Generally speaking, ‘all things in moderation’ works fantastically well as a sociopolitical concept. As the late, great philosopher Obi-Wan ‘Old Ben’ Kenobi said to his wayward and recently genocidal pupil, ‘only a Sith deals in absolutes.’ Prior the 2020 US elections, I engaged in what became a relatively heated conversation with a candidate for Congress in our district. Our old apartment sat a block from the county courthouse and other government buildings which made the area a natural staging point for various acts of protest (or as the case may be just general grandstanding). I really, really want to sidebar into what he was there ‘supporting,’ but the actual topic has nothing to do with this post and will do naught save raise my blood pressure. So I’ll avoid it and we can pretend I’m growing as a person.
The ‘conversation’ (and I use this term loosely) went sideways onto a raft of other topics but at some point his retort to a comment was ‘but that’s socialist.’ And we just couldn’t get past it. The US employs a hodgepodge of policies. We take a relatively capitalist approach with comparatively few nationalized or state-owned industries. We also tax to provide for social safety programs, build public roads, protect parkland, regulate emissions and pollution, and review food and drug safety. For some areas we’re protectionist and others we take a globalist, open approach. Reasonable conversation can and should be had about the push-pull for different topics. Let’s have a debate about the markup for medical services and products and the percent of our GDP that goes toward healthcare weighed against the profit-incentive driving medical innovation. FINE. I’m okay with that. I have my thoughts on it, certainly. But the conversation makes sense to me. What fails to make sense is when we declare one path is non viable as it leads to utter ruin.
I’ve mentioned a series of logical fallacies so far on this blog. Understanding fallacies (and the language common to them) provides a wonderful framework for examining our own thoughts and gives us tools to have meaningful conversations. The scenario above, to my best guess, relies on two separate fallacies. The first, and what I’d assume is the among the best-known fallacies: slippery slope. Slippery slope arguments share three common tenets: 1) the initial action is in and of itself reasonable or generally unobjectionable 2) there is a theoretical ultimate outcome which is objectively unreasonable 3) the intermittent steps between 1 and 2 will naturally follow. “If we enforce [seatbelt/vaccine/gun control/water quality] regulations the next thing they’ll regulate will be your [religion/grandma/beloved family pet] and soon enough we’ll be ruled by [robots/Stalin/Hitler/Mao/Bernie Sanders].”
Inherent to all these arguments is the underlying assumption there exists no braking mechanism to prevent the dystopian outcome. In other words, let’s not take steps one and two (even if they lead to good outcomes) because nothing will prevent us from arriving at step 43. There is much mumbling and hand waving when pressed how exactly that happens. “Okay, sure, we don’t want people losing everything they have and going into crippling debt for sake of healthcare, but what’s next? Should we remove all incentive-based programs and private property? Besides, haven’t you ever heard of Stalin? And do you see what’s happening in Venezuela?”
The second fallacy (and why we’re gathered here today) is the false dilemma in which a person is forced to choose between two nominally contradictory choices. Are you for us or against us? Are you a good, American capitalist or do you think no one should own property? Are you an original trilogy or a prequels fan? Is Ewan McGregor’s attractiveness due to his facial hair or his accent? (Author’s note, I’m not sure the last one is technically a false dilemma, but can’t pass it up. Because of Obi-Wan). Casters of these false dilemmas try and stage it so you’re forced to choose (and of course make one point sound superior to the other). Which brings me back to the presumably Sith (I don’t want to call him a Lord, probably a Baron at best) with whom I argued on some random Saturday morning when I really just wanted to grab a sandwich and a beer.
His initial aversion to policies which I assume someone on a talk show told him were socialist were due to slippery slope fallacies. But, to me at least, his larger crime was believing we could ONLY choose absolutely capitalist or absolutely socialist policies. Stories are rife with characters facing downfalls or crises of their own creation due to a rigid adherence to absolutism. Let’s run through a few of those (in a couple categories) in the hopes I can have them handy next time my wife has to exasperatedly watch me argue with people on our way to get lunch.
The Law is the Law
I’ve brought up Dungeons & Dragons in previous posts, mostly using the 9×9 character alignment chart (lawful/neutral/chaotic and good/neutral/evil) as a way to classify characters from stories. Alignment is just one of three main elements going into character creation however; the others are race (dwarf, elf, human, bugbear, tiefling, etc.) and class. There are a variety of classes (sorcerers, rogues, fighters, barbarians, clerics, etc.) but the one I’ll use as a framework today are paladins. I’ll loosely define a paladin as a warrior with a very strict moral code (and a code usually defined by an outside source). Paladins can be the stereotypical ‘white knights’ fighting for good, justice, and all that is pre-shrunk and cottony, but also holy knights or defenders of the crown. In these latter scenarios, the paladin fights for that same ‘good’ and ‘right’ EXCEPT it’s a good and right as defined solely by that particular power or belief system. Which brings me to examples of paladins in stories or literature whose absolute adherence to the laws of gods or men brings themselves and others to destruction.
The first and easiest example: Javert from Les Misérables. Javert is the embodiment of legalism; staunchly without vice and convinced of the infallibility of the law. His multi-decade pursuit of Valjean, an escaped parolee, is never a choice; it’s mandated by his worldview. We don’t have to search for evidence of his absolutism; he outright declares ‘it is either Valjean or Javert.’ When faced with incontrovertible proof of Valjean’s goodness, Javert (incapable of bending) breaks. His downfall, once more eschewing metaphor, is literal and he casts himself into the Seine. Melisandre, the Red Priestess from A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones spoilers to the end of this paragraph) is convinced all her actions (including such seeming atrocities as the sacrifice of children) are in service to the ultimately righteous goal of empowering the earthly avatar of her god. In talking to Davos Seaworth, nicknamed the Onion Knight, she declares “if half an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good or he is evil.” Her absolutism, fueled by ‘good’ intentions and never for personal gain, ultimately lead to the downfall of her king and her exile.
Stories are rife with similar zealots unable to see shades of grey. The Children of the Light, the infamous Whitecloaks from The Wheel of Time view all magicians as servants of evil. Rorschach from The Watchmen (upon whose mask the black and white ink never mix) is incapable of shades of grey. In the videogame Ghost of Tsushima set during a Mongol invasion of the Japanese island Tsushima in the late 1200s, the protagonist Jin Sakai realizes the traditional samurai codes on which his was raised will be insufficient for victory and begins embracing guerilla tactics. These choices place him in conflict with his uncle, Lord Shimura, an absolutist who would rather see his island fall than change his moral code.
The Reign of Terror
I’ll label the other category of destructive absolutism by borrowing the section heading from French history. Also, my French history is terrible. So forgive me for whatever I butchered. But in general, we have situations where we the reader view a revolution as just, but the righteous party takes the stance that vanquished oppressors (and, more important to this concept, all those associated with them) must be destroyed. I’m going to distinguish here between those who use retribution for Machiavellian self promotion (as undoubtedly happened during the French Reign of Terror) and focus instead on those who do so even without self interest.
In Pierce Brown’s Red Rising trilogy humans have differentiated into separate subspecies through genetic and physical manipulation. A group of revolutionaries/terrorists/freedom fighters (depending on your perspective) called the Sons of Ares fights to overthrow the undoubtedly tyrannical rule of one such subspecies, the Golds. Divides within the Sons on both the methods and outcomes of the rebellion drive a large portion of the plot in the series, and the actions of the group’s leader (under the nom de guerre Ares) as his movement’s adherents hold kangaroo courts for Gold leadership represent my favorite moment of the trilogy.
In Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive (and even glossing over the semi-mythical Herald who is the literal embodiment of absolutism) the character Moash breaks from his friends and bridgemates over differences in how to treat the perpetrators of past wrongs. In Marvel’s Black Panther we acknowledge the righteousness of Killmonger’s anger but believe his methods would lead to calamity. In all of these cases- one side’s view is not clearly superior to the other. The right choice isn’t to choose between them, but to find the right balance. Black Panther ends with T’Challa trying to do just that; establishing an outreach center at the very spot that first sent Killmonger down his path and revealing his nation to the world.
Thoughts on any of this? Let me know in the comments. And remember, next time someone tries to force you into a false choice, channel your inner Anakin and let them know “This is outrageous! It’s unfair.”
Twenty-five Hundred Stories 