Our Betters

How do rulers rule? Usually with the unquestioning obedience of many followers. They don't need to be worshiped by every single one of their subjects, but they do require that a substantial portion regard them as their betters. This struck me once again during the recent public discussion of the reign of Elizabeth II of England, Etc. Yes, there were British critics of her reign, but there were enough thoroughly loyal subjects that the end of the monarchy was seldom discussed, and never, more recently than Cromwell, seemed like an impending possibility. 

Obedient followers tend to be in denial about those they follow. Take, again, the case of the British royals, and their immense wealth. You'll find a lot of people who will deny that the royal family is wealthy. 

"Well what about all those palaces, maintained at public expense?"

"Those palaces belong to the public."

"Does the public live there?"

"No."

"Can the public see the insides of those palaces?"

"Aha, yes! Sometimes we can!"

"Often?"

"Well..."

"And who decides who can actually enter one of the palaces, and how often?"

"Well..."

This tendency for people to worship rulers who take advantage, and to make excuses for them, seems fairly widespread. And not just in monarchies. In supposed democracies where everyone is supposedly equal, a handful of people at the tip of pyramid are revered, and excuses made for them. Just look at Elon Musk, and the way he is still defended by many of his fans. 

I had thought of myself as relatively free of such tendencies to meekly obey people I thought of as my "betters," until yesterday, when, in the immortal words of Tom Wolfe, "I noticed something!"  I'm not talking about Thomas Wolfe, the Murrkin novelist of whose work I've read but very little, but Tom Wolfe, investigative journalist and legendary reactionary douchebag. Those three mighty words appear near the beginning of Wolfe's book The Painted Word, whose title, you may have noticed, rhymes with that of an earlier and somewhat better book, The Painted Bird by Jerzy Kosinski.

What I noticed yesterday was that, while watching a video about Plenitude, a 3-star restaurant in a 5-star Paris hotel near the Louvre, I was thinking that the tableware looked too nice for the likes of me. I was reminded of things I was not allowed to touch because they were too nice. 

 

Then I caught myself thinking that, and I had to pause the video and hold my head in both hands. Yes, as a small child I had been told not to touch certain things because they were nice. But I'm 61 years old now.  I've been to the Louvre. I felt quite comfortable there. I thought that I thought of myself as as good as anyone else, and distinctly better than many who, like Tom Wolfe, thought themselves better than me. But here I was, thinking that some particularly swanky tableware was too nice for the scruffy likes of me. 

I don't think I've ever set foot inside a 3-star restaurant, and I'm quite sure I've never been served anything to eat or drink in one. I don't know whether or not the whole experience would even appeal to me, or whether I would find it profoundly silly, like the tires on a Bugatti which cost $100,000 a set, and have to be replaced every 2000 miles. If you drive slowly. But now I'm wondering whether I've never found out in part because the mentality of a subject, a servant, an inferior dwells within me.

Know yourself. Free your mind and your ass will follow. Don't help tyrants tyrannize you. Don't let them tell you they're better than you. Easier said than done, sometimes. This sort of thing takes work.