March 29, 2024
"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin', don't mean nothin', honey, if it ain't free, no no
Yeah, feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
You know feelin' good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee."
- Kris Kristofferson, Me and Bobby McGee
I have experienced complete freedom twice in my life. Ironically, one experience involved profound lack of authority, and the other unlimited submission to it.
The first experience was at the tender ago of 18, when I set out to backpack around the world. Every possession I had was contained in a 70-pound pack - my house, my clothes, my tools, my finances. For most of that trip, I was utterly out of contact with any support network, and any attempt to contact anyone who gave a shit about my welfare involved a choice between eating and a heart-warming 3-minute call to safety. It was 1980, and a long-distance call required a reservation at a telegraph office in some god-forsaken two-goat village, and a meter above the phone displaying just exactly how much food I wasn't going to get.
The second experience was as a Benedictine monk in deeply remote northern New Mexico. Here, the phone involved a radio connection to the Chama forestry service, who patched calls through to the landlines. Mail only went out or came in once a month, when the brothers made a two-day supply run into Santa Fe. In this case, I had no possessions, spent a year without a coin in my pocket, had communal housing and clothing, and one day a week when I was permitted to remain in isolation from vigils to vespers, and that time was usually scheduled for reading by my novice master.
In the first case, I was under the absolute rule of my stomach, and in the second case by my abbot. In the former, my day was consumed with securing enough food to survive, and in the latter, all my physical needs were secured, but my life was strictly regulated and monitored on my spiritual journey.
In both cases, I was absolutely free.
When folks talk about freedom, they generally seem to mean they want to choose their master. There is no true freedom in this world. In the end, we must either serve ourselves or the community. In either case, we are never completely without some control mechanism that requires our utter submission. So how can anyone ever talk about freedom, when there is none to be had?
It seems, then, that true freedom is the ability to choose to which authority to which we submit.
In the backpacking experience, I had no schedule but that I created it for myself. If I wanted to catch a train or bus, I had to be at a boarding point at a particular date and time, but if I was not, it didn't matter, as I did not have to be at the destination at any particular time. I had no responsibility to be in any particular place at any particular time. My only unavoidable tasks were to consume a certain number of calories and get a certain amount of sleep per day, and both were imposed on me by my own mortal coil.
It was the kind of freedom we Merkins idolize in our cowboy mythos. It was the kind of freedom that made me wholly and completely responsible for myself, but in saying that, I enthroned my Self as the authority to which I owed fealty.
By contrast, the monastic experience was the polar opposite. The entire philosophy of monasticism is the mortification of the body in pursuit of Enlightenment. In this case, my schedule was strictly regulated and adhered to. My work was assigned by virtue of my talents and skills, as assessed by third parties. My worldly identity was taken away and replaced by one that was approved by the community. None of my labor benefitted me, but was for the greater good. In exchange, I was given a stone bench to sleep on and a sufficient amount of food to fuel my labor, and enough clothing in the warehouse to provide protection from the elements, but I owned none of it.
This kind of freedom involves building fences around the physical body, in order to free the mind and spirit to pursue greater wisdom. It is complete and voluntary submission to The Rule as a means to a higher goal. The communal life removes certain mundane cares to provide more time to the pursuit of less tangible rewards. It is a very liberating life and much closer to what most of us live than we might think at first blush.
We live in societies, which are governed by rules that remove certain variables in order that we can pursue other, more ephemeral goals. We replace abbots with administrators. We agree to certain boundaries to reduce collective risk. We pool resources to provide basic needs. We perform labor that creates value for society.
The primary difference between society and monasticism is the accumulation of wealth. We form societies in order to reduce risk in the act of producing and raising children, who presumably will perpetuate the society and the species. We amass wealth from our labors to enhance our enjoyment of life, and also to provide a stepping stone to our progeny.
The family is a microcosm of society as a whole. We seek to remove as much risk and care as possible from our children, so that they can prepare to stand on our shoulders and reach higher.
So, what is wrong with statements, such as Klaus Schwab saying, "You will own nothing and be happy," or socio-political systems like Socialism and Fascism? After all, there are systemic rules that reduce risk, provide necessities and serve the greater good, right?
In a family, if the adults are successful, everyone benefits with better quality goods, more educational opportunities, a dependable source of quality food, and opportunities for family adventures.
If a monastic community thrives, it reduces individual risk, allows for growth and expansion, maintains and upgrades infrastructure, and provides greater resources in pursuit of higher goals.
If a Socialist or Fascist system is successful, it enriches a privileged few, who in turn horde upgrades and better quality items (wealth) for themselves, while reducing the amount of basic necessities for the whole to a bare minimum, so that systemic success is measured not in the greater good, but in overall misery for the community, and luxury for the ruling class.
When Schwab says we will own nothing and be happy, he implies that "they" will own everything and horde even awareness of anything better from the masses, so that we cannot know what we don't know. In other words, we masses would never be allowed to see how good "they" have it at our expense — and thus his vision engenders censorship, indoctrination and severe physical and mental limits for the peons.
In a capitalist system, the harder and smarter one works, the more one benefits in the form of wealth, which in turn raises the greater good of the community by virtue of expansion and growth. The rule of a capitalist society maintains the "level playing field," providing equal access to quality goods and services, and enforcing voluntary contracts. There is no favored class, and the system itself reduces risk of failure at the systemic level, and raises the likelihood of success at the individual level.
Slavery, on the other hand, has no benefit to the enslaved individual. The only incentive is to avoid corporal punishment and reduction in the quality and quantity of sustenance. Improving one's self, working harder and more efficiently, reducing risk while boosting return has zero benefit to the slave. It does, however, make the master happy. It might result in a bit more food or an upgrade in clothing, but those are at the sole discretion of the master and can be taken away on a whim.
Slavery is what the Klaus Schwabs of the world propose for most of us. We might get an upgraded phone or better entertainment, but those can be cut off with a social credit infraction. The slave might be sent out of town on the master's errand, but there is no elective travel for relaxation, adventure and personal enrichment.
There is freedom in being completely unencumbered by material goods, or having no rule to follow. The hobo and the cowboy enjoy a range of freedom most of us never experience — having no place to be and no reason to be there. This lifestyle, however, has a number of existential risks that a community seeks to eliminate.
For the majority of humanity, we realized millennia ago that voluntarily giving up certain liberties provided other benefits. We agreed to certain behaviors in order to reduce risk and ensure communal and individual opportunities that are not available to the hobo and the cowboy. We decided specialization and merit were qualities that made all our lives better, while making each of our lives better.
The world is rushing headlong into a slave state, where a self-appointed few reap all the benefits, and hand out perks as rewards for compliance. Though there are some superficial similarities to real freedom — such as submitting to rules and schedules — the key factor of voluntary submission is notably missing — self improvement.
Even now, the hobo/cowboy/vagabond/rover life has a certain appeal to me. The idea of having no responsibilities to anyone but my stomach calls to me on some days, when the world is too much with me. But I realize that submission to my mate and my family, and through them to the community, provides benefits in the form of health, happiness and well-being.
The Good Life is effectually a form of monasticism, with the concept of private property mixed in. Our collective efforts to build society provide each of us the leisure to pursue personal interests, perhaps even Enlightenment.
One thing is sure, the world being offered to us by the current crop of "leaders" is not voluntary, nor does it offer any real benefit to the individual. It is collectivism in the sense that slaves or cattle form collectives. There is no individual or generational reduction in risk and levelling of the field. There is only drudgery at the crack of a whip to maintain the Faustian lifestyles of self-appointed Darwinian alphas.
Strangely, though, masters only succeed when slaves acquiesce.