Call Me "White Nitro" (or call me an ambulance)

So I am back, if but reluctantly. Who could tell that I should prefer to stay atop a mountain than to return to the valley of days?

I spent most of last week skiing at Sugarloaf USA, Maine's premiere ski resort. As you can see from the picture above, the whole place left me looking rather silly. Lesson learned: don't use a super-wide angle lens for a self-portrait.

My son and his two buddies enjoyed the steeps and the big, big view (below); though for some reason they preferred the hot tub at the bottom with the girls nearby more than I expected, all of which proves I have forgotten what it feels like to be 17 years old (sort of). [BTW, click on images for a larger view.]

But I have not forgotten fear, as the photo below, even now, puts a tiny lump in my throat. I mean, those are my ski boots in the foreground; should I just lift them while sitting there, I would instantly begin to slide on my backside. Not that I don't like steeps - I do. It's just that at my age I am not sure I could recover all that quickly from a mistake.

But perspective is hard to convey when using a super-wide angle lens, so perhaps this shot of my son (check out the retro jacket!) surveying things before our descent will be more helpful. He's looking down on Sugarloaf's ski village from his vantage atop White Nitro, a double black diamond trail. Our very cool descent will take us over the ridge in the middle of the photo. It's all loads of fun (though not as much fun with a thirty-pound pack on my back).

I realize that even this does not give a good sense of the scale I am talking about. That's why I took the following telephoto shots of the summit, followed by a wide-angle shot of the mountain from about the same spot. Just notice the size of the skiers in these next two images (next three images taken while riding high-speed chairlift):

And then compare the summit portion of the hill with the whole hillside (pushed back by the wide-angle lens):

Well, perhaps none of this works at all. Suffice it to say that by New England standards this place is huge, steep, fun. No, it is no Big Sky or Vail or Whistler/Blackcomb. But that does not take away from the fact that I am still smiling, dreaming -- and lurching awake every night as some image of a tree coming awfully quick port-side kicks at my reflexes.

And irrespective of my son's dreadful jacket (my opinion), I must say that he looks pretty good here, burning up the hill for his old man's camera:

How hard to accept that we can't do all this forever.

***

But that is not the moral of this tale. The moral, truly, is one of aesthetic theory, of artistic design: never photograph yourself using a 17mm lens at 4,200 feet while on the verge of fainting. Otherwise, you might look like this, all bug-eyed and twitchy:



(At least the shadow is good-looking -- and sane.)

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Loafing On A Mount Of Sugar

It is my one indulgence, and I can't really do a thing about it. You see, I am away skiing right now, and there are just too many vertical feet I feel I must descend (and ascend). Thus, I am not really here, if you know what I mean.

Call me White Nitro.

Peace.

BG

Reunion (In The Day Room)

The other night I spoke on the phone with a relative to whom I’ve not spoken in years. In the course of our conversation, while discussing what I have been doing with my life, I mentioned this website. One wonders what I was thinking, since I rarely mention this blog to anyone. But my relation expressed enthusiasm about reading some of my work, so that counts for something. After some ado about many other things, we ended our talk.

Three days later, as I survey the sorts of things I’ve written here and the manner in which they’ve been written, I am certain that my relations will reach the rather easy conclusion that I am insane.

Peace.

Sitting In The Doctor’s Office, Waiting For My Wife

I went to the nurse today complaining of an excess of joy. I told her that my stomach was churning with delight; that my hands tingled with bliss and my head pounded with gratitude. I wonder, I said, if there is something wrong. How could I be sick with happiness? How could I be fraught with peace? How could I be wracked with innocence? Should I see the doctor?

She replied that she was glad that I was feeling better. She noted that my complaints from last month no longer seemed relevant. It is clear that your skin has cleared up, she said, and that there are no signs of the deep wounds that once dripped with sarcasm. It looks too like you are no longer biting your tongue or your lip, and that you’re no longer straining to look backwards. I can feel no spasms of regret; the knots of second-guessing seem to have been smoothed away; and the arthritis of cynicism seems to have vanished, leaving your hands free. And I cannot tell you how glad I am to see that you are so fully rested.

There was nothing I could tell her that explained my sudden change, but I told her what I knew: When I woke from what began as a restless sleep but by dawn had become a deep calm, my head was deliciously dizzy with a wine I had not sipped. My arms were light with a spirit I did not earn. There were proverbs on the back of my hands, though I cannot see them now. There were scriptures flying past my window, with many of them gathering in gentle flocks beneath my bird feeders. My heartbeat was a chorus of angels; my ears rang with choruses of hope, my tongue was sweet with glad tidings. And while the thermometer outside my window was filled with gold, my barometer offered no report. And then I saw that my watch pointed to the hour of redemption.

What does all this mean? I asked, laughter spilling from my mouth.

You know what it means, she said, reaching up and wiping ashes off my forehead. It means you’ve already seen the doctor.



Peace to you on this Ash Wednesday.

Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Goin' Up To The Scrubber In The Sky

Imagine all the deep-blue sky, free of CO2. It isn't hard to do. It's easy if you try. The clean blue sky, it's where I'm gonna go when I die.

Sir Richard Branson, music industry icon, billionaire tycoon, owner of an airline -- an ambitious man who has had big oil interests -- has called attention to his deep and generous concern. He wants a cleaner, healthier biosphere. He wants a cooler planet, one with thicker and broader ice caps; with shallower oceans. He wants longer, colder, more difficult winters. And he is willing to give away $25 million to the first person who can keep winter icy-hard.

The AP (and everyone else) reported this weekend that Sir Branson, of Virgin Atlantic Airlines (and Virgin everything else), hopes that his largesse shall spur on competition for a sort of atmospheric scrubber, or a sort of sponge, or a sort of respirator, that will remove harmful levels of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. One can't hardly be more impressed with such a noble call: Sir Branson has tapped into the deep reserves of scientific genius in the hopes of finding a cure for our self-inflicted malady.

That, I believe, is the big global warming story of the day.

But the real story is this, no?

Here we have a man who is heavily invested in the airline industry calling for someone -- anyone -- to bring forward some device or method that expurgates harmful levels of CO2 from the atmosphere. Now, let us imagine that I, of all people, have the answer to Sir Branson's challenge, and that I win his $25 million award; imagine that CO2 gases are indeed reduced, and the earth's atmosphere begins to cool to "normal" temperatures. What would happen?

What would happen is that people would not reduce their use of oil at all; rather, they would increase it. Find the certain cure for cancer and everyone starts smoking. In other words, Sir Branson's challenge is billowing with self-interest. He wants to destroy the effects of carbon-based fuel consumption in order to protect the use of carbon fuels. And even if that is NOT his motive, it will clearly be the motive for other people in similar industries. (Just forget about the political need to free the West of its dependence on Mid-East oil.) It hardly matters that Mr. Branson has also promised to invest in green fuels technologies (in his own Virgin Fuels), since that investment is also pure self-interest: he expects a return, and to cash in on popular anxieties.

Sir Branson's challenge certainly tickles the ears, but it is oozing with problems.

Or so it could be argued.

We could always just have people stop exhaling CO2 for half of each day. I mean, six billion CO2 pumps can't be one whit good. Or we could just put gels of algae over every mouth and every exhaust pipe on the planet, or fill the virgin atlantic with those great little creatures. That's it!

Peace.

BG

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All rights reserved.

Recess For Real

I have said here before that the US Congress should be required by law to have an outdoor recess twice daily. Representatives and senators should be required to seesaw, swing, jump rope, and play dodge ball together. And they should also have to do this. (Wicked fun!!)

God, Bootlegged

On Saturday morning, just before Barack Hussein Obama stepped out from behind the temple veil to reveal his plan to make each of us happier people, MSNBC's Chris Matthews ejaculated that Abraham Lincoln, the great statesman who once governed in Obama's home state, would be dancing for joy at the familiar site of Springfield, Illinois' capitol building; and how it now served as the backdrop to an "African American" announcing his candidacy for the President of the United States. Remember, Matthews gushed, this is where Lincoln said "A house divided against itself cannot stand."

Moments later, deep into his own emancipation proclamation -- calling for an end to poverty, promising resolution in Iraq, and freeing us of our fearful dependence on foreign oil and its attendant destruction of the atmosphere -- Mr. Obama said (in bold) this in a list of wondrous deeds Americans have performed as ONE:

"In the face of tyranny, a band of patriots brought an Empire to its knees. In the face of secession, we unified a nation and set the captives free. In the face of Depression, we put people back to work and lifted millions out of poverty. We welcomed immigrants to our shores, we opened railroads to the west, we landed a man on the moon, and we heard a King's call to let justice roll down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream." [emphasis added]

Of course, the "King" referred to is Martin Luther King, the fallen and iconic civil rights leader.

Perhaps in this age where some do not respect the fences erected around us by the scribes of copyright laws, by the good manners of attribution and the love of one's neighbors' own genius, it is easy to honor the wrong men, the wrong women, even the wrong gods; or to steal for oneself the giftedness of others. Lakes steal from springs and rivers, and rivers abscond with lakes' blue riches, only to find poverty in the sea that robs from the sky as the sky steals back. So great leaders, apparently existing unto themselves where all greatness is apparently shared, are remembered for the great things they have said, even though they did not say them.

Abraham Lincoln may have said, "The house divided against itself cannot stand." And I may have said the same thing in a speech as vice-president of my high school senior class. But I was not quoting Lincoln, and Lincoln was not quoting himself: we were both quoting Jesus Christ the Plagiarized.

And then dear Mr. King, who surely gave the right attribution in his original speech, acknowledging his mentors' gifts to him and their own genius, never did say a thing about "justice rolling down." The Jewish prophet Amos did, a fact Mr. King learned as a Christian in Sunday School.

Clearly Mr. Obama and Chris Matthews have both missed out on these apparent trivialities. Who cares if religious language is stolen for political purposes; who cares if the fullness of genius was found in the prophets who uttered what the world most likely had never before heard? What matters is that it takes a certain amount of genius to plagiarize for political gain; to forget that true justice is rooted in the heart and language of God, and to take His honor for oneself.

(It matters not the source, but the outcome, if you but believe in "destiny.")

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

There Is No Bias:saiB oN sI erehT

George W. Bush is your worst enemy; we all know that W stands for Warmonger, and that hidden in his first name is a slightly twisted ogre. Bush the Menace.

Or so says Newsweek.

Shake your head to clear your eyes, if you must, as you look at Newsweek's newest cover: that is Bush the Bellicose glaring Middle-Eastward, eyes like warheads aimed at the Persian Prince of Peace.

One thing I am certain of is this: that in Iran, Newsweek's headline is not "The Hidden War with Iran." Instead, the Tehran edition is headlined thusly: "The Hidden -- and not so Hidden -- War with America." Wait. No. Scratch that. How foolish of me. Newsweek has it right: 'Tis Bush who has been boasting about his nation's great fate; about the absurdity of the Holocaust and the porcine Jews† who hold the earth enslaved by a mythology that fuels Zionism's many fires. 'Tis Bush who wants to usher in the New Age of the 12th Imam, a caliphate and an Eden somewhere between the Tigris-Euphrates and the edges of the earth. The four angels guarding the ancient gates of Eden are relieved of their weary duty; all through Persia run rivers of gold rhetoric, and there waters are Mahdi: peace is indeed rolling, like the thunder of nuclear detonation. And Bush shall lead us home: he is the Bush that burns with war and never leaves.

Alas, again, I am mistaken, even delirious. My first response to the Newsweek cover was utterly errant. It is not the crazed man to the left who is warring against you, me, the very foundations of Western thought. No, it is Bush. The man on the right. You know, the wrong man on the Right; the Christian Right, all broken and jumbled up, full of petty menace, and all very wrong.

Newsweek and MSNBC, allies under the same Great Peacock, can't expect us to divine -- without their journalistic help -- that Mr. Ahmadinejad, ever speaking in gracious and dulcet tones, is a man of peace with sober eyes and waiting smile.

Perhaps the 12th Imam is that man from Illinois, who has fallen from the sky. His name means "blessed."

Peace.

BG

†This is not to be construed as an anti-Semitic slur on my part. I aim to faithfully and sardonically report Mr. Ahmadinejad's attitude.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Because I Care About Your Joy

I pray that you saw this little video. Enough to make the oldest heart young again.

And Now The Presentation

"We shall issue in a new birth of freedom on this earth."

Thus concluded Barack Hussein Obama moments ago in his much-anticipated announcement. Talk about audacity!

"We are one people." Indeed.

Consider this a strange observation: Mr. Obama was presented to the temple of his American audience with the music of U2 laving the podium. If there was ever a band that yearns for a messiah, and surely struggles with a messianic impulse itself, it is U2.

Here is Howard Fineman (right now on MSNBC), editor of Newsweek, on Mr. Barack's announcement:

"This is an amazing story. It can't be repeated enough. ... At this point in our history ... this [isn't about just bringing America together], it is about bringing the world together."

And in light of Mr. Obama's multiculturalism, MSNBC's Chris Matthews said,

"To the world this must say, 'America is bigger than we thought.'"

I would point out that Mr. Obama's speech was very similar to an altar call at a Billy Graham tent-meeting: He called his followers to come forward, to follow their destiny, to come together as one people. And that he was hailed into the temple by people holding up his book -- The Audacity of Hope -- a book that looks a lot like a Pope's own volume, is a curiosity one cannot ignore.

He is indeed the savior the Democrats particularly have been praying about: At last, U2 has finally found what they are looking for.

Wow.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Two Annunciations: MSNBC Supports Barack Hussein Obama, And He Is Not Black (or so says someone)

In a matter of minutes from now (30 minutes), Barack Hussein Obama, the handsome and well-spoken senator from Illinois, shall officially announce his candidacy for President of the United States. Assisting him in this proclamation, and no doubt a supporter of his candidacy, is MSNBC, the cable network featuring such notable political wisemen as Tim Russert, Chris Matthews, and Keith Olbermann. My saying that MSNBC is assisting him is due entirely to the fact that MSNBC is hyping its "live coverage" of Mr. Obama's annunciation with undue alacrity at this moment: MSNBC is giddy about this man. Even Mr. Russert's words on an Imus in the Morning program, words replayed during Mr. Russert's testimony in court the other day -- in the Scooter Libby perjury trial -- are perfectly apt: It was "Christmas Eve" in the newsroom when Libby was indicted. No doubt it is Christmas morning today.

Alas, I have proven rather incompetent in my coverage of the Obama story. For I have not properly secured the facts, though, in this digital age of plastic facts, it is not likely that I could ever pin down any fact, for facts vanish in a flash-media second. But please note that on October 24, 2006, in an essay I wrote about Mr. Obama, I noted that his September 2005 essay posted on the Daily Kos, the influential, self-described leftist blog, had as a banner advertisement the following image:



Please note Mr. Obama's placement in this advertisement. Please note that this ad was present at Mr. Obama's Daily Kos essay months before Mr. Obama even announced his exploratory committee for the presidency. Please note that MSNBC not only placed an advertisement for itself on Mr. Obama's Daily Kos diary, but MSNBC placed Mr. Obama's image adjacent to President Bush's, suggesting, perhaps, that both men are in some sort of great struggle. To MSNBC, Obama is a contender, and this MONTHS before he was indeed a contender. Amazingly, MSNBC threw Mr. Obama's hat into the presidential ring before he had himself.

Or so it looks. Or so it feels.

Unfortunately, I only took a screen shot of the actual ad. I failed to take, and preserve, a screen shot of the ad on the actual Obama page. And as you can see, the ad has been removed from Mr. Obama's essay posted, as it was, on the world's largest blog, a blog entirely devoted to political and sociological liberalism.

But who cares, right? This is, after all, the deliverer we are talking about. The great hope. And in just a little less than an hour, there will be a star over the silent little town of Springfield, Illinois. You know, where Abraham Lincoln once lived.

This is all shaping up to be a perfect little fairy tale, the kind America just loves to tell itself.

MY SKIN IS CLEAR (I think)

Curiously related to all of this mythmaking, and jarring our senses, is this essay ("Colorblind") about Mr. Obama (and race in America in general). It is published on Salon. com, and it is written by a "black" woman, Debra J. Dickerson. Perhaps you saw Ms. Dickerson on "The Colbert Report" earlier this week (in a brilliant interview). Ms. Dickerson's thesis, in case you did not know, is that Mr. Obama is NOT BLACK. I kid you not. His mother, apparently, is a white woman from Kansas, while his dad is from Kenya. That Ms. Dickerson defines blackness in political terms is astonishing: to be black in America means, strictly, to be a direct descendant of former African slaves. During Ms. Dickerson's interview with the thoroughly enjoyable Mr. Colbert, she said that Mr. Obama would be better served if he defined himself -- and I am NOT MAKING THIS UP -- as an African African-American. But he is definitely NOT black.

That this woman, who wrote the book, The End of Blackness, is ruining the great idea of a man with dark skin announcing his presidency from Abraham Lincoln's hometown, you know, the town of that great president who clearly made the first great step for the emancipation of slaves so they could become -- eventually -- candidates for President, is a fact too interesting to let pass unnoticed.

But I ask you: if being black is a political-linguistic term denoting only those who are descendants of actual African slaves imported to America, does it NOT FOLLOW that "white" is equally political, denoting only those who have descended from white slaveholders who imported African slaves to America? I think it does. And if that is the case, then, since there were no slaveholders in my ancestral gene pool, I am not white.

There you go then.

I am not white, and Barack Obama, should he become president, will not be America's first black President.

Go figure.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

¶ Of The Day: Seeing Clearly Through The Radiant Gas

Today's ¶ Of the Day is really but a sentence. But it is a really good sentence.

In Tuesday's Wall Street Journal editorial, "Legal Hot Air" (2.6.07), which discusses, in part, California Attorney General Jerry Brown's intent to sue the auto industry for making cars (that spew greenhouse gases), the editors make this solid point about suing one part of the greenhouse gas-belching industry complex:

In short, there's scarcely any economic activity imaginable that doesn't somehow affect the balance of greenhouse gases, which is why a "nuisance" complaint against any single industry doesn't make sense. It's also why the judiciary has so far wisely refused to get drawn into this kind of game. ...

In any case, as global warming alarmists never tire of reminding us, any serious attempt to control greenhouse gas levels would have to be an international one. [emphasis added]

Amazingly, the Wall Street Journal does not -- apparently -- see what I see in this bold quote; I hope you at least see it, for it is buried right there before our eyes.

What is evident -- even if the most dire predictions of global warming are perfectly true -- is that global warming rhetoric is being used to foment discontent over the idea of separate nation states. In other words, what the WSJ has missed is that this is all about creating one great overseer, one great political monolith: Global warming is so dire we all must work together, now, under one set of rules, and under one enforcing body.

I am surprised I had not seen this before.

Perhaps I do not see as clearly as I believe I do. Of course I don't.

One.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
And all lefts.

¶ Of The Day: A Writer's Great Fear

Perhaps it was melancholy that made me read this passage from "The Encyclopedia of Philosophy" last night:

KAIBARA EKKEN (1630 - 1714), or Eiken, Japanese Confucianist influential in popularizing Confucian ethics among ordinary people. Kaibara was born in Fukuoka. ... Blessed with an extraordinary capacity for work but little originality, he wrote on many subjects. ... His books were a great success.

If it wasn't melancholy that led me to Mr. Kaibara Ekken, surely it was melancholy that led me away from him. As Confucius might say, "Man with much bottle but no genie still makes big wind." Or, perhaps, the Great Sage might say, "The artist who is without talent might still become Madonna."

I wonder what readers think Confucius, or the editors of the "Encyclopedia of Philosophy", might say about my legacy.

"If Gnade played football, he would hold press conferences like Peyton Manning, but only after having thrown the pigskin like Rex Grossman."

"Gnade is a bit like a solar eclipse: there is much passing excitement about a cold stone that gets in the way of sheer brilliance. But we're talking total eclipse all day long. It's more nuisance than magic. By the end of the day, we welcome the night sky with great joy."

Ah yes, but he who laughs at himself makes good friend. And very good lover. Or so says Confucius.

Somewhere.

Peace.

BG

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Bow Your Heads

(I've been away for a few days. 'Tis good to be back.)

George W. Bush, you'll recall, has often been chided for his associations with the "religious right". He has been mocked for admitting during the 2000 presidential campaign that his favorite political philosopher was Jesus Christ. He has been ridiculed for revealing that he prays every day that God would guide him to do the right thing; militant Bush critics even believe this revelation is tantamount to the Commander-in-Chief waging a holy war against Islam, all proof that Mr. Bush holds theocratic ambitions.

But darkness descends on the minds of too many men and women, blinded to the overwhelming fact that there is religion aplenty driving those who adhere to liberalism, or who work to transform the world into the image of the Democratic Party. Without question certain "believers" accept the grandiloquent damnations hurled at religious right activism; and without question they shut their minds to religious leftism and other forms of theocratic emanations.

Who is going to stand up to the great and swaggering behemoth which is the Democratic Party as it bowed its head in prayer the other day? Who is going to demand redress of great religious and ideological grievances brought upon Democrats for their unthinking connivance to appear tolerant, devout, and ever so peaceful?

If you have not already done so, please watch this video clip provided for us by HotAir.com of a Muslim imam invoking "god" at the Democratic National Committee's (DNC) Winter Meeting. It is enough to make one's prayer shawl crawl. It is enough to make one daven in disbelief; to genuflect in semi-conscious bewilderment.

Here is a transcript (thanks to Frontpagemag.com) of the whole prayer (the HotAir excerpt is too abridged):

In the name of God the most merciful, the most compassionate. We thank you, God, to bless us among your creations. We thank you, God, to make us as a great nation. We thank you God, to send us your messages through our father Abraham and Moses and Jesus and Muhammad. Through you, God, we unite. So guide us to the right path. The path of the people you bless, not the path of the people you doom. Help us God to liberate and fill this earth with justice and peace and love and equality. And help us to stop the war and violence, and oppression and occupation. Ameen. [Emphasis added]

I am sure we all would agree that it would be wrong for a President of the United States, the Chief Executive of a nation devoted to separation of powers, particularly the separation of Church and State; it would be wrong of that leader to invoke God's "perfect will" in declaring war against a neighbor, all in the name of Christ. Americans recoil at such religious vigor; they expect there to be a "wall of separation" between the State and its many churches.

But I am equally sure that we all must agree -- along with the deconstructionists among us -- that nowhere in the history of America has any founding document called for the erection of a wall between Mosque and State. For it appears, or so it seems, our friends in attendance at the DNC's meeting have no problem sharing the same podium with an imam invoking Allah to guide national affairs; the Mosque is our political friend. All facetiousness aside, we must (must we not?) be perplexed by the sudden Islamophilism of the DNC.

How interesting it is -- or am I wrong about this? -- that the DNC would be of nearly one mind that it is wrong for any leader to seek God's guidance in starting war, and yet it is somehow right for leaders to seek God's guidance in ending war. How interesting it is that the DNC would countenance a prayer by a man asking for exclusive privileges for a certain set of special people, the good people, and that there would be no such privileges on those God has kindly chosen to "doom." And how interesting it is that God should -- with the Democrats' help and Islam's fervent plea -- bring an end to "occupation" and procure "equality" for all.

Ahh, men.



PEACE.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Such A Sad World

I remember as a young student flipping through the pages of Paris-Match in the school library. Although I did not know a single word of French, I did know that certain photos would occasionally titillate the eyes of this reader. But besides the chance glance of some topless woman on some Mediterranean beach, there were shocking photos of graphic violence which did not titillate at all. I can even now see a series of images of an execution on some Arab or Saharan runway: a petty thief, I believe, was beheaded right next to a waiting airplane, as passengers, one shooting with a camera, watched in horror through lidless windows. The pool of blood that spread across the red sand/red clay runway continues to expand in my memory.

Then there is this story. Of course, we live in crazy times: those of us dwelling in the United States are familiar with such hate-filled violence. But this story comes from Jordan, and it reminds me of things I used to see in Paris-Match. The first paragraph says it all:

AMMAN, Jordan — A father shot dead his 17-year-old daughter, having suspected her of having sex, and surrendered to the police in the latest case of the so-called "honor killings" that have brought international opprobrium on Jordan. An autopsy found the girl to be a virgin.

A clash of civilizations, I am sure, that is not one bit civilized.

I've banged out a few hasty posts in the last 18 hours, so please take note. We're talking philosophy, ethics, pop-culture, politics, and even one simple milestone.

Peace.

Gnade

Friday's ¶ Of The Day

Today's ¶ (paragraph) Of The Day comes from the inimitable and duly controversial Princeton philosopher Peter Singer in his New York Times OP-ED, "A Convenient Truth," wherein is discussed the medical prevention of a mentally-impaired child's normal physical development:

"Here’s where things get philosophically interesting. We are always ready to find dignity in human beings, including those whose mental age will never exceed that of an infant, but we don’t attribute dignity to dogs or cats, though they clearly operate at a more advanced mental level than human infants. Just making that comparison provokes outrage in some quarters. But why should dignity always go together with species membership, no matter what the characteristics of the individual may be?"

My only response is that Mr. Singer must not love cats or dogs.

I will stipulate that I am the only person on the planet who loves cats and dogs, fishers and fish, raccoons and rascally rabbits. I will freely confess that I have often stopped and removed roadkill from busy highways; I recently dragged a dead fisher (wrongly called a "fisher cat") out of the road. And I usually do so with some sort of prayer: I even used to perform a hasty ceremony, and, in a poem on the matter, I referred to myself as a "sort of priest for the tired."

What Mr. Singer fails to see is that I dignify life all around me every day: I manage and prune trees in my yard; I sow and manage flowers in my field (I am reintroducing wild lupine destroyed by a neighbor); I feed birds and squirrels. In short, I dignify those creatures that seem to care nothing at all about dignity. In fact, I grant a dying dog or bleeding bird more dignity than it gives itself, or it receives from its own pack or flock. The dead coyote I found frozen in last year's melting snow, its eyes plucked out by turkey vultures, received a blessing from me in silence deep in the uncomprehending forest. Its pack might have even returned and scavenged on its frozen limbs.

I also do something else: I assume that nature loves being so dignified.

But most importantly, what Mr. Singer fails to see is that the impulse for dignity comes from humans alone. Though a few species do seem to care about their dead (elephants come to mind), or their living (meerkats are crazily attentive to their young), or their dying (Emperor penquins seem to care), it is humans who ceremonialize birth, life, and death. We are a ceremonious, ritualistic bunch; we desire and even expect dignity all around us. From births and birthdays, from christenings to baptisms to bar mitzvahs, to wakes and funerals and anniverseries to holidays, we honor and celebrate milestones with alacrity, and like no other species. Thus, as a mere species in Mr. Singer's philosophical reflections, we humans merit dignity because we ask for it and we give it; and we do not give it to those species who do not seem to care for it all (like great white sharks and Komodo dragons). In short, NOT dignifying other species is in fact to dignify them, for we are giving them exactly what they give themselves.

I grant that I may be personally out of whack for softly praying over dead animals, but I believe in the Christian idea that my sins (though not mine alone) have caused widespread suffering throughout the biosphere: All of creation groans for the redemption of God's children.

This is why we deserve dignity, and this is why some of us, unlike Mr. Singer, attempt to dignify every living and dying thing around us: today, no doubt, I may even rescue a spider from the tub. The spider will not know I have been kind, nor do I know whether my kindness will result in my wife being bitten by that cool spider's mandibles later in the day. What I do know is that there is something different about me, and about every human on the planet, if I but take one minute to study any other creature walking the earth.

God bless the family in question whose daughter is so desperately sick. May mercy and gladness of heart fill their days, and may God's will be done.

Peace.

BG

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

American Eidola

You can laugh at me if you want, but I cannot be overly ashamed of myself for watching American Idol last night. It's not like I watched the whole thing, nor is it like I've watched every show thus far. I did not, and I have not. But I did see a good chunk of last night's broadcast of auditions from New York City, and I must say that the Big Apple seemed quite sliced and cored.

My thoughts are varied and probably contradictory about the morality of presenting to the world people who clearly have psychological issues. But this is, lest we forget, America, the home of the free to be equal and the land of the politically correct; so to handicap anyone for being, well, handicapped, is to be both illiberal and harsh. At the core of America's great progressive mythology is the idea that anyone can be whatever they dream themselves to be; and much political debate is spent on arguing how such dreams are to be achieved. I confess I have little patience for all such theorizing and haggling over terms and ethics, for it all, eventually, seems to be so much theater no matter how it is sliced and diced, drawn and quartered.

Two things strike me as sad. First, that it would seem very likely that many contestants could easily be self-promoting saboteurs. While this may seem a crazy oxymoron, it is not: there are contestants who seek to make themselves known by making a mockery of the process, and the very show, itself. American Idol's success surely has inspired its detractors, both within the entertainment industry and the culture at large. I would not be surprised if Idol encounters all sorts of guerilla-types: those who would subvert the popularity of perceived pop-star idolatry, and those guerilla theater-types who have a political axe to grind. Surely there are the Julliard-type aspiring actors who need to play a role; why not a role as an Idol contestant? Surely there are the Sacha Baron Cohen wannabes who stay in character at all costs, begging for attention from their acting peers, their fellow protestors, their fellow iconoclasts. Are many of these personae even real, even genuine, that walk or flit through the doors to face Idol's well-known judges? At times the whole thing reeks of camp, and it reminds me of the millions of face-less, nameless bloggers parading around the internet pretending to be what they are not.

My innocence, I am sorry to say, regarding "reality" programming was finally shattered when I called into the popular NPR show, "Car Talk" several years ago. How naive I was to think the show was at all spontaneous. Find out for yourself by calling 1-800-Car-Talk; the spontaneity is sheer artifice. You think those guys are brilliant diagnosticians when it comes to cars? Think again. The show is built on your phone call to an automated system wherein you provide the details of your car, its apparent problem, along with your home phone number and a convenient time for them to call. In other words, your problem is researched days, perhaps weeks, in advance.

That American Idol is nonetheless a worthy myth with doses of reality is completely satisfactory. It is, after all, a show meant to entertain.

But the saddest thing is not that Idol is a myth. What is sad is that another network (I will not mention which one, but you can guess: For you satellite TV customers, it's the network just two doors down from Fox News), has taken to the tawdriest form of journalism. Two different "news-based shows," both hosted by middle-aged men in ties, tonight had segments on American Idol. Both segments were all about denigration. And both segments were clearly born of jealousy and were meant to steal viewership -- and important ad revenues -- from a very successful and overall mostly harmless show (more on this some other time). In fact, I have seen several news segments over the last few months on said network in which Fox News, or some Fox personality, is the featured fodder for fun: even one particular commentator seems quite inexplicably obsessed with Bill O'Reilly. What we are witnessing in such TV programming is not the creation of superior art that trumps less successful fare; we are not witnessing a better team beat its opponent. What we are seeing is the talk-news, talk-TV equivalent of mere trash talk, of merely talking smack. One network in particular seems predisposed towards this sort of thing, and it is clear it is not Fox.

But forgive me for sounding like a shill for Fox and its news outlet. I am hardly that. But I am paying attention, and what I see is quite sad all around. But the saddest thing -- and it is even a little creepy -- is that other networks are doing stories about another network's shows. It is a sign of the times, Orwellian in language and Randian in import.

The have-nots want to steal from the haves, and the egalitarians are squealing.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

¶ Of The Day

A new Contratimes feature? Maybe. But today I submit the first ever Paragraph, or ¶, of the Day.

Check this out from today's Washington Post editorial, "Congress's Iraq Quagmire":

ON TUESDAY nearly every member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee warmly endorsed Lt. Gen. David H. Petraeus, the new U.S. commander in Iraq, and a number wished him success or "Godspeed" in his mission. Yesterday some of the same senators voted for a resolution that opposes the increase of troops for Gen. Petraeus's command -- even though the general testified that he could not accomplish his mission without the additional forces and hinted that such a resolution could encourage the enemy. Such is the muddle of Congress on Iraq: A majority may soon go on record opposing the new offensive in Baghdad even while encouraging the commander who leads it. [Emphasis added solely to incite incredulity everywhere]

Such fun!

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Post 400: A Simple Milestone

Zebras have stripes and leopards have spots. I, on the other hand, have no obvious marks, save two: this is the first time I've begun a post with the letter Z, and this is the 400th time I've had such a chance. It is not much of a milestone, I know, but I am anagramatically a bit like a leopard: that fast feline might have 400 spots, but I have 400 posts.

Curiously, all my posts are so many spots, rendering me nearly invisible in the big world-wide web of cyberlife.

When I began this site in April 2005, I had no idea where I was heading. 400 posts later, I still have no idea; I just keep stroking keys like a crazy chimp hoping that something makes sense. It all reminds me of the little drawings I'd do before I could read or write: I'd crayon little curly wisps suggestive of clouds over a horizon, or smoke billowing from a chimney, and then rush into the kitchen, asking my mother, "Are these words? Am I writing?" I have come a long way since then, no doubt, but I still find myself doodling vapors on paper.

In July of 2005, I believe, I added a stat counter to chart my failures and successes as a blogger. I can think of a handful of critical times in my life when humility was handed to me on a platter; I can think of a few times such lessons left me thinking my head was on that salver. Seeing how few people read one's blog is truly a humbling revelation, and it is utterly life-saving: there is nothing like knowing one's place. But I can at least feel a little pride knowing that without marketing myself at all (I VERY rarely tell people I blog), I have been blessed to have had nearly 20,000 unique visitors come here. Many of them, I am glad to report, return. And a few even become my friends.

I can't remember off-hand when I signed up with Technorati, a blog listing service (among other things) available for free. I do recall that when I first found my Technorati blog-ranking -- somewhere around 335,000 -- I was mildly down-hearted until a Contratimes reader informed me that my station was set against some 55 million listed blogs. Since then this blog has reached its best rating around 37, 5oo; but in recent months I've slipped dramatically. Today, Contratimes is ranked 103,734. I am nose-diving without the slightest understanding how it is I've come to hurl myself headlong into a bay of noses. But I hold onto some small hope that all this will make sense in the end, and that I will find my own nose somewhere in the process.

Many thanks to all of you who have visited. I am especially grateful to all of you who have left a comment, or two, or ten. Thanks. And this goes to those of you who have felt it necessary to set me straight with language that was anything but gentle. Though only a few of you fall into this category, I am grateful nonetheless that you felt comfortable enough to give me a piece of your mind (especially when it was the very last piece I wanted). The most insulting and assaulting personalities, I am glad to report, are not making rounds here, but elsewhere: I am much more likely to get scalded in some other cyber-territory. But perhaps that is why I need the stripes of the zebra and the speedy spots of the leopard. One needs to survive, after all.

Thanks for the kindness.

Peace.

BG

PS. I believe this is not the first time I've posted here at Contratimes the photograph above, but I can't recall where or when. Sorry if you find it at all redundant. But I like it for its sense of transcience, its sense of fragility and time, and for its varied stripes. (In case you're wondering, the photograph was taken in North Eastham, on the glorious Cape Cod, along the bay, just north of Campground Beach.)

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Jamie Glazov & Dinesh D'Souza On Islam, 9/11, And The Radical Left (Updated)

We all hear a lot about "dialogue" and "debate"; about talking together through difficult issues. Currently we are hearing this sort of rhetoric coming from the "new" US Congress; some of us Episcopalians in New Hampshire are STILL waiting for the great dialogue promised three years ago by our controversial bishop.

I must say that the sort of dialogue exemplified between Jamie Glazov and Dinesh D'Souza in their two-part conversation at FrontPageMag is reassuring and inspiring: here are two thinkers, conservative and academic, who disagree profoundly. And yet there is a gentlemanly quailty that prevails throughout; and there is no shortage of interesting parries and thrusts. Both men score points; and I give the win to Mr. Glazov. Part of that small victory, unfortunately, comes as a result of Mr. Glazov slipping into a monologue for which, it appears, Mr. D'Souza is absent. But that hardly matters, since Glazov is amazing on his own.

This really is an excellent series. Take time to read it if you are at all interested in Mr. D'Souza's thesis that it is American liberalism, the radical leftist sort, that led to 9/11 and America's current standoff with Islam. Mr. Glazov issues a very serious and compelling challenge; Mr. D'Souza makes a few worthy rebuffs. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 is found here. From Abu Ghraib to sexual immorality, from Moses to Muhammed, this series offers key insights.

And make sure you take time to read Mr. David Forsmark's challenging review of Mr. D'Souza's new book, The Enemy at Home: The Cultural Left And Its Responsibility For 9/11.

Peace.

BG

Dear Andy Warhol: You've Got The Wrong Can

After much searching of soul, mind, and heart, I have finally understood why I will never be recognized as a great visual artist. I am too thin.

Not long ago, Luke Buckham and I (see comments thread) speculated on what conditions would need to be met to criminalize the eating of meat. Perhaps both of us should have turned to PETA for help; I turned to the problem of global warming for some assistance, but the payoff was so much gas.

Now comes THIS brilliant work of creativity, this burst of genius, to make me doubt NOT whether eating meat should be criminalized, but whether I shall ever eat a meatball again.

Remember, you can't be a cannibal if you are eating art. And Andy Warhol should have realized that art is NOT in a Campbell's soup can; it's in the artist's own can. In other words, art is not on the vanguard; it's very much a rear-guard kind of thing.

At last, for once I can say that a work of art is not solely abominable; it is also abdominal.

Here's real art: Me sticking my middle finger down my throat. Now, that's genius.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2o07/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

More Awards; The Empty Keg Award For Story Of The Year, 2006

In keeping with my promise that I shall list my awards for best and worst of 2006 (categories determined on a whim), I would like to announce the winner of the monumental -- and very first -- 2006 Empty Keg Award for Story of the Year. It is a simple award, and it is thoroughly a disappointing one. After all, what could be more disappointing than an empty keg?

Sadly, I have no idea to whom I should give this fine honor. For it has two distinct winners, and yet both stand at opposite ends of the story. On the one end is the main stream media in America (and its European counterpart), while on the other is the Bush Administration. The former deserves accolades for wresting away and gaining control of the most important story of our time; and the latter deserves the award for letting the media get away with it. The story? Well, that is simple: The story is the genesis of the Iraq Conflict. And the Empty Keg goes to all those who repackaged history, who accepted that history, and permitted that history to become normative. Just read this clip from a recent CBS News/60 Minutes interview with President George W. Bush (the president was interviewed by reporter Scott Pelley at Camp David):

PELLEY: You know better than I do that many Americans feel that your administration has not been straight with the country, has not been honest. To those people you say what?

BUSH: On what issue?

PELLEY: Well, sir . . .

BUSH: Like the weapons of mass destruction?

PELLEY: No weapons of mass destruction.

BUSH: Yeah.

PELLEY: No credible connection between 9/11 and Iraq.

BUSH: Yeah.

PELLEY: The Office of Management and Budget said this war would cost somewhere between $50 billion and $60 billion and now we're over 400.

BUSH: I gotcha. I gotcha. I gotcha.

The sentence in bold is highlighted as a perfect exemplar of the Great Revision. To which, incredibly, the president says, "Yeah."

For sheer fun, for the jolly folly of it all, let me remind readers that A) there was not one minute from 1991 to March 2003 that the United States was not in military conflict with Iraq; B) that President Bill Clinton received during his term in office news of a fatwa - drafted by Osama bin Laden in 1998 - which called for death to Americans everywhere; C) that the fatwa placed America's continued oppression -- directed by President Clinton -- of Iraq and the Iraqi people as the primary reason Americans should be killed; D) that in 1998 President Bill Clinton signed into law the Iraq Liberation Act calling for "regime change" in that tired country; E) and that the United States was attacked by Osama bin Laden in 2001 as a direct result of its bellicose posture towards Iraq (throughout the 1990's, the Clinton Administration bombed Iraq nearly every other day).

Thus, two things: The Iraq/September 11 connection is a causal one; and is so utterly credible it is incredible that anyone could be ignorant of this fact; and secondly, it is despicable that these historic facts have been permitted to drift into oblivion by the press and the president. And these are not the only facts in the case!

Nevertheless, because we at Contratimes have been wide-eyed and unblinking as we watched propaganda attain the status of absolute truth, we can with clarity of mind and soul pronounce that the 2006 Empty Keg Award for Story of the Year is well-deserved by many who walk this planet. I think the Empty Keg Award should be passed around like the Stanley Cup: first, it should go to the editorial offices of the New York Times, then to Keith Olbermann, and then to the White House. And I am sure Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi and Howard Dean will want to share it with their many fellow revisionists.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

For some further commentary regarding Iraq, 9/11, and the 9/11 Commission Report, go here. Then there is my incomparable "Adam and Eve Must Have Been Neo-Cons."

A Newbie Attitude

It is a very messianic thing to be. One might wonder whether any deliverer would dare to be anything but; for to be something other than a bridge-builder -- a uniter -- is to be something less than a messiah. Messiahs bring people together; they are conciliatory, appeasing; they understand compromise and concession.

But this is not the least a messiah can do. A messiah can also reveal his or her salvific message once every four years or so, at least in America. He (or she) can remind us all -- once again -- what life can truly become -- if we but believe, if we but thrill in the audacity of hope.

Barack Hussein Obama has lifted his head from his pillow and in the silence of the night, he has heard a call, a voice, the voice of the people; and he has responded. His message? He wishes to bring together that which has been torn asunder; to mend the torn veil; to build on those things which unite rather than divide. In other words, he wants to deliver a message of hope, of optimism in the power of the human will when it works in collective concert. Mr. Obama believes that it is not the enormity of the issues before us, but the smallness of our politics in addressing those issues that has failed us all. Such issues can be rendered small, no doubt, by a politics that is larger than anyone has heretofore dreamed possible. It is all about a brighter vision in a darkness deceptively dark: things are not as black as they seem. Nor are they as white. For such simple distinctions betray us when confronting dire challenges: our tried yet failed policies based on categories of good and evil, light and dark, black and white, north and south, have proven themselves tired, myopic, weak; senescent.

And now, in the juvenescence of the year, in the season of Janus (the two-faced deity that guards against war), Barack Obama is a great light in the deep and lonely solstice of Northern Hemispheric politics. He is the newcomer with the right attitude, speaking new beatitudes. His name means blessed. He brings a message.

Two things, really. First, the message Mr. Obama brings is utterly old and not the least bit spry or sprightly. It is what we have heard in the United States from leaders ad infinitum: we have long been given empty promises that there shall be no more empty promises. We are promised an end to partisan bickering, to gridlock, to more of the same. We are promised the "setting of a new tone in Washington," of "forging a new direction for America," of coming together to "take America back" and building anew a "government for the people by the people." We are promised an end to rancor and discord; we are promised unity in a United States on the threshold of disunion. It is time to cease the fearmongering, the backbiting; the good-old-boy backroom favoritism; the special interest plundering of American goodwill and industriousness.

In short, we have heard all of this before, said the same way, at the same time of year, and even for the same reasons.

But what we have not heard enough is that a real messiah -- perfectly presented in the Christ of the Christian faith -- is the only religious figure in history who built a religion on the self-revelation that He came to divide, not unite; to separate, not combine; to winnow out, and not to blend; to cleave asunder and not to mend. Jesus the Christ is indeed exactly the sort of politician we need to hear from, though not on the airwaves or from the podium, or on the breakfast news shows or a podcast from the Jesus 2008 website. We need to hear from Him in our hearts, if for no other reason than to stop this insanity.

The messiah has already come, and He will come again. But He is not a politician from Illinois, or a president from South Africa, or a megalomaniac from Venezuela. He is not a man with a gun, nor is a he man with a Texas swagger. Nor is he a man with a soft, bipartisan voice.

"I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. ... The poor you shall always have with you. ... I have come to set brother against sister. ... You have no part in me unless ..." This is what a deliverer says; these are the words of a real leader, a real revolutionary. He does not coddle his base, or stroke the hair of those eager to pronounce him god.

Just a few thoughts in this season of Hosanna Politics.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Replay: Celebrating The Forgotten Martin Luther King

[This essay first appeared here on January 16, 2006]

I don't really care what anyone thinks about the following statement, so I say it without hesitation: The 1960's in America were pretty sick years. I have no nostalgia for them; no awe of their alleged liberation or romance for their upheaval, no glee over the sexual and drug revolutions. I stand in protest of the 1960's and their legacy.

And one salient feature of the illness of the 1960's was the shocking death of Martin Luther King Jr. It is not shocking in that it was unexpected, for even Dr. King anticipated it, I believe, in his very final speech. It was shocking in that it was emblematic of truly profound social conflicts that marred that decade, perhaps the most vulgar and violent one, in America's history. Dr. King, after all, was a pacifist in a tumultuous and vicious fight for equality among the races. That his death, his martyrdom, may have spurred Americans toward a more just and kind world is disconcerting, as death should not be required for what seems intuitively to be a simple lesson: All men are created equal.

Of course, as a man bent toward the philosophical, I ask myself whether it is indeed true that all men are created equal. Is it? If we are strict Darwinists, if we are secularists without appeal to God or some transcendent force responsible for mankind's existence and equality, then we must concede that equality is not an ontological (metaphysical) reality. Evolution, in its dynamic "natural selection" process, abhors equality, as disparate species fight and morph for dominance and survival, with nary a hint of egalitarianism. To the secular mind "equality" must be a religious fiction created by that secularism, for there is nothing in the entire cosmos that even resembles "equality." As I've stated elsewhere, including here at Contratimes, neither "equality" nor "rights" exist in any place other than the faith-based imagination of secularists.

Unless, of course, there really is a God. Then one can indeed talk, not only of "equality" but of "rights" as well, rights rooted in the imago dei, the image of God. And that is why the concepts of "rights" and "equality" are rooted in theological language in the founding documents of America. If there is no God, there is no equality and no rights, except in that fictive realm wherein the secular mind places them. If there is a God, there is at least the potential for there to be real qualities to equality and rights; a real, ontological quality.

Of course, the philosopher in me also sees this astounding problem: If there is indeed a God, then only humans are equal one to another, for God surely is not equal to His creation. In short, a world wherein God exists is hierarchical, with God sitting in the highest seat. With that said, it is no wonder secularists abhor a theological structure for social governance, as God confounds their love of absolute equality.

While today we celebrate the memory of Martin Luther King, I would like to celebrate what is absolutely forgotten about Martin Luther King. And what is forgotten is that Dr. King held no expertise in social or political scheming; he was not trained to be a rebel or a revolutionary. No, Dr. King was first and foremost a Christian theologian and ordained minister. Sadly, in most celebrations of his life, these seem to be the first things that are forgotten about him. I wonder, how would this make him feel?

Today is really a religious holiday, but you wouldn't know it. It is a holiday celebrating the liberating power of the Gospel, the very power that liberated a young Martin King when he first attended church, and when he first attended college. It is a day, not of civil rights, but of the power of love and justice and this wild notion that God loves ALL MEN EQUALLY, which manifests itself in justice and truth in the Christian Savior walking the streets offering a message of hope to the oppressed and harassed: those persecuted by the powerful; those harassed by the terrors of their own sins. It is right to be civil, and it is civil to be right; but neither truth means anything without the civilizing and righteous power of the Christian God who calls all men and women unto Him: that neither Greek nor Jew, neither slave nor free; neither man nor woman nor black nor white, are to be excluded from His banquet hall. This is not unconditional universalism, but that universalism with a caveat: that all invited guests must first accept the invitation, shedding their filthy clothes for the formal clothes that come as a result of God's sacrifice, with all men and all women attired in the grace of God's forgiveness. Those who refuse the invitation, or the forgiveness, remain, freely, outside to dine alone. The maître d' bids them Bon appetit! if they would just humble themselves and accept their reservations.

But this great day is for me in many ways a day of sorrow, for the great man Dr. Martin Luther King is cheapened, gutted and reduced to something other than he was, for he was not a secular member of the vanguard; his power was not intrinsic to him; his cause was a cause that has nothing, ultimately, to do with him at all. For it is God's cause, and Dr. King knew that, and he embraced that powerful fact. How sorrowful that our schools and culture want to forget what ultimately made Dr. King a great man.†

For me, Dr. King represents the fight to keep the cardinal virtues together in harmonic balance. G. K. Chesterton argued that the Protestant Reformation smashed the union of the cardinal virtues, causing them to run amok, befouling the earth with their zeal. Just think of love, hope, faith, justice, prudence, temperance and fortitude helter-skelter on the earth, unbound from each other. Justice untethered becomes a church or legal fund or race riot insisting on its own verdicts, neglecting the temperance which is mercy. Temperance alone turns into flagellation and legalism. Prudence in isolation turns into the idolatry of caution, dreading the imperfect choice. Love runs to and fro without the truth of justice or the restraint of self-control, and blindly affirms acts and deeds that true love, in balance, would not countenance or so casually condone. Today, I can hear Dr. King call for the orthodoxy which holds all of these virtues together, the orthodoxy of Christ. It is this part of Dr. King's message that I remember today with sadness, for it is the part of his message and his life that is forgotten.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

†There are those who don't think Dr. King was a great man, but I think otherwise. His peccadilloes, his sins, do indeed count against him. But all of us have these charges against us. What made him great is that he held to his convictions without being paralyzed by the fact that he was a man of imperfections. Too many of us permit our imperfections to sway us from our course. We fall prey to one of the greatest social evils, which is the fixation on the purity of the messenger rather than on the accuracy of the message. It is the "Who are you?" fallacy. It is the devil's line of discredit.

American Moral Imperialism, And Its Western Allies

Only a fool would try to impose democracy on a backward nation. Only a dunce would attempt to impose Western democratic values on a country steeped in tribal strife. Only idiots would think a place like Iraq could ever be Westernized, even civilized.

But apparently it is sagacious to expect that an Iraqi criminal justice system executes its convicts humanely; it is couth and cool to demand that Iraq accepts that even the death penalty is barbarism.

Oh, the tedium of it all. America is grotesque for attempting to Westernize Iraq; while America's many critics laud themselves for attempting to Westernize Iraq. Once again, I am dulled by paradox. But something an Army major told me only days ago gives me some bearing in the whirling, conflicting rhetoric tossing so many of us to and fro. I will speak of that in a moment.

It is clear that the videotape of Saddam Hussein's hanging makes many of us squirm. The cold and impersonal gallows (the very ones Hussein used to execute prisoners); the chatty guards; the informality and undignified quality of it all; all of these combined to make Western observers faint. "Death with dignity" was not merely tossed aside, it appeared to many observers that Iraqis lack such a moral category.

Ever quick with voice and pen, Western human rights groups swiftly charged that Hussein's hanging was a "war crime." Italy, no doubt influenced by the enclave of the Holy See within its borders, called such violence barbaric, a charge that might be entirely true. But what is striking is that such rhetoric comes from people dripping with Western, even Christian values. These are critics quick to proclaim Iraq a lost cause spiralling into civil, tribal war; a place where Western values cannot be imposed; a place where such values might not ever even simply evolve. And yet Iraq should be more squeamish, less violent; in short, Iraqis should behave like Parisians, Londoners, and San Franciscans.

But lost on too many is the glaring fact that Iraq elected a government, forged a constitution, constructed a judiciary, and held a lengthy trial against Mr. Hussein. True barbarism would not have tolerated this for one second; barbarians would have lopped Mr. Hussein's head -- and perhaps other extremities -- from his body within hours of his capture. Instead, Iraq showed a restraint not often seen in that country for decades; and for this they are rebuked by the morally superior consciences of Europe, Washington, Manhattan.

While enjoying a bonfire at a party two nights before Christmas, I had a conversation with an Army major who had fought in Baghdad during its liberation in 2003. When US military personnel were working security in that city, the major revealed, Iraqis would be caught attempting to steal gas.

"We would take their gas cans and punch holes all through them," the major told me. "We'd tell them that they'd all get gas and there was no need to steal, and then we'd send them on their way. The Iraqis saw us as weak for doing this; but Americans would see this as a sign of strength. But it wasn't strong to the Iraqis at all. They would respect us if we had beaten them for stealing; but then, if we did that, we'd have their respect but not the respect of the people here in the United States. So we were constantly battling between whether we wanted the Iraqis to respect us, or the Americans."

Telling stuff, indeed. What is moral to American and Western sensibilities may be seen as immoral in Iraq; our strength is to them nothing but moral weakness. Moral authority that is couched in grace is not one whit authoritative to many in the Muslim world, or so suggests my friend the major.

But what astonishes me most in all of this is how aggressively the critics of "American imperialism" attempt to export American morality. It is its own form of imperialism. Curiously, either they do not see it as such, or they do not care to see it as such.

I guess it all matters on doing whatever is opposite of George W. Bush and his minions, dunces that they are.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

2007's Early Nominee: Senator Harry Reid

Since I began this day announcing the inaugural Contratimes annual awards (I shall be naming a few 2006 winners over the following days), I can't resist nominating US Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-NV, for the 2007 Soggy Turnip for Obscene Doublespeak. Please carefully read below what Mr. Reid said yesterday from the podium on the US Senate Floor. The context for these fine remarks is President Bush's apparently new plan for the Battle for Iraq; Democratic leaders have nearly unanimously rejected the President's plan for -- among other things -- increased troop levels in Iraq, while a few Republicans have expressed their own doubts. And both Democratic majorities in Congress are discussing whether they should not fund Bush's plan altogether.

Here is Mr. Reid's amazing articulation (the full statement is printed here):

"I will not prejudice the outcome of the vote on the President's plan, but I will say this: Putting more U.S. combat forces in the middle of an Iraqi civil war is a mistake."

There are mindbogglers, and then there are true mindbogglers. Though his entire statement is a criticism of President Bush's plan, Mr. Reid is nevertheless able to convince himself that he is not attempting to prejudice his colleagues: In fantasyland, he would never think of prejudicing anyone within earshot. George Orwell could not have written a more curious few lines. Perhaps I will consider Mr. Reid for the 1984 Soggy Turnip Award in Orwell's honor.

To think, George W. Bush can mangle a word or two and still make sense, and then be derided for his imperfect oratory; while Mr. Reid can speak with perfect eloquence and yet make no sense at all. It will be a cold day in hell before the popular press takes note of Mr. Reid's nonsense.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Winning High Honors: Let The Awards Begin #1

Today marks the inaugural Contratimes awards celebration. It will be a quirky celebration; there might be nothing at all suggestive of consistency or decorum or excellence. Perhaps the awards will even wallow in mediocrity. Maybe I will fête the fetid and turn a blind eye and deaf ear to the truly glorious. I do not know, for this is all much more whimsical than it is analytical. I choose from the gut; I intuit rather than reason my way to these finalists: my viscera is far more active here than my cerebrum. And surely my vision will be sorely limited, as I can only see so far.

Note that I shall recognize the winners over a period of days.

At the end of 2006, I heard a radio personality calling out for listeners' nominees for "Jerk of the Year" awards. I found the category thoroughly cruel. And I did not wait to hear what listeners offered as viable winners. But if I choose to ignore "Jerk of the Year" categories, can I at least have something pejorative? How about "The Most Misplaced Scoffers of the Year"? How about the "We Are So Smart We're Dumb" award for 2006? Are these too harsh?

Well, for 2006, the winners -- because we can't name just one -- of the Soggy Turnip Award for Grotesque Prejudice belongs to those folks who don't know English as well as they might claim. These folks have even managed to create a small industry around their colossal ignorance, and they are totally blind to the irony of their actions.

You see, in mid-April 2006, President George W. Bush said the following during a press conference (read CNN's aptly titled article here):

"I hear the voices, and I read the front page, and I know the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what is best. And what's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense." [emphasis added]

One would think that President Bush might be derided for admitting that he hears voices. Alas, if it only were that easy. But rather than leaping on the President for his clairvoyance, critics leapt on his much greater offense: He used the word, "decider." Immediately the scoffers raised their voices, and the great thinkers among us set out to prove to the world -- once again -- that Bush was an aphasiac, anomic idiot. Bloggers' fingers were set to typing damnation with great speed; and T-Shirt makers and peddlers of bumper stickers hawked their wares: "I'm The Decider!" almost became a Democratic Party slogan. Not a few voters in this area of New Hampshire had their bumper stickers placed 'just so' in time for the November elections; and even an online linguist analyzed Mr. Bush's anomia, finding Bush's "locution" inexplicably bizarre (and the linguist never notes the following fact).

Of course, reality is glorious: "decider," in case you did not know, is a thoroughly normal English word. In fact, its first known literary usage dates back to 1593, or so reports the Oxford English Dictionary. It is not one whit aberrant, nor did President Bush use it in an odd way. I readily admit that it sounded odd, but that has everything to do with frequency rather than diction or syntax. We all hear new words every day: some are used correctly, others are not. Rarely is a word invented; and even words that are used correctly can sound strange in certain contexts. But "decider" is not even close to being anachronistic, since I can instantly find it in the 2004 dictionary installed on this fine computer.

Hence, the Soggy Turnip for Grotesque Prejudice goes to all those intellectuals out there who did not know that "decider" is as common a word as chooser, picker, and pedantic.

(For a more complete essay on my thoughts regarding sundry Bushisms, see "The Seinfeld Administration".)

Peace, somewhere, if but for a moment.

(PS. Please see the first comment in the comments thread below. Thanks. BG)

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Like The Earth Underfoot, Values Divide

Prologue

Episcopal priest and former US senator John Danforth (R - MO) is interviewed by Will Sullivan in this week's issue of US News & World Reports. The Q & A is tellingly titled, "The Values Divide." Indeed, they do. For Mr. Danforth strings together some of the most disheartening -- and empty -- thoughts I have seen in a long time; it is a wonder he has a book published at all (the occasion for the interview). But more importantly it is a wonder he is taken seriously as an Episcopalian, since his theology is utterly naive. And I am not suggesting a naivete reminiscent of child-like faith. I am talking naivete that is ignorant of its own heresies.

I urge readers to read the full text, which can be found at this link. It is a prerequisite for what follows.
_____________________

One could choose to address a myriad of problems -- cultural, political, philosophical and religious -- with Mr. Danforth's comments, but I shall ignore them for what I believe to be the most salient absurdity posited by Mr. Danforth. This is not a foray -- though it could be -- into the contentious and divisive 2003 election of V. Gene Robinson to shepherd the diocese of New Hampshire. That event is no doubt relevant; it is indeed the backdrop for Mr. Danforth's interview (and his book).

When asked what The Episcopal Church (TEC hereafter) should do to bring back the many (though Danforth believes it is only a few) people who have left TEC, Danforth gives us this stupifying answer:

I think to emphasize that we are traditionally a broad church and this has been our glory. I think a lot of people would say, well, the Episcopal Church is wishy-washy, that it doesn't really stand for anything. I think we stand for a lot. I think we stand for the idea that God cannot be encapsulated in our perceptions or in our views of political issues or social issues. It's saying that God is bigger than all these issues and bigger than any of our factions, and the church is big enough to include everything. [emphasis added]

Fortunately, we are spared Danforth's full list of what might be included in his generous use of the word, everything. But we know no such list is even necessary: listing everything is as futile as dividing infinity. Everything is, well, everything, and it is impossible to find any worth in adumbrating the extension of the word: The church, reflecting the glory of God's inestimable bigness, has no rooms, no partitions. It bids welcome to everyone -- and every thing -- without distinction. After all, to distinguish or define is to be small-minded, factious: If God is big enough to include everything, well, let us fall prostrate in adoration of his hospitality.

One wonders if Mr. Danforth is at all sentient of the glaring fact that he has contradicted himself. If his proposition that "God cannot be encapsulated in our perceptions" is indeed meant as something other than a mere theological jest; if it is meant as a premise to Mr. Danforth's argument, then it must be noted that Mr. Danforth has indeed encapsulated God in his perceptions. To Mr. Danforth, God is BIG, really big. So big, in fact, that we should just submit (islam?) to the overwhelming wonders of God's mighty size in blissful nonjudgmentalism.

The pantheism of Mr. Danforth's theology is utterly clear. We see without the slightest obscurity what this all means: God is everything -- at least everything wonderful (which is a vapid tautology). But we also see the inevitable inverse of all of this: If God is everything, he is nothing. It's analogous to a Christmas morning when a child looks with shock as his father announces that he has not given his child a single gift, he has instead given him everything: "My son, there is a bow and ribbon on the whole universe!" It also calls to mind the great Steven Wright quip: "I have the world's largest seashell collection -- I have it scattered all over the beaches of the world." In other words, Mr. Wright has no seashell collection; and the little boy sits Christmas morning without a single gift to open. Mr. Wright doesn't love seashells enough to collect any for his pocket; the father of the little boy does not love him enough to make a distinction between nothing and just one thing, one gift that is set apart, distinct, chosen and shaped specifically for his little child's delight on Christmas Day.

Perhaps I misread Mr. Danforth's expansive theological statement. But I don't think I do. "Everything" can fit into the church, which is exactly why the church is increasingly empty. Mr. Danforth's God is as big as Allah, as undistinct as Buddhism's nirvana, as permissive as the cult of Bacchus, and nearly as much nothing as the atheist's void. Truly we can define this apparently Episcopalian theology as universalistic and tolerant; as syncretistic and postmodern. We might even call this idea of God authentic and accessible and "inclusive." But the one thing we can't call it is Christian. To do so would be factious -- and small.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Episcopalianism

The Grand Vacuity

To my American readers:

Have you, fellow citizen, been waiting 200 years for anything? I think not. But what about America? Has it been waiting for some incredible event for over 200 years? Apparently it has been waiting, even chafing at the bit, for one very important thing: the ascendancy of a woman to the position of Speaker of the House.

Of course, I use the word ascendancy with a wink to irony, for to be Speaker of the House may indeed be a descendancy: these allegedly lofty posts supporting the dome of human ambition may actually be dehumanizing idols that mean, ultimately, nothing. To be priest or president, king or queen, may be the least humanizing and wondrous roles on the planet. But I digress.

America yesterday apparently made history. In the United States House of Representatives, a U.S. citizen who also happens to be a woman, was given a gavel, a chair, a title, and the keys to a new house. For 2oo years America has been waiting for Nancy Pelosi to become the first woman to speak in that esteemed house -- with authority and control and dominance.

According to this morning's New York Times, Ms. Pelosi had this to say about her elevation:

“This is an historic moment ... It’s an historic moment for the Congress. It’s an historic moment for the women of America. It is a moment for which we have waited for over 200 years.” [emphasis added]

I wonder if there are any women in America who might disagree with Madame Speaker. I am sure there are not a few. It would be fun to hear from them. But one also wonders where this sudden ebullience over feminism's success comes from. Has there, for instance, been a longstanding movement afoot to have a woman Speaker of the House? And even if there was, is this really that terribly historic? We have women CEOs and women astronauts; we have women university presidents and women surgeons general; we have women attorneys general and women presidential candidates. We have had two women secretraries of state, Madeleine Albright and Condoleezza Rice. OK. So a woman holds a gavel in a house of Congress. Should I care? Should I care as much as Representative Loretta Sanchez, D-CA, who said she voted for Ms. Pelosi “for the empowerment of all women in the world”? (Wow, Ms. Sanchez.) Even Ms. Pelosi spoke of equality with some hyperbole (as reported by the Victoria Advocate), declaring, "By electing me speaker, you have brought us closer to the ideal of equality that is America's heritage and hope. For our daughters and granddaughters, today we have broken the marble ceiling." (Wasn't that ceiling really broken years ago?)

Specifically, should I care about all this if men and women are equal? Are they? How so? If men and women are indeed equal, then why do I care if a woman is Speaker of the House, for is not a woman speaker equal to a male speaker? Moreover, even if I accept that men have far too long forged laws which affect women -- with nary a sense of what women need or want -- how is it any historic gain whatsoever to have a woman forge laws which affect men with nary a sense of what men need or want?

Of course, I am merely having fun here poking at certain American sacred cows. I am grateful that women have found "higher" stations in life. But there is a problem intrinsic to the language we use about equality that peeves me a bit, with such peevishness described more fully in my essay on equality and the former president of Harvard, Larry Summers, posted in 2005.

Other thoughts on yesterday's historic turnings:

• The New York Times' headline today could not be more apt: Jubilant Democrats Assume Control on Capitol Hill. Emphasis, of course, on the word assume.
• Democrat Harry Reid, the new Senate majority leader, said (according to The New York Times), “Guided by the spirit of bipartisanship, Democrats are ready to take this country in a new direction.” The final roll call for the Pelosi-for-Speaker vote in the House? "233 to 202, the 31-seat margin of the new Democratic majority," or so reports the NYT. So much for bipartisan cooperation.
  
• Since the Democrats "assumed" control of America's destiny, one American soldier has been killed in Iraq. I shall keep count from here on in, since it is clear any death on the Democrats' watch is their fault, no? Don't hold your breath counting on these folks to resolve the Iraq conflict any time soon. They would rather raise minimum wage than lower the death count. Apparently they are concerned our soldiers are not getting paid sufficiently.

Lastly, I am reluctant to ask Mr. Reid if he believes that the "new direction" in which he plans to take America is distinguishable from the old one.

Peace.

PS. What is Ms. Pelosi doing in the photo above? What is she trying to convey, express? Just wondering.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.

Speaker Pelosi, Nancy Pelosi, Equality