There are three things that men obey: the strong, customs, or laws. The former two are ancient, and appear now as anomalies. The African junta, the cartel boss; the laws of a prophet, some honor killing—these are the result of a societal lag . . . residue, from a bygone era.
The march of history has brought us the steady Rule of Law. It dignifies us, and makes life predictable. No longer is there a risk of one’s head being cracked, the result of a dispute or disagreement. Never will you hear of someone’s daughter being stolen, over the hill and carried away. Peoples are not enslaved; cities are not invaded; big men cannot appear and alter your whole life; and your rights—sheer abstractions—are exalted and enshrined.
But something sinister lurks.
In Weber, the three are equal. Charisma, Tradition and Legalism are legitimate forms of authority whose appeal morphs by year and geography. But authority derived of Tradition and Legalism are justifications. Imitations, in effect, of the original thing. All authority has its origin in the charismatic man. In his earliest iterations, he was simply a killer—or, a strange seer of visions. The very first organizing principle of mankind was that essential spark. That big-ness of personality that seemed to prevail over Nature; or that far off distant look that came back with answers.
In Tradition we find a fixation on his person—and static actions—which are emulated through custom. With the progression of time his face is forgotten and the customary acts gain a value in themselves . . . Legality attempts to produce his effects through rationally created rules. Herein we find a belief—above all—in the “sovereignty” of logic and systems (which appear to us as “the law”). Like Tradition, Legalism is risk averse. It attempts to constrain mankind. Not by custom and a social orientation to it, but through institutions.
Both types are resistant to, and despise the charismatic man . . . Yet Traditionalism worships an effigy of his archetype, and Legalism erects an idol in his image: the State.
Charisma is difficult to define—and when we do define it, we tend to describe its effect, rather than what it is. That effect, to be sure, is devotion and terror. Devotion—as a matter of fact—is far more secure when supported by fear. This was noted by the cynic Machiavelli, but it is also a command of the Abrahamic faiths: fear an all-loving God.
Humans have always been idolators. We follow behind the man with a sword and only know God through prophets because the combination of awe and terror feels like the Divine. But Charisma, in reality, is made of a few mere things.
Talent is first and primary. Charisma is never possible without outstanding ability. A person must be able to kill very well, persuade others, or make things; they must be able to fight or to fish, redirect rivers or kidnap; they must figure out how to catch many rabbits, lie, or pierce through armor—they must, in essence, be better than others; tangibly, undeniably.
But the possessor of talent is always in danger.
Today, our society is well-enough managed that we can easily subvert and direct them. Scientists, artists, engineers—all of these are filtered into the same machine. They are sapped of their power for roughly forty years and then they are finally discarded. But in the past it was different. The threat of talent was more visceral. Putting strange ideas into a tribe or peasant’s head could end up being socially disastrous. And so talent was very often snuffed out, through made up or exaggerated charges. An echo of this remains today. If we see a talented child we are pleased. Especially if it is our own. But there is some invisible threshold of age, whereafter it makes us uncomfortable. Envy is then the response. We cannot exile or execute them, but we can ostracize them socially. Best of all is when the mediocre group manages to make them doubt themselves. That is melodramatic suicide, and brings us to the next quality that Charisma requires to actually flourish.
Conviction.
Charisma hinges on the pairing of Talent with overwhelming Conviction. Certainty, in another word. This is the essential difference between Julius Caesar and the millions of patricians that we simply do not know. When a person of talent is certain; of their abilities, of their essence, of their person, their mission and calling—they quickly become unstoppable. This is not meant supernaturally (although to many, it appears so). Rather, because they are animated by an overwhelming will that comes paired with ability, they survive things that others do not, and persist where others give up. And once they’ve gone far enough, the mass—be it a school board or a senate—will begin to panic and think of submission; a pattern we are seeing even now.
Talent and Conviction. Ability and Certainty. These are the essential components in Charisma. Together, they produce magnetism. These people strike us as “special” or “divine,” and even regard themselves as such. Herein resides our weak point; our perennial susceptibility.
Charisma breaks into two basic types.
The first of these is the warlord. To kill more often or more efficiently than others—and to speak loudly right after—was the surest path to authority in the very distant past. The type can be sophisticated, as shown by Alexander, Ghengis Khan, and others. But essential here is that the fear of death seems absent. And war—the thing that humans loathe most—seems to bring this type joy.
The warlord inspires terror, one half the effect of Charisma, because his primary work is to separate bone. This is brought to a massive scale by his horde or his legion. Soon, the mass treats him as a god. Every warlord has been venerated more than Yahweh.
Appeasement and supplication can prompt the warlord to merely injure . . . then, to merely threaten . . . and to eventually show great restraint. When he turns the mass into subjects and promises to “protect” them, a remarkable thing happens.
He comes to be seen as benevolent. From there results the second effect: Devotion.
If all you knew was your hut and your bucket, the rudiments of farming and hunting . . . if you could barely read, but could add up small sums and knew a village of only twenty people . . . you too would quake at that very strange man whose eyes roll to the back. And when his disembodied voice says things it shouldn’t know—about nature, or perhaps about you—your submission would not be far off. You would swear that God is in him (or her).
The prophet inspires terror through images, spectacles, miracles and implications. His primary tactics are to overwhelm and stupefy, but with far less violence than the warlord. The warlord targets the fear of death and pain. But the prophet targets the primordial. Humans will always fear oceans, deserts, fires, earthquakes, very big animals, and shadows at night. We will always project personas onto these things, and thereby a certain intent (good or bad). The prophet seizes this unconscious process, and guides it as he sees fit. And since he frightens us with some of it, and dispels our fear of the rest, we settle into an Obedience.
Devotion and Fear again.
This type is more varied. It produces more modes and personalities. Zoroaster, Muhammad, Joan of Arc and many more—are it. We are persuaded by the force of their vision . . . by their qualities and deeds that seem supernatural . . . by the coincidences of Nature that descend on them . . . and by what we perceive as the Divine’s confirmation. This type is more effective than the warlord; their reign lasts long after death.
Today, the warlord goes to a prison and the prophet to an asylum. That is Legalism’s outstanding achievement. But Legalism, despite its clear superiority, and despite the world that it has clearly transformed—is naive.
Within it lies many wild assumptions. The first of these is that people have changed. Legalism believes that the combination of education and societal structure has made men immune or resistant to Charisma . . . and to the mindless Traditions that it generates. It knows, of course, that some athlete will be worshiped and that some will hold insane beliefs. But the State as created by Legalism can sublimate and redirect the destructive aspects of these phenomena.
It is safe to be a sports fanatic in public; not a religious one. It is safe to tell your daughter not to date outside her race; but not to lynch who she’s meeting in secret. Legalism should be praised for its astute recognition that this sinister shadow will never be destroyed. But it falters when it assumes that those susceptible to Charisma are a minority. In truth, nearly all of us are. The right conditions just need to combine, and those conditions begin with the appearance of a charismatic figure.
The strength of Legalism is such that although warlords and prophets still arise, they cannot give recourse to their old means. This is the result of two things: (1) The advent of mass politics and; (2) The state’s monopoly on violence. Instead of a sword or miracles (i.e. common parlor tricks) they can only rely on rhetoric. And the type of rhetoric they prefer and need, only works in crisis. Economic prospects must be grim, and there must be social grievances. These constraints transform the Charismatic man into a new type: the Demagogue.
No killings, no miracles, only speech.
The greatest shock that Legalism ever received was in the build-up to the Second World War. Men made of hot air seized their legal systems, and rose through quasi-legal means. As this happened, the elite wavered. The citizenry, once thought benign—once thought so easily guided—amassed behind the demagogue like a giant wave. The residue of enlightenment thought had failed to inoculate them. Rhetoric calling for order and peace served only to further incense them. And the institutions meant to serve as bulwarks, became strategic linchpins for their leader.
Whipped into a furor, frothing at the mouth, hailing their newfound messiah; we have seen modern man act like his ancient variant; and in fact, we are seeing it right now.
Weber holds the authorities equal. Charisma, Tradition and Legality prevail according to location and time. But in fact, Charisma is the oldest. In fact, Charisma is the strongest. Charisma calls up the slave in man, and makes him resent the Rule of Law.
Sowell talks extensively about those of us who have "verbal virtuosity." The heart of his critique is that skill with words provides the means to mislead and mystify. And in a way, this verbal virtuosity acts as a kind of proxy for charisma. We are easily snowed by crafted language, and we rarely look underneath the hood to see what's really there.
the unslaved individual thus becomes the most dangerous to the orthodoxy of the architects of control.