I was sitting drinking shots of vodka at Russian Tea Time on Adams in the Loop, and old Carl and his poem came to mind, for reasons not entirely clear to me. No longer Hog Butcher to the world, perhaps, but I think Chicago remains in large part how Sandburg described it to be. Somewhat more sophisticated, I think, than it was in his time, but still very much an elemental city with very little pretense except in power and money though it is a city with a history of prominence in literature and architecture and other things. Sandburg is a part of that history, of course, as is Saul Bellow and Studs Terkel (not a particular favorite of mine); Hemingway did some time here, Ray Bradbury, Edgar Rice Burroughs for God's sake, Philip K. Dick, Raymond Chandler. John Dewey and Jane Addams among the philosophers/thinkers.
It's still a tough city as well. I'm only a frequent visitor now, though it is my hometown, and have watched it change over the years. The number of homeless seems to be increasing. They stake out their territories on Michigan and State and Wabash and other streets in the Loop and River North where I generally hang out, and rattle what change they have in paper cups, seeking more from those who wander about and who, like me I must admit, generally ignore them as best they can. Familiarity breeds insensibility if not contempt. Oddly, the more there are the less compelling they become.
There was an old radio show called "The Whistler." It's narrator "walked by night" and thereby saw "many things" which were usually nefarious. Apparently, he whistled while he did so; a rather awkward, atonal little tune was whistled during the introduction and after commercial breaks. I walk by night as well about this area of Chicago, but also by day, and like to observe the people. It makes me think about the city and people like Sandburg and other things, though truth be told my observational skills are with some frequency dulled by alcohol. That particular substance enlivens thought, however, or at least seems to do so which may amount to much the same thing.
It can also make one sentimental and maudlin, angry but also content. I've been all those things during this visit and others, and have seen many things though none of them are particularly nefarious. Mostly I see people who become younger as I grow older and are among friends and have money to spend and spend it as I do on food and drink, but it may be they fail to observe and most of all to think as they are in thrall to the game of impressing their friends if not themselves. There are few I'm interested in impressing these days, though that may be due not to wisdom but instead to realism--which of course can be a kind of sad wisdom.
There is something which gives one pause, sitting at a bar which you know your father sat once when he was a young man, (the Berghoff bar, also on Adams) and where famous people now long dead drank as you do, and thought something if not what you think. Memento mori, perhaps, or omnia vanitas; or, somewhat less of a pause to be given, eat, drink and be merry, as we may read with some surprise in the Bible.
I'm pleased to report I haven't begun whistling, though. Not yet.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Supremely Confusing
The Supremes have issued their long-awaited decision regarding the Affordable Care Act, and we hear lamentations from the Republicans and praise from the Democrats, pontifications from pundits, and little else. It has been a long and depressing process for anyone of sense, I believe, and one can't help but feel glad it's over, regardless of the outcome. In these dark times, the hyperbolic responses of those on the Right are predictable but still disturbing. How this era (O tempora!) cries out for calm deliberation.
It is quite correct for the majority to note that courts have no business assessing policy, and should not indulge in questioning the wisdom of legislation. The majority also appropriately rejected the rather tortured effort to justify the individual manadate under the Commerce Clause. This was in my opinion what is being called these days "a nonstarter." A clumsy word employed increasingly in our dundering, heavy-handed society. Far too infrequently, even the law meshes with common sense, and the claim that citizens of our Glorious Republic may be induced under threat of penalty to engage in commerce by Congress through its power to regulate commerce defies common sense just as much as legal precedent. So, kudos to the majority for noting this and ruling accordingly.
I'm less comfortable, though, with its determination that what has consistently been called a penalty (and is still being called a penalty by the White House in spite of the Court's decision) is nonetheless a tax, and when considered as such is a constitutional exercise of the Congress' taxing power. But I suppose the majority takes the position that this is an instance where the law simply does not mesh with common sense.
Those who supported and voted for the law presumably were loath to describe the mandate as a tax due to the fact that the mere thought of a tax sends many of us into a frenzy. So it's likely that it has never been (and still is not) described as a tax for political reasons, which given the current climate is all the reason our politicians require, or respect. Nevertheless, there are diffences in the law between a penalty and a tax, and those differences can be significant. For example, those differences may, as in this case, establish whether or not a law is constitutional.
The law is certainly best defended as a tax. Our government has successfully taxed all manner of things, and the courts hesitate to declare them unlawful. I find it hard to understand why the law was not adopted as an exercise of the taxing power in the first place. We're regularly taxed "for our own good" despite the fact we don't want to be--sometimes, the tax really is for our own good. But I suppose this is to make the error of thinking like a lawyer, not like a politician (or I suppose I should say like a politician who is also a lawyer, or was one, at least; there are so many of these unnatural creatures).
Another odd thing regarding the outcome of the decision if not the decision itself is the speculation being indulged in to the effect that the Chief Justice sided with the majority because he wanted to "save" the Court from being politicized. This is a kind of fantasy, I believe, which is probably only briefly entrancing some of our pundits, who think that Justices Scalia and Thomas are far too political. But the Court has always been political, as have many of the Justices of the past (Douglas comes most immediately to mind as a politically liberal Justice). I tend to think the Justices, and their close relatives, should keep their mouths and their wallets shut myself particularly as to matters which have or likely will come before them. But this kind of wisdom and dignity is not to be expected today, and perhaps has never existed.
The decision is a curious, confusing thing.
It is quite correct for the majority to note that courts have no business assessing policy, and should not indulge in questioning the wisdom of legislation. The majority also appropriately rejected the rather tortured effort to justify the individual manadate under the Commerce Clause. This was in my opinion what is being called these days "a nonstarter." A clumsy word employed increasingly in our dundering, heavy-handed society. Far too infrequently, even the law meshes with common sense, and the claim that citizens of our Glorious Republic may be induced under threat of penalty to engage in commerce by Congress through its power to regulate commerce defies common sense just as much as legal precedent. So, kudos to the majority for noting this and ruling accordingly.
I'm less comfortable, though, with its determination that what has consistently been called a penalty (and is still being called a penalty by the White House in spite of the Court's decision) is nonetheless a tax, and when considered as such is a constitutional exercise of the Congress' taxing power. But I suppose the majority takes the position that this is an instance where the law simply does not mesh with common sense.
Those who supported and voted for the law presumably were loath to describe the mandate as a tax due to the fact that the mere thought of a tax sends many of us into a frenzy. So it's likely that it has never been (and still is not) described as a tax for political reasons, which given the current climate is all the reason our politicians require, or respect. Nevertheless, there are diffences in the law between a penalty and a tax, and those differences can be significant. For example, those differences may, as in this case, establish whether or not a law is constitutional.
The law is certainly best defended as a tax. Our government has successfully taxed all manner of things, and the courts hesitate to declare them unlawful. I find it hard to understand why the law was not adopted as an exercise of the taxing power in the first place. We're regularly taxed "for our own good" despite the fact we don't want to be--sometimes, the tax really is for our own good. But I suppose this is to make the error of thinking like a lawyer, not like a politician (or I suppose I should say like a politician who is also a lawyer, or was one, at least; there are so many of these unnatural creatures).
Another odd thing regarding the outcome of the decision if not the decision itself is the speculation being indulged in to the effect that the Chief Justice sided with the majority because he wanted to "save" the Court from being politicized. This is a kind of fantasy, I believe, which is probably only briefly entrancing some of our pundits, who think that Justices Scalia and Thomas are far too political. But the Court has always been political, as have many of the Justices of the past (Douglas comes most immediately to mind as a politically liberal Justice). I tend to think the Justices, and their close relatives, should keep their mouths and their wallets shut myself particularly as to matters which have or likely will come before them. But this kind of wisdom and dignity is not to be expected today, and perhaps has never existed.
The decision is a curious, confusing thing.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
An Old Chaos of the Sun
We live in that old chaos, said Wallace Stevens in his poem Sunday Morning. Is that enough for us? That seems to be the question debated somewhat leisurely in that work, but profoundly enough, even with coffee and oranges.
There's nothing complacent about that debate. That it even takes place in the manner it does establishes that the poem is of the 20th century. The rather disturbingly dramatic pathos displayed by certain artists and thinkers of the 19th century in the face of the realization that we humans may not be the special favorites of the divine isn't evident. I think of the histrionics of the characters of Dostoevsky and the yapping of Nietzsche and can't help but feel embarrassed. Despair and defiance seem childish responses to the vastness of the universe and our tiny place in it. In Stevens' poem we have cool appraisal of our "predicament." We are, at least, adults in the universe, if only temporarily.
Do we need paradise? Is this world enough for us, or are we fated to long for something more, something not just better but best? Some of us at least seem to need the best; perhaps even some of us expect it as our due. So we look for it or forward to it. Heaven or higher knowledge, good or beauty, beyond that available to us in this world which we refuse to accept despite the fact that we are so completely a part of it, one kind of organism among many. We're much more sophisticated than the others we know of so far, it's true; we may find we are much less sophisticated than others we become aware of in the future. Will they be more privileged than we humans as a result and have a greater claim to God's favor?
Our belief we're exceptional has rendered us monotonous. Although we should know better now as we understand we are not the center of the universe and that it does not revolve around us for our delight we make the same assumptions and ask the same questions we did when we thought that way from ignorance. To a great extent, we come to the same answers, or no answers at all.
I think Stevens in his poem comes to the conclusion that the world is indeed enough, or should be. Perhaps that's what he and Hemingway fought about that drunken evening in Key West. In any case, that seems to be the adult response. Neither despair nor defiance is reasonable. If there is more than this, it's likely it will be another version or aspect of this (the universe). If there is something that is not a part of the universe, to which we will have access, it is necessarily unknown to us now. We can only know that which we can know and we can only know what we have experienced or others have and told us about. We may feel what we call transcendence, but feeling it we feel whatever it is as parts of the universe and thus it is part of the universe as well.
The universe is remarkable indeed; we may never be done exploring it. Understanding it and our part in it is a monumental task, but it is a task we can engage in and we can progress in that task in a manner which is measurable. Paradise is something we can't attain in this life, but we can obtain and accomplish some things, and should do so.
There's nothing complacent about that debate. That it even takes place in the manner it does establishes that the poem is of the 20th century. The rather disturbingly dramatic pathos displayed by certain artists and thinkers of the 19th century in the face of the realization that we humans may not be the special favorites of the divine isn't evident. I think of the histrionics of the characters of Dostoevsky and the yapping of Nietzsche and can't help but feel embarrassed. Despair and defiance seem childish responses to the vastness of the universe and our tiny place in it. In Stevens' poem we have cool appraisal of our "predicament." We are, at least, adults in the universe, if only temporarily.
Do we need paradise? Is this world enough for us, or are we fated to long for something more, something not just better but best? Some of us at least seem to need the best; perhaps even some of us expect it as our due. So we look for it or forward to it. Heaven or higher knowledge, good or beauty, beyond that available to us in this world which we refuse to accept despite the fact that we are so completely a part of it, one kind of organism among many. We're much more sophisticated than the others we know of so far, it's true; we may find we are much less sophisticated than others we become aware of in the future. Will they be more privileged than we humans as a result and have a greater claim to God's favor?
Our belief we're exceptional has rendered us monotonous. Although we should know better now as we understand we are not the center of the universe and that it does not revolve around us for our delight we make the same assumptions and ask the same questions we did when we thought that way from ignorance. To a great extent, we come to the same answers, or no answers at all.
I think Stevens in his poem comes to the conclusion that the world is indeed enough, or should be. Perhaps that's what he and Hemingway fought about that drunken evening in Key West. In any case, that seems to be the adult response. Neither despair nor defiance is reasonable. If there is more than this, it's likely it will be another version or aspect of this (the universe). If there is something that is not a part of the universe, to which we will have access, it is necessarily unknown to us now. We can only know that which we can know and we can only know what we have experienced or others have and told us about. We may feel what we call transcendence, but feeling it we feel whatever it is as parts of the universe and thus it is part of the universe as well.
The universe is remarkable indeed; we may never be done exploring it. Understanding it and our part in it is a monumental task, but it is a task we can engage in and we can progress in that task in a manner which is measurable. Paradise is something we can't attain in this life, but we can obtain and accomplish some things, and should do so.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Best Government Money Can Buy
We had it, according to Mark Twain, quite some time ago, and will have it again. He could be amusing at times, could old Sam, and perceptive as well when he was not pandering to his readers by commenting buffoonishly on noisy, dirty, smelly foreigners in such works as Innocents Abroad (I was reminded of this sad characteristic while reading Mencken's fine essay on Puritanism in American literature).
That Twain felt we had in his time such a government reminds us that things are not all that different, our Supreme Court's decision in Citizens United notwithstanding. I can't but feel that there lurks in liberal criticism of that decision a petulance born of the belief that there are simply not enough liberally-minded corporations readily available to foot Democratic bills as there are conservative ones to pay for Republican campaigns. Regardless, though, it is always a concern when money figures so prominently in the election of officials of any kind. It's not clear to me, however, that the view of the majority of the Supremes that corporations are people for purposes of free speech as well as for other purposes adds that much to the corruption of our politics.
Of greater concern I think is the rejection of limitations on financial contributions to the efforts of our leaders and those who wish to lead us to induce us to vote for them or those things they hold dear. Corporations have been treated as persons in the law for so many years for so many reasons that maintaining they are not for other, particular purposes is somewhat awkward. Limiting financial contributions is relatively clear and simple, would likely reduce the opportunity for corruption and would seem to have no clear adverse impact of any significant kind. It may make it more difficult for our politicians and their minions to bombard us with increasingly trite, simplistic and hyperbolic propaganda, but this would not be a bad thing.
This brings us to the rather perplexing view which is translated into the phrase that "money is speech." It clearly is not in itself. It can, though, facilitate the ability of some not only to speak, but to speak very loudly and frequently in many different locations to many people. Is this facilitation itself free speech, to be accorded constitutional protection?
Consider the law applicable to restrictions on the constitutional right to free speech. Consider, in other words, those circumstances in which it has been held that government has wrongfully limited that right. I think it would be accurate to state that money is not often a factor, except to the extent that it somehow figures in action which results in the prohibition or limitation of speech itself. That unconstitutional limitation rightfully relates to the content of speech or the act of speaking, however, not to the quantity of speech.
If one is prohibited from saying something by government, or speaking at all, that is or should be significant in the law. If one is prohibited not from saying something, but from having access to unlimited amounts of money from particular donors which will allow you to say it again and again, at all times and in all places through media of all kinds, and hiring professionals to say that something in the most persuasive manner, that is or should be something quite different as far as the law is concerned.
Of course, we can only truly avoid being led by the nose by our politicians and their lackeys by thinking analytically. But that would mean spending money on educating people to do so. That wouldn't make money thought, but it would be a thoughtful use of money (I should never have read Chesterton; I can't avoid these cloying little gibes at times, and blame it all on him). Unfortunately, thinking is often something those who have the money would rather we not do.
That Twain felt we had in his time such a government reminds us that things are not all that different, our Supreme Court's decision in Citizens United notwithstanding. I can't but feel that there lurks in liberal criticism of that decision a petulance born of the belief that there are simply not enough liberally-minded corporations readily available to foot Democratic bills as there are conservative ones to pay for Republican campaigns. Regardless, though, it is always a concern when money figures so prominently in the election of officials of any kind. It's not clear to me, however, that the view of the majority of the Supremes that corporations are people for purposes of free speech as well as for other purposes adds that much to the corruption of our politics.
Of greater concern I think is the rejection of limitations on financial contributions to the efforts of our leaders and those who wish to lead us to induce us to vote for them or those things they hold dear. Corporations have been treated as persons in the law for so many years for so many reasons that maintaining they are not for other, particular purposes is somewhat awkward. Limiting financial contributions is relatively clear and simple, would likely reduce the opportunity for corruption and would seem to have no clear adverse impact of any significant kind. It may make it more difficult for our politicians and their minions to bombard us with increasingly trite, simplistic and hyperbolic propaganda, but this would not be a bad thing.
This brings us to the rather perplexing view which is translated into the phrase that "money is speech." It clearly is not in itself. It can, though, facilitate the ability of some not only to speak, but to speak very loudly and frequently in many different locations to many people. Is this facilitation itself free speech, to be accorded constitutional protection?
Consider the law applicable to restrictions on the constitutional right to free speech. Consider, in other words, those circumstances in which it has been held that government has wrongfully limited that right. I think it would be accurate to state that money is not often a factor, except to the extent that it somehow figures in action which results in the prohibition or limitation of speech itself. That unconstitutional limitation rightfully relates to the content of speech or the act of speaking, however, not to the quantity of speech.
If one is prohibited from saying something by government, or speaking at all, that is or should be significant in the law. If one is prohibited not from saying something, but from having access to unlimited amounts of money from particular donors which will allow you to say it again and again, at all times and in all places through media of all kinds, and hiring professionals to say that something in the most persuasive manner, that is or should be something quite different as far as the law is concerned.
Of course, we can only truly avoid being led by the nose by our politicians and their lackeys by thinking analytically. But that would mean spending money on educating people to do so. That wouldn't make money thought, but it would be a thoughtful use of money (I should never have read Chesterton; I can't avoid these cloying little gibes at times, and blame it all on him). Unfortunately, thinking is often something those who have the money would rather we not do.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Unknown God
According to the book known as "The Acts of the Apostles" St. Paul famously noted that the Athenians had an altar dedicated to "the unknown god" and expounded on it to their edification, using it as an example of pagan superstition or pagan piety, depending on just what translation is being read. I personally find the notion more Roman than Greek. The thorough, prudent Romans it seems to me would be more likely to see to it that an unknown, that is to say un-named, god be worshipped--just in case that worship should be appropriate or required for one reason or another.
The Roman religion as we know it, before it became Greek, was most practical, though the gods or spirits they were devoted to were often ill-defined. This has sometimes been claimed to indicate that they lacked imagination, unlike the Greeks, whose gods they would assimilate. The gods of the popular religion of ancient Greece certainly were fanciful, but if they're considered indicative of imagination I think that imagination is not particularly imaginative, as it consisted of extrapolation from human characteristics well known to any of us.
Though the gods were undefined in ancient Roman religion the means by which they were to be worshipped were detailed, even rigorous, and the rituals were to be carefully performed, without error. This precision was owed to the divine. If there was error, then they had no effect and were to be repeated. The Emperor Julian is said to have repeated a particular rite when interrupted, and it is doubtful that at the time he did so the rite in question involved one of the ancient Roman divinities, as it would have taken place in the 4th century CE. So the need to perform the rite properly seems to have survived if not the god or spirit itself.
It seems that the more a conception of God is such that the characteristics ascribed to God are unknown, the more reasonable that conception becomes. To the extent that God's characteristics are well known, it seems those characteristics are necessarily shared by humans. For those of us who find it difficult to be impressed by a human-god, or feel that a human-god doesn't quite rise to the level of a God of a vast universe, this is unsatisfying. This I think is why we find that what is called the "God of the philosophers" and the God most referred to by theologians, even Christian theologians, is quite abstract, and may even be said to be unknown, or unknowable, as a result. In any event, a human-god is clearly a god of a kind which is limited, as it is one which is the special concern if not creation of our race on our tiny little planet in our tiny little solar system.
It's interesting that the more abstract our conception of God, the less likely it is that God will be a "jealous" god, or angry god, or demanding god. It's difficult to ascribe to the God of the universe a keen interest in our sex lives, or in the manner in which we dress, or whether we act or do not act in certain ways on certain days. Intolerant gods are little gods. They're not great in any sense.
But little gods may be what we humans need until we have rid ourselves of our overwhelming selfishness. As long as we look upon the universe as ours alone, as long as we think of ourselves as determining the universe, the divine will always be human.
The Roman religion as we know it, before it became Greek, was most practical, though the gods or spirits they were devoted to were often ill-defined. This has sometimes been claimed to indicate that they lacked imagination, unlike the Greeks, whose gods they would assimilate. The gods of the popular religion of ancient Greece certainly were fanciful, but if they're considered indicative of imagination I think that imagination is not particularly imaginative, as it consisted of extrapolation from human characteristics well known to any of us.
Though the gods were undefined in ancient Roman religion the means by which they were to be worshipped were detailed, even rigorous, and the rituals were to be carefully performed, without error. This precision was owed to the divine. If there was error, then they had no effect and were to be repeated. The Emperor Julian is said to have repeated a particular rite when interrupted, and it is doubtful that at the time he did so the rite in question involved one of the ancient Roman divinities, as it would have taken place in the 4th century CE. So the need to perform the rite properly seems to have survived if not the god or spirit itself.
It seems that the more a conception of God is such that the characteristics ascribed to God are unknown, the more reasonable that conception becomes. To the extent that God's characteristics are well known, it seems those characteristics are necessarily shared by humans. For those of us who find it difficult to be impressed by a human-god, or feel that a human-god doesn't quite rise to the level of a God of a vast universe, this is unsatisfying. This I think is why we find that what is called the "God of the philosophers" and the God most referred to by theologians, even Christian theologians, is quite abstract, and may even be said to be unknown, or unknowable, as a result. In any event, a human-god is clearly a god of a kind which is limited, as it is one which is the special concern if not creation of our race on our tiny little planet in our tiny little solar system.
It's interesting that the more abstract our conception of God, the less likely it is that God will be a "jealous" god, or angry god, or demanding god. It's difficult to ascribe to the God of the universe a keen interest in our sex lives, or in the manner in which we dress, or whether we act or do not act in certain ways on certain days. Intolerant gods are little gods. They're not great in any sense.
But little gods may be what we humans need until we have rid ourselves of our overwhelming selfishness. As long as we look upon the universe as ours alone, as long as we think of ourselves as determining the universe, the divine will always be human.
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