Italian Sophistry…

Our Europcar Ragazza

Credit Card Servitude…

I remain, like so many others, an unreserved Italophile. How could anyone not revere the nation that gave the world Pythagoras, Parmenides, Petrarch, Pico della Mirandola, Pietro Bembo, Palladio, Piero della Francesca, Perugino, Palestrina, pasta, pizza, prosciutto, prosecco, parmagiana di reggiano (and those are just the p’s), not to mention the three hour lunch, and the five-hour work day.

But Italy was also home to a number of the ancient Sophists, and thus her progeny have never ceased to be able to “make the worse seem the better case”. To deal with Italians, the muscles of eristic must be in perfect trim. Grasping the metamorphic sea-god Proteus is only slightly easier than pinning an Italian down to his word.

 

Our first experience of Milan was hardly propitious. Though already September, the temperature was in the mid-thirties and the humidity pushing ninety percent. After twelve hours of confinement, our clothes were already clinging to corporeal recesses that hadn’t been exposed to air, water, or soap for over a day. (One of the peak pleasures of European travel is the first shower after touch-down–assuming the water heater in one’s rented apartment is working).

Exacerbating the heat and humidity was the dust with which the atmosphere was choked from the construction around Milan’s Linate Airport. With its trailers and port-o-potties, the scene outside the terminal building resembled an Eritrean refugee camp more than the gateway to the fashion capital of the world. Things will improve (I reassured myself) once we get into the city itself.

Linate is at least a blessedly small facility, so that finding the car rental area (a dreaded ordeal of international air travel) was relatively easy. I booked (and paid for) our car well in advance on an omnibus website called Auto Europe. Auto Europe recommended itself for many reasons, besides the fact that their prices were considerably lower than those of other third-party car rental clearinghouses on the web, not to mention Hertz, Avis, Budget, and the other international chains. First, I was able to get in touch with their representative by that quaintly old-fashioned (and occasionally time-saving) device known as the telephone. Second, a living human being answered the phone—Auto Europe as of yet eschews the sadistic “voice menu” that has become the impregnable roadblock of modern communications—nor was I ever put on hold. Third, the young man at the end of the line was located in Maine (rather than Mumbai). And most miraculous of all, in addition to speaking standard English, he was knowledgeable, efficient, and polite. He reminded me of that wholly anachronistic, clean-cut species of college student one still occasionally encounters in small-town America.

I called Auto Europe four times before committing myself, in part for the exhilarating ease of the experience, but mainly to confirm (redundantly, as required by my congenital suspiciousness) that, indeed, the $900.00 for my thirty-one day car rental included (1) full insurance coverage (collision, third-party liability, and theft) with zero deductible; (2) all conceivable local taxes and bribes; and a guarantee of the model of car reserved. Finally, I was assured that Europcar (the local car rental company, whom I had never heard of) was indeed a well-established firm with operations all across the Continent.

 

I nonetheless entered the office of Europcar in Linate with a prescient sense of trepidation. Having looked cursorily at my paperwork–I came armed with the entire dossier of orders, confirmations, and receipts, including a long email catena–the ragazza behind the counter proceeded to improvise. The car that we had “requested” would not serve our needs. Looking at our luggage, she could see that it wouldn’t be big enough. Besides, they didn’t have a Fiat Panda on the lot, and it would take an hour to procure one. Why don’t we “upgrade” (at only a small increase in cost) to a larger vehicle?

Standing my ground, I managed to parry this first assault. (Miraculously, a Fiat Panda materialized within minutes; it was “brand new”, “not yet logged into the system”, which is why our ragazza wasn’t aware of it.)

But having survived this first skirmish, I knew that I was a long way from winning the war; and the Protean slipperiness of my opponent had already begun to sap my confidence. Trying to forestall any further surprises, I showed her a number of clauses (which I had underlined in red) in my sheaf of documents, and asked her to confirm that the car was (as it said in black and white) fully insured, and that there would be no other charges. She laughed. Insurance has be arranged and paid for at the site, she said with condescending deliberateness, in both English and Italian (as though I were incapable of understanding either language). And there are always local taxes. Now I’ll need your credit card to process your “request”.

When she printed the rental agreement and thrust it unceremoniously in my direction to sign, I noticed a charge of 677 Euros posted opposite my credit card number. Having returned to consciousness, I was assured that it was the “usual” security deposit. I doubted it; the figure was rather too specific. It could only have referred, I assumed, to those ubiquitous “local taxes” she had mentioned. When I left the Europcar office, I resigned myself to the probability that my $900.00 car rental would end up setting me back closer to $2000.00.

Naturally, I thought about telling our ragazza to find some other bleary-eyed traveler to gull. (A suggestion for a Europcar advertising slogan: Rent a car with us: we’ll take you for a ride.) But I had no reason to believe that I would ever get my nine hundred dollars back. In any case, I’d be left with having to find another rental car on the spot (and there’s nothing Italians are better at than sensing when a supplicant is negotiating under duress). So I capitulated, like a political prisoner who, after days of sleep deprivation, is willing to confess to anything.

The most depressing realization (which would turn out to be the lesson of the entire trip) was that all of my vigilant preparedness—the careful internet research, the multiple phone calls to Auto Europe, the amassing of the documentary evidence–was an onanistic waste. A traveler can be girded with the breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of truth, but once his opponent has his credit card, he is confronting a nuclear power.

 

Before collecting our very expensive economy car, we decided to retire to the lounge to lick our wounds. This would be a good time for Mrs. P. to telephone Donato (our host in Milan), from whom we needed to procure the keys to his apartment. Mrs. P. had purchased a plan from our cell-phone provider in Toronto for the purpose of arranging such rendezvous. But she had forgotten to charge her phone. The call would have to be made on mine, and while dialing I mentally added the outrageous roaming fees I would have to pay to the ever-rising sum of costs we had so providently, but vainly, attempted to avoid. We had also (providently) purchased a European map program for “Mrs. Garmin” (our GPS device) before we left, and I thought that this might also be a good time to see if it worked. It didn’t. When I turned the unit on, the screen was blank. I later realized why: I was still inside the terminal building, where satellite reception is apparently impossible. But never mind. I had ample cause to be confirmed in my sense of touristic doom. I took out pencil and paper (a technology I could count on) and made a list of everything that might possibly go wrong before the end of the day. It was a long one, but not even the most prescient Cassandra is capable of foreseeing the horrors that a malevolent Fate has in store for her vacationing victims.

Anaximenes’ Air…

 Air, Wind, and Breath as Soul-substances and God-images…

 The World as a Divine Animal…

 Macrocosm and Microcosm, again…

The Divinity of Man…

     Cosmogony and cosmology continued to be the preoccupations of Anaximander’s pupil and fellow Milesian, Anaximenes (born c. 584 B.C.).  Like his master, Anaximenes is reported to have taught that the source and underlying nature of all things is one and infinite; but unlike Anaximander, for whom the infinite was none of the four elements (while encompassing them all), Anaximenes identified it with air.

Anaximenes’ air remained nonetheless an indeterminate substance–not unlike to apeiron—insofar as it was capable of being transformed into all the other elements in turn.  This occurred by a process that Anaximenes called “dilation and compression”.

When air is compressed it becomes colder, denser, and heavier, and so takes on the properties first of water and then of earth; when it is dilated, it becomes hotter, rarer, and lighter, and takes on those of fire.  In Anaximenes’ scheme, Anaximander’s opposites are thus engendered through the mechanism of thickening and thinning.

Once again, however, we may readily detect the afflatus of pre-rational, religious ideas and modes of thought in Anaximenes’ apparently mechanical explanation of things.  According to one doxographer, “Anaximenes says that air is a god”, while another fragment runs, “Just as our soul (being air) controls us, so breath and air encompass the whole world-order”.

 

Air, breath, and wind are primordial and ubiquitous God-images, since they were commonly held to constitute the essential substance of the Divine.  In ancient Hebrew, for instance, Yahweh is ruach, that is, “breath or wind”.  In Genesis, his Spirit is said to brood over the face of the waters at the beginning.  As we’ve already seen, this is a sexual image:  God fecundates those waters with the seed of his Spirit as the male inseminates the woman’s watery womb. 

But he does more than that, of course.  The English word “spirit” comes from the Latin verb spiro, spirare (to breathe), and indeed God creates the world in Genesis, as he creates Adam, by breathing his own enlivening soul into their otherwise inert and inanimate material bodies.

Throughout Greek thought, analogously, there persists the idea that the world itself is, as Plato called it, a Divine Animal, whose outer body is composed of those corporeal members that are discernible to the senses, and whose inner soul, which regulates the orderly movements and processes of the universe, is the invisible Soul of God.  God inspirits and governs the cosmos, as the human soul inspirits and governs the human body; and this becomes the function of Anaximenes’ supposedly de-mythologized and impersonal “air”.

As Anaximenes was well aware, whether in God or man, the soul had been universally and immemorially conceived as being made of an airy substance, identified with the breath.  Primitive peoples almost all believe that when a person dies, his soul escapes–is exhaled–in his final breath, and from this belief we get our expression, “he breathed his last”.

Homer accepted this assumption too, as we may infer from his description in the Iliad of Sarpedon, who is wounded, almost fatally, on the battlefield before Troy:

His soul left him, and mist covered his eyes.
But he recovered his breath, and the blast of the north wind,
Blowing, gave him life, though he was sorely spent in spirit.

It is the air, wind, or breath in us, then, which is soul.  And the airy breath in us animates our bodies, just as the air, according to Anaximenes, animates the body of the world.

 

Like the soul in man and God, Anaximenes naturally attributes to his archetypal air the quality of “intelligence”.  As the airy soul rationally directs and regulates the movements and processes of living creatures, so Anaximenes’ air regulates the life of the world-order, preserving within it that state of harmony and justice of which Anaximander had written.

The whole argument–indeed, the whole argument of so much theology and philosophy–, is based on the analogy between the little world of man—the microcosm—and the greater world of the cosmos—the macrocosm.  And from Anaximenes himself we have one of the earliest statements of this perennial Western theme:

The living creature, he says, is a world in miniature.

I’ve already alluded to Greek medical theory, which is rooted in this analogy:  just as the elements earth, water, air, and fire, comprised of the opposites hot and cold, moist and dry, must observe their limits if the health of the cosmos is to be preserved, so the elements of the body—the four humours, which are comprised of the same four opposites—must coexist in balance lest the body succumb to disease.

But the most important, and characteristically Greek, deduction from the correspondence between macrocosm and microcosm is what it implies about the essential divinity of the human soul.  This is already the planted axiom in the following statements by one of Anaximenes’ later disciples, Diogenes of Apollonia:

It seems to me that that which has intelligence is what men call air, and that all men are steered by this, and that it has power over all things.  For this very thing seems to be a god and to reach everywhere and to dispose all things and to be in everything.  For it would not be possible, without intelligence, to be divided up so as to dispense measure in all things—winter and summer, night and day, rain and wind and fair weather.

Thus the Divine Intelligence that suffuses and is immanent in all things, that regulates and orders the seasons and the cosmos “in measure”, is also immanent in man, regulating and ordering in measure his life as it regulates and orders the life of the World-Animal

Man’s soul, then (as the later Platonists and Stoics would call it) is already conceived as a “seed” or “particle” of the Divine Reason, and so participating in the Divine, man is in essence a god.

But we’ll come back to these ideas later.

Anaximander and Moira…

     Even the gods are bound by the primordial law of justice which Anaximander projects upon the material world.  Homer himself acknowledges that its authority is older and its power greater than that of Zeus.

For though the gods are ageless and deathless, they are not eternal–they are in fact younger than the world, as the poets affirm–, nor are they omnipotent.  What limits their power above all is the prior and organizing principle of the cosmos, which Homer calls Moira.

     Homer’s conception of Moira (Destiny) is better known in later Greek myth as personified by  the Three Fates (another of those pre-Christian trinities):  Clotho, the Spinner, who spins the thread of Life; Lachesis, the Disposer of Lots, who assigns to each man his personal fate; and Atropos, She Who Would Not Be Denied, who carries the dreaded shears and cuts the thread at death.  But Moira, as an impersonal force or numen, is much older.

We encounter this cosmological Moira in the fifteenth Iliad, when Zeus awakens to find his Trojans hard pressed by the Achaeans, because they have been incited by Poseidon.  Zeus at once dispatches the messenger goddess Iris (she of the rainbow) to present Poseidon with the ultimatum to desist from any further involvement in the War, and retire contentedly to his kingdom in the sea.

To this Poseidon angrily replies:

No, no; good though he be, he spoke insolently,
If he would restrain me by force against my will,
When I am his peer in honor.  For we three are brothers,
Sons of Cronos whom Rhea bore:
Zeus and I, and Hades, lord of the world below.
All was divided in three; each received his share [moira] of honor.
I had the gray sea as my dwelling when we cast lots;
Hades, the shadowy world; Zeus the broad heavens
Among the upper air and clouds.  The earth
Is shared by all of us, along with high Olympus.
Wherefore I will not live by Zeus’ will;
Strong though he be, let him rest content with his share [moira].

Each of the three brothers, then, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, enjoys his own equal share in the government of the universe, his own sphere of influence and department of nature (sky, sea, or earth) beyond which he must not go.  In Homer, this “ordinance” is fixed by the agreement of the gods, whereas, in Anaximander, the gods as individual personalities have nominally disappeared:  the opposites (in the form of the concrete and de-mythologized “elements” air, water, and earth (which the Olympian triad formerly personified) have now taken their place.

 

But in Anaximander’s cosmos no less than in Homer’s, the elements and contraries are bound within their provinces by a moral law.  And this is of enormous significance for the whole Hellenic temperament, as we have seen.  The fact that the existential boundaries (moirai) of the elemental contraries are also moral boundaries means that what is “beyond destiny” is at the same time “beyond right”, and any attempt by either man or god to go “beyond what is ordained” is immediately answered by the god Nemesis, or Retribution, the personified abstraction who swiftly restores the due and proper harmony and balance.

It is Moira, then, that is ultimately behind the rudimentary Greek notion that there is an enormous gulf between the human and the divine, and that unless mortals are content “to think mortal thoughts”, as we have seen, their illicit ambition will be visited by the gods with punishment.

But whatever its precise origins, Anaximander’s concept of natural justice as the maintenance of balance and harmony amongst the opposites–as a state of “order” and boundedness in which the elements remain within their proper provinces–, became, as we will see, a commonplace in later classical cosmogony and cosmology, and indeed, in the entire Western philosophical tradition.

Anaximander’s Law of Compensation…

 And the Greek Medical Theory of the Humours…

 Compensation in the Health of the Body and the Succession of the Seasons…

Anaximander’s Natural Justice as a Projection of Human Morality…

Cosmic Injustice and Hybris… 

     But the world order, unlike to apeiron, is transitory and passes away, and how and why this happens is addressed by Anaximander in the single sentence from his book that has come down to us, as preserved by Simplicius:  a sentence that is certainly of profound significance for later Greek thought:

“Into those things from which existing things have their coming into being, their passing away, too, takes place, according to what must be; for they make reparation to one another for their injustice according to the ordinance of time”, as he puts it in somewhat poetical language.

It isn’t immediately obvious what “those things” are from which existing things arise.  The “Infinite Thing” as such can hardly be meant; the plural makes that plain enough.  On the other hand, Anaximander has already said that existing things arise not from the Infinite as such, but from those elements that are contained in it and separated out from it in the formation of the world.

These are the opposites, “the hot, the cold, the moist, the dry, and rest”.  It is the opposites, then, that “make reparation to one another for their injustice”; and the conception is one which is so ubiquitous in Greek thought as to be fundamental.

 

We encounter it, for instance, in Alcmaeon of Croton, who laid the foundations of Greek medical theory early in the 5th century B.C.:

Alcmaeon says [as recorded by Aetius, the 2nd century doxographer] that the essence of health lies in the “equality” of the powers—moist, dry, cold, hot, bitter, sweet, and the rest—whereas the cause of sickness is the “supremacy of one” among these.  For the rule of any one of them is a cause of destruction…while health is the proportionate mixture of the qualities.

Hippocrates in turn compares this balance or harmony of the opposites, which preserves the health of the body, to the orderly succession of the opposites in the seasonal year:

All of them [the opposites] are present in the body, but as the seasons revolve they become now greater now less, in turn…The year too has a share of all things—the hot, the cold, the dry, and the wet—for no one of the things which exist in the world-order would last for any length of time were it not for the balance preserved amongst them.

The opposites of which the body is composed—in later medical theory, the so-called four humours, which correspond to the four elements—are at enmity with each other, each attempting to drive out the other and establish sole supremacy.  The health of the body, on the other hand, consists in the maintenance of a balance of one opposite by the other.  It can be preserved, therefore, only if for every transgression, compensation or reparation is rendered, so that the balance is restored.

The same dynamic operates in the succession of the seasons.  In each season, one of each pair of opposites dominates:  spring is warm and moist; summer, warm and dry; autumn, cold and wet; winter, cold and dry.  Because the succession of the seasons is an orderly one, however, each of the opposites eventually makes reparation for the wrong it has done “according to the ordinance of time”.

 

Clearly, Anaximander’s “law of compensation”, his “poetic” description of nature in terms of “injustice and reparation”, is a projection of human morality on a supposedly inanimate and de-divinized world.  But then, the primordial data of religion inevitably survive and continue to influence the doctrines of the Greek philosophers, in spite of the assumption that they have moved beyond “irrational” mythological or theological categories of thought and supernatural explanations of things.  If Anaximander’s followers called his to apeiron “divine”, as Aristotle affirms, it was because the Greeks had from time immemorial ascribed to the Divine the same qualities of boundlessness, agelessness, eternity, and indestructibility.  In calling it by the impersonal term to apeiron, Anaximander has merely given the Godhead a new philosophical name.  Like the Godhead, the Infinite, he says, is the source and governor of the cosmos, which it “encompasses”, and whose operations it “steers” and regulates in justice and harmony.

Anaximander’s law of compensation is similarly rooted in a primitive ethos that survives from the psychological infancy of the species.  Even today, when we have a mild autumn, we expect instinctively that it will have to be paid for by a severe winter; we imagine, that is, that just as happiness is paid for by misfortune, so fine weather will be paid for by bad.

In this way, the laws of nature, to the mythic imagination, inevitably reflect those that operate in human affairs.  And Anaximander’s law of natural compensation seems to be just such a projection upon the inanimate elements of the cosmos of those moral laws that prevents human action from transgressing its proper bounds.

When a man exalts himself above his fellows, he is, like Herodotus’ Croesus, quickly brought low.  For the inquiring mind of the Greeks, there must, of course, be a reason for these inevitable reversals of fortune.  One commonly posited explanation was the jealousy of the gods.  Thus, in Herodotus once again, on the eve of his master’s ill-fated invasion of Greece, Xerxes’ adviser admonishes him:

You see, my lord, how god strikes with his thunderbolts those living creatures who are exalted above their fellows, and does not suffer them to vaunt themselves.  The small ones do not provoke his anger; it is always the highest buildings and the tallest trees on which his bolts fall.  For god delights in putting down all those who are exalted.

 

We can see how the idea of the jealousy of the gods is articulated with Anaximander’s theory according to which the aggrandizement of one of the opposites at the expense of the others demands reparation.  The gods alone enjoy perfect and indestructible power, ease, and happiness, and when a mortal aspires to such bliss, he is usurping divine prerogatives.  He is guilty, in Greek terms, of the sin of hybris:  of failing to “think only mortal thoughts”; of aspiring to rise above his proper station in the cosmic hierarchy.  And for this injustice he must inevitably be cast down, if the order and harmony of both human society and the cosmos itself are to be restored.

The Pre-Socratics…

Their Inspiration by Pre-Rational, Mythical Categories of Thought…

 Physis as a God-Image…

 The One and the Many…

Anaximander…

The Contraries and the Elements…

  Their Separation from To Apeiron…

     After Hesiod (c. 700), the principal preoccupation of the next several generations of Greek mythographers continued to be cosmogony and cosmology.  I refer, of course, to the Pre-Socratics (6th to 5th centuries B.C.), as they are called by the historians of Greek thought, who were the earliest “philosophers” in the Western tradition.

We must be careful, however, not to project our own modern definition of that hallowed term upon these seminal Greek thinkers.  For us, the word “philosopher” connotes someone who inquires dispassionately into the laws of the universe, obedient only to the dictates of reason and empirical truth, unharnessed from the ancestral burden of theological dogma or mythic fantasy.  Needless, to say, no such contemporary ideals troubled the Pre-Socratics (or any other pre-modern philosophers for that matter). Rather, the same pre-rational, mythological idioms and categories of thought as they had inherited from the poets and theologians of earlier generations inevitably recurred as the organizing archetypes of their investigations.

The earliest of the Pre-Socratics were called “physicists” by Aristotle, inviting us to identify them with modern scientists of the same name, and so adding to the confusion.  But Aristotle’s designation merely refers to the fact that they were dedicated to the discovery of the one primary substance or substrate—the Greek word is physis—out of which the observable multiplicity of the cosmos supposedly first arose and continues to inhere.

The conventional English translation of physis is “nature”, but for the Pre-Socratics the word meant something rather less abstract and (paradoxically) more exalted.  In its primary signification, the physis of the Pre-Socratics has about it the connotation of a living and growing thing; it is what Francis Cornford called a “Soul-Substance”:  the Soul Substance that animates the entire world.  That is to say that physis was little more than a non-theological or impersonal substitute for the word God, and thus hardly the descriptor of the de-deified and dis-inspirited machine that is the object of study for modern science.  The original and ongoing philosophical problem for the Pre-Socratics was that of the “One and the Many”, as it was called:  how the One Physis invisibly and immutably suffused—ensouled is really the right word here, since physis is merely another God-image–the multiplicity of individual mutable things, whence all existence is secretly and essentially unitary and unchanging; and how the Many–looking at the universal dynamic from the other side–expressed the hidden Unity out of which the One originally emanated or unfolded into diversity.  Unity and multiplicity are, as one would expect from a stage of consciousness as yet untroubled by the paradoxes of myth, both opposite and complementary modes or aspects of reality.

But again, we can hardly exhaust the meaning and implication of this archetype here, which informs any number of fundamental structures and recurrent themes in philosophy and religion, from polytheism itself, in which the many gods express the essential unity of the Supreme God (To Theion [The Divine], as the Greeks called it); to the mystery of the Trinity (One God in Three Persons), to the ubiquitous doctrine of transmigration of souls, in which the one soul undergoes a series of incarnations, and so on.

 

Aristotle says that the founder of Greek philosophy was Thales, (born c. 636 B.C.), a citizen of Miletus, one of the Ionian Greek city states on the Asia Minor coast.  Thales, he reports, asserted that the unitary physis or primary stuff of the cosmos was water, which was then transmuted into the solids, liquids, and gases (that is, everything that exists in the visible world) by a process of evaporation, condensation, freezing, melting, and so on.  But this is the sum of what we know of Thales and his teachings, a legacy so meager, or in some cases, so obviously the stuff of legend, that the title of Greece’s first philosopher probably belongs, more properly, to Thales’ younger Milesian contemporary Anaximander.

Anaximander was born c. 612 B.C., and though, unlike Thales, he committed his thoughts to writing in a book, nothing of it, unfortunately, has survived.  From the 6th century A.D. doxographer Simplicius, we learn that Anaximander asserted that the source of all existing things is what he called to apeiron, i.e., the “boundless” or “infinite” or “limitless” thing, which is neither water nor any of the other elements, but something prior to and encompassing them all, and out of which the entire world-order came into being and into which it will return.

This “boundless” or “infinite” or “limitless” thing is, moreover, “eternal”or “ageless”.  It has “no beginning”, as Aristotle explains, “for if there were a beginning it would be limited”; and by the same token, it has no end:  it is “deathless and imperishable”.  Possessing these qualities, to apeiron was called “divine” by Anaximander’s disciples.

We infer, then, that by contrast to the limitless”, the life of the world-order is limited at both ends:  it comes into existence and passes away.  But that out of which it arises and into which it passes away is without limit:  “ageless” and “imperishable”.  We may further infer from these adjectives that when Anaximander speaks of the source of existing things as “limitless”, he is thinking pre-eminently in temporal rather than spatial terms.

 

How, then, does the world-order come into being?  As reported by Aristotle, “The opposites, which are present in to apeiron, are separated out from it, Anaximander says”.  And from Simplicius we learn that “The opposites are the hot, the cold, the dry, the moist, and the rest”.

It is apparent, then, that Anaximander’s to apeiron corresponds in some way to that original state which Hesiod alludes to in the Theogony, in which Father Sky and Mother Earth were first bound up together in an indistinct unity, before they were separated by Chaos, and reunited to engender the world.  For Anaximander, the opposites are however no longer personified—no longer represented in the language of mythological poetry–, but are conceived as the inanimate and impersonal qualities of the hot and cold, wet and dry.

But since the Greeks as yet made no distinction between a thing and the qualities of a thing, Anaximander’s opposites are effectively indistinguishable from what later came to called the “elements”, i.e., earth, water, air, and fire, each of which was composed of a pair of the four contraries:  earth, cold and dry; water, cold and wet; air, hot and wet; fire, hot and dry.

Aristotle speaks of the contraries as “separated” out from the infinite, and in a sense this is true, but what is critical for the formation of the world-order is the separation of the elements from one another.  Earth, water, air, and fire emerge from a state of homogenous unity in to apeiron as distinct entities, much as in the Theogony the male and female contraries, Sky and Earth, emerge as distinct entities with the opening up of a “gap” (chaos) between them.

The world comes into being, then, when the elements are separated out of this primordial amorphous mass, and from each other, taking their proper place.  As Aristotle explains, Anaximander attributed this separating out to a mechanical process similar to that of a vortex or centrifuge within liquids, in which “like goes to like”, with the heaviest and densest components falling to the center of the vortex, while the lightest and rarest are flung to the outside.

Not coincidentally, this was how the elements were arranged in the existing world-order as the ancient Greeks conceived it:  that is, earth lay at the centre, water enveloping earth in a concentric sphere, air outside water, and outermost of all, the fiery circuit of the heavens.

Oh to have a munificent patron like Cosimo or Lorenzo de’ Medici in Florence, or Federico da Montfeltro in Urbino, who amassed great libraries for the use of such luminaries as Marsilio Ficino, Pico della Mirandola, Cristoforo Landino, and Pietro Bembo, while supporting them in the vita contemplativa, and underwriting the publication of their books. Take me back, take me back.

The question of patronage of another kind was raised at the end of a class on Ficino’s Commentary on Plato’s Symposium, when one of my students expressed her indignation at the steady reduction in Canada of government subsidies for “the arts”. I was tempted to thank her—though I was restrained by politeness—for relaying the good news. I exerted myself instead to relate her comment back to the general subject (the Renaissance) of the course. How was patronage of the arts in the Renaissance similar to, but different from, that of today’s democratic welfare state? Was the former not more private than public? And even if the Medici, Viscontis, Gonzagas, Sforzas, and Scaligers were mighty princes of their realms, didn’t their political power rather pale by comparison to that of the leaders of modern liberal democracies, whose “liberality” is a function of the coercive authority of their tax collectors.   (Not even France’s Sun King could dream of such sweeping jurisdiction as that possessed by modern elected governments at the command of armies of revenue agents empowered to confiscate half of every citizen’s wealth.)

The princely virtue of liberality is discussed in Catiglione’s Il Cortegiano, when the interlocutor Gasparo Pallavicino adduces the grand public works programs of Alexander the Great and Pope Julius II as noble examples. But Ottaviano Fregoso (Castiglione’s mouthpiece) demurs, arguing that the primary excellence and responsibility of the prince is to rule over a free people with justice and wisdom. The ideal prince, he says, should observe “a reasonable inequality in being generous, in rewarding, in distributing [largesse] according to the differences in merits”. Too often, princes “not only are not secret about it, but summon witnesses and almost make a public proclamation of their generosities”, and “there are many who rob in order to give away, and thus are generous with the property of others”. Evidently, Renaissance humanism had not yet evolved to the point of regarding meritless egalitarianism, or being conspicuously “magnificent” with other people’s money, as virtues.

 

My student represents one of the many voices in a deafening chorus of complaints that is the music of liberalism. Every election cycle, teachers complain of larger class sizes and the cut-backs in education that have purportedly caused them; nurses and health-care workers complain that governments spend less and less on hospitals and so endanger the health of citizens; police unions accuse governments of risking public safety by “slashing” police budgets; transit workers moralize that governments are spending too little on public transit and thereby causing gridlock; public construction unions demand more money to “invest” in our crumbling infrastructure; poverty advocates indict governments of heartlessness in reducing their budgets for public housing, welfare, and the ever-proliferating multitude of social programs; the green energy lobby prophesies the death of planet earth because governments are reducing their subsidies to wind and solar power; hydro workers predict blackouts for the same reason; daycare workers depict an impending apocalypse of infants wandering the streets in diapers because budgets for public daycare have been “gutted”.

Of course, when you look at the numbers, none of this apocalyptic threnody is based in fact. Government budgets for these constituencies (and a burgeoning panoply of others) have increased consistently and ineluctably over the course of every decade since the New Deal.

 

Politics can now be defined as organized begging. In the democracies of the West, there is at least one, and usually more than one, political party whose entire mandate is to complain about soi-disant “shrinking budgets”. (In countries like Greece, Portugal, and Italy, these currently outnumber the individual citizens who are net producers of wealth.) Political parties now resemble industry consortiums, like the Association of Mattress Manufacturers of America, or the International Order of Pork Producers, except that they represent the competing groups of State supplicants.

In the case of the arts, liberals dare not even make a pretense of the vaunted principle of “fairness” as they define it (i.e., redistributing wealth from the rich to the poor). Peruse the typical audiences of State-supported symphonies, operas, theatres, museums, and so on, and you see overwhelmingly affluent white faces, whose tickets have been subsidized by the taxes paid by the middle class, not to mention the working and immigrant poor, who rarely choose, don’t have time for, or can’t afford, the luxury of “art”.

It ought at least momentarily to embarrass the enthusiasts of the munificent State that every interest group that has become dependent upon it clamours to be first and stay longest at the public trough, indicting itself of unreconstructed greed, which it seeks to satisfy in cut-throat, dog-eat-dog (aka “capitalistic”) competition with every other. Ultimately, our universal parasitism becomes a self-cannibalizing exercise, with everyone battening at the expense of everyone else.

Airport Insecurity…

“Music” and the “i” Generation…

It took a full half-hour for us to clear passport control in Brussels (about the time it takes illegals to slip across Western borders never to be heard from again). That left forty-five minutes for another one-kilometer dash across the terminal to the security checkpoint followed by a final push to the gate. What they don’t tell you when you purchase those cut-rate connecting flights to Europe is that for a reduced fare you get to enjoy being stripped and molested twice. One oughtn’t to complain about the security regime at airports, knowing that the alternative is being blown out of the air by a terrorist bomb (even if airline passengers face a greater risk of being blown out of the air by the Russian military). And then the fact that a terrorist can secrete (pun unintended) a bomb in his underwear merely demonstrates how futile our vigilance is against anyone determined and masochistic enough to commit suicide by so exquisitely painful a method. (One supposes that Muslims believe in the regeneration of the body in the afterworld, else all those comely virgins would be a waste on the underwear bomber.)

Besides the sheer annoyance of airport security, one should never underestimate the challenge of divesting oneself into those little plastic bins when, after seven hours in the air over the Atlantic, one is sleepless and in orthopedic distress. Extricating one’s shoulders from camera, passport, and computer bags (without getting their straps twisted together); removing coat, sports jacket, belt, and shoes; emptying pockets of bills, change, credit cards, keys, and lighter (oops!); liberating the laptop from its case; and doing it all while a hundred passengers are watching and waiting impatiently in the line behind, takes a degree of coordination and composure that would have taxed Houdini in his prime. Doing it all in reverse on the other side of the metal detector, with the same travelers glaring at you again as you try not to leave anything behind and fumble to get your clothes back on, is likewise no mean test. Over the years of traveling, Mrs. P. and I have left enough items of clothing (hats, scarves, gloves, ties) in the security bins to start a small haberdashery shop. For reasons of soi-disant security (compounded by senility), the guards at Heathrow already have a lifetime supply of my Zippos.

 

One final sprint brought us from security to our departure gate, where we arrived five minutes before take-off, and as the last passengers to board, were subjected to the scowls of another angry mob.

The connecting flight from Brussels to Milan was tolerable enough, save for a passenger across the aisle whose earphones overflowed with an incessant, high-pitched ch-chka-ch-chka-ch-chka. Polluting the atmosphere with the “music” from one’s earphones or car radio is now a form of self-assertion, scarcely more refined than the ritual in which animals lay claim to new territory by urinating around its perimeter. (But then animals don’t urinate into your ears.) In the age of My Computer, My Pictures, and My Music, my music is your music, whether you like it or not. And so one’s ears are inundated by these aural effluents everywhere in our technological age, when the ubiquity of i-Pods, i-Pads, i-Phones—the “i” being the subjective form of the possessive “my”–, and other mobile disturbers of the peace bespeaks our culture’s primordial fear of being alone with its thoughts (if it has any thoughts), and its consequently hopeless addiction to auditory and visual stimulation. If Islamists really wanted to terrorize the population of the West, their most effective tactic would be to disrupt the supply of these adult pacifiers.

Music that is offensive to captive listeners—and how could anything downloadable from i-Tunes not be offensive?–is a form of torture. It was most recently recognized as such in Guantanemo Bay, when President Obama ended it and other cruel interrogation practices on the high moral principle that anything that was instituted by the Bush Administration must be ipso facto wrong. So, Mr. President. You believe in regulation, don’t you? How about it?

While Christians are being slaughtered throughout the Middle East; while their churches are being burned; yea, while women and homosexuals are being stoned to death, we now learn that what really arouses the ire of Western liberals is that gay couples in America have to trudge yards, sometimes blocks, to purchase their wedding cakes.

Since The Wizard of Oz is one of the favourite films of homosexual audiences, allow me to slightly amend Dorothy’s famous line: “I don’t think we’re in Indiana anymore.” No, Indiana, Kansas, and the entire Western world have apparently been swept up by a politically correct whirlwind into a-–let’s hope the sensitivity police aren’t reading this–fairyland Oz, in which the wicked witch of Christianity is dead, and somewhere over the rainbow flag we will all arrive at a paradise of sexual diversity, equity, and peace.

     Item. Indianapolis, Indiana. 2013. A Baptist couple was forced to close the doors of their bakery after they declined, in obedience to their Christian religious faith, to provide a cake for a gay wedding. (Rather than trying any of the dozens of other proximate establishments that would have been only too happy to comply with his request–and thereby proclaim their sexual open-mindedness to the liberal beau monde–, the “groom” went straight to the media instead.) Item. Albuquerque, New Mexico. 2006-2013; appeal pending. A small photography studio owned by a Christian couple declined a request to photograph a same-sex wedding ceremony, referring the homosexual petitioners to other photographers in the area. The gay “bride” and “groom” immediately complained to the New Mexico Human Rights Commission, which convicted the photographers of discrimination on the grounds of “sexual orientation” (even though their portfolio included portraits of a number of homosexual individuals). The New Mexico HRC levied a fine of thousands of dollars. Item. Washington State, appeal pending. When a female florist declined a request to arrange flowers for a same-sex wedding because it violated her Christian belief that marriage is between one man and one woman, the gay couple filed a complaint, which led to a suit against the florist by the State Attorney-General, a court order, and thousands of dollars in fines. The gay couple had been longstanding customers of the flower shop. Item. Denver, Colorado. 2012-2013. Another Christian bakery, another gay wedding, another demurral on the grounds of religious conscience, another complaint, another conviction and fine. Item. Oregon. 2013. Ibid (even though Oregon law defines marriage as between a man and a woman). In addition to substantial fines, the Christian couple was subjected to media protests, boycotts, violent demonstrations, and death threats, forcing them to close their bakeshop in September of 2013. Item. Indiana. 2015. In part to forestall the above, the Indiana legislature tabled their defense of religious liberty act, whereupon the NCAA, the NBA, Walmart, and Apple threatened to boycott the State. Leaving aside the fact that multinational corporations like Apple have no moral qualms about doing business with such human rights utopias as China, not to mention gay-friendly Saudi Arabia, in other circumstances liberals might be heard to remonstrate solemnly about “caving in to big business”. Unsurprisingly, the pusillanimous Governor of Indiana caved in to Big Gay, leaving one to wonder whether “gay bashing” oughtn’t now to be understood as gays bashing Christians. (I for one am re-thinking my opposition to gay-straight alliances in schools, as a prophylactic against bullying.)

It seems like really bad luck that the betrothed of the gay community keep stumbling into evangelical Christian establishments. If I were a typically paranoid right-wing, racist, sexist homophobe, I might well suspect that what we are dealing with here is an organized campaign deliberately targeting Christians. Somehow gay brides and grooms never wander into shops that turn out to be owned by Muslims. But then Muslims are rather less complacent about their religious freedoms than Christians. And it’s multicultural bad form to haul Muslims up before Western human rights tribunals, where in any case, gay activists can never be sure that, in the inevitable clash of progressive sensitivities, the liberal establishment will come down on their side.

 

A thought experiment (sounding too much like a bad joke): A fundamentalist Christian pastor walks in to a bakery owned by a homosexual activist. “We’re holding a prayer vigil at our local church”, he says to the proprietor. “I’ll be preaching against sin. We’d like a cake that reads–in rainbow-coloured icing, if you don’t mind–‘GOD ABOMINATES BUGGERY; SODOMITES ARE GOING TO HELL’. When can you have it ready, and how much will it cost?”

How do you imagine the gay baker might respond? “Well, sir, your request violates the deepest stratum of my moral conscience; but thank you for choosing Puff Pastries R Us. That’ll be $21.95 with tax. Your cake will be ready in the morning.”

Not a chance. He’d indignantly refuse. He’d be mortally offended by this insult to his most deeply held beliefs. And rather than being prosecuted for discriminating against his customer on the grounds of religion, he’d be universally celebrated for standing up for the “rights” of his fellow homosexuals.  (Meanwhile the Christian pastor’s sketch of the cake would be impounded as evidence in his trial for hate speech.)

Now surely everyone should recognize that it is unreasonable to demand that a gay shopkeeper lend his labour to a Christian cause that is abhorrent to him. Why, then, should a Christian business owner’s services be conscripted by the State into the celebration of a gay marriage that is a profound affront to both his moral and religious conscience?

 

In the Gay American Wedding Cake Affair, the sanctimonious hypocrisy of liberals, normally epidemic, has become self-satirizing. The way, for one, in which the Axis of Progress has turned the words “tolerance” and “diversity” on their heads must make the superannuated propagandists of the former Soviet Ministry of Truth green with envy. In ordinary language, toleration denotes an acceptance of differing and often conflicting beliefs and world-views; it means, amongst other things, the toleration of moral criticism, social disapprobation, and polite demurral. But for homosexual militants, tolerance has come to mean State-coerced approval of gay desiderata, along with State-enforced intolerance of traditional Christian beliefs and norms. One might say that gays want to eat their cake of diversity (to masticate it into a happy homogenous mush of ideological conformity) and have it too.

I’m loath to invoke another cliché, but for inclusionist gays, tolerance is an exclusively one-way street. An accommodating heterosexual majority has made same-sex marriage legal, and enshrined LGBT propaganda in the classroom from kindergarten to graduate school. All universities now have departments of Queer Studies; and with Kathleen Wynne’s sex-education curriculum about to begin next September for first-graders, the registrars of those departments can look forward to a bumper enrollment in another twelve years or so. Already in universities across North America, posted above doorways, seating areas, and even the cubicles in male washrooms—which must surely puzzle the officers of the law–, are precious little signs declaring each zone a “gay and lesbian positive space”. Of course, the apparatchiks of the Ministry of Cultural Diversity and Good Vibes who come up with these schemes never stop to consider that gay and lesbian positive spaces are negative spaces for traditional Christians, Jews, or Muslims: direct rebukes to their religious beliefs and moral sensibilities. (Liberalism is all about not offending people; unless, that is, they are conservatives). But having so conceded the dominant culture to homosexual activists, must Christians now also bake their nuptial cakes, decorate their matrimonial chambers, and design their bridal gowns?  In the spirit of tolerance and diversity, can’t gays leave Christians alone to run their businesses and live their lives as their consciences dictate?

 

In the West, the crusade for homosexual equality and “rights” is merely the latest front in a secular liberal jihad against Christianity that has been underway for half a century now. The ayatollahs of liberal enlightenment cannot abide the fact that infidel Christians continue to blaspheme against the alternative gay lifestyle. They tolerate no reciprocal right to the prosecution of a non-alternative lifestyle, not even the right to decline to participate in the sanctification of practices that Christians, along with the millions of other adherents of the world’s three major religions, have regarded as sinful for millennia. It seems quaint to recall that freedom of religion was the galvanizing aspiration and seminal project of the founders of Western democracy. Today, the Established Irreligion of liberal democracy has effectively restricted the exercise of non-conformist religions to inside the narthex. Christians are free to attend services in the morning, but must forget everything they have heard and done there once they exit the church doors for the workplace or the public square. As Mark Steyn has quipped, gays and liberals don’t mind people being Christians, as long they keep their Christianity in the closet. Atheists and other critics of religion have always accused its adherents of hypocrisy; but for the first time in history, it is considered a virtue (indeed, an obligation) not to practice what you preach.

Meanwhile, gays are also the most recent of the fully-accredited victim groups in our society to be granted immunity from criticism. The mildest dissent from the gay agenda—a politician’s refusal, for instance, to attend the local Gay Pride Parade, the common-sensical observation of a link between homosexuality and AIDS, or the slightest mockery of the gay lifestyle–will be met with the same sanctimonious outrage as evinced in the fundamentalist Muslim world by criticism of the Prophet. No bombs will explode and no infidels will be killed, but the soft-totalitarian slur of “homophobe” will be enough to put careers, businesses, and reputations in jeopardy. Jobs will be lost, apologies will be demanded, speech will be censored (or self-censored), and another layer in that suffocating blanket of political correctness will be wrapped around the corpse of democratic liberty.

Hesiod measured the distance ‘twixt Heaven and Hell as “a full eighteen days’ journey as the bronze anvil falls”. Nothing compared to the ideological infinity that separates today’s liberals and conservatives. That, in part, is the thesis of William Gairdner’s latest book, The Great Divide: Why Liberals and Conservatives Will Never, Ever Agree.

Gairdner is the prolific author of a dozen titles, including The War Against the Family, The Trouble with Canada, The Trouble with Democracy, The Book of Absolutes, and The Trouble with Canada…Still: heretical tomes which, notwithstanding the liberal orthodoxy of our age, and the unpromising economies of modern scholarly book-publishing, managed to become immediate bestsellers. The new book is in a sense Gairdner’s summa. Dealing less with topical controversies and policies than the perennial philosophical and moral questions that underlie and inform them (the nature of man, reason, freedom, equality and inequality, and so on, each treated in a separate chapter), The Great Divide is a lucidly reasoned taxonomy of conflicting liberal and conservative ideas. It is certain to be of invaluable use to generations of readers to come, whether serious students of political philosophy, or ordinary citizens who simply like to contend in the arena of ideas, but would prefer to understand more deeply what they are contending about.

As Gairdner observes, our modern Western democracies “from Vancouver to Venice” have triumphed over the external enemies of fascism and communism only to succumb to a protracted civil war between two opposite and irreconcilable world-views. Liberals and conservatives are currently estranged across so vast and unbridgeable a chasm that, even when they are speaking to one another, they are obliged to shout at the top of their lungs, and still can’t make themselves understood.

While he harbours no illusions that the divide will ever be healed, Gairdner exhorts both sides to examine the foundational principles of their own, and their opponents’, arguments, if the emotional volume of the debate is to be turned down, and a resumption of rational discourse made possible again. (Contemporary observers may be forgiven for not knowing that the talking points of political partisans are rooted in intellectual soil. Gairdner shows that they are.)

The first part of his book traces the evolution (or revolution, in the case of liberalism) of the two schools of thought from their Enlightenment origins. What becomes immediately clear is that the classical liberalism of a Voltaire or Locke has rather more in common with the conservatism of Hume and Burke (and with that of today’s benighted “reactionaries”) than it does with its current liberal namesake.

From the birth of democracy in both the United States and Canada to as recently as the beginning of the New Deal, liberals and conservatives have agreed on most things, e.g.: that the preservation of human liberty, which is the principal promise and burden of liberal democracy, can only be accomplished through the restraint of the arbitrary, monopolistic power of the State; that traditional, organic, empirically proven moral norms, customs, institutions, and voluntary associations (family, marriage, church, the free market, local organizations and clubs) are the bedrock of civil society, (and having been formed by voluntary consent, they are the repositories of a spontaneous moral authority in the commonwealth of free men); that a diversity of economic and social conditions is the inevitable and just consequence of both the existential diversity of human character and effort and the ancient principle of equality before the law; that the fault (or advantage) lies in ourselves, not in our stars (whether economic, social, or other “root cause”); and that egalitarianism (as contemporary liberalism defines and evangelizes it) is a direct repudiation of all of the above.

Since then, classical liberalism (and liberal democracy) have mutated into something like parodies of their original selves. While “we still use the flattering term liberal democracy to describe our political systems”, the average ratepayer is now a bondsman of the Pharaonic State for almost half of every working year (until his manumission, that is, on tax freedom day). In today’s Western democracies, the machinery of government is more coercive, more tentacular, and more rapacious–while the residual social and economic liberties of private citizens are fewer, smaller, and more precarious–than practically ever before in history, including under the absolute monarchies whose oppressive yokes the liberals of the eighteenth century thought they had once and for all cast off.

 

Gairdner traces the origins of this wholesale surrender of liberal principles to nineteenth-century socialist theorists, who began to ascribe inequalities to uncontrollable (“unfair”, as we would say today) external causes, and argued that the establishment of universal economic and social equality was the raison d’etre of the beneficent State. But since free individuals, relying upon their own varying talents, exercising their own spontaneous choices, and expressing their own natural differences, will inevitably become “unequal”, socialists have always resorted to the brute leveling force of government (taking from some and giving to others) to reify their egalitarian dreams. Modern democracies have thus “abandon[ed] their previous emphasis on freedom for all, under laws the same for all”, to adopt the egalitarian monstrosity of “equality for all, under unequal laws”. With the progressive income tax, personal and corporate subsidies for some (but not others), affirmative action (for some but not others), and human rights for all (except, e.g., Christian refuseniks of abortion and homosexuality), the foundational principle of the rule of law–impartial and identical treatment of all citizens, irrespective of person–has been peremptorily overturned. After the medieval divine right of kings, after twentieth-century totalitarianism, the modern liberal welfare state has managed to re-enshrine the pre-civilized ethos that might, in the execution of a ruler’s caprice, makes right.

Gairdner postulates that liberty-loving citizens accepted this new statist tyranny as a Faustian bargain: they surrendered their ancient public and political liberties (including their original democratic rights to freedom of speech and religious expression) in exchange for a more or less unlimited freedom of will within a newly-created zone of purely personal and private morality, having to do principally with the modern fetish of sex. Their governments bribed them, that is, with accommodating divorce laws; universally accessible contraception and abortion (further “liberating” them in the quest for sexual “self-realization”); homosexual rights; transgender rights; gay marriage, and so on–all of which were made available “to all equally in the name of freedom”.   While the State has thus abdicated its traditional interest in this newly immunized, irreducibly “private” moral sphere, it has created a “vast public realm funded by massively increased taxation and permanent public debt”, insinuating itself into every corner of formerly autonomous human activity (business, trade, education, child care, health care, elder care, science, the arts), and setting itself up as the universal “benefactor, regulator, and protector” of mankind.

The result has been that conjunctio oppositorum that Gairdner calls “libertarian socialism”, and along with it, the contemporary “tripartite state”, in which one-third of the population work to create wealth, one-third work for government, and the final third live off the benefits distributed to them by the second, having confiscated them from the first. This, as Gairdner suggests, is a self-perpetuating Ponzi scheme, since in majoritarian democracies the latter two sectors will always out-vote the former. No less repugnantly, the tripartite state has created a miasmal swamp of moral confusion, with depredatory, power-hungry governments claiming credit for compassion and generosity, and demagogically inciting their dependents to condemn the “greed” of the productive minority on which they both parasitically batten.

 

In two illuminating chapters (“On Conservatism” and “The Forces at Work”), Gairdner examines the traditional social structures and customs beyond which the modern welfare state has so heroically progressed. Unlike liberals, conservatives have always tended to accept the imperfections of life as a product of the fundamental imperfectability of human nature; (as the late Joe Sobran has described it, their defining mood is one of gratitude, rather than gnawing discontent).   As such, conservatives prefer the civilizational wisdom accumulated by long experience (“the best that has been said and done by our progenitors”) to the abstract concepts and theories upon which revolutionary liberals have founded their successive codes, declarations, and charters for the creation of a perfect society of scrupulously “New Men”, (which have more often resulted in totalitarian hells than the promised heavens on earth). For the renovation of man’s fallen nature, conservatives have relied instead on empirically tested, time-honoured institutions, customs, and norms (the “formative vehicle[s] of our human second nature”), which have evolved and been refined over the course of an immemorial civilizing process. As “natural and organic product[s] of historical experience”, these traditional social arrangements are in fact “prior in existence and importance” both to individuals and the State. Having arisen “from the ground up”, by mutual cooperation and consent, they have an inherent moral authority, which is a direct affront to the coercive power of the imperial State.  And as Gairdner points out, their existential priority wholly invalidates the vaunted liberal “social contract” theory of government: “because…in order for a contract creating civil society to come into being, an entire structure of civility, law, and custom protecting and policing such a contract–a functioning society–would already have to be in place”.

But the main function of civil society, and the private voluntary associations that are its organizing units, is “to welcome and encourage the creation of inequalities in the form of exclusive group privileges, benefits, and duties that are shared by group members only”. For that reason, they have lain directly athwart the path of the egalitarian bulldozer. The reader can think of any number of recent examples, from the assaults on Christian educational institutions, charitable organizations, or the Boy Scouts, to the fiat by which the State has conferred, in the name of equal rights, the privileges of traditional marriage upon same-sex couples, who are disqualified by definition.

The grand project of egalitarian liberal democracy, then, is to declare all formerly exclusive privileges a “right for all”, to annul all qualifying distinctions, and thus, as universal Benefactor, to “transfer to itself the deep loyalties and gratitude generated by the civil social-bonding process”. The State usurps these allegiances by providing what Gairdner calls “substitute caring”, the myriad social programs, community facilities, subsidies for the arts, and so on, which it so generously offers at the expense of every taxpayer, including those who will never use them. A thriving pluralist civil society is thereby converted into what politicians proudly call our “one national family”.   Meanwhile, the dissolution of natural social bonds, which have always been the nurseries of human liberty in flourishing societies, removes the few remaining “real-world barriers to state coercion”.

In these and many other ways, Gairdner traces the descent of liberty and civil society into modern liberal democratic servitude.   A series of eight chapters on some of the fundamental philosophical questions on which liberals and conservatives disagree (human nature, the limits of reason, freedom, will, democracy, equality and inequality, morality and self, God and religion) constitute the bulk of his book; but it is impossible, within the scope of a review, to do justice to the complexity and breadth of Gairdner’s analyses of the liberal-conservative divide on these themes. By way of summary, at the end of each chapter, Gairdner appends a handy little comparative table, through which the reader can determine where he stands on the question (and whether he and his new bride will still be on speaking terms in a couple of years).

 

The one fault of Gairdner’s work is also its virtue. Though he makes no effort to hide his conservatism, he strives throughout to rise above polemics and referee the debate from a posture of neutrality (to which one only wishes modern governments would return). And he succeeds too well. Few liberals, it seems to me, could have written this book.   Since the Sixties, the zealous avidity with which liberals have striven to abominate traditional institutions and norms has far outstripped the disorganized instincts of conservatives to preserve them. Witness the pusillanimous capitulation to President Obama by a recently triumphant majority of Republicans in Congress, desperate not to be accused of creating “gridlock” in Washington, where gridlock, as defined by liberals, is what happens when there’s a Democrat in the White House; (when the President is a Republican, gridlock is the wisely intended consequence of the Founders’ “prudent separation of powers”).

And though Gairdner hopes that an examination of first principles will help to turn the volume down, very early in the book he mentions “political correctness”, whose purpose is to turn the volume off. Political correctness is a liberal project, enforced by all of the totalitarian agencies of the modern egalitarian State about which Gairdner writes. Under its shadow, the problem is not that the debate has become shrill, but that it has become silent.

Finally, as Gairdner demonstrates (though one wishes he had said so explicitly), the Great Divide can hardly be laid at the feet of conservatives. It is liberalism that has decamped to the wildest fringes of the ideological topocosm. And yet it’s liberals who reflexively vilify conservatives as “right wing ideological extremists”. Which is rather on the order of calling one’s relatives back home in Pennsylvania “eastern extremists”, after setting off with one’s stoner buddies to Haight-Ashbury.

But these are quibbles. Gairdner’s analyses of the political quarrels between liberals and conservatives, and the way in which they erupt from subterranean fault-lines of which neither may be fully conscious, are always penetrating and often brilliant in their originality. The style throughout is at once accessible, elegant, and revelatory: replete, that is, with the ironies, paradoxes, and aphoristic strokes for which Gairdner is widely celebrated.   For both liberals and conservatives who wish to think their arguments down to their roots, there is probably no better guide than The Great Divide.

Flight Delayed on Account of Ice (i.e., lack of)…

Airport Ikea Floor Plans…

Basic Training…

Expecting the Worst…

Architecturally, with their soaring glass vaults and high-tech construction materials, modern airports are all about the future. And so is air travel. The departure of your flight is always about the future–into which it has inevitably been delayed–, as is its landing, when your plane is in an interminable holding pattern, waiting for the backlog of incoming flights to clear (waiting, that is, for the past to catch up to the present).

There is more hurrying up in order to wait in airports than in hospitals, doctors’ offices, or prisons. As a people, we are loath to keep our doctors, prison guards, or flight crews waiting; so we dutifully arrive ahead of schedule, lest, by some miracle, our doctor, prison guard, or airline is on time. (Unless you are my eighty-six-year-old mother-in-law, who kept a 767 along with two shuttle buses idling on the tarmac for forty-five minutes because, as she said, she was “enjoying a nice cup of tea in the cafe”, and she “thought they would come and get me when they were ready”.)

The official reasons for flight delays are always either lies or truths so absurd one wishes they were lies. Before the aforementioned odyssey to Moscow, I checked in at Kennedy the prescribed two and a half hours ahead of the nominal time for take-off, only to temporize at the gate for another seven hours. We all assumed that there had been some minor mechanical malfunction that was taking seven hours to repair (in the way that all minor mechanical malfunctions take my car mechanic seven hours to repair). But the flight was delayed, as we were told, because the cabin crew was waiting for a delivery of ice. The airline’s thinking was that passengers would rather be kept awake until 2:00 a.m. in a cramped, un-air-conditioned departure lounge than suffer the intolerable hardship of drinking their Mountain Dew at room temperature. Was I the only one who was struck by the irony that Aeroflop Flight 666 was scheduled for a refueling stop in Iceland?

 

In modern airports, the only time the hurry-up-and-wait formula doesn’t apply is when you are trying to catch a connecting flight: then it becomes, hurry-up-and-hope. The footprints of metropolitan airports cover millions of square feet, every one of which is always between you and your departure gate. The theory of probability suggests that the two points in space at which your incoming flight arrives and your outgoing flight departs must, at least some of the time, be closer to each other than half the length of the airport. But this never happens. Even if they are contiguous, there is a law (literally; see below) that prevents you from taking the shortest distance between the two, and requiring instead that you circumambulate the entire airport only to approach it from the opposite direction. Airports seem to be laid out like follow-the-red-arrow Ikeas, which ensure that you walk the entire store on the way to whatever item you’ve come to buy.

When we deplaned at Brussels, we had ninety minutes to catch our flight to Milan. We were doing splendidly, I thought, on the first stage of airport basic training: running—well, walking fast (about 8 mph, with a 4 mph assist from the moving sidewalk)–down one of those long glass corridors that are so suffused with light you almost forget how miserable you are. I might have reached 9 mph, but for the computer bag, camera case, and document wallet suspended from my neck and oscillating violently with each stride like the streamers on a Maypole in a reversing wind. The multiple lacerations caused by the straps digging into my flesh would have been only a minor irritation for, let’s say, a member of the Navy Seals, but the bags kept shifting and throwing my gait off balance. The only way I could restore their equilibrium (since one hand was dedicated to my carry-on and the other to my cane) was to stop periodically and shake myself like a dog that had just come out of the water. This also served to dispel the rivers of sweat that were coursing down my forehead and cheeks; but it didn’t endear me to the other passengers on the moving sidewalk, who evidently had the news about Ebola on their minds.

 

After twenty minutes of running, stopping, and shaking, I arrived at the end of the corridor. Mrs. P. had been waiting there for about five minutes (but then Mrs. P. takes weekly classes in Yoga, Tai Chi, and Osteo-Fit, which is apparently better exercise than driving a golf cart). When I reached her, exhausted, I considered collapsing in a heap at her feet in the theatrical manner of Olympic cross-country skiers when they are three meters past the finish line; but Mrs. P. would not have been impressed.

The corridor gave out into the main terminal, and there everything ground to a halt. We had reached the first of two chokepoints through which all airport traffic is funneled (hence the logic of airport floor plans, as described above). One line, for passengers carrying EU passports, moved briskly. The other, for the lumpenproletariat from the rest of the world, was a rodent maze that followed twenty switch-backs, each fifty feet long, and occupied by a total of some five hundred passengers. (As we inched forward, I wondered why the deadbeat inhabitants of Greece, Spain, and Portugal should be allowed to flounce through, while Canadians, who haven’t cost the German banks a penny, are treated like supplicants. At least in Canada we only sponge off the productive citizens of our own country for our cradle-to-grave welfare entitlements.) At the end of the line, I could see three passport control booths, and a lot of shuffling back and forth from one to the other by the officials. Apparently they only had one stamp amongst them.

 

I knew then and there we wouldn’t make it. My universally optimistic disposition, if you are wondering, is predicated on the utterances of three of the most venerable founts of philosophical wisdom in the entire Western Tradition: William Shakespeare, Melvin Brooks, and my late Aunt Freda. In King Lear, Edgar laments, “The worst is not, so long as we can say, ‘This is the worst’.” By Act IV, scene i, Edgar has already been dispossessed of his birthright by his evil half-brother Edmund, driven into exile on the heath, and reduced there to the state of a “poor, bare, forked animal”. Then he encounters his father Gloucester, whose eyes have just been put out. (Edgar recognizes the folly of assuming that, after a string of disasters, one’s fortunes are bound to improve.) Mel Brooks updated the language, but preserved the meaning, of Edgar’s paradox in the refrain of the theme song for his movie The Twelve Chairs: “Hope for the best, expect the worst”. Good advice, given that the film is set in nineteenth-century Russia, when things were rather unpleasant for the peasantry, until they followed the example of their French cousins. Then they got Lenin, Stalin, the Ukrainian famine, the Siberian gulag, and the Lada sedan. Wisest of all was the sapient imprecation of my old aunt: “When I die, may I go straight to hell; I don’t want to be disappointed again.” I have it on good authority that my aunt went, disappointedly, to heaven, where she complained about the accommodations, the weather, and the fact that she couldn’t find a decent piece of brisket.