I refer to John XXIII and John Paul II, who are super, of course, because they were canonized faster than a speeding bullet compared with what has been the norm for the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church (OHCAC), if not for its God, who was indeed the God of my joy and my youth. They are the Super Santos!
I wonder what is in the mind of the Pontifex Maximus in allowing this simultaneous saint-saying. Not just one but two saints are proclaimed, unique in the long history of the OHCAC. But then there are not just one, but two, popes. They are the Pontifices Maximi I suppose (right declension?) and together they have performed a kind of miracle of their own it seems.
Not that miracles are what they used to be. It once was the case that no less than two attested miracles were required for sainthood, but it seems that is no longer true. It's unclear there need even be one anymore. And worse (for someone like me) is the disappearance of the office of the advocatus diaboli. Yes, it's true that even the Devil should have a lawyer (no doubt he is one but is wise enough not to represent himself), but to have someone formally involved in the process to question whether canonization is appropriate seems only prudent, and creates at least the appearance of impartiality.
Has the OHCAC gone saint-mad? Are there more prospective saints in the batter's box?
I've found the active pontiff (as opposed to the inactive one) to be an interesting and in some ways admirable Vicar of Christ. I like his apparent humility, his self-reliance, his indifference to the baroque ceremony and the grand isolation of the papacy. It seems also that he is not (yet?) the willing or unwilling slave of the Vatican bureaucracy. He has said remarkable things, which is no small achievement for the leader of such an ancient institution. He may even do remarkable things, even with doctrine, and that would be a great thing indeed. Canonizing two of his recent predecessors seems somehow a step backward.
That's what may be behind it, of course. It may be that this is a means of placating the traditionalists, and even an effort to assuage at one and the same time the Vatican II fans and their enemies in the Church. My feelings for the Vatican II reforms are ambiguous, but what objections I have are more aesthetic than substantive. Vatican II brought about the guitar masses I was obliged to sit through in my youth, and the banality of the liturgy, the gutting of which continues to this day. I didn't have to sit through the old Latin mass, as I was a participant in it; as an accomplished but perhaps ugly altar boy judging from the fact I was never molested by a priest. I was an Initiate, at least of the Lesser Mysteries of the Universal Church. What mysteries are left for Catholics now?
If this is, then, more a political maneuver than anything else, I suppose it is understandable if not honorable. If saints we must have there will continue to be saints made, and some unmade, like my favorite, St. Christopher, whose medal still adorns my chest after all these years.
I am fond of him if only because he became a saint by virtue of a kind of practical joke by the Deity (at least as I recall the story). What seemed to be a small child asked to be carried through a river to the other side. The child, of course, was God wearing a somewhat familiar disguise to those of us used to the symbols of the modern Christmas, but which may not have been familiar to Christopher. The Divine Child rather mischievously made himself heavier and heavier as poor Christopher tried to make his way through the water, but he bore the child across nonetheless, no doubt cursing himself for agreeing to help. But he was rewarded for his effort. Thus he is (was) the patron saint of travelers, and will see you safe to your destination. Or he would have, in any case, in the days of his glory. Now he is a kind of stranger to the Church, as am I.
Perhaps, though, "saint" is being redefined. Perhaps sainthood will be reserved for outstanding individuals of the Catholic faith, people of great influence or inspiring example. The influence of these two saints in particular can't be questioned. If that's to be the case, then miracles would seem unnecessary as conditions precedent; they would become a kind of extra, or bonus, qualification. Becoming a saint would be similar to receiving a Noble Prize.
Will the newest saints be patron saints of anything, and if so what? Patron saints of speed, perhaps, their visages to appear on medals made for jet pilots and race-car drivers? Do people still pray to saints these days? One must wonder who will pray to them, the Super Saints, and for what.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Homage to Ambrose Bierce
I'm reading Ambrose Bierce's recollections of the Civil War, and am impressed once again by him as a man and as a writer. I find his descriptions of the battles of Shiloh and Chickamauga particularly striking, for reasons unclear to me. They are direct, cool reportage of mass slaughter by a participant in the chaos, and the prose is significantly different from that he would employ in his fiction, where he could sometimes be baroque, and his highly acerbic critiques and essays regarding various topics. He does criticize some of the generals, true, but his criticism is unusually mild. And he writes very little of himself and his deeds; when he does so, he shows no self-regard.
"Bitter" Bierce he was sometimes called, as was noted by Mencken in a piece he wrote about his encounter with Bierce at a funeral of a fellow-critic, and it seems Bierce did not disappoint on that occasion. Mencken writes that he described in considerable detail and with amusement unfortunate cremations he had witnessed and their consequences. Bierce and Mencken had later encounters as well, and would correspond in a friendly way, but Bierce was much older than Mencken, and despite their common contrariness and iconoclasm it seems that Mencken's view of the older man was ultimately somewhat uncharitable.
For my part, much as I admire the Sage of Baltimore, I think Bierce the more rounded and sophisticated man and writer. Mencken had no experience of war, and like many who have not been soldiers could be somewhat cavalier about it. Mencken was not a traveler, and Bierce seldom stopped wandering. Finally and at a fairly mature age he ventured into Mexico during the days of Pancho Villa, and may have departed this life as he "predicted" in a letter--stood up against a wall and shot. It's not known how he died or where he was buried, if indeed he was buried.
Bierce wrote fiction which was at times almost fascinating, similar to that of Poe as in the case of Occurrence at Owl Creek. The war story he wrote in which a child encounters a group of wounded soldiers slowly crawling in an effort to reach water is chilling. Bierce was a poet, an epigrammatist, as well as a journalist and critic. Mencken, wisely I think, didn't venture into those areas. Mencken was a critic, always. He was a good one I believe, but his position as an amused, educated, intelligent observer became at times too elevated. He had elitist tendencies, and was too quick to condemn people based on such characteristics as race and culture; thus his fondness for Nietzsche and his uncomfortably kind review of Mein Kampf.
Bierce was an honest and fierce man who was able to use words well and so was able to communicate peculiarly American experiences in a manner which was direct but also could be ornate, in a classic style. I doubt he shared with Mencken, Hemingway and others the belief that Huckleberry Finn was the great American novel. Perhaps in expressing that doubt I'm expressing my own feelings for that work of Twain; it's not a book a favor. Bierce like Poe and Stephen Crane doesn't have the reputation other American authors have, but I think him far more interesting than most of our writers.
It's unfortunate such people are not given the same regard as the more popular artists we tend to laud excessively, for various reasons. They are more attractive politically, more easily taught (always important in our Great Republic, where most of us are only taught art), more romantic, more erotic, more normal. They are not interesting, however.
The soldier-adventurer-author is an attractive figure (and was to such as Hemingway, who longed to be one), and can be a Romantic figure as well. Bierce was all that but it isn't possible for me to think of him as a Romantic. The Civil War was in no sense a Romantic war, and Bierce wasn't inclined to rhapsodize about anything. He was too much of a cynic, in the modern sense at least. What a life he lead! One must admire a man who lived as he did.
"Bitter" Bierce he was sometimes called, as was noted by Mencken in a piece he wrote about his encounter with Bierce at a funeral of a fellow-critic, and it seems Bierce did not disappoint on that occasion. Mencken writes that he described in considerable detail and with amusement unfortunate cremations he had witnessed and their consequences. Bierce and Mencken had later encounters as well, and would correspond in a friendly way, but Bierce was much older than Mencken, and despite their common contrariness and iconoclasm it seems that Mencken's view of the older man was ultimately somewhat uncharitable.
For my part, much as I admire the Sage of Baltimore, I think Bierce the more rounded and sophisticated man and writer. Mencken had no experience of war, and like many who have not been soldiers could be somewhat cavalier about it. Mencken was not a traveler, and Bierce seldom stopped wandering. Finally and at a fairly mature age he ventured into Mexico during the days of Pancho Villa, and may have departed this life as he "predicted" in a letter--stood up against a wall and shot. It's not known how he died or where he was buried, if indeed he was buried.
Bierce wrote fiction which was at times almost fascinating, similar to that of Poe as in the case of Occurrence at Owl Creek. The war story he wrote in which a child encounters a group of wounded soldiers slowly crawling in an effort to reach water is chilling. Bierce was a poet, an epigrammatist, as well as a journalist and critic. Mencken, wisely I think, didn't venture into those areas. Mencken was a critic, always. He was a good one I believe, but his position as an amused, educated, intelligent observer became at times too elevated. He had elitist tendencies, and was too quick to condemn people based on such characteristics as race and culture; thus his fondness for Nietzsche and his uncomfortably kind review of Mein Kampf.
Bierce was an honest and fierce man who was able to use words well and so was able to communicate peculiarly American experiences in a manner which was direct but also could be ornate, in a classic style. I doubt he shared with Mencken, Hemingway and others the belief that Huckleberry Finn was the great American novel. Perhaps in expressing that doubt I'm expressing my own feelings for that work of Twain; it's not a book a favor. Bierce like Poe and Stephen Crane doesn't have the reputation other American authors have, but I think him far more interesting than most of our writers.
It's unfortunate such people are not given the same regard as the more popular artists we tend to laud excessively, for various reasons. They are more attractive politically, more easily taught (always important in our Great Republic, where most of us are only taught art), more romantic, more erotic, more normal. They are not interesting, however.
The soldier-adventurer-author is an attractive figure (and was to such as Hemingway, who longed to be one), and can be a Romantic figure as well. Bierce was all that but it isn't possible for me to think of him as a Romantic. The Civil War was in no sense a Romantic war, and Bierce wasn't inclined to rhapsodize about anything. He was too much of a cynic, in the modern sense at least. What a life he lead! One must admire a man who lived as he did.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
The Ceremony of Innocence
It seems I have Yeats on my mind, these days. This is well and good, as he was a great poet in the Modernist manner, and it is the Modernists I find most interesting. Yeats ranks up there with Wallace Stevens and T.S. Eliot, for me; among the greatest of them. I was never fond of Carl Sandburg and others who it seems tried to construct a peculiarly American poetry, and never thought much of anything of e.e. cummings, whistling far and wee.
Most everyone knows of The Second Coming, or knows at least a word or two of that poem, either by virtue of being compelled to read it in school, or running across snatches of it in print or on the screen, or perhaps even by reading it out of interest and while at leisure to do so. In the last case, it may be even that the poem is understood, or if not understood then known to be powerful and evocative (perhaps that's being understood in the case of a poem).
"The ceremony of innocence is drowned." That's one of many striking phrases in the poem, but it's the one that keeps coming back to me right now. Why "ceremony"? No doubt many learned professors have expounded on this, but I haven't read them and in all honesty don't care to read them, though I'm sure to be enlightened if I did. Or perhaps not. It's hard to accept expertise of any kind these days. Experts are always in front of us, on display by the media and used as kinds of fillers between commercials. Familiarity does indeed breed contempt, and so a dismissive contempt seems to pervade among us, regardless of the qualifications of those who are strapped on horseback like El Cid to ride the satellite waves for our enlightenment.
Left then to my own devices I wonder why "ceremony" was used by the poet. It would appear to refer to something formal, something religious or in the nature of a ritual. Is that what innocence was to the poet; did he think that's what innocence had become? Innocence is generally a lack of sophistication, earnest, unfiltered observation of the world and reaction to what the innocent encounter. And why "drowned"? By the blood-dimmed tide, presumably.
The poem was written in 1919, so there was certainly quite a bit of blood being shed shortly before. Probably enough to make a tide. It's been claimed often enough and by many that the Great War, which we Yankees call World War One, was an end to innocence, and there would seem to be support for that claim. Certainly it brought to an end any "innocent" view of war as glorious and fulfilling, though one is compelled to wonder how any innocence would have survived the American Civil War or the Boer War if not others. Even the juvenile and romantic view of war held by such as Teddy Roosevelt was dimmed by the blood-dimmed tide. And of course much that was new and unusual, and less than "innocent" as commonly defined, seemed to follow the war inexorably in politics and in the arts. It's hard to believe that ascribing such things to the war is merely a case of the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy.
But a ceremony is something that's existed for a good amount of time. A ceremony is seldom created anew, and when it is it's not considered a ceremony for some years. So it would seem that the ceremony of innocence for Yeats would have been something that was existent and known long before the Great War--known in fact as a ceremony. Innocence as a ceremony is not spontaneous or uncontrived.
Had we, even then, made of innocence a ceremony? If so it is even more of a ceremony now, if indeed it still exists. Who can we consider innocent in this age? Young children, perhaps, but they're encountering an end to innocence more quickly now than in the past. Communication is relentless and innocence can only be maintained by the cultivation of ignorance. Innocent isn't necessarily good, but at least for now it remains something we prize. Perhaps that's why it's become a ceremony for us.
Perhaps too much of a ceremony--too much that is of something not merely significant but to be extended if not perpetuated. Parents now are said to be notably protective of their children (when they're not abusing or ignoring them, that is; parents like everyone these days are extremists of one kind or another) and described as "helicopter" parents, shielding them and controlling them and maintaining their innocence, or trying to do so, which in itself is dangerous.
The danger of innocence is that it may generate gullibility. The innocent are subject to being fooled because they're unaware of what those who are no longer innocent desire and the lengths they'll go to satisfy their desires, or if they are aware believe this to be a concern of others. In a very odd way, I think we remain innocent even now, and that we want to be innocent, unthinking, perhaps more than ever. Unfortunately, though, there are those who take advantage of the innocent and the simple, and today they are omnipresent.
As they were in Yeats time, as I think of it. Did he think it unfortunate that the ceremony of innocence was drowned, or did he welcome it? How could he welcome it when the best lacked all conviction and the worst were full of passionate intensity? Did he think that was due to the drowning of the ceremony?
There are too many full of passionate intensity here in the Kingdom of Fear, and proud of it. No ceremony will save us from them. They seem eager for ceremony; they thrive on it. Perhaps it's time to grow up at last.
Most everyone knows of The Second Coming, or knows at least a word or two of that poem, either by virtue of being compelled to read it in school, or running across snatches of it in print or on the screen, or perhaps even by reading it out of interest and while at leisure to do so. In the last case, it may be even that the poem is understood, or if not understood then known to be powerful and evocative (perhaps that's being understood in the case of a poem).
"The ceremony of innocence is drowned." That's one of many striking phrases in the poem, but it's the one that keeps coming back to me right now. Why "ceremony"? No doubt many learned professors have expounded on this, but I haven't read them and in all honesty don't care to read them, though I'm sure to be enlightened if I did. Or perhaps not. It's hard to accept expertise of any kind these days. Experts are always in front of us, on display by the media and used as kinds of fillers between commercials. Familiarity does indeed breed contempt, and so a dismissive contempt seems to pervade among us, regardless of the qualifications of those who are strapped on horseback like El Cid to ride the satellite waves for our enlightenment.
Left then to my own devices I wonder why "ceremony" was used by the poet. It would appear to refer to something formal, something religious or in the nature of a ritual. Is that what innocence was to the poet; did he think that's what innocence had become? Innocence is generally a lack of sophistication, earnest, unfiltered observation of the world and reaction to what the innocent encounter. And why "drowned"? By the blood-dimmed tide, presumably.
The poem was written in 1919, so there was certainly quite a bit of blood being shed shortly before. Probably enough to make a tide. It's been claimed often enough and by many that the Great War, which we Yankees call World War One, was an end to innocence, and there would seem to be support for that claim. Certainly it brought to an end any "innocent" view of war as glorious and fulfilling, though one is compelled to wonder how any innocence would have survived the American Civil War or the Boer War if not others. Even the juvenile and romantic view of war held by such as Teddy Roosevelt was dimmed by the blood-dimmed tide. And of course much that was new and unusual, and less than "innocent" as commonly defined, seemed to follow the war inexorably in politics and in the arts. It's hard to believe that ascribing such things to the war is merely a case of the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy.
But a ceremony is something that's existed for a good amount of time. A ceremony is seldom created anew, and when it is it's not considered a ceremony for some years. So it would seem that the ceremony of innocence for Yeats would have been something that was existent and known long before the Great War--known in fact as a ceremony. Innocence as a ceremony is not spontaneous or uncontrived.
Had we, even then, made of innocence a ceremony? If so it is even more of a ceremony now, if indeed it still exists. Who can we consider innocent in this age? Young children, perhaps, but they're encountering an end to innocence more quickly now than in the past. Communication is relentless and innocence can only be maintained by the cultivation of ignorance. Innocent isn't necessarily good, but at least for now it remains something we prize. Perhaps that's why it's become a ceremony for us.
Perhaps too much of a ceremony--too much that is of something not merely significant but to be extended if not perpetuated. Parents now are said to be notably protective of their children (when they're not abusing or ignoring them, that is; parents like everyone these days are extremists of one kind or another) and described as "helicopter" parents, shielding them and controlling them and maintaining their innocence, or trying to do so, which in itself is dangerous.
The danger of innocence is that it may generate gullibility. The innocent are subject to being fooled because they're unaware of what those who are no longer innocent desire and the lengths they'll go to satisfy their desires, or if they are aware believe this to be a concern of others. In a very odd way, I think we remain innocent even now, and that we want to be innocent, unthinking, perhaps more than ever. Unfortunately, though, there are those who take advantage of the innocent and the simple, and today they are omnipresent.
As they were in Yeats time, as I think of it. Did he think it unfortunate that the ceremony of innocence was drowned, or did he welcome it? How could he welcome it when the best lacked all conviction and the worst were full of passionate intensity? Did he think that was due to the drowning of the ceremony?
There are too many full of passionate intensity here in the Kingdom of Fear, and proud of it. No ceremony will save us from them. They seem eager for ceremony; they thrive on it. Perhaps it's time to grow up at last.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
No Country for Poor Men
It's not a country for poor women either, of course, but I'm obviously mimicking the first line of the great poem by Yeats, and the title of the not quite as great but quite good movie, and so it must be. The country I refer to is our Great Republic, and this post is devoted to the Supreme Court's latest curious decision regarding the First Amendment, McCutcheon v. Federal Elections Commission. In that decision, the majority finds, once again, that the First Amendment requires that those with a great deal of money to spend in an effort to support the election of politicians and the success of political parties they prefer, and who want to spend it for that purpose, must be allowed to do so.
Not long ago, SCOTUS taught us that money is speech. That's not entirely clear to me, but what is clear and what has unquestionably been the case for much longer--a very long time indeed--is that money is power. Speech may be powerful, but money always is. Money is power because money allows us to do things and to buy things.
Among the things which may be bought with money is influence in politics, which is to say influence in the election of politicians and influence thereby on the making of political decisions. Speech may influence, but it cannot do so with the persistent and and overwhelming efficacy of money in a political system which is so entirely dependent upon the expenditure of money, which in turn requires the acquisition of money.
Money "talks" in this sense only. It isn't speech any more than it is a belief, thought or an idea, but it serves to contribute to the expression of particular beliefs, thoughts and ideas in such a manner as to assure their predominance. That is particularly the case where money is essential to the "selling" of beliefs, thoughts and ideas, as it is in these United States.
The majority of the court acknowledges, as it must, that even the right of free speech is subject to reasonable restriction. However, it apparently feels that money as speech cannot be restricted except in the very limited cases when it is used, directly, in obtaining a quid pro quo. Also, in a rather stunning statement under the circumstances, it asserts that its decision is required in order to foster the primary purpose of the First Amendment which is to protect the minority from the tyranny of the majority. Money as speech therefore may be restricted if it is a bribe. As a bribe, however, money is clearly not speech, as it is in that case something of value given to influence an official in the performance of a public duty. One is not "bribed" by speech.
So, apparently, money as speech may be restricted when it is not speech. This would seem to serve to raise questions regarding whether money is in fact speech. Can money when used to influence politicians be speech when a quid pro quo is not demanded, but not speech when it is demanded? If it is a thing of value in the latter case, why not the former?
But it also serves to establish what money really is in the context of politics. It is a means by which influence is obtained and exercised, regardless of whether we call it "speech." It's not possible to contend that the Justices of the Supreme Court are unaware of this fact. What SCOTUS seems to be saying is that when money is used to influence public officials, its use is improper, but only in limited and very specific circumstances. In other circumstances, it is protected by the First Amendment.
Perhaps the majority feels that the very rich, who are indeed a minority, must be free to contribute to politicians, political parties and political causes in a way others cannot in order to protect themselves from the very sizable majority who are not very rich. If so, the honest assertion of this view would be appreciated and even honorable, in a sense.
If that is their view, though, it would seem that the odd legal conclusion that money is speech is rendered unnecessary. But when it comes to influence, the rich have no problem getting their voices heard, but not through speech. Speech is not required for influence, but money most certainly is required. The influence of the rich will not be thwarted by that of the 99% by any means, and will never be thwarted by them, not because money is protected speech, but because money is spent.
In a system so dependent on money, speech strictly speaking is of little relevance or consequence. That would seem to be the primary problem with characterizing this as a First Amendment issue. It is one of power and influence, and where power and influence are concerned, the rich are substantially better equipped than the majority will ever be.
It's true that the rich have always been better able to influence, if not control, our politics than others. So that they continue to do so is not remarkable. What is remarkable to me, though, is the way in which the law is being used to support their influence. In the past influence was exercised more directly in one sense but also stealthily. We were less inclined to extol their influence, even inclined to downplay or hide it. That's no longer the case. Now we claim that their influence, indeed their greater influence, is required by the Constitution.
Not long ago, SCOTUS taught us that money is speech. That's not entirely clear to me, but what is clear and what has unquestionably been the case for much longer--a very long time indeed--is that money is power. Speech may be powerful, but money always is. Money is power because money allows us to do things and to buy things.
Among the things which may be bought with money is influence in politics, which is to say influence in the election of politicians and influence thereby on the making of political decisions. Speech may influence, but it cannot do so with the persistent and and overwhelming efficacy of money in a political system which is so entirely dependent upon the expenditure of money, which in turn requires the acquisition of money.
Money "talks" in this sense only. It isn't speech any more than it is a belief, thought or an idea, but it serves to contribute to the expression of particular beliefs, thoughts and ideas in such a manner as to assure their predominance. That is particularly the case where money is essential to the "selling" of beliefs, thoughts and ideas, as it is in these United States.
The majority of the court acknowledges, as it must, that even the right of free speech is subject to reasonable restriction. However, it apparently feels that money as speech cannot be restricted except in the very limited cases when it is used, directly, in obtaining a quid pro quo. Also, in a rather stunning statement under the circumstances, it asserts that its decision is required in order to foster the primary purpose of the First Amendment which is to protect the minority from the tyranny of the majority. Money as speech therefore may be restricted if it is a bribe. As a bribe, however, money is clearly not speech, as it is in that case something of value given to influence an official in the performance of a public duty. One is not "bribed" by speech.
So, apparently, money as speech may be restricted when it is not speech. This would seem to serve to raise questions regarding whether money is in fact speech. Can money when used to influence politicians be speech when a quid pro quo is not demanded, but not speech when it is demanded? If it is a thing of value in the latter case, why not the former?
But it also serves to establish what money really is in the context of politics. It is a means by which influence is obtained and exercised, regardless of whether we call it "speech." It's not possible to contend that the Justices of the Supreme Court are unaware of this fact. What SCOTUS seems to be saying is that when money is used to influence public officials, its use is improper, but only in limited and very specific circumstances. In other circumstances, it is protected by the First Amendment.
Perhaps the majority feels that the very rich, who are indeed a minority, must be free to contribute to politicians, political parties and political causes in a way others cannot in order to protect themselves from the very sizable majority who are not very rich. If so, the honest assertion of this view would be appreciated and even honorable, in a sense.
If that is their view, though, it would seem that the odd legal conclusion that money is speech is rendered unnecessary. But when it comes to influence, the rich have no problem getting their voices heard, but not through speech. Speech is not required for influence, but money most certainly is required. The influence of the rich will not be thwarted by that of the 99% by any means, and will never be thwarted by them, not because money is protected speech, but because money is spent.
In a system so dependent on money, speech strictly speaking is of little relevance or consequence. That would seem to be the primary problem with characterizing this as a First Amendment issue. It is one of power and influence, and where power and influence are concerned, the rich are substantially better equipped than the majority will ever be.
It's true that the rich have always been better able to influence, if not control, our politics than others. So that they continue to do so is not remarkable. What is remarkable to me, though, is the way in which the law is being used to support their influence. In the past influence was exercised more directly in one sense but also stealthily. We were less inclined to extol their influence, even inclined to downplay or hide it. That's no longer the case. Now we claim that their influence, indeed their greater influence, is required by the Constitution.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The Hobby Lobby Case: Cui Bono?
Every now and then I feel wearied if not sickened by the law and the profession to which I belong--which I chose, in fact. This is indeed the life I've chosen and have led for decades, and little involving the law or its use by lawyers and their clients surprises me now. For the most part I honor the law and the rule of law in particular. There are even lawyers and judges I honor. But there are instances when the law is misused and grossly misinterpreted, primarily for ideological purposes in these dark times. It seems to me that we see in the efforts of Hobby Lobby to exempt itself from a mandate of the Affordable Care Act such misuse and the potential for misinterpretation which could have serious adverse consequences.
The exceedingly wealthy David Green, the CEO of Hobby Lobby, has apparently claimed that God owns that for-profit corporation. That is a claim that some would consider sacrilegious and which some like me would consider to be at the least in the nature of an insult to the Deity, if indeed the Deity could be insulted. But let's assume that Mr. Green, for reasons which are no doubt interesting in themselves, sincerely believes that God is the majority (if not the sole) shareholder of a corporation which seeks to make money from the sale of assorted knick-knacks and craft items.
That's rather hard to assume, however. If Mr. Green believes in a God which is reasonably similar to the God most believe in, i.e. one that is all-powerful, the creator of the vast universe, all-good, perfect, needing and lacking nothing, it would be incredible for him to believe that such God would have any interest in owning Hobby Lobby, or anything else, or in making money. If we credit Mr. Green with even a rudimentary intelligence, he could not think the Deity to be so petty, so limited, so mean.
So a cynic like me is inclined to wonder whether this litigation is simply yet another effort to vanquish Obamacare, in this case by cynically maintaining there are aspects of it which are contrary to religious beliefs accorded protection under the law. In other words, I wonder whether the insertion of religion here is tactical only.
However, it appears that those who, in fact, are the legal owners of Hobby Lobby are religious and believe that they are on a kind of Christian mission to make lots of money in a particularly Christian way--a way which is so very Christian it would, presumably, allow the rich to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven regardless of the fact that it would be easier for a camel to go through (or thread?) the eye of a needle.
Assuming arguendo that the legal owners of Hobby Lobby believe that their employees' acquisition and use of contraceptives (and other "sinful" uses of insurance monies) is an affront to their religious beliefs and prevents them from exercising those beliefs, significant questions remain. In what sense can Hobby Lobby the corporation (and not, I think it's appropriate to say, the property of God the Great Investor) be said to hold such beliefs, let alone to exercise them, in such a manner as to be entitled to an exemption in this case?
For-profit corporations are, of course, "persons" under the law, generally speaking. But are they persons holding religious beliefs, exercising religious rights? If so, are these beliefs and rights being exercised by them in their employee relations (hiring, firing, granting benefits to employees) or when they make money, sell or acquire or own property or assets? Are corporations religious persons only as to certain things they do, or all things?
The legal fiction of corporate "personhood" was developed to provide a shield or veil behind which a corporation's owner was for the most part protected against liability for corporate conduct. It is a device by which the corporation is very deliberately distinguished from those who own it. Here, though, the owners of a corporation are trying to more completely associate the corporation with them at least as to their religious beliefs. It's likely they are not inclined to accept that their corporation is so like them that they should have liability through the corporation, however. So, presumably, the corporation is separate from its owners in some respects, but not in others. The corporation and its owners may share religious beliefs, but would not it seems share liability or assets.
Is it possible for the law to accept that corporations hold religious beliefs and exercise such beliefs for certain purposes only? Is it possible for the law to provide that corporations hold and exercise religious beliefs only in the case of certain religious beliefs? There are quite a number of religious beliefs, not all of them consistent, not all of them the product of the same religions, and some of them may well be inconsistent with recognized law. Should those holding such religious beliefs be entitled to form corporations or other legal entities which would thereby be exempt from the law--not just this law but any law?
The law has no business becoming involved in such considerations, and we must hope that the Supremes and others will comprehend the results of inviting religion into corporate, labor, property and other law in this fashion. Fear of the resulting legal mess and its implications for the separation of Church and State are the primary reasons for such hope. But it is also interesting to consider just who would benefit by a victory for Hobby Lobby. In other words, cui bono?
Obviously, it would benefit employers and owners of employers. It's difficult to establish that professed religious beliefs are not held, or are held loosely. Assuming religious beliefs should play a part in the law, what is to prevent employers from claiming religious beliefs once they are seen to be tools by which they may lessen the burden of regulation? Of course those opposing Obamacare, or perhaps any form of national health care, and those many who hold the President in contempt and oppose Democrats in general, would benefit as well. As would those who feel there should be no separation of Church and State.
Whatever one's opinion of this President may be, his opponents have an obligation to be responsible in their opposition--even in their opposition to national healthcare which, for reasons not entirely clear to me, they seem to think an example of tyranny. I'm inclined to think their opposition is often less than rational, and is more a question of money and political power than anything else. Because their opposition is thoughtless, they have become reckless and care nothing regarding the consequences of their actions provided they disturb the President and his policies. This effort to ascribe religious beliefs to corporations and other legal entities is very reckless indeed, and I suspect those who support it neither understand what the long-term consequences will be if the litigation is successful, nor do they care what those results may be.
The exceedingly wealthy David Green, the CEO of Hobby Lobby, has apparently claimed that God owns that for-profit corporation. That is a claim that some would consider sacrilegious and which some like me would consider to be at the least in the nature of an insult to the Deity, if indeed the Deity could be insulted. But let's assume that Mr. Green, for reasons which are no doubt interesting in themselves, sincerely believes that God is the majority (if not the sole) shareholder of a corporation which seeks to make money from the sale of assorted knick-knacks and craft items.
That's rather hard to assume, however. If Mr. Green believes in a God which is reasonably similar to the God most believe in, i.e. one that is all-powerful, the creator of the vast universe, all-good, perfect, needing and lacking nothing, it would be incredible for him to believe that such God would have any interest in owning Hobby Lobby, or anything else, or in making money. If we credit Mr. Green with even a rudimentary intelligence, he could not think the Deity to be so petty, so limited, so mean.
So a cynic like me is inclined to wonder whether this litigation is simply yet another effort to vanquish Obamacare, in this case by cynically maintaining there are aspects of it which are contrary to religious beliefs accorded protection under the law. In other words, I wonder whether the insertion of religion here is tactical only.
However, it appears that those who, in fact, are the legal owners of Hobby Lobby are religious and believe that they are on a kind of Christian mission to make lots of money in a particularly Christian way--a way which is so very Christian it would, presumably, allow the rich to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven regardless of the fact that it would be easier for a camel to go through (or thread?) the eye of a needle.
Assuming arguendo that the legal owners of Hobby Lobby believe that their employees' acquisition and use of contraceptives (and other "sinful" uses of insurance monies) is an affront to their religious beliefs and prevents them from exercising those beliefs, significant questions remain. In what sense can Hobby Lobby the corporation (and not, I think it's appropriate to say, the property of God the Great Investor) be said to hold such beliefs, let alone to exercise them, in such a manner as to be entitled to an exemption in this case?
For-profit corporations are, of course, "persons" under the law, generally speaking. But are they persons holding religious beliefs, exercising religious rights? If so, are these beliefs and rights being exercised by them in their employee relations (hiring, firing, granting benefits to employees) or when they make money, sell or acquire or own property or assets? Are corporations religious persons only as to certain things they do, or all things?
The legal fiction of corporate "personhood" was developed to provide a shield or veil behind which a corporation's owner was for the most part protected against liability for corporate conduct. It is a device by which the corporation is very deliberately distinguished from those who own it. Here, though, the owners of a corporation are trying to more completely associate the corporation with them at least as to their religious beliefs. It's likely they are not inclined to accept that their corporation is so like them that they should have liability through the corporation, however. So, presumably, the corporation is separate from its owners in some respects, but not in others. The corporation and its owners may share religious beliefs, but would not it seems share liability or assets.
Is it possible for the law to accept that corporations hold religious beliefs and exercise such beliefs for certain purposes only? Is it possible for the law to provide that corporations hold and exercise religious beliefs only in the case of certain religious beliefs? There are quite a number of religious beliefs, not all of them consistent, not all of them the product of the same religions, and some of them may well be inconsistent with recognized law. Should those holding such religious beliefs be entitled to form corporations or other legal entities which would thereby be exempt from the law--not just this law but any law?
The law has no business becoming involved in such considerations, and we must hope that the Supremes and others will comprehend the results of inviting religion into corporate, labor, property and other law in this fashion. Fear of the resulting legal mess and its implications for the separation of Church and State are the primary reasons for such hope. But it is also interesting to consider just who would benefit by a victory for Hobby Lobby. In other words, cui bono?
Obviously, it would benefit employers and owners of employers. It's difficult to establish that professed religious beliefs are not held, or are held loosely. Assuming religious beliefs should play a part in the law, what is to prevent employers from claiming religious beliefs once they are seen to be tools by which they may lessen the burden of regulation? Of course those opposing Obamacare, or perhaps any form of national health care, and those many who hold the President in contempt and oppose Democrats in general, would benefit as well. As would those who feel there should be no separation of Church and State.
Whatever one's opinion of this President may be, his opponents have an obligation to be responsible in their opposition--even in their opposition to national healthcare which, for reasons not entirely clear to me, they seem to think an example of tyranny. I'm inclined to think their opposition is often less than rational, and is more a question of money and political power than anything else. Because their opposition is thoughtless, they have become reckless and care nothing regarding the consequences of their actions provided they disturb the President and his policies. This effort to ascribe religious beliefs to corporations and other legal entities is very reckless indeed, and I suspect those who support it neither understand what the long-term consequences will be if the litigation is successful, nor do they care what those results may be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)