To the extent that a woman is doing with her life what any man can do, then, by all means, all hail the winsome Miss Spinster. But to the extent that she is not doing what only she as a woman can do – birthing and nurturing her own offspring – she is robbing herself of what she wants most from her life in order to live up to the feminist fantasy of the woman who has it all. All, that is, except a husband, a family, a home, grandchildren – and memories she can smile at instead of always having to wince, shudder and then turn away from her own past choices.Photo by: sabianmaggy
The Ruling Class – the academic/scientific/governmental monopoly on ‘debate’ dominated by Cautious apple-polishers effecting the real-life Revenge of the Nerds right under your nose – is at war with the ideas and conditions that make the uniquely-human life possible.
Your would-be rulers love you best as an adult-baby, and so they encourage you to put your juvenile appetites above every other objective in your hierarchy of values. Nowhere is this more consequential than in the war on family, a war fought on both ‘sides’ of every discussion.
Men without families are bums of varying degrees of degeneracy – which can be palliated but not cured by more and more academic/scientific/governmental rent-seeking. Women without families are functionally-redundant, except in their utility for displacing males who might otherwise have become family men. Unmarried mothers are the rent-seeking monopoly’s second-favorite prey, eclipsed only by their children, who are either born into Ruling Class dependency or are recruited into it later by way of family court.
The very last thing the Cautious tyranny wants are people who provide for themselves and solve their own problems. Hence, the academic/scientific/governmental ‘debate’ is about nothing but undermining the family in every imaginable way.
The ‘news’ of late is about egg-freezing, hustling not-so-young women into putting off child-birth even longer than they already have, thus to make sure that even fewer women have children, and that those who do have children will be too old – and too loosely committed – to do the job properly.
I talk about all of this in Father’s Day – both the Ruling Class conspiracy to dominate you by gulling you into living your life as an adult-baby and what you should do instead to reap the most and the best of your one, unique, irreplaceable human life:
I like to tell people I am hauling marriage back from the abyss. I’m a poet, as you will have noted, and I like to express myself dramatically – if for no better reason than that I am a man at war with my own boredom. But I am at war, too, with the craven, mealy-mouth, jargonistic language academics and feminists use to rust and corrode and chip away at the institutions that made the West great. They speak and write the way they do in order to bore you to sleep, this so they can screw things up even more while you think they’re just wasting time.
Western men are hoplite Greeks, little do we know it. We are citizen-soldiers, sometimes, when we must be, defenders of our own lands and freedoms. But we are citizen-farmers first and always, each one of us the husband of his own wealth, and citizen-husbands and citizen-fathers in due course. The Greeks conquered the world in phalanx formation, but what made the Hellenic ideal triumphant – for virtually all of humanity, in every place on this planet from which you can place a land-line phone call or log onto the internet – was the objective each one of those citizen-soldiers was fighting for: His own freehold of land and his own family living there.
Men without their own property are brigands or bums. Men without families produce no more wealth than they need to survive. Men with nothing to come home to will fight and die – oh, yes! – but not for any cause of yours that is not also theirs. To ask a man to fight for you when your plan is to take from him everything he has or ever will have – this is a request unlikely to meet with his favor. You can try to conscript him, if you like, remembering that belligerence is not leadership. But a man without a home cannot ever be a deserter to it, and an oppressor cannot ever turn his back on the oppressed.
All of this is ass-backwards. It’s meant to be. Self-responsible fathers are the only reliable progenitors of self-responsible children. Many single moms do the best they can – my own mother among them, I should note – but this is rarely good enough. They do a poor job of raising daughters who can relate appropriately to men – which is how Mister Divorced and young Mister Freebird end up preying on women who are the functional-equivalent of their own sisters and daughters – and, except with progressively-less-effective belligerence, they can’t raise their sons at all.
If you are rebelling against this argument because you believe your rhetoric should trump nature, as always you also have the problem of ubiquity to address: The children of the Divorceds do far worse, on average and long-term, than do the children of the Marrieds. And the children of the Miss Never-Married do worst of all. The purpose of academic, feminist and family-law theory is to destroy the family, to eliminate the possibility that any children might grow up to be self-responsible adults – and, man, is it working!
What’s the best tactic of all in this war on children? Convincing you not to have them at all. At the bottom of the economic ladder, where virtually everyone is already a life-long client of the state, public policy is all about babies and abortions – exterminating children if possible, enlisting them as new life-long clients of the state if not. But for richer kids, academics and feminists have a different plan: “Don’t rush into things. Get an education. See the world. Have some fun – especially the meat-mannequin kind. Get your career in gear – and that goes double for you women. You can have kids anytime, but you’re only young once!”
The very last part is right. Everything else is devised to get you to make the worst of your life, instead of the best, but it is undeniable that you are only young once. If you are a woman, you are primed to make babies at age eighteen, and you are playing the back-nine of your reproductive course by age twenty-eight – which is when many modern young women finally get around to maundering and fretting, at least, about having children. She might not actually get the hardware started for another ten years – and only then because she’s desperate. And if she misses that window – hugely likely – she will never birth a child.
She may get an education. She may see the world. She may have a great career. But she will never be a mother. Instead, she will be yet another over-involved aunt buying the most expensive and most boring educational toys for her sister’s kids, thus to lead her nieces to replicate her busy, barren life-style and to guide her nephews to the awareness of their own irrelevance to the feminist world-view: Every relationship is fungible, temporary, broken before it is even built, and a woman needs a man like a turkey needs a baster.
That would be awful even if it were true, but, of course, it almost never is. The frenzied obsession of your mammal brain is to breed. Your snake brain longs to reproduce, but your mammal brain burns to breed. You may just want to mate, Mister Man. That’s what her mama always said about you. But her mammal brain wants the storgic love of motherhood in a way that no man can ever fully understand – even taking account that the entire class of organisms to which we belong is organized around the fact of lactation. When she takes that bad academic, feminist advice – when she delays, defers and ultimately deprives herself of childbirth – she loses a part of her life that nothing in the world of carefree glamour she imagines for herself can ever replace.
A man is most fully a man when he is a father, but it is appropriate to say that a woman is not a woman – a thing distinct from a short, weak, redundant man – until she is a mother, if not of her own child then of some other woman’s. To the extent that she is doing with her life what any man can do, then, by all means, all hail the winsome Miss Spinster. But to the extent that she is not doing what only she as a woman can do – birthing and nurturing her own offspring – she is robbing herself of what she wants most from her life in order to live up to the feminist fantasy of the woman who has it all. All, that is, except a husband, a family, a home, grandchildren – and memories she can smile at instead of always having to wince, shudder and then turn away from her own past choices.Father’s DayMore Married. More Husband. More Father. More Man.Available at Amazon.com
Why should you have children? As a matter of biology, that’s a funny question. Why should an organism reproduce? No organism but us can even conceive of the question, but even more amazingly, no organism but us has ever gotten it wrong! An organism should reproduce, to the extent that any part of a natural process should be called a ‘shoulding,’ in order to make its own world better by the increase. Mammals love to love, and they can’t ever love enough, so they’re always making new mammals to love. The thinking brain frees us from the bondage of mammalian instinct, but the snake brain always wants to mate and the mammal brain always wants to breed.
The reason you should have children when you are young, if you know you want them, is so that you will not later regret not having done it. Raising children is hard work, which is why you should do it when you’re young, but almost no one regrets it in the end – not even the Divorceds or the Never-Marrieds. Young people robbed of their fathers have to work that much harder to father themselves, but they get the job done in the end, and parents almost always find a way to be proud of their children – even if that regard is not always reciprocal.
You had children, or you will have them, for the same reason you got married: You’re making a blind bet that your life will be better for taking the risk. You were more right than you knew about both wagers: They will both pay-off with uncountable emotional riches if you back up your bets with your commitment.
