Threatening life and evolution are the two deaths, death of the spirit and death of the body. —John B. Calhoun
Don’t like gays and antinatalists? The paradoxical solution I would propose to you, then, is this: wear a condom once in a while, and for god’s sake quit voting for politicians who support the welfare state.
Personally I love gays; I don’t have to pay taxes to support their crotchfruit. But some folks I know, for whatever reason, aren’t fond of them. They aren’t making a lot of kids to compete with your kids, so it’s not really in your self-interest to discourage homosexual behavior; but eh, it’s not like we’re always economically rational. Here’s some food for thought for ya, though: gayness seems to function as an evolutionary release valve or safety brake on population growth.
But why do we need to brake our population growth? My technophile pals keep reassuring me that science will come up with enough food to take care of us all when we number 20 billion; no worries.
That, however, doesn’t tell me anything about the supply of social roles—the supply of meaningful niches for people in relation to others—which, as it turns out, is as important to a society as proper nutrition. How can even the current seven billion of us maintain the sense that our existence is necessary and desirable to the rest, when so many of us are—as the HR manager who tells you to clear out your desk puts it—redundant? Is there enough space in the social hierarchy for everyone to have a part to play? The constant roiling of insanity and damage, from crazy terrorist manifestos to the way Millennials refuse to make eye contact in public, implies that we are already failing to cohere socially.
Part I: Blame Population For the Behavioral Sink?
In their grim way, and sub specie aeternitatis, the horrors of science are all amusing.
To preface an example known as “the behavioral sink”: Damn, the number of death threats, hate mail, and thickie ad hominems I get for being an antintalist are bewildering, even if the anomie has already rendered me fairly indifferent to social cues. It’s almost like people are confusing this philosophy for an ethnicity or a sexual orientation. Depending on the pet peeves of whoever is ranting, you would think I was a white cishet dude, a straight-up black Hitler, or—especially—a fashy homo. Because by and large uncloseted gay men, no matter how fashy, don’t have kids any more often than antinatalists do, and that drives harried parents up the wall faster than a pair of Daisy Dukes.
I often suspect that people with kids—however selfish their original fantasies of being a mombie may have been—in reality become so overburdened and miserable that they go mental at the thought of someone enjoying their life without a hominid-shaped albatross about their necks.
Funny thing is though, science says I’m your fault, my breederly friends. As are all these excess homos, fashy or otherwise.
Have you read up on the behavioral sink—otherwise known as the mousetopia experiment? Something tells me we’ll be talking a lot more about it in the future. It’s a sciencey way of saying “mammals get very strange when there are too many of them around.” Aberrational reproductive behavior is a large part of this phenomenon; in shorthand, the behavioral sink is nature’s way of telling you to quit having so many damn kids. Yeah, yeah, Ann is mean, and shooting the messenger is part of nature’s horrid little game as well. But allow me to explain while you sharpen your knives though, eh? Ya monkeys.
So! Back in the dark, Internet-disconnected ages of the 20th century, this scientist guy named Calhoun decided he wanted to see what would happen if you gave a few breeding pairs of mice unlimited food and water and a limited but secure space that was free of predators and incoming disease. With no limits on their reproduction besides their container, what happens to social animals?
Well, they eventually quit reproducing. They also get sort of bitchily violent.
Calhoun gave the mice space for about 3000 animals. But around the 2200-mouse mark, their mousy society began to take a crazy nosedive, and sexual behavior was particularly screwed up. Due to the lack of disease, predation, and scarcity, there were so many adult mice clogging up the adolescents’ possible roles in society (heeeey, I remember this point in human history: it was when Generation X was supposed to be getting real jobs and starting families, but the Baby Boomers wouldn’t hire us to do anything but shovel shit) that these adolescents began to behave completely bizarrely.
Apparently, at a certain physical population density, social animals lose their way in the social hierarchy, and then all hell breaks loose. Forget about being an alpha male; all the jobs for beta and zeta males in mousetopia were full as well, so they didn’t know what to do. Soon they couldn’t even tell the difference between a male mouse and a female mouse (hm, does this sound at all familiar?) and began indiscriminately humping anything they could find that looked furry. Some males gave up on sexual behavior altogether and spent all their time grooming; they were called the “beautiful ones,” because they withdrew from society in favor of compulsively grooming their fur. Rodent ice kings, in other words.
Does this remind you at all of “grass eaters”? That’s the infamous subculture (if you can call people who never go out a “culture”) of Japanese guys who’s given up fucking people in favor of porn. In this grammar-damaged (I love you, Internet) but otherwise useful article by “Mark” on Return of Kings, he makes interesting comparisons between the mousetopia experiment and Japanese sexual weirdness in the 21st century; as one example, he demonstrates how the infamous “grass eaters” resemble the Beautiful Ones.
The females, meanwhile, forgot how to be mothers, sometimes to the point where their reproductive systems simply physically quit functioning (which was probably a better outcome than the mothers who became abusive and neglectful).
The male mice who were still interested in social interaction, on the other hand, slowly turned from sex to aggression, fighting almost at random and biting each other’s tails to shreds.
It rather reminded me of flame wars. Because physical population density isn’t the only social problem the human animal currently faces. Unlike these poor mice—who at least didn’t have to compete for social roles with mice in the cage down the hall—Al Gore made things even worse for his fellow great apes by inventing the Internet.
This turned the human mousetopia from a series of localized experiments into a global village called Hell.
Part II: Blame the Intertubes? Oh noes!
It’s no secret that, although I’ve been forced, as a writer, to “be” on the Internet, I hate it here. The gatekeepers of old might have quite often been unfair; they certainly were to people of my background, which is why I’ve been lucky enough to get fucked coming and going, but the Internet is far, far worse. The only standards for Internet writing are “does it appeal to the lizard brain sharply enough to get clicks?” and “can idiots understand this without having to furrow their brows”? My Internet pieces that have gotten me the most attention are the stupidest pieces of trash I’ve ever written. Tossing out all other standards for discourse by itself would be enough to destroy civility and people’s sense of “community” (to speak of “community” on the Internet is to betray that one is forgetting what a community actually was, if one ever knew). But then you add in the behavioral sink effect.
Let’s go back to Mark’s examination of Japan. The Japanese are displaying passivity and aberrational sexual behavior now, and it’s easy to chalk it up to a classic Calhounian drop in the population curve, due to the curve having gone too far up because of easy times: sheer physical overcrowding.
But think about World War II for a second. One of the reasons Japan went imperialist in the first place—that is to say, became extremely aggressive and virile—was excess population. That’s right: the growing needs of all those excess people turned them into a hyper-masculine military machine that had no qualms about going after a country the size of the United States. Remember kamikaze pilots? Not exactly grass eaters!
Even crazier than kamikaze warfare, however, is the amount of time it took Japan to surrender after we fucking nuked them. Have you ever looked at the timeline? It’s hair-raising. History’s first nuclear bomb was dropped on August 6, 1945, rippling destruction as far as the eye could see, while the commander of the Enola Gay stood there with his mouth open muttering “My god, what have we done?” and turned the bomber around so everyone could rubberneck at the wrath of Satan they had just unleashed.
And yet the Japanese stood there for three more days with their middle fingers in the air, going “What else ya got?”
American military commanders—who, by the way, were also a lot more aggressive back then—must have been astounded. So on August 9, we dropped a bigger nuke. And it still took those motherfuckers till the 14th to surrender. I imagine our generals standing there SMH’ing like mad: Jesus christ, when will they STAY nuked? They may have been the enemy, but they were a hell of a respectable enemy.
Now they can’t even be bothered to talk to a girl.
Sure, perhaps greater scarcity of resources back then was a factor in their aggression. During the 1980s, indeed, an economic boom coincided with declining birth rates. But at least they were still having sex, for Hades’ sake. Till the Internet.
Obviously, Internet porn can make the opposite sex seem useless in person. But I would also argue that Internet interconnectivity makes everyone feel as though they have no use themselves. Psychic overpopulation within a country is bad enough. But when punching a few buttons and going on a forum can put you in social contact with your counterparts all over the world, it gets even worse for us as social animals.
If I were an American computer programmer, say, I don’t think I could control my morbid curiosity: I’d be on Indian programmers’ message boards all day, following their conversations about the HB1 visa and waiting for the boom to drop. Someone who takes your jeorb isn’t just taking your paycheck—they’re taking away your usefulness. And they’re stealing your place in the tribe, however low, high, or weird that niche might be. As a writer, analogous situations are impossible for me to avoid, unless I want to give up the possibility of an audience entirely and bury my laminated manuscripts under a parking lot. As a citizen, my vote in the democracy becomes more meaningless with every wave of immigrants that globalization encourages to wander in and breed (not to mention the dissolution of language communities; how can you feel social cohesion with mice you can’t even talk to?). As Ryan Holiday argues, we’re not so much users of the Internet as cells in its massive uni-brain. In other words, in this mousetopia, you’re not even an individual organism. And you expect these mammals to display normal reproductive behavior, do you? At some point, everyone is going to be MGTOW or WGTOW except for porn actors.
We have access to people all over the world—most of whom are competing with us for one form of being important to the megatribe or another—but we can still only handle social contacts with about 150 people. The three variables that cause the behavioral sink in humans would appear to be physical population density; density of social contacts; and lack of meaningful social roles—and they’re all hitting us at once. Not to mention the fact that anyone clever enough to be useful to society knows or at least senses that the welfare state is dooming the few kids they can afford to raise post-taxation to a dysgenic future.
If there’s a gay gene, this is a perfect storm for turning it on. If there’s a genetic propensity to lack the self-importance to want children, this environment ain’t exactly discouraging that, either. If it annoys you that much that your white neighbors aren’t having white babies for the white cause (or the black cause, or whatever your in-group might be) then maybe you should stop complaining about it on a message board with like-minded people who are hundreds of miles away and get up and go talk to the mice next door. By which I DON’T mean “Please PM Ann on Facebook with witless negs”—I mean what I said: go talk to your physical neighbors.
The only possible cure for weird behavior is genuine, meaningful, physically present social contact with a limited social circle that makes people feel like normal mammals again. The only cure for the behavioral sink is giving people the impression (however illusory) that they have a place in the human world.
I don’t know if that’s possible at this point, but if you and your six fatherless welfare babies are on your generic iPads all day, quit whining about the fags before I bite your tail off.