Monday, May 30, 2022

A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin

So I watched the TV show before I started reading the books -- and that’s probably the wrong way to do it, but, in my defense, I think it better allows one to develop an appreciation for both. Too often, TV shows are slammed for not being true to the books -- and that’s somehow a more grievous sin than a book that is not true to its TV show. When you read the book first, you seem to want that experience reproduced on the screen, and you get angry when it isn’t. But when you watch the TV show first, the book becomes a kind of alternate version that’s fun to wander through. Oh, look there, that’s different. I wonder why they changed that for the TV show?

This was very much my experience in reading this, the first volume in Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series. As hard as I tried, I could not help but see the actors from the TV show in my mind’s eye as I progressed through its pages -- and just that created a kind of alternate experience because in the book, for example, Sansa is 11 years old -- and there ain’t no way that the actress that played her in Season 1 of Game of Thrones is that young. Indeed, Sophie Turner was 15 at the time.

But one thing that is the same in the TV show and the book -- and one of the best things about them both, in my opinion -- is that, at least in the first book and the first season, the bad guys win.

And they don’t just win, they win because the honor and morality of the good guys is ill-suited to their environment, and it fails them. It’s not just that the bad guys win. The good guys lose … because they are good.

Okay, now, before you think I’m some kind of monster, let me say clearly that this is not what I wish happened in the real world -- but in the realm of fantasy literature, it is such a refreshing change. You may have read my post on Wizard’s First Rule by Terry Goodkind. If so, you know I have been thirsty for something in the fantasy genre in which characters are treated like real people, and that trauma is treated like trauma. Well, I guess I should’ve looked at A Game of Thrones earlier. It was hiding there right under my nose.

Martin does a phenomenal job putting his anti-morality play together. It’s no accident that he places the reader on the side of the Starks, not the Lannisters. It makes the Lannister triumph all the more galling, but there are clues throughout that it is not just the Lannister cunning that rules the day -- it is actually the Stark honor that causes them to fall.

It didn’t dogear any pages as I read this, but I know there is that scene between Eddard (Ned) Stark and Cersei Lannister, after he has discovered the truth of the king’s bloodline and how it had been usurped by the incestuous coupling of Cersei and his brother Jaime. In the scene, he lays his cards on the table in front of Cersei, and tells her to flee King’s Landing or be destroyed.

“You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow.”

“Exile,” she said. “A bitter cup to drink from.”

“A sweeter cup than your father served Rhaegar’s children,” Ned said, “and kinder than you deserve. Your father and your brothers would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin’s gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert’s wrath will follow you, to the back of beyond if need be.”

The queen stood. “And what of my wrath, Lord Stark?” she asked softly. Her eyes searched his face. “You should have taken the realm for yourself. It was there for the taking. Jamie told me how you found him on the Iron Throne the day King’s Landing fell, and made him yield it up. That was your moment. All you needed to do was climb those steps, and sit. Such a sad mistake.”

“I have made more mistakes than you can possibly imagine,” Ned said, “but that was not one of them.”

“Oh, but it was, my lord,” Cersei insisted. “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.”

When you play the game of thrones. It’s important that Martin chose that as his title, because it emphasizes that this is a game, a game with its own rules that don’t align with a traditional understanding of fantasy genre honor and morality.

Ned is so focused on his honor and the knightly rules of regal succession, that he can’t see that they are his undoing when beset by enemies who have no such allegiance. This theme emerges again in the scene between Varys and Ned, on the eve of Ned’s downfall and beheading. Ned asks Varys to deliver a message, and Varys says he will only if it serves his own ends.

“Your own ends. What ends are those, Lord Varys?”

“Peace,” Varys replied without hesitation. “If there was one soul in King’s Landing who was truly desperate to keep Robert Baratheon alive, it was me.” He sighed. “For fifteen years I protected him from his enemies, but I could not protect him from his friends. What strange fit of madness led you to tell the queen you had learned the truth of Joffrey’s birth?”

“The madness of mercy,” Ned admitted.

“Ah,” said Varys. “To be sure. You are an honest and honorable man, Lord Eddard. Ofttimes I forget that. I have met so few of them in my life.” He glanced around the cell. “When I see what honesty and honor have won you, I understand why.”

There it is again. It is Ned’s honor that has caused his downfall.

Ned Stark laid his head back against the damp stone wall and closed his eyes. His leg was throbbing. “The king’s wine … did you question Lancel?”

“Oh, indeed. Cersei gave him the wineskins, and told him it was Robert’s favorite vintage.” The eunuch shrugged. “A hunter lives a perilous life. If the boar had not done for Robert, it would have been a fall from a horse, the bite of a wood adder, an arrow gone astray … the forest is the abattoir of the gods. It was not wine that killed the king. It was your mercy.”

Ned had feared as much. “Gods forgive me.”

“If there are gods,” Varys said, “I expect they will. The queen would not have waited long in any case. Robert was becoming unruly, and she needed to be rid of him to free her hands to deal with his brothers. They are quite a pair, Stannis and Renly. The iron gauntlet and the silk glove.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You have been foolish, my lord. You ought to have heeded Littlefinger when he urged you to support Joffrey’s succession.”

“How … how could you know of that?”

Varys smiled. “I know, that’s all that need concern you. I also know that on the morrow the queen will pay you a visit.”

Slowly Ned raised his eyes. “Why?”

“Cersei is frightened of you, my lord … but she has other enemies she fears even more. Her beloved Jaime is fighting the river lords even now. Lysa Arryn sits in the Eyrie, ringed in stone and steel, and there is no love lost between her and the queen. In Dorne, the Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Elia and her babes. And now your son marches down the Neck with a northern host at his back.”

“Robb is only a boy,” Ned said, aghast.

“A boy with an army,” Varys said. “Yet only a boy, as you say. The king’s brothers are the ones giving Cersei sleepless nights … Lord Stannis in particular. His claim is the true one, he is known for his prowess as a battle commander, and he is utterly without mercy. There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man. No one knows what Stannis has been doing on Dragonstone, but I will wager you that he’s gathered more swords than seashells. So here is Cersei’s nightmare: while her father and brother spend their power battling Starks and Tullys, Lord Stannis will land, proclaim himself king, and lop off her son’s curly blond head … and her own in the bargain, though I truly believe she cares more about the boy.”

“Stannis Baratheon is Robert’s true heir,” Ned said. “The throne is his by rights. I would welcome his ascent.”

This is plainly nonsensical, and Varys knows it. The only reason Robert was king is because he stole the throne from Aerys Targaryen. And Ned helped him do it.

Varys tsked. “Cersei will not want to hear that, I promise you. Stannis may win the throne, but only your rotting head will remain to cheer unless you guard that tongue of yours. Sansa begged so sweetly, it would be a shame if you threw it all away. You are being given your life back, if you’ll take it. Cersei is no fool. She knows a tame wolf is of more use than a dead one.”

“You want me to serve the woman who murdered my king, butchered my men, and crippled my son?” Ned’s voice was thick with disbelief.

“I want you to serve the realm,” Varys said. “Tell the queen that you will confess your vile treason, command your son to lay down his sword, and proclaim Joffrey as the true heir. Offer to denounce Stannis and Renly as faithless usurpers. Our green-eyed lioness knows you are a man of honor. If you will give her the peace she needs and the time to deal with Stannis, and pledge to carry her secret to your grave, I believe she will allow you to take the black and live out the rest of your days on the Wall, with your brother and that baseborn son of yours.”

The thought of Jon filled Ned with a sense of shame, and a sorrow too deep for words. If only he could see the boy again, sit and talk with him … pain shot through his broken leg, beneath the filthy grey plaster of his cast. He winced, his fingers opening and closing helplessly. “Is this your own scheme,” he gasped out at Varys, “or are you in league with Littlefinger?”

That seemed to amuse the eunuch. “I would sooner wed the Black Goat of Qohor. Littlefinger is the second most devious man in the Seven Kingdoms. Oh, I feed him choice whispers, sufficient so that he thinks I am his … just as I allow Cersei to believe I am hers.”

“And just as you let me believe that you were mine. Tell me, Lord Varys, who do you truly serve?”

Varys smiled thinly. “Why, the realm, my good lord, how ever could you doubt that? I swear it by my lost manhood. I serve the realm, and the realm needs peace.” He finished the last swallow of wine, and tossed the empty skin aside. “So what is your answer, Lord Eddard? Give me your word that you’ll tell the queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling.”

“If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life is not so precious to me as that.”

His word and his life. As much as Varys tries to instruct him, Ned cannot see that the game afoot has little use for either. In his strange way, Varys understands that there is a higher calling than Ned’s word.

“Pity.” The eunuch stood. “And your daughter’s life, my lord? How precious is that?”

A chill pierced Ned’s heart. “My daughter … ”

“Surely you did not think I’d forgotten about your sweet innocent, my lord? The queen most certainly has not.”

“No,” Ned pleaded, his voice cracking. “Varys, gods have mercy, do as you like with me, but leave my daughter out of your schemes. Sansa’s no more than a child.”

“Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar’s daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door.” Varys gave a long weary sigh, the sigh of a man who carried all the sadness of the world in a sack upon his shoulders. “The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that’s true, Lord Eddard, tell me … why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones? Ponder it, if you would, while you wait upon the queen. And spare a thought for this as well: The next visitor who calls on you could bring you bread and cheese and the milk of the poppy for your pain … or he could bring you Sansa’ head.

“The choice, my dear lord Hand, is entirely yours.”

It is. And that’s kind of the point. Is choosing to do good still good when it results in so much carnage and suffering. Isn’t that kind of good actually not good?

And it’s not just Ned. The earlier reference to Ned’s son Robb is a foreshadow. Later, after Ned has been killed, and with Jaime Lannister in their captive possession, Robb Stark and his bannermen receive word that Renly Baratheon has claimed the Iron Throne. Many urge Robb to pledge his northern forces to Renly’s claim. This scene is told from the perspective of Robb’s mother Catelyn.

“Renly is not the king,” Robb said. It was the first time her son had spoken. Like his father, he knew how to listen.

“You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord,” Galbert Glover said. “He put your father to death.”

“That makes him evil,” Robb replied. “I do not know that it makes Renly king. Joffrey is still Robert’s eldest trueborn son, so the throne is rightfully his by all the laws of the realm. Were he to die, and I mean to see that he does, he has a younger brother. Tommen is next in line after Joffrey.”

“Tommen is no less a Lannister,” Ser Marq Piper snapped.

“As you say,” said Robb, troubled. “Yet if neither one is king, still, how could it be Lord Renly? He’s Robert’s younger brother. Bran can’t be Lord of Winterfell before me, and Renly can’t be king before Lord Stannis.”

Lady Mormont agreed. “Lord Stannis has the better claim.”

“Renly is crowned,” said Marq Piper. “Highgarden and Storm’s End support his claim, and the Dornishmen will not be laggardly. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength to his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir themselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads on pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevan, all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly. What does Lord Stannis have against that, that we should cast it all aside?”

“The right,” said Robb stubbornly. Catelyn thought he sounded eerily like his father as he said it.

And so the cycle will continue. Those who hold to their honor lose in this fantasy -- and that’s what I like best about it.

And why, I suppose, I thought it was such a travesty that the good guys win at the end of the TV show. Will the books end that way? I’ve heard that the last book was not written when the TV show came to an end, and that the TV producers had to make up their own ending. I can only hope that Martin will stay true to his radical proposition. As the ultimate manifestation of the dark indifference to human honor and concern, the Night King simply has to win. Nothing else makes any thematic sense.

+ + +

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

Monday, May 23, 2022

Dragons - Chapter 88 (DRAFT)

I took the call with Steve Anderson sitting on a bench in the small city park that adjoined our office building. Without intending to, I found a bench with a clear view of the building and the floor that our company squatted on. And during the conversation with Steve, I could not initially keep my eyes off the windows on that floor, especially the corner where I knew Mary’s office to be, and the dark shapes moving around behind them.

“Alan!” Steve’s friendly voice said at the very beginning, sounding more like an old college friend than a potential new boss. “I’m so glad we were able to find time for this discussion.”

“Of course,” I said, wondering if he thought I would have been too busy to take his call. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Although, I’ll confess, if things go the way I’m expecting them to, I suspect you’ll be doing much more of the talking than me.”

I wasn’t sure if that was meant as an ice-breaking jest or a serious challenge. I decided to treat it with the same ambivalence. “That’s no problem. I’m ready to dazzle you.”

“Well, okay! Let me set the stage for you.”

Steve then went on to summarize the history of our discussions and the opportunity that was being laid on the table. He talked briefly about the organization, the leadership position that was available, and a few takeaways from the interview that had been conducted in Boston. Nothing he said was any news to me, and for a moment, I wondered if there was a third party on the line with us, someone for whom such a summary would have been helpful. I listened patiently, my eyes on Mary’s office. It was now a few minutes past one, and Bethany was undoubtedly in there, saying whatever it was that she was going to say.

“So, now here we are,” Steve was saying. “You’ve had some time to reflect on the opportunity and, hopefully, some time to research us and some of the challenges we’re facing. Let’s, for the sake of this discussion, assume that you’ve been hired, and running our organization is now your responsibility. What are some of the things that you’d do in your first week on the job?”

It was my turn to speak. My subconscious mind knew that, but my conscious attention was still on the office tower windows, trying to peer through them and see what was going on.

“Alan? Are you there?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Yes, I am, Steve. Sorry, you broke up a little. Can you repeat that question?”

There was a short pause and then Steve did, and while his words fell again against my eardrum I realized that as much as I might think my fate was being determined without me up in Mary’s office, in fact, this conversation with Steve was the more pressing opportunity to take an active hand in my own success or failure.

“So, Alan. What would you do in your first week on the job?”

“I wouldn’t wait for my first week, Steve. As soon as it was official, as soon as you put me in charge I would be on the phone, calling around to all the Board members; yes, to introduce myself to them, but more importantly, to hear from them, to hear privately, one-on-one, what each thought about the current state of the organization -- the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

There was another pause on the line. I let it happen, waiting for Steve to say something, anything, before I dared speak again.

“Very good,” he said. “Go on.”

I stood up, turned my back on the office building, and then did exactly that. “I have a few ideas of my own. Membership, first and foremost, I think. Shoring up a declining membership seems like the very first order of business, but I can’t pretend as an outsider to understand all the dynamics that are causing that. You guys are a lot closer to the problem and, as members themselves, the Board likely has a better understanding of what works and what doesn’t. I will need to gather all that intelligence before my first day if I’m going to have the kind of impact that you’re looking for.”

“Try that,” Steve said.

“What?”

“Try that on me. Now. If you get the job, I’ll be one of the Board members you call, so you can prequalify me now. I’d like to see what kind of questions you’d ask me.”

“Okay,” I said, as I started walking down one of the paved footpaths that snaked around and through the city park. There was a nervous energy inside me that needed an outlet, and the exertion helped me think as I began questioning him, exactly as I thought I would if I had, in fact, been offered the job.

Steve played along in kind, feeding me the information I requested, speaking candidly about the threats and opportunities he saw facing his organization. There were times when I had to pull more details out of him, times when I confidently offered my own thoughts and advice, times when he politely pulled me back on point. It was surprisingly easy, unlike any interview I had ever been a part of. Within minutes any pretense of us being antagonists was gone. I wasn’t trying to trick him and he wasn’t trying to trap me. We were partners, each of us with a needed perspective if we were going to solve the problems we were discussing.

It was fun. And it went on for far longer than I ever would have thought. The quick review I had performed of the organization’s website helped me, but I’m not sure that was even necessary. Steve freely offered any information I needed. It was okay if I didn’t know something about the organization. I knew enough to know what questions to ask. And, more important than that, I knew what to do with the information he provided. Maybe for the first time in my life, I felt like one of the grown-ups in the room. I was a professional. A doctor. Taking a patient’s history, assessing his symptoms, making a diagnosis, and prescribing a course of action.

At one point Steve interrupted the flow. “Alan, this has been a very informative discussion. I regret that I didn’t reserve more time on my schedule.”

I looked at my watch. It was eleven minutes after two.

“I’d be happy to schedule another call if you want to continue the discussion.”

“That won’t be necessary. At least not presently. In all our discussions, I neglected to ask if you had any questions for me.”

I thought for a second. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Other than your timetable for making your decision.”

“I’ll have to report back to the Executive Committee,” he said. “We have a call scheduled for Friday to discuss the remaining candidates for the position. I expect that we will make a decision on that call and start informing people early the following week.”

“Very good,” I said. “Thanks for your time today, Steve.”

“Thank you, Alan. You take care now.”

The line clicked off. I looked around at my surroundings. I was still in the park, but at practically the farthest point I could be from my office building.

+ + +

“Dragons” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For more information, go here.

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

Image Source

http://lres.com/heres-why-amcs-need-to-pay-close-attention-to-looming-regulatory-changes/businessman-in-the-middle-of-a-labyrinth/


Monday, May 16, 2022

Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal by Ayn Rand

I probably picked this up at the same library book sale where I acquired Atlas Shrugged. It is a collection of essays, most by Rand but not all, that Rand herself describes not as a treatise on economics but as a collection of essays on the moral aspects of capitalism.

That, like the collection’s subtitle, The Unknown Ideal, strikes me as important in any consideration of the essays’s contents. First up, the moral aspect. It is clear throughout that Rand believes capitalism not just to be an economic system, but also a moral philosophy. There are pieces to that puzzle that I’d argue with, but it is clear from the beginning that Rand is arguing not just for what she believes is good, but also for what she believes is right. Unfortunately, this is most manifest in her frequent contempt for those who would hold another perspective. They, by dint of her moral conviction, are not just opposing an economic system, they are opposing her moral position. And that, above almost everything else, makes her text somewhat difficult to approach.

But in her defense, she does call capitalism the unknown ideal, and that is clearly what she believes capitalism to be -- an ideal that is unlikely (or impossible) to achieve in the real world. She even structures the series of essays first into a grouping that deals with the “Theory and History” of her ideas, and then into a second grouping that seeks to apply those ideas to the “Current State.” Although I can’t help but notice that her opening essay in that second grouping, the deceptively titled “The Anatomy of Compromise,” seeks no such compromise between her moral position and the unfortunate realities of the world around her. Indeed, much like her alter ego John Galt, Rand metaphorically concludes that “in any compromise between food and poison, it is only death that can win.” So much for compromise.

Having said all that, I did find myself dog-earing and scribbling in the margins of this work a lot -- the hallmarks of both a frustrating and a mentally-engaging read. On balance, I found myself disputing more than agreeing, somewhat surprised to find Rand and the other authors falling back on the same lazy tropes again and again.

False Dichotomies

Is man a sovereign individual who owns his person, his mind, his life, his work and its products -- or is he the property of the tribe (the state, the society, the collective) that may dispose of him in any way it pleases, that may dictate his convictions, prescribe the course of his life, control his work and expropriate his products? Does man have the right to exist for his own sake -- or is he born in bondage, as an indentured servant who must keep buying his life by serving the tribe but can never acquire it free and clear?

Rand’s writing is littered with false dichotomies like this -- setting up two absurdities in opposition to each other, and assuming that the reader will accept the idea that you can only have all of one and none of the other.

Well, this reader isn’t buying it. The above example is, to my way of thinking, an especially egregious case of this technique. Even if reduced down to its barest essence (i.e., is man a sovereign individual or the property of the tribe?), it is easy to see that neither and both of these propositions are true. But when you add in all of Rand’s qualifiers (i.e., a sovereign individual is someone who owns his person AND owns his mind AND owns his life AND owns his work and its products; and being the property of the tribe means it can dictate your convictions AND prescribe the course of your life AND control your work AND expropriate your products) you actually get a dizzying array of possible combinations that may or may not be true at the same time. For the sake of the exercise, drop the labels, and contemplate a situation in which man both “owns his mind” and in which his society can “expropriate his products.” That could be true, couldn’t it?

But maybe an even clearer example of a false dichotomy comes when one of the essays quotes Ludwig von Mises:

“Nothing is more unpopular today than the free market economy, i.e., capitalism. Everything that is considered unsatisfactory in present-day conditions is charged to capitalism. The atheists make capitalism responsible for the survival of Christianity. But the papal encyclicals blame capitalism for the spread of irreligion and the sins of our contemporaries, and the Protestant churches and sects are no less vigorous in the indictment of capitalist greed. Friends of peace consider our wars as an offshoot of capitalist imperialism. But the adamant nationalist warmongers of Germany and Italy indicted capitalism for its “bourgeois” pacifism, contrary to human nature and to the inescapable laws of history. Sermonizers accuse capitalism of disrupting the family and fostering licentiousness. But the “progressives” blame capitalism for the preservation of allegedly out-dated rules of sexual restraint. Almost all men agree that poverty is an outcome of capitalism. On the other hand many deplore the fact that capitalism, in catering lavishly to the wishes of people intent upon getting more amenities and a better living, promotes a crass materialism. These contradictory accusations of capitalism cancel one another. But the fact remains that there are few people left who would not condemn capitalism altogether.”

Observations like these only seem contradictory when you force them into an either/or paradigm. But there’s another paradigm called “both/and” and it actually does a better job explaining what’s going on here. In this view, capitalism is capable of causing both poverty and prosperity. There is, after all, only one lottery winner.

Simple Strawmen

Another common conceit is the use of strawmen to support arguments that would otherwise have a difficult time surmounting the actual complexities that the strawmen have been constructed purposely to obscure. And sometimes the author doesn’t even try to cover his or her tracks -- transparently reducing the item to be railed against in front of the reader’s very eyes. Here’s one the collection’s other authors, Nathaniel Brandon, in his essay about the common fallacies about capitalism:

Should education be compulsory and tax-supported, as it is today? The answer to this question becomes evident if one makes the question more concrete and specific, as follows: Should the government be permitted to remove children forcibly from their homes, with or without the parents’ consent, and subject the children to educational training and procedures of which the parents may or may not approve? Should citizens have their wealth expropriated to support an educational system which they may or may not sanction, and to pay for the education of children who are not their own? To anyone who understands and is consistently committed to the principle of individual rights, the answer is clearly: No.

Makes the question more concrete and specific, huh? Yeah, I guess that’s one way to describe what you just did. But I’d rather you call it what it is -- creating a strawman that is much easier to tear down than the actual reality that gives you such heartburn. Go ahead. Show me the children who are forcibly being removed from their homes.

I would caution any reader to look for these tropes before dissecting any of the serious arguments offered by Rand and her collected authors. So armed, we can more confidently stride into the philosophical battleground.

Gold

I’m not sure I will ever understand the Randian obsession with a gold-backed currency. The essay addressing this topic in this collection was written by no less an expert than Alan Greenspan, and it is filled with several shocking (to me) revelations.

A free banking system based on gold is able to extend credit and thus create bank notes (currency) and deposits, according to the production requirements of the economy. Individual owners of gold are induced, by payments of interest, to deposit their gold in a bank (against which they can draw checks). But since it is rarely the case that all depositors want to withdraw all their gold at the same time, the banker need keep only a fraction of his total deposits in gold as reserves. This enables the banker to loan out more than the amount of his gold deposits (which means that he holds claims to gold rather than gold as security for his deposits).

I just about fell out of my chair when I read this. I thought THE WHOLE POINT of a gold-backed currency was tying it to a hard, actual asset that exists in a finite amount. This supposedly prevents the creation of money “out of thin air,” but, according to Greenspan, you evidently can create new money (that isn’t backed by gold) as long as you’re a banker and you have some gold in your vault. And who is to say how much of this “claim-to-gold-backed currency” can be created? You guessed it. The market.

But the amount of loans which he can afford to make is not arbitrary: he has to gauge it in relation to his reserves and to the status of his investments.

When banks loan money to finance productive and profitable endeavors, the loans are paid off rapidly and bank credit continues to be generally available. But when the business ventures financed by bank credit are less profitable and slow to pay off, bankers soon find that their loans outstanding are excessive relative to their gold reserves, and they begin to curtail new lending, usually by charging higher interest rates. This tends to restrict the financing of new ventures and requires the existing borrowers to improve their profitability before they can obtain credit for future expansion. Thus, under the gold standard, a free banking system stands as the protector of an economy’s stability and balanced growth.

I’m no banker, and have certainly never served as Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, but doesn’t this line of argument only make sense if there truly is some kind of inviolate gold standard? You know, like you can’t lend more money than the amount of gold you have in your vaults. The minute you allow the lending of “claim-to-gold-backed currency,” aren’t you basically throwing that standard out the window? Unless there is an inviolate fraction (i.e., you cannot lend more money than ten times the amount of gold you have in your vaults), there is nothing (except the minds of men) to stop profligate lending. In this situation, I really don’t understand what magic the gold in the banker’s vault is able to exert that a fiat currency can’t.

And there’s more. In this essay, Greenspan waxes eloquent about the opposition to the gold standard, painting a grim and despotic picture of this enemy.

But opposition to the gold standard in any form -- from a growing number of welfare-state advocates -- was prompted by a much subtler insight: the realization that the gold standard is incompatible with chronic deficit spending (the hallmark of the welfare state). Stripped of its academic jargon, the welfare state is nothing more than a mechanism by which governments confiscate the wealth of the productive members of society to support a wide variety of welfare schemes. A substantial part of the confiscation is effected by taxation. But the welfare statists were quick to recognize that if they wished to retain political power, the amount of taxation had to be limited and they had to resort to programs of massive deficit spending, i.e., they had to borrow money, by issuing government bonds, to finance welfare expenditures on a large scale.

Sorry. Both things cannot be true. It is true, with apologies for adopting the same unfortunate rhetoric, that under a gold standard, taxation “confiscates the wealth of the productive members of society.” They are the ones with the gold-backed money, after all, and gold-backed money is in limited supply. If you’re a “welfare statist” and you want money for your “welfare schemes,” there is only one place to get it.

But without the gold standard and with the subsequent onset of deficit spending, exactly how are governments confiscating the wealth of the productive members of society? Greenspan admits they’re not being taxed. Whether it’s the now-somewhat-archaic practice of selling government bonds, or the now-seemingly-ubitquitous practice of just spending more money than it has, governments aren’t really taking money from anyone are they?

But Greenspan is trying to thread an even narrower needle than this.

Under a gold standard, the amount of credit that an economy can support is determined by the economy’s tangible assets, since every credit instrument is ultimately a claim on some tangible asset. But government bonds are not backed by tangible wealth, only by the government’s promise to pay out of future tax revenues, and cannot easily be absorbed by the financial markets. A large volume of new government bonds can be sold to the public only at progressively higher interest rates. Thus, government deficit spending under a gold standard is severely limited.

Here’s the key, and the thing I will never understand about the gold standard. Greenspan hooks his whole argument on this idea of “tangible wealth,” without ever acknowledging that the gold in his gold standard only acts like the guarantor of tangible wealth because we all agree that it can -- just like we’ve all now agree that the government itself (the Leviathan, if you choose) can serve as the guarantor of that tangible wealth. There is nothing magical about gold. Once you realize that you begin to understand that any other commodity could be substituted (silver, toothpicks, paper currency) and, as long as we all agree that that is the thing that has value, then the system will work generally the same way.

WTF?

As the above example shows, the importance of correctly parsing the right words is an extremely important tactic in understanding (and sometimes refuting) the Randian arguments in this book. It’s a tool I had to employ frequently, but sometimes it felt like a tool unequal to the task I had assigned to it. Literally, I sometimes had no idea what the authors were even talking about.

“In proportion to the mental energy he spent, the man who creates a new invention receives but a small percentage of his value in terms of material payment, no matter what fortune he makes, no matter what millions he earns. But the man who works as a janitor in the factory producing the invention, receives an enormous payment in proportion to the mental effort that his job requires of him. And the same is true of all men between, on all levels of ambition and ability. The man at the top of the intellectual pyramid contributes the most to all those below him, but gets nothing except material payment, receiving no intellectual bonus from others to add to the value of his time. The man at the bottom who, left to himself, would starve in his hopeless ineptitude, contributes nothing to those above him, but received the bonus of all of their brains. Such is the nature of the “competition” between the strong and the weak of intellect. Such is the pattern of “exploitation” for which you have damned the strong.”

Rand is quoting Atlas Shrugged here (as she does a lot in these essays), so some pardon can be given, I suppose, for the rhetorical flourishes, but in substance, really, what the f*** is Rand talking about here?

Mental energy -- Definition, please? What exactly is “mental energy,” and how do you know who has it and who doesn’t? The janitor reference is a curious one, since I can suppose that Rand never saw Good Will Hunting.

No matter what millions he earns -- Millions? Meaning more than one and likely many multiples? Compared to the salary of a janitor? Which is what, in 1957 dollars? $4,000 a year? This is a “small percentage of his value” compared to that of the “mental effort” required of the janitor?

Receiving no intellectual bonus -- Again, definition, please? What kind of “intellectual bonus” is the janitor receiving from the “man at the top of the intellectual pyramid”? And, in Rand’s opinion, what kind of “intellectual bonus” (apart from the multiple millions) should that man be receiving from the janitor? What, scrubbing his toilets isn’t enough?

Starve in his hopeless ineptitude -- I suppose there are people so mentally deficient that, without some helping hand, they would be unable to feed themselves. But is this trait typical of the janitorial class? Rand evidently thinks so, which should tip the reader off as to the kind of class-based patterns of thought that permeate her writing. In her estimation, there are Men (those who use their brains and deserve intellectual bonuses) and there are Animals (those who would starve in their hopeless ineptitude).

Primordial Savages

Let’s dwell on this theme a little longer. I covered it in my reaction to Atlas Shrugged, but it is even more apparent here.

It is obvious that the ideological root of statism (or collectivism) is the tribal premise of primordial savages who, unable to conceive of individual rights, believed that the tribe is a supreme, omnipotent ruler, that it owns the lives of its members and may sacrifice them whenever it pleases to whatever it deems to be its own “good.” Unable to conceive of any social principles, save the rule of brute force, they believed that the tribe’s wishes are limited only by its physical power and that other tribes are its natural prey, to be conquered, looted, enslaved, or annihilated. The history of all primitive people is a succession of tribal wars and intertribal slaughter. That this savage ideology now rules nations armed with nuclear weapons should give pause to anyone concerned with mankind’s survival.

Rand tips dangerously close to outright racism here, perhaps only salvaging an intellectual position by the closing observation that modern nations conduct themselves in similar ways. But it is still agonizing to listen as she drones on about the inferiority and savagery of “primitive people.” It’s obvious, she says, but the only thing that is obvious to me is how blinkered she is being. Hmmm. Let me think. Is there any other reason to believe in the supremacy of the tribe other than an INABILITY to “conceive of individual rights” or “social principles”? It’s those Animals again -- those “people,” so far below the top of the intellectual pyramid that it’s best not to even think of them as Men. They’re primordial savages. Seriously, when she says things like this, I can’t help but dismiss them as the rantings of a Nietzschean superman.

Here’s another example I just can’t resist including. Rand, famously, is opposed to altruism, believing it to be either a cynically conscious tool to rob people of their wealth or an insidious systemic evil that corrupts the very foundations of our society (it’s sometimes hard to tell who the real devil is in Rand’s arguments).

When one grasps this, one knows that it is no use arguing over political trivia, or wondering about the nature of altruism and why the reign of the altruists is leading the world to an ever widening spread of horror. This is the nature of altruism, this -- not any sort of benevolence, good will, or concern for human misfortune. Hatred of man, not the desire to help him -- hatred of life, not the desire to further it -- hatred of the successful state of life -- and that ultimate, apocalyptic evil: hatred of the good for being the good.

Wow. Okay, first, notice what Rand did there, equating “life” with the “successful state of life.” What is the “successful state of life”? Well, of course, that’s life as Rand wants to define it. Man, the sovereign individual, unfettered from any obligations to or dictates from his tribe. That, in Rand’s argument, is “life,” and those opposed to it (or perhaps just disagreeing with its simplistic formulation) “hate” it. They hate Man. What else can possibly explain their opposition to him?

What every successful man (successful at any human value, spiritual or material) has encountered, has sensed, has been bewildered by, but has seldom identified, can now be seen in the open, with nations, instead of individual men, re-enacting the same unspeakable evil on a world scale where it cannot be hidden any longer. It is not for her flaws that the United States of America is hated, but for her virtues -- not for her weaknesses, but for her achievements -- not for her failures, but for her success -- her magnificent, shining, life-giving success.

“It is not your wealth that they’re after. Theirs is a conspiracy against the mind which means: against life and man. It is a conspiracy without leader or direction, and the random little thugs of the moment who cash in on the agony of one land or another are chance scum riding the torrent from the broken dam of the sewer of centuries, from the reservoir of hatred for reason, for logic, for ability, for achievement, for joy, stored by every whining anti-human who ever perched the superiority of the “heart” over the mind.”

Now, remind me. Who hates who? Rand is quoting Atlas Shrugged again, but, of course, quoting Atlas Shrugged is essentially quoting herself. But whether it’s a character in Atlas Shrugged or her direct voice, the vitriol, the contempt, the hatred for those who are part of this “conspiracy without leader or direction” (an oxymoron if I ever heard one) borders on the unhinged.

And this, I think, is what makes it the most difficult for me to approach Rand seriously. In another essay on the property status of the airwaves, she says this:

If you want to gauge a collectivist theory’s distance from reality, ask yourself; by what inconceivable standard can it be claimed that the broadcasting airways are the property of some illiterate sharecropper who will never be able to grasp the concept of electronics, or of some hillbilly whose engineering capacity is not quite sufficient to cope with a core-liquor still -- and that broadcasting, the product of an incalculable amount of scientific genius, is to be ruled by the will of such owners?

Seriously. It’s the condescension that turns me off the most. I’m not talking about whether the airwaves should or should not be owned by the government. I’m talking about the intellectual laziness in thinking that calling people names constitutes a reasoned argument. It makes me wonder if Rand can even make her arguments without insulting anyone.

And then, in the same essay, back to the idea of savages.

I say “atavistic,” because it took many centuries before primitive, nomadic tribes of savages reached the concept of private property -- specifically, land property, which marked the beginning of civilization. It is a tragic irony that in the presence of a new realm opened by a gigantic achievement of science, our political and intellectual leaders reverted to the mentality of primitive nomads and, unable to conceive of property rights, declared the new realm to be a tribal hunting ground.

It’s almost as if the thing that makes them “savages” is that they never read Atlas Shrugged. I mean, by what other standard could we possibly measure “civilization”?

The Market Is Perfect, Except When the Government Meddles In It

A lot of the essays in this book can be classified as supporting this essential premise: the free market is the best and most efficient economic (or moral) system we have, and whenever anything appears to go wrong with it, it is not the fault of the free market, it is the fault of the government meddling with it and not allowing it to function.

The problem with this argument is that there is no way to prove it -- as there has never been a free market whose outcomes we can observe, as Rand herself admits.

A system of pure, unregulated laissez-faire capitalism has never yet existed anywhere. What did exist were only so-called mixed economies, which means: a mixture, in varying degrees of freedom and controls, of voluntary choice and government coercion, of capitalism and statism. America was the freest country on earth, but elements of statism were present in her economy from the start. These elements kept growing, under the influence of her intellectuals who were predominantly committed to the philosophy of statism. The intellectuals -- the ideologists, the interpreters, the assessors of public events -- were tempted by the opportunity to seize political power, relinquished by all other social groups, and to establish their own versions of a “good” society at the point of a gun, i.e., by means of legalized physical coercion. They denounced the free businessmen as exponents of “selfish greed” and glorified the bureaucrats as “public servants.” In evaluating social problems, they kept damning “economic power” and expropriating political power, thus switching the burden of guilt from the politicians to the businessmen.

All the evils, abuses, and iniquities, popularly ascribed to businessmen and to capitalism, were not caused by an unregulated economy or by a free market, but by government intervention into the economy.

This is a pure self-fulfilling prophecy. With this card in hand, the objectivist can claim that anything good that happens is because of the free market, and anything bad that happens is because of government intervention into it.

And the authors of these essays do this a lot -- sometimes to the point of contradicting each other. Rand will describe the giants of American industry -- men such as “James Jerome Hill or Commodore Vanderbilt or Andrew Carnegie or J. P. Morgan” -- as “self-made men who earned their fortunes by personal ability, by free trade on a free market.” 

Huh. I thought there was no such thing as the free market. Oh well.

These are all railroad men, and Rand clearly has a special place in her heart for railroad men. Alan Greenspan, a few essays later, adds some more color to this story.

The railroads developed in the East, prior to the Civil War, in stiff competition with one another as well as with the older forms of transportation -- barges, riverboats, and wagons. By the 1860’s there arose a political clamor demanding that the railroads move west and tie California to the nation: national prestige was held to be at stake. But the traffic volume outside of the populous East was insufficient to draw commercial transportation westward. The potential profit did not warrant the heavy cost of investment in transportation facilities. In the name of “public policy” it was, therefore, decided to subsidize the railroads in their move to the West.

Between 1863 and 1867, close to one hundred million acres of public lands were granted to the railroads. Since these grants were made to individual roads, no competing railroads could vie for traffic in the same area of the West. Meanwhile, the alternative forms of competition (wagons, riverboats, etc.) could not afford to challenge the railroads in the West. Thus, with the aid of the federal government, a segment of the railroad industry was able to “break free” from the competitive bounds which had prevailed in the East.

This, of course, is a bad thing.

As might be expected, the subsidies attracted the kind of promoters who always exist on the fringe of the business community and who are constantly seeking an “easy deal.” Many of the new western railroads were shabbily built: they were not constructed to carry traffic, but to acquire land grants.

The western railroads were true monopolies in the textbook sense of the word. They could, and did, behave with an aura of arbitrary power. But that power was not derived from a free market. It stemmed from governmental subsidies and governmental restrictions.

When, ultimately, western traffic increased to levels which could support other profit-making transportation carriers, the railroads’ monopolistic power was soon undercut. In spite of their initial privileges, they were unable to withstand the pressure of free competition.

And Rand, of course, agrees, diagnosing the problem like this:

But there existed another kind of businessmen, the products of a mixed economy, the men with political pull, who made fortunes by means of special privileges granted to them by the government, such as the Big Four of the Central Pacific Railroad. It was the political power behind their activities -- the power of forced, unearned, economically unjustified privileges -- that caused dislocations in the country’s economy, hardships, depressions, and mounting public protests. But it was the free market and the free businessmen that took the blame. Every calamitous consequence of government controls was used as a justification for the extension of the controls and of the government’s power over the economy.

You see. Free market = good. Mixed economy = bad.

And this really becomes an essential point. On the surface one may think that Rand advocates for the free market because she believes it is the best way to provide prosperity to all -- but that’s not really it. Her advocacy for the free market isn’t grounded in Reaganesque views of shining cities and lifting all boats. Her free market views are based entirely on rewarding those who deserve rewards.

Here’s the hook. It all depends on what you think is “good” and what you think is “bad.” One way to look at the railroad story is as Rand and Greenspan tell it. The government created all this dysfunction and hardship by meddling in the free market. But another way to look at it is that the free market, as Greenspan admits, wasn’t going to build railroads to the West coast because, initially, there wasn’t any profit in it. And that, when profit was possible, the government got out of the way and the free market took over. Deciding that it was bad for the government to help build the railroads means that you are deciding that not allowing the profit-seeking forces of the market decide what gets built and what doesn’t is “bad.”

And what, praytell, is “good” from that point of view?

Loading the Vernacular Dice

As I've said, so much of Rand’s argument absolutely depends on the definition of the terms she uses -- definitions that are never quite explicitly stated. In another example, while she rails against the evil that is government control she is sometimes forced to admit that some “businessmen” do profit under such systems. But…

It is not a matter of accidental personalities, of “dishonest businessmen” or “dishonest legislators.” The dishonesty is inherent in and created by the system. So long as a government holds the power of economic control, it will necessarily create a special “elite,” an “aristocracy of pull,” it will attract the corrupt type of politician into the legislature, it will work to the advantage of the dishonest businessman, and will penalize and, eventually, destroy the honest and able.

This utterly confuses me. Other than the assertion that one system (government control) is evil and another system (free market) is good, what evidence is there that either proposition is true? Don’t people suffer and succeed under both systems? And why is the businessman who plays by the rules of the free market “honest and able,” while the one who plays by the rules of government control “dishonest” and “corrupt”? Isn’t the businessman who succeeds under government control using his mind to out-compete his rivals? It’s almost as if Rand wants to write her own rules so that she always wins the argument.

To further extend this point, let’s look at another essay written by Nathaniel Brandon, where he cites more history that he thinks makes the same essential point about government meddling. Now, the subject isn’t railroads, but banking.

Throughout most of the 1920’s, the government compelled banks to keep interest rates artificially and uneconomically low. As a consequence, money was poured into every sort of speculative venture. By 1928, the warning signals of danger were clearly apparent: unjustified investment was rampant and stocks were increasingly overvalued. The government chose to ignore these danger signals.

Beware the passive voice in that paragraph! “Money was poured into every sort of speculative venture.” How do you put that sentence into the active voice? Who poured the money into the speculative ventures? The government? The market? Or the minds of men?

A free banking system would have been compelled, by economic necessity, to put the brakes on this process of runaway speculation. Credit and investment, in such a case, would be drastically curtailed; the banks which made unprofitable investments, the enterprises which proved unproductive, and those who dealt with them, would suffer -- but that would be all; the country as a whole would not be dragged down. However, the “anarchy” of a free banking system had been abandoned -- in favor of “enlightened” government planning.

A Quick Aside

Okay. Quick aside. The authors of these essays LOVE putting things in quotation marks. They do it, I assume, as I have done, in order to show the irony of these words, which, from their point of view, are publicly used in a manner exactly opposite to the actual situations. A free banking system is called “anarchy” but is actually enlightened; government planning is called “enlightened” but is actually anarchy. Get it?

But this technique is so overused that it more often comes across as either unintelligible, or just vindictive. Here’s a particularly egregious example from Rand’s essay on how big business is actually America’s persecuted minority.

Yet every ugly, brutal aspect of injustice toward racial or religious minorities is being practiced toward businessmen. For instance, consider the evil of condemning some men and absolving others, without a hearing, regardless of the facts. Today’s “liberals” consider a businessman guilty in any conflict with a labor union, regardless of the facts or issues involved, and boast that they will not cross a picket line “right or wrong.” Consider the evil of judging people by a double standard and of denying to some the rights granted to others. Today’s “liberals” recognize the workers’ (the majority’s) right to their livelihood (their wages), but deny the businessmen’s (the minority’s) right to their livelihood (their profits). If workers struggle for higher wages, this is hailed as “social gains”; if businessmen struggle for higher profits, this is damned as “selfish greed.” if the workers’ standard of living is low, the “liberals” blame it on the businessmen; but if the businessmen attempt to improve their economic efficacy, to expand their markets, and to enlarge the financial returns of their enterprises, thus making higher wages and lower prices possible, the same “liberals” denounce it as “commercialism.” If a non-commercial foundation -- i.e., a group which did not have to earn its funds -- sponsors a television show, advocating its particular views, the “liberals” hail it as “enlightenment,” “education,” “art,” and “public service”; if a businessman sponsors a television show and wants it to reflect his views, the “liberals” scream, calling it “censorship,” “pressure,” and “dictatorial rule.” When three locals of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters deprived New York City of its milk supply for fifteen days -- no moral indignation or condemnation was heard from the “liberal” quarters; but just imagine what would happen if businessmen stopped that milk supply for one hour -- and how swiftly they would be struck down by that legalized lynching or pogrom known as “trust-busting.”

Okay. There’s a whole lot I can criticize in that paragraph, but let’s just focus on her use of the quotation marks. I understand their use for words like “social gains” and “selfish greed.” As described above, Rand puts those in quotation marks to show that she would prefer a different usage of these terms from that of her philosophical rivals. But why is “liberals” placed in those irony-inducing quotation marks? She wants to re-appropriate that word, too? Yes, I know about classical liberalism, and maybe that’s her angle, but frankly, putting it in quotes EVERY TIME she mentions it comes across as more vindictive than intellectual. 

Back To The Main Point

But let’s get back to my larger point. Even in a mixed economy, even in situations controlled by government action, men are still men and can still make up their own minds about what they will and will not do. Right? Rand, et. al., wants to preach that government regulation turns Men into Animals, but not, evidently, the free market. There, Men are always Men, free to exercise their minds in any way they see fit.

Sorry. I’m not sure you can have it both ways. And this, I think, is where the essential flaw of Rand’s entire philosophy comes most into stark relief. She wants you to choose between Man being either a “sovereign individual” or the “property of the tribe,” which, in fact, puts Man on the wrong linear axis. Man does not lose his freedom when he is a member of his tribe, and is still free to act under whatever dictates the tribe places upon him. I know. I’ve read Atlas Shrugged and I’ve seen how John Galt reacts when literally tortured by the statists. The real question lies along the perpendicular axis. Choose not if Man is sovereign or property, choose if the forces acting upon his sovereignty are market-based or state-based.

+ + +

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

Monday, May 9, 2022

Dragons - Chapter 87 (DRAFT)

We were up to nearly four in the morning -- me getting sick and Jenny cleaning it up multiple times -- before the room would stop spinning and things were calm enough that I could contemplate going back to bed. It was a bad reaction to the medicine Blair had given me. I couldn’t really know that for sure, but in the moment that’s what I decided had happened and no one was going to talk me out of it.

“Throw them away,” I told Jenny, never wanting to see the offensive little pills again.

She tried to reason with me, asked me not to act rashly, to give the medicine a chance to work.

“Fuck the medicine,” I told her, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers up over my head. “It’s poison. I’m not taking any more.”

She must’ve stopped arguing with me, and I must’ve fallen back to sleep, because the next thing I remember was the alarm clock going off. The covers were still over my head and I had to fight against them to free myself from their cocoon before I could stumble across the room and extinguish the offending noise.

“Are you okay?”

I looked back at the bed. Jenny was an enormous shape under the blankets, her face framed in the dim light by the glowing cream-colored pillowcase, Jacob’s tousled mop of hair just visible below her left cheek. The alarm may have woken her up, or she may have been laying like that awake through the passing few hours of the early morning. There was no way to tell.

I considered her question for a moment. Without even thinking about it, I realized, I had bounded out of bed in my usual manner and there I stood, upright, on both feet, without a trace of dizziness or disorientation fogging up my brain.

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

“Are you going to work?”

Work. The word was like an incantation, conjuring up a thousand thoughts that had lain dormant and more or less forgotten. There was something on my calendar today, I knew, something important, but I had a hard time pinpointing it. It wasn’t the leadership meeting, was it? The terror of that thought almost giving me a heart attack. No, that was next week. I was leaving on Monday. What was it?

“Don’t you have that call with Steve Anderson today?”

That was it. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Why don’t you stay home and take it here?”

The thought of that seemed to terrify me even more. No, no, I should take it in the office. I’ve got a lot of things that still need to get done before next week’s leadership meeting. I can’t afford another day out of the office. When it’s time for the call with Steve, I can close my office door and minimize the distractions. It’ll be all right. It’ll be fine.

“Alan?”

It was only then that I realized that I hadn’t said any of my inner monologue out loud.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m going to the office.”

“Okay,” Jenny said, in one of her rare moments of acquiescence. “But do me a favor. Get dressed in Jacob’s room. I need to sleep in today.”

I knew better than to argue with that. I quickly gathered the items I would need and then quietly left the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. A shower, a quick breakfast, packing a bag lunch, and a short drive later I found myself at the office, riding the elevator up from the parking garage and walking down the long, interior wall of the building to my office. It was not lost on me that less than twenty-four hours ago I had been practically crawling along that same wall, using its planar geometry like a blind man desperate to find some small safe haven. Whatever had afflicted me, migraine or something else, was now equally a memory. I was tired, but no more so than any other day. And my throat was a little sore. But otherwise I felt ready to tackle whatever the day was planning to throw at me.

The call with Steve was not until 1 PM that afternoon -- 1 PM Central, that is. Steve’s assistant had confirmed it for 2 PM Eastern and that was 1 PM Central. I felt confident that I was not going to make that mistake again. I would also make sure that I had a completely empty bladder.

I kept to myself as much as I possibly could that morning, working for most of it with my office door closed. Part of me hoped that it looked natural -- I had a lot of phone calls to make, following up on all the volunteer committee changes that Wes Howard had demanded, and office protocol often looked favorably on those who closed their doors during long phone calls so as not to disturb all the other drones busily going about their tasks -- but another part of me didn’t really care. I just wasn’t up to interacting with people that morning. The phone calls alone were likely to exhaust me.

Hello? Yes, Mr. Richards? Neil Richards? It’s Alan Larson calling. Yes, that Alan Larson. Yes. Yes, I am looking forward to the leadership retreat next week, and that’s actually why I’m calling. Our incoming chair Wes Howard has taken another look at the pending committee rosters and has decided to bring some fresh faces onto some of the key committees. He asked me to call and thank you for your service on the Bylaws Committee, and also to inform you that he will be asking Kathleen Meyer to chair the committee next year. Yes. Yes, sir, I understand that Eleanor had previously asked you to serve as chair, and Wes would very much like you to continue serving on the committee, but he has decided to tap Kathleen for the role of chair. Yes. Yes, it is his decision as incoming chair. I’m glad you understand. No. No, please. We very much wish you will still attend next week’s leadership meeting. Wes is hoping to speak with you personally there, and your contributions there will be an important part of setting our plans for the future. Yes. Yes, thank you. We’ll see you. Thank you. Good-bye.

That was a good one and most of them were not good ones. Everything I said about Wes was a lie. Wes Howard didn’t care if people like Neil Richards stayed on their committees or if they came to the leadership retreat. He wasn’t going to speak to them personally and he would probably laugh at any contributions they would try to make. All of that was lies, but they had to be told. What else was I supposed to tell the people that Wes had rejected? The truth? That Wes Howard didn’t give a shit about anyone except Wes Howard?

I did that until quarter to twelve and then darted down to the breakroom to retrieve my bag lunch so I could eat it at my desk. There were a few people milling about in there, some of them waiting for the long line of microwaves to warm up their frozen meals, but no one stopped me or even tried to speak to me. In a flash I was behind my closed office door again, spreading a few napkins down on my desk surface to catch the crumbs.

I had planned to spend the last hour before my call with Steve preparing for that discussion, and only at that moment realized that Steve really hadn’t given me anything in particular to prepare. I tried to remember what it was that he had said to me in the Emerald Club at Logan Airport -- something about their plans for the future of the organization and wanting to hear my ideas.

And then my heart stopped. He wanted to hear my ideas. Not about the stupid standardized test they had given me, but about the future of their organization. That’s what Steve was going to be calling me about in… in sixty-three minutes, and I hadn’t prepared a goddamn thing.

I pushed my lunch aside and turned to my computer, calling up the organization’s website and reading as much as I could as quickly as I could. There. Their mission and strategic objectives. And there. Their Board of Directors, Steve’s smiling face staring back at me from the computer screen. And there. Their list of committees and each of their purposes. The site was organized like almost any similar organization, full of facts, but absent any kind of larger context. Where were the challenges they were facing? The dysfunction that probably existed around their Board table? The programs that failed to achieve their intended purposes from lack of funding? I wasn’t going to find any of that on their website, and that’s really what I needed if I was going to invent something plausible for my ideas on how to move the organization forward.

Suddenly there was a knock at my door. I looked up, my eye catching the time on its journey to the door (12:21 PM), and saw Bethany’s form practically pressed against my door’s glass, still cracked from the punch Gerald had given it.

She was probably the last person I wanted to talk to, especially with only thirty-nine minutes to go before my phone interview, so I gave her a stern look, pointing first to my watch and then to my phone. I’m busy! I’m making calls! But she met my pantomime with her own worried look, holding up two fingers and then pointing to her own watch. Reluctantly, I waved her in. She shut the door quietly behind her and stood with her back to it.

“No time for lunch, eh?”

I spread my hands over my half-eaten sandwich and carrot sticks. “I’ve got too many calls to make,” I said. “Wes practically re-wrote the entire committee roster and I have to reach everyone before they start getting on airplanes.”

“You’ve been holed up in here all morning,” she said, her voice laden with emotional overtones. “I was hoping you’d have a few minutes for me today.”

“Maybe later,” I said, roughly. “Can I come find you at the end of the day?”

She hitched her breath, somewhat painfully, and sighed. “I suppose. It’s kind of important. I’m quitting.”

“You’re what?”

“I wanted to do it first thing this morning, but I didn’t have the nerve to interrupt you.”

“Bethany, did you say you were quitting?”

She seemed to steel herself, choking back tears that had suddenly come into her eyes. “Yes, Alan. I am. I just can’t take it here any more. But I wanted to tell you before I made it official. I’m meeting with Mary at one.”

This was way too much information for me to assimilate. I just stared slack-jawed back at her, a single thought echoing again and again in my mind. She’s quitting. She’s quitting. She’s quitting.

“Alan,” she pleaded. “Say something.”

I shook my head mindlessly. “What is there to say? Is it because of me?”

The question appeared to make her uncomfortable. She started to answer it multiple times, but never seemed able to let more than half a syllable escape her lips.

It enraged me. I guess there’s no other word for it. Standing there, in her bargain basement business suit, with her mousy face and thick calves, looking to me, TO ME, to save her from the embarrassment of having to tell me that I was the cause of her problems, that I was the reason she was leaving the company. It was too much for me to take. In that moment, I hated her. I hated her and anything I might have ever felt for her.

“Get out,” I told her, struggling to keep myself from shouting.

“Alan, please.”

“Just get out of my office, Bethany. Go tell Mary what a monster I am. Tell her how I wasn’t able to protect you from all the stalking predators that surround you -- the real ones and the ones you conjure up from your own fear and inadequacy. Get, the, fuck, out, and never talk to me again.”

Now she was crying, thick, milky tears coming down her heavily made-up face, and that enraged me even more. She’s a clown. A fucking clown! It felt like bombs were constantly going off in my head, and I stood up, shooting up like a jackrabbit, not with any clear intention, but just needing to flee, or to fight.

Bethany must have thought the latter, because I saw the fear in her eyes as she turned, fumbling first with the door knob and then stumbling her way out of my office. I soon followed her, pure instinct taking over, pausing only to scoop up the remains of my lunch and to make sure that my cell phone was in my pocket. I had a call, you see, maybe the most important call of my life, now in thirty-two minutes, and if I was going to take it, I would have to be far away from the scene of this crime. 

+ + +

“Dragons” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For more information, go here.

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

Image Source

http://lres.com/heres-why-amcs-need-to-pay-close-attention-to-looming-regulatory-changes/businessman-in-the-middle-of-a-labyrinth/


Monday, May 2, 2022

Modern Medea by Steven Weisenburger

This is a dark and terrible tale. Inspired by Toni Morrison’s Beloved, the author decided to look into the historical event on which that novel was based.

In the middle of a frigid Sunday night in January 1856, a twenty-two-year-old Kentucky slave named Margaret Garner gathered up her family and raced north, toward Cincinnati and freedom. But Margaret’s master followed just hours behind and soon had the fugitives’ sanctuary surrounded. Thinking all was lost, Margaret seized a butcher knife and nearly decapitated her two-year-old daughter, crying out that she would rather see her children dead than returned to slavery. She was turning on her other three children when slave-catchers burst in and subdued her.

That’s from the book’s front flap, and is a tight summary of the facts. But this book is about much more than facts.

Margaret Garner’s child murder electrified the United States, inspiring the longest, most spectacular fugitive-slave trial in history. Abolitionists and slaveholders fought over the meaning of the murder, and the case came to symbolize the ills of the Union in those last dark decades before the Civil War. Newspaper columnists, poets, and dramatists raced to interpret Margaret’s deeds, but by century’s end they were all but forgotten.

Let’s talk about some of those symbols -- and the way they were used by abolitionists and slaveholders alike. First up, the symbol that gives the book its title.

Kentucky artist Thomas Noble painted Margaret Garner as a heroic, defiant mother confronting slave catchers over the outstretched bodies of her children, and the renowned Mathew Brady produced a lithograph of Noble’s infanticidal tableau, an image published in popular magazines such as Harper’s Weekly.


Noble called his painting “The Modern Medea,” a title with deeply troubling inferences. In Euripides’ drama, a Medea already suspected of practicing the “black arts” of witchcraft kills her two children to spite their father, Jason. Jason had cut Medea to the heart by rejecting her for a racially “purer” wife; she countered by cutting off his royal lineage. Noble’s title therefore implies that Margaret Garner destroyed  Archibald Gaines’s property -- and the child of their illicit union -- out of jealous rage. “The Modern Medea” thus plays on themes of miscegenation, sexual bondage, and the black woman as alluring and dangerous Other, themes nineteenth-century Americans typically spoke about in code.

That’s right. The child that Margaret kills is not just hers -- it is also the offspring of her master, Archibald Gaines. It’s a fact that our author has to piece together from the original sources available to him because, of course, it was not a fact that could be publicly discussed at the time.

A Journey Into the Past

In order to tell this tale, the author has to take the reader on a journey into the past but, surprisingly (to this reader, at least), in many ways it is not a very long journey at all.

Today travelers driving south from Cincinnati on Interstate 75 speed past the Richwood Flea Market’s tan warehouse. To the right, one mile farther west, beyond the green-and-yellow BP station at Exit 176, down State Route 338 and past the recently subdivided, gated country club community named Triple Crown, stands the same quaintly spired Presbyterian church where Margaret Garner’s owners, their neighbors, and many neighborhood slaves (included Margaret) attended Sunday services.


As one turns right at the stop sign and bears west at Richwood Presbyterian Church, the America of interstates and eighteen-wheelers seems to tumble away. Here on the road’s north side stretches the same estate Margaret’s masters once farmed in gentlemanly style. There on the road’s south side stretches the same estate of the Gaines family’s best friend, Benjamin Franklin Bedinger. There, back down the road by the church, is where Margaret’s husband and in-laws toiled for planter James Marshall. Subdivisions encroach on these lands from all sides but these old estates are still intact, still in the hands of Gaines and Bedinger and Marshall descendents. Mud Lick Creek still runs through this beautiful landscape as it did in Margaret’s time, but now it is partly banked with expensive-looking stone masonry. A magnificent new mansion with high Palladian windows graces an eastern corner of the Bedinger place, Forest Home, though Maplewood has changed remarkably little in a century and a half.


Atop a knoll sits the same house that Archibald Gaines built after a November 1850 fire leveled the original dwelling. From the road one can see the rooms where Margaret Garner and her children did domestic labor and suffered whatever indignities or threats or assaults finally compelled her to run.

In Beloved, Toni Morrison calls this place “Sweet Home.” Uncannily, here is the same land described in her novel as “rolling, rolling, rolling out before [one’s] eyes … in shameless beauty,” with its “lacy groves” of the most beautiful sycamores in the world.” The sycamores still stand with clumps of tall oaks and squatting locusts. Outside Maplewood’s front gate the Commonwealth of Kentucky has placed a historical marker commemorating it as the former residence of Major John Pollard Gaines, hero of the Mexican War and second territorial governor of Oregon.


Headstones of Gaines and Marshall family members dot Richwood Station graveyards, and their descendants still people this landscape because social and legal institutions privileged and protected their property. As for the Garners, who attempted to steal their selves in a daring resistance to antebellum slave law, there whereabouts of their graves or of any who descended from them were lost in the great diaspora of American slavery and Reconstruction. No markers or headstones for their kind in this place.

I read a lot of history. And the Civil War-era is one of my amateur specialties. I’ve even walked the ground on several Civil War battlefields, climbing the battle face of Little Round Top at Gettysburg, and following the undulating hills at Vicksburg, the tree-lined clearings and grottoes at Shiloh. And it was this passage, more than anything, that made me understand how recent this history actually is, about how the imprint of its passing is still indelibly stamped not just on our national landscape but, because of those “social and legal institutions,” on our national character and understanding. And about how all of that is only part of our national story -- some of it as lost as the whereabouts and graves of the Garner descendants.

Faces of the Past

Want to see what I mean? Want to stare at the very faces of this painful reality? Look at this.


This is the John Pollard Gaines family, ca. 1850, probably just before they departed for Oregon. The confident patriarch sits in the very center, and the careworn woman seated to his left is Elizabeth Kinkead Gaines, his wife, and the mother of his eleven children, only eight of which are present in this photo. Her husband was often away from their Kentucky home -- leaving her alone with his children and his slaves for long periods of time.

Lonely she doubtless was for the company of white adults, and careworn from work, but surely this forty-six-year-old woman was also exhausted from childbearing. In fact she illustrates most poignantly a key aspect of nineteenth-century womanhood: a wife’s lack of control over her own reproductive life, a lack profoundly analogous to what slave women experienced.

“Do you get as many children as ever?” one of the Major’s business cronies once inquired. In the Gaines tradition he did, but fell one short of his forebears’ patriarchal twelve. After her 1824 marriage Elizabeth Gaines gave birth about every eighteen months, beginning with Abner (named after the child’s grandfather). Toward the end, her births were sandwiched between John Gaines’s sojourns away from Maplewood. After she delivered her second-youngest, Matilda [second from the left in the photo], he left on a lengthy business tour to New York and Boston, and their youngest, Elizabeth (“Libby”), was born just months before he rode off with the 1st Kentucky Volunteer Cavalry on 4 July 1846.

John Gaines was an extroverted, restless man, one hungry for success and public honors, but also a man who, from our late-twentieth-century perspective, epitomizes the male chauvinism of Victorian culture. During most of the 1840s Gaines nested at Maplewood only long enough to “get” more children. By early 1849, childbearing had left his wife frequently ill, with failing eyesight and teeth. In 1848 the children rejoiced when “mother had her teeth supplied, being eight in number, which greatly improves her looks.” How did Elizabeth view her life at Maplewood? We don’t know, because none of her letters survive. She may have considered herself too unlettered to write the worldly Major, or she may simply have been too busy, like other plantation mistresses: “Challenged daily by the limitless demands of her children, a husband who believed in firm obedience from all his dependents, and the elusive wall of resistance that her house slaves formed.”

Go back and look at the faces in that photograph of the married Gaines couple and their children. His face and hers. That will tell you everything you need to know about the world that they lived in, the world of our most recent ancestors, and the world that still provides the underlying scaffolding for whatever it is that we might try to build in our modern world.

And, of course, remember that dark secret that still tries to remain hidden -- the secret that not all of John Gaines’s children were likely birthed by his careworn wife Elizabeth. Despite the difficulty of turning up direct evidence of the kind that survives to support the white lineages, Margaret’s own mulatto status is testament to this secret undercurrent of their society. The fact that white landowners fathered children with their female slaves is the widely acknowledged but never discussed undercurrent of Gaines’s world and this story. The surviving correspondence never testifies directly to this truth, but often contains slanted references, acknowledging not just the facts but the human feelings that must have existed 

Trial and Treason

A large portion of Weisenburger’s book is about the subsequent trial that Margaret received after her apprehension -- and the many instances of injustice that it revealed not just because of her enslavement, but also because of the slow machinations of the process and rhetoric of the day. Her case captured the attention of the nation, and many famous abolitionists of the day came to Margaret’s defense -- some with more than just humane motivations. Here’s an excerpt from a letter John Gaines wrote at the time, complaining about their interventions and their motivations.

“I am morally sure that the Abolitionists care nothing for [Margaret], either through regard for the offended majesty of the laws of Ohio or for any sympathy with her as an oppressed, down-trodden, persecuted, heart-broken, desperate woman; and I am equally sure that the atrocious scoundrels have a wider and meaner object in view -- that they care nothing for negroes or their owners, and only wish to use both a material for the promotion of political ends, for the furtherance of objects of treason to the Constitution and the laws of the Union.”

It’s a remarkable paragraph, seeing as how it encompasses their entire world. From Gaines’s point of view, he is clearly the one acting morally, and he is outraged by the idea that the abolitionists would seek to commit treason against the Constitution and the laws of the Union. It’s a view with which the judicial process of the day will concur, but of course, with the view of history it is the abolitionists who are acting morally and it is Gaines and the judicial system that supports his view which is committing treason against the rights of man.

+ + +

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.