the country because his writings allegedly violate Canada’s hate speech laws. Protestors threw drinks at him at a bar and hounded him. The hotel where one of his talks was scheduled cancelled the event, due to the negative publicity, forcing him to change venues. One of his articles, in particular, became infamous for allegedly advocating rape.

I was intrigued by this controversy and decided to investigate further, reading ten or so of his articles. Much of what he says turns out to be plausible or compelling, but limited.

Roosh’s Case for “Game”

His detractors call him a misogynist, whereas he says he’s more specifically an antifeminist. Arguably, he’s both. Here’s a summary of his case for “game,” that is, for realistic techniques for seducing women, gleaned from the following of Roosh’s articles: first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth.

Roosh is a traditionalist, at heart, who longs for the return of a more conservative era in which women accepted their natural roles as mothers, managers of the household, and supporters of men. He accuses feminism and Western culture in general of ruining Western women’s sex appeal. He went as far as to leave the United States, his home country, preferring places populated by more traditional women such as in South America, Eastern Europe, and Southeast Asia. The problem with the West, he says, is that feminists demand equality whereas biology makes men and women unequal. This leads women who are infected with the feminist virus, as he puts it, to insist on beating men at their game, acting tough and manly instead of allowing alpha males to tame them.

In his words, the Western woman “has lost her reproductive imperative and sees men as nothing more than sources of entertainment to improve her soulless existence of having to attain a meaningless education to labor in an insignificant office job”; moreover, “because of her rejection of the feminine nature given to her at birth, you [the male reader] are even more qualified to take care of children than she is.” According to Roosh, “within every woman on this planet, regardless of her education or background, is a bitch, a cunt, a slut, a golddigger, a flake, a cheater, a backstabber, a narcissist, and an attention whore that is dying to get out…This is the true nature that will come forth if society doesn’t put constraints or limitations on a woman’s behavior and choice…Free from the shackles of acting within traditional sex roles, all women of the world would much rather act like a lazy sailor than a prim and proper lady as long as male attention continues to flow…As the women of this era find their basic needs being increasingly met, and the direction of societies moves towards one of automatic reverence to women instead of bemused skepticism of their childlike decision-making and behavior, reversions will occur across all economically rising countries of the world” as the virus of feminist culture spreads.

“Game,” then, is a man’s donning of a clown mask to entertain attractive women so that both parties get what they want. Women shouldwant to succeed in their premodern, feminine roles, but in the West women want to be equal to men, so instead of tending to their traditional duties and relying on men for their welfare, women become financially and emotionally independent. Instead of looking for love and happiness with a man, the heterosexual woman seeks only to be entertained by him. Thus he must act like a sociopath, putting her “on a rollercoaster of abuse,” as opposed to boring her with beta-male meekness and effeminateness. He must roleplay as the aloof villain to arouse her fear, giving her respite from the tedium of her office life. Nature’s blessed her with one true asset, which is her physical appearance, but she squanders her window of opportunity when she’s youthful and at her prettiest and most beguiling, going on libertine binges with alpha males who are too discerning to be interested in a long-term relationship with a debased Western woman. Thus, she’s left to court beta-male suckers on dating websites when she’s older, used up and saddled with children, begging those second-class men for companionship if not also for shelter. 

Game, the quasi-science of seducing women, is a form of realism, for Roosh. A Western man should acknowledge the backwardness of modern culture and exploit the opportunity to satisfy his desire for a “healthy sex life,” if not also his anachronistic goal of finding happiness in a traditional home. As Roosh puts it, “I would be foolhardy to try to build a home with her [the modern girl] since she is not made of the same stuff as her mother and grandmothers, and so I will not treat her as if she’s something she’s not. She’s an oil well, and I will use my drill to gain as much black liquid as I can until the well taps out, and then be forced to move on to another.” Western culture makes clowns of men and women alike, forcing us into unnatural roles, but savvy men only pretend to be alphas to get laid or else are luckily born with no conscience, being sociopathic, bad-boy alphas so they can effortlessly attract women. Meanwhile, feminist women war with biology at the cost of all heterosexuals’ chance to be happy. Armed with techniques for exploiting women’s biological weaknesses and learned decadence, the wily male uses women for all they’re good for now due to female empowerment. Ideally, women’s empowerment would have doubled human ingenuity and vastly accelerated the rate of human progress, but that hasn’t happened. Roosh’s explanation is that “Women have been quiet in the history of the world not because of male privilege, but because they’re not designed to achieve.” Socially- and economically-equal women are ill-equipped to fulfill their natural role of being caretakers and are reduced to being objects for crafty men’s pleasure.

Critique of Roosh’s Case: From Misogyny to Misanthropy

As I see it, the root of the problem in this modern war between the sexes is individualism, the ideology common to the Protestant Reformation and to the Enlightenment. The culture descried by Roosh is based on the idea that human nature isn’t biological but psychological. In each human body there’s an individual, otherwise known as a person, who has the right to self-determination. By contrast, the traditionalist maintains that members of a society should defer to their elders or ancestors and to their conventions, for the sake of social cohesion, favour in God’s eyes or some other higher good. Curiously, Roosh arrives at his Sayyid Qutb-style distaste for modern individualism, by way of modernity’s science-centered hostility towards all fact-free traditions; hence, his appeal to biology in support of his contentions about gender inequality. The individualist, in turn, mixes naturalistic critiques of stifling premodern ideologies, with the modern invention of the individual moral agent. You see, on one hand, premodern social conventions are assumed to be merely mythical, the myths being instruments for imposing mass ignorance so that the populace might be more easily oppressed and exploited by some gang of power elites. On the other hand, the sovereign individual takes on God’s role as the originator of morality; whereas science may show that we’re merely clever animals, all moderns—including the power elites—foist on each other a new metanarrative, a noble lie according to which they’re persons rather than animals and are thus entitled to a higher form of happiness.

Roosh speaks of women’s “natural role” as feminine caregivers, as though there were any room in modernity for natural rights; instead, science eliminates any such supernatural basis for traditional societies, which means that the inference that women ought to do what biology equips them to do efficiently is merely a crude instance of the naturalistic fallacy. Even were Roosh’s generalization about the different biological strengths of men and women correct, such empirical knowledge would have exactly zero prescriptive implications. Roosh’s case seems to lack the philosophical step between those premises and that conclusion, such as the existentialist’s assumption that we must create our values by a leap of faith in something’s sacredness. That latter assumption, however, happens to be implicitly individualistic and thus liable to be consistent with the principles of feminism.

But what to make of Roosh’s argument about the damage wrought by feminism? That argument rings true to me, but the phenomenon of Western infantilization is much broader than Roosh suggests. Many men are likewise reduced to being childish consumers; indeed, Roosh’s distinction between alpha and beta men implies as much. Only the enlightened alphas consume women with a tragic yearning for a more honourable quest, as opposed to doing so with the glee expressed by the clownish mask they wear in their pursuit of deluded women. Beta males, or at least those with no interest in emulating alphas with game, are as deluded as the women poisoned by feminism: they too eschew their biological roles as hunters and providers, domesticating themselves and thus requiring a wife not for any romantic reason but just to complete their To Do List, adding one more possession to their catalogue, the woman who turns into a harpy who duly pussy-whips him. If some men are free from the process of Western infantilization, the same is likely true of some women. They, too, may toy with men, hoping for a sea change in modern culture, but stoically coping with the farcical conditions of the mating game.

Roosh says women are inherently inferior creatures and require male guidance to avoid making self-destructive, childish decisions. Thus, he says women who toy with men are bitches and flakes, whereas alpha males who do the same to women are wise game-players. The arbitrariness of this double standard means that Roosh’s misogyny is only half right: the more adequate philosophical response to our scientific enlightenment is misanthropy, contempt for humanity in general, not just for half of its members. Roosh lauds males for the human history of cultural achievements, blind to the fact that such progress appears to be utterly self-destructive. Our technological breakthroughs merely speed up the rate at which glorified monkeys may destroy themselves, taking half the planet with them. From the anthropological perspective, such as that of Harari in his history of our species, Sapiens, our cultural achievements are so many propagations of useful fictions to distract us from the catastrophes caused by our ballooning populations. The men who carried human civilizations forward have hardly been free from delusions. Most alpha rulers of megamachines (dominance hierarchies in which a minority controls the majority by treating it as a social machine) thought of themselves as gods. The current titans of Wall Street are sullied by their weakness for all manner of Ayn Randian or social Darwinian fallacies of egoism and narcissism. His swagger may be attractive to helpless women, but this doesn’t mean that a sociopath is an admirable figure. Indeed, the sociopath’s selfishness pales next to the average child’s. We must remember that while children are helpless without their guardians, children are also notorious bullies if given the slightest opportunity, so both women and men who display advanced forms of those behaviours (helplessness or arrogance, respectively) are equally comparable to children. Advocating for men’s rule over women is advocating for the quintessential case of the blind leading the blind.

The standard way of thinking of individuals as liberated persons is all wrong. The myth is that the freedom to choose your course is an inherent right, a modern victory for humanity. In reality, this Western myth papered over the breakdown of medieval civilization. Just as Christian egalitarianism was a rationalization of the fall of the Roman Empire, since the vigorous, rugged militarism of Rome couldn’t last into the Dark Age and an ethic of compassion was needed for an impoverished, fragile continent, modern individualism rationalizes the fall of the Catholic Church. When many Christians awoke to the unsettling fact that God isn’t present in the primary Christian institution, in the Church which had become unspeakably corrupt, they retreated to a proto-Darwinian doctrine according to which each isolated soul must work out its salvation in fear and trembling, to paraphrase Kierkegaard. The Church’s disgrace brought on the Protestant Revolution, whereupon the idol of scripture replaced the priesthood’s authority, and each Christian had the duty to bolster her precious faith by divining the hidden meanings of God’s Word. Protestant individualism was secularized by Enlightenment substitutes for theistic formulations of the underlying admission, which is that when society breaks down we must reap the whirlwind: we must inure ourselves to our basic, existential situation, which is that we’re lowly animals and can’t count on our social structures. Even when aided by others, natural patterns prevail, we fall well short of our dreamlike ideals, and we’re left with genetic narrow-mindedness, with the empty freedomto do whatever we will in the concrete jungle, lacking the direction that requires faith in something besides our pitiful selves.

In the existentialist’s big picture, freedom is something other than this state of being bereft of social guidance, of being alienated from our dysfunctional institutions. The lone individual’s freedom is a crypto-Satanic adventure that began with the advent of sentience, with the genes’ loss of direct control over their animal hosts, and with the development of mental powers of self-creation and thus self-control. Individuals in the broadest sense are animals that have been severed from nature and thus liberated from the self-creating god (the only divinity there manifestly is, being nature as a cosmic whole), animals that are therefore free to create themselves anew from next to nothing, which is to say from an artistic leap of faith in some ideals.With higher-order thinking, primates face the curse of reason which is also the problem with modern individualism and with feminism: these celebrations of liberty are unbridled in their optimism, because the corresponding conventions are noble lies. The point is to conceal what was lost in the breakdown of Catholic and of ancient Roman civilizations and above all to distract from the implication that American society too will fail. We assume we needn’t dwell on such downfalls since they have a silver lining, the individual’s freedom, that is, the creation of persons in the fullest, most existentially dazzling sense, since such disappointed persons are socially-inclined animals that are nevertheless left to their own devices in deciding how to live. This is evidently the reason for the current burgeoning of post-apocalyptic fiction (The Walking Dead, Mad Max, etc) and for the earlier popularity of Old Western fiction. The heroes in such tales are perfectly free in the absence of social constraints, but the context hints at the dark side of self-determination: social creatures are inept at role-playing as sovereign, self-sufficient deities; after all, the freest individuals in the aftermath of the apocalypse are homeless and doomed to wander aimlessly and anxiously in the hostile wilderness, the thought of suicide their only consolation. This is the dark, satanic aspect of liberty which existentialism brings into the light.

The Vacuity of Canadian Individuals

With this in mind, we can explain the Canadian overreaction to Roosh’s antimodern writings. Canadians, and especially Ontarians, strive to be as uninteresting as possible to live down to the Enlightenment diversion of self-determination. The Canadian practice is to erase cultural differences to eliminate the distinction of specialness, reducing Canada’s citizens to cogs in the technocrat’s megamachine. We Canadians become just rationally autonomous individuals and thus neutered, neither masculine nor feminine, but views from nowhere indeed. We're freed by detaching ourselves from any tradition or organization that deserves our trust and thus we're hollow, lacking ultimate goals that are meaningful to each person in so far as they’re self-chosen by faith (by a heartfelt, creative endeavour).

You might be thinking this is obviously false since Canada is multicultural whereas the United States, for example, is a melting pot in which cultural differences are more effectively dissolved. But these differences are only superficial. Cultural differences are indeed nominally preserved in Canada, because Canada has no unifying culture to uphold as superior to its competitors. What transpires is a postmodern reduction of all ways of life to mere variations of culture-in-the-abstract, as Canadians drag foreign cultures down with them into the abyss of nihilistic relativism. For example, the question of whether Muslim women should be allowed to wear a hijab or a niqab in government buildings in Quebec isn’t decided by reflecting on the garment’s religious significance. Canadian liberals think of religion only in sociological terms, not in the theological ones that indicate the practitioner's leap of faith, so the issue becomes the mathematically-decidable one of whether one “culture” should be given special consideration. Secular Canadian government is anticultural, which means its role is superficially to preserve cultural differences, but it does so by ignoring the latter and implicitly secularizing cultures, interpreting them in sociological or anthropological terms.

By contrast, American government is nakedly xenophobic rather than cosmopolitan, and so a bastardized form of Christianity predominates there as the standard by which all other cultures are judged. That is, Americans haven’t absorbed the fact that science has demolished the foundations of traditional religion, for example, and so they naively cling to their guns and bibles, as President Obama put it. Americans still take what they misconstrue as their founding culture for granted, so in practice they preserve cultural divisions as so many iterations of Us versus Them. In Canada, there is no us or them, but only technocratic distractions from the emptiness of what Arcade Fire calls the modern and the normal people. For example, in Canada there’s no bluster about a titanic struggle between Christian/modern atheistic and theocratic Islamic civilizations; at least, there’s no such native fear-mongering that isn’t borrowed from the American discourse. This is because Canadians have no culture to lose and thus nothing to fear from the threat of having some culture imposed on them. Of course, there’s fear of being killed by terrorists, but in Canada (and perhaps in Britain, France and Germany too) the ideas that drive militant jihadists are neutralized by the nihilism born from the incompletion of Canada’s satanic adventure.

What I mean is thatCanadians and Europeans are stuck with the postmodern angst arising from the failure of secular institutions to replace the foundered medieval ones. In Canada there’s hockey and in Europe there’s football, while the US has Hollywood as well as its military and its own football. But these secular institutions infantilize us by reducing us to small-minded consumers, as opposed to teaching us how to live as awakened, sentient beings. There’s a process of alienation which begins with the realization that social norms are preposterous compromises that tend to abet a minority class of spoiled alpha males. According to existential philosophers, that process can end in a rebellious, self-creative act, in a leap of artistic commitment to certain speculations and values. Canadians have no faith in their society, because they can’t even stay awake long enough to summarize how their society works. But Canadians haven’t used their individual liberty and alienation to create something new. And so when Roosh V. comes along with his politically incorrect talk of how men and women aren’t equal, he arouses the ire of ashamed Canadian feminists who rally around the invisible flag that stands for pride in Canadian technocracy. Of course men and women should be treated equally as persons, says the average Canadian, just as cultures should be treated equally. This amounts to saying that gender and culture should be eliminated, that there’s nothing special about persons or societies, because all are equal according to some pretentious postmodern abstractions or to sociological explanations of their material underpinnings. Women and men are equal as persons, but a modern person is just the disembodied inner self, a capacity for higher-order thoughts that could excite only an introvert with too much time on his or her hands.

The Existential Stakes of Individuality

To say that men and women are different is to say that they have different specialties, and because something’s specialness alone can interest us, inequality between the sexes is a precondition of sustainable sexual attraction. Feminized men no longer interest women even though their feminization is caused by the understandable feminist reaction to decadent, patriarchal masculinity. Likewise, “liberated” women who behave just like masculine men set themselves up as friends or as sex objects, as Roosh says, not as mysterious others that excite lust and awe. The reason most Western couples are serially monogamous rather than committed to a stable, long-term home life is because the sameness of Western men and women, that is, their equality, bores them so they lack the endurance needed to tolerate each other’s presence for long. The hope of each affair is that it will be qualitatively rather than just quantitatively new. Alas, we’re mostly just half-born individuals, not masculine men or feminine women, not special classes of creatures with distinct habits to complement each other. We’re infantilized consumers, distracted from our suspicion that precisely as hypermodern individuals we’re fundamentally all alone with faith in nothing, no values to guide us to some transcendent state of salvation from our natural doom.

To insist on equality between men and women in all matters is ironically to submit to forces that depersonalize us. Here’s the process in a nutshell: in a patriarchy, men are privileged and so after feminism, women demand to be treated like men; but the patriarchy had been defined by a subset of men who had dominated, namely the minority of sociopathic alpha males; thus, feminists effectively lobotomize themselves, holding up as their standard of personhood not the tortured, creative lone artist, but the calculating, shark-like machine at the heart of economic models, the corrupted, unfeeling male perfected by the invention of the “personal” computer. Equalized individuals lose their existentially-meritorious personhood along with their specialness that makes them different, and so they’re objectified—just as arid Canada objectifies cultures to tame them, to establish a firewall around Canada’s status as the least interesting place on Earth. Am I being facetious? Not really: hypermodernity ends in the extinction of values, of the difference between right and wrong, and of positive freedom, of the choice of an ultimate purpose in life to direct us towards some authentic destination for which we can take responsibility as worthwhile, enlightened and noble creatures. By taking a stand against being the least bit interesting, Canadians push modernity to its limits, diminishing themselves in the name of the obsolete modern ideal of the (merely) rationally-autonomous person. One glance at the current decrepitude of American democracy suffices to show that David Hume was right and Plato was wrong: for most “people,” emotions are stronger than reason, which means that most hominids aren’t people in the higher sense. Like Canadians, liberals, and other blinkered champions of modernity, feminists blather in their fight for self-destructive ideals as though they’re in a trance. And why did Western women seek to be equal to men? Not because of the allure of male power, but again because the medieval civilization that justified the social differences between the sexes collapsed, and the Enlightenment myth of the mere rational (as opposed to aesthetic, artistic) basis of individuality distracted from the horror of the existential stakes of sentience.

Individual freedom is a promethean opportunity to seize godhood by a creative act of artistic inspiration. This is more or less what Nietzsche surmised when he spoke of the bitter-sweetness of God’s death. John Stuart Mill likewise applauded the idiosyncratic individuals who stand out in a crowd rather than being submerged in an equalized mass of humanity, whose marks of personal distinction vindicate the compromised ideology of individualism. But we deluded moderns speak of freedom as though it were the ultimate good itself rather than just the means to some other end. We wage war “for freedom,” which is as nonsensical as warring against terror. The freedom to choose is valuable only if we choose well. But what should we choose to be? Should we choose to be the same in an infantilizing monoculture in which we rank each other according to how drastically we each consume the planet’s nonrenewable resources? Should we model ourselves on the spiritually poorest among us, that is, on the materially richest one percent of subcriminally-psychopathic males? And should heterosexual men and women strive to be like each other, to lose their specializations that alone are attractive to non-narcissists? (As the saying has it, opposites attract.)  

Mating between equals is absurd. For example, the movement of sapiosexuality, of the alleged sexual attraction to intelligence in general ends in a Gattaca-like form of mating in which potential mates will scan maps of their brain or lust after the results of their IQ tests. But sapiosexuality follows from modern individualism, since both make idols of reason. Existential philosophers and theologians remind us that while reason makes men and women more or less equal, personhood is something more profound than rationality. Rationality is an instrument for succeeding in certain competitions, such as in the primordial war against the indifferent wilderness or in the Machiavellian conflicts that arise in ambitious tribes. Personhood is the fall from god’s monstrous grace of being blissfully ignorant in our animal oneness with the natural plenum, the original sin of being severed from the zombie god’s bosom so that we must face the existential, metaphysically-fraught choice to become something else, something unnatural, that is, something artificial and virtually miraculous. Like bastardized, so-called conservative Christians who twist their religion into an excuse for the palpably natural causes of American plutocracy and military hegemony, feminists and other liberals who demand equality between the sexes are effectively mouthpieces for that which would just as soon annihilate as create the conditions for all persons as such.

Equalized men and women aren’t original artists in the metaphysical business of complexification, dedicated to replacing the undead wilderness with a new order of being. Instead, they’re cogs in a dominance hierarchy, infantilized consumers who fall back on their lauded reason to exercise their mere negative freedom to choose between the goods that are served up to them, as opposed to the positive freedom to choose what they consider to be good. At a less lofty level of analysis, effeminate men and bossy women condemn themselves to a grotesque battle between the sexes that dares not speak its name. Disgusted by our doppelgangers, we sad individuals argue over petty grievances, searching for an excuse to summon the energy to move on to the next sexual conquest. We’re too much alike for our conflicts to be interesting, and yet our biological makeup condemns most of us to be curious about our physical opposites. The mismatch between the oppositeness of men’s and women’s bodies and the sameness of our modern mentality makes for a grim spectacle. We pretend to be individuals, but our preoccupation with (mere) rational autonomy makes us puppetsjust as computers, the benchmarks of rationality, are playthings of computer programmers. Reason is the process of following rules of inference, but as any student of logic knows, a good argument is both valid and sound. Reason alone doesn’t provide the curiosity to search for premises as inputs to the argument of how to be a good person, if you will. Moderns believe that reason is the source of our specialness, of our being persons who stand above the animals. But the idolizing of reason at the expense of aesthetics and of our realizing that creativity is the name of our existential game prepares the way for Zeus’s revenge against Prometheus. The modern metanarrative of individualism desexualizes heterosexual men and women as in Canada and Europe, so that the liberals’ birth rate falls and enlightened civilization will be crushed once again by barbarian hordes.  
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