I listened to Jordan Peterson talking to Stephen Fry this afternoon and it was a fascinating conversation. Afterwards I thought, I’m a pragmatic person, as described by Fry, not a theorist, I want to know what works, not what should work. But I’m in love with stories too, like Peterson. As I’ve noted before, fiction is reality.
Ninety minutes in, I had to stop listening.
Because I was struck by the thought that while our greatest minds are grappling with the gordian knot of what everything means, and if there is such a thing as truth or reality, and while our elite fight amongst each other to invert society to their own satisfaction, there are baser, simpler cultures out there who are busy sharpening their blades.
I was reminded that, after the Romans left Britain and the crude, violent Saxons arrived, they expelled the civilised Britons. And while Londinium still contained stone-built palaces with baths and glazed tiles and central heating, the Saxons ignored these luxuries and continued, for the next five hundred years, to build and live in their rough-hewn wooden lodges.
Progress aint guaranteed.
It needs to be backed up with bayonets, wielded by rough men.