On the Strange Politics of Solidarity

2–3 minutes

A LinkedIn colleague posts this. I didn’t want to rain on his parade there – we’ve got an interesting binary intellectual relationship – we either adamantly agree or vehemently disagree. This reflects the latter. The title is revelatory – the all-caps, his:

SOLIDARITY IS THE NECESSARY LINK BETWEEN VIRTUE & COMMON GOOD

It opens like this:

A good society requires more than virtuous individuals and fair institutions: it requires a mediating moral principle capable of binding persons, communities, and structures into a shared project of human flourishing.

Unfortunately, LinkedIn is a closed platform, so you’ll need an account to access the post. Anyway…

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

I can remember when I emerged from this mindset – or at least consciously reflected on it and declined the invitation.

Video clip: Because I felt like it. (No Sound)

When I was 10 years old, I remember thinking about historical ‘National Socialism’ – wouldn’t it be nice if we were all on the same page in solidarity? Then I realised that I’d have to be on their page; they wouldn’t be on mine.

Then, I realised that ‘solidarity’ isn’t a warm circle of clasped hands under a rainbow; rather, it’s a demand to harmonise one’s interior life with someone else’s tuning fork. So-called unity is almost always a euphemism for ideological choreography, and one doesn’t get to pick the routine.

Children are sold the Sesame Street version of solidarity, where everyone shares crayons and sings about common purpose. Cue the Beach Boys: Wouldn’t It Be Nice?

Meanwhile, the historical version is rather more Wagnerian: impressive in scale, suspiciously uniform, and with all dissenters quietly removed from the choir.

My childhood self intuited precisely what my adult writing has since anatomised:

‘We’re all on the same page’ always becomes ‘Get on the page we’ve selected for you’ – or elected against your vote. The fantasy of we dissolves into the machinery of they.

This isn’t a bug in the system; that is the system. Solidarity requires a centre, and once there’s a centre, someone else gets to define its radius. Even the gentle, ethical, cotton-wool versions still rely on boundary enforcement: who belongs in the shared project, who must adjust their cadence, who is politely removed for ‘disrupting the collective good’. I’m more often apt to be that person than not. History merely illustrates the principle at scale; the mechanism is universal.

Anyway, this is how my brain works, and how I think how I do, and write what I write. As much as I witter on about episodic selves, this remains a prevalent continuity.

Book Review: The Death of Ivan Ilych by Lev Tolstoy

I’ve just finished reading The Death of Ivan Ilych.

Let’s get this out of the way: yes, Ivan dies at the end. It’s right there in the title, you absolute muppet. But what Tolstoy does in this slim volume – more novelette than novella, really – is turn the slow demise of a terminal bore into a scathing indictment of bourgeois mediocrity.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

Set in the 1880s, but eerily modern in its spiritual bankruptcy, this is less a period piece and more a mirror held up to our Ikea-staged lives. Ivan Ilych is, in short, that guy. You’ve met him. You’ve worked with him. He follows the rules, gets the job, buys the drapes, marries the woman, and climbs the career ladder with the zeal of a drowning man clambering up a waterfall. And for what? A living room indistinguishable from the next man’s. A life that “resembles others like itself” to such an extent that it may as well have been copy-pasted from a Pottery Barn catalogue.

I’ve only read Anna Karenina prior to this, and no, I’ve not tackled War and Peace because I have things to do and a lifespan to manage. I prefer Dostoyevsky‘s psychological probing to Tolstoy’s social panoramas, but Ivan Ilych pleasantly surprised me. It’s Dostoyevskian in its internal torment, and compact enough not to require a support group.

The genius here is not the plot – man gets ill, man dies – but the emotional autopsy performed in slow motion. Ivan’s illness is banal, his symptoms vague, but the existential unravelling is exquisite. He is confronted not just by mortality but by the crushing realisation that his entire life was a lie curated for public consumption. If Instagram had existed in imperial Russia, Ivan would have filtered the hell out of his parlour furniture.

And yet, at the very end, there’s a kind of grace. Having failed at life, Ivan, miraculously, succeeds at dying. Not in the tragic-heroic sense. But in accepting the abyss, he transcends it. Or at least stops flinching.

If you’ve ever wondered what your carefully curated CV and your “neutral-tone” home decor will mean on your deathbed, this book is your answer: absolutely nothing. Read it and despair – or better yet, read it and reconsider.

Intolerance

Karl Popper coined the paradox of tolerance, but this was not his use case.

Societies and cultures tend to mediate and normalise to an implied equilibrium. They claim tolerance because members are generally conformant until someone isn’t, and then all hell breaks loose.

In religion, an example might be a claim that “We love everyone” until the everyone is gay, an addict, or some other miscreant. That’s when the hate starts. Then they deny the hate—so long as the person regains conformance status.

I don’t have much to say beyond this. It just resonated with me.

Freud and Moral Responsibility

Morality is a social construct, but so are notions of identity and self. Upon reflection, psychology, a discipline I already hold in the lowest regard, is only the minutest subset of sociology. Without society, psychology would have nothing to study.

Sociology is more focused on structure and interrelationships whilst psychology concerns itself with the individual agent’s psyche. Sigmund Freud did recognise this by the taxonomy of id, ego and superego. It seems that by Freud’s reckoning, the id is a stand-in for volition, rather unconscious reactions, whereby the ego is more reflexive and tempered by the external world. Employing this model, in at least one way of thinking, the id represents the bare and authentic self whilst the ego is the accumulation of inputs.

Put in causa sui terms, the id is the result of inherited genetic temperament and the ego is the result of societal forces as interpreted by the id and any antecedent ego.

Remember, one function of the brain is as a Bayesian prediction engine that evaluates new inputs and forms a new sense of perceptual reality and fitness to operate in this universe.

Freud’s superego is ostensibly a part of the ego gone underground—, most of it operating beneath the surface. It’s what I’ll consider being the Nancy Reagan of the psyche—just say no*. It’s Jiminy Cricket. Apologies for not having more contemporary conscience references. I suppose my age is showing.

According to Freud, most of who we are is a social construct, save for the kernel of the id, the proto-self. The ego is the part almost—but not all—above the surface, manifest in consciousness. Conversely, the superego has the reverse configuration, existing almost entirely below the surface. One might even be tempted to argue that the portion of the superego above the surface has actually already been assimilated into the ego.

So, we’re animated sausages, skins stuffed with social cues. Some of these social cues are also moral codes, but many moral codes are inherently unstable and vary by context. And there are local and global morality sources. For example, most religious doctrine is local, so a text authored by a venerated leader in one area may not be venerated outside of that context. In some cases, the directive contains no moral content—don’t eat pork or shellfish or take Saturdays off—whilst others do—love thy neighbour as thyself. Still, they are all social constructs.

If one has no interactions with the other culture, these societies can coexist without challenge, but when a ‘take off on Saturday’ group intersects with a ‘take off Sunday group’, there may be friction, each chiding the other for their nonsensical belief in the manner of Dr Seuss’ Sneetches.

Given this, when discussing morality, we are forced into a structure built on shifting sand. The challenge is that some people believe this ground is bedrock, and power structures insist it is in order to leverage a more solid foundation to maintain power and control.

If we are in some milieu, we are then forced to comply with their norms and morés or be cast out or marginalised, perhaps even scapegoated as Girard might suggest.

Meantime, just take morality with a grain of salt and remember that as will all things human, there are flaws in the logic and outcomes. Also understand that even if these outcomes are flawed and you need to participate in that society, you probably need to remain under the radar—easier for some than others—, conform, play the eccentric, or perish.

* Apparently, Nancy could say no to just about anything except for giving blowjobs. Perhaps this is what saved Ron from the same fate as Bill Clinton, but who am I to say? No shame in that is my position.

Police State

Bad police dramas on TV have gotten me in the mood to rail. First, there was the topic of lying, and then there was the Unabomber. This post is broader.

We laugh of the notions of Barney Fife, Chief Wiggum, and Paul Blart, but in my estimation these are closer to the norm than the stereotype of the bad-ass cop.

My armchair pop-psychology assessment is that people who are drawn to police work are underachievers with power and control issues and conformity and morality fetishes.

Advantage goes to the house

Law enforcement and jurisprudence systems wouldn’t work if they didn’t stack the decks in their favour. They give themselves get out of jail free cards and rely on lies and deception to create an advantage. Watching these TV shows, they have permission to lie, withhold, misrepresent, coerce, and entrap without repercussion. They make ‘deals’ in domains where they have no authority. They are even allowed to engage in criminal activity if it serves the better interests of a case. They can buy drugs and property, engage with prostitutes, and any number of otherwise illegal activities.

I won’t even spend more digital ink commenting on the lack of due process judges commit in the courtroom—personal fiefdoms.

Domestic abuse

Over 40% of active police officers have domestic abuse histories.

Over 40% of active police officers have domestic abuse histories. These people have records of abusing the wives, children, domestic partners, and pets. And these are only the ones who have been caught. Statistically, the percentage is very likely to be over 50%. This is not shining endorsement. Sadly, domestic abuse is inversely correlated with IQ, so this doesn’t fair well with the next topic.

Low IQs

The average IQ of a police officer in the United States is about 104. In and of itself, this might not seem strange. This seems to imply that these IQs are in line with average, but there’s a problem. The courts have ruled that is not discriminatory to exclude people with high IQs from being police officers because they are more likely to be independent thinkers and not conformant.

Conformity

Because cops are usually and expectedly conformant, it should come as no surprise that they feel the urge to prescribe this conformity on others. Given the opportunity, I’d argue that in many instances this conformity is superficial and performative, but that’s a topic for another day.