The terror of the flames
As reports of the Los Angeles wildfires roaring through canyons and city streets filtered through, memories of facing fire and fear, and evacuation under pressure came rushing back: howling winds, glowing skies, and urgent scrambling. Reading Sam Harris describe his evacuation—and choosing to take ‘a gun, a bottle of MDMA, and a wrist mala’—I found myself thinking of the chainsaws, fire blankets, and food and water that lived in our car during the fire season.
Just a few years ago during a dreadful Australian summer, in which over 15 million acres were burnt out, I wrote to a friend who was concerned for our safety:
We are safe at the moment, but have several fires about 15 kilometres from here, with two megafires a little further. These generate their own weather patterns and throw lightning and burning embers 5-10 km ahead of the fire front, and then the fires start leapfrogging. The towns and valleys above us have been evacuated. Some of them have been under constant ember and fire attack for over a week. We have fire-fighting pumps, hoses, and gear laid out and ready in case we get trapped.
I heard yesterday from one of my sons, after three days of frantic silence. He was trapped on the coast and literally had to shelter for hours in the ocean. He now faces a long and difficult drive home with major road closures and ever-shifting fire fronts.
On another occasion, fires reached the nearby ridge line, and we evacuated due to the risk of ember attack which would have prevented our escape. ‘Go-bags' and valuables were permanently packed and in the car. In addition to the survival gear, and photographs, laptops, backups, I had chosen a signed, and irreplaceable, copy of Bernard Lonergan's seminal work Insight, a couple of other books, and artefacts of sentimental value.
Despite the careful preparation, fear takes hold the moment you pull away: because nothing prepares you for the sight of your home in the rearview mirror, uncertain if you’ll ever see it again.
As the wind howled like a hungry beast, we drove away, reaching the end of our road and turning left, toward the fire, while hoping the roads remained open and not clogged with traffic. My original plan had been to turn right, down a narrow, winding, road, carrying little traffic, but I remembered a fire fighter telling me with some horror in her voice that this would turn into a fatal tunnel of fire and falling trees—and that we would be on our own. What looked safe might prove fatal. I trusted the experts, and joined a fast moving convoy fleeing to safety.
When the moment comes, what you take with you reveals what truly matters
When the fire front is rushing toward you, it is too late to develop a plan. You only have time for action. It is too late, and far too dangerous, to make things up as you flee. You need to have weighed your options in advance. Some things you assume will save you may lead you deeper into danger. When that moment comes, what you take with you is ultimately not just about survival: it’s a revelation about what truly matters. And everyone packs differently.
Faced with the same crisis, Sam Harris made his choices.
What are you packing?
Both Harris and I packed for survival, but survival means different things to different people. I packed a chainsaw, in case my way was blocked by fallen trees. Harris packed a gun, in case—one can only assume—his way was blocked by people. What does packing a gun say about trust in our neighbours, and how close we may be to anarchy? To be fair to Harris, he opens by observing how reality upends politics: when you need to flee, and you know there are arsonists about, and looters on the loose, survival, and protecting your family, rapidly replaces idealism.
Packing a gun in an evacuation suggests that survival, for Harris, was not just about fire, but about people. He anticipated danger from others, not just from the elements. And in that choice, we glimpse something deeper: not just self-reliance, but a worldview where trust in the community is fragile, and where safety is ultimately an individual concern. His choice shines a light on that rugged individualism baked into the American psyche—an ideal that thrives in stability, but hardens into distrust under pressure, revealing how much social cohesion ultimately depends on external forces of law and order.
While Harris reached for a weapon, I reached for a source of wisdom. He prepared to defend his life. I prepared to make sense of mine. Lonergan’s work refuses to let me stay comfortable. He forces me to question, to stretch my mind, to seek insight and understanding beyond myself.
How do we cope with overwhelm? Has self-help given us more than sedatives?
Survival is not just physical. How do we brace ourselves when fear takes hold? I reached for a book that had shaped my mind. Harris reached for a chemical that would alter his. I sought a framework to understand reality; he sought a way to soften it. We can choose to search for meaning in the madness, or turn to MDMA as an escape when it threatens to overwhelm us. Taking a deep breath—and then a thousand more—is not easy in the face of chaos.
I was surprised by how many of the comments responding to Harris’ post celebrated his choice of MDMA, and could not help but wonder why so many turn to chemicals in a crisis. Is our first instinct really to numb reality? After generations of self-help and personal growth, it seems we might have replaced wisdom with sedation.
The gun speaks of survival, the MDMA of escape, and the mala—a quiet contradiction—suggests that, in the midst of uncertainty, Harris still longed for something beyond himself. But was it a guiding light—or just another object to hold onto? A mala, after all, is a tool for meditation, for grounding oneself in the present, for drawing closer to something higher. But in a moment of crisis, is it an anchor—or a talisman?
At a minimum it reveals an attempt to maintain some manner of connection to higher values in the midst of chaos. While the gun reflects survival, the mala gestures toward the spiritual. Perhaps, in the face of grave danger, Harris wanted to feel the presence of the divine, or the reassurance of ritual? It makes me wonder about the things in my own life: not just familiar objects, but those that truly connect me to something beyond myself. The mala may point toward transcendence, but unless we respond in some way to that transcendence, it can give us calm in the storm, but not the course we need.
Where is the meaning?
Is Harris cobbling together meaning in the moment—or simply grasping at whatever captures his vision? What meaning might we attribute to a gun, MDMA and a mala? Taken together, do these choices point to the search for meaning, or fear of its absence?
Victor Frankl makes it clear that when all hope seems lost, finding meaning is the differentiator between those who live and those who die.
Do Harris’ choices reflect a fractured cultural psyche—existentially vulnerable, spiritually fragile, increasingly fragmented—where individuals fend for themselves, with no confidence in a cohesive community or a common purpose? Where survival is personal rather than collective? Shared values that seemed to hold us together may have been an illusion all along. That’s a scary thought.
Harris’ choices, in the end, may say as much about us as they do about him. Because when the fire comes, we will all reach for something.
And then, your choices speak to what matters … and the wisdom of figuring that out in the offseason.
Blindingly thought-provoking, Anthony. I also live in California, and thoughts are never far from “what will I do in event of a fire? Or an earthquake?” I wonder whether all his choices were actually talismans, not really the objects he would take, and that together they helped him paint a portrait of a man of action but also depth.
Then again, maybe that’s exactly what he’d take. I’ve given this a lot of thought - my dogs (and cats, if I can find them quickly enough), food/water, gasoline, my hard drives and my wedding ring. All else (and we) will succumb to time one way or another.
Thanks for this Anthony. Really enjoyed it.
A few thoughts:
1.
In terms of Harris' taking a gun reflecting a fear of 'the other' in social breakdown there is an interesting book called The Disaster Diaries by Sam Sheridan. He makes a strong case that the truth about the human experience of disasters is that people actually tend to pull together in kindness and support - even toward complete strangers. The greatest risk to life after a true disaster is not a zombie apocalypse but the over-reaction of internal state security forces. In short, you have greater risk of harm from the police than you do from your neighbours.
I think this speaks to the truth that humans are, despite all the efforts of the modern state apparatus to set us against each other, the ultimate social and collaborative species. We want to help each other. It's hard wired as a function of evolution. It's a beneficial collaborative impulse.
2. The MDMA is interesting. All addiction (drug taking) is avoidance of 'what is'. It's a decision that reality itself is non-preferable to some altered state of being. Nietzsche was prescient in this sense. While he was wrong about a great deal, he was right about the refusal of many to confront reality head on. The longer I live, (having lived, at times, in denial of reality) I come to realise that the price of admission to a life of meaning, light and contribution, is to reject addiction and face reality head on. Only then can you see clearly and take your place in the current of life...maybe even help others learn to swim?
3. The 'mala' is also interesting. For many years I have taught using the Latin maxim of 'capax dei' - 'that which has the capacity for God.' The hubris of post-enlightenment atheists is an historical anomaly. The default setting of the human person is faith. We are God-seeking beings. It is an ontological given. Interestingly, the world is becoming increasingly religious, not less. Our decadent and dying liberal hegemony over news and opinion seeks to hide that truth but God is breaking in all over the world...it's what God does when the idols of culture are found to be incapable of saving us.
Thanks again for a great post.