I imagine a pack of mange-ridden dogs stalking a foggy wood. Eyes fixed forward, there is no banter, no communication, only the rhythmic and machinelike interplay of rasps, a dark cadence, their rapid breaths proclaiming their common intensity. Occasionally, a nose swoops to the ground for the scent of weakness.

*

Imagine a really good party. Imagine the music defining everyone, their power, their beauty, their joy. Think momentum as it engulfs the rambunctious play and buoyant conversation until the dissonance builds into a kind of ecstatic ambiance. Say now: love ya, man! Imagine hearing it everywhere and all the time.

Now imagine it crashed by skinheads. Think first loss: the fullness of the ambience as the playful banter becomes less playful and drops from the music. Think scowls and judgmental glares. Imagine the conversations. Think you conceding; them, never. Think cool, confident tone based not on certainty, but a refusal to accept any other answer. Think: the throwing up of the hands and righteous indignation at your agitation. Hear:  the free exchange of ideas, of facts and reason. Think: step carefully. Imagine your unease as you make your case in the crosshairs.

*

It is right to start with skinheads –especially the neo-Nazis. In them, we get a better understanding of what underlies the authoritarian personality and its behaviors. First, we must recognize that they truly think they are right and that, from their perspective (which they are stuck in), all evidence can only support their belief. The problem is that the bulk of those who surround them are either too moderate to accept their extreme position, or too a-political to care. This creates an isolating effect that explains a lot. For instance, it explains their pack orientation. We can easily imagine them huddled back to back against a hostile world. And, no doubt, so can they. Furthermore, it reveals their aggression as being little more than an attempt to overcompensate for the nagging doubt provoked by their minority status. And the same holds true for Libertarians, Hard Determinists, and the religious right. The point is that much of what we generally write off as being a product of fanaticism may actually be a defense.

*

And always, of course, are the advocates of truth and certainty: the aristocrat and amateur scientist, the new law in town, they with all their talk of logic and reason, and the high praise for and exaggerated claim to a scientific method, the firm foundation of the objective. We know it well. They wear it on their sleeves, with their reading lists, and flash it, like a badge of authority, as they rush in to set everything strait. Should we dissent, they, in their cognitive dissonance, will only retreat into Cassandra-like denial and take it as proof of their rightness. Then, having regained their footing, and quick to wit and clever remarks, they’ll lash out like a wannabe Capotes until the mocking laughter of their imaginary entourage puts us in our place. But take heart. They do it for our own good. The language game merely escalates into an act of tough love; and they are the only ones left who can save us from our relativistic nonsense. Plead as we will, they will not be detoured. Stand our ground, they will only push forward. Ask how they know, and they’ll casually reply that facts and experts agree, and those that don’t don’t matter. They will demand, debase, degrade, repeat themselves and harp, noxiously, “Prove it! Prove it! Prove it!” until we can only break down and be remade.

Silly gurus, they presume to be something more. And who scheduled the lecture, anyway, the seminar, and what do they have to offer that is so important we should allow our mental space to be used as a podium? And what is it? Money? Power? Adoration? What do they want? Were they ever really invited?

*

Lately, though, it’s been the tightfisted heirs of Nietzsche. Offspring of punk and Neo-Liberalism, they scoff at the complaints of the slave-like and weak. Remember, they roar gleefully, as they glide on circumstances, morality is for losers. Daring the cyberpunk dream of a Darwinistic world, they stand ready and willing. Others crawl from their barrels, a new Diogenes, masturbate in the town square, and sternly chastise the passersby for their phoniness in taking a deferred, polite, and respectable approach to the same urge. Missing, though, is a clear explanation as to what it means to be authentic. Both fantasies are much the same. Sitting in front of a computer in an air conditioned room, it’s easy to imagine, in one’s self, such rugged individualism. But it begs two questions:

1st of all, how much philosophizing would they, or Nietzsche, be able to do with a whip cracking at their backs? Or thinking in a world where the always pressing thought was survival? And 2nd, isn’t it ironic that they, who put so much value on their individuality, their difference from the common crowd (that which defines their player status), would have managed, in the end, to reduce Nietzsche to a fad?   

*

In the end, though, the world will change as it will, and any one of us can only play a minor role. And when the day is over, and deep into the night, we’ll rest with our pack, mange ridden dogs and skinheads alike, all of us together. Diogenes will return to his barrel and write (we must admit his sincerity), while the aristocrat, chuckles at the silliness of the world, hangs his powdered wig, and settles down to his flasks and equations. On a dark porch in desolate country, the new law in town, with the brim of his hat lowered, will sway on his rocker, strike a match, and take a slow draw from a cigarette which he will exhale with satisfaction. Tomorrow, he’ll sigh, tomorrow. Such men must scoff in the face of isolation.  Yet, who do they want to reach? It’s got to be someone. What makes it so important?