Homage to Krampus

Christmas is somewhat dreary again this year, courtesy of the pandemic and those astounding individuals who, unconsciously imitating those who feared vaccines for preposterous reasons long ago, have made certain it continues to be a problem.  There were fears in the past that those vaccinated would become like the animals from which some ingredients of the vaccine were derived, and it seems that fears now are similar in quality.

It seems appropriate that in less than merry Christmases, the remarkable figure of Krampus should be given some respect and attention.  Perhaps that should be the case even during happier holidays.  Not Krampus as depicted in the movies which have been made more or less recently, which are inevitably crass and horrific, but Krampus the legend, a companion of sorts to Saint Nicholas.  

I'm fascinated by Krampus.  I don't know how he came to be associated with the figure of Nicholas, who has become Santa Claus.  It seems Krampus was known in Central Europe and the Balkans.  Being a demonic figure in looks if not in character, it's been thought by some that he's a remnant of pagan beliefs, pagans being naturally drawn to demons in Christian tradition if not demons themselves.  For some reason, he follows or perhaps accompanies Saint Nicholas in his December travels.  Nicholas dispenses gifts to good little girls and boys.  Krampus, carrying chains with him, punishes naughty little girls and boys, usually by smiting them with birch branches or rods.  Sometimes he merely leaves them as a kind of gift for parents of naughty children, who are encouraged to wield them in punishment themselves.  He's also depicted as chasing after women, a randy fellow, possibly because he's part goat.   It seems he was a popular part of the Christmas season in 19th century Europe.  This post features a Krampus card, similar to a Christmas card.

Just how Saint Nicholas came to be part of the European Christmas tradition is unclear (to me at least) as well.  He was a bishop in what is now Turkey.  It seems he miraculously saved children from peril in one or two instances.  He was also said to distribute gifts to children and others, at or around the time of his feast day, December 5th.  His myth traveled to Europe for one reason or another, where he eventually served as the inspiration for what we know as Santa Claus.

It seems somehow appropriate that Krampus would visit houses with or just after Nicholas this time of year.  Santa is said to make lists of who is naughty or nice.  I imagine that the Saint would have one list, Kampus another.  In the likely event that a house would contain both good and bad children, Nicholas would give gifts to some and Krampus would whack the others with his birches. 

Thus, children would learn directly and emphatically the rewards for being good and the punishment for being bad.  These would be made perfectly clear.  Nicholas handing out gifts while Krampus chases children round the Christmas tree, chains clanking as his rods whistle through the air, is an image which could not be forgotten.  It's unfortunate that Krampus isn't charged with punishing the stupid as well as the bad, in which case many parents would be beaten by him as well.

There's justice in this legend.  Even Oliver Cromwell, who banned the celebration of Christmas as frivolous when he became Lord Protector, would have approved.  Well, of the part with Krampus in it in any event.  Perhaps we should keep Krampus in Christmas along with Christ.

 

Brains in Vats and the Untrammeled Mind

Not a brain, but a brain in a vat.  That's what won't die, at least in that part of the world (if there is one!) inhabited by philosophers.  "An unspeakable horror from hell!"  Indeed.

It's difficult to imagine a less serviceable avenue of thought than that indulged in by many philosophers for many centuries, relentlessly wondering if there is what is suggestively referred to as an "external world" and, if so, if it can be known by us. Worse, though, is their shameless tendency to write on the subject, if indeed it can be called one.  The consideration of the "question" is singularly purposeless, not merely because it's incapable of resolution, not indeed merely because it's questionable there is a "question" to be addressed, but because its consideration along with any possible resolution makes no difference to us, or to our lives.

It can't be disputed that we always act as if there is an "external world" and for the most part that our belief in it and its characteristics is substantially justified.  Anyone who seriously questions it could be accused of deliberately and thoughtlessly disregarding his purported belief.  Such a person would have to be mentally ill--"There is no world, but I live in it" isn't a statement most would make, and if one would make it seriously one would be treated, justly, as not quite sane.  That is what's done by philosophers who chew on this old chestnut and do so verbally and in print, to the amazement and bewilderment of those who listen to them or read their words (assuming, of course, that they exist).

What's particularly curious about this fixation with our claimed ignorance is that it's sometimes asserted that our incapacity is established by "scientific evidence."  There is of course the problem that it's questionable whether there can be any evidence, scientific or otherwise, if we can't know the "external world."  But it would seem obvious that the scientific evidence indicates that we evolved over time through our interaction with the rest of the world and interact with it consistent with our expectations time and time again.  If the results of experiments are "scientific evidence" it's apparent that scientific evidence in support of the existence of an "external world" is overwhelming.

Why, then, is this fantastic subject one of continuing interest and effort?  Let's ask, following Cicero:  Qui bono fuisset?  Where we humans are concerned, it's always important to consider who benefits from a particular act, question or issue.  Benefit--ours in particular--is always uppermost in our minds.

Who would benefit from a belief that we can't know the world, that we're separate from it, that it isn't real, or less than real; isn't true or less than true?

Those who thrive on it, clearly.  Philosophers, of course, do so.  For some it's their bread and butter.  Most if not all of the religious, as well.  "My kingdom is not of this world"--so said Jesus or so said someone who said Jesus said it.  The clergy in particular.  What would they do if people didn't think there was a world beyond this one; a world better than this one, which is the "real world"?

Anyone who benefits from disregard of or disparagement of the world as it is conceivably gains from the perception that there's something fundamentally wrong with things, so we may have to include politicians and pundits as well among those who claim the world isn't as it appears to us.  

No wonder that Plato, who first wrote extensively of a reality not of this world, was a totalitarian at heart.  If the world isn't real, then clearly we should seek what is real.  If we can't, we should be made to do so, for our own good.

And so we see what metaphysics and epistemology can lead to, if untrammeled by the world!  Without weights or guide lines, they ascend uncontrolled into the air like the balloon of the Wizard of Oz, they render us inhabitants of that city in the sky, Cloud Cuckoo Land of Aristophanes.  No wonder, perhaps, that Heidegger was a Nazi.  

 

The Coarsening of Stoicism

Stoicism is ubiquitous.  All want to be, or profess to be, a Stoic, or so it seems.  Stoicism is touted as the guide to a good life; but not merely a good one, a successful one.  After all, the ancient Stoics maintained that we may live a good life without being successful.  But who now would want to be good without being successful?  There are books, lectures and no doubt podcasts on how Stoicism may benefit entrepreneurs; may make us leaders; make us rich and powerful, make us efficient.  Marcus Aurelius is the Dale Carnegie of these times.  Reading him, we learn how to win friends and influence people.  

Stoicism is said to be desirable even when shorn of what was thought by ancient Stoics to be essential to it.  For example, the Stoic belief in a Divine Reason that is the generative and guiding force of the universe is said to be unneeded by the modern Stoic, according to Lawrence Becker and Massimo Pigliucci.  Mr. Becker goes so far as to refer to himself and others as Stoics despite the fact he (and presumably the others he refers to when stating what "we" Stoics think) don't accept the divinity of the ancient Stoics.

As Stoicism is claimed to exist without a divinity, without Providence, why should it be necessary that it retain the other characteristics of ancient Stoicism?  Why should the modern Stoic disdain the acquisition of wealth and power, which requires that we pursue things beyond our control, and concern ourselves with them closely?  Why shouldn't the modern Stoic seek fame and fortune by making use of the skills which are developed through Stoic practice?  Why try to act virtuously--why, indeed, think that virtue is the only good, and the only thing needed for happiness?

Those of us who admire Stoicism as taught and practiced by the ancients may feel gratified that it has become so popular.  Stoicism is a form of practical wisdom, and can help us in many respects just as CBT may be of assistance in addressing disquiet or psychological difficulties.  But is there a point where its popularity debases it?

Stoicism has seen resurgences in the past, but I doubt there has ever been a time before this when it was considered beneficial and admirable for reasons which seem to me to be at best tangential, at worst contrary, to what it was developed to be; a philosophy of life.  A way of achieving tranquility and equanimity.  Not a method by which to be successful in business or in other pursuits which are unrelated to virtue.  

Perhaps it's the case that coarseness is an essential component of our culture and society.  What is arguably good because it achieves virtue is accepted only to the extent that it serves another purpose, one worldly.  That's necessary to popularity, here and now.  That's been the case with Christianity for quite some time, in fact.  The moral teachings of Jesus are honored in word, but it's claimed that Jesus will assist us in this life by making us prosperous.  He'll take care of his own.  

So will Zeno, or Chrysippus, or Cleanthes, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Seneca and others, perhaps.  But I'm inclined to think that most of Stoicism will fade away as it increases in popularity, and it will become yet another self-help craze, but one which those who popularize it (and make money doing so) can claim is entitled to added dignity as being based on ancient philosophy.  

 

Removing Jefferson

In Gore Vidal's novel Burr, Thomas Jefferson is sometimes referred to as "Massa Tom" by some of his contemporaries who were not his admirers (most notably Alexander Hamilton).  I don't know whether he truly was called this by anyone, but clearly the reference made is to his ownership of slaves.  He apparently owned many.  

The fact he was a slave owner is, presumably, the primary reason for the decision made by a committee of the New York City Council to remove his 7 foot tall statue from New York's City Hall.  New York City's local government must struggle along its way without its presence in the future.

If memory serves, I wrote a post on the fairly recent urge of some in our Great Republic to remove statues of historical figures from the various locations in which they've been placed.  It's something which seems to concern many who declaim for or against it, and is like so much else in these sad times a cause for outrage, real or pretended.  It's something I think shouldn't be of much concern, though it may be in some circumstances.

The circumstances I think would make removal of a statue a cause of concern are very limited.  I don't particularly care if statues of presidents or kings or others are raised or razed.  Normally, they're not history or parts of history except in the most broad sense (they were raised or razed sometime).  Sometimes they are a part of history, due primarily to their age and their place in historical events.  A statue can be a work of art, in which case there's an argument it should be preserved.  But I confess that generally it's difficult for me to maintain that statues should or should not be placed or removed.  It may not be to my credit, but I'm generally indifferent to statues.

In many respects Jefferson was flawed.  Among the Founding Fathers I personally prefer John Adams, who was less a hypocrite.  But Adams had his faults as well.  The institution of slavery was loathsome, and is in a sense a taint or curse on the nation still.  I doubt this or any other statue of Jefferson is intended to be a monument to slavery, or to commemorate him as a slave owner.  Statues don't fill me with revulsion normally, so the existence of this particular one doesn't cause me pain or concern.  But it isn't clear to me that he, or anyone else for that matter, should have a statue made of him and displayed somewhere, nor is it clear to me that once a statue is made, it should not be unmade or removed.  

The reasons for removing or destroying a statue are sometimes considered good or bad, however, even if the statue itself is neither.  For example, ISIS or whatever it may now be called, and other religious zealots now and in the past, have destroyed statues (some of great antiquity) because they believe them prohibited an affront to God or to represent demons.  There is no reasonable basis for that belief.  A statue of Saddam Hussein was toppled at the end of the Iraq War.  Nazi symbols and Nazi inspired statutes were destroyed at the end of the Second World War.  

So, it's possible that the motivations for removal or erection of a statue may be subject to judgment.  That would seem to me to be the only thing of significance in the fight over statues in which we seem to be engaged.  What are the reasons for the removal of the statue in question?  What are the reasons for maintaining the statue where it is now?  What difference does it make if the statue is removed?  It will make no difference at all to Jefferson's achievements.  As to those, no statue is required.   If those are what he's to be honored for, the statue is unnecessary, and its removal isn't a cause for outrage or anger.  

Disappointment in the Law

"There's going to be a lot of disappointment in the law."  So says Justice Sotomayor, or so she said recently in a presentation to law students sponsored by the American Bar Association.

We should be thankful for the warning, but it might be said that the law has always been disappointing in one way or another.  I venture to say that to lawyers, the law may be disappointing on a daily basis.  That may be the case for their clients as well, sadly.  The law isn't satisfying by its nature, being restrictive in many cases, a nuisance in others.

But clearly the Justice wasn't speaking about the law's often disappointing intricacy and obtuseness, or the disappointment caused by its flawed application by some of the many minions of the legal system.  She was apparently referring to something she anticipates will disappoint us in our regard for the law as something which is worthy of regard; in other words, in the law as a representation of justice.  It seems from what she said that she expects to write many dissents in the future.

As I've written before, I distinguish the law from what's moral, and therefore from what's just.  That's to say, I believe the law is the law regardless of whether its considered moral or just.  There may be unjust laws; there may be unjust decisions made by courts.  This doesn't mean they aren't law.

Neither does it mean it mean that laws may not disappoint because they're bad laws or are unjust.  So, Justice Sotomayor, being a member of the Supreme Court, likely means that she expects to be disappointed by decisions made by that august body in the future and expects others will be disappointed as well.

She already expressed disappointment with the decision of the majority of the Court to avoid addressing the Texas abortion law which was the subject of the last post.  "Disappointment" is probably too mild a word to describe what she wrote regarding the majority's evasion.  It's too mild a word to describe what I felt about it.

What she means can't be determined precisely, but I suspect that what she anticipates is that forthcoming decisions by the Supremes should be expected to reflect the positions and, presumably, prejudices of the majority of the Justices who are described as conservatives.  Just what "conservative" means in these dark times is debatable, but given the cases which are scheduled to come before them I'd guess that she anticipates disappointment with decisions in those cases addressing abortion and the Second Amendment, and other cases where individual rights--those viewed as contained within the Bill of Rights especially--are opposed to what would arguably seem to be the public interest.

The conflict between those rights as perceived and the health and welfare of others isn't something new.  And in fact it's been recognized, at least in the past and at least in the law, that those rights aren't absolute and are subject to qualification.  Now, though, it isn't apparent that we possess the intelligence and sophistication required to recognize the need for qualifications, or when we do possess them whether there is enough interest in them for them to be applied.  

Our gun-mad nation seems so enamored of firearms that many believe there is no limitation whatsoever on the desire to acquire, and perhaps even use, them regardless of what they may be.  Anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers are so extreme in their opinions that they seem convinced that their "right" not to wear masks and not be vaccinated must be honored regardless of any risk to others (which they busily downplay in any case).  Already we've seen the First Amendment construed to include "money" as a form of speech, regardless of the propensity for corruption, and corporations granted the right to practice religion or hold religious beliefs without legal restriction.

Members of the "conservative" majority on the Supreme Court are aware that some question their motivations, suggesting that they will make decisions consistent with political positions and prejudices.  So we see them busily denying they will do so, claiming that they aren't "political hacks" and that they aren't a "cabal."  Claiming that they are is said to be an attempt to intimidate the Court.  They sound rather defensive, I think.  Reacting to claims of political motivations by calling them attempts at intimidation emphasizes the significance of such motivations, in my mind.  If political motivations play no part in a Justice's decisions, why would concern about them be considered intimidating by that Justice?

"What power has law where only money rules?" asked Petronius Arbiter, courtier in the court of Nero.  Not much, it would seem; and the power of money is unrivaled when it comes to politics, thanks in part to the Supremes themselves.    Where money is power, the law will protect the moneyed interests.  Those with money will want to keep it, and in a time of limited resources that will mean keeping money out of the hands of others, and the government.  Perhaps this is what Justice Sotomayor fears will foster disappointment in the law.  If not, it's a legitimate fear.  The protection of legal rights, individual rights, is essentially selfish when it comes to gaining and preserving money and power, and that would seem the overwhelming concern of those who already have money, and power. 

The Grotesque Texas "Fetal Heartbeat" Law

Yes, it's a scarlet letter, but "A" may stand for any number of words beginning with that letter, including "abortion."  And to some of us, at least, abortion is far more of a sin than adultery, which even the most sanctimonious of us enjoy until discovered.  Let it stand as such, then.

It's apparent that reasonable discussion of abortion may no longer be possible (even its name is contentious) but let's endeavor to focus instead on this remarkable, and peculiar, law.  I think it's no exaggeration to describe it as grotesque regardless of where one stands on whether or not abortion should be prohibited.  Those who are convinced abortion is a dire sin or a criminal act akin to murder may not care whether it makes any sense from a legal perspective or whether it is or is not constitutional, true.  But any lawyer should care, and a lawyer I am and have been for a long time.  As a lawyer, I find it an ugly and distorted thing, as laws go.

It's unsurprising that it's been drafted, very deliberately, in an effort to avoid a constitutional challenge based on Roe v. Wade and successor cases.  But it's not artfully drafted in any sense.  It's clumsily written.  The evasion it attempts is ham-handed, even stupidly obvious.  It appears to be a cut-and-paste job.  It's as if the drafters took a law intended to make abortion a criminal offense, and then altered it in as heavy-handed a way as possible to make of it a civil law, granting a civil cause of action to private citizens.

Reading it, I was reminded of an old SCTV skit in which Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas were editing film using cleavers.  It's a Frankenstein's monster of a law, consisting of odds and ends from other laws stitched together.

It achieves its apparent purpose, to make a criminal law a civil cause of action,  by first granting standing to sue to people who suffer no direct harm or risk by virtue of the prohibited acts.  It stands standing on its head, in a manner of speaking; standing is not standing for purposes of this law.  Then, it grants "damages" in a minimum amount of $10,000 to a prevailing party who is not damaged by any of the prohibited acts in any sense otherwise recognized in the law.  Thus, damages are to be awarded to those who sustain no damages.  In addition, it provides for attorney's fees to be awarded to a successful plaintiff, but not to a successful defendant.  It makes any lawyer who defends a defendant liable for those attorney's fees.  It limits defenses which can be raised to the point where there is virtually no defense against an action.  Every effort is made, seemingly, to encourage suit and discourage any contest by making it very likely that a plaintiff will be successful.

It's clearly a parody or perversion of the laws that make a private citizen a "private attorney general" to protect the public from harm for, e.g., civil rights violations, environmental damages, lack of transparency in government, and other laws which contain similar "fee-shifting" provisions.  It's clearly an effort to impose a fine, or penalty or forfeiture in the guise of "damages."  It's brazenly, cynically, grotesque.  No effort is made to give it even the appearance of a just, equitable law.

Our Supreme Court has managed to duck the serious constitutional questions it acknowledges are presented by the law, thus assuring its enforcement until such time as it cannot be ignored by the Justices.  The wisdom of this evasion is questionable.  One would hope that if the Court decides to overrule Roe v. Wade it would do so openly rather than merely allowing its precedent to be so utterly ignored and over ridden.   

There's much more which can be said about the law and its encouragement of litigation, and of course about abortion generally, but I'm striving to limit this post to a merely legal analysis.  The fact that it is such a poorly drafted and peculiarly partial and unfair law may lead one to question it on other grounds as well, however.

 

Islands in the Stream of Consciousness

Let me first give credit to the person who coined the phrase used as the title to this post, Jim Reich.  He was a good friend, now dead. It combines the title of Hemingway's Islands in the Stream and a literary technique well known and practiced with some frequency in the first half of the twentieth century and even now.  Knowing him as I did, I don't think he was referring to the Dolly Parton/Kenny Rodgers duet.

Stream of Consciousness is a literary device, but the phrase, or something like it, was used by the psychologist-philosopher William James in this Principles of Psychology to describe states of consciousness, or thoughts or ideas, as being a process, a flow, rather than isolated and distinct from one another.  Efforts were made by certain authors to replicate this flow in their poetry and novels.  Famous practitioners were James Joyce, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Virginia Woolf and others.

I doubt that the literary technique is or can be anything like the process or flow conceived of by James, however.  The fact that it's employed for a purpose--that it is indeed a technique, a contrivance--renders this impossible.  What James and others (like John Dewey) point out is that typically our states of mind or consciousness are non-reflective.  In other words, we don't constantly think; we don't consider means and ends, we don't anticipate events or consequences.  In fact, we seldom do.  We think when we have to do so, or are induced to think by encountering a situation we find problematic or dissatisfying in some sense.  Then, we seek to resolve it.  For the most part, we merely feel, or react thoughtlessly, as a "habit" to use Dewey's terminology.

Stream of consciousness writing is deliberate, and requires thought.  Through thinking, the practitioners of Stream of Consciousness writing attempt to imitate that which isn't thought.

It doesn't work.  If you read examples of it you may find on the internet, I think you'll agree with me.  What you'll see, I believe, is an effort to express thoughts or feelings in an unconventional manner, sometimes disjointed, sometimes juxtaposition is unexpected, sometimes surprising but not as a stream or flow.  In fact, the thoughts, feelings, ideas presented using the Stream of Consciousness technique are staccato.

How could they not be?  It's a limitation imposed by language itself, I think.  Even shorn of such words as pronouns, the description of walking in the woods would be something like:  Walking, exercise, wood smell, sunny, feeling fit, warm, getting tired, etc.  The description is necessarily made up of separate items, independent of one another.

Words, books, poetry, fiction and non-fiction prose aren't part of James' stream of consciousness, because they're read.  A book or books might be when we merely see or encounter them, but reading and understanding them are not. 

It's true that they may serve to evoke a feeling, however.  But that feeling, having been evoked by the effort of reading and comprehending, isn't part of the stream.  Like reading itself, like thinking, like acting for a purpose, they can be thought of as islands in the stream of consciousness as my old friend put it.  They break up the stream, they divert it, for a time.  Then, we get back to simply existing.

Because writing supposed to reflect a Stream of Consciousness clearly does no such thing (or so I think) I wonder whether such writing was more a fad than anything else.  Perhaps Gertrude Stein was reading James on psychology on day and was struck by the idea, and passed it on to her acolytes, who passed it on in turn.  E.E. Cummings is said to be a poet who used the technique.  If so, his poems always strike me as disjointed, deliberately so--staccato, in fact--and perhaps that can be said to prove my point.  His poems have impact, but they can hardly be said to flow.  They don't flow, they jerk from point to point.  It seems odd to me that any writer would think that they were accurately portraying the way our consciousness works using this device.

Ultimately, perhaps, reading prompts us to decide what kind of island in the Stream of Consciousness writing we want to live on or explore, for a time.  The part of the writer is to make the island worth exploring.  What is worth exploring will vary from person to person and time to time, of course, but that's the way of real islands as well.

 

Nation Building, Nation Leaving

 

Not for nothing has Afghanistan been called "the graveyard of empires."  It's seen several come and go, and it's unclear that any of them left it changed in any significant or enduring respect.  This isn't to say that it has been unchanged since the time of Alexander the Great, when he and the army his father Phillip built wandered and conquered there.  But it is to say that what has changed in Afghanistan would very likely have changed regardless of efforts made to control and dominate it by foreign powers.

Our Glorious Union was there in force for twenty years.  Let's not debate whether our Great Republic is an empire, properly speaking.  Let's not debate the soundness of the reasons for our entry, though that's certainly something which can be debated.  Of more importance at this time (I think) are what took place after we intervened in that country's history, and the manner of our departure.

I can't think of an instance where a foreign power has conquered a nation and successfully built another, different nation in its place.  The concept of "nation building" strikes me as essentially hubristic.  It's a task so colossal, and therefore so expensive, that it's hard to believe any would attempt it.  Ancient Rome managed to conquer and have imperium of vast territory occupied by different nations for centuries, but even when "Romanizing" its provinces, it never sought to drastically alter the religion and culture of those conquered, except in the case of Judea.  Judea was a special case, though.  It revolted twice, and its distinctness, otherwise tolerated by Rome due to the fact its uniqueness was ancient, became dangerous.  Also, the emperor who presided over the second revolt of its people, Hadrian, was misguided in thinking he could change it into something it simply could not be.

It's likely that Hadrian may have thought not merely that the response to the second revolt should be brutal and thoroughly so, as it certainly was.  He may have thought, as an avid Hellenophile, that suppression of Judaism and forceful imposition of Graeco-Roman culture and religion was in the best interest of its people.

It doesn't seem to be the case that we entered Afghanistan to engage in nation building.  But the mission must have changed, somehow.  Our leaders evidently thought it was in the best interests of the people of Afghanistan that its society, culture and religion be changed, not merely that its people be controlled and rendered quiescent.  The latter was generally the strategy of Rome.  Let them be orderly, peaceful, and tax-paying, respectful of the genius of Rome and its emperors; then all will be well no matter what gods they worship or what their customs may be.  It's possible that order may have been achieved, and violence, at least against the U.S., limited if not eradicated.  But I think it's always been highly unlikely that Afghanistan would become anything like America or Europe in its customs, or in its religion or system of law, or in the freedoms and rights granted its people, though that may well be in the best interests of its people.

When that's unlikely or impossible, the wisdom of "nation building" must be questioned, and the costs especially in terms of lives lost or destroyed that result from such an ill-fated effort recognized, and it should be avoided.  Some people are very different from us and some don't even want to be like us.  They can't be made to be like us.  This should be a truth easy enough to accept.  But it seems we don't, or can't accept it.

In any case, it seems that if we're inclined to accept it, we do so far too late, and when we do we strive to extricate ourselves from the mess created precipitately.  We want to "cut our losses" as soon as we can.  The thought is to remove Americans as quickly as possible, regardless of consequences.  The result is chaos.  Such is the fate of those who purport to create a Western style democracy in Afghanistan, perhaps.  

The speed with which the Taliban was able to "take back their country" to use a phrase we've heard before was apparently surprising.  Also surprising, we hear, was the manner in which the army we tried to create to replace us, eventually, took flight from them.  Perhaps it was our intent to help those who helped us, putting their lives at risk, by evacuating them as well as ourselves.  One would hope so.  One would hope we still manage to save all the people we can.  But we won't save all who helped us or wished for a change, and their fate becomes the legacy of our twenty years there, to little purpose though the cost was great.  What did those who died in service to their country there die for?  We ask the same question regarding those who died in Vietnam. 

A helicopter perched on the top of the U.S. embassy in Saigon, a line of people trying to climb into it.  That photograph taken in 1975 during the Fall of Saigon is a famous one, and has been dug up for display alongside photos taken much more recently in Kabul.  The evacuation of Saigon was called "Operation Frequent Wind."  One wonders who came up with the name, and what was intended by it.  Better than "Breaking Wind" I suppose.  What will the evacuation of Kabul be called?  Something like "Frantic Departure" probably won't be selected.  

The United States should not be an empire.  It acts as if it is one from time to time.  In the Mexican War, in the Spanish-American War, in taking the Philippines.  There clearly are moral reasons for not being imperial.  But I also think that we're too inclined not only to enrich ourselves and our friends, but  also  to impose not merely order but what we think and believe on others, our culture and society, on others.  That may be impossible and is certainly impractical.  We're not Romans, that's to say.

Courage, Athletics and Mental Health

Another Olympics has come and gone.  Controversy of some kind seems to have become part of the experience of the games, and in the case of this one that controversy, at least here in God's Favorite Country, involves the decision of one participant to decline from participating in certain events.  But it appears that it's the reasons she gave for her decision that some find offensive rather than the decision itself.

I speculate that the self-appointed guardians of morality we hear from regarding this decision would have been silent if a physical injury or condition was involved (at least in ancient Rome, Censors were magistrates appointed not by themselves, but by others).  Perhaps I give them too much credit, but I like to think they wouldn't have gotten quite so excited if a broken leg was given as a reason.  But alas, not physical, but emotional and what are called "mental" issues were invoked, and this aroused the Censors of this age.

There's no question that successful athletes have been considered heroes or heroic for a very long time.  Those who aren't successful generally are ignored at best, mocked at worst.  That those who applaud these heroes or mock those who lose are generally themselves entirely lacking as athletes of any kind presents some interesting questions, but those questions will have to be the subjects of another post.

It strikes me that the view that athletes are to struggle on regardless of pain or injury is in some sense romantic, or a kind of expression of perceived masculine virtues--a sort of comparison along the lines of that parodied in SNL's Quien es Mas Macho.  I think this may be due, in part, to the tendency to think of sport as a sort of war.  Our British cousins are famous, or infamous, for claiming that team sports constitute outstanding preparation for war, and perhaps that has something to do with it.  There was a time when it was claimed that battles fought in war were won on the Playing Fields of Eton.  Those playing fields and others, though, were played in by the rich and aristocratic, and it's doubtful that they alone, or their schooldays, were responsible for any victory.    

There seems to be a difference between our glorification of team sports and the view of athletic heroism held in ancient times by the Greeks and Romans.  Individual achievement was glorified in the past, and as far as I'm aware, athletics were not deemed preparation for war in ancient times.  War was something fairly common then.  Training for war was a part of life for all citizens. It wasn't necessary to pretend to be at war as those of us who have not been at war enjoy doing now.

The case of Simone Biles is an interesting one.  She was, in fact, very successful before Tokyo.  There can be no question that she is lacking in ability, or that she doesn't have what it takes to be a great athlete.  One wonders how many medals are required to establish her qualifications, or to demonstrate she isn't "weak."  She had nothing left to prove and could have sat out these Olympics, I believe, without shame.

Nonetheless, her admission of doubts regarding her chances of success have been characterized as weakness; unworthiness, in fact.  Indeed, they've been claimed to be characteristic of our society.  Or, perhaps it's fairer to say that the reaction of some to her case is considered by others to indicate our nation and society are decadent or decayed.

It's apparent that some of our pundits are irritated that her admission of doubts is being praised by others, and particularly because the praise includes claims she is showing bravery and strength.  There is apparently nothing to be praised or honored in honesty in such a case, although given the negative reaction of the more reactionary among us, it may be said a certain bravery was required to make the admission.  Praising it or honoring it is said to encourage failure and lack of effort.  

The tendency of pundits and media to overstate, and especially to generalize, is clear.  It's what those paid to express outrage and emotion, to stir up interest and controversy, do--indeed, what they live for, and as such it's one of the many burdens we must carry throughout our lives given the fact that opinions are now ubiquitous regardless of their merit.  So, the praise given may well be excessive, as is the disfavor expressed.

But it's curious how inclined we are to ascribe qualities like courage, bravery, weakness, vacillation to others, especially when it comes to sports figures.  It's painfully clear that most of us are incapable of being professional athletes or those who perform at the higher levels.  Why then be critical of those of them who decide that it isn't worth their physical or mental health to continue to compete?  Why should they think it's worth their own harm to entertain us or indulge our voyeuristic or vicarious needs?

If it's appropriate to speak of the decadence or decay of our society, one would think that the fact we look to sports for examples of courage or moral strength would be a more compelling example of our degeneracy.  Is it only in athletics that we think those qualities obtain, or should be manifested?  Is their greatest expression pretending not to be concerned about mental or physical health?

 

Anti-Vax Americana

I haven't posted for some time.  What shall I address which helps describe our peculiarities (one of my favorite topics, endlessly interesting as we're endlessly peculiar)?  We continue to shoot one another; we seem to do so more and more, in fact.  But I've addressed that interesting quirk of our natures often enough.  What else do we do thoughtlessly, which may cause harm to ourselves and others?  The answer is clear.

Here in our Great Republic we have a history when it comes to vaccine avoidance.  We've struggled to avoid vaccines for many years, for the same reasons, if they may be referred to as such, we do so now (see above).

This isn't to say that we're alone in our fear of vaccinations, or at least that we were alone in that fear in the past.  Victorian England thought vaccination frightening as well.  But we may bring to this fear something unusual being, as we are, particularly fearful of the unknown, of the different.

As for myself, I'm old enough to recall the polio vaccination, distributed to youngsters like myself in school gyms, usually, where we waited in line to suck on a sugar cube.  Subsequently, we received vaccines of various kinds at school, e.g. for measles and, I think, possibly for chicken pox.  Perhaps not the latter, though; if so, I received that vaccination too late or it didn't result in protection enough, as I became sick with it.  I think there were other vaccines as well.  Being vaccinated was simply a part of my elementary school experience.  Being against vaccination is, for me, odd.

I think we have to admit that fear is the cause of the rejection of vaccinations.  It was in the past, when scientific and medical knowledge was limited, but is so now as well.  This reversion to ignorance does us very little credit.  I personally doubt that love for personal liberty or scientific/medical concerns motivate those of us who protest against it.  Fear alone can explain the scope of anti-vaccination frenzy and the dubious explanations given in its support.  Our capacity to justify what can only be called our fear of vaccination is seemingly unlimited.  There was a time when it was thought that vaccinations, especially those derived from animals, would cause us to look like animals ourselves--growing snouts and hooves and tails.  I haven't heard that justification in the case of the COVID vaccine, but there are various conspiracy theories which approach that degree of absurdity.  

Some, after all, think that the vaccine alters our DNA.  It's unclear why this is believed, but perhaps this theory of alteration suffices to include physical alteration.  Perhaps it turns us gay, or influences our gender perception.  Others think that a microchip is secretly being installed in us when we're vaccinated.  Less weird is the belief that the vaccine will kill us or make us dreadfully ill.  Sometimes, a vaccine will create serious health problems.  But it appears this happens very seldom; so seldom it is a vanishingly limited possibility.  Otherwise, rumors of death resulting from the vaccine seems to be greatly exaggerated, or premised on inference along the lines of post hoc ergo propter hoc.

If we assume that fear isn't a primary factor we're left with a concern that our bodies are our own, to do with as we wish, and that we should be allowed to determine what is or is not inserted in them.  This is the position of those concerned only with themselves.  It may be that they believe they have no duty or obligation to others, and that the risk of exposing others doesn't figure into their decision as a result.  Or it may be they believe there is no risk great enough to outweigh their self-concern.  In either case, it's an inherently selfish point of view which can only be described as crass.  Perhaps crassness is a virtue as much as selfishness is, to certain of us.  How could it not be?

As with so much else that passes for thought and judgment these days, the anti-vaccination frenzy has spread as much as the virus has, if not more, due to the ubiquity of misinformation that's available to those who seek reassurance that their fears are justified.  One need only click on a mouse or type a few words and the vast world of unintelligence is revealed.  There's room under the Great Tin Hat of the Internet for all.  We need only stick our heads into it, and the countless voices of the legions of the damned fools will speak to us.

We know already what those voices will say, but we want desperately to hear them speak nonetheless.  We're at risk, they say.  Those we love are at risk; our way of life is at risk; our country is at risk, due to the efforts of those who are unlike us, or control the government, or money, or the media.  It doesn't matter whose voices they are, as they say what is the truth as we feel it, and what we feel is the only real consideration.  That's why evidence that foreign interests or powers, or others who wish to take advantage of us, are the voices we hear, or make use of them, doesn't matter to so many.  What does matter is agreement.

 

The Fate of Satire

Reference to a dictionary will reveal that "satire" is, broadly speaking, a work using humor in such forms as irony and exaggeration to ridicule the vices and stupidity of individuals or entities.  So defined, satire has been around for thousands of years.  In the West, when ancient satirists are considered mention is normally made of Aristophanes among the Greeks, Juvenal, Petronius and Lucian among the Romans.  Martial as well, perhaps, though his satire was far more condensed being in the form of epigrams.  Seneca too, among the Romans, at least for his ridicule of the Emperor Claudius, applying for membership in the fellowship of the gods after his death. There have been many other satirists throughout history--Rabelais, Voltaire, Cervantes, Swift and Poe, for example, are some of the more famous of the lot. 

Satire is generally thought of as a kind of literature, and those named just above are of course writers.  Sometimes, though, drawings and paintings are satirical, like the print by Gillray at the top of this post, called The Plumb Pudding in Danger.  The plumb pudding is, obviously, the world and it's being carved up by William Pitt, Prime Minister of England, and Napoleon, who had by then become Emperor of France.

The quality of satires varies considerably.  So does the kind of humor or style of writing employed by the satirist.  Aristophanes' humor was somewhat farcical, as in his lampooning of Socrates and his circle The Clouds.  Lucian also targeted philosophers and philosophy, as well as other people and things, and was a mocker.  Juvenal's humor was dark and sharp; he had no light touch (I think of his satires as more in the way of rants).  Seneca's satire on Claudius struck me as more cruel than witty.  Rabelais seems to have made use of absurdity in Gargantua and Pantagruel.  Petronius' humor was deadpan, in my opinion.  His Trimalchio is unquestionably vulgar and pompous, but Petronius makes this evident merely by describing his statements and conduct, rather than commenting on them.  Irony seems to have been Swift's weapon of choice.

In these dark times, there's a concern by some that wit and humor, which would include satire, are being restricted if not entirely eliminated by the tendency of some others to condemn those who use them in referring to certain people or groups of people who are perceived as being or having been treated unjustly because of their difference from what's considered normal.  The most recent example that comes to my mind relates to the character Apu in The Simpsons and the apology made by Hank Azaria (his "voice") for his contribution in the stereotypical (though intended to be humorous) depiction of the character running a convenience store.  The apology caused John Cleese, formerly of Monty Python, to apologize for mocking white people as part of that group.

Cleese's point is fairly obvious, I think--that humor, and satire, are used in reference to all people indiscriminately, and should be.  In other words, that no one should be exempt from mockery merely by virtue of what they are.

That makes a certain sense, as does a related claim being made in these dark times--that nobody should be discriminate against, and therefore treating certain people better than others because or their race or religion, for example, is wrong.  From that, of course, it follows (or so it's claimed) that white, Christian people are being discriminated against when others are given certain advantages or benefits, or are deemed to have special claims to be satisfied.

In order for that position to accepted as appropriate, however, it's necessary to assume that we all are in the same position when it comes to treatment by each other, society and government.  If we existed on the fabled "level playing field" then a case can be made that favoring one group or person over another merely because they have a certain skin color or religion or other characteristics would be unjust.  That playing field doesn't exist, however, and never has existed.  To pretend that it does for purposes of complaining about discrimination against currently privileged people is fatuous, and indeed unworthy.  

When we insist that we should treating each other as if we all existed on a level playing field, we acknowledge that it would be desirable that we should live on that level playing field.  If we acknowledge that, though, we have to admit that we don't at this time, at least if we're honest.  So, one would think it would also be desirable that levelling steps should be taken,  But that would mean that those underprivileged or discriminated against unjustly, here and now, be benefited more than those who are not. Unfortunately, that's not something the haves are normally willing to grant the have-nots, particularly if that would mean the haves would have less than they do now.

So, I don't think this is a viable position, even when it comes to humor.  Does that mean that humor, and satire, will inevitably disappear?  

I doubt it, unless we expect that the kind of totalitarian society envisioned by the notoriously humorless Plato and put into place by such as Stalin and Mao will be our future.  The great Roman satirists lived in Imperial Rome, not exactly a free society, and managed to thrive.  I don't think shaming of the kind being practiced now will significantly restrict our tendency to mock and ridicule each other.  As well expect that wars will end.  Perhaps the more egregious kind of ridicule will be reduced, which wouldn't be a bad thing.  Satire is best when it is witty and subtle, not blunt and obvious or offensive.  It will survive all the moralists of this time as it has in the past.

Napoleon + 200 Years = ?

 

It's to be expected, it seems, that whenever a figure of the past is considered or noted for one reason or another, there is someone ready to point out something that figure did or said or thought which we now abhor.  This is particularly true when the figure is significant, and even especially when that figure is or has been thought heroic or admirable.  The fact is that most of the people now dead did, said or thought things which we find objectionable, and rightly so.  Our ancestors seem to become in certain respects more and more disturbing to us as the years between our time and theirs' grows  greater.

I doubt that Napoleon Bonaparte is considered a hero by anyone now, but he was for a time.  He was, I think, a hero of the worst kind--a Romantic hero.  In other words, Romantics thought him heroic.  The first half of the 19th century was cluttered with Romantics, people who loved romance, naturally enough, but also individualism, emotion, fervor, brilliance.  People who deplored the merely reasonable, and were artists or thought themselves artists, who delighted in going their own way, whatever that may be, shocking the stolid burgesses and philistines of their era.  It's likely that some even worshipped him.  They were, as I said, Romantics.

I've always thought this a bit odd, as I think Napoleon was in many ways an exceedingly rational person when weighing ends and means, a master of administration and organization, who was normally not inclined to make decisions based on emotion and impulse.  He was of course thought to be unpredictable, and as "the Corsican Ogre" was deemed an excitable and brutal person.  He was after all a Frenchman, and worse yet perhaps from the perspective of the English someone of Italian descent, necessarily unstable.  He was, though, fully capable of employing this reputation to his advantage as well.  I think therefore that much of it was an affectation.

He clearly was an autocrat, a despot, and very much an Emperor in the Roman sense.  Quite literally an emperor, in fact, and very deserving of that military title--imperator, a victorious general.  In these times it's probable that the fact he was an autocrat is not considered to be as much of a flaw in him as the fact he was a misogynist and a racist, and reestablished slavery in France and its colonies, and empire.  Suppression of personal liberty in general appears to be less unworthy than bigotry and enslavement of a race in particular in these culturally sensitive times.

For my part, I've never thought him to be a heroic figure.  He's not someone to be emulated.  It's not unreasonable to marvel at his energy and swift intelligence, his vast memory and his great military ability.  I think it has to be acknowledged he accomplished a great deal.  He restored order to a nation which had been through Revolution and Terror, he reorganized a society which in many respects remained mired in feudalism and aristocratic castes and tradition, promoted equality and recognition and reward of merit, created a modern national administration, and fostered and even contributed to the creation of a great system of laws which remains in force in many nations across the world.

He may be said to a tragic figure, though, if not a hero.  He died in miserable circumstances 200 years ago today, exiled to a remote island, a captive there for six years.  He was by then burnt out and ill, becoming sick and weak as the dull years passed.  Chained to a rock like Prometheus, to make an allusion which has long been made.  "Tragic" in a way that moralists might use the word as well; someone of great ability who failed to devote his talents to promote the well being and happiness of others.

But in exile he also managed to create his legend, through his memoirs and those of the retainers who were in exile with him, and in that manner became a hero to some.  He was in them the Son of the Revolution, greatly misunderstood and condemned, but through his example and ability capable of extending the ideals of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity throughout Europe, destroying the old dynasties which held Europe in slavery for centuries.  Anthony Burgess wrote a book about him called Napoleon Symphony, in which this achievement is emphasized.  The reference in the title is of course to Beethoven's Eroica Symphony, which Lovely, Lovely Ludwig Von admitted was written with Napoleon in mind but renamed after he declared himself Emperor.  By dying Napoleon managed to make himself even greater than he was in life.  He was resurrected, as it were, through the legend born in St. Helena; a Christ-like figure in a sense, who suffered and died for France and enlightened people everywhere.  Burgess makes this comparison at the end of his book.

The painting of Napoleon above was done in 1814, at the time of his abdication and exile to Elba.  For some reason I've always liked it.  I certainly like it more than the paintings depicting him as a hero atop a horse, or in his imperial robes, which I think made him look silly.  In this painting he looks tired, resigned, contemplative, knowing--I'd say accepting but for the fact he didn't accept that exile (although there is evidence that this was provoked by the failure of the European powers to abide by certain of the terms of his abdication, and even perhaps by threats to his life).  I also like one of him at the head of a group of cavalry or an escort, riding through a grey, winter-like landscape, wearing a grey coat and his famous hat.  It may depict the retreat from Moscow, but I like to think it shows him leading the remnants of his army, much diminished, in the campaign of 1814 where he faced many enemy commanders with much larger armies invading France and beat them in a series of brilliant victories before the inevitable end.

What is he now, after 200 years?  Not a hero.  Not a loathsome figure, not the subject of anachronistic contempt.  But a remarkable figure of the past who contributed to the world in which we live, for good and bad.  

The Race Regarding Critical Race Theory

Truth be told, I was unaware of Critical Race Theory ("CRT") until recently.

It seems it developed not in the Academy, where we expect theories to be raised, but in the legal academy.  That's right, in law school.  Perhaps the fact it originated in law schools explains why I've been ignorant of it--I'm a practicing lawyer, and so have been ignoring my law school days for many years.  Law school as I experienced it had very little to do with the practice of law.

I became aware of CRT when glancing through Google News and saw a headline about it being banned from public schools by the State of Idaho.  Bans imposed by government always interest me.  Bans applied to what is taught in schools are especially intriguing.  When legislatures seek to limit what is learned, red flags should fly.

In fact, flags have been flying, but of a different sort--flags of the chattering armies of what has been called the Culture War.  This is the sort of thing pundits (and pulpits?) delight in, and though I avoid them (both!) I can't help but hear or read of what they say.  What they say about CRT is, like all they say, predictable.  It continues to baffle me that people are paid large sums of money for telling us exactly what it may be expected they will tell us, but it seems we so enjoy people telling us things, in particular things we like to think, that they will continue to do so.

I read on some of the websites dealing with this issue claims to the effect that CRT is somehow based on or related to Marxism.  Idaho in its zeal to ban, or perhaps we should say purge, certain ideas from its schools has also apparently banned Socialism and Marxism.  I don't think Communism was mentioned, but there's time enough to ban many ideas if its legislature is so inclined.

I wonder sometimes what people think Socialism to be.  I doubt they think it has much to do with the government owning the means of production.  What it is imagined Marxism consists of I cannot say.  These are words regularly used to inspire fear in our Great Republic, and have been for some time.  For all I know, CRT may share certain characteristics with the theory behind Marxism.  Whether it does or does not will, of course, depend on what it is, but in the realm of the media and cyberspace, where taking the time to think is discouraged, the tendency is exclaim and declare.  Generally, what is proclaimed is left unchallenged or if it is challenged then we can't be bothered to expend the effort to decide what actually is the case.

It seems that CRT involves the claim that racism is a feature of society, and is embedded in our political and social institutions, including the legal system, resulting in the perpetuation of racial inequality.  In other words, it encompasses the view that racism is systemic in our society.  It seems that it makes the same or similar claims regarding sexuality and gender identification.  Unsurprisingly, it rejects claims that racism is in the nature of an aberration and that acts of racism are isolated events, unrepresentative of society as a whole.

When it comes to the legal system, a legal realist would accept that the laws, their enactment, interpretation and enforcement are influenced by race and other considerations, social and economic.  It seems naive to think otherwise.  For my part, I think it's apparent that racism is a feature of our society.

What seemingly raises concerns in the State of Idaho and elsewhere, however, is the perception that what CRT means in practice is the active denigration of our society, our religion, our government, our nation, and white people in particular.  It's claimed that white students come home or will come home from school wondering if something is wrong with them for being white and therefore oppressive and bigoted, or claiming that their parents are, or belittling our nation.  It's said that CRT generates a kind of reverse racism and condemns efforts made in the law and society to promote equality as inadequate or worse. 

There's nothing more disturbing to a parent than what's taught to their children in school, if it conflicts with what the parent believes.  But it isn't difficult for me to imagine proponents of CRT making such claims, in and out of schools.  Righteousness and zeal are characteristics of those of us who believe they perceive a great injustice and vow to eradicate it, as is the demonization of opponents to the cause.  Such claims are bound to anger and infuriate people who, while trying to live their lives, find themselves considered the successors of evil people, and perpetuators of the terrible consequences of their acts.

It must be acknowledged that it's quite possible to overstate such claims and make generalizations which have little or no basis in fact when it comes to racism, when it comes to most anything for that matter.  Take the 1619 Project, for example.  Personally, I find it unreasonable to assert that  racism and slavery in North America arose when 20 or so enslaved Africans were snatched from a Portuguese ship and brought to what is now Virginia.  Also, I think it unreasonable to claim that slavery was a uniquely American phenomenon. 

It's nice to think the very real problem of racism in our society could be acknowledged and addressed intelligently.  Whether it is the nature of the times or there are other reasons, though, we seem incapable of thoughtfully and pragmatically addressing anything serious.  Resentment and rage are reactions to be expected whenever a criticism is made that suggests there are problems to be solved, or that we're at fault or deficient in some sense.

Which brings me to the figure appearing at the top of this post.  Represented there are Achilles and his nemesis, the tortoise.  The philosopher Zeno imagined a race between the hero and a humble tortoise.  Confidant that he'll win the race, Achilles gives the tortoise a head start.  Zeno claimed that Achilles would never reach the tortoise, however.  Achilles must first reach the spot where the tortoise started.  However, when he does the tortoise has move forward.  However small a distance it has moved, Achilles must reach that point before passing it.  But the tortoise will have moved again before Achilles gets there.  So, he'll never even catch up to the tortoise.  Zeno is famous for his paradoxes, and this is one of them.

Where racism is concerned, are we Achilles pursuing the tortoise?  Will it always be there in front of us?  It has a head start. 

 

There's No Law But The Law

The existence of the law is one thing; it's merit and demerit another.  Whether it be or be not is one enquiry; whether it be or be not conformable to an assumed standard is a different enquiry.

These are words of John Austin, who is considered to be the founder of a philosophy of law called "legal positivism."  He was a contemporary of Jeremy Bentham.  J.S. Mill attended his lectures on law.

A legal positivist maintains that the law is something that exists regardless of whether it's good or bad.  It is something different and separate from what's described as natural law.  When we study the law as a functioning system, therefore, it's specious to contend, as people too often do, that it isn't really the law because it doesn't meet a particular moral standard, whether that standard be natural law, the commandments of God, or some other standard by which right and wrong, good and bad may be determined.

According to the legal positivist, it's incorrect, therefore, to claim that a law considered wrong or bad according to some such standard isn't a law.  It's a law alright.  It may be a bad one.  We may claim it should be changed, or shouldn't be followed, but a law it is and so it shall remain until changed or revoked.

There are those who have difficulty accepting this view.  They appear to believe that the law must be something else; something higher, something that's just, fair, equitable.   A law must comport with natural law, and recognize and uphold natural rights.  The law according to their point of view isn't the law we humans and our governments may adopt, promulgate and enforce.  The real, true law is otherwise there in some respect, written in the stars as it were, or existing in the mind of God.

The proponents of the American and French Revolution were given to maintaining that the laws they objected to were contrary to natural law and/or natural rights, which were superior to the law imposed by those they rebelled against.  Thus, they were not appropriately law under this conception.  Not being law, there was no obligation to follow them and even a positive duty to defy them.  This apparently was felt necessary to justify rebellion.  It may be it was believed that characterizing them in this fashion created more of a foundation for revolution then characterizing them as merely bad, unjust laws.  A tyrant's laws are more evil if they constitute a violation of the laws of God or Nature than if they only seem bad to other, fallible, humans.

Perhaps this was an understandable view when it was claimed that kings ruled by divine right and governmental authority could not be challenged without being dramatically unjust.  Those times are gone, though.  When man is the measure of all things, appeals to an unwritten law are unavailing, or at least unconvincing.  

Some people tend to believe that the acceptance of legal positivism requires that we believe all laws, all systems of law, are the same in merit, and that any law must be obeyed.  That's not something that follows from the premise that bad laws are laws nonetheless.  It's a conclusion which in its own way is derived from the belief that the only real law is that of nature or nature's God.  In that case, of course, the laws must be obeyed.  Interestingly, those who don't accept legal positivism will also tend to be those who claim that laws they find objectionable need not be followed.  In that case the law is merely a human contrivance which may be violated, when it serves to protect, for example, rights we believe don't exist, laws which protect people we don't believe should be protected, or laws which allow conduct we believe should be eradicated instead of protected.

Legal positivism imposes a most useful distinction.  That distinction is between the existence of the law and its worth, or merit.  Knowing what a law is, why it was adopted, how it functions in a legal system, is far more useful in determining whether it should or should not be changed than some effort at deduction from assumed standards, especially those that are supposed to be embodied in nature or exist in the mind of God.  

The Gun Gavotte

It's that time again.  It's become something of a routine, though it may be more accurate to describe it as a dance.  I refer, of course, to what takes place in our Great Republic when several people are shot at more or less the same time by the same person or persons.  This is what is referred to as a "mass shooting."  I leave it to others--probably to right-wing pundits--to ponder what a "mass shooting" is and when a shooting may properly be called one.  I won't argue that particular point, which seems an insignificant one.

I ponder instead the reaction to the shooter's work.  I think we may call it a dance, as it seems to be a series of similar, if not identical, movements performed after the deaths take place which have no real effect beyond exercising and perhaps in some way pleasing those who perform them.  Shock.  Thoughts and prayers.  Calls for gun reform.  Calls for gun rights.  Posturing by politicians (one might call that part a Promenade).  Dance ends.  Dance begins again after next shooting.

I think we must resign ourselves to the recurrence of these events (the shootings and the danse macabre that follows).  There's no reasonable basis for the belief that what has taken and is taking place, and the reaction to it, will cease.  There are many, many guns here, and many people have them, and many more guns are being made and sold and otherwise are transferred from person to person.  People get or can get guns, and people for one reason or another use them, sometimes on other people.  Some guns are particularly effective in shooting more than one person at one time, and those who purport to represent us in government are not inclined to discontinue their sale or limit their availability.  As we become more densely populated, and treatment for mental illness becomes less available; as stress rises and misinformation increases and the means by which to transmit it grow; as people become less well-off and more contentious, guns will be used.

There may be ways of limiting gun violence.  If so, however, they won't be explored, not in this country.  Our nation lives by the gun.  It may die by the gun.  It will in any case, however, have the gun. 

So, my brothers and sisters, I think we must do our best to dodge the bullets.  We may still watch the dance, if we like such things, but I suspect that even the dancers will grow tired eventually.  If not, perhaps they'll be shot during some future event.  

The Vatican Just Says No

There once was a species called human,

Who thought God cared what they were doin',

But the truth is He said that "For me, they've been dead,

Since the Garden of Eden stopped bloomin'."

That's just a limerick of my creation which I thought up not long ago in a different context, but it seems appropriate in light of the Vatican's announcement that it can't "bless" homosexual unions.  I was going to write that it seems appropriate so near to St. Patrick's day, but a gnawing sense of doubt combined with a quick search of the Internet reveals that the limerick didn't necessarily have its origins in Ireland, though there is an Irish city which bears the name. 

I've noted before that our religions are not unnaturally, but still unreasonably, based on the assumption that if there is a God, that God is fascinated, perhaps even obsessed, with humanity.  Given the vastness of the universe, this seems unlikely.  To maintain that we're God's sole or greatest concern is preposterous, as we're mere specks on a speck among an unimaginably large host of specks which make up what God is said to have created.

Even more unreasonable (I think) is the belief that God is particularly concerned with our sexual conduct.  Any God which lays down rules governing who we have sex with and how we have sex is a very small, petty, and peculiar God indeed.  It follows that those of us who believe there are such rules and seek to enforce them are even smaller, more petty and peculiar.

And so we come to this latest declaration by the Vatican, endorsed, we're told, by the Pontifex Maximus himself.  The One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church welcomes those who are gay ("homosexually inclined" is the wording used, I think) in a kind of grudging fashion, according to the declaration, but no union of gays may be blessed because only the sacramental may be blessed.  The most relevant sacrament is marriage and marriage, as we know, may only be between a male and a female.  Thus, no blessed gay unions and as sex is inappropriate outside of marriage, all gay sex is inappropriate as well, and may never be appropriate.  

This comes from having a Busybody God, a name I've used in the past in this blog.  But as you may guess from the limerick at the top of this post, I find myself curious regarding why such a God--the kind that is worshipped by the Abrahamic religions--would care what we do, if we accept the doctrine of Original Sin.

Under that doctrine, we're at the least tainted by the sin committed by eating of the Tree of Knowledge by our ancestors, the first humans, which caused them to be expelled from the Garden of Eden.  There are several versions of the doctrine of Original Sin.  The most draconian of them has us damned from birth.  We may nonetheless be saved if God chooses through the medium of Grace, but that's in God's sole discretion.  Then there is the version that proposes that we're cleansed of the sin by baptism.  Another version is that Jesus saved us from Original Sin through his sacrifice.  There may be more versions, I just don't know.  But even the kinder, gentler versions I know of provide that all of us are born with the proclivity to sin as a result of the first (notably heterosexual) humans.

So, we're either damned or damnable from the moment we are born.  If that's the case, though, why does God even bother to peer at us suspiciously, and why did he bother to dream up and impose the many regulations it's claimed he imposed on us after the Garden of Eden was shut down?  He would have written us off after the Original Sin was committed, I would think, as we all would be sinners of necessity thereafter.  Can it be the case that he decided in the first century C.E. that we may in one manner or another avoid the curse of Original Sin, and so appeared among us and induced us to create the sacrament of baptism sometime later?  What changed his mind?  Why are those who lived before then damned without recourse?  Why would he be so interested in what we do given that it's more likely than not that were going to sin anyway, being inherently inclined to sin?

The problems which arise from belief in such a personal God so fascinated with us aren't merely limited to those that result from the fact such a view is incredible, therefore.  They include those that arise when the doctrine which is inferred from that view is made and applied.

 

Angst Misbehavin'

How have philosophers, and others, come to dwell on such phenomena (if they may be called that) as angst, dread, nothingness, anxiety and other such foreboding--what, exactly?  Feelings? Things? States?  It seems to me a good question, as by my understanding these woeful conditions of mind are said to exist separate from any particular object.  That's what distinguishes them from fear, for example.  We fear something or someone in particular.  The angst, dread, etc. written of by philosophers, usually existentialists, have no particular object as they refer to life, living in general, or the world in general, all their constituents conspiring, as it were, to make us miserable in some profound sense.

Angst seems to have been created by that most melancholy of all Danes, Soren Kierkegaard.  Kierkegaard makes Hamlet seem positively jolly.  The author of such works as Fear and Loathing and Sickness unto Death wouldn't be the life of any party, except perhaps a burial party, at which he could, I suppose, cheer others present by making comments regarding the good fortune of the deceased to be quit of this vale of tears.

Kierkegaard was a (very sad) man of the 19th century, and it seems the concept of life and the world as full of woe and the relentless urge to expound on that subject in painful though not useful detail developed during the 19th and 20th centuries, at first at least through the efforts of Europeans.  I wonder why, and here provide a modest effort at an explanation, or the beginnings of one.

I think of ancient Western philosophy, and I know of no instance where the followers of Plato or Aristotle, the Stoics or Epicureans, or philosophers of any ancient school of which I know felt or described anything even nominally similar to angst, dread, anxiety or any other items in the cornucopia of woe posited by existentialists or nihilists, let alone anti-natalists who go them one better by not only decrying the world but contending it's so full of suffering that it is immoral to have children.  Even the Platonists and Neo-Platonists, who thought there was a realm beyond the imperfect world, to my knowledge didn't dread it as a whole.

Something must have happened to change this perception of the world so completely.  Ancient Western philosophy, like so much else, was stopped cold by the onset of Christianity, which later tried to assimilate it, though not all of it.  Christianity famously condemned the world and all that's in it, including we humans, as sinful and wicked.  Like certain ancient philosophers, they thought there was a higher realm.  But they thought that realm was available only to Christians, and very good Christians to boot.  The ancient pagan philosophers didn't think that the higher realm was available exclusively to any follower of any particular religion.

Christianity began to lose its grip on thinkers and intellectuals from about the 18th century on.  Many, like Voltaire, accepted a kind of Deism.  But subsequently, those no longer able to accept Christianity or a Christian god found it impossible, for some reason, to accept the world.  "Without God, anything is permissible" are the words used by Dostoyevsky in The Brothers Karamazov.  Despite the fact that the ancients accepted the world as good, or at least not dreadful, without the need for believing in a personal deity like the one endorsed by Christianity, the intellectuals of the 19th and 20th century could not do so.  And so, for them, anything was possible.  There was no longer a guide for conduct, no standards to be applied, nothing good or bad, no purpose to life; we're deposited in the world for no reason, only to suffer.

If this hypothesis has any basis, it's striking the extent to which the absence of God, of standards, of morals derived from a creator, rendered the intellectuals of formerly Christian Europe hopeless and in despair.  The reaction to the Death of God was dramatic, even melodramatic.  The search for alternatives began, but these thinkers had been so convinced of the need for absolute knowledge and standards of conduct that the probable, the likely, the well established didn't suffice to assuage their concerns.  

And so nothing quite worked.  Nothing replaced Christianity.  Existentialism, nihilism, were unsatisfactory and fostered melancholy at best, angst, dread and anxiety at worst.  Some became mystics or quasi-mystics, seeing some form of redemption through nationalism and racist ideologies and belief in leaders amounting to demigods.

The result is many of us see the world as not only separate from us, but deadly to us.  We're outsiders without hope or function.  We have no place to go.  For everything, we're out of tune.  

Separate from the world, but not beyond it in any permanent sense.  Subject to it but incapable of remedying our lot or making things better for us or others, there being no God to tell us that's what we should do.  It seems a remarkably self-pitying, futile way to live.  If it is the result of a disenchantment with a particular religious view which became rationally unsupportable, however, there are ways to overcome that disenchantment, as the ancients knew but we have forgotten.