Pettifogger General

 

"Pettifogger" is a word not often used these days.  When it refers to a lawyer, it means one that is unscrupulous, unethical, underhanded; a shyster, in fact.

One thing a practicing lawyer learns of, and learns to avoid if the lawyer is not disreputable, is a conflict of interest.  A conflict is taken seriously, for the most part, by those authorities regulating attorneys.  A conflict can have serious consequences.  A license to practice may be revoked or suspended.  A fine may be imposed.  A lawyer may be prohibited from representing a client by a judge who becomes aware of a conflict.

A lawyer who once represented a client is prohibited from being a lawyer for someone whose interest conflicts with that of the former client in the same matter or a similar matter.  A conflict of interest may in some circumstances be waived, in writing, by a client or former client who has been advised of the problems representation in a conflict situation may cause.

 A lawyer has a duty to a client.  If there's a conflict, that duty is compromised.  So, the purpose being served by the lawyer, if the lawyer is ethical, isn't being served. Other purposes are, usually.

What was the purpose being served in connection with the visit to Ghislaine Maxwell?  

Supposedly, the visit was made by the Pettifogger in the capacity of a U.S. Attorney, not as the personal lawyer of the very often sitting President.  But as it was well known that particular client had and has a personal interest in what she knows and might say which isn't necessarily that of the United States, it's clear a conflict was presented.  Why then was the meeting held?  Why were the terms of her incarceration changed to make them less onerous for her as she was placed in a minimum security prison?  No acceptable answer has been provided.  The implication is clear, however.  No new information regarding Epstein's illegal conduct, or hers for that matter, or that of any other person was provided.  So, it appears no benefit to law enforcement or the U.S generally was obtained.  It appears, rather, that benefit was obtained by another client.

Then there is the incredible matter of the settlement of the Trump claim against the IRS.  Agreeing to a settlement of all possible claims that might be made due to past conduct, in addition to the creation of a slush fund for use in cases brought by the U.S., would be absurd even if the case brought had merit.  We know, though, that the presiding judge sanctioned the lawyers who brought the claim and reported them to the relevant state disciplinary authorities.  

Any lawyer advocating for such a settlement on behalf of the U.S. would have to be a fool, or possibly corrupt; unethical as favoring a former client over the government.  This isn't even to think of the implications of a president suing the government of which he's the chief executive.

What can we expect from this man regarding efforts to obtain what are called the Epstein Files?  It's clear that the interests of law enforcement and of the victims won't be, and aren't, his concerns.

Our legal system is as subject to corruption as anything else is in a kleptocracy, but may be a greater source of harm than the politicians who run it, because lawyers are instrumental in its operation.

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"With Rue My Heart Is Laden"

 

The older I get, the more the poems of A.E. Houseman speak to me.  Heading this post is a portion of one of them which speaks all too loudly.

In a way, my regard for them is unsurprising.  The poems involve loss, death, memory, regret; the stuff of life now, or a good part of it.  There's none of the sang-froid one can find in Horace or Wallace Stevens, though. With Horace, there was an acknowledgement of loss and the inevitability of death, but this served as an invitation to enjoy the life we live.  Stevens' poems seem to evoke a chilly resignation to and acceptance of that inevitability as simply what we have--a part of the real, the world, we're part of, which may become art, and thereby something of value.  Houseman's evocation of them is raw, but summoned through spare, simple language which is itself raw in a sense, and can leave one feeling raw.

I despise regret and remorse because they seem completely futile.  More than anything else I can think of, they epitomize what Stoicism and practical wisdom warn against--disturbing yourself over matters outside your control.  There's nothing more beyond our control than what took place in the past.  At best, we can correct or mitigate or errors or missteps.  More accurately, I hate myself for feeling regret and remorse, when they serve no purpose but self-torment.  But feel them I do, and the feeling is strong, sometimes.

In waking life regret is a passing concern and can be overwhelmed like so much else by the rush of the simple, insignificant things of life.  But in dreams regret and loss are experienced directly.  They can be the dream, in fact.  Sometimes the dream reflects and involves useless efforts to make things as they should gave been, to be what you should have been.  The worst dreams can be those in which you struggle, uselessly, to be with someone you wish to be with but cannot be with, now or ever.  Such dreams evoke regret which will outlive the dream.  It lingers.

Some of Houseman's poems describe this kind of regret in a very powerful way, and do so in stark language without embellishment, though sometimes by implication, which in his case may have been necessary given the prejudices of that time.  But the regret expressed is nonetheless unfiltered as if in a dream.  And lingers.

Religion and Poison

 

I

I'm reading Christopher Hitchen's God is not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything.  As I expected, it's full of examples of the poisonous effects of religion, which is to say those of the Abrahamic religions, primarily. 

Thus far, at least, those religions with more than one god haven't been subject to much in the way of ridicule or used as examples of nonsense, except those of the mesoamerican civilizations whose gods were quite literally bloodthirsty.  Nor have those involving a deity which isn't a personal deity, intervening in nature, granting favors, requiring exclusive worship and pretending to absolute knowledge.  The deists of our history are treated with a certain respect, or at least as harmless.

So I think there may be limits to the criticism of religion he makes, but even then he notes the ways in which religion manages to thwart free inquiry and critical and scientific thought merely by insisting that we be ignorant and accept certain doctrines as true even if we refrain from compelling others to adopt them.  This devotion to maxims adopted unthinkingly and never questioned is itself harmful.

To his credit, he refuses to join one of his fellow atheists (Dennet I think) in referring to those who don't believe on God as "brights." There's ridicule and mockery, as well as anger, but not condescension.

It's difficult to contest his claims given his many examples of often idiotic and malicious conduct on the part of the faithful. I confess I wonder what he would, or would have, thought of the religious characteristics of Stoicism. I suspect he'd have thought it based on a hypothesis for which there is no need, to paraphrase Laplace in responding to Napoleon.  But its conception of God as immanent in Nature rather than apart from it avoids the problems associated with a creator God, and its emphasis on treating things beyond our control as indifferent makes it less liable to the urge to impose itself on others.  You don't forcibly convert others to Stoicism or persecute thise who aren't Stoics.

Which brings us to the question which it seems concerns believers in their argument with atheists most of all.  That is--if there is no God, how do we determine what's right and what's wrong?

One might reply that many of  those who purport to believe in God seem incapable of distinguishing right from wrong, or if they can don't care which is which and are fully able and willing to do wrong, to be evil rather than good.  Or one might mention the Euthypro dilemma.

In that dialogue the question addressed was whether what is good is good because God commands it, or good regardless of whether God commands it.

Clearly, if what is good isn't determined by God, then God isn't required to determine what is right or wrong.  In Stoicism what is good is what is according to nature. It isn't a matter of command by God or anyone.

Perhaps part of the poison of religion or which is caused by it is our dependence on it.  If we require a command to do what is right we needn't bother with thinking.  Nor need we take responsibility. We need only follow orders.

Homage to Camille Paglia

 

Perhaps this is premature as I've read only a few of her books (most recently Provocations).  But I've enjoyed them, admired the clarity of her writing and more often than not agreed with what she has to say, and that I think makes her praiseworthy.  Not many persons are worthy of praise in these days of the decline of our Great Republic, or so I think.  Thus this post.

I like reading brief commentary and essays on culture, society, polics and events.  Brief commentary may be the only writing which has a chance if  being read, now, most everything else being texts, emails and social media (and blog) posts.  The days when geat essays were written may be gone.  Gore Vidal and Christopher Hitchens are two recent essayists I would consider among the great, and they're both dead. But I can't read everything.  Paglia seems more than capable as well.  It requires a certain focus. We seem to have difficulty focusing.  We move from one provocation or concurrence to another, searching for whatever will outrage or placate.

She strikes me as something of a contrarian, in the sense that she isn't afraid to challenge the various maxims of established liberalism, and for that matter those of the shrilly outraged who represent themselves as conservatives these days.  Self-righteousness and sanctimony are characteristic of the denizens of the Right and the Left now, but I find nothing of that in her work.  She has strong and sometimes controversial opinions but argues persuasively in their support.

I'm reminded of Aaron Burr's statement--"The law is whatever is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained."  More than the law, I think.  She manages to be bold, but is plausible.

She has interesting things to say which I think establish that she values the application of intelligence in meeting what we encounter in life and taking responsibility for our actions and decisions.  She criticizes those who play the victim. Even better, she refuses to be one.  She seems irritated by the reluctance of so many to come to conclusions or even to believe that rational conclusions or judgements can be made; something which I think would make her unpopular in the Academy but reflects an attitude I admire.

So, Ave Camille Paglia.

Felix Dies Natalis

 

Another year of my life, as we measure it, has passed.  Too many years have passed, in fact.

In my less happy moments, I wonder why we say "Happy Birthday." I don't mean to say that birthdays aren't happy.  I do, however, think that birthdays aren't necessarily happy.  Not all birthdays are happy, in other words.  But that's not to say all birthdays are sad.

The birthday in question in this case is neither happy nor sad.  It's a day like any other.  I suppose most of us come to think this way as the years go by.  A birthday becomes less and less a cause for celebration.  It's still marked, as a kind of milestone on the road from birth to death, but is more a reminder than anything else.  Journey's end, and whatever comes after, lies ahead.

Cicero, Seneca and others wrote of old age as the crown of life.  That seems to me somewhat excessive.  Both body and mind diminish, and that isn't a cause for celebration either.  One does what one can to forestall the diminishment, but aging is relentless.  Perhaps sometime soon we'll find a way to extend our lives.  Will that make the crown heavier?

Taken to its logical conclusion (if one may use the word "logical" here) the Christian view would seem to be that life is unimportant.  What is important is life after death, which may be joyous or horrible, depending on how we spend our life before death.  That makes life before death important, though, doesn't it?  Or is it important only if we believe in the Christian God?  According to Augustine and others, we can only be saved by Jesus.  If he doesn't save us, our lives may be full of good works but we still go to hell.

Antinatalism, the cheerful belief that it's wrong to procreate as those born are exposed to harm without their consent, probably doesn't encourage us to continue living.  It may be said to provide reason for us to look forward to death, however.  Perhaps it gives us a reason to look forward to the death of our parents as well, since they failed to get our consent to be born while we didn't exist.

The Stoic view is that life is preparation for death. By this they seem to mean that we should be aware of death, of our own mortality, as we live our lives.

I doubt any of this impacts our view of birthdays to any significant extent.  Stoicism would at the least teach us that birthdays should be matters of indifference, which l suppose is my view.

What I find curious, though, is that people expect that your birthday is a cause for celebration, and expect that you'll feel the same way.  They ask what you'll do to commemorate the day.  They'll ask if you had a happy birthday and seem at a loss if you haven't.  You disappoint them if you don't have a happy birthday.

Which should make your birthday even more a disappointment to you, if it isn't happy.  

Unless, that is, you're a Stoic.