By Ben Shapiro
Wednesday, September 19, 2019
Strategic thinkers have long suggested that the best way
to deal with a malcontent is to bring him in house—better, the saying goes, to
have such troublesome figures inside the tent micturating out than to have them
outside the tent micturating in. Never has that aphorism been truer than in the
case of Kevin Williamson. In 2018, Williamson was hired to write for the Atlantic
after a long stint at National Review, precisely because of his
unique capacity to micturate from great heights and at long duration.
The Atlantic made the mistake of believing its
editors could either housebreak Williamson or that they could convince their
enlightened employees not to flood the rug themselves upon Williamson’s hiring.
It was wrong on both counts, and the magazine fired Williamson unceremoniously
after coffee-fetching interns complained that he actually believed the
terrible, terrible things he had written.
Now Williamson has turned his ire on the Atlantic,
and on the mob mentality that has crippled our public discourse, in a new book
called The Smallest Minority. Few are spared Williamson’s acid stream.
Everyone from Twitter scolds to our nation’s top CEOs is subjected to
Williamson’s R-rated brutality—and the result is a work that is by turns
clever, illuminating, shocking, and vicious. Williamson makes H.L. Mencken look
like Dave Barry.
It’s the fact that Williamson is, at root, a misanthrope
that gives his writing such objectivity and bite. Here he is, at the outset of
the book, on his view of Westerners today: “Monkeys, albeit monkeys with wifi.
You could try being human beings. You could….You aren’t going to. We both know
that. Jerk off, fling poo, jerk off, fling poo.”
It gets better—or worse, depending on your
perspective—from here. Because Williamson doesn’t only make excretory
references. He mixes them with philosophizing on Michael Oakeshott and
Shakespeare. The Smallest Minority is a bizarre and titillating brew,
and it mostly works, because Williamson’s goal is to shock, all in the name of
individuality.
Williamson has set himself on a one-man quest to tick
everyone off, and he very nearly succeeds. He begins by slamming American
intellectuals for their doughty refusal to think for themselves: “The original
sin of the American intellectual is his desire to be popular.” Williamson calls
on them to be Coriolanus, standing athwart the rails of popularity, shouting,
“You idiots!”
Williamson’s diagnosis is correct: He points out that
social media have exacerbated our tendency toward poo-flinging rather than
building community. “Communication,” Williamson states, “is only incidental
to social media.” Its true role is to “provide a partial substitute for the
sense of identity and belonging that disruptive global capitalism has taken
away from many people.” Such community-building is done by way of
“antidiscourse,” which isn’t a “conversation about politics,” but politics
itself. It’s memery that justifies its own presence by the damage done rather
than the issues raised. “Antidiscourse,” says Williamson, “may be the weapon of
the stupid, the dull, and the weak, but most people are stupid, dull, and weak.”
Social media inevitably degrade the discourse by focusing in on the value of
the mob rather than the individual. Williamson reminds us, “Groups do not think
in any meaningful sense. People think—one at a time.”
Failing to understand that distinction—and seeing the
individual as a threat to group cohesion—results in censorship. “What begins as
a principle ends up as an enemies list,” Williamson explains. Today’s political
figures and Twitter police have an interest in “defining danger down,” so that
the philosophical framework will prevent the dissemination of dissenting ideas.
They portray their own intolerance for such dissent as virtue, and their own
cruelty as zealousness. The goal: silencing. Because the real target isn’t the
occasional victim of the mob beatings—it’s the third party who is encouraged
never to uncap his pen.
But that’s just the start of Williamson’s critique. He
also trains his guns on the rise of conformist corporate capitalism—the
non-governmental organizing agent of modern society, which can also be made
subject to the whims of the mob. Quoting Marxist philosopher Erich Fromm and
free-market economist Friedrich Hayek to the same effect, Williamson points out
that top-down corporate control of the culture is still centralization subject
to ochlocracy. The project of today’s mobs is “the conversion of business—and
the university, University Man being Salaryman in larval form—into disciplinary
corporations, agencies deputized to enforce political and intellectual
conformity on subjects ranging from the most high-profile business executives
and intellectuals to the most obscure fast-food managers.” Homogeneity is the
goal of the corporation—and of the mob.
So what can we count on in order to protect us from mob
rule? Not democracy, that “blind idiot god,” says Williamson. The moral value
of the democratic system “consists almost exclusively in its utility as a
substitute for violence. Without being situated in the frame of liberalism and
the rule of law, democracy is only another instrument for aggregating hatred
and grievances and organizing them into repression.” And we cannot trust
markets, either, which can be shaped by public pressure and mob outrage. As
Williamson points out, “the same people who want to abolish the corporation as
a legal person propose to create the corporation as a moral person—and to
recruit that moral person into crusades of various design.”
All of this makes for depressing (if hilarious) reading.
Is there any cure for this diagnosis of a cancer that has so clearly
metastasized throughout our institutions? In the end, the cure is the
individual. The only answer is a “politics of skepticism,” Williamson states,
quoting Oakeshott: a philosophy in which “approval and disapproval are no part
of the office of government, which is not at all concerned with the souls of
men.” Williamson’s ringing words serve as a rallying cry for that philosophy:
“If that slop bucket of totalitarian goo is to be our Heaven on Earth, then the
individualist must take up a new slogan: ‘Non serviam’”—I will not
serve.
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