Authoritativeness is not Authoritarianism
Wolff has been in Atlantis for nigh-on forty years. It always puzzles him why people think of Atlantis as if it were mainland Eurasia, that hotbed of scurvy Staleninomarxism, uptight Natsocifascitis, and other natural ills of political man. He looks at Atlantis as the natural heir of Rome (without the legions), Byzantium (without the richness), and Venice (without the charm). It is no Londinium, nor is it Novo Eboracum, but what it is is a drastically small island, about one and a half times the size of Andorra but a lot less beautiful.
Atlantis is an authoritative state. It speaks firmly. It believes in firm principles. It just hasn't had a couple of centuries (or more) to work out how its conflicting principles should interact, unlike some much larger confederacies and conspiracies. It is therefore disparaged for not being libertarian (a philosophy, which Wolff claims, requires less than 200 people per square kilometre in order to really work).
Wolff is quite amazed, actually, that Atlantis works at all. It has the dark brothers of Sind and the brown brothers of Cathay and the pale brothers of Hyborea and perfidious Albion all in one place. It has gallant knights of the Wyvern, studious monks of the Torch, and pasty scholars of the Gryphon. It has great food, although people will tell you that there are other places with far better (which is always true, no matter where you live), and awful rats. It floods about once or twice a year on average (legends say once in fifty years, but obviously they are wrong).
But he is happy that he doesn't have to execute purveyors of the poppy or occultists of the opiates himself — the state will do it for him. He is happy he doesn't have to draw arms against rapists and gangsters, villains (not villeins, that's different) and vigilantes. He can live in relative peace because the state acts with authority.
Yes, it sometimes exceeds its authority. He notes that the people are ill-represented, but he also realises that the better the representation, the more taxes you pay for that honour. He notes that the high priests receive a large tithe. He is happy that they do not take more and pretend that they aren't. He feels that he is comfortable, and that most people here are not because their ancestors were driven by the urge to be better off than their fellow men.
He is somewhere in the middle. He chats with his friends; some serve the State and are not villains, a rare combination in some other places. He drinks kava with them; the kava comes in many varieties. He eats of the fried oyster omelette, and of the rice-sheets in dark sauce, and of the porridge of the sea. He is happy.
He suspects that moving the population to somewhere like Novosibirsk or Pyongyang might be a healthily educational experience. But he knows better than to bother. Atlanteans will learn in time that there have been other islands in other times, not all of them physically so. It is better, he feels to understand the basis of authority and try to steer it gently along the rightful path, than to think that it is all evil.
It is odd, he feels, that the rationalists and scientists want to make the world ordered and tidy, but not their own society. He suspects hypocrisy. But he is willing to live and let live.
Atlantis is an authoritative state. It speaks firmly. It believes in firm principles. It just hasn't had a couple of centuries (or more) to work out how its conflicting principles should interact, unlike some much larger confederacies and conspiracies. It is therefore disparaged for not being libertarian (a philosophy, which Wolff claims, requires less than 200 people per square kilometre in order to really work).
Wolff is quite amazed, actually, that Atlantis works at all. It has the dark brothers of Sind and the brown brothers of Cathay and the pale brothers of Hyborea and perfidious Albion all in one place. It has gallant knights of the Wyvern, studious monks of the Torch, and pasty scholars of the Gryphon. It has great food, although people will tell you that there are other places with far better (which is always true, no matter where you live), and awful rats. It floods about once or twice a year on average (legends say once in fifty years, but obviously they are wrong).
But he is happy that he doesn't have to execute purveyors of the poppy or occultists of the opiates himself — the state will do it for him. He is happy he doesn't have to draw arms against rapists and gangsters, villains (not villeins, that's different) and vigilantes. He can live in relative peace because the state acts with authority.
Yes, it sometimes exceeds its authority. He notes that the people are ill-represented, but he also realises that the better the representation, the more taxes you pay for that honour. He notes that the high priests receive a large tithe. He is happy that they do not take more and pretend that they aren't. He feels that he is comfortable, and that most people here are not because their ancestors were driven by the urge to be better off than their fellow men.
He is somewhere in the middle. He chats with his friends; some serve the State and are not villains, a rare combination in some other places. He drinks kava with them; the kava comes in many varieties. He eats of the fried oyster omelette, and of the rice-sheets in dark sauce, and of the porridge of the sea. He is happy.
He suspects that moving the population to somewhere like Novosibirsk or Pyongyang might be a healthily educational experience. But he knows better than to bother. Atlanteans will learn in time that there have been other islands in other times, not all of them physically so. It is better, he feels to understand the basis of authority and try to steer it gently along the rightful path, than to think that it is all evil.
It is odd, he feels, that the rationalists and scientists want to make the world ordered and tidy, but not their own society. He suspects hypocrisy. But he is willing to live and let live.
etched with acid at 1:15:00 pm
1 Comments:
The price of better representation need not be counted in thalers; often, the systems exacts its pound of flesh in some other form. I for one, can do without the near-endless debates and parliamentary drama.
Then again, I am a villein of the state : )
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