Never There In the First Place

 

If you give it some thought, Christmas is a holiday which invites skepticism regarding Christianity.  It may in that sense almost be called "Anti-Christian."   This isn't merely because it's become almost entirely about making and spending money, about marketing, about sanctimony and relentless religious posturing.  Rather, it's because there's nothing about it that has anything to do with a historical Jesus, and everything about it is either manufactured or based in pagan myth and tradition.  It's a great Christian holiday which isn't in the least bit Christian in nature or origin, but Christians have chosen it and describe it as Christian, and insist that it be treated as peculiarly Christian. 

The Christian story of Christmas, to the extent that it purports to be accurate, clearly isn't accurate.  The trappings of Christmas--the tree, the Yule Log, the exchange of gifts, mistletoe, etc.--don't have their origins in Christianity.  Why, then, do Christians insist on it, and make it their greatest holy day?

We begin with what should be known by all, but perhaps is not.  That is, that there is no evidence, no report, and indeed nothing, indicating or even suggesting Jesus was born on what we now call December 25th.  The Roman Church began celebrating it as the day of the birth of Christ in 336 C.E., more than 300 years after the event is said to have taken place.   There is considerable evidence, however, that it was the date on which the birth of pagan gods such as Sol Invictus and Mithras was celebrated, and was within the season during which the great pagan celebration of Saturnalia took place, which involved gift-giving and parties, and featured roleplay in which slaves and servants become masters and their masters slaves and servants.

As might be expected of a day celebrating the birth of sun gods such as the Roman ones I referred to, it occurs very near to the winter solstice.  The winter solstice was celebrated by pagans of all kinds long before Jesus is said to have been born, as the time at which the sun ceases "dying" and is in effect "born" and the days slowly become longer and brighter.

Then there is the story of Christmas described in the Gospels.  According to that of Luke, Jesus was born during the reign of Augustus, in Bethlehem, because of the requirements of a census taken while Quirinius (Publius Sulpicius Quirinius) was governor of the Roman Province of Syria, which included Palestine.  The census supposedly required all to travel to the town of their birth, to be counted.  According to the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus was born during the reign of Herod the Great.

The early Christians seemingly kept poor records, but the Romans were great record-keepers.  The census of Quirinius was taken several years after the death of Herod.  No Roman census required everyone to travel to their ancestral home--a requirement which would likely have caused chaos in travel and administration, and would have been a dramatically large burden to all concerned.  Why, then, does Christianity claim that Jesus of Nazareth was born in Bethlehem?  Because it was the City of David, and Jesus through his father Joseph was claimed to be a descendent of David and the messiah was supposed to be born there.  

Then there is the manger problem.  The nativity scene or setting we're familiar with involves a stable, a manger, various animals and shepherds.  Early Christians maintained Jesus was born in a cave, though.  That would seem to be the case according to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where the place at which Jesus was born is depicted by the star in the photograph at the head of this post, and is referred to as a "grotto."  That place along with other locations and objects important to Christianity was discovered by Helena, the very busy and industrious mother of the Emperor Constantine, who roamed the Holy Land in search of such things, and is considered a saint according to the Catholic Church.

We have heard, and still hear, many urge that we should "keep Christ in Christmas."  But it can fairly be maintained that he was never there in the first place, and isn't there much now.  Instead, he's been inserted, in a rather shameless, brazen fashion, into an ancient time of celebration made significant for reasons having nothing to do with him or Christianity.

It's harmless enough, of course, to create a holiday and designate it as a time for special celebration of a particular person or event.  This is done with some frequency, in fact.  If that is what Christians have done in creating Christmas, who could complain?  But a religion such as Christianity cannot be doubted, and that is especially the case where holy books are concerned. 

If we give it some more thought, perhaps in fact Christmas isn't Anti-Christian, but peculiarly Christian in the sense that it is contrived, a pretence, much like being a Christian is, today, and likely has been forever, sadly.  If to be Christian is to follow the teachings of Jesus, Christians are mostly frauds.

We should by all means celebrate the Christmas season.  It's great fun, and always has been, since long before Christ and Christianity.  The winter solstice has always been significant as well.  But one with think the pious and self-righteous should have some decency, and restrain themselves from insisting we stop treating the Christmas season as being solely something which it clearly is not. 

Living in Cloud Cuckoo Land

The Cloud Cuckoo Land I refer to in this post is that of Aristophanes, as depicted in his play The Birds.

It's not the one referred to in the recent novel bearing that title, nor is it the one referred to by assorted German philosophers.  The Germans once thought themselves the successors to the ancient Greeks, for reasons I don't understand, and perhaps still do, but I do not. 

Cloud Cuckoo Land as it has been referred to in more modern times is a place where absurdity reigns, or a fantasy land.  As pictured in Aristophanes' play, it is a kind of kingdom of birds, made by birds who are thought to be the real or original gods.  It's built by birds on the recommendation of a couple of men, who tell them (the birds) of their divinity.  

As might be expected, the play has been interpreted as intended to communicate this or that profound insight, and may well have been intended to do so.  The most obvious interpretation--that it is a comedy written by a great writer of comedies, intended to make people laugh--is thought too vulgar.  But Aristophanes could be quite vulgar when he wanted to be, and the ancients were, in fact, quite vulgar in various respects according to modern sensibilities.  

But Cloud Cuckoo Land may be an appropriate description of the world in which we live, at least as a synonym for absurdity.  The mid-term elections didn't pan out as it was supposed to according to  our ubiquitous media, pundits and politicians, and that may be because of a rejection of the lunatic rantings of Stercus Magnus (as I'll call him for purposes of this post) and his cohort of brown-nosing (if not yet brown-shirted) imbeciles.  That of course would not in itself be absurd, and may even be encouraging.  But, the world in which we live remains one in which people who have no business governing anything run for and even obtain public office; one in which money is deemed speech; one in which it's easier to obtain a deadly weapon than it is to obtain accurate information.  So the dismal failure to predict the outcome of the elections may merely be the result of stupidity instead of a sign of sensibility.  

All part of the Cloud Cuckoo Land we've built, not the birds.

We humans built our Cloud Cuckoo Land believing ourselves to be gods or to be made in God's image, or at least to be the most intelligent creature living on this woefully small and insignificant planet.  We needed nobody to tell us that's what we should do.  Perhaps that's what gods do.  Alas, our Cloud Cuckoo Land is a disaster.

But here's another interpretation of Aristophanes' play.  Perhaps the obvious was, or is, the message of the play.  Perhaps Aristophanes was quite serious. The birds' Cloud Cuckoo Land would be better than any city of humans.  Birds are worthier gods than we are.  In fact, any animal would be.  There is wisdom in the worship of animals engaged in by our ancestors.  Unlike us, animals aren't selfish, greedy, stupid or malicious.  They subsist, they merely are, and live according to nature--that's all they can do, in fact.  They have no pretensions, no dreams or nightmares to confound or confuse them.  They don't make war.  They're what we strive to be and cannot be, perfectly in mesh with the world (at least until we've remake it).

 

The Only Thing That Will Make You See Sense

The bigoted, elitist, but nonetheless incisive Sage of Baltimore comes to mind more and more as the horror of the mid-term elections looms larger and larger before us.  If I wanted merely to comment on the preposterous hypocrisy and venality of the election process, I'd be content to quote his assertion that elections are an advance auction sale of stolen goods.  But these are dark times, and dark times engender dark thoughts.  And so the quote which graces this post, above.

Was Mott the Hoople right when it sang all too long ago that Violence is the only thing that will make us see sense?  Yes, I mean Violence with a capital "V."  If it is, it's likely that it will only make us see sense in the short term, but that may suffice to resuscitate our dwindling civilization until the next time it's required to jolt us into remediative action.  Our history repeats itself in certain respects.  Think of the statement heard in movies featuring the Mafia, that a war is good for business now and then. Human society may not be significantly different from that of organized crime.  Fascists were destroyed in the Second World War but arise once more, in Europe and even here.  Read Sinclair Lewis; read George Orwell.

We've had many wars, but the war being spoken of by some now is war of a particular kind.  Political war within a political unit; that is to say, a civil war.  We've flirted with the idea of one lately, it seems. It may be that the thought of a civil war pleases some of us.  Those it pleases most are probably lovers of fantasies in which they figure heroically, brandishing weapons in defense of whatever they find important.

We had a real civil war during the 1860s, of course, but our capacity to forget is such that it's more or less a romantic memory now, even another fantasy, perhaps.  Some of us dress up and pretend to  be soldiers in that war (and other wars as well, unfortunately).  One of the memories of that war we should hold is that it was remarkably bloody; another is that we fight our best (that is to say, do the most harm) when we fight among ourselves.  And it seems clear to me, at least, that we're eager to fight among ourselves once more.

The internal war we may face is different from that civil war, though.  No great casus belli is available.  What causes there are seem mean, petty things taken in themselves--whether we think of sex the same way, or certain people the same way, or agree that certain books shouldn't be read, certain things shouldn't be said, or certain people shouldn't be here or whose love for our Great Republic is seemingly inadequate, or certain religions shouldn't be allowed or followed.  Most important, though, is the fear that others may have what we have or take what we have, especially if those others are different than we are.  

I suspect that if there is such a war it will be more similar to the internal wars of the French Revolution.  There's a kind of regime running this country, a regime born of and sustained by money.  Those who have the money despise or are at best indifferent to those who don't, and take great pains to appear as though they have the interests of those they despise or are indifferent to in mind when those of the regime act to foster their own interests.  Why it's thought that the regime seeks to benefit anyone but its own members is beyond me.  It should be obvious it does not, but suckers must indeed be born every minute.

Still, I can't help but feel that this enchantment will wear off, eventually.  And when it does, mere anarchy will be loosed upon the world in a way far more real than the aristocratic Yeats thought it had been all those years ago.  Every normal person will not only want to hoist the black flag and start cutting throats (some already do, I think) but will begin the work of slashing. If the kind of hate we see displayed in our society is any indication, many long for a new guillontine already, and there are wannabe Marats and Robespierres standing ready.

There's only so much hypocrisy, venality, sanctimony, arrogance, fraud and contempt one can take.  Some day, someone or many someones will notice that things don't change, no matter what is said or done by those with power.  They don't change because those in power won't gain, but will rather lose, if change takes place.  What will the reaction be when we realize, collectively, that we've been bamboozled?

Of Fantasies and Fantasists

I've commented briefly about our current, rather prevalent, indulgence in fantasy in past posts.  I comment on it more extensively in this post.

Above is an image from the 1963 film Jason and the Argonauts.  I don't know if I saw the film when it was first released, but was a preteen, at least, when I first saw it, at a drive-in theater, I think.  I was quite impressed by the fighting skeletons, and the appearance of the gods in various parts of the movie.  Poseidon was there, as I recall, standing in a pool of water pushing what I assume were fiberglass cliffs apart to allow Jason's boat passage.  There must have been others.  I think there was a hydra.  I can't remember if the Furies were involved or not.  They were in some movie I saw back then, in any case.  I enjoyed these garish displays.

Curiously, fighting skeletons figure in our fantasies once again.  Entire armies of them in various states of decay appear now and then in Game of Thrones.  There must be something about them we find attractive.

I can understand how a preteen and even a teen might enjoy fantasy films along the lines of Jason and the Argonauts.  I find it more difficult to understand why an adult would, but it would appear they did, and do.  They would have to, in order for such films to make money.  Of course, adults may have been and may still be required to attend fantasy movies with children, like those churned out relentlessly by Disney, but it isn't clear to me that they would enjoy doing so.  I saw quite a few of those myself when my daughters were young.

I may be wrong, but it strikes me that young and old now are consumed by fantasy, far more than they have been in the past.  Games and all forms of media are devoted to it.  I have no figures on which to base a comparison, but my guess is that there are far more fantasy stories, games, films, TV, books than there are history, or biography, or documentary non-fiction or historical fiction, and even science fiction.  Perfectly respectable and able writers of science fiction such as George R.R. Martin and C.J. Cherryh have lept into fantasy as a genre, creating wizards, mages, dragons, knights, quests of all sorts to entrance us.  It's like the second coming of Sir Thomas Malory.  This isn't even to mention the vast mound of fantasy erected by J.K Rowling and others, or comic book fantasy like that involving X Men, or Captain America, or Superman, Batman and assorted other super or supra men and women which permeate popular entertainment.

Has this always been the case?  I doubt it.  I suspect it's more a phenomenon that arose in the 20th century, when the written word and film became more readily available to us all.  Technology makes media omnipresent and even more available now.  Magazines, comic books, novels, TV and movies were all available in the 20th century, but now are almost obsolete as computers, laptops, tablets and smartphones provide access to everything to everyone.

Fantasy and magic were common in the ancient world but were common because what was thought to be real included them as part of our lives.  Gods were everywhere, as were stories involving them, and divination and magic, sometimes by or of the gods and sometimes of demons or those men and women who knew how to invoke their power.  Even those philosophers who doubted the common myths involving the gods took them seriously, recognizing that they were real and powerful to most others.  They had a profound practical impact on daily life.

That's not the case now, however.  Now our reality, our lives, are godless, without magic, without heroes.  We can't believe in them, or are in any case wary of appearing to believe in them as part of our day-to-day lives.  But we want them to be or at least wish they were.  We may even hope or possibly believe they can be, if only....something.  The world, as we know it to be, is not enough.

So our dreams and imaginations are populated with them.  They're everywhere but "here."  And they mean more than anything else because we can't accept their absence.  But though there may have been a time when the supernatural or fantasy figures which were made part of religion after the fall of paganism, and which incorporated much of the pagan, sufficed to allow us to tolerate the real, that time seems to be gone.  We're more likely to believe fantasy than religion, however fanciful that religion may be.

 

The Quality of Mercilessness

Who better represents the quality of mercilessness than Ming the Merciless?  The quality is even a part of his name.  Seen here is Ming as played by Charles Middleton, who was the Emperor in the three Flash Gordon series cranked out in the late 30s, early 40s of the last century.  Flash (played by Buster Crabbe) flew about in spark-emitting spaceships suspended by wires, foiling Ming's plans.  I don't remember Ming as twirling his mustache like Snidley Whiplash, but he clearly could have done so if he wished.  Perhaps those younger than I am (an increasingly large group) will remember Ming as played by Max von Sydow in the 1980 movie.  He had enormous fun with the role, it seemed to me, though the movie was predictably characterized as discriminatory in later years, like so much else.  Like us, in fact.

All, or most at least, know the part of Act IV of Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice in which the quality of mercy is extolled by Portia, or at least its first line: "The quality of mercy is not strained."  Portia is "disguised" as a lawyer, as indeed are some who call themselves such.  The quality of mercy may be an "attribute of God himself" as the disguised Portia says.  The quality of mercilessness, though, is an attribute of we his creatures, if indeed we are his creation, in which case one must wonder regarding the implications of the claim that we are made in his image.

But rather than speculate on God and God's attributes, let's instead consider the undoubted mercilessness of we humans.  

It's interesting that the "quality of mercy" speech is directed to Shylock, the Jewish merchant of Venice.  Jews, then as at other times, weren't extended mercy as a rule.  Shylock himself, as portrayed, certainly has none.  That a Jew is chided for being merciless by those Christians typically merciless towards Jews is an oddity.  There are those who believe Shakespeare was really expressing sympathy for Jews in this play, but I think that's a hard case to make.  I think it more likely he was indulging a Christian conceit that the Jews' obsession with the language of the Law above all else demonstrates that their religion is inferior to Christianity, which encourages love and mercy.

But, our curious history supports the view that we're merciless far more often than we're merciful, whether we profess to be Christians or something else.  In fact, we seldom have mercy for anyone or anything--unless it's to our own benefit, or at least does us no harm or requires no significant effort.  We're an inordinately selfish species.  It's not possible to claim otherwise with any degree of reasonableness.

It's been said that we're at our best when things are at the worst.  It's been pointed out that in times of crises we act unselfishly.  That may be the case.  But consider how infrequently these mercy-motivating crises take place.  Hurricanes, tornados, fires, earthquakes--natural disasters--certainly occur, and it would be incorrect to say they're so unusual as to be of no account.  However, when we take into account the time we live and have lived without them, our method of responding to them can hardly be said to be representative of our nature.  Crises are crises precisely because they're infrequent.  In most cases, in the usual course of our lives, we're indifferent to the plight of others at most times at best.

At other times, we seem to actually take satisfaction in the misfortune of others.  This may simply be the kind of satisfaction which we feel due to the fact that their misfortune is not ours.  Or it may be the satisfaction we feel when we believe that their misfortune is caused by their own misconduct, or by their failure to do what's appropriate, or what we would do or have done in their place.  We're smug.  

Sometimes, of course, we're actually responsible for the misfortune of others, by intent or without intent.  When we intend harm we're not inclined to be merciful to those we harm.  When we don't intend to harm, we look on the harm we do as being justified as we're looking out for ourselves.

I've felt and may have expressed for some time that philosophies and religions that espouse love and mercy don't actually motivate us in any important respect.  That is to say, though we pay them lip service, we don't truly love our neighbors as ourselves, nor are we charitable if it requires us to take any more than casual action, nor are we merciful unless shamed into being merciful or overwhelmed by sudden, extreme fellow-feeling we experience in moments of crisis when directly confronted with misery of the kind we cannot ignore.   Those we love are few in number, and are our intimates.  It's disingenuous and hypocritical to maintain otherwise, and in urging us to love one another and be merciful to all these philosophies and religions betray a spectacular misconception of human nature.

A more honest and effective stab at being moral and merciful would be one that encourages not love, but respect, and discourages selfishness and self-regard.  It would not raise as a standard or ideal a conception of human nature based on the occasional moral highs we experience in remarkable circumstances or our feelings normally limited to those close to us.

I've made no attempt to disguise the fact I have a high regard for Stoicism, so it won't come as a great surprise that I think that a more reasonable ethics is found in the first few paragraphs of the Enchiridion of Epictetus (or if you prefer of his student Arrian modeled on the teachings of Epictetus).  It is simple and easily understood, and doesn't require that we be saints or heroes.  It's a common sense guide to limiting our selfishness and desire for things and power over others which is at the basis of our misdeeds.  

We can't be merciless when we don't concern or disturb ourselves with things which are not in our control, as we'll not in that case act in a way which will harm others.  

 

Doomed to Repeat

The insight, or at least the statement, that those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it (with some variation in words used), has been attributed to several figures of note in our history.  George Santayana, Winston Churchill and Edmund Burke are some of those who are said to have made this claim.  The statement implies that those who know history aren't doomed to repeat it.  That may be true, but it remains the case that they may repeat history or are even likely to do so; they're just not doomed to do so.

The fact is that we repeat ourselves, in more ways than one.  Repetition is a constant in our affairs.  Repetition is even said to be useful in some respects.  It may strengthen memory or memorization, for example.  It may in ways not entirely clear to me guide us to concentrate in meditation, as in the use of a mantra, which in turn in ways not entirely clear to me may guide us to wisdom or enlightenment.  On the other hand, it may bore or annoy us.  But we do it.  As I've said (though not yet repeatedly).

But the claim, I believe, promises too much if only by implication, and is in that sense misleading.  Merely knowing history does very little for us.  History may be taught each minute of the day in schools of all sorts and we may even remember the history we're taught, but knowledge of history doesn't necessarily translate to knowledge of human nature, or provide lessons in how to conduct ourselves now and later, unless we're also taught to think.  

We're not taught to think, particularly in elementary and high schools as they're called here in our Great Republic.  Perhaps it's more accurate to claim that those who don't know how to think are doomed to repeat history. 

For example, the danger posed by demagogues, and the tricks employed by them to sway people and even to commit violence, has been known and been the subject of study since the 5th century B.C.E., and perhaps even earlier.  We know of Cleon, Alcibiades, Publius Clodius Pulcher from ancient times, religious rabble-rousers from medieval times, the fanatics of the French Revolution like Marat, and of course more recently Mussolini, Hitler, McCarthy and Huey Long, and demagogues are rife in our current politics.  Most of us know at least some of the members of this rogues gallery, and at least some of what they did, and it makes no significant difference to their--repetition.  Demagogues abide.

I think of the demagogue as an example of our propensity to repeat history because it's that time of year in our Glorious Union when politicians vie for our favor in what we're pleased to call elections.  Perhaps there are parts of the country where TV, the Internet, and all other forms of media are not crowded with political appeals, but in the place where I reside those appeals are ceaseless, and omnipresent.  And there can be no better examples of demagoguery than these appeals.  Sanctimony, fear-mongering, pandering, polarizing tactics, misrepresentations, evasiveness, lying, appeals to emotion, authority and bigotry...all of the usual characteristics of this practice are present in abundance.  The appeals are incessant.  

It's at least possible, and more likely probable, that those bombarded by this treacle, by these disingenuous if not outright dishonest commercials made by and for glorified carnival barkers, are aware of demagogues of the past and may even think them despicable.  But their ubiquity indicates that they're effective (they cost money, and money is most important), and if they're effective that indicates that our knowledge of history be damned, were doomed to repeat it.

I tend to agree with John Dewey's insight that we only think when confronted with problems.  Otherwise, we act based largely on habits accrued over a lifetime.  But we must believe a problem exists before we have recourse to thought, i.e. the use and application of intelligence.

We don't believe repeating the mistakes of the past is a problem, unfortunately.  Perhaps we believe we're doomed to repeat the past no matter how much we're aware of it.  

We know history or don't, AND are doomed to repeat it regardless.  

Homage to Horace

 

Quintus Horatius Flaccus, better known these days as "Horace," was a Roman poet of the time of Augustus.  He was the son of a freedman, and therefore nothing special in status as measured at the time, but he made his mark in the history of the time and not merely as a poet.  He had the mixed fortune of living during the time Rome was changing from a republic of sorts to an empire as we know an empire to be now; in fact, the model of an empire as we know it.  He was on the wrong side of that metamorphosis for a time, serving in the army of Marcus Brutus in opposition to the avenging adopted son and grand nephew of Julius Caesar, to be known as Augustus, and Marcus Antonius and that other member of the Second Triumvirate, little remembered in comparison, Lepidus. 

Brutus having lost, Horace wisely pivoted and became a great fan of Augustus, and in his good graces, due, it would seem, to his friendship with others who introduced him to Augustus' friend and fixer, Maecenas.  Maecenas was also a patron of the arts, and Horace became a favorite of his; he even conveyed to him a villa, the remains of which can still be seen, which Horace treasured.

The painting of Horace appearing at the head of this post is by Giacomo Di Chirico, an artist of the 19th century.  I don't know who is intended to be represented by the figures floating above his shoulders.  By location, they seem similar to the angel and devil often shown as giving us counsel, or trying to persuade us, in Christian tradition.  But presumably the painter was aware of the fact that Horace was not a Christian.  My guess would be they represent the Muses.

Horace is probably most famous in these time due to a quote from one of his Odes in turn made famous by the movie The Dead Poets Society.  The quotation is "Carpe diem" which in the movie was translated as "seize the day."  But it seems the more correct translation is "pluck the day."

For me, "seize" is inappropriate because to seize something is to take hold of it forcefully, to capture it, to take possession of something forcefully.  There's nothing of that spirit in the Ode in question, nor is there anything like that in the spirit of Horace.  Horace is no Nietzsche, throttling joy.  He is a poet of moderation in thought and conduct.  He seeks contentment, and wisdom.  One should pluck fruit when it is ripe; no too soon, not too late.  The present moment is what we have, and worrying over and trying to predict the future is vain and disturbing.  Thus we should pluck the day as we would a ripe fruit and enjoy it.

Epicurean and Stoic sentiments and suggestions abound in Horace's work.  Whether he was especially one or the other isn't clear to me.  It seems that scholars think him more Stoic than Epicurean, but I suspect he was more of a hybrid of the two, as other Romans were--though Seneca tells us he's a Stoic, he often quotes Epicurus in his letters with approval.  In any case, however, Stoic references are clear in his works, particularly when he writes, as he often does, of the wisdom of not letting things beyond our control disturb us or move us to commit misconduct and error.

Horace's poems are clear and simple.  Though the constant references to mythology and events described in Homer are annoying, they're sparse compared with those of other poets of the time (excepting Martial, who is always an exception).  They're filled with good sense, they praise friendship as an ideal, they resound with a love of the natural world, they deplore superstition, exalt Reason and the intelligent spirit running through nature.

His works are those of a genial. gifted, intelligent, urbane, kind, wise and sophisticated man of the world.  There's no angst or despair, no malice, no grandiosity; he's not pompous.  He flatters his benefactors artfully, but not slavishly.  An admirable man and artist, I think.

Despite the fact that there is no melodrama or Sturm und Drang in his works, no ennui, he's remembered with admiration after 2,000 years.  My guess is that's the case because what he writes of is the wisdom and contentment which is gained from living in the moment, necessarily meaning there is no self-pity or self-regard, or despair to consume and confuse us.  

Wokeness and Fantasy

There's something curious about the popularity of stories involving fantasy worlds and the exploits of superheroes in these irritatingly interesting times.  They seem ubiquitous, on the small and large screens, in computer games, in books or whatever passes for books.  I suppose it tells us something when what entertains us is so completely different from the world in which we live and we obsess on the exploits of characters we can never emulate, simply because they do not and cannot exist.

I suppose, also, that what it tells us isn't to our credit.  But I think we deserve very little credit indeed when we insist that our fantasy heroes must possess what we consider to be appropriate racial or cultural characteristics, based on what we poor dwellers in reality believe exist in the real world we seek so energetically to escape.

There are no dwarves, elves, hobbits, golden-haired Targaryens, Vulcans or whatever fantasy creatures or beings we like to obsess over.  It seems preposterous, therefore, to insist that they must be of any particular race.  It follows that it's even more preposterous to complain that if they're not depicted as being of a particular race, there's some nefarious form or wokeness or identity politics at work.

It would seem to be the height of petulance, if not a sign of very low self-esteem, for a white person to be angered or concerned in any way that an elf or dwarf or whatever imaginary creature one may delight in isn't portrayed as white also.  How much must such a person have invested in cherishing a fantasy to be so affected?  The term "nerd" is too mild to describe such an unfortunate.  Imagine being someone who is offended because Elrond, or Gandalf, or Aragorn isn't being played by someone who is white, if you can.  What could be more grotesque?

I can understand that a departure from or addition to the story-line of a beloved work may, and even should, result in complaints.  I can think of a few that annoyed me--the battling rock-giants and "were-worms" which turned up in Peter Jackson's interpretation of The Lord of the Rings didn't appear in the books and were inserted for no good reason (at least none that I can think of).  The love story about a dwarf and an elf, particularly an elf that wasn't mentioned in the books to begin with, was irritating.  Such gratuitous tinkering adds little to the movies and disgusts those who know the novels.

But the fact a dwarf or an elf is black, for example, isn't objectionable to me if the dwarf or elf behaves as a dwarf or elf may be expected to behave in the context of the fantasy world.  If we humans are of various races or have different skin colors, why shouldn't dwarves be the same, for the love of God?  It's not as if they're being depicted, or certain of them are, with four legs or wings or breathing fire.

Anachronism can be disturbing.  One understands this.  Julius Caesar piloting a B-52 during the civil war with Pompey and his followers would be either hilarious or absurd, and perhaps both at the same time.  But there are levels of anachronism, some tolerable and explicable, some not; some gratuitous, some not.  And fantasy is fantasy, not something we should make part of the culture wars taking place in our lugubrious reality.  

 

A Plea for a Science of Asininity

Mr. Ed has been called upon already, so it only makes sense--or at least pleases me--to call upon his cousin of sorts, Francis the Talking Mule.  I believe Francis came first.  Whatever god or demon it is that inspires us to make talking animals stars of books, movies, television and other forms of media and entertainments must have convinced us to use Francis before Ed, as Francis it seems was a product of the imagination of Americans in the 1940s and 1950s, and Ed of the 1960s.  And so Francis, paired with human stars like Mickey Rooney (above) and Donald O'Connor, would appear as, somehow, in the Army or the Navy, the Armed Forces being more popular or at least comfortably present to the mind in those decades than they were in the 1960s.  It's difficult to picture Mr. Ed as either on duty in Vietnam or marching on the Pentagon or protesting at Kent State or in Grant Park.

Now though this post has as its purpose a call for the study of asininity, Francis isn't entirely apropos as that word derives from "asinine" which in turn comes from the Latin asinus, meaning ass.  Strictly speaking, as a search of the sometimes useful Internet will reveal, a mule isn't an ass.  Donkeys are asses.  Mules are hybrids.  Breed a male donkey and a female horse and you get a mule.  Stubbornness is characteristic of the asinine, and both donkeys and mules are considered stubborn animals.  Because Asininity is the subject of this post, and I could think of no talking donkey that isn't a cartoon, I settle for a mule as my muse.

More than once in this blog, I've lamented over the vastness of our stupidity, taking us as a group. Well, as a species I suppose I should say.  I've speculated that stupidity is particularly widespread now, when it can be expressed immediately and transmitted instantly to others.  In other words, stupidity, now, can be flaunted globally.  Instead of isolated pockets of stupidity which could exist in isolation years ago, stupidity has spread like a virus throughout the world, via the Internet.

But I've come to wonder whether "stupidity"is an adequate word to describe what is being flaunted.  For we're not merely stupid anymore.  We're content to be stupid.  We may even be proud of our stupidity.  In a sense, we know we're stupid, or being stupid, but are stubborn in our stupidity.  We resist all attempts to enlighten and inform us.  They even make us angry.  Confronted with those efforts, we resist them just as much as we resent them.  

So, I think "asininity" better describes us.  The more we're told we're wrong and are challenged to provide support for what we think, or are shown evidence contrary to it, the more we insist we're right, and the less open to persuasion we become.  We're mulish.

An Internet search reveals that there already has been some study of stupidity, by psychologists in any case.  However, the types of stupidity that have been identified seem unintentional.  Asininity, I would say, combines with stupidity and ignorance an intent to be stupid and ignorant.  Of course, we would never acknowledge that we are stupid or ignorant, and so it could be argued that we're not intentionally so, but the intent arises on when our stupidity and ignorance are challenged in some sense.  Perhaps it's more a question of reckless disregard of evidence or argument contrary to our beliefs, but reckless disregard is a kind of intent, borrowing from the law, or at least equivalent to it in terms of liability.

Being a phenomenon, asininity should be subject to study and investigation.  It's certainly should be analyzed, as the stubborn persistence in stupidity and ignorance is worse even than those characteristic themselves, and more damaging.  It makes possible unending witlessness, the bovine acceptance of certain propositions as in effect invincible.  In essence, the end of the possibility of progress.

Perhaps causes of this condition can be identified.  The symptoms seem clear enough, as they're rampant in our society.  It's true such a study may be fruitless.  It's likely any cure would be through education, and asininity is prevalent, it would seem, in school boards here in our Glorious Union, and is being encouraged.  But even so, knowledge is more often good than bad.

 

Why Be Serious?

I was glancing through the headlines of articles in the online versions of two ostensibly serious and thoughtful news/political/cultural related magazines, on different sides of the spectrum, The New Republic and The National Review, and found myself wondering whether they or similar journals are read anymore, and if so by whom?

It may be a mere suspicion, but I think fewer and fewer people read them.  One of the reasons for this, I believe, is that some effort is required to read them.  We're lazy intellectually, and when simple, agreeable or disagreeable, opinions are available without effort on our part, why seek out any other?  Particularly when we may respond to them instantaneously if we wish in a similarly simple fashion, why look for an opinion we might have to think about while reading it or responding to it?  Why, indeed, read at all? There are people who talk incessantly about everything available to be heard and seen 24 hours a day.

Another reason we may avoid reading them is that we're sick of pundits, a reason I can understand.  Yet another is that we think ourselves quite capable of coming to our own conclusions and forming our own opinions, and don't need anyone to express them for us; not anymore.  We can, and do, express them in the vast universe of the Internet whenever we have access to a keyboard, or can establish a podcast.

It's difficult to be serious--to give anything serious consideration.  It's particularly difficult to give opposing opinions serious consideration.  It's even more difficult to think.  Seriousness is a burden, and one we can do without; one we may always have wanted to do without.  Now we can because we need not listen to anyone else for any reason to have confirmation of what we think we already know or is desirable or right, or evil or wrong.  We need not seek answers or information.  We know that we're correct because there are so many like us and we may find them and revel in our sameness and ignorance shared by so many throughout the world.

Certainly there's no need to be taught anything.  The Internet is the great leveler.  It's not necessary to be intelligent, or rich, or powerful, or influential, or widely-read or educated to be "published" or become immortal, to be available if not looked-for, as anyone can achieve these things, to cause concern or disturb or enlighten others.  There's nothing special about them anymore.  More and more, there's nothing special about anyone or anything.

Simply put, there's no reason to take thought, or speech, or opinion, seriously, and many reasons not to do so.  Other things may be serious; for example, money or the lack of it, or death, or good food, good health, comfort and ease.  Material things, in other words, as they're commonly called.  They're not readily available, and not even our ability to project ourselves into the immateriality of the Internet will satisfy our need for them.

Nothing to Say

 

Mr. Ed, pictured above playing chess with his companion Wilbur, is famous for never speaking unless he has something to say.  I emulate him, in this blog and otherwise, and so have not posted for some time.  I find that I have nothing to say, here, at this time.

This is because I know of nothing worth blogging about.  I've tried to find something that piques my interest or my ire, but have been unsuccessful.  What more is there to be said about the venality and stupidity of our politicians, their tolerance of a fatuous and corrupt con man, their willingness to exploit bigotry and ignorance, their hypocrisy, their sanctimony?  What more is there to be said about our national fetish for guns?  What more is there to be said of the narrowness and meanness of our jurists?  How often can one lament the fundamentally cruel and intolerant fundamentalism of the Christianity popular in our Great Republic?  The remarkable propensity of people to believe anything they encounter on the Internet they find satisfying or disturbing is certainly remarkable, but even that aversion to critical thinking, which seems omnipresent in these times, has become nothing to remark about.

These and other aspects of our society have become familiar.  They're commonplace.  They're to be expected, in fact.  What, indeed, would we be without them?  We wouldn't exist. What we see and hear and read in our media (including social media) is sad, even contemptible, but dull.  It's impossible even to be outraged any longer.  Only the professionally outraged express outrage, and that also has become a part of the background noise that is our culture. 

There are dangers involved in the expectation of stupidity and corruption, of course, and to their acceptance as normal.  Perhaps Dante should have devoted one of the Circles of Hell to the sin of Acceptance.  We saw enough of acceptance and indifference in the face of cruelty and the corrupt in the 20th century to cause us concern.  If we accept what we have, and treat it as inevitable, than we'll continue to have it.

In chess a player will resign when defeat is certain.  An aspiring Stoic shouldn't resign, though, as long as it's possible to be virtuous.  Perhaps virtue includes saying what's already been said.  So, not time to resign quite yet.

The Church of the 50 Yard Line

 

As we all know, God is particularly interested in the outcome of American football games.  He watches them assiduously.  He anxiously awaits the prayers of players and coaches, thanking him for....well, for playing good football, and winning games.  In the case of a loss, he expects prayers invoking his assistance in the efforts of players and coaches to play better.

For those who conceive of God as having far better things to do, and being above the fascination of some of those inhabiting our tiny planet in a tiny solar system in one of billions of galaxies making up the universe in high school and (dare I say it?) even college or professional football, that is an irrelevant consideration for the Justices of our Supreme Court.  Much seems to be irrelevant given the increasingly narrow way in which majority decisions are being characterized by them.  The members of the majority purport to be serenely unconcerned with the implications of their decisions.  In fact, they appear angered when those implications are mentioned.

Given the importance of football here in God's Favorite Country, it's no surprise that some of us feel it right and good to thank the God of the universe for performance on the gridiron; for good, accurate passes, solid (but legal) tackles, agile running, etc.  And they should be free to do so, just as the Church of Latter Day Saints should be free to baptize the dead, and Scientologists free to believe in Xenu.

The Supreme Court should be concerned with beliefs and rituals of religions only when the Constitution is implicated.  The question in Kennedy v. Bremerton School District should have been whether a school district violated the Constitution when it fired a coach whose religious practices it had tried to accomodate, but who insisted on praying on the 50 yard line after games, joined by a number of students and players.  But that is not what the majority opinion is about.  For the majority, it was transformed into the question whether the Constitutional rights of a coach engaged in "private prayer" "alone" were violated when he was fired from praying on the 50 yard line after games, joined by a number of students and players.

The majority's insistence that the prayers in question were private religious expression that the coach engaged in alone is, to put it mildly, bizarre.  It's difficult to believe it makes this assertion given the exhibits displayed in the dissenting opinion; it's difficult to believe it believes its own claim, in fact.  It would be hard to conceive of a more public expression of religious belief than one engaged in at the 50 yard line of a football stadium; hard to conceive of prayer engaged in alone while surrounded by others.  Kennedy is shown in one of these gatherings brandishing what seems to be a football helmet standing before kneeling players, as if he was a priest raising the host, or a minister holding a Bible saying "this is the Word of God" to an attentive congregation.  Whatever he's doing in that case, he wasn't "praying alone."

The majority avoids addressing this display by claiming that such evidence was not properly before it.  The majority opinions of the court seem to be becoming more and more scholastic in nature, in that they are filled with technique--drawing distinctions, emphasizing differences between cases, narrowing focus.  Clearly, the majority doesn't conceive of the Supreme Court as a policy-making court, but rather as an error-correcting court.

The majority makes much of the fact that the coach didn't coerce any one to accompany him to the 50 yard line to pray.  One wonders if the Justices have any idea what high school students and particularly athletes in a team sport think and do.  They don't want to be singled out.  They don't want to seem against what might be conceived of as a celebration of victory.  The want to be one of the team; they want to be in with the coach.  It's difficult to believe the Justices aren't aware of this, and it is disingenuous of them to pretend otherwise. 

Sex, religion and guns are the great obsessions of our nation, particularly of those of us who are angry and self-righteous, and such people are more and more inclined to impose their views regarding them through the law.  They seem to have zealous advocates on the Supreme Court.

Let Us Pay For Them To Pray

In an opinion mercifully lacking in self-serving references to antiquated opinions of jurists dead for centuries, the Supreme Court of our Great Quasi-Republic has decreed that a law of the State of Maine in force since 1981 is unconstitutional.  The law provided that public funds (taxes) may, in certain circumstances (primarily where public schools are unavailable), be used to pay tuition to private schools of a parent's choice, provided the schools are nonsectarian.  A "sectarian" school is considered to be one associated with a particular religion or belief system, which teaches regular academic subjects but also promotes a particular religion or belief system or teaches subjects taught from the standpoint of that religion or belief system.

In Carson v. Maine, the Supremes have decreed that this cannot be, i.e. that if public funds are to be used in support of private schools, they must be used to support schools which promote a particular religion or belief system.  

The majority of the Court notes that this doesn't mean that public funds must be used to promote a particular religion or belief.   At this time (not yet?) the Court makes no such decision.  The majority points out that Maine may avoid this result by providing an adequate number of public schools.  Presumably, it may also do so by ceasing the program by which public funds may be used to pay tuition to private schools where there are no public schools.  If public schools are not available, it seems, it is constitutionally more appropriate that schools promoting a religion be paid public funds if public funds are used to promote education.  Constitutionally speaking, better no education at all than no religious education, saith the Supremes.

The majority makes an interesting distinction between past precedents against using public funds to benefit religions and its decision in this case.  It states that previous decisions prohibiting the use of public funds to support "church leaders" or education of religious clergy do not apply in this case.  In this fashion, a religious belief--a religion--may be supported by public funds, but particular adherents of a religious belief may not.  What, though, is the basis for this distinction?  Why is it significant?

It isn't clear to me that this is addressed by the Supremes.  It is, instead, merely a difference in circumstances relied on to avoid the need to acknowledge prior decisions as binding.  It's precedent-avoidance, of a kind indulged in by lawyers whenever they want to ignore the kind of reasoning employed in the previous case, and its holding.  

One wonders if the intent behind the doctrine of separation of church and state was to merely prevent the direct funneling of public funds to "church leaders."  Or if it was the intent that public funds be available to religious believers who are not religious clergy, but nonetheless to further the purposes of a religion.  In what sense is one or the other more likely to lead to or constitute the establishment of a religion?  In what sense is a person's ability to practice his or her religion impaired if he's unable to use public funds to pay the tuition of his children needed for them to attend a school promoting his or her religion?

I'm a cynical soul, I'll admit.  I think the number of citizens of U.S.A. who actually practice their religion, rather than merely avow it, is relatively small in comparison with its population.  Diogenes the Dog searched for an honest man. I think the search for a true Christian (for example) would be no more successful.  Practicing a religion in these times consists of simply following established rituals and ceremonies.  Perhaps that's always been the case.

But let's say that engaging in those rituals and ceremonies is practicing religion.  I doubt attending a secondary school will constitute such practice.

I, for one, would oppose the use of public funds to pay the tuition of any private school.  So the fate of this particular law is a matter of indifference to me.  The state may have an interest in an educated citizenry, up to a point, meriting expenditure of taxes received, but I don't think it can be maintained it has an interest in the promotion of any particular religious faith.

And that would seem to me to be the real question to be addressed.  Should, or may, public funds be used to pay the tuition of a Christian, or Muslim, or Hindu, or Jewish high school?  Perhaps Scientology has high schools also--I don't know.  I would say no, regardless of the religious faith being promoted.   It appears the majority of the Supreme Court would say yes.

 

Which Dystopia?

Let's cavil no longer, and admit what is clearly the case.  We live in a dystopia, a bad, harsh place according to the ancient Greek on which the word is based; a society in which its inhabitants live wretched, dehumanized and fearful lives according to Merriam-Webster Online.  Thomas More used the word "utopia" in his novel of the same name, a word meaning "no place."  His utopia was a nearly perfect society, but of course did not exist, being nowhere.  There can therefore be no utopian society, but certainly can be a dystopian one, as we have proved or may be in the course of proving.

Various authors have imagined dystopias, some famously.  But if we live in one now, which of the fictional dystopias is it most like?  Such things may concern some few of us who are citizens of this one in particular.

Some fictional dystopias commonly result from some kind of cataclysmic or apocalyptic event, such as nuclear war or natural disaster.  I find it hard to isolate the cause of our own dystopia.  There's probably no one cause.  In any case, lacking such an event I think we can't compare our dystopia to those depicted in such novels as The Road by Cormac McCarthy or The Drowned World by J.G. Ballard.

As a citizen of God's Favorite County, the U.S.A., I can imagine with relative ease a dystopia created by the machinations of a particular religious sect as in the case of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. The Abrahamic religions are inherently intolerant and exclusive, and the version of Christianity most popular here has always been particularly restrictive, though its adherents are notably flexible in their interpretation of the appropriate path whenever it suits them, which is to say for the most part whenever it limits their self-interest, selfishness and bigotry.

I doubt our dystopia can be called religious, however, as there is so much more contributing to the woeful condition of our society.  Economic inequality, for example.  I don't know that plutocracies have ever been considered dystopias, however.  Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged has been called a dystopian novel, but the plutocracy it idealizes, which separates itself from the rest of the world, is characterized as a utopia, made up of insanely wealthy geniuses some of whom seem to be aficionados of rough sex, like Ms. Rand herself.   It's unclear whether she considered a fondness for rape roleplay to be common among her super-men and women, if not a necessary condition of their exalted nature, but it figured prominently in her fiction.

The prevalence of violence in our dystopia, particular among the young, is reminiscent of Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange.  Our suspicion of books and tendency to restrict what is taught brings Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 to mind.  I don't think Orwell's 1984 is similar to what we have achieved to date, as we aren't quite as regimented and regulated, or unified enough, to be compared to its version of dystopia.  Also, our society isn't as puritanical.  We love our pleasures, and are committed to them and manipulated by them.  In that sense, it may be that dystopia as depicted by Huxley in Brave New World is more similar to ours than not.

Which brings me to The Garden of Earthly Delights, the peculiar masterpiece of that peculiar artist, Hieronymus Bosch, pictured above.  Paradise is on the left, hell on the right, and in the center is our world, in which we cavort.  Bosch portrays us as engaged in a grotesque romp.  The people he painted are silly, stupid, carnal, frenzied and mad.  Hell is obviously their destination--indeed, they seem to be rushing towards it.

One thing which I think has been lacking in fictional dystopias is the fact that we're quite capable of making our world a harsh place in which we live harsh and fearful lives simply by being stupid and ignorant.  I don't think it an exaggeration to say that stupidity and ignorance are two of the primary causes of our current dystopia.  What we accept and believe today as true is remarkably preposterous in certain respects. That we accept things as true without hesitation or efforts at verification is extraordinary in itself.  It's hard to think of other times when we've been so credulous, so willing to believe what we're told, particularly when it comes to our politics.  

As elections and primaries grow close here, we're inundated with commercials so pitiful, so corny, so clearly biased that it's difficult to believe they can be taken seriously by anyone.  Do those who create these vile, pandering, unintentionally comic advertisements really believe we're so shallow, so stupid, so easily manipulated?  Are we, in fact?

We all know the saying "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."  It's been attributed to Edmund Burke and John Stuart Mill.  That may well be true, but our dystopia may have come about not because we've done nothing to prevent the triumph of evil, but because we've been too stupid to recognize the evil taking place, or understand what is good, or do good.  

I don't think a novel with this theme will be forthcoming.

Duck and Cover, Again

Some of us may remember Bert the Turtle, pictured above.  He cheerfully urged students of our schools to "duck and cover" in case of nuclear attack during the early days of the Cold War.  That consisted of diving under desks and covering heads with arms.  Thus, the effects of nuclear explosions were avoided, Bert (and presumably his creators) told us.  Perhaps some of the flying shards of glass and debris which might have resulted would have been blocked by desks and arms, but it's unlikely that incineration would have been avoided in any significant sense, and if anyone survived radiation would have served to eliminate them despite Bert's wise recommendation.  

But perhaps ducking and covering would be more effective against bullets than against ICBMs carrying nuclear warheads.  Clearly, the possibility of students being shot by someone carrying one firearm or another (it seems semi-automatic rifles are the most popular weapons of choice currently) is far greater than was (is?) the possibility of nuclear war.  Perhaps we should bring back the Duck and Cover drills, and it's to be hoped improve on them, this time in an effort to foil people who use guns to kill other people.  Guns, as we know, don't kill people.  But it seems undeniable that some people who have guns do kill others, particularly here and now.  People use guns to kill people.

A Renaissance of Duck and Cover drills or something similar is probably all, and likely more, than can be expected in response to the most recent mass murder.  Fantasies of owning guns to prevent the tyranny of government aren't what inspire objections to gun control or an absolutist interpretation of the Second Amendment.  It is, very simply, a question of money.  As long as money can be made manufacturing and selling guns here in our Glorious Union, the so-called gun control debate will continue to be meaningless and unproductive.  That people, even children, are shot has become part of the cost of doing business.

It's possible that technology soon may allow each of use to manufacture our own cheap firearms, in which case profits from making and selling guns will diminish.  Then the politicians who are mere shills for the gun and ammunition industries may be less inclined to do their bidding.  But in that case we'll all have guns, men, women and children, or easy access to them, and control won't be a practical possibility.  

But perhaps that's the goal, ultimately, of those who admit of no restriction to the ownership and possession of firearms.  They look forward to the day all will have guns, or perhaps when all must have guns.

A Tough Roe to Hoe

I almost feel obliged to comment on the remarkable leak of what seems to be a draft of a majority opinion of the Supremes reversing Roe v. Wade, and the remarkable nature of that opinion.  It's not something I enjoy doing.  Abortion is something to be taken seriously, and given serious consideration.  It isn't clear to me that serious consideration is possible in our times.  In this post, my comment will be limited to what I think is remarkable about the opinion, rather than its impact or its conclusion.

It's unusual for long-standing precedent to be reversed by a court, but it happens, and is possible in certain limited circumstances.  So I don't think the fact this opinion would if adopted reverse Roe v. Wade is remarkable in itself.

What is remarkable to me is the tone of the opinion and the nature of the argument made, in certain respects.  Its tone is angry and contemptuous.  The decision reversed, and therefore those Justices who made the decision, are ridiculed.  It seems a kind of rant; its author pontificates.  He seems to have a rather enormous axe to grind, and he makes a display of grinding it.  There's a kind of exhibitionism involved in writing of this kind.  It's unusual for a Justice of the highest court to write in this fashion, and it's especially unusual for a majority opinion on a very serious subject to be infused with such self-righteousness.  Sometimes, the author of a dissent will indulge in sarcasm.  But majority opinions make law.  Bismark famously commented that its best not to see how laws and sausages are made.  It seems that may be true of case law as well as law adopted by legislatures.

It's also striking that the author of the opinion goes to such lengths to support the claim that abortion has never been considered a right, and instead has been considered a crime.  The law as it existed centuries ago, and the writings of commentators on that law who also existed centuries ago, are seldom pertinent to any lawyer or court and are generally disregarded in the actual operation of the law.  They're the concerns of historians of the law.  Nobody cites Blackstone or Hale in court proceedings.  One may as well cite Ulpian or the Code of Justinian, if not that of Hammurabi.

It's remarkable that the author of the opinion failed to understand that engaging in such a rhetorical exercise would merely make him appear silly, or pedantic, or a crank, or antiquated, or prejudiced.  It can't be denied that the laws of the past were in many cases cruel and the result of injustice, bigotry and superstition which at least ostensibly have no place in the modern world .  Why bother referring to them in reversing a decision on the grounds that the right it relies on doesn't appear in a document so clearly the work of men of the Enlightenment--men who claimed rights the existence of which was denied, or at least thought subordinate to that of a King?

It's possible that this first draft in the normal course would have been modified to be less of a rant and more like a reasoned decision.  My guess is it certainly will be now that it's been exposed.  If not, then I suspect we'll see concurring opinions that are somewhat less virulent and less dependent on antiquated law and thinkers.

 

Free Speech and the Suspension of Judgment

Several times in this blog o' mine I've noted the confusion which often surrounds pronouncements and platitudes regarding what we enjoy calling free speech.  Here in our Glorious Union, it's claimed that our right to free speech is grounded in the First Amendment to the Constitution, which states that Congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech.  Strictly speaking, of course, no right is created thereby; it's a prohibition.  It doesn't say everyone has a right to free speech.  It says only that Congress may not adopt laws of a particular kind.  

Although many feel that the First Amendment provides that nobody may restrict our freedom of speech, it very clearly refers only to Congress.  Via the Fourteenth Amendment and case law, it's been extended to apply to actions by state and local as well as the federal government, but it doesn't relate to the actions of any person or entity which isn't a representative or agency of a government.  

One can if one wishes claim there's a natural or God-given right to free speech, but it's difficult to rely on such a claim to prevent someone from restricting our speech.  If we wait for nature or God to punish those who make us shut up or prevent them from doing so, it's more than likely that we'll be unable to speak when that happens, if that happens.

There's a kind of romance associated with free speech.  The picture associated with this post is of someone speaking at Bughouse Square in Chicago, across from the Newberry Library, where I labored as a student for a time (studying J.S. Mill and the Philosophical Radicals, interestingly enough).  The speaker is speaking from atop a box, possibly a soapbox as would be traditional.  The purpose of the box is to make the speaker visible above the crowd which (it's hoped) would be listening intently to what's being said.  This is an image which is conjured up from time to time in reverence to free speech--the common, or perhaps uncommon, person delivering views in public.

It's an attractive image, as is the idea of free speech itself.  Everyone should be able to speak their mind without fear of reprisal.  But in these sad times the tendency is more and more to claim that that everyone should be able to speak their mind no matter what they say and without objection or limitation.  Reprisal isn't required to violate free speech, according to some of those who self-interestedly champion free speech these days.  Vocal or active disagreement may violate the right to free speech, or a boycott may do so, even when by private persons.  Even shaming may do that, or not being allowed to say something in a particular (private) place or on privately owned media.

This is called censorship, and when it is called that those who make the claim also do so as a result of their confusion, or ignorance regarding the meaning of the word.  A censor is a government official.  Censorship is an official action, not a private one.

Even the First Amendment and the legal right it creates (to the extent there is a "right") is limited.  The government is not prohibited from restricting speech in certain circumstances.  Since the First Amendment doesn't apply to private conduct, it makes sense that a private person or entity would be able to restrict speech to a much greater extent than the government particularly where the speech is taking place in property the private person owns.

This shouldn't be surprising.  It should be even less surprising that certain speech is unworthy of protection beyond legal protection, and that no "right" to that speech exists.  People have no more right to indulge in malicious, stupid, ignorant, bigoted or hateful speech than they have a right to be malicious, stupid, ignorant, bigoted or hateful people.  Other people are perfectly free to object to such speech or people and act against them, within the law.

Free speech doesn't entail that all speech is equally worthy, or that there is no basis on which speech of any kind can be objectionable.  Free speech doesn't require that we suspend judgment when we encounter speech that is despicable and accept any view voiced regardless of its merit.   We need not tolerate all speech, just as we need not tolerate all conduct on the grounds that all people are free to do as they please.  The legal right of free speech and the First Amendment are poorly served by those who claim the right to say whatever they want whenever or wherever they want.

The Timely Rage of Howard Beale

I wonder how many recall the movie Network and its seemingly demented anchorman, Howard Beale, played by Peter Finch.  Beale was maddened by the mess the world was in, thought his job as an anchorman served merely to promulgate lies and hypocrisy, had no answers to any of the world's problems, but thought it necessary, before addressing them, for all to get angry.  Famously, while on national TV, he urged viewers to throw open their windows and shout "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

The film came out in 1976, but what he rants against, initially, are characteristics of the world in which we live now in most ways.  It's interesting to watch the clip, which is available like so much else on the Web.  Not much has changed.  

His rage and his phrase resonate.  People throw open their windows and shout.  The network for which he works milks it for all it's worth, of course, changing its news format to something which is also fairly familiar in these sad times (think Fox News), geared towards pandering to the lowest common denominator.  Mad as hell in more ways than one, Beale's persuaded by the network's corporate masters to become their shill.  Things go on much as they did before.  It's money that matters, as Randy Newman sang.  Not much has changed in that respect, either.

No figure quite like Beale has appeared in today's traditional media (yet), but the rage is there, and we're not limited to traditional media anymore.  There are plenty of seemingly demented souls on social media.  Also, there are plenty available to take advantage of them as the network took advantage of Beale in the movie.

Those who take advantage of our rage now are little different from those who took advantage of our rage all those years ago.  In a way, the continuance of our desire for money and power and our facility in devising ways to pursue them serve as comforting in a time when things seem to become less and less in our control and life more manic.  Politicians, the media, corporations continue to manipulate us.  Even our anger can provide them with opportunities by which they may be benefited.

Until it's directed against them.  One wonders whether that will ever take place, though.  It may on a temporary basis.  The French Revolution was a case of rage directed against those with political and economic power which destroyed those with power with considerable efficiency.  The Terror was an expression of that rage.  The change which took place as a result was extensive, though not total.  

It seems to me that outside of that remarkable event, our history indicates that we're fated to be manipulated by the same kinds of people who've always manipulated us, in saecula saeculorum.  After all, we have the same faults they have; we merely lack the means by which to indulge them.  Our plight is self-perpetuating.

Not much will change.

 

Homage to Saint Simeon

The Saint that is the subject of this post, and homage, is that Simeon who is described as a "holy fool."  I don't give homage to that Simeon who is known for the length of time he lived on a small platform atop a pillar, though it must be admitted that this is a remarkably stupid thing to do.  Homage is inappropriate in the case of that Simeon.  Homage is, I believe, due the Simeon who apparently lived in the 6th century C.E. or A.D. and was considered, justly it appears, to be mad.

That particular St. Simeon famously dragged the corpse of a dog behind him in his travels.  He would blow out candles in churches.  He was also known to throw nuts at the clergy during masses, and also at women.  I'm uncertain why he threw nuts at both.  If there is a connection between them, and them and nuts, it escapes me.  He was known to skip and dance his way around the arena during public performances or games.  On feast days calling for fasting he would eat huge amounts of food, particularly beans, and then proudly indulge the effects of eating that "magical fruit."

He is shown in the picture above, apparently doing a kind of summersault for the delight of those waiting along his path.  The dog appearing with him is presumably dead.  He's known as the patron saint of puppeteers, and pictures of him sometimes show him brandishing a puppet of some kind--probably an angel.

In the peculiar logic of religious belief, his bizarre behavior is claimed as evidence of his saintliness.  Sometimes, it's maintained that he acted like a lunatic in order to demonstrate that life on earth was a farce, and only the Kingdom of God important.  Perhaps he is meant to be a kind of Christian version of Diogenes.  After all, according to Plato, Diogenes was Socrates gone made.

But I confess that I suspect he was mentally ill.  I also confess that it delights me that such a person was made a Saint.  A crazy Saint is worthy of reverence.  I must see if there is a St. Simeon the Holy Fool medal.  I'd gladly wear it.

And, although it seems this Simeon isn't the patron Saint of fools, it's appropriate that there be one, particularly given the prevalence of fools here in our Great Republic and elsewhere.  Those who believe in such things as a worldwide conspiracy of powerful pedophiles should have someone they may ask to intervene with God on their behalf, and who better than the nut-throwing St. Simeon?  Though it seems they've lost their minds, they wouldn't pray to St. Anthony being uninterested in finding them.

 

The Law as Public School Teacher

You'd think our Glorious Union has had enough of laws seeking to dictate what is or is not taught in public schools.  The infamous Butler Act, adopted by the State of Tennessee nearly 100 years ago, led to the Scopes Trial, which led to the humiliation of William Jennings Bryan (and possibly his death mere days after the trial concluded) by Clarence Darrow, to some blistering articles by H.L. Mencken, and made the United States the laughing-stock of a good portion of the Western World, is perhaps the most notable law which sought to do so in modern times.  Or at least it was, until recently. 

The Butler Act at least had the virtue of clarity.  That law stated in pertinent part "[t]hat it shall be unlawful for any teacher in any of the universities, normals and all other public schools of the State which are supported, in whole or in part, by the public school funds of the state, to teach any theory that denies the story of the Divine Creation of man as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower order of animals."  I know, the use of the word "story" in the law is amusing.  The legislators of Tennessee were apparently unaware of the implications of that word.

But now the State of Florida has adopted a law which similarly seeks to regulate what takes place in classrooms, which not only lacks clarity but seems to flaunt its vagueness.  This is the so-called "Don't Say Gay" law, officially Florida SB 1834."  It states, also in pertinent part:

 "A school district may not encourage classroom discussion about sexual orientation or gender identity in primary grade levels or in a manner that is not age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students.  A parent of a student may bring an action against a school district to obtain a declaratory judgment that a school district procedure or practice violates this paragraph and seek injunctive relief. A court may award damages and shall award reasonable attorney fees and court costs to a parent who receives declaratory or injunctive relief."

Defenders of the law like to point out that it provides that discussion of sexual orientation or gender identity is only contrary to the law in kindergarden to third grade, according to its terms ("primary grade levels").  Who would object to that, really?  I doubt anyone does.  But that's not all the law says.  It also says discussion of such topics may not be encouraged "in a manner that is not age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students."  So, the law clearly applies to students of other grade levels.

A reading of the law raises several serious questions:

How does one encourage classroom discussion?  Must the discussion take place in a classroom for the law to be violated, and a cause of action arise?  What is "sexual orientation or gender identity"?  Does the fact that the law refers to a "school district procedure or practice" indicate that encouragement (whatever that may be) by a single, "rogue" teacher or other school district employee (a janitor?) wouldn't be actionable? Is it necessary that a policy or procedure, sanctioned by the school district expressly or by implication, as an entity, exist? What do "age appropriate or developmentally appropriate" mean? Is that left to the courts and the lawyers who litigate claims to decide?  Just what kind of damages are available to a parent in the action created by this law? 

What is "age appropriate or developmentally appropriate" is clearly subjective, and would vary from student to student.  Florida's legislature probably gave parents the right to sue under the law in an effort to avoid enforcement of the law being considered "state action" for constitutional purposes.  But that would leave interpretation of the law undetermined until precedent could be established through the courts, and that won't happen anytime soon.  In the interim, school districts and teachers will be justly terrified of being sued by some parent or another who thinks wrong words are being spoken in classrooms.  They may therefore be inclined to take fairly drastic steps to avoid litigation, e.g. refusing to require the reading of any books the subject matter of which involve sexual relations, prohibiting the use of certain words in classrooms, disciplining teachers, etc.

In short, it's a shoddy law, and will be difficult and expensive to implement.  The cynic in me wonders if the law was adopted purely to discourage talk of sex in the classroom, especially talk of particular kinds of sex.  Sex is something which has always frightened Americans, especially when it comes to the task of making children aware of it.  I think most of them would like if others had that task.  It may even be, ultimately, a form of posturing by politicians, always interested in obtaining popular support (at least when it doesn't interfere with monetary gain).

The law is alleged to be one protecting parental rights.  But do parents have a legitimate interest in making certain their children under the age of majority don't hear certain words of learn what other people are in terms of gender or sexual orientation?  Is it possible, indeed, that they think students won't otherwise learn of such things or speak about them unless they're "encouraged" to do so by teachers?  Only a fool would think that.

For my part, I think most parents are detriments to education, generally speaking.  They recognize that basic skills such as reading, writing and 'rithmatic (as the old song goes) must be acquired, though they probably would prefer that the use of the legendary "hickory stick" be reserved to themselves.  But otherwise, I think the preference of most is that their children think like them, be like them, talk like them and act like them until they become adults, at which time parents can claim that they're beyond their control and influence.  The sad fact is that most parents would prefer that their children not learn more than their parents have, at least in cultural or social matters in my opinion, and it may be that this law is an expression of that fact.

Justice itself isn't blind, but the law is, in the sense that the law may be good or bad, wise or stupid.  This particular law is stupid.  But it is a law nonetheless, just as the Butler Act was law, and may wreck all the havoc it did, and more.