The Aftermath of a Cynic

I have spent many a day sneering at the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies of self-proclaimed artists in my midst. I would do everything from accusing them of deliberately evoking and welcoming rebuke and insult from bystanders through extravagance, to assuming that their own unmitigated creativity was a haughty belief that they were above reason and reproach. I haven't completely abandoned these ideas, but I've had to modify them to accommodate a rather unsettling possibility. 

As I sat in my Uber, contemplating how and when the subject of ethnicity and faith was going to be broached aside my Far-Eastern chauffeur, I was struck with an uncomfortable opinion. My driver droned on about his respect and awe at the prowess and alleged rarity of artists in contemporary life. It was only once I began to analyze his words, that I realized his supposed complement was directed at me. Could it be true? Am I an artist? It seems inevitably solipsistic and self-flattering no matter the tone voice in which that question is asked. But the life of a writer, an editor, and even a linguist bewitched this man. I tried to explain it away in my head by composing rationalizations about how his immigrant status and restrictive Islamic upbringing could render any expression of dissident thought as "artistic." Then I noticed something — regardless of whether or not that thought was valid, a defense mechanism kicked in. I needed to spurn the title, however sycophantic the delivery appeared. 

All the qualities that I view with a mollified disdain are held by my heroes. Hitch was a popinjay and a gadfly, and I think would at times feign anger in his polemics. Gore Vidal felt the same way about him, saying that he began to "try too hard" in his latter years. Hitch would express thinly veiled contempt for old essayists like Henry Fairlie, saying that he would invent a subject to be annoyed about. Peterson is self-aware enough to recognize his manic and bombastic temperament, and Jim Cornette is on prescription level Zantac and a low sugar diet to curb his rage and its ensuing cardiac implications. All three have however conveniently stressed their unwavering politeness and civility when confronted with worthy opponents, and even become docile when potential humiliation could result. It pains me to admit it, but everything up to and including a mock heart attack and excessive cortisol release are familiar. 

Could I take refuge in the it's only human to be socially schizophrenic cliché? Perhaps. Or I could tap into my narcissism and quote Emerson in saying that consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds. I prefer the complement to my cerebellum and uniqueness. After all, which artist doesn't love pretentiously unwarranted praise? 

Power-bombs and Feminism

To even the most casual of fans, the notion of extreme feminist thought pervading the WWE is obvious. Whether it was the ironic and feeble-minded pay-per-view Evolution, or the hyper-ironic women's match in Dubai between Alexa Bliss and Sasha Banks, the company and its product are rife with pathos and pseudo-solidarity. One segment even involved the C.O.O asking the female superstars to step forward on stage in what seemed like a simultaneously self-emancipating and self-glorifying presentation to proclaim their collective value and superiority. I am forced to believe that not all of the women were on board with this spectacle as it neglected the intra-female competition. However, the very nature of the political correctness is too simple to attack from the hackneyed "oh the men were disregarded and subverted" M.R.A approach; this is a female problem. I do not want to sound prophetic (nor do I think I am) but the consequences of actions like these cause young talent to desire a release. A paradoxical phenomenon occurs; the more one stresses and promotes the validity of the female universally, the more one obscures and negates the female individually. 

Sports entertainment (specifically WWE) is unique not only in the steadfast adherence of its fan base, but its internal machinations and organizational structure. Obviously, it is one of the few athletic arenas in which the rivalries, performances, and outcomes are all overtly predetermined. One can debate about to what degree the content of matches and promos should be rehearsed and choreographed, but its calculation is essential. Thus, gimmicks and personas are contrived and modeled to reflect company interests and audiences' reception. One of the most ironic of the creative department's decisions (not including inconsequential and self-defeating semi-topless segments and various seductive female hotel scenes) is Becky Lynch's current epithet - The Man. It feels superfluous to explain the hypocrisy and stupidity of this invention. Just as the architect and members of the women's division demand egalitarian representation and consideration, the best conceivable vehicle for doing so becomes the propagation of a masculine character. This to me is completely anti-feminist and a sign of defeat. A more honest and confident attempt would have been "The Woman"; I digress. I am not here to petition for a job working alongside the likes of Vince Russo. Much like any other gimmick proposed or tried, the wrestling community has its detractors and its supporters. One rather shallow but not inexpensive point was Lynch's attempt to maintain such a character without actually realizing she isn't male. Stupid retorts such as "Not all nicknames are literal" usually constitute the defense. The point is entirely missed; she is endorsing the very belief against which she rails so intensely. That only traditional male personas can get over and resonate with the crowd. If she and other women want to defend and perpetuate their scapegoat, they are going to have to come up with one hell of a fine ad hoc rationalization. 

Recent attempts to justify this have been made by new villains with whom the hottest babyface in the company can clash. Boringly and predictably, her main antagonist is a traditional Southern woman with an affinity for aesthetics, etiquette, and cattiness. Self-evidently, the only way a woman could disagree with Lynch's hilariously conformist and workaday attitude is if she is a blithering buffoon with Stockholm syndrome for nostalgic oppression. Even if one were to assume that such a conclusion was accurate and valid, it in the very least must acknowledge the schizophrenia going on within the organization and its ambassadors. Do you want to abide by the self-contradictory proposition of total inclusivity (within which a heel cannot exist, because you would have to endlessly vilify the contemporary Western ethos while trying to extract money from it. To paraphrase Jim Cornette - no one wants to pay to get their own ass kicked) or defy it and betray your principles?

Apocalyptic signs have already occurred for the world's largest wrestling conglomerate: risque quasi-nudity cannot co-exist with exclusively female promotions, I would love to see how Vinny Mac squares this circle within the squared-circle.

Letter to a Secular Nation

An Apprehensive Atheist

For the last few years, I have been incessantly disputing about and ruminating over the validity, truth, and pertinence of faith (in this case, Christian). I have repeatedly reviewed, criticized, and amended my philosophical and theoretical positions in an attempt to discover that which was objectively correct. However, I believe that over the last year my opinion of veracity has become radically more pragmatic and realistic (pace Jordan Peterson's influence). When I envision idealism vs. realism mapped onto the single-axis version of the political compass, it presents itself as a direct correlation with left vs. right. This may be an oversimplification, but bear with me. 

My formerly acclaimed post-mortem mentor Christopher Hitchens was not only guilty of having faith based utopianistic views (Trostkyist/Rosa Luxemburgist sympathies, and romanticizing The Prophet Outcast as some sort of ostracized materialist messiah)during his youthful proselytizing days, but also during his illusory ideological "emancipation." I don't even need to address his frequently perceived "neocon conversion." In several late interviews, Hitchens asserted that he "no longer held any political allegiances" and that "he left hold of the doctrinaire, to let his chain-less mind do its own thinking"; the latter being a direct quotation from his memoir. I hold this profession to be almost more delusional and megalomaniacal than his initial socialist convictions. Ironically, he seemed to have been aware of this paradox to a degree. Having often stated that he still "thought like a Marxist" and "believed in the materialist concept of history, involving the importance of the dialectical interpenetration of opposites." However, the first musketeer of New Atheism isn't a complete hypocrite. There is one salient consistency: Hitchens died a radical and a dissident. His idealistic views of a society run by the precepts and teachings of Democritus, Galileo, Hume, Lucretius, Paine, Russell, and Voltaire hold something of the same allure that the Libertarian party's mystique does to contrarian youth alike. Its improbability and impracticality are what keep it mouth-watering and digestible. 

I mention the Hitchens digression only as a simulacrum and representation of something far more widespread and conventional (much to Christopher's dismay)in prevailing Western thought. The assumption that once one has espoused Atheism/Secularism and begins to study Philosophy and Psychology (as I believe is intellectually and morally necessary), their ethics are justifiably divorced from monotheism and religious thought. This position concerns me, as does the assertion of rationalistic purity being the paramount pathway forward after the scientific revolution. 

I am no longer convinced that the cult of reason and scientific inquiry is truly as open-minded as I once esteemed. There's a dissatisfying reaction made by the faithless once they discover that a beloved public intellectual doesn't adorn the atomic A across their breast. Unintentionally, I believe I have reached a point of controversial post-theism; the same position that many young men occupy after they have converted to Christian Atheism having watched an episode of JBP's biblical series. This is ironically such "easy virtue" that attempts to fill a gaping rotundity with a hollow sphere. The intellectualism is ignoring the pragmatism; smug young erudites can adhere to an antiquity-adoring New Age Secularism, leaving laymen in the lurch. How are the masses to address questions of metaphysics? Here's a secret: The new crypto-secular prophet doesn't know either! Pity the intellectual soaring above the multitudes, only to realize that he too, must check the weather channel for flight conditions.

The old specter that once haunted Europe is not the only replacement in sight, nor is its slow-witted, pathetic, and twisted-compassion ridden cousin of social justice. People may boringly and insipidly accuse Harris and Dawkins of fundamentalism, but Peterson is right: "the probability that regular folk construe God or belief in the same way that he does is virtually ZERO." Beware the pompous and impressionable adolescents flirting with dogmatism - Jung's fascination with story-telling may resurrect a literally crucified and buried and Christ.