Breaking the First Two Rules of Fight Club

The First Rule of Fight Club is: "You do not talk about Fight Club."

The First Rule of Movie Blog Writing is: "Quote catch-phrases and witty one-liners ad naseum to prove that you're 'hip' enough to be tuned into pop culture references (and, implicitly, to exclude those cultural Philistines not sufficiently 'in the know' to be part of your selective, movie-going clique.)"

Personally, I'd rather be in Fight Club.

Unlike blog writing, Fight Club's rules are simple, explicit, and not without consequences for their infractions. But at it's core, "rules" are what this movie is about; a comparative study of the absurdist constructs and constraints of "civilized" society, thrown up against the harsher (but more simplistic and ostensibly altruistic) constructs and philosophy of a rejectionist counter-culture movement. It's the classic tale of teenage rebellion against "the Man" and rebels-without-a-cause, with the minor twist of supplanting angsty yuppie teens with neurotic 30-somethings.

You put down "Fight Club," I raise you a "Warped Tour mosh pit."

This is not to say that I reject the movie's message; far from it, it's an entirely valid and ultimately crucial comparison for any modern American to make. Tyler Durden, the movie's central antagonist/antihero figure, offers his followers everything that their "normal" lives cannot: a return to simplicity in a world gone mad with complexity and complications. As Durden (Brad Pitt) puts it, the world has become "civilized" and commercialized to the point of maddening absurdity. Civilized people, no longer concerned with survival and subsistence, have instead begun filling their time with frivolous pursuits, satiating their primal desires (food, fighting and...well, you get the idea) with hollow, commercialized substitutes. Consumerism, in the views of of Durden, has replaced community, and instead of getting what is necessary (which society has already provided in excessive abundance), Man has instead obsessed himself with obtaining precisely what is unnecessary. Quoth Durden: "Why do you or I know what a duvet is? I mean, how is that necessary to our survival in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word?"

Even more absurd, and perhaps more sinister in hindsight, is society's suppression of basic human instincts and behaviors that are not "conducive" to the maintenance of social order. Violence, the most obvious example of "destructive behaviors," is actively suppressed in civilization for inherently obvious reasons; by definition, a "civilized" society is one in which the inhabitants do not have to fight to survive, literally and metaphorically. Indeed, those that choose to fight anyways are regarded with suspicion, fear, and above all confusion; and usually, these popular sentiments are (justifiably) manifested in the form of institutionalization, imprisonment, or similar removal of these "violent individuals" from civilized society. Indeed, the only "acceptable" place of violence in civilized society is as a response to violence from another (legal forms of self-defense and "justifiable homicide"), "controlled" violence in approved, controllable environments (pugilism and "contact sports") or ostensibly "productive" violent meted out against socially-acceptable targets (criminal elements, social undesireables, or enemies in times of war).

In the world of Fight Club, however, the perception of violence (and later, just about everything else that is "socially accepted") is turned on its head. Instead of fighting out of necessity or when "socially appropriate," members of Fight Club fight expressly because it is unnecessary or socially inappropriate. Or, sometimes, just because. The goal, therefore, is not "victory" or profit, onr even entertainment, as we might understand it; indeed, on several occasions Fight Club members fight specifically to lose and be beaten upon (sometimes, in the absence of an actual opponent).

The absurdity of it from a social and intellectual point of view is painfully obvious (no pun intended). No society (or "tribe" in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word) can survive for long on such a tenuous and belligerent central dogma. At its very base, "Durdenism" as I like to call it, is an inherently flawed philosophy, doomed to failure and self-destruction. But, at least on some level, self-destruction is its entire point.

In a perverse way, having his life destroyed by Durden is what allows Fight Club's anonymous protagonist (Edward Norton) to finally come to terms with society and his place in it. (Yes, the protagonist is in fact anonymous. Don't believe me? Try to remember him using his real name, or anyone using his real name. Still don't believe me? Check the credits. Or better yet, read the book.). The fact that the narrator was a white-collar corporate Lemming is no accident. From a social point of view, the narrator has everything that a civilized society can and does provide, and fits perfectly into the archetype of what all "civil" individuals should strive to achieve: a stable and safe living environment (well, in theory at least), a steady job, and enough income to support himself and even indulge a few consumerist pasttimes. The very icon of domestic security, the narrator has everything he could want and need...and that is precisely the problem.

Pause now, for an adolescent interlude.

For most teens in America, the above situation is eerily analogous. Speaking from personal experience (and bear in mind, mine are by no means representative of the whole; and Thank God for it), most teens living in middle-class Suburbia find themselves in an altogether "pleasant" environment, all things considered. Leave It To Beaver parodies notwithstanding, most teens in America have no dearth of food (in fact, quite the opposite), no lack of sanitation or hygiene (unless by choice), and relatively safe and secure living arrangements (i.e. in the "hunter-gatherer" sense of safety and security). However, young people have no shortage of problems, and while they are all serious and deserve to be treated as such, the fact remains that young people in America have it pretty good, all things considered.

To put it bluntly, there is a reason why my song "99 Problems (But Predation Ain't One)" will never reach the Top 100 charts, not the least of which is my mediocre-at-best musical talents. (Although, if any agents or record labels are reading this, I'm still open to offers).

If we as a society have everything we need (and many of the things we think we want) why then, are escapist tendencies and behaviors so prevalent even today? Drug use, alcohol consumption, promiscuity, all of these are signs of a society that, on at least some level, is failing to provide its members something that they desperately need and crave. To be sure, our problems are nowhere near as severe as they could be, and to Society's credit they are no longer as endemic as in say, the 60s and 70s, when the Unholy Trinity above were at their highest peaks.

But just as insidious are the relatively new phenomena that continue to baffle the experts, boggle the mind, and defy all rational and logical explanations. Drug use and alcoholism may have steadily declined since their hedonistic heyday, but may have been replaced with newer more complicated phenomena like "video game addiction" and eating disorders, which now seem to be targetting an entirely new and previously untapped group of "at risk" youth. Likewise, "cutting," a relatively new take on an old idea, has completely changed the definition and understanding of pathological self-mutilation (now defined as "self-harm" for the more squeamish), and come complete with new "subcategories" that make the term truly comprehensive. These include, among others, "dermatillomania" (compulsive skin picking), "trichotillomania" (compulsive hair pulling), and "wound interferance" (compulsively irritating or preventing an existing injury from healing properly). The list goes on, and at the risk of sounding glib, the possible permutations are limited only by one's imagination, and to a lesser extent, the laws of physics.

These and other phenomenon have have forced their way into the collective consciousness and invaded environments hitherto considered "safe" and "healthy." They target a demographic group that not only has access to the best living conditions and care available, but also (ostensibly) has the means by which to obtain whatever minutiae they may still lack. Even more worrisome is the fact that efforts to change this have met with mixed succeses, and may end up causing more harm than good; "Vitamin R" (Ritalin) and its progeny now hold a dubious place of honor in popular culture, roughly akin to that of Valium popularized by "anxious" adults of the 60s and 70s.

Now, returning to our regularly scheduled program: Fight Club, and its unique take on self-destruction.

In the philosophy of Tyler Durden, self-destruction is not a worrisome trait, and indeed may be a necessary one for true spiritual and social "salvation." Durden (later revealed to be the protagonist's own "liberated" alter ego), almost seems to enjoy the sensation of pain, and liberally shares that "gift" with others (ostensibly free of sado-masochistic pleasure) in order to "awaken" them to his philosophy of enlightenment. In addition to the pain inflicted in the many fights between himself and the other members of Fight Club, Durden chemically burns the hands of the protagonist (another technique frequently used by "cutters" and self-harmers), spouting spiritual and philosophical rhetoric eerily reminiscent of Shaivitic sects (worshippers of Shiva, the Hindu god of Destruction) in India and East Asia. He describes the act as "something beautiful," and endorses spectacular acts of vandalism and destruction not merely as belligerent actions against the artifices of a corrupt system (as one might expect of a terrorist or other social revolutionary), but as genuinely creative and even constructive acts that serve to build his new world order.

Like the Shaivite philosophers Durden echoes, the destruction he wreaks is not an act of malice or spite but one of transformation; in Hindu mythology, Shiva does ultimately destroy the Universe and everyone in it (and is understandably treated with trepidation and fear), but is also seen as a benevolent (or at least, benign) force in the end. In destroying the "old" universe, Shiva burns metaphysical "brush" of the cosmos to allow for new growth, and like a great cosmic brushfire, the way is cleared for Brahma the Creator to create a new Universe, allowing the cycle of karmic rebirth and renewal to continue.

In Abrahamic theology too, the idea of destruction as a creative act comes up frequently. In addition to deluvian myths and stories from the Old Testament (myths that are actually echoed in various other far-flung cultures ranging from East Asia to Meso-America), the climax act of the New Testament speaks of a final Apocalypse in which God will examine the world and the kingdoms of Man to decide if they are worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven. If, after a prolonged period of death, chaos and near-total destruction called Armageddon, Kingdoms of Man don't measure up, God will complete the world's destruction in order to build a new world and try again.

In Fight Club, however, destruction as a central philosophy is ultimately rejected. Instead of completing Durden's original plan to supply mankind a complete tabula rasa from which to begin again (this time free from credit records, which would certainly a popular idea these days), the film stops just short and spare both the protagonist's life (even after a gunshot to the head), and one of the credit bureau buildings. To me, at least, this is critical, is more than just a post-productive move shying away from an overt endorsement of terrorism (and the inevitable media frenzy and torrent of lawsuits that would've followed).

In that Durden's revolution is ultimately implied to have failed, the film makes one final statement about modern civilization (i.e. "order") in relation t anti-establishmentarian subversive movements (i.e. "mayhem"):

"It ain't much, but it's better than nothing."

Or, more to the point, an imperfect order is better than no order at all.

The reason for this is tied to the very nature of subversivism. Subversive movements are by definition tied to the culture they are rebelling against. Inasmuch as they are successful only so long as they are counter to some pervading norm, counter-cultures find their definition in being the "other" movement. When that movement becomes the norm, however, its central identity almost immediately, and its members are once again left adrift and without idendity, desperately searching for definition once more.

The phenomenon can be easily seen in both popular and political culture, when so-called "subculture" movements suddenly become popular ones. First, the movement rejects the attention, either to keep its activities free from scrutiny or intercession by mainstream ("corporate") forces, or to keep its ranks free from the taint of unwelcome interlopers and "posers." Inevitably, however, this only inspires more scrutiny and attention either from suspicious eyes even more intent on scrutinizing (or capitalizing on) the movement's activities, or from eager (and even, perhaps sincere) newcomers attracted to the movement's philosophy. If nothing else, the sense of community and belonging offered (either intentionally or otherwise) by the elusive and exclusive group is usually enough to attract the disaffected and disenfranchised members of society, and the prospect of rejecting or striking back at the society that rejected or disenfranchised them is on its own a powerful motivator for membership.

Regardless of the reasons, however, now the movement's insular and secretive nature (whatever the movement in question might be) has for better or worse raised its mystery and fascination by the mainstream, which inevitably forces the movement to the status of "clique," in social terminology (in politics, the analogous term would be "opposition movement"). Now, the movement is fully cemented in the collective consciousness and has become a fixture in mainstream society, even if it is only seen with trepidation or suspicion (at least, by the conservative and establishmentarian elements of society). From here on however, only one of two things can happen: the movement becomes the establishment, or the establishment becomes movement.

In both the former and the latter instance, the paths and end results are largely the same (and in fact, the distinction between the two is largely the matter of debate...and semantics). The movement might, for example, lash out against the establishment and be suppressed, however even suppression ultimately infuses the movement with further indignation or resentment against the establishment (leading to more insularity, and thus more "mystique" and desireability for the disaffected), and also raises the movement's stock with the marginalized and dissatisfied members of society (which is now seen as promising an alternative to the imperfect status quo, even if this is not originally intended or endorsed by the movement's members).

Even if the establishment lashes out against the movement first, however, the result is the same, unless the lashing so complete as to eliminate the movement entirely, or makes membership so unappealing that the movement loses any desireability to anyone at all. In practice, however, this is next to impossible to achieve, even if the suppression is violent; even if there was no possibility of adherents becoming "closeted" or going into hiding, human nature being what it is, there will always be some elements of society attracted to a suppressed movement by mere virtue that it is suppressed.

And as it happens, it may not even be necessary to kill the movement.

Eventually, so much of society will attracted to the movement that the powers that be can no longer treat it as an isolated event or group annoyance. Further suppression at this stage is most likely undesireable because of the sheer volume of adherents (either from fear of backlash by the "remaining" mainstream, fear of retaliation by such a large minority, or because many influential entities may now be members), and in fact may be practically impossible. Because of this community leaders may be faced with a difficult (though almost always protracted and drawn-out) choice between one of two options: negotiation, or capitulation.

Regardless of which is chosen, however, the end result is the same and the difference between the two options is, as state before, a matter of opinion and semantics. At this stage, the movement is already beyond the control of any individual or group of individuals and has taken on a life of its own, and "negotiation" may not actually entail any formal dialogue between groups or interested parties. "Negotiation" may simply mean that while the movement has not succeeded in replacing the establishment and removing it from existence it has succeeded in achieving widespread recognition, either through formal recognition by notable establishmentarians, or informal adoption and integration of its tenets and customs by the majority of society into the collective consciousness. In any event, the movement is now characterized by conventional wisdom and majority opinion as a legitimate practice/philosophy/manner of dress etc. that is alternative to (but not necessarily mutually exclusive with) that of mainstream society.

This recognition (a prelude to acceptance), more often than not spells doom for the movement and its adherents, and ironically destroys a large portion of its appeal to the masses. Even if the movement succeeded in achieving its original promises or goals (if it had any to begin with), in so doing it loses its very reason for being, and in the unlikely event that it succeeds in obtaining a new mission or purpose, it is highly unlikely that this new mission or purpose will appeal to the majority of its original base of supporters, if it even appeals to anyone at all. And even if the movement succeeds in refocusing its energies on another purpose, it will have taken on an entirely new identity which on its own may alienate and further disillusion the movement's supporters. For, insofar as they are no longer "mysterious," persecuted, nor even exceptional or particularly unique, the movement and its adherents no longer hold any desireability among the disaffected and disenfranchised that made it strong. In this sense, the movement is no longer recognizable as such, and in becoming the establishment (or an accepted part of it), it is most likely unrecognizable as anything else. Thus, though the establishment may not have changed leaders, identity, or even any aspect of its society, the movement is dead in that it is now a

The prognosis for the movement (and really, society as a whole) is even more dire if it induces the complete capitulation of the establishment it originally rejected or rebelled against. In replacing the establishment, the process of disintegration is even quicker; in one fell swoop it has lost its rejectionist identity simply because the society and way of life it rejected no longer exists. In that it no longer has the corrupt or otherwise undesireable establishment to rally its members against, a sufficiently large movement will inevitably struggle with internal unity and divisiveness by sheer virtue of its size and diversity. Even if there is another rallying point or unifying trait sufficiently strong to hold the "new establishment" together, without a clear, open-ended agenda for the future, the movement is doomed to failure; for, if the movement's agenda (if indeed, it had any to begin with) was to replace the established authority and mainstream society, without any clear reason to exist afterwards it is has surpassed its life expectancy and outlived its own usefulness.

That is to say, once the "mission" is "accomplished," what other reason for being might the missionnaries have?

This phenomenon is part of the reason why popular revolutions and rebellions rarely result in stable and enduring states. One need not have a firm grasp of government (nor even any ability in it), in order to denounce a system or point out its obvious flaws. Moreover, when faced with a truly flawed system worthy of denunciation, one need not have any real understanding of politics or organization (nor again, any ability for either practice) in order to cause such a system to fail or be replaced; indeed, if a system is flawed enough it can fail quite freely of its own accord.

However, the opposite can be true as well. A common tactic among fundamentally flawed establishments is to distract populace from its flaws with a "neverending mission" in the hopes of sustaining its revolutionary ethos and appeal to the disaffected for as long as possible. Similar to the concept of "bread and circuses" used in the Roman Empire, the doctrine of Ceaseless Pursuits can help a newly-established establishment retain some of the vestiges and loyalties of its days as a movement. And as long as the Pursuits in question are impossible to achieve or satisfy (whether by virtue of intention or practicality), and as long as the members of the former movement cannot be fatigued by, frustrated or disillusioned with its Ceaseless agenda, a movement-turned establishment can survive as a movement for surprisingly long after the end of its usefulness.

Unfortunately, this again is practically impossible and ultimately unsustainable. Even assuming that a movement succeeds in completely replacing the establishment (a rarity on its own, even assuming it ever set out to originally), by virtue of becoming the establishment the movement will have lost a significant portion of its appeal to its original base; the principal that some people "always support the underdog" runs both ways, and is only a boon so long as the "dog" in question stays under. And even if the movement-turned-establishment succeeds in appealing to a new base (possibly the former members of the outgoing establishment), doing so will most likely further alienate the original movment's base, and may even alienate others, creating the potential for yet another subversive or counter-culture movement to develop and challenge the first! If, by some miracle, the new movement survives or avoids the loss of its desireability with the disaffected, the marginalized, and the disenfranchised that originally made and kept it strong when it first became the establishment, it now has the added burden of justifying its existence with all of the above (not to mention the former mainstreamers it now must maintain with the removal of the old establishment) ad infinitum.

Add to all of this the necessary attributes and qualities (not to mention resources) that allowed the old establishment to survive as long as it did (such as it was), in addition to all of the above factors necessary to allow the new establishment to survive for infinity, and the reason for Fight Club's apparent step back from Durden's philosophy of creative destruction becomes painfully clear:

Opposition movements are great at producing revolutionaries, but revolutionaries are great at producing failed societies. Or, more to the point:

"It's okay to talk about Fight Club. It's okay to join Fight Club. It's even okay to fight with Fight Club. But never, ever, EVER elect Fight Club to public office."

--Paid for by the Democratic Party National Convention