It’s a Small World, But I Wouldn’t Want To Have To Rebuild Chesterton’s Fence Around It

Well, we chewed over and mangled Bastiat’s perfectly sensible parable the other day: That which is seen, and that which is not seen. We bent it and twisted into a poorly reasoned blog post to fit our warped worldview. That was the original purpose of the internet. You know, before all those girls showed up and turned it into a giant shoe store. Of course the internet could be Exhibit A if you’re arguing for obvious benefits and beaucoup hidden harms. But the point, that you have to take potential secondary effects into account when deciding on a course of action, has a nifty corollary, if you’re interested. Why only misread Bastiat when we can bollix up G.K. Chesterton‘s ideas, too?

Gilbert didn’t have a busted window. He had a fence someone wanted to demolish. Chesterton’s Fence is a somewhat more subtle, but perhaps more universal gloss on things unseen. Like a lot of his writing, it’s a lively, but formidable paean to respect for tradition.

In the matter of reforming things, as distinct from deforming them, there is one plain and simple principle; a principle which will probably be called a paradox. There exists in such a case a certain institution or law; let us say, for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, ‘I don’t see the use of this; let us clear it away.’ To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: ‘If you don’t see the use of it, I certainly won’t let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it.

Chesterton’s “more modern type of reformer” is everywhere nowadays, desolating the landscape. Sometimes it’s as trivial as banning straws, other times the malignancy grows into banning farming. They’re one-note pianos, banging out their monotone destructive fugues. They’re not interested in that which is unseen, and they generally don’t have the intellectual horsepower to operate something as complicated as Chesterton’s fence latch.

I like using ideas like Silly Putty, and G.K.’s fence is no exception. The other, other day, we talked about movies a little bit. There was an hint of get off my lawn in it, but only a hint. I asked the rhetorical question, Why Does Hollywood Hate the American Revolution?  I touched on the same topic again here:

I like to listen to old pieces of music, and to video like this one, and try to put myself in the time and place it was presented. Adapt the mindset of the time to better understand how you’d react to it. Good movies are able to do that, but good movies are a very rare thing. Most movies just have modern people wielding modern mindsets tossed catch-as-catch-can into hoop dresses and drawing rooms.

Stick with me here. I think I can build Chesterton’s Fence around this whole mess.

The reason why the modern type of reformer pulls all sorts of things down without a second thought is their utter inability to put themselves in someone else’s place. They’re totally solipsistic. The past is another country, as they say, and they never go there. Tradition is simply a bad word, and that’s that. It exists only to be destroyed. It’s the reason why so much entertainment falls flat lately. They just can’t enter into the mindset of anybody from a decade ago, never mind two centuries. The people who made history are just dead white guys, and they don’t deserve to be judged on their merits in the context of their times. Or even understood, never mind judged. Hannibal shouldn’t have ridden on those elephants. That’s cruel. Why didn’t he just drive an electric car over the Alps like a normal person?

So Bastiat asks you to consider the unseen consequences of a course of action. Chesterton reminds you to understand the reason for the way things are before you start tearing things apart.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not enjoying the results of the more modern type of reformer burning Bastiat at the stake daily, using Chesterton’s demolished fence boards for fuel.

Until the Sun Comes Up Over Santa Monica Boulevard

Great cover of a fun little ditty. That hat will come in handy if he has to rob a train or sumfin on the way home.

I’ve heard that everybody has one good book in them, or one good song. Only a few have more than one. This could be exhibit A. It’s a cute little slice of life story about living in Los Angeles. By a girl living in Los Angeles. She better move, or she’ll never get another.

Oops. I guess she didn’t even have one in her.

That Which is Seen, and That Which is Not Seen

Freddie Bastiat was a sharp cookie. He was a French economist who lived in the first half of the 19th century. He used to cheat off me in math class, but I’ve long since forgiven him. Here’s the Wikiup summation of his worldview:

Bastiat asserted that the sole purpose of government is to protect the right of an individual to life, liberty and property and that it is dangerous and morally wrong for government to interfere with an individual’s other personal matters. From this, Bastiat concluded that the law cannot defend life, liberty and property if it promotes legal or legalized plunder which he defined as using government force and laws to take something from one individual and give it to others (as opposed to a transfer of property via mutually agreed contracts without using fraud or violent threats against the other party, which Bastiat considered a legitimate transfer of property)

If a person who is currently employed by the government learned that paragraph by heart, they’d have to throw away their head if they wanted to keep working. They should change the motto on the Great Seal to read E Pluribus Plunder “Я” Us and get it over with.

Bastiat didn’t coin the term “opportunity cost,” but he basically came up with the concept. He was a pithy writer, and explained it as the parable of the broken window. It illustrated that there are two downstream results from any action: That Which is Seen, and That Which is Not Seen:

Have you ever witnessed the anger of the good shopkeeper, James Goodfellow, when his careless son has happened to break a pane of glass? If you have been present at such a scene, you will most assuredly bear witness to the fact that every one of the spectators, were there even thirty of them, by common consent apparently, offered the unfortunate owner this invariable consolation – “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Everybody must live, and what would become of the glaziers if panes of glass were never broken?”

Now, this form of condolence contains an entire theory, which it will be well to show up in this simple case, seeing that it is precisely the same as that which, unhappily, regulates the greater part of our economical institutions.

Suppose it cost six francs to repair the damage, and you say that the accident brings six francs to the glazier’s trade – that it encourages that trade to the amount of six francs – I grant it; I have not a word to say against it; you reason justly. The glazier comes, performs his task, receives his six francs, rubs his hands, and, in his heart, blesses the careless child. All this is that which is seen.

But if, on the other hand, you come to the conclusion, as is too often the case, that it is a good thing to break windows, that it causes money to circulate, and that the encouragement of industry in general will be the result of it, you will oblige me to call out, “Stop there! Your theory is confined to that which is seen; it takes no account of that which is not seen.”

It is not seen that as our shopkeeper has spent six francs upon one thing, he cannot spend them upon another. It is not seen that if he had not had a window to replace, he would, perhaps, have replaced his old shoes, or added another book to his library. In short, he would have employed his six francs in some way, which this accident has prevented.

He’s not just referring to opportunity cost here, either, if you read it more deeply. He’s glossing on a biblical allusion, too, with his seen and unseen reference. The concept is useful for examining actions whose salutary effects might be visible, but whose downsides are hidden, and vice versa. A broken window repair making a new pair of shoes impossible is a small scale example. Modern life does most things on gargantuan scales, and it’s easy to demagogue things into existence and then never get rid of them, or to get a brigade of like-minded zealots to attack the drawbacks of a thing relentlessly until people support getting rid of it, because the benefits they bring are less visible.

Here’s an example: Lawns are bad. Says who? I don’t. The internet sure does. If you’ve got a century or two, search the intertunnel for “lawn is bad for the environment” and read what you find. Or you can read the first one, and skip the other 10,000,000 identical sentiments. On the flip side, if you’ve got 3 or 4 minutes you can search for “environmental benefits of lawns” and read them all.

So what’s seen?

  • Lawns are a indication of traditional American life. That’s bad
  • Lawns require water. In the only uninhabitable parts of the country, where everyone wants to live now, this is a problem
  • Lawns need to be mowed and raked. This sounds like work
  • Some people care desperately if there are weeds in their lawn, which is silly, and try to kill them with chemicals 1/50th as dangerous as the stuff you take with a  prescription
  • Some people use fertilizer on their lawns. This gets into waterways because people want waterfront property and a sylvan glade next to it, no matter how silly the juxtaposition
  • Lawns take up space. Environmentalists only require one big park in the center of the city to get mugged in, and the rest should be concrete, like God and Le Corbusier intended

You get the picture. You could probably fill in a thousand more if you read any news outlet regularly. But what’s not seen, and why?

The benefits of a lawn are so great and so varied in the aggregate that they can’t be seen. It’s like asking a fish about water. They’ll say huh? What’s water? I just wriggle around in, well, something. Show him a couple of hooks hanging down, and he’ll vote to drain the pond. What’s the worst that could happen? In the case of arguing for no lawns, the unseen is flooding, wildfires, insect rebellions, skinned knees, no touch football, heat islands, and the occasional dust storm.

The opposite seen and unseen concept is useful to consider, too. People look at things like Facebook, and think it would be fun to exchange info with some friends. What’s the possible harm in it? If you ask me, it’s a ten-million-ton iceberg of bad things with an ice cube of benefit showing above the water line, but that’s the only part you see.

It’s a bait and switch Bastiat world, all the way down. I advise you to listen to that famous philosopher, Professor Gaye, to make your way through it. Believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear. And remember, the unseen just might be hiding behind the door to your glorious future with a sockful of pennies.

Made Alive a Worldly Wonder

I can assure you that in 1976 or so, The Royal Scam album by Steely Dan was a thing, man. It was not a happy time, and the zeitgeist called for Don’t Take Me Alive, Kid Charlemagne, and the titular Royal Scam. It was certainly a heavy-duty yin to the soon to be released Saturday Night Fever soundtrack’s yang. It’s easy to assume that SNF would be a happy movie, what with the disco thang happenin’, but it was pretty dark, all in all, when it was coherent enough to make any kind of point. The Royal Scam cohered, bigtime, and it had a point: A toboggan ride into the smoking volcanic crater of the preceding decade.

Disco is only superficially happy anyway. It was sort of the Dancing Plague of 1518 with a Giorgio Moroder beat this time around. A year later, the most popular disco song began with the singers simply yelling AWW, FREAK OUT! to open the number. I didn’t need the advice.

But it’s one of the (more) offbeat numbers on The Royal Scam record that stuck with me. Kid Charlemagne and Don’t Take Me Alive haven’t completely worn out their welcome with me or anything, but they’re like Freebird or Stairway to Heaven in Steely Dan’s catalog. I’ve heard them enough already, thanks. But The Caves of Altamira still rattles around in my head from time to time. It’s a little flash fiction story set to music. I recall when I was small, how I spent my days alone…

Jaysus, only Steely Dan would think of writing a jazzrock song about something like the Caves of Altamira. If you’re not familiar with the topic, there’s a series of caves in northern Spain where prehistoric men painted stuff on the walls. How old are they? They figure the oldest of them are from 36,000 (!) years ago.

They’re colorful and interesting in their own right, and instantly recognizable for the things they depict, unlike modern art.:

But those aren’t the ones that really grab a fellow. These do:

There could be a lot of reasons for painting pictures of the local bison on the walls. I can really only think of one reason to lay your palm on the rock and blow pigment around it. A man understands that the world is a harsh place, and his time on earth is limited, and wants to leave some evidence of himself that lasts longer than he does. I was here! It was the best you could do, you know, when there wasn’t even any Hollywood.

Well, we all mostly try to outlast our fresh sale date in one way or another. We make mini-mes and write sonnets and put up obelisks and whatnot. Steely Dan wrote songs, and recorded them, which makes them artifacts. Not many people outside of talentless performance artists with NEA grants expect to destroy the artifacts they produce. You want to make something that sticks, at least a little bit.

So there’s a Steely Dan Ensemble at UMass Lowell in Massachusetts. That in itself cracks me up. I’ve been drunk at UMass Lowell, so I’m sorta familiar with it, but I never would have figured this would be a thing. But it is:

That trombone opening. Yeah, seventies doom, all over again.

It’s an oddball song, but it’s as close to a happy tune as Steely Dan is capable of, at least if you’re a bit of an outcast. The poor kids are forced to wear masks on their chins, so they probably connect with the sentiments of a song about spending their days alone, and making a world of their own to dream away in.

They heard the call and they wrote it on the wall for you and me we understood.

Music To Invade Poland By

That’s Marika Rökk. She was a big deal back in ’39 in Germany. That’s got to be one of the greatest death metal names, ever, but alas, all their death metal was riveted into stukas and welded into panzers and whatnot back then.

The video is colorized, which always looks garish and washed out at the same time. But I’m not sure you could get too garish for a big production number like that one. Everyone favored over the top numbers at the time. None other than Goebbels decided that Germany needed the same kind of Busby Berkeley numbers that America enjoyed. Marika fit the bill. The Depression was more or less worldwide, and Germany had been limping along longer than most, so people wanted a dash of swanky stuff as a diversion.

I like to listen to old pieces of music, and to video like this one, and try to put myself in the time and place it was presented. Adapt the mindset of the time to better understand how you’d react to it. Good movies are able to do that, but good movies are a very rare thing. Most movies just have modern people wielding modern mindsets tossed catch-as-catch-can into hoop dresses and drawing rooms. If you watch Amadeus, for instance, you can see a Mozart that acts more like Jimi Hendrix than a court composer of the time. It didn’t have to turn out that way. In the original play, they had real actors who captured the mindset of the times better:

Amadeus won the Best Picture Oscar, if I recall correctly. It was pretty good. I apologize unreservedly for describing anything with a heaping helping of Mozart’s music as “pretty good” in any respect. And I’m not trying to bag on F. Murray Abraham by beating him over the head with Paul Scofield. F. Murray did OK, but Scofield is one of the best actors I’ve ever seen in anything.

But I’ve seen two versions of Amadeus. There was the original version, and a later “Director’s Cut” or some such thing, and it’s a bit of a mess. They nominated the film editors of Amadeus for Oscars, but they didn’t win. After seeing what they took out, and how they made Animal House in Vienna into Amadeus with skillful cutting, I think they should give them some kind of medal or prize or something more substantial than a gold statue. What the first one accomplished, that the longer one didn’t, was an easier way to suspend your disbelief and sit in the audience and listen to Mozart fresh off the quill pen.

So I’d like to put myself in Germany in 1939 and get the same vibe they got from Marika in real time. On second thought, no I don’t.

Month: March 2024

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