Taking on Ayn Rand and Objectivism on abortion: A moral atrocity cannot somehow be a political sacrament.

From September of 2012, this is me at Richard Nikoley’s FreeTheAnimal.com talking about abortion in the context of nominally egoistic moral philosophies.

Quoting a comment from Richard:

Greg Swann has the best and only valid argument counter abortion: you have to live with yourself. Can you? Are you going to celebrate that act? Are you going to adore yourself over it?

I was half-disappointed that the big-O Objectivists at the 21 Convention did not attend to me. My assumption is that they simply had no idea who I am, although it’s plausible that Diana Hsieh or someone has spread the word about me. But I was only half-disappointed because, as we both know from days of yore, some big-O Objectivists can get ugly when they’re cornered. This is not a criticism of the specific individuals there. Eric Daniels seemed like a sweet guy, and Yaron Brook was quite a bit less of a True Believer than I was expecting. Even so, I was happy to do my stuff unmolested.

But my argument about abortion is something the big-O Objectivists need to address:

Politically, as a matter of human liberty, other people’s families — or pets or property — are none of my damn business. But having an abortion, performing one, encouraging one or paying for it are all morally-reprehensible acts. They cannot advance or enhance your own self-adoration, and, necessarily, they must retard and diminish your self-love, in the immediate moment and enduringly thereafter. It is not even necessary to look for real-life evidence of this argument, but, of course, that evidence abounds.

Do you want to dispute this? If one abortion enhances your self-love a little, will six abortions cause you to love your self a whole lot more? How about strangling kittens? Whether you like it or not, seeing your self committing atrocities is abhorrent to your mind, and no amount of rationalizing self-destructive behavior will turn vices into virtues.

You could argue that abortion or exposure can be exigently necessary — as, for instance, in extreme emergencies or when your family is already starving to death. But even then, the action cannot make you love (more…)

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Abortion and self-adoration: Do what you want, but don’t claim you can escape the consequences. You can’t.

Whether you like it or not, seeing your self committing atrocities is abhorrent to your mind, and no amount of rationalizing self-destructive behavior will turn vices into virtues.

Whether you like it or not, seeing your self committing atrocities is abhorrent to your mind, and no amount of rationalizing self-destructive behavior will turn vices into virtues.

Rethinking your stand on abortion today? That seems wise to me. This is me in April of 2012 demonstrating why being involved in an abortion is necessarily self-destructive. –GSS

I have written a ton of polemical essays in my life, but I’ve never written an argument about abortion. Given the method for evaluating values in Chapter 7 of Man Alive, it’s not very difficult to work out.

That’s funny, isn’t it? The most contentious political issue in modern-day America, and I can address it in a way that seems to me to be incontestable in just a few lines. That’s the power of working from the right map of the universe.

Politically, as a matter of human liberty, other people’s families — or pets or property — are none of my damn business. But having an abortion, performing one, encouraging one or paying for it are all morally-reprehensible acts. They cannot advance or enhance your own self-adoration, and, necessarily, they must retard and diminish your self-love, in the immediate moment and enduringly thereafter. It is not even necessary to look for real-life evidence of this argument, but, of course, that evidence abounds.

Do you want to dispute this? If one abortion enhances your self-love a little, will six abortions cause you to love your self a whole lot more? How about strangling kittens? Whether you like it or not, seeing your self committing atrocities is abhorrent to your mind, and no amount of rationalizing self-destructive behavior will turn vices into virtues.

You could argue that abortion or exposure can be exigently necessary — as, for instance, in extreme emergencies or when your family is already starving to death. But even then, the action cannot make you love your self more and must make you love your self less. Again, existentially, in real life, there are no counter-examples. Too much the contrary.

Obviously, I am arguing from my own ethical system, but since that system is based in (more…)

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Do you want to #StopGunViolence? Do #TaxpayerLivesMatter? Then #DisarmTheFeds!

Who can’t be trusted with a firearm? The man who bears no consequences for his errors. In America, the people most immune from prosecution for gun crimes are federal law enforcement officials.

Who can’t be trusted with a firearm? The man who bears no consequences for his errors. In America, the people most immune from prosecution for gun crimes are federal law enforcement officials.

It’s absurd to try to hold Marxists accountable to their claims. They’re out for power, not justice or mercy or fairness. But you can have a little fun with them by hitting them with the arguments in this week’s Church of Splendor homily: “Gun control for free men: Disarm the Feds!”

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Three blasts from my past: Love, sex and making your marriage last forever.

Father's DayMore Married. More Husband. More Father. More Man.Available at Amazon.com

Father’s Day
More Married. More Husband. More Father. More Man.

Available at Amazon.com

I made a series of videos in 2014 for The 21 Convention on love, sex, marriage and family. Anthony Johnson dissolved our affiliation after I spoke at his event last fall in Tampa, in the process blocking access to the videos I had produced for him. I had most of these, all but the earliest few. Anthony restored the last of those few to me this week, and I could not be more delighted.

The videos I got back this week are the first three I made, in January and February of last year, and the three together are a nice clinic on my ideas about marriage, including early forms of many of the arguments than made it in to Father’s Day.

Here are the three videos in chronological order:

1. How to make love like it’s New Year’s Eve every day.

2. The Runaway Minivan: Families fail when fathers won’t lead.

3. Do you want to end the day married? Start the day married!

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The Independence of Opposites: If all you can see are reasons for despair – turn around.

There is no mere sexual activity that can compare with the storgic, romantic love-making of committed, monogamous, heterosexual matrimony – an obvious fact almost no one upholds.

Photo by: Florida Memory

There are two kinds of people in the world. The other kind is not me.

I love that joke, but only because it is so riotously true – of everyone. We are each one of us in an empathy of opposites with everyone else, and the hardest job for any of us is to acknowledge that simple fact.

I have things better than anyone else, I think, because I am apparently 180° opposed to everyone. Almost no one sees the world my way, nor I theirs. That might make me wrong. It might make me crazy. Or it might mean you’re getting a whole lot wrong. Guess which way I’m betting?

Here’s the good news: If you are ass-backwards about everything, this is an easy malady to mend. All you have to do is turn around…

And so to Church:

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All you need is love? No, but everything you need, including your freedom, emerges from your love.

Independence Day is the father’s day that should matter most to Americans. This is the day we celebrate the love of liberty that began with the love of a man for his woman and with their love for the family they made together.By: flattop341

I never want to say I’m done.

I finish things; I like to finish things. But every day is another chance for a new epiphany for me, a brand new scales-falling-from-my-eyes moment when I see the world as I have never seen it before.

Because I write, I get to watch myself over time, watch as new ideas spin up in the threads of my thoughts, watch as they weave their way into the tapestry of the whole. But I never want that image, that map of the universe reflected from my mind – I never want for that tapestry to be completed. I never want to say: There is nothing left for me to discover.

I’m safe from that fate today – Independence Day, July 4th, 2014, my wedding anniversary – because I have a brand new way of seeing all of Western Civilization.

The source of the liberty you celebrate today is what?

The right to speak freely?

The right to your own armaments?

The right to own the land you live on?

These are the Hoplite rights, the rights that every American owns in common with the Hoplite Greeks, the citizen-soldiers who won their freedom from tyranny by fighting – wisely but also very well – in their own behalf. We are what they are, and America’s freedom began not in 1776 but more than 3,000 years ago, in the Hellas.

And the rights I’ve listed above are actually in inverse order of precedence:

You can speak freely because you can back up your words with menace, if necessary, when you are menaced for having spoken.

And you can obtain and maintain your arms because you have a defensible redoubt in which to contain your arsenal and armory – your home, your freehold.

But the question that everyone should ask and no one does is this:

Why is there a freehold? Why is it (more…)

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“Jihad, Las Vegas!”

New York New York in Las Vegas
“Vegas eats everything. It devours everything it sees, and its end-product is just more Vegas. Was there a desert here? Vegas ate it. A river? Vegas ate that, too. Cowboys, miners, missionary Mormons in their Sunday best? Vegas ate them all. The Mob? The Feds? Wall Street? Las Vegas ate them one-by-one. Paris? Vegas ate it. New York? That, too. Disneyland’s at Treasure Island and Hollywood is everywhere. Not the real things, the Vegas-real things, charming post-modern parodies scaled down to the size of a good time, so you forget how much money you’re leaving behind. Vegas eats everything. A year from now these gentlemen will be dressed up as Elvis, singing ‘Jihad, Las Vegas.’ Their on-stage bomb will explode and blow their sequined jumpsuits away, and they’ll be grinding in G-strings for screaming hausfraus from Milwaukee.”

Werner Kunz / Money Photos / CC BY-NC-SA

A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story

Las Vegas, Nevada – June 27, 2002

“C’mon, Sahib,” the Cabdriver said. “Let’s get rollin’.”

Sahib said, “Again I must remind you that my name is not Sahib. And also I must ask you again to wait. Even now I am about to win the jackpot.”

Sahib was sitting at a penny slot machine in the casino of the Stratosphere, in fun-filled-Las-Vegas-Nevada. Max coins, no less, a real player.

“Jeesh!” said the Cabdriver. “Your jackpot’s a hundred freakin’ bucks!”

“No, you are very much mistaken. The colossal-grand-jackpot on this machine is ten thousand American coins.”

“It’s a freakin’ penny slot! Ten thousand pennies is a hundred bucks!”

“Even so, I have every confidence that I must certainly hit the jackpot. By now I have eliminated nearly every other possibility.”

“No memory.” I said that. I was at the bank of machines behind theirs, playing video poker.

Sahib said, “I regret that I must ask you to repeat yourself.”

“No memory. ‘The wheel has no memory.’ Blaise Pascal. Inventor of roulette. Also of probability theory. There’s a random number generator inside your machine. Sixty times a second it spits out a new random number. Doesn’t remember the last one. Doesn’t care about the next one. When you hit the max coins button, you get the (more…)

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How do you contend with a world gone mad? Keep your own counsel and look out for your own.

If you don’t look out for your own, it will be swept away in the maelstrom.

Photo by: DVIDSHUB

With a glance back to The Desperation Waltz, we take on the aftermath of the Charleston shooting and sundry other cargo-cult rain dances, illustrating why you are wise to focus on those values nearest and dearest to your self.

I love the human mind, but there is a certain dismaying irony to telling living organisms that being alive and loving it are not just appropriate but completely normal and natural.

How screwed up is your thinking? When I say that my best advice to any organism is “look out for your own” – you want to argue with me.

Keep your own counsel – oh, yes, do. But the survivors of these messes will have lived my way. If you don’t look out for your own, it will be swept away in the maelstrom.

How’s that for church?

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New York Times: ‘You have shit for brains, so shut up and do as you’re told.’

The editorial board of The New York Times.Photo by: Leonardo Aguiar

The editorial board of The New York Times.

Photo by: Leonardo Aguiar

“Can the bacteria in your gut explain your mood?” It’s dancing microbes all the way down in Times Square, which is why you need the intestinal fortitude Man Alive provides:

As a sort of pocket-reference to the kinds of bogus arguments made about your mind – claims you will see everywhere if you look for them – take note of these three general categories:

1. “We now know we know nothing!” Either your mind is inherently unreliable or the world outside your mind is fundamentally incomprehensible.

2. “Your good behavior is not to your credit, but at least your bad behavior is not your fault!” The actions you think of as being morally good or evil are either causally unavoidable or are caused by something other than your free will – hormones, brain chemistry, genes, brain defects, drugs, diseases, your upbringing, your environment, your wealth or poverty, memes, etc.

3. “Dancing bears are just like us!” Either animals such as apes or dolphins (or even “artificially intelligent” computer programs) are just as smart as you, or you are just as flailingly ignorant as an animal.

Note that all three of these categories are self-consuming: To uphold them, necessarily, is to deny them. If we know we know nothing, then we must know at least that one something – begging the question of how we can know even that little bit of nonsense. If the human will is not free, I cannot will myself to persuade you of this claim – nor even simply to make it – and you cannot will yourself either to accept or reject it. And if your mind works “just like” an animal’s brain, then you cannot discover anything at all about how your mind works, nor record or communicate your findings. Do you doubt me? If so, please have your pet or your software project write a peer-reviewed paper denouncing my egregious intellectual arrogance. No one believes this hogwash. They just want for you to believe it – or at least not dare to challenge it.

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For Father’s Day, a photo celebration of fathers getting the job done.

Here’s to the man with a plan.Photo by Tambako the Jaguar.

Here’s to the man with a plan.

Photo by Tambako the Jaguar.

Satire is maledy in my formulation: Regardless of the jokes, the action of the story will move from better to worse. To make this fly with audiences, satirists will affect to inject a creamy filling into the bitter pill, but the objective of the work is not to illuminate pain’s relief but, instead, to make the agony even more excruciating.

Another way of saying the same thing: Satire is a public Loki joke. A joke has a seller and a buyer, a comic and his audience. But a Loki joke comes with a third party, the target. The buyer will laugh, but the target will not, and the target’s pain makes the joke that much funnier to the buyer. In private, a Loki joke can be affectionate, play-fighting in the form of teasing. In public, a Loki joke is almost always aggressive. Satire is always aggressive, and the risk of retaliation to the satirist becomes part of the joke, too.

I punished you with brutal satire this week, and I haven’t punished you nearly enough with the guitar lately, so for my Father’s Day Church of Splendor service, I elected to do something different: A Father’s Day card.

Here’s to the man with a plan:

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Who benefits from the #RachelDolezal and #CaitlynJenner feeding frenzies? And how could this get any funnier?

“Sister, please...”

“Sister, please…”


#RachelDolezal and #CaitlynJenner are softening up black voters to accept #MichelleObama as America’s first tranny #POTUS. Is that true? Who knows? But it sure is funny…

Sunday at The Church of Splendor:

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Asking the hard questions: Wishful thoughtlessness, #FeminismPatrified and what to do about the poor.

Killing a man slowly is no kindness.

Photo by: SPT Photographe (seanthibert.com)

Killing a man slowly is no kindness.

After mocking the left for their creepy embrace of the man formerly known as relatively dignified, I take up the black bug of libertarianism: What to do about the poor?

I think the post-Randian dodge – private charity – is beyond stupid, but even then it is not so stupid as the political proscriptions of the risible Dark Enlightenment.

Here’s the hard truth: What happens after the Federal Reserve Bank bounces its last check may turn out to be very libertarian. As we discuss in the video, I expect it to be very Hoplite in its politics, for the same reasons the Hoplites were Hoplites. But as for what happens to the vast hordes of tax-payer dependents – the news is not good.

Cited in the video: The essay Meet the Third Thing and my anarchism FAQ.

This week’s Church of Splendor homily is an extension of that FAQ, the answer to what is seemingly the most difficult question libertarians face – and the one they are most disingenuous in answering.

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“Bombing sensation! Five dead! Film at seven!”

“Bombing sensation! Five dead! Film at seven!”

A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story

March 16, 1986

“Left, left, left – all right, hold it!” The slim man with the clipboard made a notation. He looked with satisfaction at the video monitor before him.

I was watching a small-town video crew making films of a sewer grating. I didn’t know why they were photographing a sewer. I was just taking a walk and stopped to watch. Mr. Clipboard was supervising two youngsters who looked like recruits from the high school AV lab, one working the camera, one on the videotape recorder.

“All right,” Clipboard ordered. “Shoot it!”

Just then a van pulled up beside their blue station wagon. It was a real TV truck, the roving eye of a probing video magazine. A dapper young man with a thatch of sandy hair and an authoritative moustache jumped out of the truck. He stood before the local crew like a teacher confronting a naughty child. He cocked a sandy eyebrow in a probing wink. “We saw you from the road. What’s the story?”

“Story?!?” demanded a gruff voice from inside the truck. ”What story!?! Who said there’s a story? Who says there has to be a story every time dog meets tree!?”

“Oh, come on!” said Sandy Eyebrows. “This is a TV crew isn’t it? Where there’s a TV crew there’s a story. You trust me about this. I have an instinct about these things.”

“Look, kid,” the Gruff Voice replied, “I understand, I really do. You’re young, ambitious, enthusiastic… You want to make a name for yourself by doing more than anybody’s paying for. But take it from a man who’s been in the business a long time: You do the stories the assignment editor hands out, you get on TV. You do the story you find on your own, you get on the shelf. Besides, there’s no story here. We’re just wasting time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sandy inquired, his voice mixed with amusement and awe. He pointed up the street. “What’s that?!” Another video truck was approaching, this one from the news staff of a distant city. “If there’s no story, what are (more…)

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Pre-figuring Caitlyn by thirty years: ‘How She Became a White Male.’

“On the form it does not say ‘supply a skin sample taken from your sex organs’. It says ‘check the box’. I checked the box, and now I’m a white male. It’s so easy to be what you want in America!”Photo by: Delaney Turner

A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story

June 6, 1985

Something about him just didn’t seem right…

How many numbers can your mind add up at once? For instance, his chest was just too deep for his height and weight. And his knuckles were hairless. And his fingers tapered too much. And the only hair on his face was a pair of tufts beside his ears.

We were trapped under an awning, exiled by one of those thundershowers that poets always leave out of their rhapsodies of Spring and weathermen always say are headed for Connecticut. The well-dressed young ‘man’ beside me looked like one of the black businessmen you sometimes see in Wall Street.

Except that ‘he’ was a she.

I said: “You’re a woman.”

“No,” she replied matter of factly. “I’m a man.” Her voice was deep, almost gruff.

I shook my head. “Nice try. You could fool nine out of ten. But it’s just not right.” I told her about the knuckles, the fingers, the beard. I don’t like to talk about breasts, so I gestured, saying, “And some things you just can’t hide.”

“You’re wrong. I’m male.”

I tapped my toe three times. I looked at my watch. I craned my neck out to see if the storm was letting up. It wasn’t. I said: “Listen, if you want to pretend to be a male, I won’t quarrel with you. Would you rather talk about something else?”

“But I am a male!”

“Lady, saying so doesn’t make it so. You’re female. Probably a very good looking young black female, if you’d let your hair down and put away that three-piece suit.”

“I am not a black female. I am a white male.”

When in doubt, say nothing…

“Look,” she said, “you can talk to me. It’s an unwritten rule that we white males can mutter to each other about things we’d never say out loud.”

I pulled a (more…)

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How the nigger in the woodpile became the elephant in the room.

“I am The Lorax. Who the hell are you?”

“I am The Lorax. Who the hell are you?”

Forget that antique wuss Mohammed, the unmentionable bête noire in American politics is race. We’re so eager to prove we’re not racists, we infantilize everyone by refusing to call the Boojum under the bed by its true name.

Oh, yes, it’s The Church of Splendor, and you ain’t never been to a church like this.

Links:

And so to church:

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