The Canny Nature Of Seduction - The Vixenish Rasputin Of Main Street

Alicia Barton had never intended anything more than making her way; and certainly not walking the halls of the Capitol, hand in hand with one of the most powerful men in Washington.  Yet, there it was as plain as day - a simple, good, Christian girl in bed with a man as familiar to the nation as Rice Krispies and milk, influencing decisions that would make or break a nation, rolling over when asked, and asking but small favors in return, small favors which turned into large ones until she was known as The Rasputin of Pennsylvania Avenue. 

Such is the nature of men and women, a given since the first sentient ape - a pas de deux of seduction, favors, and a sexual balance of power always tilted a woman's way. Shakespeare understood the dance better than most.  His heroines were canny, shrewd, and indomitably ambitious - to say they were the power behind the throne would be doing them injustice.  They were the power.  

Without Lady Macbeth, the Thane of Cawdor would never have risen beyond a pretender to the throne. Poor man, in the grips of a terrifying woman who wakes her husband, drills him in the art of murder, and makes way for both their royal futures. 

Margaret of Anjou, the wife of the weak and spineless Henry VI of England played a crucial role in the Lancastrian cause, leading armies and orchestrating plots to secure her husband's crown and her son's inheritance. 

Volumnia, mother of Coriolanus engineered his rise to power and then featured in his demise.  She was a canny, unprincipled, devious and ambitious woman for whom the desire for power and ambition displaced any maternal feelings she might have.  In fact she used her maternal influence to bend and sway her son in ways that suited her. 

Dionyza cowed her immature and uxorious husband and despite his demurrals plotted to murder Marina, daughter of Pericles, left in her charge, thanks to her charm, beauty, and intelligence threw a long shadow over Dionyza's plain, unmarriageable daughter. 

Gertrude, Hamlet's mother wedded two kings, knowing full well that her second husband had murdered her first; but played the loving wife to her husband Claudius and manipulated her weak, indecisive, and pusillanimous son, Hamlet. 

Clytemnestra was a Shakespearean prototype, inviting her lover to take up residence with her in the palace while her husband, King Agamemnon is away fighting the Trojans, and then persuading him to kill Agamemnon when he returns to Greece with a concubine. She uses the same maternal influences as Dionyza when the learns that her son, Orestes, plans to avenge his father's death and murder her. 

The list is endless - powerful, canny, ambitious women who despite living under a stern patriarchy, still managed to control the men in their lives.  Ibsen's characters, Hedda Gabler, Rebekka West, and Hilda Wangel are indomitable in their wish to dominate men even for now particular gain.  Hilda sends The Master Builder to his death because she could. 

Alicia fit perfectly in this mold.  She, like these women was unstoppable, irresistible, and completely without compunction.  She, like Hilda Wangel had nothing to gain from her influence over the Senator.  It was just a fulfillment of what could be.  She was a Nietzschean from head to toe - the exertion of pure will was the only validation of the individual in a meaningless world. 

Her seduction of the Senator did not happen just like that.  She patiently moved her way up the Congressional ladder from interns to aides to the men in power, all of whom were taken by her perfectly manicured charm. In her arms, they were king, convinced of their virility, seductiveness, and charm.  It was they who lured Alicia to bed and not the other way around. 

Now this particular politician should have known better.  As Chairman of the most powerful committee in the Senate, he was no stranger to political intrigue, internecine battle, intimidation, deception, and strategy; and yet there he was sharing state secrets with Alicia who had not just seduced the gullible, needy physical and emotional side of the man but the intellectual one.  Her canniness was viral, insidious, and quiet.  Before he knew it he was hers entirely. 

How did Alicia come by this devious brilliance? Her father was a model of middle American rectitude and responsibility.  Her mother was an attentive and loving parent, a tireless community volunteer, and a deaconess at her church. 

Neither Shakespeare nor Ibsen tell how their heroines came to embody such Nietzschean will, amoral ambition, and insatiable desire; and Alicia's parents were befuddled by their daughter's singleness of purpose, her ability to charm teachers, pastors, parents, and friends. It all came naturally to her, a second nature; and the most perplexing part of it all was that she had no goals in mind, no eyes on the prize, no one object of ambition.  This charming moral chameleon had interest only in influence itself and for that she was one of a kind. 

The world is filled with ambitious women - women who want control of their children, the bank account, their circle of friends, the corporate ladder, the social register - but Alicia wanted none of that.  It was beneath her to want things so pedestrian, so predictably ordinary, so common.  She  rode above Nietzsche's herd, alone, tireless in her ambition, and a perfect fit for rule. 

She could have been a politician, a Senator, a President; but needed no such ordinary validation.  It was enough to bend others, to seduce and convince them, to draw them into her web of indistinct but powerful ambition. 

She did nothing with the secrets shared with her by the Senator - secrets of inestimable value to friends and enemies alike.  Secrets are Washington's currency, and the more and longer they are kept quiet, the greater their worth.  She had amassed a treasure trove of secrets, the wealth of Croesus, a king's ransom; and she wanted none of it. 

When she finally left the Senator and Washington, she could have left a rich woman; but returned to Main Street with nothing but a portfolio of good wishes and references that secured her future from Wall Street to Chillicothe 

She was not old, but not young either; but age did not matter, for that indescribable ability to get others to do whatever it was that she asked did not lose currency over time.  As a wealthy matron of Fifth Avenue, Nob Hill, Rittenhouse Square, or Beacon Street, timelessly elegant, and with an unforgettable welcoming charm, she would, as always, be the only one in the room. 

The Return Of The Russian, Ottoman, Persian, And Chinese Empires - The Marvel Of The Greatness Of Higher Order Cultures

Vladimir Putin has not hesitated to confess his desire to restore the greatness of Russian Imperial history, its Tsars, royal courts, influence, elegance, and glory. 

Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey has made similar claims.  The Ottoman Empire was one of the world's most extensive, influential, and durable; and it was preceded by sultanates, parochial kingdoms, and Islamic fiefdoms.  In the fourteenth century the Mongol-Turkic armies of Genghis Khan rode down from the high central Asian steppes and conquered the world from Europe to East Asia. 

The Shah of Iran in exile is impatiently waiting for the demise of the usurping ayatollahs and mullahs of the Islamic revolution of 1979.  His father, Shah Reva Pahlavi ruled the kingdom of Persia just as his ancestors did.  The glories of Persepolis were never forgotten, nor was the magnificence of the imperial courts. 

Once the Islamic regime has been routed, the prince will return to Tehran as the legitimate heir to Persian history and will reset the cultural compass on its imperial path.

President Xi of China looks to his country's dynastic past as he leads the nation to world power.  He is but the latest in the line of emperors who ruled China with determination and thousands of years of cultural history. Although China is a modern, Communist-Capitalist hybrid, it hearkens back to its Confucian, dynastic, imperial roots.  Its dominance today is a result of its profound moral rectitude, the conviction that China is indeed the center of the world, and its consistently patriotic ethos. 

Arnold Parker was a royalist - an admirer of Louis XIV, the Sun King, the architect of Versailles, the most influential monarch of all of Europe, and the regent who expanded France's cultural influence to the ends of the known world.  He was a devotee of the imperial Tsars of Russia who, building on a foundation of Orthodox Christianity, Slavic pride, and the might of royal military power, extended Russian influence from the borders of Europe to the Far East. 

He was a student of Turkic history and was awed by the power and influence of a small tribe from Western China that came to conquer the world.

He was a student of Chinese dynasty, and while imperial China limited itself to influence within its traditional borders and was closed to outside influence until 1857, it was unmatched for courtly elegance, sophisticated learning, and profound religious, ethical, and moral values. 

Japan under its emperors and shoguns had created a disciplined, martial, culturally secure, and powerful nation.  While Hirohito overreached and imperial Japan arrogated world authority to itself, after the war it regained its confidence, respect for history, and imperial destiny. 

Arnold understood popular uprisings - the beheadings of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, the murders of the last Tsar Alexander and his family, the revolutionary zeal of Mao Tse Tung, and the democratic reforms of Ataturk - but he still hewed to the principle of empire, inherited, aristocratic, regal, imperial rule.

Which is why he was appalled at the influx of African immigrants to Europe and the progressive diffusion of central Christian, European cultural values.  These immigrants, more at home in a tribal, primitive rainforest than any civilized, cultural environment brought nothing to the continent.  There was no positive cultural influence and assimilation as there was when the Frisians, Jutes and later Normans and Romans came to Britain.  There had been nothing but an extension of tribal primitivism overlaid with Islamic redemptive cant. 

The migrants were not becoming European - Europe was becoming African to the detriment and destruction of its cultural integrity from the British Isles to the east. 

'An invasion of the most savage, incontinent, insular, and ignorant migrants in Europe's history', Arnold wrote in Foreign Affairs; a result of Europe's own glandular malfunction - some deformed notion of Christian kindness cynically accepted by immigrants who wanted nothing of European culture but all of its wealth. 

'Have you ever been to Africa', asked an Afro-centric, credulous supporter of open immigration to which Arnold replied that of course he had.  And there he had seen nothing but primitivism, tribalism, and ethnic divisions, all of which were co-opted by Big Men who turned post-colonial independent nations into corrupt, venal fiefdoms.

The slums of Lagos alone - rotting, fetid, miserable excuses for community - should have been enough for Europeans to say 'Basta!' when a shipload of Nigerians landed in Cyprus or Sicily, but they welcomed them with open arms, credulous, ignorant, and historically vacant. 

Needless to say royalism is not the theme of the day, and Arnold was arbitrarily cancelled as a racist and anti-democratic demagogue. Yet France was in flames, their inclusive, equitable policies of diversity gone bad - St. Germain des Pres was in flames, shops on the Rue de Rivoli vandalized, cars in the 7th overturned and set on fire, the northern suburbs had become as inchoate, undisciplined, and riotous as any inner city ghetto in America. 

American progressives have made clear their intention to place the black man on the pinnacle of human society where he belongs.  A denizen of the forest, attuned to the vibrations of nature, living a sentient, proto-intelligent existence, he above all should be recognized as the next generation of human genius. 

The reality of the African diaspora as well as the millions of Africans still living either in abject urban poverty or rural tribal backwardness belies this assumption. 

Arnold's royalism has nothing to do with racism, Euro-centrism, or historical envy.  It was only a recall of the foundational principles of cultural supremacy.  Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus, Plato, and Aristotle were not accidents, nor were Augustus, Trajan, and Marcus Aurelius.  They were products of culture, of civilizations which honored intelligence, spirit, creativity, and moral rectitude. 

Cato the Elder's triptychs - the foundational texts for the education of the next generation of Roman leaders - focused on governance, military strategy, and colonial rule; but they also included lessons on civility, honor, courage, patriotism, fidelity, respect, and compassion. 

Such multiparous, comprehensive lessons are gone in Europe and America - not only from schoolrooms but from political and civic life. 

'I am a Roman', said Arnold. 

And so it was that Arnold was cancelled for anti-democratic, seditious, even treasonous sentiments; but he never demurred, never once wavered, never gave an inch to multiculturalism.  

Neither a Cassandra, a man of principle, or a voice crying out in the wilderness, he was simply a student of history, suspicious of received wisdom a the cant and true belief it allows. 

Wine, Women, And Song, The Poetry Of Donald Trump - And Why Democratic Socialists Hate The Idea

Rebecca Fielding was unhappy about the concentration of wealth in America.  Too many haves and far too many have nots.  As a good socialist she wanted to dismantle the American capitalist system and replace it with more fair and just redistribution of wealth - take from the rich and give it to the poor, a transfer which would create equal wealth for all. 

 

All well and good, but just like Democratic Socialist Senator Bernie Sanders, a loud and outspoken champion of economic 'recalibration', Rebecca had three houses - her rambler in Bethesda, a beach cottage on the Eastern Shore and a cabin in West Virginia.  

These last two cannot be considered homes in the socialist sense of the word, that is the large, imposing mansions that Bezos, Zuckerberg, Gates, Trump, and Huang have; so she had nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to hide.  The cottage and the cabin were little more than lean-tos, modest little refuges from the hectic urban life of Washington. 

Of course she was being disingenuous - the housepainters, leaf blowers, handymen, and tree-trimmers servicing her neighborhood could barely afford the mortgage on their Gaithersburg split-levels - but no one expected her to live like a pauper just because of vital political convictions. 

Rebecca was no different from her fellow progressives, wealthy enough to enjoy a modestly good life while publicly tearful over those who don't have it.  Money is an obsession for progressives who whine about the poor, envy the rich, feather their own nests while taking other people's money for their redistributive ambitions.  

Elizabeth Warren, a far-left liberal colleague of Bernie Sanders when asked about her multi-million dollar portfolio and homes in the Caribbean and the south of France, she said, 'Irrelevant...a nonstarter...a diversion...a conservative ploy...I have worked tirelessly for the American people, and if my success is worth anything, it is as an example of the dedication and service in the name of the public good I have given throughout my political career'

In other words, 'Do as I say, not as I do' quacked Warren and Sanders as they feathered their nests for retirement, and enjoyed the perks of office while still serving. 

They have no time for pleasure, no wine, women, and song for them - that is for the rutting, dishonorable, libertines of France for whom governance plays second fiddle to hedonistic pleasures. 

Democrats - solidly progressive, boundlessly committed to social reform and the best aspirations of us all, and deeply honorable men and women - cannot smile let alone enjoy themselves when the climate is changing for the worse, the black man is still living in poverty, and gays, lesbians, and transgenders are still suffering hatred and exclusion.

So it is no wonder that progressives are such a dour, unpleasant lot.  The problems of the country are so severe that they cannot afford a laugh. 

Of course the transgender vaudeville act is hilarious - men in drag have been caricatures of women for centuries.  Falsies, rouge, and eyeliner are the stock in trade of clowns, mountebanks, fading movie stars, and gay men and a parade of them all down Fifth Avenue, let alone the Castro or Miami Beach, is a spectacle worthy of the best of Barnum & Bailey. 

Who doesn't find these swishy, prancing, do-dadded, tricked out men hilarious?  Or the gold-grilled, dreadlocked, pimp-walking ghetto bro' worthy of a carnival side show? Or the uppity, high-shelved ghetto ho' turned politician running for office, a caricature straight out of a Reconstruction era Georgia legislature cartoon. 

Are there any Bernie Sanders in Renoir's The Boating Party or Fellini's La Dolce Vita? Where are their harems, their darkly beautiful women from The Arabian Nights?  Sanders does not want to be Sultan Ahmed living in sybaritic bliss, fed sweetmeats by Turkish courtesans, the Shahs of Persia living in unimaginable luxury, or the Ptolemies of Imperial Egypt. 

He wants to be Cotton Mather - or better yet the Potter and Putnam clerics who presided over the Salem witch trials.  Pleasure is for the weak, the uninspired - men of desultory morals with the will of sheep. 

If there could possibly be any more reason to hate Donald Trump, it is this.  He is a man of outsized appetites, a man of glitz, glamour, yachts, and arm candy.  A squire of beautiful women, a man of virility, confidence, and unalloyed sybaritic desires  

Not only has he razed the federal bureaucracy, depriving Americans of their caretakers; not only has he closed the borders to worth, destitute political refugees; and not only has he rolled back the most significant social advances in modern history; and not only is he a lowbrow, bourgeois pig...he is serious about nothing, nothing at all. 

Life is a jamboree, says the President, not Hobbes's short, brutal, and ugly affair.  It is an act to be enjoyed.  'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die' is his meme, his ethos, his personal zeitgeist; and who except the likes of Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren are there to object?

Conservative measures to free the private market, to energize the economy, to shed restrictions on enterprise and individual achievement are the means to Jefferson's pursuit of happiness.  And the path to such happiness for those who have not yet enjoyed it need not be somber, dire, mournful, and grieving.  Enterprise, ambition, and desire are themselves happy expressions of human vitality, says the President. 

Progressives laugh at Mar-a-Lago, the President's resort-mansion, Florida White House.  'Garish, in absurd bad taste, a temple of Florentine sconces, Carrera marble, chintz and grotesque gold embroidery, a fun house of horrors'.  There are no Jewish philosophers, classical musicians, prodigies, thinkers, or reformers there.  Instead of the likes of Gompers, Lafollette, and Brandeis there are only blonde bimbos, tarts, and Las Vegas prima donnas. 

Rebecca winced at the images of the Trump White House ballroom, the triumphal Trump arch, the makeover of the Kennedy Center and the Field of Heroes.  She could not believe that so many Americans voted for this boor, this Candyland fool, a caricature of all that was holy and sacred; but there he was for a second term, unbridled, vengeful, and seemingly unstoppable in his rush to quash every sensible progressive notion which preceded him. 

Donald Trump is the first real American president - a man of glitz, arm candy, and bourgeois glamour; a man of Hollywood, Las Vegas, and the streets of New York.  A brawler, a snake oil salesman, a vaudevillian.  In other words, one of us. 

He is the first president to understand and embody our deliberately illogical preferences, our passionate anti-intellectual populism, and our anti-establishment rectitude. Issues never mattered for either him or his supporters.  No logic, issues, or moderation.  The way forward was visceral and absolute.  There was no on the one hand, on the other dispassionate consideration. 

Progressives hate Trump's America for all its lowbrow instincts. They hate every sequin, every strand of tinsel, every waft of cheap perfume, every high-bosomed line dancer, ever bit of glitter.  They do not hate Trump because of his alleged and presumed crimes and misdemeanors, but because of who he is.  

He has had all they ever wanted - wealth, women, yachts, and la dolce vita.  They, squirreled away in their carrels, on marches, in conferences, and in confessionals, have had none of it and can only dream of such abandon.  A life of good causes is dire, gloomy, and dark. 

Not only has Trump reset the compass and returned the country to its originalist conservative bearings; and not only has he acted on his reformist principles, but he has brought back the American spirit of optimism, delight, and universal ambition that was lost during the dark, morose days of the former President.