Nothing is more American than to proudly declare yourself outside the mainstream. And so we've become a herd of people busily declaring ourselves not part of the herd...
http://www.iasc-culture.org/THR/THR_arti...erfeld.php
EXCERPT: . . . The surest way to lay claim to the moral high ground in America is still to call oneself a victim, but outsider status now comes close. An outsider is in a sense a victim, someone who has been oppressed or mistreated by the majority. But victims possess purity and innocence by virtue of their lack of agency. Outsiders are actively angry and defiant; they are contrarian. Most important, victims seek justice under the terms of the existing moral order. They have a rightful claim that has gone unheard or has been ignored. For outsiders, the existing order is illegitimate and must be rejected or overturned.
[...] Much of what social critics decry as rampant individualism in contemporary America is really rampant crowd behavior. It is herds of people busily declaring that they are not part of the herd. Whether you’re a Satanist or an alt-right activist, you sign up for a total lifestyle package that includes a limited menu of approved ideas, clothing styles, and other badges you can choose from to express your individuality. What you get in return is an intense sense of belonging and identity—we’re all pariahs here!
Americans once derived the satisfactions of association from traditional institutions—family, community, church, state, employers, unions. As the hold of these institutions has weakened, we have parceled out our belonging to ideas, images, and ideologies that allow us to feel part of a larger whole. Our commitment to them may not amount to much more than pasting a bumper sticker on the family SUV.
Many people weave together an array of looser group identities, becoming Prius-driving vegan Democrats or hoodie-wearing tech libertarians, elaborating their identities with the clothes they buy, the foods they eat, and other badges of affiliation. A tattoo or perhaps a piercing may top off the ensemble, giving it all an overtly outlaw edge. Others opt for the more intense commitment and rewards of belonging to a contrarian crowd. And in recent years, even many casual affiliations have hardened into something more tribal and adversarial. Partisan loyalty, for example, was once a loose form of membership that most people inherited like the family photo albums. Now it is becoming more like a uniform one puts on to signal an array of commitments and defiant self-declarations.
There is not much that is truly contrarian in any of this. Real contrarians don’t run in crowds. On my office wall hangs a picture of a man standing in a crowd with his arms crossed, an impassive look on his face. Around him are scores of people, all with their arms thrust forward in stiff Nazi salutes. It is Hamburg, 1936. We can’t be absolutely certain that the man in the picture was August Landmesser, but we do know one thing: He was a contrarian.2
A contrarian is by definition someone with a singular idea who stands against the crowd. He or she takes a risk. August Landmesser risked everything. (He escaped punishment for his act of defiance but later served time in a concentration camp and was killed in action in 1944 while serving in a penal battalion.) Other contrarians risk much less. For the most part in the West today, their risk is social: They risk the disapproval of the crowd—of their friends, family, colleagues, community, and society. They might simply face unspoken disapproval, or they might be shunned and ostracized or burned at the stake of Twitter. Some face criticism and censure or social or professional excommunication. They risk their status and prestige. Some risk losing their jobs.
Risk is the metric by which contrarians are measured. The greater the risk, the more contrarian they are. Another way of saying this is that it takes courage to be a contrarian. They are a rare but widely dispersed breed. There are intellectual contrarians, such as Christopher Hitchens and Camille Paglia, as well as artistic, scientific, and political ones. Entrepreneurs, from Elon Musk to the most obscure startup boss, are contrarians because they pursue singular ideas, as are some investors, although the risks they face are less social than financial. Whistleblowers are contrarians, as are countless unknown others who fight against the odds in bureaucracies and other settings.
I tacked a picture of August Landmesser on my wall to remind myself of these things. I think of myself as a contrarian, and the photo reminds me how far I am from being a real one. Like the revelers in Los Angeles, I don’t put much at risk by indulging in the belief that I’m a bold outsider. It’s a cheap thrill. The Satanists and other crowds risk even less, precisely because they are crowds. They have each other for support, affirmation, and the occasional nightclub blowout of self-congratulation....
MORE: http://www.iasc-culture.org/THR/THR_arti...erfeld.php
http://www.iasc-culture.org/THR/THR_arti...erfeld.php
EXCERPT: . . . The surest way to lay claim to the moral high ground in America is still to call oneself a victim, but outsider status now comes close. An outsider is in a sense a victim, someone who has been oppressed or mistreated by the majority. But victims possess purity and innocence by virtue of their lack of agency. Outsiders are actively angry and defiant; they are contrarian. Most important, victims seek justice under the terms of the existing moral order. They have a rightful claim that has gone unheard or has been ignored. For outsiders, the existing order is illegitimate and must be rejected or overturned.
[...] Much of what social critics decry as rampant individualism in contemporary America is really rampant crowd behavior. It is herds of people busily declaring that they are not part of the herd. Whether you’re a Satanist or an alt-right activist, you sign up for a total lifestyle package that includes a limited menu of approved ideas, clothing styles, and other badges you can choose from to express your individuality. What you get in return is an intense sense of belonging and identity—we’re all pariahs here!
Americans once derived the satisfactions of association from traditional institutions—family, community, church, state, employers, unions. As the hold of these institutions has weakened, we have parceled out our belonging to ideas, images, and ideologies that allow us to feel part of a larger whole. Our commitment to them may not amount to much more than pasting a bumper sticker on the family SUV.
Many people weave together an array of looser group identities, becoming Prius-driving vegan Democrats or hoodie-wearing tech libertarians, elaborating their identities with the clothes they buy, the foods they eat, and other badges of affiliation. A tattoo or perhaps a piercing may top off the ensemble, giving it all an overtly outlaw edge. Others opt for the more intense commitment and rewards of belonging to a contrarian crowd. And in recent years, even many casual affiliations have hardened into something more tribal and adversarial. Partisan loyalty, for example, was once a loose form of membership that most people inherited like the family photo albums. Now it is becoming more like a uniform one puts on to signal an array of commitments and defiant self-declarations.
There is not much that is truly contrarian in any of this. Real contrarians don’t run in crowds. On my office wall hangs a picture of a man standing in a crowd with his arms crossed, an impassive look on his face. Around him are scores of people, all with their arms thrust forward in stiff Nazi salutes. It is Hamburg, 1936. We can’t be absolutely certain that the man in the picture was August Landmesser, but we do know one thing: He was a contrarian.2
A contrarian is by definition someone with a singular idea who stands against the crowd. He or she takes a risk. August Landmesser risked everything. (He escaped punishment for his act of defiance but later served time in a concentration camp and was killed in action in 1944 while serving in a penal battalion.) Other contrarians risk much less. For the most part in the West today, their risk is social: They risk the disapproval of the crowd—of their friends, family, colleagues, community, and society. They might simply face unspoken disapproval, or they might be shunned and ostracized or burned at the stake of Twitter. Some face criticism and censure or social or professional excommunication. They risk their status and prestige. Some risk losing their jobs.
Risk is the metric by which contrarians are measured. The greater the risk, the more contrarian they are. Another way of saying this is that it takes courage to be a contrarian. They are a rare but widely dispersed breed. There are intellectual contrarians, such as Christopher Hitchens and Camille Paglia, as well as artistic, scientific, and political ones. Entrepreneurs, from Elon Musk to the most obscure startup boss, are contrarians because they pursue singular ideas, as are some investors, although the risks they face are less social than financial. Whistleblowers are contrarians, as are countless unknown others who fight against the odds in bureaucracies and other settings.
I tacked a picture of August Landmesser on my wall to remind myself of these things. I think of myself as a contrarian, and the photo reminds me how far I am from being a real one. Like the revelers in Los Angeles, I don’t put much at risk by indulging in the belief that I’m a bold outsider. It’s a cheap thrill. The Satanists and other crowds risk even less, precisely because they are crowds. They have each other for support, affirmation, and the occasional nightclub blowout of self-congratulation....
MORE: http://www.iasc-culture.org/THR/THR_arti...erfeld.php