In 2008, Barack Obama presented himself as a genuine alternative to U.S. politics as usual. It was not only surprising to see but also heart-warming--especially in light of the fact that, in election after election, the Democratic Party had proved itself no friend of the Left. But by the time he took office in January 2009, it was clear to anyone who was paying attention that style had, once again, triumphed over substance. Surrounding himself with the old Clinton crowd, Obama sent a very clear message that he did not intend to threaten the status quo in Washington--or Wall Street, or anywhere else on the planet. Once again, the system had been successfully gamed. Once again, the "joke" (as it were) was on the American electorate. It was then that I heard the voice of Roger Daltry whisper in my ear, "We won't be fooled again." Obama was the last straw for me and, for that, I am grateful to him. His bold-faced duplicities opened my eyes and I exited the cave.
It's important to keep tabs on the world of illusion: with its infotainment industry, bad-faith governance, war-without-end. It is salutary. You do not want to forget what the shadow-play looks like--just as you go regularly to the doctor to renew your vaccinations. But then you must always return to the real struggle: daily living. You want to be there for that.
Thoreau observed in the 19th century that the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. The 20th century brought huge leaps in technological innovation and we became ever more the "tools of our tools" (Thoreau again). In the 21st century, there is so much ennui and anomie. People cannot find enough stuff with which to stupify themselves. The old stand-bys (drink and drugs and games of chance) no longer suffice. The mass production of consumer goods makes it possible to become addicted to the latest gadget; the Hollywood dream factory makes it possible to become addicted to the latest starlet. But these things do not fill the void. What's more, music (without which, as Nietzsche said, life is a mistake) is no longer music (melody has been replaced by vulgar incantation or mindless saccharine repetition). Sex is everywhere (and thus nowhere). Salvation religion is sold like soap. Gurus are a dime a dozen. Guns are cheap and plentiful...And so it goes.
We fly through our lives like sparks emitted from the Pleroma. There is no rising tide of consciousness--no apocalyptic in-gathering. But some of us do indeed acquire a degree of consciousness and the conscience that goes with it. And then, as the Five Percenters say, "Each one teach one." As we come to the knowledge of self and world, we begin to recognize the devil's "tricknology" (the Honorable Elijah Muhammad had a real gift for language). At that point, as Wittgenstein would say, we know "how to go on." We learn to lead individualistic lives of rugged integrity. We resist, refuse, renounce, the devil and his pomps. We assume the posture of the Yoga of No. We practice the counter-jihad of Love.
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. My liturgy for Easter is D. H. Lawrence's late essay "The Risen Lord." I have read this essay aloud every Easter since I first discovered it in 1980. If there is any life left in Christianity, it is of the Lawrentian kind. If there is any paganism worth embracing, it is of the Joycian kind:
"Amen. So be it. Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."
