The Singularity—the fateful moment when AI surpasses its creators in intelligence and takes over the world—is a meme worth pondering. It has the earmarks of an urban legend: a certain scientific plausibility (“Well, in principle I guess it’s possible!”) coupled with a deliciously shudder-inducing punch line (“We’d be ruled by robots!”). Did you know that if you sneeze, belch, and fart all at the same time, you die? Wow. Following in the wake of decades of AI hype, you might think the Singularity would be regarded as a parody, a joke, but it has proven to be a remarkably persuasive escalation.
We shall drown, and nobody will save us
To expand on the Maoism post. Marquez came up with the flattery inflation theory to explain how cults of personality evolve in mechanistic terms. But the same idea can be used to explain not only Red Queen spirals of sycophancy. Any ideological innovation, both in states and inside small cults or organizations, behaves under the same principles.
Any political system, any organization, even the smallest one, is going to have people in power, and people out of power who want to be in power. Or at least marginally increase their level of power.
Which means you need to challenge those who are in power. The powerful are powerful because they have organized themselves into a power coalition, bound by ties of loyalty. A solid power block where all members are strongly loyal is, for all purposes, indestructible. So the only way to challenge the powerful is to try to incite disloyalty among its members.
More likely than not, some members of the ruling coalition are not very loyal. They’d rather defect. But they can’t backstab the coalition just like that. You don’t do that; it looks bad. Your comrades will go against you. There are costs to defection.
Unless you’re not the only defector. You need a way to signal your intention to defect, so that other disloyal fucks such as yourself (and they’re bound to be others) can join up, thus reducing the likely costs of defection. The way to signal your intention to defect is to come up with a good excuse. A good excuse to be disloyal becomes a rallying point through which other defectors can coordinate and cover their asses so that the ruling coalition doesn’t punish them. What is a good excuse?
Leftism is a great excuse. Claiming that the ruling coalition isn’t leftist enough, isn’t holy enough, not inclusive enough of women, of blacks, of gays, or gorillas, of pedophiles, of murderous Salafists, is the perfect way of signalling your disloyalty towards the existing power coalition. By using the existing ideology and pushing its logic just a little bit, you ensure that the powerful can’t punish you. At least not openly. And if you’re lucky, the mass of disloyal fucks in the ruling coalition might join your banner, and use your exact leftist point to jump ship and outflank the powerful.
Note that this applies to any ideological system. In Islam, the best excuse to defect is to claim to be more fundamentalist. In Medieval Europe, is to love Christ more. In pre-WW2 Japan, it was to be a more fanatic militarist who fights for the glory of the empire.
The same dynamic fuels the flattery inflation one sees in monarchical or dictatorial systems. In Mao China, if you want to defect, you claim to love Mao more than your boss. In Nazi Germany, you proclaim your love for Hitler and the great insight of his plan to take Stalingrad. In the Roman Empire, you claimed that Caesar is a God, son of Hercules, and those who deny it are treacherous bastards. In Ancient Persia you loudly proclaimed your faith in the Shah being the brother of the Sun and the Moon and King of all Kings on Earth. In Reformation Europe you proclaimed that you have discovered something new in the Bible and everybody else is damned to hell. Predestined by God!
All of the above is bullshit. But it’s useful bullshit. And humans will believe from the bottom of the hearts any bullshit that is useful enough. There’s some individual variance in the ability to come up and sincerely believe any crap, but there’s always cathartic rituals to prove that the we’re in all in this together, this licensing you to become a true believer. At any rate, the whole point of the above is to signal your disaffection from the status quo. The precise content of your signal is irrelevant. It is completely dependent on the particular ideological ecology of your culture. But the underlying mechanism is the same. You want power, and you signal your intent in the optimal way to minimize the chances of official punishment, and make it easy for others to join your banner.
The degree to which this signals spiral into complete madness depend on how strong the ruling coalition is, and how vital it is to attain power. If the ruling coalition is solid, and has good mechanisms in place to ensure the loyalty of their members, potential defectors will be punished for signalling their intentions, no matter how embellished they are in the language of the state religion. If you are well fed and life is safe and good, there’s little incentive to defect.
However, if the ruling coalition is too large, and hence weak, dispersed, and has few mechanisms of appraising and ensuring the loyalty of its members; or if the only way of ensuring access to food, shelter and security is to have some access to political power; signalling your intention to defect by proclaiming that 5 year olds should be able to be castrated, or by proclaiming that Kim Jong Un can climb buildings like Spiderman, is suddenly a good proposition. And once you do, and succeed, everybody else will be forced to follow your banner, and the new ideological innovation will become an official article of faith. You don’t want to be the last guy that denies that Kim Jong Un is Spiderman.
And again: the precise content of the ideological point doesn’t matter. Your human brain doesn’t care about ideology. Humans didn’t evolve to care about Marxist theory of class struggle, or about LGBTQWERTY theories of social identity. You just don’t know what it means. It’s all abstract points you’ve been told in a classroom. It doesn’t actually compute. Nothing that anybody ever said in a political debate ever made any actual, concrete sense to a human being.
So why do we care so much about politics? What’s the point of ideology? Ideology is just the water you swim in. It is a structured database of excuses, to be used to signal your allegiance or defection to the existing ruling coalition. Ideology is just the feed of the rationalization Hamster that runs incessantly in that corner of your brain. But it is immaterial, and in most cases actually inaccessible to the logical modules in your brain.
Nobody ever acts on their overt ideological claims if they can get away with it. Liberals proclaim their faith in the potential of black children while clustering in all white suburbs. Communist party members loudly talk about the proletariat while being hedonistic spenders. Al Gore talks about Global Warming while living in a lavish mansion. Cognitive dissonance, you say? No; those cognitive systems are not connected in the first place.
And ideological sincerity doesn’t make sense on the face of it. Why would anything like that ever evolve? Given how ideology actually behaves, a gene that made you be coherent with your ideology can’t possibly spread in the gene pool. A gene for being able to aptly manipulate nonsensical abstract points to signal your position and intention vs. the present power structure; now that’s useful.
Leftism evolved, step by step, backstab by backstab, as Christian Europeans signalled their dislike with the status quo by gently pushing the state religion just a little bit further, in the direction most likely to get people on your side, and prevent the powerful from punishing you. Surely nobody can disagree with extending the franchise to our hard working middle class? Surely nobody can disagree with abolishing the enslavement of our fellow humans? Surely nobody can disagree with giving citizenship rights to our women? Surely nobody can disagree with stopping the criminal prosecution of homosexuals?
And so, every little step in the way, power-seekers moved the consensus to the left. And open societies, democratic systems are by their decentralized nature, and by the size of their constituencies, much more vulnerable to this sort of signalling attacks. It is but impossible to appraise and enforce the loyalty of every single individual involved in a modern state. There’s too many of them. A Medieval King had a better chance of it; hence the slow movement of ideological innovation in those days. But the bigger the organization, the harder it is to gather accurate information of the loyalty of the whole coalition; and hence the ideological movement accelerates. And there is no stopping it.
This is going to be a long post.
The idea of Chinese people worshipping wax mangoes because some Pakistani minister didn’t have time to have a proper gift made for his visit to China is indeed quite startling. Of course some people will instantly run into the old stereotype of those perfid Orientals slaves, who have been forever worshipping their tyrants as Gods on Earth. But that’s bullshit. The Chinese have always been a fairly unruly bunch, and the Emperor was never worshipped as a God, unlike the Roman Emperors of our humanistic West.
And the Chinese aren’t stupid either, they’ve always been one of the major civilizations on Earth, often world leader in wealth, scholarship and technology. They have the longest unbroken literary tradition; not having undergone a dark age, it’s amazing how many ancient books are still extant in China.
So why did this intelligent, civilized people fall so low as to worship a rotten Pakistani mango? Politics, that’s why. They are humans and so are vulnerable to politics. And modern politics can get very, very ugly.
I’ll quote liberally from the original post by Marquez:
The idea of a “cult of personality” is in some ways a peculiarly modern one. Practices of “leader worship” were of course not unknown in the past; one might almost say that they were basically the default way in which peoples related to leaders in “pre-modern” state societies, from the recognition of Egyptian Pharaohs as god-kings to emperor worship in China, and from the cults of Hellenistic monarchs and Roman emperors to the sacralisation of monarchs in Medieval Europe. But such cults could only become a theoretical and political problem in the context of societies which claimed to be socially or politically egalitarian, as most societies do today; it is only against a background expectation of relative equality that the practice of leader worship appears as an aberration, in need of special justification or explanation. And this problem was especially acute in communist societies, where even formal terms of address had been consciously engineered to express the idea of equality (“comrade”), yet nevertheless appeared to be embarrassingly plagued by forms of leader worship.
And that’s exactly right. Personality cults don’t seem to be related to the general beliefs of a culture. Communism resulted in the most thorough degree of ruler deification, all while calling them “comrades”. Cognitive dissonance you say? Oxymoron? Oh yeah. Welcome to the human brain. You don’t know half of it.
the [Mao] cult first emerged during the later years of the Chinese civil war as a mobilizing device. It was consciously promoted by the top leadership of the CCP (not just Mao) in reaction to the growing cult of Chiang Kai-shek on the Guomindang side, and seen even by people who had doubts about overly personalizing Marxism as a way to unify the party against their enemies. (…) it was specifically nurtured within the party through the practice of “group study” of party history, which presented a mythical narrative of the Long March under Mao’s “correct” leadership. At this stage the cult thus served both to marginalize certain factions (e.g., the group of Soviet-trained cadres around Wang Ming, who had Stalin’s favour) and to motivate party and army members in the continuing struggle with KMT forces
This sounds easy, right. Chiang Kai-shek is hanging out with German guys, and he finds Fuhrer worship to be just the thing that China needs, so he starts a state-cult for himself. Fascism being popular with the common people, who like the idea of strong leaders who seem so awesome that you’d better be on their side, the Commies conclude that they gotta run their own cult to get the troops motivated. So starts the cult of Mao, who at that time didn’t have that much personal control over the party, but he was the leader, and he was pretty bad-ass, so cult of Mao it was.
With the victory of the CCP these mobilizing and unifying functions of the cult became less important, though the party of course continued to control the public display of Mao’s image, and the cult could still be used as one of the instruments of centralization employed by the CCP (e.g., against Gao Gang in 1953-54, who developed his own regional cult in China’s north-east and was eventually purged).
This is not to say that there was no demand “from below” for cult practices. Since the CCP was in part a huge hierarchical patronage machine with few formal mechanisms for promotion, signalling loyalty through praise – sending congratulatory telegrams to Mao, for example, even when these were discouraged by the CCP leadership – was a useful means of career maintenance and even advancement. (You want to be the one local committee that does not send congratulatory telegrams? How is that going to look?).
So the original motivation for starting the cult is winding down after victory (no need to rally the troops anymore), but the genie is out of the bottle. Once you’ve set up a bureaucracy, you find yourself with lots of bureaucrats. And bureaucrats have their own interests and dynamics. For once they want to keep their jobs. They also want promotions, or help from punishment when they’ve done something wrong. There’s a whole bureaucratic society that has a life of its own. Most importantly it has a hierarchy. If on top of the hierarchy you have some deified figure; well the bureaucratic society is going to adapt itself to the guy on top. He’s the one giving the promotions after all. So you better send him a damn telegram. What, your competitor for the promotion has sent two telegrams? Well you better send three then.
praise of the top leaders was tempered both by the fact that it was embedded in a larger discourse where Stalin, not Mao, was the pre-eminent leader of the communist world, and by the fact that the top leadership of the party seems to have consciously discouraged extreme praise, perhaps because it feared (not unreasonably, as it turns out) concentrating power in Mao’s hands. The cult thus appears here not only as a mobilization device pushed from the top, but as the unintended consequence of loyalty signalling by lower levels of the party, which tended to keep the overall level of flattery relatively high, and inflationary pressures steady; and it was clearly fuelled, though not fully explained, by the undoubtedly high popularity of the party and the prestige of Mao as its leader during the early 1950s.
The party wasn’t happy about this, but Mao surely was, and the bureaucracy is diffuse; it doesn’t have a will. It’s like a biological species, individuals cooperate, but they also compete, and if the environment is not set up properly the competition can spiral out of control against the interest of all individuals. But that’s how it works. Have you heard that these days everybody’s sending five telegrams and lyric poems about how Mao inspires you to wake up every morning? Your superior doesn’t like it, but fuck him, with a bit of luck Mao sacks him and puts me in his place. Just gotta write a very good poem.
The death of Stalin, Khrushchev’s speech, and other political developments disrupted this initial equilibrium, in which the expression of loyalty to Mao had not yet crowded out all other signals of loyalty to the party and the revolution, and had not yet colonized public space to the extent to which it did during the Cultural Revolution. For one thing, the death of Stalin had the effect of displacing foreign leaders from their pre-eminent position in public displays, leaving Mao to monopolize an ever larger and more central share of public space. Leese’s book describes for example the faintly comical difficulties experienced by local cadres when trying to organize parades and other festivities after 1953; the question of whose portraits and what slogans to display, and in what order, was evidently of great importance to them (a faux pas could be harmful to one’s career prospects, I suppose), and yet directives from the Centre became ever more confusing. Indeed, a directive of April 1956 essentially declared that no guidance would be provided to local party committees regarding whose portraits to display and in what order during public events. Eventually the confusion seems to have been resolved in the obvious way: portraits of foreign leaders were no longer handed out to marching crowds at official events.
So imagine what’s on the head of any random Politburo member. Say Liu Shaoqi. “Stalin’s dead, the Soviets have declared that cults of personality are evil. So can we stop this thing now? Please?
But wait. If I say this in the next Politburo meeting, Mao is gonna be pissed. I need everyone on my side before I can go against Mao. But who will agree with me? This guy is friends with me, and he hates Mao. But this other guy… I’ve seen him whine about Mao and call him a dumb asshole, but then he fawns on him everytime he’s around. So if I approach him he might sell me out, and Mao could get me sacked. Mmm can’t risk it. You know what, fuck this. If the fucking bureaucrats want to send telegrams and poems, and make Mao parties every weekend, well let them. Who gives a shit. We’ll just take care that Mao doesn’t grab too much real power in the Politburo.”
And so the cult went on, snowballing undeterred because nobody could form an alliance against Mao with the assurance that they wouldn’t get sent to a Gulag.
The praise soon came into conflict with reality, however. The burst of flattery encouraged by Mao led to a flood of “completely fictive numbers of both agricultural statistics and cultural artifacts in order to signal adherence of the provincial cadres to the Party Centre” (p. 73). But the great famine of 1958-59 could not be hidden by mere propaganda; for those affected by the catastrophe, the evidence of the senses was of course in direct contradiction with the claims of Mao and his flatterers, which challenged Mao’s prestige and credibility and offered opportunities to disaffected people within the party. This challenge was the most serious yet to Mao’s position, in part because the famine fomented dissatisfaction within the People’s Liberation Army, whose soldiers could not be fully isolated from reports coming in from family members about the situation in the countryside.
After 10 years of Communist government and an ever escalating cult of personality, the bureaucrats had got used to what got the food on the table: fawning on Mao Zedong. So fawn they did, adapting their fawning to the circumstances. Anti-rightist campaign? Mao is great. War in Korea? Mao is awesome. Land reform? Mao is da man. Make everyone melt their kitchen tools, have food in collective kitchens, make Mao-is-great parties until there’s no food left and find out that the farming tools have also been melted? 30 million starved? Mao is amazing!
Marshal Peng Dehuai, who had enormous prestige within the PLA, became severely critical of Mao’s policies. This was an intolerable challenge to Mao’s position, who feared a coup; and though Peng was eventually purged (with dire consequences for the Chinese population, since Peng’s public criticism led Mao to stubbornly stick to policies that the party had been quietly about to correct, according to Leese), the need to regain control over the army was pressing. Lin Biao (the youngest PLA Marshal) proved the man for the job.
Peng was purged, because he bursted out by himself to blame Mao for the famine, but he hadn’t checked for supporters. The old man must have thought that this was so obviously insane that the Politburo would all back him up against the evil Mao. How wrong he was though. Mao had his loyal cronies behind him, and the rest were uncoordinated, so Peng was purged.
For one thing, Lin was not shy about praising Mao, and knew how to wield the charge of insufficient adherence to Mao Zedong thought against his enemies within the party and the military. In fact, he was able to shift the norms prevailing at the top of the CCP so that “adherence to Mao Zedong thought” became the sole criterion of loyalty. In practice, this meant that any statements critical of Mao – uttered at any time in the past – could be used as incriminating evidence of disloyalty, and used in factional disputes which nearly destroyed the party, and served to purge many people at the top.
There is a puzzle here, however: as Leese puts it, “[i]t seems difficult to explain why Liu Shaoqi and other CCP leaders watched and presided over the demise of the Beijing party leadership” since the criteria of loyalty promoted by Lin Biao “could be applied to nearly anyone” by those “wielding the power of interpretation” (p. 126). Why didn’t they resist this shift? Leese gestures vaguely towards Mao’s entrenched “legitimacy” as an explanation of the CCP leadership’s passivity in the face of what was, after all, a concerted attack on their position, but I don’t think this rickety Weberian catch-all termhelps us very much to understand what happened here. My sense is that under the conditions of pervasive distrust at the top of the CCP, contradicting Lin carried higher risks individually (though greater lowered collective risks) than supporting him or staying silent (which nevertheless increased collective risks); but this was not so much because Mao was especially legitimate among the top leadership (whatever that means) but because the party was too publicly committed to him for objectors to feel confident that they could count on the support of others if they went out of their way to argue against the cult. (By the same token, they could be pretty certain that others would use their words against them).
As I said above. Once the cult got out of hand, it became impossible to stop it. Dissenter just couldn’t coordinate without outing themselves as being against all that the party had been saying was proper and holy for 10 years. When Mao sent his goons to purge all the party and army of dissenters; the dissenters were perhaps the majority; but they didn’t know that. They had no way of knowing. And so one by one they fell, because a clenched fist, no matter how small, is always stronger than isolated fingers.
Interestingly, though Lin knew how to signal his unconditional loyalty (in costly, even humiliating ways sometimes) he seems to have had no special love for Mao himself. On the contrary, he seems not to have liked Mao much, and to have promoted the cult in part as a way of protecting himself from the treacherous shoals of politics at the apex of the CCP; he had seen (in Peng Dehuai’s case) how even the merest hint of criticism could be turned by Mao (and others) against the critic, with severe repercussions, and was determined to avoid a similar fate. Leese quotes a 1949 private note of Lin’s on Mao’s political tactics: “First he will fabricate “your” opinion for you; then he will change your opinion, negate it, and re-fabricate it – Old Mao’s favourite trick. From now on I should be wary of it” (p. 90). By 1959 Lin was adept at anticipating Mao’s position and changing his opinion as soon as he sensed that the old opinion was no longer operative.
Lin used the cult not only to protect himself from the vicious “court politics” of the CCP, but also to discipline the army and tamp down dissatisfaction among the soldiers. The main tool he used to accomplish this objective was similar to the original forms of “group study” that had been used at the very beginnings of the cult, except more narrowly focused on Mao’s writings and more ritualized. The “lively study and application of Mao Zedong thought” was in practice reduced to learning to recite and use quotations from Mao’s works as persuasive tools. But the particulars are fascinating; what Leese describes is in effect the conscious construction of what Randall Collins calls an “interaction ritual” (really, go read Collins – it’s enormously interesting stuff!) that shifted the “emotional energy” of the troops and the party and increased their cohesion (Leese speaks of “exegetical bonding,” which is quite a nice description too).
The personality cult became a weapon. Remember how it grew because the bureaucrats found it useful for their internal battles. Once everybody does it, you need to follow the cult if only to keep your job. And once the minimum amount of zeal keeps growing, by what Marquez calls “flattery inflation”, well everybody has to see the bet, or else you’re out of a job, and most likely dead. So no matter how high your rank, your best bet was to see the bet, and raise it as much as you can, if only to avoid someone else raising it and making you look bad in comparison. Lin Biao, the main goon of Mao’s purges, understood this perfectly.
Now you’d think that all this madness must have some natural limit. The problem with political ideology is that people have to believe it. Surely all the bureaucrats weren’t writing lyrical poems and making their children draw pictures of Mao as being bigger than the sun out of cold careeristic calculation? After the country started going to hell, with the economy collapsing, people starving, trading their children with the neighbors so they could eat them without feeling guilt; surely people’s faith on Mao must have dropped to the ground?
Well it most likely did, but what are you gonna do about it? The fact remains that going public with your doubts was likely to get you fired or killed, so you better keep up with the flattery and write some more poems. Because the guy right besides you has written three already, and rumor has it he’s getting a promotion, and he wants you fired.
It follows that there must have been a huge demand for any mechanism to increase morale, for whatever means necessary. And here comes the “group study” rituals that Lin popularized over the country. Get people together in a small room, make them read a book aloud in rhythmic extacy, make them sing some songs, denounce some scapegoat, lynch him together, and then get a communal drink while singing again. Wow, that was refreshing. Everybody likes partying, and communal high-pressure sessions are a staple of all religions, specially new sects. And that is because high-pressure rituals create belief. Some people can get themselves to belief with total sincerity just because they find it in their interest. But most people aren’t that evil, they need direct, concentrated social pressure to get themselves to believe in something. And that’s what rituals are for. Even if you had some doubts about the God-hood of Mao Zedong, after having a quick self-examination session with everybody shouting slogans for 2 hours straight, suddenly your brain has gone blank and all you know is that You Love Big Brother. Oh yeah.
Contacts between the troops and their families were monitored, but they were not necessarily directly censored. Instead, reports of distress in the countryside were turned into “teaching moments” that extolled the necessity of staying the course and blamed unfavourable weather or the deviations of local officials from the correct line. Elaborate performances making use of all kinds of media – big character posters, theatre, films, poetry, etc. – recalled the “bitterness” of the past (before the communist triumph) and extolled the “sweeteness” of the present (though, as one official noted, “most comparisons of the present sweetness referred back to the period of the land reform, whereas remarks about the Great Leap Forward were “inclined to be abstract and without substance”,” p. 102), while presenting examples of communist martyrs for emulation. The focus was on generating emotion by “remembering hardships” and then channelling that emotion against the enemies of the communist project to achieve bonding. The combination of peer pressure, genuine emotional experiences, and threats of discipline for recalcitrance was clearly powerful, yet the party was aware of the dangers of people merely “acting as if” they believed. Indeed, advice from high up indicated that “cadres were not to insist on formalities such as the weeping of participants as demonstration of their sincerity” (p. 100). But the very fact that such advice had to be given at all probably shows that lower-level cadres did insist on such performances just to be safe.
There were also campaigns to emulate “soldiers of Mao Zedong thought,” which essentially meant soldiers who displayed the sorts of self-sacrificing qualities that the party thought desirable. Here the cult served, it seems to me, as a means by which certain kinds of status competition were encouraged (the heroes of Mao Zedong thought, like Stakhanovite workers in the Soviet Union, received media attention and other rewards), and hence provided a positive incentive to adopt the “correct” sort of identity and behaviour, complementing the negative incentives provided by peer pressure in group study sessions or other collective interaction rituals. And as elsewhere, status competition that is made to depend on the credibility of loyalty signals appears to lead to inflationary pressures on flattery.
From the army, the more intense forms of the cult spread to the broader population over time, accelerating as the Cultural Revolution started. Other rituals were of course important to the spread of the more intense forms of the cult outside the army. The eight “mass receptions” of the Red Guards in 1966 were the most spectacular of these (…) the Red Guards became a sort of vanguard in the spread of the cult throughout Chinese society during the cultural revolution,(…) most of them impressionable young students who took the advantage of free train travel to get involved in something bigger than themselves. Under the circumstances, it is unsurprising that many of them reported ecstatic experiences on seeing Mao (who didn’t make any big speeches or direct them in any particular way), which in turn cemented their identities as Red Guards; this sort of “interaction ritual” seems likely to produce this sort of outcome fairly reliably, independently of any characteristics of the supposedly “charismatic” figure.
The Little Red Book was at first confined to the army, but demand for it outside its confines was soon enormous. For one thing, political study campaigns in the countryside (which increased in the 1960s) required a focal text to mobilize people properly, and the Quotations provided one. But, as Leese astutely observes, the main thing that the Quotations offered was the “possibility of empowerment for non-party members” (p. 121). Though Leese does not put it this way, the book seemed to provide access to the “code” that enabled people to act more or less safely within the highly unpredictable environment of the early cultural revolution; and the party enabled this demand by basically diverting the resources of the “entire publishing sector” to printing Mao’s writings, “at the expense of every other print item, including schoolbooks” (p. 122). Pace Leese, I think it is a bit misleading to speak of the work’s “popularity”; the work was popular, if that’s the word, because it was becoming essential for everyone to show some familiarity with (read: be able to recite quotations from) Mao’s writings. Indeed, as Leese documents later in the book, during the early cultural revolution Red Guards would set up “temporary inspection offices” on the streets and harass pedestrians about their knowledge of Mao’s works, like the “vice police” in some countries today; this sort of atmosphere helped the cult to grow.
And so the demand for sincere belief was met, through a massive supply of Maoist agitation. The whole country was paralized by the crazy religious fervor of the population, who could know dedicate themselves to flatter Mao with total sincerity. Now they actually believed Mao was the greatest man ever.
Which kinda made things worse. Previously, the cult of personality had grown by becoming the common currency with which bureaucrats could compare themselves with each other. Rivals were denounced for insufficient zeal, and promotions given to friends on the grounds of all those poems to Mao that they had written. But now the bureaucratic calculus had morphed into sincere religious zeal. Not that this actually changed the essence: people were still using loyalty to Mao as a tool to denounce their enemies and promote their friends: but now the hypocrisy had gone deeper into the unconscious, so people were doing it automatically. And it trickled down from the party apparatus: now everybody was doing it. The Cult of Mao was the common currency to value social interactions across all domains. You hate your boss at the factory? Say he doesn’t love Mao. Your brother is an asshole? Say he doesn’t love Mao. You like that girl but she has a boyfriend? Say he doesn’t love Mao! Never fails.
Thus the Red Book was soon in everybody’s home. Because it was currency. Humans use money to measure economic goods. And they use religion to measure their social life. The demand for money is so stupid that humans have spent untold amounts of work and treasure to extract shiny metals from far away mountains. And often the system breaks down and there is inflation, which can lead to the collapse of the whole society. Religion works the same way; people need something to measure their social value, to build a hierarchy upon. If there is no one, they will go to extreme lengths to acquire it; and sometimes the system collapses leading to social breakdown.
As the cult spread and the chaos of the Cultural Revolution deepened, however, the party lost control over its symbols. Leese refers to this as the period of “cult anarchy;” I would compare it to the point at which monetary authorities lose control of the money supply, leading to runaway hyperinflation. Different factions of Red Guards started using Mao’s image and words in incompatible ways, and new cult rituals emerged from the grass roots, sometimes from the enthusiasm of the genuinely committed, sometimes seemingly as protective talismans against the uncertainty and strife of the period. Everybody appealed to Mao to signal their revolutionary credentials, but there was no longer anyone capable of settling disputes over the credibility of these signals. Mao himself wasn’t much help; whenever he spoke at all, his messages were often cryptic and didn’t really settle any important disputes. The cult was now a “Red Queen” race of wasteful signalling, rather than a carefully calibrated tool of mobilization or discipline, driven by a complex combination of genuine desires to signal loyalty and identity and fears for one’s security. (Leese notes that failure to conform to the arbitrary protocols of the cult put people at risk of being sentenced as an “active counterrevolutionary” and documents many cases in which minimal symbolic transgressions resulted in incarceration or even death).
By 1967, for example, statues of Mao first started to be built, something that CCP leaders, and Mao himself, had discouraged in the past, and still officially frowned upon. The statues were typically built by local factions without approval from the central party, and they were all 7.1 meters high and placed on a pedestal that was 5.16 meters high, for a total height of 12.26 meters. (26 December = Mao’s birthday, 1 July = the Party’s founding date, 16 May = the beginning of the cultural revolution. People arrived at this precise convention for the statues without any centralized direction, merely through a signalling process).
My bolding. Note that Mao wasn’t just of no help; his passivity and silence was what fueled the whole arms race of signalling, where everybody tried to out-holy everybody else, either to promote themselves, or to avoid being framed by others. The leftist singularity was in full swing.
Later “Long Live the Victory of Mao Zedong Though Halls” were built on a grand scale, again without approval from the central party. Billions of Chairman Mao badges were produced by individual work units competing with each other, which were themselves subject to size inflation (“[a]s the larger size of the badges came to be associated with greater loyalty to the CCP Chairman, … badges with a diameter of 30 centimetres and greater came to be produced,” p. 216); Zhou Enlai would grumble in 1969 about the enormous waste of resources this represented. Costly signalling demands kept escalating; some people took to pinning the badges directly on their skin, for example, and farmers sent “loyalty pigs” to Mao as gifts (pigs with a shaved “loyalty” character).
New rituals and performances emerged too: Leese discusses the “quotation gymnastics,” a series of gymnastics exercises with a storyline based on Mao’s thought and involving praise of the “reddest red sun in our hearts,” and more bizarrely perhaps, “loyalty dances,” (picture at the link) which, like the quotation gymnastics, was “a grassroots invention” designed to physically signal loyalty, and which spread “even to regions where public dancing was not part of the common culture and thus led to considerable public embarrassment” (p. 205). People wrote the character for “loyalty” everywhere and developed new conventions for answering the phone that started by wishing Mao eternal life. One of the most bizarre and interesting stories in the book concerns “Mao’s mangos”.
Now all of this, mangoes included, sounds crazy insane; but it’s all perfectly rational. The damn Mao isn’t saying a thing, while all the time people are getting sacked and killed for being insufficiently Maoist. People are scared, the only way to survive is to proof one’s zeal, and the whole high-powered, bloody, noisy atmosphere with daily parades, mass meetings, lynchings, executions and festivals of Maoist music overwhelms your brain. Humans adapt themselves to their environment, to what they must do to survive and reproduce. If you’re in the forest, you look for animals to hunt, and fruit to pick. If you’re in 1966 China, you proclaim your love of Mao, you put his portrait on your house, and you memorize the Red Book. Why wouldn’t you? Everybody else is doing so. You have to pay your taxes in Zimbabwean dollars; so you better go find yourself a couple trillion. And you better show your loyalty and social standing by loving Mao very much. So go yourself find a Red Book reading group to participate.
And thus, in less than 20 years since the Communist takeover, the most ancient culture on earth was shattered, and replaced by a signalling spiral, all by sheer cognitive overload.
it would be a mistake to think that because these practices were not directed from the top, that they were therefore genuine expressions of love for the Chairman. Motivations were of course various, and one does not want to preclude positive affect by definition– those who adopted the identity of “Red Guards” probably thought of themselves as sincerely in love with Mao, for one thing – but whatever people’s motivations may have been they were clearly dominated by the need to signal loyalty against a background of others who were also furiously trying to signal loyalty for their own manifold reasons. The clearest evidence of signalling behaviour is in fact the uniformity of the language used to flatter Mao (“down to the level of single phrases” over thousands of texts p. 184: “boundless hot love,” “the reddest red sun in our hearts,” etc.); the language of flattery was a code to be mastered, not a way of expressing deeply held emotions, as Leese rightly sees.
This is not to say that flattery was never sincere or reflective of great love for Mao; but its escalation came from the Red Queen race aspect of the situation, not from some deep well of emotion or from awareness of Mao’s charismatic qualities. And this Red Queen race was reinforced by the presence of a small core activist group – the Red Guards at first – that was quite capable of inflicting punishment, directly or indirectly, on those who did not conform. At any rate, as Randall Collins says: “Sincerity is not an important question in politics, because sincere belief is a social product: successful IRs [interaction rituals] make people into sincere believers.” But lose the rituals, and you easily lose the group identities and emotional energy that drive action; sincere belief is rarely an independent driver of action.
It is also unsurprising that such “grassroots” loyalty signalling would tend to draw on various traditional scripts for demonstrating reverence or support, including scripts connected with the veneration of relics in Buddhism (as in the case of the mangos) or other forms of religious worship; the signal has to be recognizable to arbitrary others, and only religious scripts have sufficient universality for this purpose. Similarly, some of the manifestations of the cult (painting loyalty characters all over one’s house) can only be understood in terms of what I would call “magical thinking” – the use of words and objects to ward off evil pre-emptively. (But, unlike other forms of magical thinking, this stuff worked!). There is, in short, little need to appeal to tradition, “feudal” remnants, collective backwardness, or superstition to explain any aspect of the cult, contrary to the standard accounts of the cult offered by communist party theoreticians (and many people today).
This post is already long enough, but it is worth noting that the party seems to have tried to regain control over cult symbols by ratcheting the ritual level up – making the cult protocols more arbitrary – to foster unity in the factionalized atmosphere of the Cultural Revolution. The degree of ritualization was astonishing; Mao quotations came to be used in the most banal exchanges (answering the phone, buying produce, etc.); work units were required to “ask for instructions in the morning” before a portrait of Mao; etc. But the disciplinary function was clear: “[d]eviations from the prescribed routines were regarded as disloyal behaviour and thus potentially engendered drastic consequences” (p. 199). Once direct control over the symbols of loyalty was re-established, the party could move to gradually control flattery inflation and even engage in some controlled disinflation.
See how there’s no need to talk about belief, or sincerity, or madness. When something happens so suddenly over such a large range, this is not about individual beliefs. Religion at this level is social behavior, spread by rational calculation of incentives and the political environment. People do what they are told, and believe what they must, and they follow the changes as they need to. The only sober people who can afford to make objective observations are those who are high enough, and have reliable allies so they are politically safe, and thus can afford to utter other words besides “Mao is awesome” without fear of reprisal. As it happens the government was run by Zhou Enlai, who for some reason had Mao’s protection, and the “Gang of Four”, who included Mao’s wife, obviously safer than most. Only after the Gang was in power long enough, and had little opposition, could the Mao cult start to wind down.
A few general lessons may perhaps be drawn from this story. First, cults of personality basically never emerge from the spontaneous expression of emotion by a population, despite what dictators may have you believe. They are primarily tools of political control within networks of patronage relationships, as Leese rightly sees (hence, in practice, much more likely to emerge in highly authoritarian contexts). I have compared them here to the tools of monetary policy in the economic realm, insofar as they affect the average level of effort invested in signalling loyalty to a ruling group or person (the “flattery level”); but, as with monetary policy, cults can miscarry – in which case uncontrolled flattery inflation may result. Second, their effects are not produced by mere propaganda; interaction rituals are required to produce genuine emotional energy within specific groups, increase cohesion, etc. But the cult does not depend on the genuineness of anybody’s sentiments to work; it depends on the possibility of producing certain kinds of emotional pressures through group rituals. (As an aside, we lack a good “high pressure” political science and psychology; too much of our political science and psychology assume “low pressure” environments. But cults are high pressure phenomena, and attempting to understand them by means of the stories and concepts we use in low pressure environments is apt to lead us astray). Finally, the rickety Weberian apparatus of “legitimacy” and “charisma” is basically irrelevant to the explanation of cults. Leese’s book is mercifully free of those terms, except for the occasional sentence claiming that so and so’s actions “legitimized” this or that; but most of these can be safely ignored (all the sentence can possibly mean is “increased support”).
And this is the story of the great Chinese Leftist Singularity. Now that we have a detailed account of how it started, how it accelerated and how it exploded into complete madness; let us go back to the present, and take a good look.
Progressivism has been accelerating of late, all with global warming melting the poles every day now, women being able to accuse ex-boyfriends of rape months after the fact and without evidence, and the right of 60 year old ex-athletes to use the women’s bathroom being state policy. Failure to signal your approval for any of these developments will get you fired. And the higher the pressure of people to approve of present progressive tenets, the faster that newer, more radical tenets appear, and the more this happens the more demand it creates of rituals to convince people of the holiness of progressive ideals.
The threat of losing one’s job is more than enough to get people motivated to toe the progressive line. You can create a very high-pressure environment, and thus a faster moving leftist singularity without having to kill anyone. Which is an improvement, I guess. It does seem that the demand for effective progressive rituals isn’t being properly addressed, though. Liberals understand the demand, and have come up with mandatory Sensitivity Training in all government agencies and private companies; but they aren’t intense enough yet, and they patently haven’t succeeded in creating sufficient amounts of sincere belief; which drives liberals to denounce all the lukewarm
Maoists who still don’t love blacks and trannies from the bottom of their heart.
Perhaps it can’t be done. Cults of personality are, if crazy, still quite natural given man’s religious nature. Worshipping a powerful man as a god has been quite common through history, and eventually morphing the old man’s image into a lucky charm to be put as paperwall to repel bad spirits is fairly standard in a cognitive sense. But getting people to love black people, who they actively avoid in their daily lives, to hate their own ethnic group, to hate straight men, to love fags, trannies, sluts and fatties; well that’s too much shit to take even for homo hypocritus. You can get some people, mostly natural status-whores into the plan, and you can get most people to say they love progressivism, and to not actively oppose it. But getting people to pumped up in a high-pressure ritual to actually develop faith in the program; that can’t be very easy. At least for white men, who are the bad guys in the story. Which might account for the overrepresentation of Asians among SJWs these days; it’s less cognitively taxing for them to develop sincerity.
The sheer implausibility of progressive theology might account for the slow pace of the leftist singularity, compared to the Communist examples. But growing it is; and unless the government doesn’t stop the fear of reprisal; i.e. if people don’t stop getting fired for being insufficiently PC, progressivism will only get worse. Slowly, steadily worse.
On 5 August 1968, Mao received the Pakistani foreign minister Mian Arshad Hussain, who brought with him a basket of golden mangoes as gifts for the Chairman. Instead of eating the mangoes, Mao [who hated sweets] decided to give them to the Capital Worker and Peasant Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Team … that had earlier been sent to the Qinghua University in Beijing to rein in the rival Red Guard gangs. Two days later, on 7 August, the People’s Daily, the official news organ of the Communist Party-state, carried a report on the mango gift that included the following extra-long headline in extra-large font: ‘The greatest concern, the greatest trust, the greatest support, the greatest encouragement; our great leader Chairman Mao’s heart is always linked with the hearts of the masses; Chairman Mao gave the precious gifts given by a foreign friend to the Capital Worker and Peasant Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Team’.
Mao gave the mangoes to Wang Dongxing, who divided them up, distributing one mango each to a number of leading factories in Beijing, including Beijing Textile Factory, where I was then living. The workers at the factory held a huge ceremony, rich in the recitation of Mao’s words, to welcome the arrival of the mango, then sealed the fruit in wax, hoping to preserve it for posterity. The mangoes became sacred relics, objects of veneration. The wax-covered fruit was placed on an altar in the factory auditorium, and workers lined up to file past it, solemnly bowing as they walked by. No one had thought to sterilize the mango before sealing it, however, and after a few days on display, it began to show signs of rot. The revolutionary committee of the factory retrieved the rotting mango, peeled it, then boiled the flesh in a huge pot of water. Mao again was greatly venerated, and the gift of the mango was lauded as evidence of the Chairman’s deep concern for the workers. Then everyone in the factory filed by and each worker drank a spoonful of the water in which the sacred mango had been boiled. After that, the revolutionary committee ordered a wax model of the original mango. The replica was duly made and placed on the altar to replace the real fruit, and workers continued to file by, their veneration for the sacred object in no apparent way diminished.
In order to share the honour with workers and the revolutionary masses elsewhere, more replicas of the mangoes were made and sent around the country. All over the country welcoming parties were organized to receive the mangoes, and many work units enshrined the mango replicas for the masses to view in order to partake in the Chairman’s gift. Mao badges with the platter of mangoes and posters with revolutionary messages illustrated with the mangoes began to appear; a cigarette factory in the city of Xinzheng in Henan Province began producing a line of mango-brand cigarettes (still in production today); a film was made on class struggle using the Mao mango gift as a key symbol in the story line. In the months following Mao’s giving of the mangoes a mango fever descended upon China.
(…) most of these inventions (the mango rituals included) were not authorized by the CCP Centre, and many of the supposed leaders of the cultural revolution (e.g., Kang Sheng, Jiang Qing, and occasionally even Mao himself) tried to curb their practice, or at best only grudgingly authorized them after the fact. From their perspective, these “grassroots” practices and rituals were objectionable because they could not be controlled directly by them.
Remember: People are not weird. You just have a bad model.
Read the whole thing. Read the whole blog while you’re at it. Great stuff.
*my bolding and brackets.
This post is a good example of what I wrote at the start of the year. I got an interesting idea that would require a lot of research to actually flesh out properly, but I don’t have the time to acquire that kind of expertise right now. So I don’t write the post, bury the idea, forget about it, and the world loses a half-assed good idea.
But, you dear readers told me that you can’t get enough of half-assed good ideas, so here it goes. All this adds to what I commented here at Land’s.
Yes, yes, people are not having babies. People in developed countries, that is. We don’t know why exactly, and everybody has its pet theory, but what we do have is a lot of data which we can run correlations with.
Low fertility is most severe in developed countries, but it doesn’t correlate cleanly with development. Moldova is as poor as any country in Africa, and it has low fertility. Spain is poorer than Sweden yet has lower fertility. Saudi Arabia is richer than Nepal yet has higher fertility.
One of the best correlations out there is female education, but again that doesn’t map neatly. Swedish or American women go to grad school in much higher rates than Japanese women, yet they have higher fertility.
The obvious answer to this melange of messy correlations is that there’s no one big factor. It’s like the genetics of height or IQ; hundreds of small factors that add-up, and possibly affect each other in quirky ways.
But that’s no fun, isn’t it? You aren’t going to impress your friends at dinner by talking about hundreds of factors that we don’t understand well. You need a compelling Narrative to sound smart and impressive. Well, listen up, I got something for you.
When you think about it, the assumption when talking about fertility rates is that people should breed more, and it’s a problem that they don’t. We assume that Malthus was right and humans automatically have more and more children even if they can’t feed them. Now of course Malthus didn’t exactly say that; and he did point out about mechanisms to limit fertility such as late marriage and property standards to be allowed to take a wife. But he thought that was a proof of how farsighted and civilized were the English in comparison with everyone else, the default state of mankind being to breed like rabbits until they food ran out.
But the historical record disproves that. In East Asia, marriage was early, and spinsterhood quite unheard of; but property standards for men to be allowed a wife were as high as everywhere else, and most importantly female infanticide was very common. Depending on the region or era, up to 40% of newborn girls in China or Japan were exposed at birth. Well actually they strangled them and made them drown in the amniotic water. Japan had the same population, 30 million, during the whole Edo period, 1600-1868. The Japanese also called infanticide “weeding”.
This was also quite common in Greece and Rome. Of course to modern eras this sounds awfully cruel, and if you tell your wives and sisters they’ll cry and say “how can mothers kill their own babies?!”. But it was common practice, and there’s no reason not to assume that this didn’t go back to Neolithic times.
Now things like infanticide or late marriage do have the result of lowering population growth; that’s not why people did it. People in pre-modern China didn’t strangle their newborn baby girls thinking “oh, a girl, we must kill her for the good of the nation”. And there were no government laws mandating it or encouraging the practice. If anything, from time to time governments wanted to stamp out the practice because they actually wanted more manpower.
No, what made people kill their babies; or put off marriage until an acceptable suitor proposed, were all family considerations. Jane Austen characters didn’t marry early because they weren’t allowed to, and they didn’t marry down because that was bad for the family’s reputation. And Chinese mothers killed their baby girls because having a girl is “watering your neighbors garden”, i.e. they marry, leave and bring no honor to the family. Having a boy is riskier but it has a potentially higher payoff.
So flipping the issue; why did people have children in the old days? Well mostly because you couldn’t avoid it; you had sex and more often than not you eventually got pregnant. But the rationale for raising kids and not exposing them was that children were good for the family. Boys were better than girls for the family, so boys were always raised, unless handicapped, and girls were often not. But the whole business of childrearing was done for the benefit of the family’s social standing. More boys meant more manpower for your clan, boys who would grow up to do things, possibly increasing your wealth or reputation. It quite often went the other way, but in a clannish society, family are your only friends, and everybody can use more friends. Should anything happen, you are always better off with a larger family to defend the clan.
Fast forward to today: why do people have children? Certainly not for the benefit of the family. What’s a family anyway? The man has his job and his friends, the wife has her job and her friends; some of these friends like kids, some don’t. If a woman is very invested in her career and social circle on her job, having kids is quite detrimental to her status. If you have friends with children, having children is beneficial; but only as many children as everybody else has. Having 6 kids in NYC won’t make you any friends, especially if they cause you to stop attending all those parties that people invite you to.
If you know your history, you may have noticed that the size of human groupings hasn’t been stable through history. Hunter-gatherers lived in clans, which in time and places built larger tribes. These tribes went on for quite some time until states were formed. State administration in West and East proceeded to dismantle the tribes, and make people more obedient to state power. The Catholic Church famously dismantled the Germanic kindreds through draconic outbreeding norms. In China, Shang Yang and the other Legalist reformers dismantled the tribes through land reform and the state monopoly of farming tools; but after the Han collapsed, big landowners accumulated clients which evolved into a clan system not unlike the ancient tribes.
The State attack on family size meant that the tribes were dismantled in favor of nuclear families; and the progressive state has gone one step further and dismantled the nuclear family in favor of the individual. Now think about this for a minute. People in the old days had children for the good of the family, the clan, or the tribe. One can see evidence of this at the sky-high fertility rates of places like Afghanistan, where intra-tribal conflict has been going on for decades. The tribe needs boys to defend the tribe, and so boys are produced. Large kin groups, and a state of conflict are very good predictors of birth rates.
Now if what drives the birth rate is the interest of the family; well people in developed countries have no family to defend. To the extent that you have a family; your children leave the house never to come back; they don’t follow your culture, don’t inherit your accent; won’t take over your job or business. For any functional understanding of “family”, families today do not exist. Hence people have no incentive to have children. There is nothing to defend. And there’s nothing to defend against anyway; modern state administration has eradicated tribal conflict for quite some time. Especially in the West; which explains the low fertility in Western Europe. You didn’t need any manpower to defend against your neighbors.
Now of course the fertility rate now isn’t 0, people do have children. But absent the tribal motivation, all that is left is the female biological clock, the cuteness of babies, and the natural cementing function that childbirth has to a newly married couple. Add all those up and you get 1.5 kids per couple, which is the average in the developed world. But after having 1 or 2 kids, most people feel absolutely no urge to have more than that; which surely means that the motivation is lacking.
Darwinian analysis of behavior is on the vogue today, and that’s generally a good thing; but people tend to somehow fall into the fallacy that evolution hard-codes adaptive behavior in the genes. But that’s not necessarily so; evolution only produces things that barely work, and once they work they leave it there. Much of human behavior is based on very flimsy software adaptations. Incest-avoidance doesn’t depend on binary olfatory clues; it works through the Westermarck effect, meaning that if a girl didn’t live in the same house with her father during the first 6 years of her life she’s quite likely to end up screwing him. Sexual attraction in humans also works to a stupid degree on visual clues; put a burka on a woman and no men will approach her.
And reproduction in humans works through a myriad of small motivations, some of which are hardware urges, but many others are software cues depending on the social environment. That means that low fertility isn’t a biological characteristic of liberals which will go extinct as conservatives replace them; it’s a cultural trait that depends on a social organization which is enforced by the modern state. Peter Frost wrote a great post on how the Parsis are going extinct, mostly through a lack of tribalism. Well states have been cracking down on tribalism for quite some time, and that’s not going to stop anytime soon.
If we can’t have tribes, the only solution is having the second best thing, i.e. synthetic tribes. Now, where I have heard about this before…
First, men wanted to find the Garden of Eden, where milk, honey, spice and everything nice was to be found. It didn’t happen.
Then men wanted to reach the Kingdom of God, where sins would be forgotten and peace and love reigned forever. Didn’t happen.
Lately men want to achieve the Singularity, where Skynet does all the work and allow us to be free and idle to engage in polyamorous poetry readings with fat transexuals and a token negro here and there. This may or may not involve having our bodies hooked to the Matrix.
Probably not going to happen.
Don’t take my word about it though. Edge Magazine, which is about one of the best places out there for Academics to actually debate each other and reach the public, asked this year in their annual question about intelligent machines. Which is just code for the AI singularity.
Understandably, 80% of the articles contributed were total fluff, as most people don’t know crap about stuff besides their own discipline, and few of the people invited actually has any expertise on how the human brain works or if computers can ever do the same things.
A few academics though do know something about the human brain, and they had this to say:
What I think about machines thinking is that it won’t happen anytime soon. I don’t imagine that there is any in-principle limitation; carbon isn’t magical, and I suspect silicon will do just fine. But lately the hype has gotten way ahead of reality. Learning to detect a cat in full frontal position after 10 million frames drawn from Internet videos is a long way from understanding what a cat is, and anybody who thinks that we have “solved” AI doesn’t realize the limitations of the current technology.
To be sure, there have been exponential advances in narrow-engineering applications of artificial intelligence, such as playing chess, calculating travel routes, or translating texts in rough fashion, but there has been scarcely more than linear progress in five decade of working towards strong AI. For example, the different flavors of “intelligent personal assistants” available on your smart phone are only modestly better than ELIZA, an early example of primitive natural language processing from the mid-60s.
We still have no machine that can, say, read all that the Web has to say about war and plot a decent campaign, nor do we even have an open-ended AI system that can figure out how to write an essay to pass a freshman composition class, or an eighth-grade science exam.
Why so little progress, despite the spectacular increases in memory and CPU power? When Marvin Minksy and Gerald Sussman attempted the construction a visual system in 1966, did they envision super-clusters or gigabytes that would sit in your pocket? Why haven’t advances of this nature led us straight to machines with the flexibility of human minds?
Consider three possibilities:
(a) We will solve AI (and this will finally produce machines that can think) as soon as our machines get bigger and faster.
(b) We will solve AI when our learning algorithms get better. Or when we have even Bigger Data.
(c) We will solve AI when we finally understand what it is that evolution did in the construction of the human brain.
Ray Kurzweil and many others seem to put their weight on option (a), sufficient CPU power. But how many doublings in CPU power would be enough? Have all the doublings so far gotten us closer to true intelligence? Or just to narrow agents that can give us movie times?
In option (b), big data and better learning algorithms, have so far gotten us only to innovations such as machine translations, which provide fast but mediocre translations piggybacking onto the prior work of human translators, without any semblance of thinking. The machine translation engines available today cannot, for example, answer basic queries about what they just translated. Think of them more as idiot savants than fluent thinkers.
My bet is on option (c). Evolution seems to have endowed us with a very powerful set of priors (or what Noam Chomsky or Steven Pinker might call innate constraints) that allow us to make sense of the world based on very limited data. Big Efforts with Big Data aren’t really getting us closer to understanding those priors, so while we are getting better and better at the sort of problem that can be narrowly engineered (like driving on extremely well-mapped roads), we are not getting appreciably closer to machines with commonsense understanding, or the ability to process natural language. Or, more to the point of this year’s Edge Question, to machines that actually think.
All the while Yudkowsky, who has made a good living out of claiming that we need to give him money RIGHT NOW or Skynet is gonna be sexist and discriminate against your favorite porn genders, goes off on a tangent and doesn’t talk about whether AI is actually feasible or not.
Speaking of which, I wanna give bonus points to this guy who doesn’t have any credentials, but I like how he thinks.
Smart people often manage to avoid the cognitive errors that bedevil less well-endowed minds. But there are some kinds of foolishness that seem only to afflict the very intelligent. Worrying about the dangers of unfriendly AI is a prime example. A preoccupation with the risks of superintelligent machines is the smart person’s Kool Aid.
This is not to say that superintelligent machines pose no danger to humanity. It is simply that there are many other more pressing and more probable risks facing us this century. People who worry about unfriendly AI tend to argue that the other risks are already the subject of much discussion, and that even if the probability of being wiped out by superintelligent machines is very low, it is surely wise to allocate some brainpower to preventing such an event, given the existential nature of the threat.
Not coincidentally, the problem with this argument was first identified by some of its most vocal proponents. It involves a fallacy that has been termed “Pascal’s mugging,” by analogy with Pascal’s famous wager. A mugger approaches Pascal and proposes a deal: in exchange for the philosopher’s wallet, the mugger will give him back double the amount of money the following day. Pascal demurs. The mugger then offers progressively greater rewards, pointing out that for any low probability of being able to pay back a large amount of money (or pure utility) there exists a finite amount that makes it rational to take the bet—and a rational person must surely admit there is at least some small chance that such a deal is possible. Finally convinced, Pascal gives the mugger his wallet.
This thought experiment exposes a weakness in classical decision theory. If we simply calculate utilities in the classical manner, it seems there is no way round the problem; a rational Pascal must hand over his wallet. By analogy, even if there is there is only a small chance of unfriendly AI, or a small chance of preventing it, it can be rational to invest at least some resources in tackling this threat.
It is easy to make the sums come out right, especially if you invent billions of imaginary future people (perhaps existing only in software—a minor detail) who live for billions of years, and are capable of far greater levels of happiness than the pathetic flesh and blood humans alive today. When such vast amounts of utility are at stake, who could begrudge spending a few million dollars to safeguard it, even when the chances of success are tiny?
Why do some otherwise very smart people fall for this sleight of hand? I think it is because it panders to their narcissism. To regard oneself as one of a select few far-sighted thinkers who might turn out to be the saviors of mankind must be very rewarding. But the argument also has a very material benefit: it provides some of those who advance it with a lucrative income stream. For in the past few years they have managed to convince some very wealthy benefactors not only that the risk of unfriendly AI is real, but also that they are the people best placed to mitigate it. The result is a clutch of new organizations that divert philanthropy away from more deserving causes. It is worth noting, for example, that Give Well—a non-profit that evaluates the cost-effectiveness of organizations that rely on donations—refuses to endorse any of these self-proclaimed guardians of the galaxy.
But whenever an argument becomes fashionable, it is always worth asking the vital question—Cui bono? Who benefits, materially speaking, from the growing credence in this line of thinking? One need not be particularly skeptical to discern the economic interests at stake. In other words, beware not so much of machines that think, but of their self-appointed masters.
The past year and most likely the next fews have been full of news stories on how the IT industry has declared a War on Women or something. And while the nerds in the IT industry actually have a lot of reasons to declare a war on women, the fact is they haven’t. What they do is get together in reddit or other places on the internet to loudly proclaim how Feminist they are and how true these news stories are. We need more women!
I guess it’s their math skills which are telling them that bringing more women in their companies will shift the gender ratio and make it more likely to get a girlfriend. Hey, women say they want to work in tech! That’s good, right??
No, kids. It doesn’t work like that. The Women in Tech propaganda campaign has only got stared because women hate nerds. With a passion. It’s one of the few things where most women can agree on. And why do women hate hate hate nerds? “Why, oh why do they hate us?” some might be thinking. It’s not that hard really. See this:
To put it mildly, nerds are generally not the smoothest men around. To put it less mildly, nerds are generally very much disgusting. They are all that women find unattractive. Many a nerd has a story about coming up with the courage to ask a pretty girl out only to have her puke or laugh or run away. Well I’m sorry but nerds are (on average, of course) icky. Which is why women like to blame everything on nerds. Nerds are icky so no women will be caught dead defending them. So any attack on nerds triggers a signalling spiral in where all girls end up competing to see who hates nerds more, because no women wants to be thought as being nice to nerds. Cree-pyyyy. Remember that much of women’s mechanism of attraction depends on pre-selection. A man walking in with a hot girl to his side automatically becomes more attractive to women. By extension, a women who is nice to a nerd automatically becomes lower-status in the eyes of other women.
And that’s all there is to it. It’s not hard. But notwithstanding that nerds tend to be smarter than average, their high-ish g doesn’t compensate their tendency to take everything at face value. Feminism today teaches boys at school that women are holy so they must not be displeased. Mere attention by a nerd makes a women seriously displeased. But nerds are animals too and want to mate. So you have one ancient instinct telling you to do whatever it takes to put your dick inside a woman. But there’s another part of your brain telling you that you must obey the state religion.
This was a conundrum that Scott Aaronson, the guy from the video above, took very seriously. And the conclusion he reached was if anything completely logical. I want to have sex. But my mere expression of that biological drive makes me go against the state religion. What to do? Go to a psychiatrist and ask to be castrated. Kill the instinct, so that I can respect the state religion, i.e. Feminism. Fortunately for him castrating unattractive men is not yet public policy of USG, so he could keep his testicles. Eventually he achieved professional status, making him just attractive enough to get a wife and beget children. Yet this still didn’t make him doubt the state religion. Well to some extent it did, and he tried to be a smartass and make a public announcement about how much he keeps the faith in the state religion in spite of almost sacrificing his genetic fitness for it. He thought he’d be praised for his faith; but women aren’t stupid. No, it wasn’t hard to notice the not-so-subtle displays of doubt against Feminism, and if anything he was publicly shamed for not going through and actually castrating himself. This guy actually had the nerve to marry and have sex with a woman? Eww, cree-pyyyy.
Nobody came to his rescue, because women just won’t defend unattractive men, and non-nerds were naturally found his displays of feminist-faith-despite-all-odds to be revolting. He Aaronson did find one defender, namely Scott Alexander, the patron saint of feminist nerds.
Now Alexander may dispute this epithet as he has been very vocal about his opposition to feminists. But of course he doesn’t have a clue: see how his article was an almost comical example of Godwins law: feminists are bad to Jews! They’re like Hitler!
Leaving that sad attempt at out-victimizing women, the interesting part (the only interesting part) is how SA defined himself:
I’m an asexual heteroromantic guy
Aaronson must have thought: “damn, why didn’t I think of that one!”. Scott Aaronson actually went to a psychiatrist to attempt to physically alter his body to castrate him so he wouldn’t approach women. Scott Alexander though has achieved it all by himself by sheer autosuggestion. He got his brain to stop seeking sex with women, so he wouldn’t be at fault with the state religion. After all women aren’t against nerds per se; they are against being objects of nerds sexual desire, which affects their sexual market value. If all nerds were asexual, women would be most willing to be friends with them and let them carry their shopping bags. Which is why he makes it a public statement: oh please holy women, let me talk. I do not want to have sex with you. Talking with me will not affect your SMV. I am not cree-pyyyy. Please let me talk.
Apparently this blog still has an audience for short posts, so I’ll put my two cents on a recent controversy which has been lacking common sense.
A lot of ink has been spilled about Paul Graham’s essay where he begs for increased immigration into the US. His argument is that Silicon Valley need more geniuses, so please give us 1 million more Indians a year. Or something.
Now Graham is a good writer, and tends to make sense, but he doesn’t make any here. You can read Sonic Harm’s slightly incoherent rant to get a measure of how pissed people are.
The thing is, there is no need to refute Graham’s argument. Graham’s knows he’s made an unfalsifiable point, so there’s no point asking for data to rebuke his point. Graham says that Silicon Valley runs on geniuses, and these are evenly distributed around the earth. You disagree? Racist! You don’t think Silicon Valley runs on geniuses? Ignorant! You disagree with both? Ignorant Racist. QED.
There’s a much better way to answer his point. Doesn’t he represent the engineers? The get-things-done crowd? The people who actually make things unlike the evil politicians? Well, why don’t you make an actual proposal for a new immigration policy?
It isn’t that hard. We had a discussion among the Elders and it came up pretty quick: make a new immigrant visa for genius programmers, only available for people who are to be paid 200k+ per year. I say ramp it up; if these guys are so good, make it 500k+. Graham and his guys will make sure that only the real geniuses get through the interviews, and if they’re that good, surely 500k isn’t too much. The future of the nation depends on them, right? Then pay.
Why didn’t Graham propose this? Because he’s full of shit, obviously. All he wants is code fodder for his Incubator. And if he doesn’t, all he needs to do is make a concrete proposal on how to get quality, and not quantity.
So the slowest year on record for this blog is over. If you think this is just the beginning of the decline, you might be right. I’m not blogging as frequently as I used to, and there are good reasons for that. One being my recently started family. Another being that my comment threads aren’t as rewarding as they used to. Another that I’m going through a reverse Dunning-Kruger effect: the more I know the less I think I know. It’s starting to get harder to write a post that I can be proud of, and I just don’t have the time or energy to do the necessary research to write really good posts.
This may just be me being too hard to myself; substandard content doesn’t seem to bother a lot of bloggers out there, even fairly famous ones with academic careers. I should probably just loosen up and just go on writing, maybe on a fixed schedule. Thing is I’m very bad at fixed schedules; my brain just doesn’t do self-discipline. My ego always pairs up with my id. Or I’m just very bad at fooling myself, which might not be a bad thing.
I can do monthly though, if only to avoid gaps in the archive list in the right sidebar. So here goes a light post for December 2014.
A lot gets written around about religion, the importance of tradition, rituals, all that. There’s the old debate on whether religion is either something you believe in, or something you do. These are likely to be different things. Religion is often treated as a gestalt, but that is fallacious. Religion is a composite of different things, and the different components behave and evolve differently.
Last week, while most of the West woke up hungover from drinking too much during Christmas, some people in Hunan province, China, were celebrating something different.
Yes, that’s old Mao. And December 26 is his birthday, so people gathered at his birthplace of Shaoshan to celebrate it.
Those flags say “Long live the Communist Party”, “Chairman Mao the most (something), and “Chinese Dream”, which is the trademark bullshit from the new chairman Xi Jinping.
The Mao worshippers all clad with bright-red scarfs sing communist songs from their childhood.
Right now you’d think, so what? Some commies go to celebrate Mao’s birthday on a state-paid trip, and take a lot of well posed pictures to post in the state-owned newspaper. Big deal.
But wait, look at this.
Shaoshan villagers sacrifice a pig. Yep, a pig.
And they offer the blood to a bronze statue of Mao. Yes, they are offering pig blood to a statue of Mao.
You may have noticed that this is Christmas we’re talking about. Early winter is slaughter season everywhere in the world, basically because it’s the first time in the year when it’s cold enough that meat won’t spoil easily, so you have time to process it into sausages and other stuff for the winter. And while you’re at it, you have a feast.
Slaughter season is often turned into a religious festival, with offerings from the slaughtered beast given to the local gods. The Chinese have been offering pig blood to the local gods for millennia; most likely well into prehistory. Let’s say 8,000 years.
Mao is both the great communist who rescued the proletariat and made great contributions to Marxist theory. And he’s also the new incarnation of a local neolithic god. It’s certainly convenient that he was born during slaughter season.
I was typing this as an answer to Jim’s comment, but I might as well make it a post and be done with it. I don’t really have much time to spend hours reading on religion in ancient Japan, interesting as it is. So I’ll just start typing and see what comes out of it.
The gist of the issue is that Shinto was usual local animism, and the introduction of Buddhism with their holy ascetic monks and sutras and shit basically killed Shinto and replaced it for all purposes. Shinto animism was just your typical local spirit worship, and some clan god worship. Everybody had their dear gods/spirits who they prayed to or appeased, and that was it. The priests or wizards usually came from the same family of retainers of the local lord.
Then in the 6th century the imperial family’s relatives in the Korean peninsula bring Buddhism, saying it’s The Truth, and it’s awesome. The Yamato court agrees, and Buddhism starts to spread like wildfire, together with their huge fancy temples, weird sutras in classical chinese, and ascetic monks.
Apparently the court start building temples next to any Shinto shrine of significance. I imagine it was a power coup to make the local clans understand who was boss now. Sure, you can pray to your clan god; but see this amazing temple just next to it! So much bigger and colorful. Eventually people got the message.
And Buddhism is of course more attractive. Besides the fancy buildings and exotic songs; it has tales of heaven and hell, on how to behave, and the Buddhism trademark on how to stop suffering. People like that, and soon enough it was all temples and no shrines. Praying to the gods never worked very well when you think about it.
Buddhist temples were large corporations, extensive temples with hundreds of monks, supported by tax-free land grants from the court. Buddhist monks have a rather easy life, but it isn’t easy to become a monk in the first place. Shave your head; no meat, no beer, no sex; hard schedule; regular visits to frozen rivers and high mountains to enrich your spirit. But hey, free food! And holiness. The temples obviously didn’t reproduce themselves, but there was no shortage of monks.
Animism wasn’t totally eliminated of course. Superstition about appeasing the local spirits never dies out; and some clans did their Buddhist thing, then make some offerings to the clan god anyway. In the end religion as an activity is a single thing for most people, so Shinto merged with Buddhism; mostly by building an altar inside the wider Buddhist temple. Some older, bigger shrines associated with big clans or the imperial family, such as what today is Izumo Taisha, managed to survive, but they were very influenced by the nearby Buddhist temples, from which they copied art style and ritual.
Apparently the theoretical rationale that people came up with was that spirits had the same problems as people, so spirits also needed to visit temples to get their desire out of them so they could earn nirvana. Then some spirits became Boddhisatvas and whatever. I’m no expert in Buddhism and it’s always struck me as a huge pile of nonsense; but it’s clear that the Japanese saw no contradiction in the two, and were quite happy to merge them, and Buddhism always had the upper hand, both in superior theology and superior management.
Buddhist temples being a superior business enterprise, especially in their management of human resources and public relations, started to get big, and numerous. They got land, they got people, and they got a hand in the court. Eventually the Heian court collapses in the 12th century, but by then the temples had armed themselves and were pretty good at defending their holdings, and could even fight outside as mercenaries.
Monks went to China to study the scriptures, came back with new theories which were holier than anything before. They started preaching and getting the peasants worked up on stories of Amida, an awesome boddhi-something that takes you to heaven if you say her name all the time. Then this Nichiren guy comes up and says there’s one single sutra where all the good stuff is in. But you don’t even have to read it; it’s in classical chinese after all. So just say the name of the sutra all the time and you’re set, straight to heaven. And then there’s all this Zen stuff.
Some centuries of civil war and tenuous military governments pass, and eventually the new samurai lords got pissed with the temples not paying taxes and sending warrior monks everywhere; so they beat the shit out of them. However this is the 16th century and the Iberians are selling muskets only to Christian converts. Destroying the temples may give the Christians a chance to expand, and we don’t want that. But you still want to take the temple lands, and you really really want to take their pikes.
So the Tokugawas in 1600 had this stroke of genius. Really, the sheer administrative brilliance that the early Edo period statesman came up with is a marvel of innovative government. What they did with religion is:
1. Forbid the construction of new temples or foundation of new sects
2. Force every single person in the country to register with their local temple.
3. Make the temple certify that they are not Christian.
And that’s it. They call it the Danka System, Danka being the name of the households that financially support a temple. Now every single household was forced to become a Danka and pay for their temple. That way the government could take the temple’s lands without having it collapse. And they also got a free of charge nationwide household registry, and the temples were financially incentivized to check for any traces of Christianity.
On the other hand, the temples now had a legal monopoly on the household registry system. Which means they could force the people to do anything they wanted, lest they branded you a Christian or some other strange sect that were forbidden later. Not having your registry in order was basically a death sentence; so the temples had right of life or death over the local populace.
You can imagine what happened. The temples started forcing everybody to give money on demand, to do a whole set of annual rites on the temple, to provide labor when needed, and whatever the local monks wanted you to do. Holiness competition was outlawed, so the temples became just another state bureaucracy, albeit a very powerful, and hence rapacious one.
People tend to like their church more than their bureaucrats. So the faith of the populace in Buddhism plummeted pretty fast. Eventually the monks stopped pretending they actually understood the sutras, and Buddhism has become just a pretty damn expensive funeral service. Which it still is, by the way.
Now, it’s one thing for the government to tame religion and make it a state bureaucracy. But that means there’s a religious vacuum there waiting to be filled. People actually want to believe in something; and if the damn temples were beyond contempt, well surely there must be something out there worthy of worship.
As I touched upon in my Monarchy post, the intelligentsia of Edo period Japan were the Kokugaku guys; the national studies, which was a combination of decoding the old classics of the Imperial era, and some readings on Chinese Neoconfucianism. As it happened, the Chinese Confucians had been anti-Buddhist for a long time, and they had their own Confucian ethics to propose in place of the weird asceticism of Buddhism. This only fit with what the Samurai wanted to hear. And luckily the Japanese scholars had an even better fit for a good religion that the Confucians themselves. Confucianism in its origin was a nostalgic cult which worshiped the Zhou court and its rituals. But the Zhou court was destroyed, and the Zhou kings disappeared. So Confucians for 2000 years had to carry this weird cognitive dissonance in which they worshiped a past which was summarily murdered, as would all the successive dynasties that were built in its place.
But Japan actually had the old imperial court around; the imperial line survived there in Kyoto. And even the ancient religion was still around, lingering in a handful of obscure shrines in the provinces, and in the folk religion of the peasants. If we only washed away the corruptive influence of Buddhism in the shrines, and try to reconstruct the ancient spirit worship as is depicted in the ancient texts; then we’d have the perfect ancestral religion of the Japanese nation. They found some reference to Shinto opposed to Buddhism in the ancient texts, so voila, Shinto it is. The true religion of Japan.
As we know the National Studies guys won the culture war, and any Samurai who scholar who was worth his salt was a fanatic believer on the divinity of the Unbroken Imperial Line, the True Religion of Japan, and the necessity of overthrowing the evil Shogun. And overthrown he was in 1868, in the Meiji Restoration. Which was a bottom-up revolution if I ever saw one, but like the fascists that would storm Europe 50 years later, leftist revolutions go down easier if you dress them up as rightist restorations. As always the Japanese were decades before everyone else.
After the Edo government fell, the first thing the Meiji did was turn against the hated Buddhist temples. A law mandated the separation of Shinto and Buddhism was passed, upon which all shrines were to expel any monks, Buddhist texts, figures or utensils found inside them, and they were to be put under the administration of the government. Soon some overzealous Samurai started going against the temples, and masses across the country started burning temples, destroying figures, and expelling monks en masse. And I guess killing some monks and raping some nuns, but the sources aren’t clear.
The extent of the Buddhism purge varied among regions, the worst case being in Satsuma, the core of the Meiji revolution. 1600 temples were vacated, the monks drafted as soldiers and their wealth given to the army. And that was that. It does sound quite similar to the closing of the monasteries by Henry VIII of England, and I wonder if any of the Meiji guys had heard of it.
And so the government established a Shinto Ministry with high hopes for the establishment of a national religion based on the old imperial rites. But it only lasted 6 months. Basically the Shinto theologians they hired to preach around the country couldn’t agree on a single tenet of faith, and there weren’t that many of them to begin with. The Buddhist temples had started to complain about their unfair treatment; and as hated as they were in some places, it wasn’t all that universal, and the temples did run schools across the country. If anyone had the expertise to teach a religion to all the peasants, it was them. So the government surrendered, and came up with a new Teaching Ministry that included the Buddhists, while the imperial rituals were transferred to the imperial household bureau.
But that Teaching Ministry didn’t last much longer either. After 5 years it was out, its work divided between the new Education Ministry, and the court ritual parts transferred to a new Shrines and Temples bureau. For all their hopes of a new national religion; the fact is that, first, the ban on Christianity had to be lifted, else whitey and his gunships are gonna get very angry. Speaking of whitey, they tell us they have this thing called compulsory universal education, where they get all the kids in the country and lock them in a room for hours a day to teach them stuff. Might as well do the religion thing there, instead of the shrines and temples.
The Shrines and Temples Bureau did their thing, which was make sure the Shinto places were free of any Buddhist influence, and that the Buddhist temples didn’t do anything strange. Buddhist monks were allowed to take wives, eat meat, and basically pay no attention to their monastic vows. Many had been secretly taking wives and having children since their Household Registry days during the Shogunate, but they weren’t supposed to. The Meiji government told them it was cool, and they overwhelmingly chose to. Industrialization and the new army meant that there weren’t that many aspirants to the monastic life, and the Buddhist temples basically evolved into hereditary fiefs of the chief monk. To this day, the chief monks of Japanese temples inherit their job from their father, even though the temple grounds aren’t their personal property; the temple is a corporation.
Buddhist temples having lost their government privilege couldn’t coerce the peasants into paying regularly or attending 5 rituals a year; but inertia is a funny thing, and to this day the Buddhist are in charge of most funerals in the country, for which they charge some serious money. You do want your daddy to go to heaven with good standing, right? It is slowly breaking down though, as even the last remnants of peasant superstition are starting to wear off.
So what about the Shinto shrines? As I’ve been saying the whole thing was totally made up by the Meiji guys. Shinto had no theology, and not that many shrines to begin with. There was a continuum of pure Buddhist temples to Buddhist-animist temples to formerly-important Shrines which had been mostly colonized by Buddhism over the centuries. The Meiji ordered a cleanup, and they built a lot of new ones, and made the whole thing into a neat state bureaucracy, with a hierarchy of priests and grades depending on passing a state exam.on ritual acumen. Yeah, they have exams, kinda like Karate but praying.
However, while Shinto were cleaned up and made into a fairly neat system of courtly rituals, it was never made into a state religion worth its name. The original idea was to have a God Ministry which was in charge of court rituals, the nation’s shrines and public education. First the rituals were transferred to another agency, and then education and religion were separated for good. One big reason was that the Western powers weren’t very cool with a non-Christian state religion, and they had the big guns. But the main reason was that the religion just wasn’t there. There was a cool mythology of Sun Goddesses and their progeny that end up in the Emperor himself; but you can teach that in a couple of history classes. There was little else to it; and while the bureaucracy came up with new rituals to entice the people to visit the shrines, it never amounted to much. The Aristocracy were forced by law to change their funerals to Shinto style, but the commoners preferred to stick to what they knew. Mostly for inertia; but Buddhism has a fairly detailed account on heaven and hell, and you don’t wanna get that wrong.
After WW2, the McArthur administration scrapped the whole Shinto bureaucracy, and the temples became a private corporation, which runs the exams and the rest of the paperwork. The priests now are not bureaucrats, and have become an hereditary position. The shrines remain cleaned up and separate from Buddhism; and privatization has made the shrines more efficient. While Buddhism is declining, complacent in the easy money that the funeral business provides, Shinto shrines have monopolized the fun stuff. Shinto weddings are a thing among conservative people with money (most people get a white fake priest in a fake white church), and religious rituals with children (to pray for health at age 3 and things like that) are exclusively done in Shinto shrines these days. Summer festivals and their wild processions have come to be associated with Shinto, when it wasn’t like that before.
Jim says that the civility, tenacity and hard work of the Japanese comes from Shintoism, but that’s transparent bullshit. The way more tenacious and hardworking Samurai (I mean the original warriors) were pious Buddhists, and Shinto was, as I said, a fairly empty theological contraption. In the end it was only a thin veneer, hardly more than a class on patriotic education. Saying Japan works because of Shinto would be like saying Germans were good soldiers because of Nazism, which doesn’t sound fair.
Of course patriotism does work to an extent, but you hardly need a full religion to have patriotism. And it doesn’t explain much; Japan and Germany today are still very functional and pleasant societies; but their people could hardly be called patriotic. The modern Japanese are a fairly decadent and hedonistic bunch; as are the Germans.
What is it then? I think that the fascist ideologies of roughly 1870-1945 are a consequence and not a cause. Japan, Germany and crucially Italy too developed their rather rabid strand of nationalism because they weren’t real nations to begin with. Before their political unification, they were but areas of cultural unity, but politically independent, or at least highly autonomous principalities.The feudal han of Edo period Japan were of course subject to the Shogun, but they were virtually independent in most legislation, and they kept their own schools and armies; which was the Shogunate’s undoing in the end.
The argument has been done that it was this very disunity that produced the literate and civil society of today (southern Italy being an exception; it was a centralized monarchy in its own). Ruling a country is hard, and ruling a large country is harder still. The biggest problem for the ruler of a large country is to prevent rebellion; which is of course harder the larger and more populous the country is. The easiest way to prevent rebellions is by tampering with the ability of people to assemble and organize themselves, and by impeding their access to information.
Smaller principalities don’t have that problem; the concentric loyalty networks of patronage which are the basis of any power structure are short enough that a ruler can be secure in his place by sheer force of custom. A ruler is just a few degrees of separation from any commoner, who is tied to him by actually understandable chains of loyalty. It’s Dunbar-compatible (my coining). Such a ruler has no need to tamper with the local flows of information, or from stopping people from assembling or becoming literate. Edo period Japan was a very highly literate society, and had fairly advanced economic networks (the rice futures of Osaka are famous). That didn’t make it a restless or revolutionary place; everybody had Dunbar-compatible personal loyalties to the system, and they stayed in place until the outside shock of Western intervention 250 years later.
The breaking up of this system meant that a rather more abstract nation-state had to be built to replace the old feudalism; and it had to be quick. Japanese, Germans and Italians compensated their lack of actual national ties by going full retard on the national essence, the Gods and the Blood and whatever holy-sounding crap they could come up with. It didn’t work; most people never cared much for the overblown rhetoric. But people went along and fought valiantly because they were conditioned by their long culture of loyalty to their immediate superiors (not so much in Italy I guess, but I’m no expert in Italian city state history. I guess the periods of French, Spanish and Austrian rule didn’t help). And that’s why Germans and Japanese were great soldiers, while Chinese and Russians died in millions when their centralized bureaucracy collapsed, or almost did.
The failure of State Shinto (as it’s called by modern historians) also shows that you can’t make up a state religion just like that. Of course in my defense I could say that the Meiji government didn’t try very hard (giving up and shutting down the Ministry in 6 months? Come on). And Japan was trying to come up with a religion in a situation of effective religious vacuum. While my proposal is about replacing a positively harmful religion which afflicts the West today. In the end the Japanese didn’t need a religion, and the vacuum continues to this day. But Westerners clearly can’t function without theology, so if we want to do away with Social Justice, we’re gonna need to replace it with something.
Something good though. Certainly not Shinto.