... is what you get as soon as you start deriving your thinking from Rousseau.
I've raved about The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self: Cultural Amnesia, Expressive Individualism, and the Road to Sexual Revolution by Carl Trueman, now let me throw some shade upon it. Here is his express purpose in writing it.
The origins of this book lie in my curiosity about how and why a particular statement has come to be regarded as coherent and meaningful: “I am a woman trapped in a man’s body.”
I'd like to suggest that the same curiosity could be extended to someone saying, "My toaster is talking to me." Of course, we don't take the schizophrenic seriously while we do take the sexually confused person seriously. Why is that? Well, Carl goes to great lengths to trace the intellectual and philosophical roots of this idiocy from Rousseau to Freud to Marx to Marcuse and other equally addlepated dimwits.
I could have saved him the trouble by tracing its roots from only one source: Sceloporus occidentalis, the Western Fence Lizard. Lizards only care about three things: food, safety and sex. I'll start and end my proof with Rousseau. From Ben Wiker's excellent book, 10 Books that Screwed Up the World: And 5 Others That Didn't Help, we have these excerpts.
There were no twinges of conscience for natural man, Rousseau assured the reader, because “the moral element of love is an artificial sentiment born of the usage of society.” Since neither the love of husband and wife, or parent and child, is natural, then neither are the moral duties that arise from marriage and childbearing...
Rousseau ... had a string of mistresses, some married, some not. He sired five children with one of them, Thérèse Levasseur, with whom he lived for more than twenty-five years and whom he treated as a mere maid (she delivered his torrid letters to other mistresses). Rousseau abandoned all five children to the Hôpital des Enfants-Trouvés, a foundling home where the conditions were so deplorable that their deaths were all but certain.
Quoting Rousseau directly, Ben gives us this passage:
"I made up my mind cheerfully and without the least scruples, and the only ones I had to overcome were those of Thérèse. I had the greatest difficulty in the world getting her to accept this means of preserving her honor. Her mother, who feared the inconvenience of a brat, came to my aid, and she allowed herself to be overcome. A discreet and trustworthy midwife . . . was chosen . . . and when Thérèse’s time came, she was taken there by her mother for the birth.... He [the baby] was then deposited by the midwife at the Enfants-Trouvés office in the way that was customary. The following year there came the same inconvenience and the same expedients.... I didn’t reflect any further, and the mother didn’t approve any more fully; she groaned but obeyed."
At this point, we can put both books down, grab a beverage and turn on the game. One hardly needs to spend any more time than that analyzing the "philosophy" of a guy that got his girlfriend pregnant five times and shoved all five of his children into a slaughterhouse. He was a proponent of free love, you say? Yeah? Well, no kidding, Sherlock. I'm shocked.
The dude was the worst kind of pig and his writings only exist to justify his horrific behavior. That people managed to build a tower of filth out of it, with equally repulsive characters like Freud, Marx and Marcuse adding their own excrement to it, isn't an indication of its worth, it's an indication that they were all looking for a similar way to disguise their own degeneracy. Justifying modern children being fed into the transgender abattoir is only the latest layer on that tower of filth.
And so here we are. We have the Lizard Empire. We've made our limbic system our master. Hooray.
|Of course there wasn't anything rational behind this. That should have been obvious from the start.|