Category Archives: Psychology

Excerpt: Grand Illusions

Another preview from The Constellation of Man, in Volume III. —CPB

THERE IS A TALE of a shipwrecked man who washed ashore on an island naked and bereft, whom the islanders discovered, and proclaimed king. At first taken aback by his fortune, he soon accepted his new life as usual, and enjoyed his privileges. At the end of a year, however, it was the custom of the island to strip the king of his power. This they did every year, only to crown another castaway upon their shore.


Illustration by George Underwood in World Tales, 1979.

If an unremarkable clerk went to bed thinking himself unimportant, and woke up a king, or president, the same man might think very highly of himself by lunchtime. Not long after, he would think of capitalizing on his days in office, or on the throne. He would approve of the accretion of his own power, seek the adoration of “the people” or “his people,” and fear any hint of falling from grace. He would speak of “the nation” as casually as he once filled in forms, convinced that no one else could shepherd it so well.

Take away his titles, and it might be possible to restore the man to sanity regarding his own powers. It might become clear to him that fate had treated him capriciously not because he deserved it, but on the say-so of thousands of others convinced that he represented something beyond himself.

A grand illusion had taken him up, and let him go—the same illusion persisting still, without him. Thus he had been plagued by an illusion of grandiosity.

This is far easier to make clear than the corresponding possession of the commoner by myths and words and feelings. His lifelong following-along, his faith in the importance of imagined things, his schooling in belonging and obedience, remain invisible to him.

In another land and time, the following-along takes a different course, with different names and pretenses. That kind too seems entirely natural to those caught in the grip of madness, as an observer might say. It is equally clear to the Aztec attending a festive sacrifice to Huitzilopochtli, and the tsarist cheering the monarchs of Imperial Russia, and the American democrat on voting day, that one can do nothing else, and nothing better. Emperors, tsars, politicians, voters, and victims each believe in their role’s essential importance to the structure of the world.

In every place and time, each role-player following along in their grand illusion harbors the feeling that they live in the exceptional place in all the world. They live in the exceptional society, special among all other peoples, and enjoy god-given favor or natural advantages. History tells how many have believed in incomparable rectitude, in inborn virtues, or inherent superiority. History tells how many come to believe in a great mission. They cannot fail as others failed. They cannot suffer what others have suffered. They tell tales of the greatness that will not end, and each has a part in it. Theirs is some manifest destiny to lead, rule, conquer, civilize, liberate. Thus the chosen people always deserved special permissions to act, or to be entrusted with things others would only abuse. History tells of the infamy of exceptions. So many nominate themselves the people of a great name, rise to fame, and as empires, bring the world they know to ruin.


The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag, loyalty oath to the United States of America taken by children. Photo circa 1950s.

A VISITOR TO A LAND, like Astolphe de Custine in Russia, or Alexis de Tocqueville in America, can observe with unfamiliarity and perhaps clearer eyes than the inhabitant who calls himself a citizen or a subject, who has never once since juvenile inculcation regarded its native customs and political system as foreign to himself.

In turn, whoever leaves the exceptional place, the world traveler, the expatriate, or the exile, has a chance to regain realism about their place of origin by gaining distance and perspective, and the foreignness able to make familiar things strange again. As does the outsider to habits of mind, though he takes himself nowhere, and possibly changes little around him. For in the exercise of making himself an exception to the ways others live, he also begins to make a thinker.

An insider to a culture of public mythology, such as politics or religion, has been conditioned to respond to slight alterations (in absolute terms) as though they mark the extremities of two poles.

He fears reversals of fortune from rearrangements of the pieces in a great game. The game draws him in to play as though everything depends on white or black winning or losing. It does not occur to him that many options would open up from refusing to play the same game by following the same rules.

The native or acculturated believer in a political system places hopes in a different king, a certain president, a legal or policy change, a new party in the voting, a selection of judges, a new mayor, a bold proclamation or a new program, and this is the scope of his imagination.

Of course a modest adjustment to institution of a system could transform prospects for personal advantage, albeit probably for far fewer than believe it will. Yet only the outsider can see that the scaffold does not change because anyone clinging to it is allowed to climb to a higher rung on a ladder. If the insider has dreams and ambitions, they narrow to fit the framework.

Only the outsider to this mentality, an outsider in mind if not in place of origin, can conceive of any genuine transformation or revolution.

The insider’s idea of innovations and reforms upon which he rests his hopes, upon which his world appears to turn, turn out to be subtleties, technicalities, or rhetorical changes. Someone less invested or accustomed perceives variations on a theme. Underlying presumptions go on, unperturbed, and have consequences.

The outsider finds it eerie and disappointing to observe the care and concern given to contentious trivialities, and to rituals. Insiders hang on arcane signs, lend significance to details and meaning to public performances, without an inkling these could be of no intrinsic interest, and have no definite effect.

As a result the outsider has surreal moments, as though surrounded by tribesmen who inexplicably have practical expectations from adding a different feather on the headdress of the chief. It is obvious that no sensible objection he makes to them could change their mind; that would mean dismissing what they consider serious matters. And if they had been attuned to putting their fixations in perspective in the first place, they would have given him no cause to speak. Should he try, insiders would make it clear they like to hear nothing against their custom.


The Rotunda, Decorated with Tapestries, which Greeted Guests on their Arrival at Notre-Dame for the Coronation of Napoleon as Emperor by Pierre-François-Léonard Fontaine, 1804.

THE PUBLIC AND OFFICIAL MYSTERY clouds thinking about people, material, and relationships which would otherwise not be deceived. A sort of alchemy transmutes the sense of things completely. A monumental weight lends gravity to implausible notions, as though an edifice looms over everyone who looks up, and its architecture supports overwrought ornaments and festoons, all in seriousness. A religious air pervades also, and suffices to endorse absurdity. It almost requires affected trappings, like peculiar costumes and stilted language, to signify that a state of majesty obtains, which lies beyond the mundane, and is not subject to common sense. Jargon, like that of theologians or legal experts, indicates separate subjects which cannot be understood by normal means, or unschooled people.

Official terms with special meanings are not meant to suggest that their real-life substance bears careful thought, but rather to invite no consideration by ordinary people. When rulers of a powerful modern-era state order and implement an embargo of trade and travel that causes hardship, if not starvation, an outbreak of disease, and infant mortality, they call it sanctions. Just this particle of jargon makes a special category for punishing a wayward “regime” that exculpates other rulers who impose a blockade of goods, and implies no cruelty to poor and powerless people unable to escape and desperate to survive. Formality, euphemism, and propriety hide the substance of things.

Offices, rituals, and positions sanctify acts normally understood quite differently. Different names and words deceive. Emotions deceive, charged by longstanding bonds to grand illusions. Culture normalizes. Hardly a man really believes himself guilty of great crimes when he assumes a grand role and takes part in great acts, under the public absolution of sin, and indulgence granted for great works.


The Oath by Pierre-François-Léonard Fontaine, 1804.

The main remedy is to endeavor to view a phenomenon, a happening of politics or society, as though it were not public, official, or large in scale. This effectively dissipates the illusion.

By taking the humble prospect of “great men” and appointed officers, and by down-to-earth judgment of individuals’ actions and material effects, one recognizes people effecting their own benefit, or behaving with themselves in mind. Over time, one sees they lack foresight also, when their gain or preoccupation in the shorter term costs themselves along with others in the future—although many do not pay personally for rapacity, and despite incompetence, many fail their way upwards. One watches them causing problems or crises, only to demand trust, obedience, and resources to solve them by forced measures, which cause further problems and crises. One is no longer blind to their starting trouble by turning people against each other, yelling across both subtle distinctions of identity and arbitrary lines of division.

One sees through the brittle posturing of bellicose rhetoric. One learns that literal wars on enemy governments or insurgents, and figurative wars—on intoxicants, on poverty, on crime, on immigrants—will all assault people, destroy property, induce needless suffering, instill violent and desperate mentalities, ruin lives, and disrupt peaceful association for fellowship and commerce, which has no need of such “protection,” despite strident warnings and fearmongering.

One witnesses the epitome of hysteria, fomented by the alchemy of words, over each “invasion” of job-seeking migrants, or refugees. These are nothing other than the journeys made by unemployed people to reach available opportunities, or unsafe people to reach safety and reestablish constructive lives, who are not transformed into threats by crossing the line on a map or violating a statute. And only a bigoted calculus would ascribe to refugees the kind of militancy that drove them out. Immigration makes a preposterous target for attack—therefore most instructive to our suspicions. For it entails not even the harm of injudicious but consensual drug use (albeit far less harmful than a “war on drugs”), but instead a wholly preferable condition; more productive than vacant jobs or a shortage of talent, and much more salutary for refugees than remaining in danger or squalid camps. Immigration presents a solution to economic problems and a resolution to crises caused by wars, not a problem or crisis in itself. Blocking movement by force, unprovoked arrests, laws barring employment without permission, and policies withholding it, not only obstruct amelioration, but further diminish freedom.

Lend no special category and no special credence to the public and official “campaigns,” and it becomes possible to deconstruct what is happening, beyond leveling accusations of scapegoating, bigotry, or misbegotten execution. If one imagines that the world’s largest syndicates of protection racketeers were long legitimized by custom, eminence, and well-meaning attempts to humanize a parasitical institution, their ostensible rationales are no longer mystified (and competence or incompetence must be gauged quite differently, by them). It would make sense for the grand racketeers to want to hobble competition from other syndicates, which erupts in wars over turf. But to fabricate legitimacy, they would also require the regular drum-beat appearance of bravely confronting one dire threat after another, over and over again, and patter on about it to anyone who will listen. The insider media furnish sympathetic interviewers paid to listen solemnly and seriously, and ask hard questions only about doing more.

A military policy judged solely by evidence—living people hurt, killed, chased away, taken as captives, homes destroyed—loses its pretend dignity. One can see the provocation and aggression in acts of defense and national security, no longer blind to occupation, seizures, physical brutality, and the vilest permissions of state and uniform. The undertaking that employs soldiers and enriches arms merchants loses ill-gotten pride, and it can no longer even seem regrettable but necessary.

The permissive credence given to armed policing is likewise clouded by impersonal illusions, like “justice,” and special license for official acts. Police assault, kidnapping, theft, and murder simply acquire different names, and as a rule, evade prosecution, while lesser offenses against police attract the severest treatment. Such is the local cloud of authority obfuscating phenomena, not unlike the clouded deeds called military, which happen also under the fog of scale, and in the haze of faraway places.


The Defeated, Requiem by Vasily Vereshchagin, 1879.

By taking the humbling and down-to-earth view, one sees that violations of typical mores are allowed and not called crimes, at the scale of the state. For those proclaimed “leaders,” statistical murders or vast seizures of wealth are rather marks of greatness and bold intention.

Robbed of public and official airs, the gross expenses and excesses of government or Church seem wasteful and vain as any conspicuous consumption or tasteless opulence.

As they welcome the applause of those paying attention to grand illusions instead, those holding profitable positions in the respectable monopolies—on making law, and enforcing it—collude to cartelize other business by a thousand methods, on slim pretexts of doing good for “the economy” or “the country.” In exchange, they receive bribes before, and rewards afterward. They legitimize venality by the alchemy of entirely different words, and the custom of the practice.

The whole grand kleptocracy of the modern-era state seems a triumph of ambitious maneuvers congratulated as public service, and of conniving personal greed, which is congratulated for its altruism in doling out funds to encourage support, after rulers, allies, associates, administrators, enforcers, publicists and sycophants have gotten a cut.

In short, by endeavoring to view each happening of politics or society as though it were not public, official, or large in scale, one can see through the conventional and normal to the egregious, were it seen small, and see smallness in those who wish to appear extraordinary.


An allegory of the state, presented as an effigy of the body politic composed of citizens under sovereign power, from the frontispiece by Abraham Bosse in Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan, or The Matter, Forme and Power of a Common Wealth Ecclesiasticall and Civil, 1651.

THE POLITICALLY-ACTIVE CITIZEN for his or her small part believes in a right to impact other people through “democratically” sharing the power of government, and most have faith in a net advantage to be gained through wielding it.

No matter his modern-era belief in majority rule, each citizen has been granted self-rule, self-government, or autonomy solely in metaphorical terms, which incorporate a collective self out of thousands or millions of people. Contemporary elections may certify select political leaders, among many more unelected leaders, but this practice does not invert the inflexible direction given by hierarchy. That legacy social principle inherited from military aristocracy and theocracy remains the default of government.

Once a leader has acquired status, no matter how, now the leader makes decisions and gives orders. No subject of rule may dictate to leaders as the leaders dictate, which of course defines them as the rulers and not the ruled. “Rule by the people” presupposes the opposite of its implication that people will make their own decisions. Any subject is instead supposed to accept restriction of some decision-making, as in all rule. Under the power of the state, he is obliged to yield to superiors, to be governed by others’ decisions, and accede to official demands. The so-called “consent of the governed,” and many other terms, euphemize the age-old supersession of self-direction as it would emerge from personal desires and needs. More liberal governments attenuate obedience. All expect it.

Remember that ruling is not only a metaphor, and it does not happen in the abstract—but to a person. What does this power of the state entail? Since it is meaningless if anyone may disobey the hierarchy of people giving orders downward, their ruling other people actually entails armed employees, arrests, legal charges, courts, fines, prison cells, or worse punishments for those who disobey. These are only formal ordeals, while harassment, smears, blackmail, threats, extortion, bullying, beatings, torture, and execution occur unofficially, as well as through formal process and institutional decree.

Modern-era democratic states are not exceptions. Policy initiatives meant to sound positive and generous are no less compulsory. The appointed do force the unwilling to contribute and collaborate with government organizations and programs, ultimately by punitive methods.

It is simply that the modern art of ruling respectably, relying less on instilling fear and advertising decisive brutality than former empires and lords, has become more concerned to camouflage the rough points of contact with the ruled, or excuse them. They have not become aberrational means, in the way that anyone might fall back on using force for personal self-defense. People called governments force other people to do things, not as a rare exception, but as a routine.

If enforcers do not routinely repress demonstrators in the streets, or put down rebellions, they act against dissidents and the defiant ones who have been singled out, often finding legal or bureaucratic cover, and set precedent by attacking unpopular minorities or marginalized malcontents. Then, it is easier to claim only backward, undemocratic states and enemies repress their citizens. The same governments can employ more violent means abroad, against those without a vote, and have little concern for appearances.

Those who cannot imagine any other routine recourses in human society are inclined to defend the modus operandi, or reconcile themselves to it, or pretend it does not happen often. As a practical matter they avoid personal contact with the trouble they ignore as much as they can, chiefly by obeying.

Who would not prefer to keep the ordeals of coercion or punishment abstract—felt only by someone else, at some distance—well aware that ordeals do not befall anyone in the abstract or “in theory”? Few even need to be told Obey or this can happen to you. If they never have cause to think on it, it is because they conform compulsively.

It could happen anyway: a case of mistaken identity, a raid on the wrong house, or by walking along with the wrong color skin. It happens in order to catch quotas of offenders, or make convictions. It happens because legally-empowered armed agents have little to restrain them from enforcement of their own whims as well as laws. Few people who would willingly accept the role of enforcer would also abstain from this abuse of the power to abuse.

The citizen has been taught that the good citizen owes obedience, in any case. Therefore he does not find the practices that compel it inherently offensive, especially in formality, and when they “follow the rules.” When the citizen finds out that police, military, or covert agents have used violent expedients like torture, assault, or execution unofficially, he is perhaps most shocked they did not follow the rules, and most placated by apparent discipline.

To the inculcated citizen, disobedience is the egregious behavior; trouble or punishment for it are only to be expected. The disobedient are suspect to begin with, and conflated with blameworthy criminals or even enemies, if their motives are not also marred by perversion or insanity. If a response to them seems excessive, the initial feeling and principle remains that anyone defying authority has brought trouble upon themselves.

But the citizen believes the finest of participation in popular government; and the citizen holds that its failures stem from apathy. He wants more governance, not less, and to stick his head further into it. He believes that others should too, for the abstract “health” of the system, though at the same time he expects that his own ideas should prevail in the “healthy democracy” he envisions, where everyone votes. He wishes to use the power of the state, at least to his benefit, probably to harness it for his good causes. He believes in his democratic right to have an impact on others—however the government does—wishful and delicately abstract about consequences.

Rarely does a citizen have any part of enforcement—the actual means of rule, in the prison, in the court, on the bureaucrat’s desk, in the back alley—except to suffer from it, and hardly ever to control it.

If he is outraged against injustices, he falls back on outlets as incongruous as holding up a protest sign during a burglary, or promising to vote against an assault. The typical citizen’s objections muster all the weight of a sternly-worded letter.

The overruled subject has, least of all, means to restrain obedient enforcers set upon him; even less than in proceedings against him. To escape their reach presents almost as much difficulty.

He has not even the power—the right or the capability—to take exception, stand apart, take nothing and give nothing, and be left alone. He cannot be entrusted with his responsibility. To be sure he is probably not trusted, not by those watchers who may know how to trust no one. But more than this, he is needed and he is required to play his part. For rulers need the ruled, as badly as demagogues need the crowd, and crusading moralists need contrite sinners; not only to obtain material gain and labor in their causes, but for the fanciful conviction that crowns some creatures of the species above others.

Nevertheless the citizen, an insider hopelessly immersed in his culture, rituals, and beliefs, fancies themselves a participant, against factuality.

An outsider to this mentality, this exceptional society might think: “this proud subject has a more disproportionate sense of importance and a more unrealistic fantasy of control than a ruler. In this he is no doubt encouraged by having a vote, and a voice.”

The outsider would see ritual futility in the former, the vote; statistically-trivial in a great population, only periodic, and as a rule confined to nominated choices of rulers, but campaigned with farcical intensity. The argumentative frenzy at election time he would surely regard with puzzlement, and rising alienation.

In the latter, the voice of the people, he would hear a babble; “it is the citizen talking or shouting at once with thousands or millions of others, who also lack the fame or high position to be listened to! Surely an indication of desperation, or derangement,” he would exclaim.

The outsider would hear and read citizens talking about what needs to be done and what ought to be done as if their advice had been solicited sincerely. He would further realize that the citizens also feel they are “democratically” exercising their share in the power of government, along with the rest of the public, through “political action” and “civic participation.”

It is hardly conceivable that the iconic foreigner—were there anyone from a land or a time so different—would listen for the first time to some citizen earnestly pay obeisance to these vaporous notions without a bit of the trepidation he might feel near a psychotic. “Yes, of course. Very nice,” the foreigner would carefully reply.

The citizen’s implied approval of institutional violence-by-proxy would even strike a traveler from a past culture ruled without qualms as ludicrous, in its pretense of agency. To the pragmatist of history, this is the peasant believing he is the lord or the king, because he has theoretical strength in numbers.

And a foreigner with an outsider’s mind would at least know it for an alien custom too menacing and mercenary to pass as whimsical.

For citizens have not only the hope but the expectation to gain from political involvement. They expect to get their way to some extent—although this makes demands upon others, and even when it makes inordinate demands upon others they scarcely mind—and they experience disappointment and frustration when they do not get their way. Thus, citizens make mutually exclusive demands upon each other, and most are destined to be frustrated. For their lot, they blame the people with contrary designs, and not the impossible, irreconcilable, and divisive system under which they are ruled and encouraged to think they are rulers, they who lack the means of rule, and exercise none.

A visitor to this land might record “plebeian delusions of grandeur, of unreconcilable ambition, busybody intention, and oftentimes greed.”


The Mockers by Arthur Boyd, 1945.

TALKING IN ABSTRACTIONS allows thoughts to skirt substance, like phantoms gliding over ground. Talk can play out a pure wish, reproduce a platitude serving sanctimony, or erect a hobbyhorse subject to old spleen, and incur no obvious consequence or cost for never touching on concrete and corporeal matters.

Heady and hallowed words—like power, war, glory, justice, health, democracy—will later play out in visible effects, in tangible consequences, and immediate situations to deal with, as well as feelings visceral to us. So will maligned and infamous abstractions—also free to reference like a well-known reality, as close as a familiar, as evident as an incarnation—lead only later to an unforeseen concrete outcome. When the first consequences are only felt in expressions and reactions, the talker need not confront what those ghosts of ideas they follow will likely make manifest later. Those most liable to be satisfied by words lack imagination to foresee, and knowledge enough to predict.

The most persuasive language may have the least to do with substance, like the rhetoric of demagogues who have frightened, browbeaten, and cajoled captivated crowds. It is true that figurative language can exaggerate more freely, a device which propaganda never neglects in its storytelling. That does not suffice for the puppeteer’s purpose. The puppeteer learned how puppets work before plucking strings in a live performance. Before the demagogue opened their mouth, they knew the listener was in thrall to their attachments to certain metaphors, as well as inducible to mimic the emotions of a crowd.


The Orator (Der Volksredner) by Magnus Zeller, circa 1920.

These are sweeping metaphors of belonging and loyalty and kinship; decency, nobility, and hope; and objects of existential fears, fury, and loathing. Their points of contact with reality are emotional and primal phenomena, neurogenic, and not concrete.

To manipulate these unreasoning attachments, one talks for instance of “the country,” all the diverse inhabitants who live between borders, as one—one family (thus fatherland or motherland) with a family home (the homeland). Or one speaks of “the nation” as one body that must watch its health, or purify its blood, protect its heart, or care for its soul. Each trope can serve many different masters and agendas: admonish us to care for “public health”; or “racial hygiene”; or remind us that civic participation is the “health of a democracy.”

Affected tripe no more artful than this gets in the head of a listener. Many who hear metaphors dutifully repeat them like unforgettable doggerel. Initially listeners might have taken for granted that rhetoric is not literal, and therefore they did not hold figures of speech to realism. Circulation goes on until the absurdity of figurative expressions wears off. They are accepted quite normally and even seriously, the original reason for their coinage long forgotten.

By now the public language of society is riddled with pandering metaphors dated to years or centuries ago, no longer guided by an immediate purpose but driving forward blindly. Forceful pack animals bear the gravitas and sentiment of yesteryears, ready to be drafted into the service of any base mobilization. On the backs of these ponderous metaphors, unsuspecting men and women are carried away.

Many of the usual contrivances subsume disparate people and places into collective figments, which are infused with group belonging and mutual purpose. Though a fanciful grouping fails to match the group at all, few fault or dismiss the fiction, and instead try to realize the fiction. This is because discrepant denotation matters less to its meaning than emotional tenor, which rings true, true to a need.


STRIP AWAY THE MAKE-BELIEVE, and one finally has the same chances to understand the motives of men—at least as we imagine them in cases without lofty camouflage, in the selling, dealing, bartering, begging, and bragging of the marketplace, no less usual in the halls of power. The thoroughly-confused remark upon just a few types and occasions, and call them “corruption.”

To begin to decipher the personal interests in a grandiose interest, follow the legal maxim remembered by Cicero: cui bono? Good for whom? The detective also asks, “who benefits from the crime?” as an indicator of motive.

Suspect the motives of those with financial incentives, those courting fame and importance, seeking access to power, or those eager at the prospect of secure employment. One knows that publicly professing concern over “the nation,” “the country,” or “the economy” is not out of feeling for some unlikely bloc, or nonsensical monolith, but a cover for selective interests. Very likely, producers, financiers, or workers engaged in an industry that stands to profit or decline found common cause with professional courtiers, or ideologues craving relevance.

Those urge, “We must do this,” or “We can’t afford not to.” They pretend that everyone in their “we” acts together, and will all succeed or fail together. Every unwitting investor and volunteer is welcome on the team or behind the cause. Far fewer leaders and eventual beneficiaries will be allowed.

Invoking public benefit or necessity is the way for those with ventures or investments to convince many more with nothing to gain to lobby rulers on their behalf. Official support allows investors to unload risk onto everyone included in their common spirit. Subsidy increases short-term profits, at general expense. And if watershed events they have positioned to exploit can be engineered, they could make fantastic sums. They have no intention of sharing gains, or taking on the same risks they demand of others.

To suspect is never to say decisively why events have been set in motion, or to infer planning and responsibility by motive alone. Even a conspiracy of interests can make an event opportune without engineering it.

Nevertheless, groups who promote policy do not lack material or ideological motives which others do not share in. They advocate and lobby out of some special interest, making an investment of sorts, while the individual inhabitant, citizen, worker, or consumer cannot profit by such expenses. Individuals outside of politics lack a sensible interest in the capital except to demand let me alone, and the repeal of what has already been done to them. It is the function of promotional groups and coalitions with agendas to portray their special interests as the common interest—national security, economic development, public health—especially when, latent facts would tell, they do not coincide with the interests of most consumers, workers, citizens, or inhabitants.

Warmongers in particular advocate a policy materially costly, dangerous, or counterproductive to most others, and that is the point of appeals to abstractions. The warmonger relies on faithful citizens’ emotional sympathies felt toward grand illusions. At first giving in to passions of a warlike crowd does feel good; these sympathies thrill, and reassure, and give meaning. Great profits do not land in every pocket, however, but in few at the expense of many. Nor does the civilian share in war’s great accretion of official powers by entrusting the newly-important politicians, the bureaucrats, the spies, and the generals.

Fearing for their safety, obedient citizens endanger themselves by acceding to attacks on faraway targets in their name. Abroad, hostilities kill, destroy cities and homes, and embitter. Making war does not make peace, but risks making future enemies. Civilians are lucky to survive, poorer, less safe and less free; soldiers, to return home with nightmares and intact limbs; refugees, to find a home.


Destruction during the Passchendaele campaign (third battle of Ypres), 1917.

THE GRAND ILLUSION is not merely produced out of distraction from phenomena and facts by officialdom’s mandates, or created by abstractions, possessive metaphors and other demagogic rhetoric, but engineered by sheer scale that pulls away from obtrusive realities, whereas features in front of our face must be reconciled, and sooner than distant concatenations of events.

The close-up ethnic violence of splitting communities comes of identification with an artificial scale—like “forging a new, independent nation”—not contempt between familiar faces.

To take a train ride across the border between former “enemies” India and Pakistan and visit similar streets, similar homes, similar people, is all that is necessary to dispel anxiety that descended from the time when Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim Punjabis were expelled from their homes, fled, or were murdered, after the Indian subcontinent was “partitioned” by drawing a line on a map between eastern and western Punjab.

People more readily learn to fear or hate a far-away threat for little or no reason. In contrast, an aversion felt toward a neighbor might soon be revealed as paranoia or bigotry, difficult to maintain in the face of familiarity. The feuds that neighbors escalate are more likely spurred by contemptible dealings with each other than baseless, and therefore, if the grudges are not self-limiting, they may be amenable to making peace by mending those relations.

Consider a different effect of scale. An inflated story does not seem so overblown when it tells a tale of the unseen, imagined to extend beyond the horizon, rather than things one can see. It captivates many of those who would doubt it on the smaller stage before their eyes.

Grandiose myths about national production and lifestyle would fizzle at the personal scale, at which business rarely “booms.” Entitlement to the American Dream would sound ironic amidst talk of stockroom paychecks and personal budgets, and similar means of saving to buy a house. In personal finance, boasts of unmeasured success belong to a bumptious character. Even at the relative peak of prosperity, it is difficult to imagine that places seen every day and things done daily stimulated the belief of living in “the greatest country on Earth.”

The soaring scope of disconnection from places and people permits both contemptuous and romantic idealizations that would have drawn ridicule otherwise, if they were conceivable at all.

Even the sentiment of German-speaking families toward fields owned and plowed for generations could not cultivate the effusive propaganda of Blut und Boden among the people of some hamlet living on the local terrain. That slogan of agrarian nationalists, and then National Socialists, needed alienated populations living in industrial towns and cities to idealize the country in the distance; and it was the contrast to degenerate “asphalt culture” of cities (and urbane Jews) that flattered the “peasant” virtues of the countryside and gained popularity among traditionalists. Identity rooted in folklore actually required anticipation of size, numbers, and distances—not locality or community, familiar from experience. Size, number, and distance instill unfamiliarity.

Without having to pay attention to any farmer in particular, völkisch writers could extol eugenics and rustic integrity to purify an incorporeal folk “blood” that courses through no one’s body, and yearn for an idealized race that no one has met. It would not be believed of just one’s own neighbors.

The utopian myth would hardly drive a small town “back to the land” on a patch of nearby country; it required a “nation” to animate. Looking beyond the horizon, to Deutschland, one could talk of redemption through working the “soil,” without having to believe this of some familiar plot of dirt.

By its grand and impersonal size, not subject to any sense, the nation could rise, faraway and eternal, yet present in the imagination.

Oedipus in Egypt, by Jean-Léon Gérôme

Bonaparte Before the Sphinx by Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1867–1868.

IN THE GRAND ILLUSIONS OF PUBLIC AND POLITICS, one is forever trying to hide that nothing grand is at work.

Grandeur of rhetoric, monumental scale, and popular fervency hide nothing other, nothing greater than each creature, animated in his or her pursuits and instincts. The society comprises nothing other than all of them together. Never does any part, any faction of organisms, any single organism, cease to be animated in its own causes because of invoking something else. No thing larger than persons and things requires their sacrifice. No nation is standing above them all. No majority decides. No value rules over men. Invoking a grandiose principle does not make the grandiose principle real.

These are consensual pretenses for all those who cannot stand the naked knowledge that they, and those much like them, lack clear mutual purpose and belonging. It would be in error to assume that everyone wishes to see through illusion. Those who want for faith prefer to revel in grandeur, and they resent an indication of its falsehood.

State and Church, which encouraged punitive fearfulness for institutional purposes, were not responsible for fear’s origination. Fear of what diverges from the mainstream clamors for an object. The incisive who see through grand illusions will automatically meet the same fate in fearful society as the outsider who merely dresses or intoxicates differently: to incur suspicion in a relatively tolerant variant of fearful society, and persecution, under illiberal treatment.

The participant in grand illusions joins in for many reasons, not only conformism: his own entertainment; his own fear of irrelevance; his own need of richer sensations than he knows how to provide. One makes unimpeachable heroes of realer men because one needs them, and for the same reason, one subscribes to impersonal figments never to be pierced by sharp senses.

The unmasking of status and scale is a lesson for the perspicacious, who wish to see past themselves, and see through illusions. In the midst of contrary reinforcement, it promises an unrelenting mission.

It promises more, also, than liberation from servitude and suffering. Their reward for making themselves unwelcome foreigners in a world of fabrication is to be that finally, a grandeur of the soul genuinely felt, demonstrated in society by appreciable works, can become sufficient and resilient, and depend no longer on fragile pretenses and hypocrisy. It can be found in the exceptional place awaiting mankind, and not a part of it.

Man, and not entitlement or affectation, can realize aspirations and find belonging.

Dispel the grand illusions of nations, borders, titles, hierarchies, and do not fear that without them, Man would lack company, protection, significance, or access to any grand purpose.





Excerpt: Awe and Presence

Another preview from The Constellation of Man: Part 3 (of 8) from Book I of Volume I. —CPB


artwork by Banksy, photo by Steve Cotton

Our “reality” is habitually pared-down, less complex, less awe-inducing, less exciting, as an acclimation. We require experiences to open our eyes to the world around us and within us.

The experiences can always be found. In fact there are too many for our attention. But we must cease to be dead to our senses and our callings.

On one occasion we have reason to doubt. On another, we have reason to marvel. From one time to the other, it is, most significantly, we that have become different, whatever else has changed around us.


artwork by Banksy, photo by Steve Cotton

It is not unusual that one who encounters pain or tedium lives through what seems like too much to bear, and closes. Another can observe this hardened attitude and see nothing but immaturity. They see a stuck, troubled, thoughtless child, crying “I am jaded, and there is nothing left to amaze and delight me.”

It is common to encounter hardening or dulling experiences that strip away the innocence of youth. It is rare to learn what to take from harsh or deficient experience—how to meet experiences, and not only receive them; how to remain sensitive through what could deaden, how to sublimate what could scar, and how to remain open instead of closing.

Disciplined learning about the world yields some resilience, though not the same that comes with practice. At least, learning can supply alternatives to a single way of seeing and experiencing things, or too few.


Nelumbo nucifera, sacred lotus; umbilical symbol of creation, rebirth, unfolding enlightenment, purity, and more; seat of gods and goddesses, buddhas and bodhisattvas; iconic in myths of Vishnu, Brahma, Lakshmi; identified with Buddha. In “On the Love of the Lotus,” Chinese sage Zhou Dun Yi observed in poetic allegory that the lotus, both open and straight, grows out of mud, but remains unsullied.

It is necessary to gather perspectives on our own experiences from the breadth and depth of other experiences across time and place. All our lives are local and limited. Greatness can blossom from opening up to just a little more.

Transcending our place to see more, and awakening to the transcendent in us is one purpose of religious mythology.

Scientific knowledge can act as myth just the same; if a child is told the story of how she is made of star-stuff, she learns that her own atoms were once forged within the nuclear cores of stars bright eons before the sun, and by vaster stars that exploded. She learns that life-giving atoms in her and all people were star-sown. The truth of that legend is both incidental to its transcendental power and majesty, and no detraction.


Light from the edge of a blast wave from a star that exploded approximately 6000 BC, during Neolithic civilization on Earth. The visible supernova remnant is now called the Veil Nebula. This mosaic of Hubble telescope images shows a small section of the distant Nebula, with false colors assigned to emissions from hydrogen, oxygen, and sulfur.

An expansive revelation about our place, and our connections to some mystery we have to struggle to imagine, fills us with awe. Awe is a kind of restorative experience. Awe knocks ennui aside without a thought for the tedium that formerly seemed to pervade life.

In awe, one forgets doubts, and ever feeling that life is insignificant, unimportant, pointless—or miserable, consigned to suffering, or to guilt. One forgets feeling that life itself could be subjected to doubts. Awe induces doubt that life could be known, could be encompassed by our smaller experience.

Simple novelty of experience promotes a modest openness. To pursue novelty is certainly easier and much more common than an awesome, transcendent revelation. Even if novel experiences do not teach, they can achieve some restoration of feeling.

Otherwise, our familiar world seems too small and too usual. That familiar domain occludes the unseen remainder of the world. Life, too familiar, obstructs our participation in all else, diverse as we cannot imagine. Life seems cramped, repetitive, even hopeless. This is our feeling, unfairly attributed to other life without our constraint and beyond our limitations. Our impression of life portrays a distortion of life, conditioned or contained. Escape from noticing life only seems the credible alternative to neurosis and depression.

A routine travesty of living appears ridiculous in the face of further experiences discovered by spontaneity, or created by improvisation. Moments in which we experience different things—or even familiar things, differently—can then become extraordinary to us. These moments deliver us.

It is not too difficult to make extraordinary moments, for those who know they must seek them out. Ordinary moments are not ordinary at all to those who know how to transform them, with observance, into informal rituals. Sense phenomena that others take for granted can attain a phenomenal attention, a spiritual attention, suitable for sacrament.

[To feel] spiritual presence means and requires that you are present. All that becomes banal—an urban skyline view, an alcoholic high, a walk in the woods, rhythm or melody, a sexual touch, an idea written long ago—can be refreshed with spirit.

Spiritual experiences are restorative, as well as extraordinary experiences. They feel special, and make us feel special about ourselves or about living—eternal objects of human desire, taking infinite guises.

Feeling special about ourselves is indistinct from the impression of having purpose, or life having significance or meaning. A “relationship with God” communicates that one is special, that one has purpose, and life has meaning. But this is the same thing that people want most from romantic relationships with other people: the opportunity to feel special about themselves through a sense of connection-to-other. They want transcendence not only from changes in perspective, but manifested in experience made special—spiritual—through renewed attention to the senses, and ensuing intensification. The bond becomes sacred; the sexual rite becomes holy. A deep relationship with one’s work or calling can likewise become sanctified by devotion, attention, and presence.

A sacred or holy experience is not derived from a thing, place, or action called sacred or holy. We must supply preparation for a sense of the sacred or holy, which can be found in almost anything; it is the person who charges the encounter, not whatever seems sacred or holy.


Lotus Temple, Bahá’í House of Worship, New Delhi

It is a great mystical, esoteric, and at times heretical teaching that the high experiences of religion are open to you. They are allowed. They are already implicit in the living human body, though not well-realized without practice. You can learn to recognize doors and need not depend on formal rituals to unlock them. You need not borrow a set of keys that dogma approves and intercessors must provide.

Even the grandest senses of divinity do not depend upon being seized by powers outside ourselves. The power to have transcendent experiences in the world unfolds from living, open to transcendent experiences.

You must ask yourself if you allow a sense of awe before the majesty of the world, intricate beyond your knowledge, beyond your time.

Can you hear, can you say: “Awake, awake! The world is new from this moment!” This feeling can begin a creation story for a new life.


Awe and other concepts that sound religious describe experiences to be realized in actual life. Grace and blessedness, transcendence and revelation, love, joy, passion, ecstasy and rapture are also called religious experiences, but they refer to real experiences of feeling nonetheless.

When religion is made regular, named, and organized, these experiences are exceedingly likely to remain concepts, drafted into rituals or doctrines that may be practiced and followed without those feelings; religion without spirit; religion left with dead metaphors, antique distractions; dogma now without corpus.

Life without the set of spiritual experiences is limited to a subset without sensations of “meaning.”

All the religious concepts—or rather, spiritual feelings behind religious concepts—can be naturalized, made part of our clearer understanding of natural, human life rooted in the body’s nervous system and the dispositions and needs of the mind. Spiritual experiences are special neural experiences, not supernatural or otherworldly experiences. The numinous can be integrated into natural life, and not cast out to the supernatural—nor dismissed along with superstition by the secular-minded.

Awe has become rarer than ever before. That few wonder at the rarity of the experience called awe could almost explain its rarity. The near absence of awe in adulthood seems to go virtually unnoticed and unremarked, though the experience is extraordinary. Awe has become an empty word out of fashion to modern people who cannot relate. Many identify awe with religious devotion, no longer valued, or practiced only as custom. But devotion is a road to awe, to pervasive holiness, to reverence and resonance, and if these things must be lost with secular deliverance from superstition, we should have cause to question whether that is deliverance at all. By all those numb and jaded, awe is missed, and the unshaken soul perceived, if not by words, then deep down instead.

But it is not necessary to lose awe without religion, just as it is not necessary to abandon spirit. Awe before God, or gods, represents awe before the epic of life in the world. It is simply that the origin of mighty experiences was mistaken to be might outside oneself.

Love, also, wells up and flows out from within, not to the credit of objects of fixation: idealized figures of divinity, or erotic attraction. We have in our brains the means for intense alterations of perception and participation. In a sense, as long as we are thus prepared, the triggers are almost incidental, if we know better than to attribute our electrified chemistry to them. We misbelieve in our dependency on others, and outside forces.

Religious experiences can be summoned up from within oneself. This is the “heresy” of personal divinity, that because I can summon up divine feelings, I am God—another untrue metaphor to express a truth.



Excerpt: hemispheres part I: patterns into place

I continue to post selections taken out of context from large amounts of unfinished material collected for The Constellation of Man, a work of literature planned for three volumes. All selections were written by me since 2010. Some are unrepresentative. All remain in development, subject to change. —CPB

Intention to change the world usually means changing it outside oneself. But the world does not begin outside ourselves—especially how we experience the world.

We experience inner-sourced, neurogenic senses of things. Senses of things reference the world. Importantly, this reference and the referent differ in type. Senses of things can never be identical to the world. Senses of things usually err even in lacking resemblance to the world—despite subjectively-convincing appearances.


Self-Portrait in Spherical Mirror, M. C. Escher, 1935

If we ever become aware that synonymity between senses and the world is not a fundamental truth but a convention and pretense, this is easily forgotten in the course of acting daily according to senses of things. Operationally, people behave as though senses of things are those things they reference. We imagine a visual image equals an object in the distance. Holding an object in our hand instead, the object becomes pressure, texture, and temperature to us. More abstractly, we think that a labeling idea we hold in mind (like “bathing” or “winning”) equals each instance or any given instance, out of a set of actually different and unique experiences. We also attribute our mood at the time, having “a miserable meal” at a fine restaurant, or seeing a “beautiful dress” on a lovely woman.

We habitually and instinctively trust neurogenic impressions, as a dog follows his nose.

Seamlessly sewn-together senses give particular confidence. Who would independently detect blind spots in their binocular vision, “right in front of their eyes,” if they had never learned that each eyeball has an anatomical blind spot where the optic nerve and blood vessels pass through the retina? Even vision fools the seer.

An insightful thinker cannot accept in this ingenuous way. As the rigorous thinker must learn to question what seems objective in his axioms, the skeptical thinker must also learn to doubt the compromised visceral witness under his skin and behind the eyes in the mirror, so to speak, who volunteers so much evidence.

Öèôðîâàÿ ðåïðîäóêöèÿ íàõîäèòñÿ â èíòåðíåò-ìóçåå

Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror, Parmigianino, 1524

Each mind encompasses ongoing relationships with inner-sourced, neurogenic senses of things, which reference parallels in the world outside, as well as relations of more obscure neurogenic psychological dynamics, which lack parallels on the outside.

It is said that we see the same thing, or we feel the same; this is never the case. We feel the emotions, sensations, compulsions, perceptions, and concepts born in our nervous system, of which others can only see expressions and effects. Even to ourselves, the inner influences upon perception, profoundly-layered context, remain casually indistinguishable from senses of things in the world outside the mind.

The world “outside” the mind means the matter and energy of our body and the immediate environment around it. That suggests there is an opposite place “inside” where our mind dwells. But the language is just conventional, so that we can say inner, internal, or inside about neurogenic experience. The mind has no location. The brain rests firmly inside our head.

We live amidst places. Our minds know patterns. The mind has no place, but perceives patterns, including place as one kind of pattern. The corner of the street, the left bank of the nearby river, the inside of your knee, the corpus callosum, these stand out as “places”; they are rather maps, models, impressions, or images—that is, patterns that reference the material world of place. Patterns turn generic, though they reference unique configurations of time and space, energy and matter.

Stranger still, a place we find “outside” (or “inside the body”) contains none of these patterns by itself—not even the patterns we perceive as:

  • edges
  • shapes
  • objects
  • colors
  • motion
  • timing
  • and other empirical measurements.

That requires a mind, with its senses of things. The characteristic mental separation of things, distinction of qualities, and things given qualities, necessary to making simple patterns of the world (“pattern recognition”), are not inherent in the world. For to recognize or discern a pattern is to draw it up and impose it, and momentarily ignore the continuous, contrary, complicated remainder. The inherent reductiveness and selection reflects our nervous system actively coping with information both limited and excessive, more than it reflects any comprehensive reality.

Nor does a place contain other patterns we impose:

  • symbols
  • moods
  • stories
  • histories
  • meanings
  • correspondences
  • significance

These we might grasp as mental patterns more readily, if we can remember they were ostensibly psychological or cultural in origin, and not inherent.

Even with the greatest explicit care, we have difficulty telling the difference between perceiving the world and imposing perceptions.

To contrast sense perceptions like edges with patterns like moods or stories draws a useful distinction; highly-subjective mental patterns certainly obstruct uncomplicated observation. But looking for bias only from obvious culprits would exaggerate an artificial distinction between patterns of perception and patterns that impose upon perception. Naïve perception is not free from distortion or interpretation. Sensing also interprets; sensing always interprets.


Untitled, aka Distorted House, Man Ray, 1920

Imagine picking out a structure in the distance, and thinking “house.”

One can perhaps manage to tell the difference between the edges, colors, and objects that comprise a particular house, and the cultural icon of house one imposes to collect them all. One can also notice any attendant suggestions perhaps brought up by that icon, such as feelings of home, even though they arise subconsciously.

It would appear that senses are straightforward and definitive, whereas a conscious idea comes second, and perhaps an unconscious reaction third. The conscious idea would appear culturally acquired by everyone who has the idea of houses, while an unconscious reaction would be limited to personal disposition. So, with an effort, we can recognize that ideas and feelings make interpretations of the edges, colors, and objects seen in the distance.

But the sense perceptions that appeared self-evident and automatic would not be identical and consistent for other people. Careful examination and comparison reveals that they vary between one individual and another—as the body varies, and its instrumental neural physiology varies.

Qualities of what we each sense differ as drastically as one person’s color appearing like another color to someone else, or color not appearing at all. The idea “color” is itself an imposed pattern to categorize this nonverbal pattern, which is in turn interpreted from the electromagnetic spectrum by cone photoreceptors, retinal ganglion cells, and visual pathways in brains.

Color one sees is not out there, in the house. Of course, upon arguing over the color of the house, we could take empirical measurements of the wavelengths of the light reflected from the surface of the house. But this would take the problem of interpretation and translate it into a new realm, rather than resolving it. We could collect data on the wavelengths of light involved, but what that meant about “color” we would not establish mutually. Unable to share the very same neural instruments, we are always removed from each others’ perceptions.

Exercises in comparative neurology could be performed for the visual constructs of brightness, edges, facial recognition, etc. too. The phenomena of the senses—virtually always taken for granted as a known vocabulary—are in fact pieced together (albeit nearly-immediately), and variable. Sounds, smells, tastes, and touch are likewise dependent on each particular nervous system, as with all sensation. The distinctions made in senses of things (qualities, objects, etc.) are not exactly arbitrary—because they follow the tendentiousness of a particular nervous system in its current state—but what seems noticeable could always differ, from a different perspective.

We also find that our sense perceptions vary between one moment and another, with the flux of immediate conditions of one nervous system. Intensities of perceptions induced by the nervous system change. Different perceptions stand out now that did not before. Some convey strangeness. Some fulfill expectations. Some remain peripheral.

Attention names a little of this, but most of the subtle and transient shifts in pattern recognition lack adequate names. We cannot track the different permutations of neural activity in the brain able to induce distinct perceptions, and we lack categories for the great many kinds of perceptions or contexts that assemble, vivid and convincing, conditionally maintained, only to melt away when the state of activity changes.

Possessing a mostly unreflective mammalian nervous system, Man is an invested participant who typically behaves as though perception names some neutral process of discerning objective facts.

On the contrary, we do not discover what we have not, in some way, already brought with us. Underlying, fateful neural organization limns the contours of future sensations, before we mark them as what we feel. Reckoning with new things happens in correspondence with familiar patterns of the mind, from the reflexive, to those more changeable. Remember Christopher Columbus, the explorer who found the Orient he expected to find on his maps of the world, even though it was not there. (It did not even matter that the places on the other side of the world were not as he imagined, or fantasized about under extreme sleep deprivation.)

The principle that what appears readily to oneself at the present moment must appear that way to another—or, to oneself upon a different occasion, very much like a different person—has heaped a most dangerous fallacy upon the partiality of animal senses, given the many variants among mankind.

Each one person has great need to learn the counterintuitive practice of avoiding that error. As a matter for holistic education, one could be taught by broad exposure to alternate perspectives, in tandem with guided orientation in the psychological-philosophical facts of life. Yet the error is so instinctive, neural in its roots, that surpassing it can never become permanent knowledge. We always return to stumbling upon it. We always have need to remind ourselves that we impose all patterns we perceive.


Satire on False Perspective, William Hogarth, 1754

We have great difficulty in learning to mistrust perceptions. We feel sure our perceptions could not be otherwise, though they always could be.

We never arrive at ultimate descriptions, though repeatedly convinced of it. Men who have harbored a desire for final, revealed, unclouded truth have rather coveted an emotional fulfillment, and mistaken such a pinnacle of experience for facts they could know. Humility before the powerful lures and deceits of the senses we possess better becomes the scientist—in the broad sense, the man who would learn anything reliable about the world and himself.


Vitruvian Man, Leonardo da Vinci’s 1490 illustration of proportions and symmetry of the human body according to the Roman architect Vitruvius

Place remains wholly unappreciable to us without pattern. Yet places and our patterns both seem real. Sewn-together senses convince us they are the same.

We then mistake our implicit maps for the lay of the land. We forget what on Earth we are talking about. We forget that we are map-readers, who cannot look up from our maps to see the world directly. We see “the world” through images and imagery, and never without them. We cannot see the world outside of context—as though contexts serve as lenses for discerning things in an otherwise amorphous and vast blur.

Therefore, it is unusual to realize we have an abiding need of better maps. It is usual to neglect our need of fine cartographers to make them. Few realize that we ourselves can become better map-makers.

We already are drafting implicit maps, as well as picking up old ones. If we fail to make our own revisions, we fall back on old maps, and mere sketches of old maps. We need contexts, so we piece contexts together from some source. Putting pattern into place is a condition for perception, and orientation.

Excerpt: The Sage and the Town That Was Dreaming and Drowning

Continuing to post selections taken out of context from large amounts of unfinished material collected for The Constellation of Man, a work of literature planned for three volumes. All selections were written by me since 2010. Some are unrepresentative. All remain in development, subject to change. —CPB

A sage who offered the greatest of gifts walked through a town of worries, and spoke to the townspeople.


lithograph of Kandahar, 1847

Some listened. He told them not what they wanted to hear, but what would solve their problems.

One onlooker, a merchant from another town who revered the wisdom of the itinerant sage, was surprised to see most of these townspeople turn from the sage, spit on the ground, or even slap him in the face. Finally, a group of men threatened the sage, and knocked him down when he continued to speak.

“What awful ingratitude!” the merchant exclaimed, helping the sage to his feet. “And how foolish they are. You came to help, and they reject it thoughtlessly.”

The sage shook his head. “For all their contempt, they are not telling me they reject the knowledge I offer. They are not even telling me I am wrong, although they say so. They are telling me: ‘I did not hear it in the right way.’ My words were not what they expected.”

“Surely, it should not matter what words you used. A drowning man would not refuse a rough hand grabbing him. And I think a man who is dreaming of what he wants will not make rude objections to the djinni who can grant his wish, no matter the surprise to the man, or the manner of the djinni.”

The sage smiled. “Truly, the townsfolk are both dreaming, and drowning. But they must save themselves, and grant their own wishes. I told them so, but they do not realize they are dreaming and drowning. Therefore, they do not know the importance of recognizing that predicament. They do not await hearing knowledge they could use to help themselves. They only hear that I have made demands of them, and consider themselves rudely put upon.”

“I see,” said the merchant slowly. “Wisdom offers a horse to those who have packed a cart ready to hitch. But those who have been trying to drag cargo behind them only feel that they are being goaded to go faster like a beast of burden. Besides, if they knew what you do, that they are stuck, they might already have less need to hear it. They might have found their own horse. I see. Very good.”

The merchant was satisfied to learn how it could be that the value of a sagacious perspective to save and change lives does not prevent its rejection.

“But how,” he added, “supposing you are right… realization must come before accepting knowledge. But without acquiring knowledge, how will they come to realization? How could you tell them what they need to hear in some way that would get around their obstinacy?”

“They must go forward in their backbreaking journey until they realize they have need of my horse. Walking the hard road may teach what hard words do not. They cannot avoid it so easily as they can close their ears to being told where they are and what they are doing. Let us wish them a short journey to preparation, for the way can be painful.”

“What a shame! But that means your visit to this town has been a wasted one.”

“Not at all. I will continue to try. Some ears might be open, and I would spare them hardship. Indeed I will think harder about how I speak to them. How they will hear it is more important than what I say.”

The merchant bade farewell to the sage. He stood and watched him as he walked into the distance. He wondered about the people who drag weight behind them and refuse a means of relief. He thought about those who keep getting stuck in the road, and curse those who pass. “Perhaps,” he thought, “they should be left to figure out their situation for themselves. It might be better for learning if they have to search for a horse to draw their cart.”

But at length, he marveled at their suffering, the suffering of the men and women of the town. He realized how few would manage to raise themselves up off the hard road and out of its potholes and mud before they were broken by the bitter labors of fools and beasts.

He looked into the distance, in the direction the sage had gone, and nodded.

Excerpt: Proteus and bougonia

Continuing to post selections taken out of context from large amounts of unfinished material collected for The Constellation of Man, a work of literature planned for three volumes. All selections were written by me since 2010. Some are unrepresentative. All remain in development, subject to change. —CPB

Proteus, the deposed god of the sea, could still see through its murky depths, and consorted pleasantly with sea-creatures, behemoths and monsters. Tales of Proteus relate his daily custom to cautiously wade from the water and sleep on the shore surrounded by briny seals, like a shepherd with his flock.

Those who found Proteus dreaming there, at the threshold of his domain, could try to seize him. One resourceful enough to catch the wise old man of the depths might obtain peerless counsel. Proteus could see the past and the future.


The appearance of dread Proteus (lit. The Infernal Proteus) depicted in 1690.

But cunning Proteus was not easily caught. He came and went in secrecy, requiring considerable guile to approach. Once grasped, holding him was even more difficult. To avoid being pinned down and divulging his mysteries, Proteus would writhe, wriggle, and suddenly change into shapes as fearsome as a serpent or wild boar, as unexpected as a leafy tree, or flame, or a torrent of water. A hero would have to dismiss these distractions. Only to him would Proteus impart hard-won truths.

So it is with introspection looking into the unconscious. The other world seems alien, capricious as the tides, then vertiginous, bottomless to the lone diver immersed and falling. Probing the depths meets strange and powerful resistance. One might have to strive despite misdirection, like Proteus’ phantasmagoria, some threatening.

This wavy sea comes replete with forms, shapes, illusions, and appearances, and below, resources, profundity, beauty, and fear. It is alive with creatures of the imagination, and as many reflections of the one who looks.


Inner Glow of Ocean Waves, Anne Macdonald, 2013

As slippery as dreams, Proteus changes shape to avoid telling what he knows—to those who aren’t both wise to fluidity, and steadfast. But he knows the depths of us, the unvisitable deep. Literal and straightforward minds that behave as solid ground expects are never so oracular. Obtaining answers requires an indirect approach, and the wit to know that answers take on many guises. [Compare the figurative language of esoteric symbols invented to capture spiritual experiences. Like dream meanings inferred post hoc—sparer than all the feelings and intricacies of a dream—symbols deployed after the event grasp at more significance than words can hold, a nonverbal reality on its own terms.]


Menelaus binding Proteus, as depicted in 1574.

Wily Proteus resists, yet he is not unwilling. Proteus is there, waiting to be caught, ready to yield his knowledge to the one who needs it and prepares himself for it. The trial of Proteus tests understanding and courage. The hero who passes the test accepts the undersea with its difficult wisdom as his own domain for as long as the revelation lasts, much as meditative introspection can recognize the unconscious and embrace it, learning much. To the contrary way of thinking and fighting against oneself, that domain remains quite apart, antagonistic and alien. Homer tells us that when Menelaus is stranded for some time on his voyage home from the siege of Troy by ill winds, he is only able to sail on the sea once he takes stock of his situation by Proteus’ means, reconciles himself, and thus propitiates his gods.

Knowledge comes out of a great unseen unknown. At least that is how the upwelling appears to one who has become an outsider to the fabulous realms of suggestion. The hero is making a petition to render the uncontainable truth. And first, that one must embrace the mutable monstrum that bubbles up from an unfamiliar well. [The monstrum being both “monster” and “portent.”]

The paradox of the self asking knowledge of the deeper, unknown self is this: We must already have the hidden knowledge somewhere—for we are asking ourselves—and yet we do not possess it. That is, we have not yet managed to acknowledge or reconcile the precursor of knowing. Operating under conscious guises and limitations, we do not have easy access to the unformulated.

The case of petitioning the liquid unknown for concrete knowledge amounts to steeling oneself to recognize what one does already know, after some obtuse and unrealized fashion: what must be done, or, what one hardly wants to realize.

Homer has Menelaus master Proteus—with some difficulty, and divine help, typical trope of such stories—to tell him not only what he must do to finally return home, but also what he does not want to admit. He learns what has befallen his friends, comrades and family after the long voyage home from the siege of Troy: death, murder, betrayal, stranding, loss.

Tales of Proteus have him tell heroes how they can repair the harm caused by alienating a god or demigod by past sin they had never reconciled.

Virgil says that Aristaeus, the pastoral god who devised beekeeping, sought a remedy for the mysterious demise of his bees. His mother the nymph Cyrene coaches him to surprise, grab and bind Proteus fast through his vicious changes—boar, tiger, serpent, lioness, flame, river. This Aristaeus does.

Proteus discloses that Aristaeus’ crime of pursuing the wife of Orpheus to her accidental death has had vengeance haunting him.

The ritual sacrifice Aristaeus then makes brings forth live bees, boiling from the stomachs of the oxen burning on the altars. Thus Virgil explains the provenance of the apicultural ritual of bougonia, the bovine sacrifice rumored to regenerate the hives with new bees, usually slaughter followed by burial, or covering with dung. One version specified formulaic steps for beating an ox to death, sealing it shut precisely, and walling it in for weeks.

Binding the terrifying faces of Proteus obtains more than the secrets of a seer. These are more than secrets. They are sorrows, shames and sins.

The seeker binds his doubts, aversions, and fears. He does not force the whole unconscious to his service, or tame the primal. This would misread the significance of this flavor and style, along literal lines preferred by rationalized symbolism. On the contrary, he forces his inner resistances but supplicates his inner pantheon, and old man Proteus embodies both.

With these strange littoral petitions, we enter into a domain of potency, ferocity, intensity, even savagery, at least in metaphors—enlisting the primal forces of the psyche and the vital forces of the body. Acting too tamely in the face of adverse primal obstacles means suffering passively, like stranded Menelaus first merely waiting for the sea to calm so he can sail home.


Bugonia, Justin Gibbens, 2011

The sacrifice of bougonia makes a cruelly literal ritual of the figurative. Modern men would infer the theory of spontaneous generation, and analogy to flies swarming on rotting flesh. If it were rationalized, the hexagonal lining of the reticulum conjured bees by the principle of similarity to honeycomb. We work rather in the realms permissive of association here, casting out physical anchors as afterthoughts, and in myth, cast inner performances as named actors.

The hero seeks after rejuvenation. The seeker is conjuring primitive lifegiving out of himself once again, through forgiveness and reconciliation of the past. He honors and supplicates the deities of his unconscious with slaughter and immolation. He was the bull; he is the bees. He contains the advisor on his side; he contains the gods who were ill-disposed; he contains Proteus himself also.

Excerpt: spirit as metaphor for sex (and vice versa)

Continuing to post selections taken out of context from large amounts of unfinished material collected for The Constellation of Man, a work of literature planned for three volumes. Some compositions are unrepresentative in style, subject, or themes. All remain under development, subject to change. All selections were written by me since 2010. —CPB

It is too literal to believe that the cilice is worn no longer [by modern and secular people]. It is too literal to believe that penitence, or mortification to suppress the concupiscence to commit acts of sin, are obsoleted when these words are left to grow unfamiliar and antique.


Die Jungfrauen by Gustav Klimt, 1913

Of all acts of desire formerly proscribed by religious authority, and forms of hedonism still censured in spirit, lust troubles most intimately. Even after the most diligent corruption of the youth to mistrust the body has passed from common instruction, the taboo body lingers, and puberty makes it a stranger. One generation passes shame, secrecy, and silence to another. The next passes awkwardness and avoidance to another. Overcoming schooled inhibition requires touching again and again, talking again and again, practicing again and again.

Some of the most immodest or promiscuous remain firmly in thrall. To want to prove that transgression of a taboo is possible proves also that the taboo holds—at least enough to tempt, and has not been thoroughly overcome. To transgress compulsively, to reduce sex to mere performance of acts, is to forget the tabu indicates sexual physicality is holy, not merely forbidden. Along this line, we can learn more than an error from those who still condemn lust as a sin.

The dangers of leaving desires to seethe unreleased, leading to unintended perversions of libido, have been extensively described. Indeed, religious modesty hides more than flesh. Suppression perpetuates undercurrents of fiendish attention to sexuality, as well as anticipating sin from such preoccupation. It forbids an appetite and fulfills an expectation, a guilty loop.

But more than cultivating obsessive attention, it also encourages another species of attention: a conscientiousness surrounding sexuality, hinted at by the concepts “purity” and “innocence,” an aura easily left behind when sexuality is rendered common and taken for granted. A purely utilitarian, matter-of-fact attitude toward sex would dispense with shame, anxiety, and bashfulness, and Eros too.

To actually encourage being present in the sexual act goes too far for those who worry about participation. Inhibited by shame, they are generally unable to obtain the fruits of such cultivation. These fruits are spiritual in a metaphorical sense of spirit, while the facilitating practice for present sensual, erotic, and ecstatic experience is—outwardly and physically—foreplay, sexual intercourse, and orgasm. They are too timid about that ritual to enter the temple’s Holy of Holies. No one can meet the god from a distance, performing self-conscious sex without abandon. No one honors Eros without fucking.


Danaë by Gustav Klimt, 1907

Yet religious sanctity is of a kind with presence in the act, and not in total opposition. Those who still identify sex with sin at least intensify attention to sex, even though—and partly because—they are not supposed to. They know at least to impart significance to sex, and not demote a potentially profound neurogenic experience to a material interaction, or a biological drive. Preoccupation or obsession does heighten experience, despite unfortunate condemnation of the means of fruition and deemphasis of method. So do the various, overlaid religious frames treating sex as a profound, spiritual matter and not a mundane one.

Whereas, the alternate error of those called licentious is always to harvest, never to cultivate; that is, not to impart a neurogenic halo to the sexual acts, but to expend these occasions without reverence, and without intent to “set the mood” for any meaning beyond the obvious. This potentially reduces pleasure to expending the heightened senses of physicality, without attuning the senses for a broader neurogenic significance while they are heightened. Opportunities for peak experiences are lost.

That would also be the cost of coming to see sex as “simply biological,” the urgent need which one simply discharges, and gets back to something more important. One forms utilitarian relationships for this purpose, without emotional or spiritual attachments. One is too rarely struck, as by a lightning bolt, by an orgasm with meaning. One is too rarely shocked. Perhaps not at all.

It might be better not to lose the long-taught memory of shame, if this must be the price. Fortunately the price is paid unnecessarily by those who do. The mystique of sexuality need not be lost because the shame is lost, and because the moralizing has been, in its turn, lectured at, judged, and rejected.

A Letter of Announcements and Retrospection

To readers of, followers of my Promethean writing online or in print, and members, associates, and well-wishers of the Promethean movement:

I have written you a sort of open letter, part essay and part story, instead of a spare announcement of my future plans. I feel that the announcements I have to make merit explanation, and that fifteen years since inaugurating merit a span of reflection also. If you will indulge me in digressions and recollections, I will communicate the background to these announcements in the manner of considerate but unflinching honesty which has delivered me to more answers over the years than any other method of philosophical inquiry. I have constructive steps to relate as well as cessations, and perhaps some commentary of general interest on the recent history of the internet, literature, and more.

– – – – –

The story of Promethea(.org) began in the late 1990s. The burgeoning internet was still compared to a frontier. Self-publishing online was a pioneering approach to putting words in front of others that required web design. The new-media futurists’ predictions held that the internet would change society, and indeed opportunities were changing appreciably. For me and for others, publishing and communication on the net held promise for a radical change. It seemed possible for a small budget, hard work, and the right talent to propagate new and transformative ideas. Optimism about reaching other people across the globe—formerly costly through conventional media, if not made impossible by the obstruction of media gatekeepers—did not seem misplaced. That the internet was implicitly built around the free exchange of information and founded on freedom of expression has often been asserted explicitly and celebrated by its first devoted generation of users. Today they invoke this primarily to reject censorship. Back then it very often also suggested various positive values, changes the internet could bring. (I don’t mean to overstate the difference in attitude. I acknowledge the marvelous exception in recent years of Wikileaks representing the promise of transparency as a positive value, by making independent reporting and whistleblowing famous.)

In that context, it did not seem to me unachievable for a small movement to snowball using the novel methods of access and communication possible on the internet and succeed by taking remarkable approaches, especially the movement I wanted to found on a well-considered philosophy.

First of all, the internet’s advantages seemed to offer an historic opportunity to change the world, an analogue to contemporaneity with the movable-type printing press—without which coincidence Martin Luther, Philipp Melanchthon, et al. could not have spurred a Reformation (however one judges that outcome).

Secondly, with multimedia still a recent concept in the 90s, web pages also seemed to me to offer the same sort of opportunity that William Blake had once had for philosophical artistry integrating color visuals and text in the same space. (This led to my experiments with “illuminated” versions of principal philosophical writing, echoing the manuscripts once copied laboriously by monks.)

Thirdly, instant and inexpensive international communication could, in theory, link up individuals capable of spearheading a personal and societal change process. We could find each other for the first time, and work together.

Even before considering the web, I was fired up by a desire to change the world through individualism, free thought, and liberty, and I’d committed myself to the mission of writing philosophy in this cause, starting with The Promethean Manifesto in 1998. I felt compelled to help save the world from the crisis of civilization I predicted and feared if we continued to follow the same traditions of force and other folly. I knew that beyond simply saying “no” to them, the solution would be to supersede collective goals for so-called “society” with an enlivening hope instead: the reinvigoration of human potential in individuals, in the finest spirit of Nietzsche or Renaissance humanism.

I was experiencing for myself that indeed, the individual with spirit could step into a life greater than he’d imagined. I had proven to myself, in my own case, that once we understand that a constraint is not fundamental to our identity we can find a way outside it. We can unlock many doors with the right keys of knowledge and practice, for which we can search. I knew that it was possible to straighten up, and stand higher than before. I knew it was possible to become more than familiar walls allowed to their prisoner. In my joy I wanted to awaken others to unlocking the doors of their own painful cages or modest prison rooms. In the energetic pursuit of that ambition, I found joy reignited fiercely that very few get to experience. That too, I wanted to share.

I followed also the hopes of (classical) liberals—men of the Enlightenment on the Continent, in Britain, and America, and their successors—for “society” to loosen the grip of constructed social hierarchy, and let other men grow like wildflowers. (I had, at the very beginning, no knowledge of the obscure politics of libertarian “anarchism” and had to logically reinvent that particular wheel [of stateless society], which I think turned out to facilitate original and post-political thinking on the problem.) I was interested not just in broad strokes but in figuring out all necessary particulars, not only by acquiring knowledge that I could, but by inspiring the assistance of others to supplement deficiencies in my own reach.

To reach other people, I began to create what would be the internet’s first website to depict an original philosophy, in works designed from the first for portrayal on the internet—laid out for the web, but also to enable a living philosophy that could be revised, continually updated and improved, instead of remaining static on the pages of fixed and permanent books. I adopted the term Prometheanism for the philosophy I envisioned, and Promethean for the movement I envisioned.

– – – – –

I felt an acute responsibility, but from the beginning, the future of this movement was never solely in my hands simply because mine wrote down the founding ideas of Prometheanism. Responsibility would have to pass to the hands of hundreds of others also, before it could ever rest in the hands of thousands. I would have to begin by searching for individuals also able to take initiative and responsibility to push the snowball along.

I needed to find others who felt personal responsibility to ensure that we, the human beings alive in modern times, took the steps necessary to resolve the great problems that the dead bequeathed to us, and the myths they made us believe. But success in convincing others was never guaranteed. No one who tries a great thing can ever be sure of a favorable outcome from it, even with the greatest will to realize it. Worse, having spirit might not allow us to admit this, but when one must work with others and count on others, an apathetic failure is as possible as a glorious one.

From the beginning I made the argument however that the attempt itself is noble, and the challenge without peer. Some like myself would always feel it necessary, dictated by passionate sentiments of character, foresight of historical concerns and crisis, and duty. I have since come to realize the combination is too unusual to find in an appreciable number of others today, unless perhaps one has the means to search high and low. Perhaps because I underwent a rigorous, old-fashioned intellectual training like a boot camp—or more accurately, like an officer’s school—abdicating the duty before me never seemed an option.

Beyond this, it seemed to me then, as it seems to me now, that no other strategy offers a pragmatic alternative in the long term other than achieving the objectives of Prometheanism, broadly including Promethean education in some form, accommodation and maximization of our own natures personally and socially, and—following the method of giving proof of concept—eventually founding a Promethean society suitable to Man.

Even the best of the less ambitious and cohesive measures offer band-aids instead of cures. They suffer from failures of imagination; they misunderstand the pervasiveness of the entire interconnected problem of misshapen society, stunted culture, and unrealized potential of human life on Earth. Each shows preoccupation with different syndromes—political, social, economic, legal, moral, cultural, physiological, psychiatric, linguistic, intellectual, or so on—without seeing their necessary interdependence, and without a properly holistic idea of health to encourage. The worst measures, on the other hand, mistake Man or human nature for a disease.

I began to appreciate the gap that strangely went unfilled. It would ensure a disaster for civilization, but at some indeterminate, stuttering pace that left symptoms in its wake, to appear unconnected from their real causes. I was determined to make clear the need for a collaboration of perspectives that—remarkably—very few grasped even in part. I was surprised that the fragmentation of general education—I suppose—had left such an obvious historic opportunity for leadership still unfulfilled. I was surprised that Balkanized activists for every meaningful angle on progress, even those I respected very much, apparently lacked an unknown banner of humanism and civilization to tell them: respect one another, for your different insights and ways are needed. Since I could find no one else already assembling the campaign that I felt would ultimately be necessary, I had to be the one to pick up that banner first. I would have to count on others to follow.

The heroic cause of Man, also the cause of heroic Man, was a responsibility I was not reluctant to accept and I wanted to be counted among those who followed it, but founding the necessary movement myself was my last resort. I only undertook it once I understood the fatal limitations of existing kinds of organizations. Their principles were typically confined only to “issues” that concerned them, ignoring other essentials. Often enough, I found their organization or methods aped the conceptual problems they sought to oppose elsewhere (hierarchy or collectivism, for example). I realized that all the relevant efforts I could find would fail in the long term, or find only partial and temporary success. They would not solve the great historical problem by chopping it up for a more “practical” assault. Their recognizing only bits of it also typically excluded their own psychological deficiencies, and the acute challenge of facing them. I knew above all that whatever one could not resolve for oneself, one was always sentenced to impose on the world. Like Cassandra, I was not interested in pretending I knew less than I did. I could not find solace, as others did, in the illusion of partial measures analogous to topical remedies for holistic illness or watered-down remedies for serious illness.

Otherwise, I would have sensibly preferred to join whatever some others—perhaps better suited to motivation or logistics, perhaps already funded or famous—had already begun to mobilize, although I did become excited by the challenge once I committed to building a new movement. My reluctance was not merely due to the prospect of maximum personal effort and self-sacrifice, although it’s true that I would have preferred less than I would have to do in coming years. I would have also preferred volunteering philosophy and strategy as I pleased without trying to play the central role. As an introvert, the prospect of promotional exhortation elicited distaste. As introverts usually do, I preferred my work to sell itself instead of cultivating unseemly popularity to magnify it. Of course, at the same time I risked the usual criticisms of quixotism, narcissism, elitism, or iconoclasm which accompany all nonconformist actions of lone individuals. I reassured myself that I would soon find more extroverted co-leaders and convince them to step in front of me, so that I could apply myself to solving problems, offering guidance, encouraging, and facilitating success. Instead, I was obliged to try to overcome my aversion to making myself into an outspoken representative figure, with mixed success.

– – – – –

The work on Promethea proceeded from the earliest beta versions in 1998–1999. I thought and created, I wrote and designed and published, I agonized and second-guessed as only a perfectionist can, though I did not allow doubts to prevent proceeding as boldly as I could. Over the first few years, attention, praise, and dozens of supporters and members joining the movement encouraged me to think I was following a viable strategy, as well as the path that was necessary to me personally.

I do not mean to understate difficulties that were evident from the beginning, and indeed, obvious before I began. Indolence, apathy, vague misanthropy and pessimism have their fashion. It has always been easier to criticize those who act apart from the established groups and in unexpected ways than to act also, and expose oneself to criticism of the conspicuous. One may also expect that the existing terrain of ignorance and misconception raises more barriers than any deliberate enemies, particularly the modern landscaping, industrial-scale mal-education. Even the plainest counterfactual delusion may be more sternly protected by instinct, the deep-seated resentment against those who uproot loyally-held figments, than by rationalizations subject to argument.

But in those years I put all my determination, efforts and resources behind the movement. I communicated extensively with interested parties, and fielded a great many questions. I ambitiously expanded the writing projects I pursued. As much as possible, I wanted the principles to be in place for larger cooperative projects that could be organized in the future with more support. My concerted attempt at preparation for a larger movement would lead to writing about how we should be organized, later included on a website just for the movement (

I was concerned not only with growing the movement faster but also how to avoid expansion contrary to its spirit. Having studied or observed the fates of many other kinds of organizations and movements, I worried about making expedient compromises. After all, much attention Promethea attracted was from people who wanted to engage in narrow political philosophy or political strategizing, at the expense of self-development that would be more useful to them, and instead of applying themselves to creating things that could be useful to Promethea or the movement. I was concerned about giving the Promethean movement an exclusively political character, or subjugating it to alliances that would corrupt it. First, I felt that the world had enough politics and not enough civilization, civilizing culture, or civilizing institutions. Second, at the same time I was striving to make Promethean philosophy more holistic in consideration of Man, I was determined that the Promethean movement’s activism should differ from politics, and follow expressive, artistic, psychological, and educational avenues as well as sociopolitical avenues. Nonetheless, I evaluated various prospects for non-entangling alliances to address particular issues of freedom and individualism but not compromise our goals. Accepting the help of individuals who might otherwise differ on Prometheanism but could contribute behind the scenes as they felt common cause would be the smallest scale of this principle.

In the first years of Promethea obstacles and limitations, chiefly reckoned in 1) financial resources, 2) exposure, and 3) volunteers, seemed mere setbacks that even more effort or some alteration in tactics could overcome. If volunteer support proved more inconsistent and unreliable than initial enthusiasm, as has been my monotonous experience, it was reassuring whenever promising individuals appeared with a strong belief in the work or a desire to learn from it. If shoestring budgets seemed prohibitive, personal contribution kept the work going somehow, slowly. I awaited breakthroughs in getting the word out further and reaching the right people, knowing that more exposure could bring both more commitment and more resources. We had, I felt, not only a need and an opportunity to change the world, but superior “products” to offer in the market of ideas—if only we could get the word out to those who wanted to realize personal and social change (not “change” in the sloganeering of politics or self-help).

 – – – – –

But over the past fifteen years, various factors have combined to call the entire strategy (of online publication and organization, and of ramping up to definite goals) into question. I’ll summarize them at the risk of generalization:

  • The proliferation of the internet in its second generation of devoted users swamped messages with noise—and with the same old messages from monied, popular, and conventional interests. The second wave of users discovered, populated, and repurposed the internet for impulsive entertainment, social networking, and commercial advertising.
  • The usage profile of the internet changed dramatically along with the massive expansion in access—now nearly universal. The democratization of the internet marginalized content-driven use. Idealists, dissidents, and other unusual thinkers could once communicate substantive ideas to the first online generation, who would willingly read and frequently enough discuss ideas intelligently in forums or email at length. An atmosphere of frivolousness and indifference accompanied the incoming broader base of users. Ignorance amused with itself, attracted by distraction, seemed to outpace and displace curiosity to learn. I take this as a reflection of more numerous instead of better minds awash in the global flood of information.
  • No longer is it possible to build a special website and expect that interested people will come. Affordable promotional strategies that once worked will be lost in the now-immeasurable internet. Traffic is now an expensive matter of competition. Well-funded websites and networks have come to dominate because comparable investments are impossible for small websites—especially those with select audiences, struggling to afford ongoing costs, hardware and software updates.
  • Disposable content became typical of an internet culture obsessed with dynamism, obsoleting itself constantly through sheer quantity if not erasure, despite the technical capacity for retention of information. The old style of permanent web site acquired the dismissive label “static.” If civilization requires preservation, note well that net culture in its strangeness dismisses websites from the 2000s as old, and websites from the 1990s as antiques. Current readers expect nothing from “old” articles—from five years ago. Writing a retrospective for a website like Promethea is practically archaeology.

If the accretion of a movement suitable to promote the objectives of Prometheanism, such as Promethean education and eventually founding a Promethean society, could have been possible under these adverse conditions, untimely crises would soon make the efficacy of more core commitment or some alteration in tactics into moot points.

  • In September 2001, the cultural environment changed dramatically to one of insecurity and cruelty. The misguided overreaction to one attack would jeopardize far more than an attack could. Untrustworthy, colossal spy and war bureaucracies received blank checks and unchecked powers. Legal excuses were invented to redeem torture, pundits endorsed ethnic cleansing or genocide, and it was common to hear demands that contrary opinions be silenced, or prosecuted for treason.
  • Hostility and disinterest towards dissidents and social critics—at worst called public enemies, at best seemingly obsoleted by events—would mar the “war on terror” domestically. The proclamation of fearsome public crises like Terrorism and the “ratchet effect” of state power feeding on the psychology of crisis were nothing new. However, the timing was particularly unfortunate for recruitment by a young movement in need of open-mindedness and willingness to experiment in order to challenge the internal and social status quo. Defensiveness snapped shut the former (relative) openness to alternate ways of thinking. Former citizens of the world, discovering human identity on the global networks, reverted to territorial loyalties, nationalism, chauvinism, parochialism, bigotry, xenophobia.

It was possible at that time to observe familiar grounds for both contentious and productive debate on the internet re-fragment into camps that found meeting on common ground impossible and intolerable. One could watch polarization into oppositions: reactionaries and reactions to them. Dissidents who dug in to fight back also became embittered and consumed. The deepest corruption by politics being the occlusion of other psychology, I could not but think the disillusioned noble souls of the world were not only in danger from the powers they spoke against; more than ever, they were in danger of losing the best of themselves.

  • 2003, the year we launched a sister site for the Promethean movement (a “portal” designed to accommodate changes in usage of the web), was unfortunately also the year of the Iraq invasion. Hostility and disinterest toward criticism of the public narratives would continue. We who did speak out then were subsequently proven right, but the inimical environment would not recede for years to come.
  • It would first be obscured by a distracting change in public narrative, no less ludicrous and credulously believed, accompanying party-machine politics in the US shifting from red to blue and continuing with business as usual. Mencken’s guffaw has never been disproven.

For a combination of these and perhaps other reasons, the special cosmopolitan culture of the internet of the 1990s and before September 2001, an environment relatively welcoming of alternate ideas, would never quite return. The window of opportunity of having a unique means of access and education, a new printing press for a new literacy, had closed. The infrastructure, as it turned out, was the least of the opportunity.

It seemed to me that when the worst instincts of militancy and paranoia receded a bit, they left behind changed internet subcultures. They seem less often animated by common traits of curiosity and enterprise—and certainly, not so animated by shared optimism. It has been very difficult to say whether exhaustion of the internet’s once-special culture was due more to the great dilution by popularization, that inevitable spreading-out of the “cyberspace” frontier, or to the aggressive psychological environment of crisis that coincided with it.

Regardless, a young generation now uses the internet which retains no memory of relative quality over quantity, as well as no memory of a time in which dystopia seemed a fiction or an avoidable future instead of the unfolding present. Much has become typical that I once believed there was time to avoid and prepare to resist. Reality has outpaced warnings of dystopia to come, putting those with foresight into the awkward position of being right but too late, too few, or too much ignored when we could have made the most difference. Our best chance to wield the new printing press gave way to yellow journalism, rags and magazines, celebrity and lame titillation, noise and nonsense, but also to defensive politicization. Some have observed that in recent years the internet has grown more political, as though this were entirely a positive development akin to “waking up”; I do not agree that it is.

Inimical factors have no doubt contributed to the erosion of attention, support, and momentum that put the Promethean movement into a holding pattern. Attempts to reorganize and reinvigorate the movement have not succeeded. My own attempts to explore parallel, supplementary avenues for outreach and fundraising have not proven successful or sufficient.

– – – – –

I must also be candid here about the role played by my personal health, since it has interfered significantly with my ability to continue strenuous work habits regardless of my motivation, and sometimes reduced it. I have undergone two phases of health issues that interrupted my work. The first was a stress-related blood pressure problem that built up during the years 2007–2009, not coincidentally a period of burning the candle at both ends. The other was an indeterminate neurological disruption that has not ended.

During May of 2011, after months of near-constant visual work to edit a 150,000 word manuscript, I underwent terrible headaches, nausea, and virtually lost the ability to read. I began to notice extreme and exotic visual symptoms including light sensitivity, palinopsia, visual snow, flashing, and edge-tracing. (These symptoms eventually led me to pursue treatment courses used for persistent migraine aura, after scans ruled out other possible diagnoses.)

With practice, the scary issue of dysfunctional reading partially improved months later, thanks to the plasticity of the human brain to readjust to neurological damage. By autumn of 2011, I had reacquired enough visual focus to slowly and stubbornly struggle through the same editing. My headaches abated gradually over the next year or so.

However, to this day abnormal visual artifacts and sensitivities impair my visual system, which is easily exhausted. My working times must be brief compared to the marathons I once managed. Careful reading or editing is a strain. My vision remains unclear and imprecise due to persistent visual artifacts, like negative afterimages, that overlay my view of the world. I stumble with words far more than I once did, not least because my brain must sort out each line I read from the overlaid shadow-bars of those before it. I am more or less able to write, as long as I limit glare and other sources of undue visual strain, but I must make allowances for my visual cortex having good and bad days and weeks.

As a consequence, I must be more patient with the progress I can make on any project, and more judicious in expending energy. I have less patience to follow cluttered sentences and large paragraphs, or academic meander. I try to focus my limited time to read and write on the projects of greatest worth. I have ceased work on completing many unfinished articles and essays. I tend to consider whether what I write will stand the test of time, or otherwise deserve the investment. My love of words, writing, and intellectual interaction for its own sake has thus been tempered.

– – – – –

In combination with my personal health and other factors, the aforementioned insufficient financial support and disappointing volunteer support have meant that the Promethean movement cannot fulfill its original intent and ambition. The website presence cannot be updated as it should. The strategy of publishing my writing online to speak for itself and gather support (with limited promotional funds) has also not proven productive enough, after the “snowball” seemingly melted. For years it has no longer made sense to prioritize Promethea, always at my considerable expense in some ways, without a consistent return of attention among those I hope to reach or those I once did. My attempts to draw traffic with other initiatives have not succeeded so far. The sense of speaking to no one—or very few—has been palpable, even with some of my best work.

That is why I have finally decided not to pursue further projects designed to be hosted on Promethea and to suspend formerly planned additions and updates. As of this writing I have no plans to update or maintain further. I have no intention of stubbornness in this decision, and indeed acknowledge it only belatedly and with reluctance, because I feel I must. A return to the web is possible if circumstances seem more favorable, or opportunities can be made so.

I have for some time stopped actively furthering membership in an organized Promethean movement, although I plan to continue mentoring and teaching Prometheanism to some promising individuals who seek me out. I also plan to continue  ad hoc collaborations with members of the movement, without formal relationships and responsibilities. This will allow flexible and organic associations in place of stable organization. The latter only confers advantages if the scale of operations extends beyond one person’s ability to oversee them personally.

– – – – –

It is my task in this letter to relate my decision(s) and describe the ongoing state of affairs. However, I want to assure you that I have no intention of giving up on the larger game, so to speak. I plan to await future opportunities whenever they come, and prepare accordingly. I continue an adaption to longer-term projects with open-ended goals. These are no less ambitious but necessarily less definite. They require more patience, and will quite possibly only see fruition after my own time.

Close entwinement of hope with disappointment is oftentimes the lot of servants of human potential. It is impossible to ensure a result from worthy effort, spoiled to demand it, and irrational to expect it contrary to operative facts. If it is my lot to prepare for some historic opportunity that will only come to a future generation I will never get to meet in a time I will never see, I will try to accept my role to play as cheerfully as Nietzsche once did.

My work developing the philosophy of Prometheanism will not cease. I will continue to explore, create, and consider other possible avenues and media. I can at least ensure that my own creative output represents the cause of rekindling Man and civilization—for that cause deserves clarification and strengthening instead of neglect. I can do my best to ensure that the cause is not lost to all because it has been forgotten by too many. Of course it deserves more than I can ever give; it deserves the best of us.

– – – – –

Since 2004, my work of writing and publication online has sometimes been slowed or interrupted by financial necessity or overtaxed health. But I have also diverted energy to other writing, including:

  • The anthology Rising in Words (available in print), featuring the definitive essay on human progress in idea and reality, “Rising in Walls.” This picked up the theme of Balkanization in detail.
  • A book describing a revolutionary model for understanding the human mind and personality.
  • A book on the origins of hierarchy in human society based on research into the literature on psychopaths and narcissists, also warning about personal encounters.
  • A mini-documentary script about war, anthropology, and commonly misunderstood human nature.
  • A satirical literary novel called Pyramid of Babel (manuscript complete), telling an epic story of struggle against dystopia, as both a social and psychological condition.

I pursued these supplemental projects in part to bring my work to a bigger audience or a different audience. Most of them I intended for print publication, either through self-publishing or a publisher capable of marketing support.

The novel I specifically designed for both mass-market print publication of the book as a salable product and artistic or philosophical merits, instead of sacrificing one to the other. For me, it was never an option to subjugate art or ideas to sales, but I had no objection to sales and had great need of a way to make my work self-supportive. A broader reach for Promethean ideas (which I could then better promote) was also part of my thinking, and so I prioritized the novel.

I’m proud of the creative result. I’m proud of the ideas in the book, and that I managed not to drag down the art and craft of writing with mere ideological pedagogy. As for my strategy though, unfortunately I must report the timing has (once again) been inopportune, in this case for a shift from online publication to print. An artist ought not to create based on market research, but I have since deduced that the present is the most unfavorable era in publishing history for new authors to attempt to market substantive works of ideas or literary art. There are realities of the business that readers of books, acquainted with details about a few non-representative authors’ careers, are unable to appreciate. Pardon the digression as I explain what I mean. I believe that the plight of writers trying to create significant literature today deserves to be widely known.

Few with profound ideas in mind and the talent to write them out also grant themselves the experience of laboring for the years they need to perfect a magnificent book—building on preparation that begins long before. Most who do finish an opus discover that their prolonged anticipation of others finally reading and appreciating it was misplaced. For today, they struggle to have their work seen at all by literary agents and publishers, based on some tiny selection they are permitted to send, much less to reach the reading public.

It is difficult to convey such indecisive disappointment. The author is never allowed an entirely crestfallen resolution (unless he settles for some obscure press), but still the book sits, and no one sees it. A blunted book presses down many urges to create again.

A number of factors I will not enumerate here have led to a perfect storm of detritus in the literary world. A record high of manuscripts circulate, primarily of low quality, to which the gatekeepers for an indiscriminate market generally attach little value.

Typical gatekeepers include literary agents, whom authors must now use to reach most publishers. Many have the highfalutin vices of politically-correct university spawn. One can find repugnant talk about literature—reduction of books to demographic jargon, arbitrary specifications, or the “pitch”—in perfect doublethink with professing personal love of special books. An awful lot of agents seem to consider writing dispensable and interchangeable, not to be prized as literature—a marketable art—but fungible like coinage, as though one manuscript swaps with another in its genre.

All in all, in accordance with some corollary of Gresham’s Law for authors, low quality manuscripts in great quantity must drive the much greater investments that authors make in higher quality manuscripts out of the marketplace. Instead of trading unequally with the lowest entertainment, we authors must be tempted to keep high art to ourselves if we even trouble to write it.

Put another way—and I suppose I say so at the risk of sounding bitter, but I do say so—the literary industry or much of it is essentially abdicating from responsibilities to literature as traditionally understood. Too many gatekeepers have assumed they can only sell the miserable and regular supermarket-tomato cross-breeds of genre-fiction lines, the latest sprocket-widget assemblies of familiar tropes. Many seem unprepared to discern quality aside from professional craft inside these little boxes—but even that fails to explain the very bad writing one can easily find on the shelves.

The most obtuse gatekeepers attribute to authors the cachet of great literature because they sell well. They forget how much they select for the expectations of the market, and that the available English literature teaches each literate generation what to expect. Overall, it’s almost inconceivable that a great many of the high-selling singular classics of the twentieth century, irregular, original, strange and beautiful, would ever have made it past them.

Nevertheless, I will continue to pursue publication in print or explore alternate media as makes sense for each specific project. At most, anticipating publication shapes the form of my writing and the choice of projects I feel encouraged to pursue—the lure of readers having nudged me towards online articles once, and later to write a literary novel to be both artistic and marketable. The vector of publication certainly affects who will hear about my writing in order to have the chance to read it. A few success stories aside, it’s still very rare for either small presses or self-publishing without independent funding to match the exposure of major publishing.

That is the influence of publication. Otherwise, I continue quietly writing regardless of reception or appreciation. I think I usually manage without too many sighs and untoward complaints, even if I occasionally feel as remote from others’ notice as a nameless hermit.

I find that after any listless or doubtful fallowing of my creativity, at a primary level of encounter I come back to the writing I would create for myself alone—for my own inspiration, for my own experience, for my own understanding. I trust what comes when I listen closely to inner voices. I trust the process, not only the craft but also the more mysterious impetus from within. I believe in what I make as much as I believe in making it as well as I can. I write to clarify for others and to teach, but I do not write to satisfy anyone else.

It would be a great mistake to start, not only for the sake of what I write, but also for my own sanity and even for my own survival, according to some hierarchy of needs peculiar to the outsider thinker or artist. I depend on the honesty of the work.

My stubbornness in the matter of writing may be considered perverse by the financially-driven or socially-driven population. My writing will continue—must—regardless of publication or the means of publication, regardless of whether an audience awaits to notice or anyone stands ready to pay.

It would be misguided to entirely disregard others, and inaccurate to boast that I am untroubled by the opinions of others. But in the end I have to write not what others applaud or approve, but what seems to me important and most interesting, without too much concern for whether the work will come at my expense or (at best) remuneration will exceed penny wages.

I have nothing against profit and certainly prefer profit if it comes without significant compromise. But it seems to me that attachment to the work instead of the pay is the salient method to discern an artist or creator from an entertainer or employee. Likewise if an intellectual writes for remuneration by his university support structure, he must write what is acceptable to academic venues and cannot be free to think. A philosopher worthy of the name risks alienating others, and thus his own poverty. This lesson I learned first from Socrates.

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While I have had mixed news to communicate, I am more pleased to finally share the following news about what I have been writing in recent years. I have been sketching out and filling out a magnum opus of Promethean philosophy in two volumes. Prometheus Redux is the tentative title.

Obliged for the reasons I have described to step back from the goal of organizing societal proofs of concept, I have turned to another task instead: creating a landmark philosophical and literary work designed for the all-around needs of those who would shoulder human progress, including self-development (as real progress must). Few would imagine it possible to assemble a work this ambitious, either. I hope to inspire intellectuals with proof that philosophy, literature, and humanism worthy of the words are not dead, and show that standards can and must be raised. I hope also to empower individuals in the future with the keys I have managed to devise, or to collect from the great and special individuals who inspired me, and guided me on my own path.

In writing these all-new volumes, I have created a successor to fifteen years of Promethean material—a synthesis of ideas from published work and the considerable amount as-yet unpublished, with ideas new to my readers. I have challenged myself to improve, refine, and go further than previous work, to try to create the definitive expression of Prometheanism thus far. The volumes of Prometheus Redux are named as reimagined editions of my first foundational works, The Promethean Manifesto and Anticonstitution for a Promethean Society, although these titles may change.

Vol. 1, The Promethean Manifesto, and Vol. 2, Anticonstitution for a Promethean Society, have changed since their last editions in 2003. The changes reflect considerable effort to develop Prometheanism since 2003, and a more precise understanding of the most pressing issues for Promethean philosophy to examine in present day. This does not refer to current events, but neglected and poorly-understood fundamentals of life. The new books are intended to provide a foundation of knowledge instrumental to personal transformation and cultural reformation.

In brief, these volumes will not only put forth Prometheanism as a philosophy, but also integrate the broad foundation of knowledge needed by the remarkable individual who wants to make human potential real, personally and in the world around them.

For one of the things I have learned over the past fifteen years is the ineluctable importance of fundamentals, or the realizations that should be fundamental. Pioneering advanced ideas and techniques among those who lack more fundamental ones is not possible. The unfortunate mis-education of our times—to ignore some important things, misunderstand others, and particularly to fight against oneself—remains a terrible and broad obstacle in the way of human progress. Those who have somehow escaped serious mis-education or clawed their way back out of brainwashing are as scarce as hen’s teeth, far fewer than those who believe they have.

I aim to address the problem seriously, almost from the ground up, by supplementing available modern resources for self-education and holistic education (Bildung). This new work will be my answer to the challenge of reorienting any enterprising reader so that change can happen for him or her, despite unlucky mis-education. Of course, my goal is not merely remedial, so I have also labored to refine insights at the cutting edge of self-knowledge and understanding.

  • The new Manifesto will encourage a deeper understanding of the philosophy of Prometheanism, explore essential inner experiences and the psychology of individuals, and suggest realistic steps for personal development based on fostering human nature and culture.
  • More than an argument for inner development, The Promethean Manifesto will offer a guide to human nature, reconsidered, and a defense of human potential against both its traditional ankle-weights and the fashionable modern abandonment of humanism.
  • The Manifesto will propose a new theory tracing the mind of Man out of nature. This model integrates evolutionary insights with cybernetics and complexity sciences to reform outdated philosophy of mind. It draws on personality theory, prehistoric anthropology, mythology, and more. (The case for this model will also be explored and brought to a different audience in a dedicated book for all intelligent readers curious about science or themselves.)
  • The new Anticonstitution will expand Prometheanism from the individual outward, into society. The Anticonstitution will describe a Promethean society that best reflects the realities of human nature. The Anticonstitution will expand the Manifesto’s discussion of culture to the networks of exchange essential to material and experiential life.
  • In addition to applying Prometheanism to the social realm and making an argument for connected individualism, the Anticonstitution will offer a defense of human civilization in an age of its casual and contemptuous erosion.
  • Readers of former editions of the Manifesto and Anticonstitution will also notice developments of style more akin to evocative myth or storytelling, and more conducive to meditation on ideas, as well as retaining the immediacy of a manifesto. This “MMM” style strives to state what most needs to be said elegantly and boldly.

I have not yet decided on how best to circulate Prometheus Redux, and I’m far from an estimate of completion. As well as considering print and web publishing, I have considered recording audio readings of key passages, and other options for dramatization. I will have more concrete details to offer in the future, and I hope to have your support.

– – – – –

I have always wanted to ride the edge of what might be impossible. Although once it seemed an opportune path, was soon faced with an increasingly unworkable set of challenges to overcome. I would like to offer my profound thanks for the volunteering and sponsorship that have aided the work at Promethea over the years—and to those who will no doubt support future trials and experiments which may succeed or fail. This is how we learn what is really impossible, after all. Anything assured is, of course, barely worth the ambition to do it.

The mentoring I have been able to conduct because of reaching some promising individuals through Promethea stands out in my mind as the greatest testament to the idea, which assumed the global internet could succeed or supplement the peripatetic method of the old philosophers, teachers, rabbis, sensei, without all the walking. Certainly, some of my finest experiences in life have come from teaching interested, intelligent, aspiring individuals who sought me out to discuss Promethean writings.

To all of you: more is possible. Never give up.

Phoenix / Colin Patrick Barth
written in the winter of 2013–2014