BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN
These days, the old filters seem broken. Left-Right. Authoritarian-Libertarian. None hold much weight. But one distinction still cuts through: Macro and Micro. Plato captured this divide in his ‘Ship of State’ metaphor.
On one side are the macro thinkers – the captains. They chart the course, watching the stars to navigate the vast sea. They make big, bold decisions, like George W. steering towards his ‘axis of evil.’ On the other side are the micro thinkers – the deckhands. They measure the sails, tighten the ropes, and ensure the ship’s structure holds. They’re meticulous and detailed, but they can lose sight of the destination. They weigh and measure everything, a bit like Gradgrind, who judged human nature with strict rules and numbers, and claimed to know its total worth.
As Editor of this fine lung of free speech, I have the honour of sifting through many submissions. I weigh what’s true and what’s just conspiracy. I meet all kinds of minds – the captains, the deckhands, and those in between. And I’ve noticed something: those who fall into conspiracy often speak of ‘they’, drawing lines between dots that don’t connect. Passion drives them. Or worse, money does. Some rake in followers and cash, growing more extreme with each step, knowing that the more outlandish they become, the more people will pay to follow them on platforms like Substack or Patreon.
It’s no crime to lean Macro or Micro. The danger lies in the extremes. Passion is a perilous thing. It clouds judgement. It lures sane men down dark paths and into deep mires.
I’m reminded of the American sailor who spent months at sea and finally came ashore at Subic Bay in the Philippines. With one thing on his mind, he headed straight for Mama Carla’s whorehouse on the dingy Olongapo-Bugallon street. After handing over the necessary pesos to Mamasan, he entered her den of iniquity, only to find himself faced with two doors: one marked ‘Big Breasts’ and the other ‘Small Breasts.’
He chose the first and passed through, only to confront two more doors: ‘Big Arse’ and ‘Small Arse.’ His passions running high, he picked the latter and found himself before yet another pair of doors. By now, his excitement was uncontrollable, his tongue hanging low, and the prospect of satisfaction clouding his thoughts. The final choice: ‘Big C*nt’ or ‘Small C*nt.’ Unable to resist any longer, he flung open the door marked ‘Big C*nt,’ only to find himself back out on the street.
He stood there, dazed, the irony of the sign on the door dawning on him.
Whether you’re the captain charting the course or the deckhand fixing the sails, keep your passions in check. Let them steer you too far, and you risk being mocked by your own folly.
Dominic Wightman is the Editor of Country Squire Magazine, works in finance, and is the author of five and a half books.