Ships in the Night

Cycle of Terror, Graydon Parrish

Many of us are very concerned with our surrogate morality of politics.



From this base we mobilize against the enemies of our rights, gracing our elegant platitudes with the Constitution's old lace. Thus we are kept secure and fervent for awhile. We cannot be assailed in our perfection of doctrine. Is there anyone more doctrinal than one American trying to prove a legal point to another. 

It's not a question.

We often hear we should respect the office of the president even if we do not respect the man. This is perhaps not so clear or shocking as the greater fabric of propaganda that feeds the American desire of divine imperial right, of secular sanctity. Jupiter and Jefferson, Neptune and Ben Franklin.

Our Pantheon, like any which is untrue, is manipulable, subject to the requirements of the time. Our views and values shift, some towards decay, others toward growth and fertility. I am not suggesting that allowing our political system to change as development requires is inadvisable. But allowing our political construct, which is intrinsically changeable, to become the basis by which we measure the human good -- to allow popular consensus to override the necessity of moral considerations -- is deranged.

Since when has the populace en masse been a moral authority. It has become the surrogate morality.

Those who support gay rights may very well have a legal basis for doing so. But considering a woman may choose to sue a family if her child hurts himself of his own fault on said family's property, or considering the hypocrisy of asserting the "right to choose" whilst forcing religious institutions to forgo that right, who should place his faith in the republic?

It becomes more and more apparent that supporters of gay rights are not a minority. They are making slow headway toward the achievement of their ironic goal. This is the public thing. It is a part of the ideological doctrine, and it will be enforced.

So why debate the issue on the legal plane? Why discuss in the arena a question of fundamental import to the understanding of the human person and his dignity. The sanctuary in the stock exchange.

I don't believe that the majority of those concerned with the effects of homosexuality on the cultural -- and indeed the personal -- sphere give two little lumps of refuse about what is legally sanctioned in the United States of America, or any other state for that matter. The question has political implications, sure, but it is, at its root, a theological discussion requiring a holistic approach.

Hence the absurdity of claiming a political institution such as civil marriage as a sort of banner of moral rectitude. Civil marriage is ultimately an agreement between two human beings who do not necessarily understand the spiritual significance of human relations. Civil marriage is something surfeit, another part of that ideological framework that says freedom is doing what one likes. It even speaks to the machinery of capitalism, the form of the business agreement. Civil marriage is for one or both parties who are not yet capable of acknowledging the transformational significance of sacramental marriage.

Doubtless, there is meaning if the promises made are kept, but that meaning derives from the secular desire to give just as much as one must without sacrificing the farcical ideal of the autonomous self. Moreover, let us remember that the official acts with the authority vested by the state.

The state is a format. It is not an authority. It's the clothes we wear, and no one needs a talking hat (unless there are some magical, faerie qualities of which I am unaware).

In the end, if same-sex unions are permitted, nothing will have been proved. It will simply be fact. Arbitration du jour.

Deep ontological disturbance will remain beneath the animal accretions of the postmodern self who seeks to war in arrogance like a prancing bird of paradise in its alpha display. See me. Love me. That is my only cry though it is the burning song of hatred.

Finally, the postmodern homosexualist rests his argument upon the naught. If his rationale is "liberal" and "progressive", then it has foundations in youthful inexperience and discounted sophism. If it is based on the state, then it is simply unseasonal (if he is trying to prove the goodness of homosexual acts). Freedom is meaningless if used to refer to a political "right". "Goodness" is meaningless if dressed in the same trappings. We determine the state. It does not determine us.

The only determination that is meaningful will be a discussion on a theological basis: what is the meaning of man? And the "progressive" "liberal" must join if he is to be considered. Otherwise, his cries are irrelevant, his attempted discrediting of religion (from a position of postmodern secular doctrine) laughable. The cart does not lead the horse: politics must nod to the wisdom of religion. Things go badly when they do not.

This is not a question that the state can answer or was designed to answer. The impending legislation is asinine: posterior end first. Again, the state can rise, fall, remain with a limping mediocrity -- this has no bearing on the question of what is right, what is good, what is fitting. Parties on either side of this debate must not be afraid to abandon the town hall (if it becomes a center of propagandizing) for the churches and universities.

I would start with an in-depth consideration of John Paul II's positive explication of human sexuality, which is not based on a fervid desire to discount the validity of homosexuality, but a desire to understand man. Hence, you will not find the popular phraseology you seek. Bring your anti-ego.

He starts from the beginning. Head first.


See Susannah Black's Brave New Cold War

"College Kids" and the Narrative of Egotism

Money, Frantisek Kupka

Short of brimming with delighted anticipation at the next years harvest of ripe young graduates ready to enter the professional world, employers seem less than enthused.

They publish articles describing why they refuse to hire college graduates, and generally project an air of disapprobation, at best.  And why not? College graduates lack, well, everything needed to succeed in the North American sea of capitalistic furor.

And indeed, there are a host of reasons for this failure to be perfect.

But let us examine the disposition that allows resentment toward the ignorant.

Why are employers actively en garde against the little-cocky-twerps-who-think-they-know-everything who veritably drown HR department in resumes (as instructed)?

I submit that all of the popular reasons are a farce.

The modern corporate employer seems to suffer from a sort of amnesia regarding human nature and personal development. Either he is a totally disconnected father of college-aged children, or he is somewhere in the range between 35-45 and his children are still at home.

Is there any reason to think that college graduates should know better than the corporate employer the difficult and only semi-permeable sphere they are trying to access. Is it any wonder that graduates are inexperienced, unskilled (regarding a potential employer's values), and immature? No. It is, however, increasingly wondrous how immature men of power can be in their disbelief in the face of youth.

But this disbelief reveals them. This disbelief betrays them as credulous little boys and girls who seem to think that human dignity can be stratified into castes, that the college graduate is an opponent, an entity to be staved off, an invasive species that will set upon their financial security like locusts in a cornfield.

Is there anything more childish than attempting to blame someone for circumstances which are beyond his control? The college graduate "lacks interviewing skills", as Mr. O'Toole so kindly informs us. But isn't this a no-brainer?  Of course he lacks interviewing skills. How many interviews has he experienced?

Why does the modern corporate employer seek what cannot be found? Why does he endeavor to discover a fully grown whale in a tide pool? Either he is stupid (quite possible) or he is attempting to defend what he believes to be his very self: a position of pride, power, wealth, and enviability.

Symptomatic of an abortive culture, the employer hates the youth because they signify his death, his imminent irrelevance, the loss of his having. They signify humanity, and the employer has forgotten that humaneness does not sustain selfishness.

Reveling in his fortress, the employer ironically dispossesses himself of every professional "skill" he claims the graduate lacks: "communication skills", "interpersonal skills", adaptability. If the corporate employer owned any of these, he would not be concerned about the host of unknowing humans entering the workforce.

He would instead acknowledge that they -- as he himself had learned -- will learn the ways of men and women. He would acknowledge that new eyes uncover unknown possibilities. He would instead focus on training up these young minds to receive the great task, and the great debts, that will be laid upon their shoulders. He would be apologetic about messing everything up instead of arrogant about his own achievements. He would not look for their faults, but seek their virtues, and thus accelerate their education by encouragement. He would not see them as a threat, but as both a responsibility and a blessing.

Instead of proffering a throw-back to freshman year's clashing ivory towers of faux-intellectualism, the corporate employer would display a wise bearing, a patient hand. He would make that windowless office seem appealing.

As it is, the bully mocks the blind beggar. But one doesn't need so much reliance upon analogy when, straight from the horse's mouth, he hears "You were two minutes late."

The youth may make some changes.


(And if we take a closer look at Mr. O'Toole's lovely slideshow, we might just notice that the more young graduates feign knowledge and experience, the more likely they are to be hired. He loves the glitz. What a shiny door to an empty vault. Maybe corporate America is empty after all. ;) )

Freedom in a Culture of Hotdogs and Scapegoats

Self Portrait, Istvan Ilosvai Varga

Rene Girard speaks of a tension that necessarily arises in society with many individuals seeking the same thing. This tension, for Girard, has most evidently in ancient cultures involved a scapegoat. For instance, in Aztec culture, a scapegoat was offered up to the gods in satisfaction. In turn, those who offer the sacrifice require a remediation of their hurts and the bestowal of what they desire.

When we think of this current in American culture, we may encounter some fairly astounding revelations regarding our use of scapegoats and the ends we seek by external sacrifice. The world has its own Lent, its own process by which it seeks to approximate itself to the things it values. America, in brief, values a peculiar definition of freedom. 

This concept of freedom is manifested more or less materially: the trappings of pleasure (e.g. boys and cars, girl and boats, the NFL), laws protecting entitlement (e.g. welfare, separation of church and state, and the incoming so-called “gay marriage” laws), and convenience (e.g. internet, pre-nuptial agreements, contraception).

Freedom involves sacrifices. Egotism threatens freedom; violence threatens freedom; intellectual oppression destroys freedom – these are not welcome in a free society. Quite often, however, we conflate two different concepts, and in doing so place human rights in danger of utter loss. These two concepts are 1) free will and 2) freedom. 

Free will refers to the inherent and obvious capacity of a human being to choose one thing or the other: a sandwich or a smoothie (not green). 

Freedom refers to a state of being in which the human is able to make the best possible choice without hindrance (e.g. “I will better myself and no one can stop me”). The concept of “freedom” thus involves the moral idea of goodness, whereas the concept of “free will” allows for both good and evil. This is simply a matter of defining terms. 

Many Americans use “freedom” in the sense of “free will”, and truly believe that they may do as they please whilst they dwell in this country. Of course, they will enter into argument about how their sense of “freedom” depends upon the cultural context in which they were raised. However, this cultural context is ever-shifting: the argument means nothing if the concept of “freedom” can change at the whim of the masses. How can we define “freedom” if the word becomes unmanageable due to uncertain content? 

And America has multiple cultural contexts! Oh, the rabbit trails we could run.

We could ask the contextualist, “And so ‘freedom’ could refer to a position of complete oppression depending on the context in which it is used? This is simply a matter of language, then. You are using one word which previously had one meaning to refer to another. How can one know what he values, then? How can we discuss this thing called a ‘cultural value’? And if we assert that freedom is changing, how can we decry the dictatorship?” Indeed, we do not decry the dictatorship.

What the American is truly trying to say is that he has the right not to be bothered by any doubt of his correctness in living how he chooses to live, and he will deflect any doubts with whatever means necessary, including casting doubt upon the value of language and its ability to order our world. Language even becomes a scapegoat. When language becomes a scapegoat (it hasn’t worked with us), this is a sign that the self is willing to sacrifice his communion with other human beings in order to have whatever he craves. The autonomous self – the dead self.

In the end, the sense intended is this: “Freedom”, for many Americans, refers to uninhibited will.

However, as we see in effect today, this uninhibited will often clashes with the will of others. What is needed to mollify the escalating anxiety caused by the infringement upon our will by another? A scapegoat. To preserve a semblance of peace, the members of society come together at various points – waves reach over the sandbar and touch. As long as the scapegoat is there, society may go on with its mediocre state of temporary pacification. When the scapegoat disappears, war – the waves clash.

And what preserves our American stasis, our lone wolf syndrome of doing what one likes? What preserves our pleasure, entitlement, convenience?

• We all believe that love can and should die.
• We all believe that children can and should die if they interrupt our particular phase of life.
• We all believe that the enemies of uninhibited will should be scorned and defaced.
• We believe in the dead self, a hatred of self sold as a love of self.

And if these things hold our society together, they are like the abyss that opens in the ground, so that the walls of earth seem to join as they collapse, falling inward upon themselves. We commune only when we wish to break apart, and we shall break apart if we do not commune.

The self is not autonomous. It depends upon its intricate bonds to other members of society for survival, comfort, and even personality. When it begins to sever these bonds for the cry of mere inclination, it ceases, in unsustainable ways, to be human. It distorts nature and bends her to its will like Kim Jong Un, Hussein, Hitler. Imagine the horror and the isolation of an entire nation of “autonomous selves”, each attempting to sacrifice each because of the turmoil caused within, until the scapegoat becomes the self in that final surfeit of guilt that is yet a selfish act. Alone in a bunker with cyanide.

And true guilt? The answer that G.K. Chesterton gave to the question, “What’s wrong with the world?”:

 “I am.”

This is freedom.




"It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish"
-- Mother Theresa of Calcutta

Thoughts on Louisiana, Culture, and the Humane

Consider this my "hello", and as much an exposition of my tentative self as I can give on the interwebs.

Ordinary Time

Not totally fictive

In the well-developed town of Bienville, Louisiana, where the plastered cinder block strips bespatter concrete flats beside the highway, where car wrecks have increased in front of Walmart, where the locals could be locals anywhere, where visitors can never find downtown, there is a brand new Roman Catholic church, and in that church amongst the pews stand many people, and amongst those many people sits John Emmanuel Lamarque.

John Emmanuel Lamarque is a young man with a strange name, which would generally mean that he is from New Orleans. He is educated, as is expected with such a name, and very polite. In fact, though newly arrived, he has scattered his politeness all about: a polite smile to the lady at the registration booth, a polite smile to the greeters, a polite smile to the priest when, always well-dressed, he was asked to present the gifts, a polite smile to the usher as he bequeathed, a polite smile to the music minister who asked if he'd like to share his talents, a polite smile to the Knights of Columbus grilling fat beef, a polite smile to each, every, and all.

John Emmanuel Lamarque, single and solitary, inspired many questions: a likely priest? No, too late. A religious? The single life? Not with such style and class. His wife is non-Catholic. He's here alone for work. What a market we have for him. Welcome to the community, John.

The questions soon ceased as interest shifted, and had rarely touched John himself. Lately rather aloof, he became at times a mildly noticeable void in the opening chorus. His neighbors at mass would be sometimes disturbed by a sigh, a sniff, a wild giggle or the twitch of a hand. He sat when it was time to stand. He folded his hands at the Lord's Prayer that they all dared to say.

Nevertheless, John Emmanuel Lamarque could be seen every Sunday walking briskly from his new Volkswagen to church doors, hands pocketed, tie somewhat crooked, eyes straight ahead – “Good morning, John” with a hypersmile – and to his seat, now further and further to rear or side.

This continued for some weeks before a marked change occurred. People wondered: his mother must be ill. His sister's in a coma. Going through a divorce already. Work's tough for a young kid.

Shirt untucked, the white cotton displayed from beneath, hair hardly combed, a few days scruff – John yet seemed uplifted, held his head up, at least glanced at the greeters with some sort of smile, stood during the Eucharistic prayer, and seemed very interested in the choir – peering and swaying toward the left of the altar. He still giggled and sighed during the offertory hymns – “We Are One Body”, “Amazing Love” – but as he seemed easeful, his neighbors were, and heeded him less.

Hard to live alone so long. I wonder if he's seen his family. Let's invite him to the soiree next weekend. I'm sure he can pick a good wine.

Moving nearer and nearer each Sunday to the altar's left, he was thought to enjoy mass more even than the older congregation. He murmured and swayed more and more, but never joined the clapping. Happy, though, he seemed, and seemed confident, secure. For those who noticed, those scattered few, John passed whatever trial it was.

One wet Sabbath with a rose sun gleaming through smoggy clouds, John Lamarque sat upon the step just near the dexter door into the church. He sat there with eyes glazed like an iced fish. And the greeter, busied with him, opened the door at breaks in his unfettered gaze. When sounds of the choir beat upon the door, the greeter stooped to John and asked, “Are you coming in, John? Mass is starting –”. Cut off by a brush of the young man's shoulder knocking him firmly enough into the steel handle to redden his cheeks and make him puff until he bethought himself, “I am God's minister”, clutched his metal cross badge, and wiped his feet on the carpeted lobby.

John Lamarque, it is true, suffered through mass. At the Gloria, he could be seen clutching his face, his jaw clenched and white. A middle-aged man leaned over: “Are you alright, son?” No response. A woman reached for his hand at the Lord's Prayer; he flicked it away and blew like a bull.

He sat down and did not rise, his stare fixed on the choir, an expression of pride and glory unseen since the days of Leonidas. His hands tightened into balled fists, squeezed, left bloody spots on the palms. And then calm. He sat still. He gazed forward as if through to the outside air. He rose and walked toward the massive dais upon which the guitarists swayed to the beat of the drum box. Red-haired empty-nesters crowed and sobbed unwilling harmonies. The pianist rolled his head, and a youth minister in vested broadcloth and jeans squinted closed eyes under prescription Ray-bans.

One by one, the singers noted him standing there arms akimbo. They dropped off and looked to the blank-faced ushers tapping their feet by each of six aisles. The leader, hearing her aides falter, with eyes closed called out, “Sing with me! … and worship leads to com –” at which instigation John Lamarque seized the lovely inlaid Martin, tore it from her shoulders, upsetting the music stand which made dominoes of the others, and with a roar like David shook the very air with its destruction upon the concrete floor.

The piano was next – as papers flew, somehow shredded, the amplifier fizzed as the keyboard shot into the air and with a terrible crash fired plastic keys into a row of extraordinary ministers, who tore their skirt-suits diving for cover.

Silence ensued.

The air was cooled by a soft draft like the settling breeze after a storm.

Tears from red eyes fell upon the ground. A haggard toneless voice cried out, “Adoro te Devote …”

The choir leader, spectacles tortured, rose from her corner screaming “How dare you?! How dare you in the presence –” 

“Panis vivus, vitam præstans –"

“How dare you?!?

“Dare ...”, John fell quiet and echoed. “We dare to say.”

She began to tug and pull at his deadweight, as if trying to drag him away – all eyes glaring and embarrassed – but an old communion servicer of the Sisters of Mercy bustling up the aisle met her grimly, placed a hand on her shoulder: “Let us see what father has to say. Father?” Bill was a fragile old Jesuit and stood aghast at the altar. “Father?!” Finally he wagered, “Ladies, now ladies, let us remember that we are in the presence of God.” “Father, I want –” – accusing his impuissance – “I want you to drive this demon from this church and ban him from the community! Let him suffer outside where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth so that his soul may be purified.”

But before Bill's flubbering lips could utter another sound, there came a cataract of laughter – eerie, as it seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. And no one could at once discern its origin. Bill, by then frighted into unconsciousness, was slowly lowered to the sanctuary floor by a lady in impeccable black, his tennis shoes twitching.

The laughing grew so sonorous and sweet and so wrong that mothers covered the ears of the smiling children – until at last John lifted his face and the laughing ceased.

He was silent when police ushered him to a waiting patrol car. He strangely caressed the door, stooped, and entered.

It was a peculiar trial. John Emmanuel Lamarque was not deemed insane.

He spent 3 years on charges of assault, battery, destruction of property, and religion-based discrimination.

When released, he became a heroin addict for a time, appearing infrequently on the streets with a great beard and eyes like the sea. His arms became lank and wiry, and he was moderately notorious for his wild and beautiful words amongst the homeless. He often stood beneath the interchanges, gazing to the stars, unwittingly frightening passers-by in Lexus crossovers.

He was last seen in a Russian hostel at the foot of the Urals.

Written by Ross McKnight
Edited by Jonathan Torres

Thoughts Concerning Homosexuality

Boys (game boy) -- Kuzma Ptrov-Vodkin, 1911

Note: I have deleted the second and third parts of this post, as, while relevant to American society in general, they were not appropriate within the context of this blog, whose primary mission is to highlight the artistic forces at work in the Transfiguration of culture.

I am not appalled or disgusted by homosexuality with any particularly strong sentiment. There are many other faults that I find more disturbing, and these include sexual faults, sins, such as rape, molestation, sexual obsession.

Homosexuality, in fact, has a very logical place in our current society. It is the most intuitive sin for our times. It fits in the setting like an atheist mega-church.

Among all the other enticing and frustrating vices, to me it most closely resembles gluttony. We see that this Quail Pot Pie (for instance, you know) happens to have the most pleasurable appearance and rich fragrance we could ever imagine, and so we take two scrumptious bites ... and cannot resist devouring its entirety, after which we feel overfull, immobile, and regretful.

In my own experiences with homosexual attraction, I have found that quite the same case unfolds after a particularly indulgent mental fantasy. A close friendship may provide the perfect circumstance for imperfection, and when friendly affection becomes erotic attraction, one has not quite reached the boundary.

Yes, I believe that eros can exist between two males without sin. Eros can occur when a sort of mild mating of minds occurs, when two young men -- or perhaps women -- recognize in each other, as Anne (with an "e") would say, "kindred spirits". They come so close as to observe in each other that beauty that God hid deep in the heart, only waiting to flower before loving eyes.

Boys playing soldiers -- Francisco Goya, 1779

Yet this eros can lead too far if left unpruned ... just as it can in any relationship between man and woman. In either situation, eros may lead to a lust to have for one's own gratification. Conversely, it may lead, in either situation, to a greater love, a profounder care.

But whereas the fulfillment of love between males lies in the exchange of that saccharine fume for brotherly gaiety and the camaradarie of arms, a unique love unto itself, the fulfillment of love between man and woman bursts into a more complex passion of familial trinitarianism.

But this mystery is lost upon us. We are, after all, the most singularly selfish nation on the face of the planet.

The Austin Institute recently released a video about the "Economics of Sex." In a few fundamental ways, it hits the nail on the head. In other ways, it is deeply flawed.

The head-hitting of Austin's hammer lies in its estimation that American men can bide their time when it comes to marriage. They are in no hurry, having the upper hand in such a sparse arena. They may experiment, demand probationary periods of sexual trial. In such an arena, why would a man find interest in a woman at all (besides the merely carnal sense-probing)?

The women who wish to marry but concede to modern values when it comes to courtship are precisely the sort of sell-outs that no one likes (I am not defending the men ... just making a rhetorical point). They are the sort that are just following lower instincts in an unconscious sort of way -- somehow secure a mate, give birth, raise the next generation.

On the other hand are the Miltonic Eve-like loners, who want to assert their man-womanness because it was the latest and greatest forbidden fruit of the last century (getting old, no?). Do they have respect for the flabby gamers who somehow wear masculine genitalia? About as much as they have for the homemaker who stays up later, gets up earlier, and works harder than they do.

Nevertheless, the pant suit is more impressive than the gamer's thumb. Why would a busy, clean-cut businesswoman look twice at the mediocre-but-approximately-marriageable oaf?

The point is that the sexes are no longer interested in each other. They have had quite a quarrel that has faded to an icy indifference over the course of two fateful centuries, and it is harder and harder to go back. No, it is impossible. And no one can see the way forward.

Why would Mr. Matt Walsh point out the self-victimization of the gay rights agenda? Because it fits right in with homosexuality itself. Homosexuality is a manifestation of the inward turning of the genders, the upraising of the "we" of males or the "we" of females that will one day be a silent chorus of solitary "Is".

Man looks inward and praises his strength, his flaxen hair, his handsome angularity, his quick and sharp wit that translates into powerful and protective romance. What luscious libido! What godliness! What need has he for the women who have brushed him off for love of the capacities only he will ever retain? They can keep their shoulder pads and pixie cuts. And the girly girls that are left ... well, we'll be best friends, because we've both been hurt and will always be hurt if the world remains unchanged.

The camaraderie of failing men has become a flamboyant and resentful self-love. Of course it has. What else could it have become? How else to protect a wounded dignity?

There are, of course, many more reasons for the phenomena of homosexuality, but I have proffered some cultural causes that I find relevant. I look forward to your comments.

The Savage

I recently shared midday meals and time with strangers during a training course near the Gulf coast in Texas that I attended for work. As the training involved a supposedly "universal" incident management program, there were individuals present from both government agencies and private industry.

On the second day, I shared lunch with one man, a trainer in operations with the army. He was stationed in the area. And soon I realized that neither of us were sitting at that table for any particular reason.

He had been in California, Louisiana, Kansas, New York. I had been in Louisiana, North Carolina -- these for birth and family, education and joy. To Texas came I for sustenance, which in this State (i.e. the U.S.A.), must come from money.

After lunch we sat in my car, waiting through the 2-hour period so irregular for us, perhaps not so for the others, who were public servants. Like me, one of his enjoyments is music in the Irish tradition. We both know of Julie Fowlis.

Yet as we sat and spoke of music -- and listened -- I could not dispel the feeling that neither of us were at all capable of interesting the other. Neither of us were at all capable of engagement, cordiality, connection.

"Yes, I know this artist you speak of. Do you know this one?" And a dry exchange ensues.

He had a humility and honesty about his eyes and speech, but perhaps the iciness of Statism or the gray sky or the cold unshakeable tool of capitalism that makes its will ever known to our fears came like a silent wave and shook our plastic & leather capsule til we were subdued and wanted escape -- not from the truth but from the reminder of the truth in a man's eyes, heart, tongue.

Here in Houston, we are all killers. On the roads, we are seldom hot and angry, just full metal coolness and murder. To every man a compensatory pick-up truck. But the object dissipates as we climb into our vehicles and the desire to inflict upon mad drivers the panic only comprehended as hatred overthrows the possibility of temporal despair. And we are all lost in the welling hell.

Once back to the plastic and leather capsule of our holes, we dive into the filtering shell that seems to be an outlet but really is a thief in saving us from saving harm.

And paradoxically, you should watch The Matrix and try with good will to see how we are hastening the loss of the human. And paradoxically I will write on, aware of the death clinging to my words unless you let them live.

I do not want the grace of doctrine. If my mind is free, but every act refutes its call to free my body, my mind is in chains.

I want not to be a slave. I do not want my fruit taken with assumed justice unless I see it's worth the price. And I cannot see it. And unlike God the United States of America merits no Mystery.

What is to become of us? What is to be done, my dear fellow slaves? Dare we raise our heads and cry to God the shame upon the heads of those who bend our noses to mirrors on the ground? Dare we cry shame upon our own heads as we bend them to the ground?

God save us and have mercy.

If I were not drawn with fear and harsh words saying I neglect responsibility, I would drop this sordid towel that mops the drops gushing from the staunched fountain. Death and love and freedom rather than ongoing.

God did not make these walls.

Will someone shoot you for saying "I am a man, and will forage for food. I am a woman, and will feed my child. I am a man, and will farm this land you leave wanton and fallow. I am a woman, and will tend this house you leave neglected"? Perhaps it is best to be shot.

Shots can not harm us as we walk through the fields, feeding a living act of God's love with grain on the Sabbath.

I would invite any and all to contemplate these shots and those rocks that come in through the window in Trois Couleurs: Rouge. See earlier post for viewing information.

On the Limits of Freedom

The state of Virginia currently has the tightest laws when it comes to speed limits in America.  The interstate limit is 70 mph, which granted, is high, but the state enforces it to a tee.  Virginia is the only state that outlaws radar detectors.  Virginia also greets its visitors with much love and affection - I received a bouquet of flowers from a state trooper last time I crossed its borders.  Oh, wait, I’m thinking of another state.  Virginia greets its visitors with signs like this:

On the surface, this gripping restriction on speed seems like an abhorrent violation of our freedom.  And yet anyone who complains that their freedom is being limited because they can’t drive their BMW at 150mph is clearly not thinking logically.  Of course there needs to be speed limits, and of course they need to be enforced, sometimes strictly, in order for those BMW drivers to understand that it isn’t a speed suggestion.

But why?  Why do we insist that there needs to be limits on our freedom when it comes to things like speed, but we complain about institutions limiting our freedom when it comes to things like sexual morality?  What does it mean to really be free?  The answer, surprisingly, has nothing to do with the kind of “freedom” that is promoted throughout the Western world today.  Indeed, it’s ironic how one of the few things most valued in our society is perhaps the one thing society gets so wrong.

The key to understanding our common misconception with freedom is that we wrongly use the word interchangeably with license.  We lie to ourselves with idioms like, “I’m free to do what I want,” without comprehending the cliche, spitting it out to excuse ourselves of some behavior that tugs at our conscience.

We only need to apply the idiom to practical examples to see its absurdity.  If I am really “free to do what I want,” can I take your laptop for myself if you leave it unattended for a minute at a coffee shop?  Can I drive at 150mph on the interstate if it’s a free country?  The best answer I have received for these rhetorical questions was actually quite perceptive: “Of course not,” one man once told me on an internet forum.  He explained, “you are free insofar as it does not harm other people.”

Herein lies the rub - if freedom is limited to the wellbeing of other people, freedom is therefore trumped by a hierarchy of goods.  Make no mistake: it is very good indeed that we have the ability to choose.  However the question must be asked, “choose what?”  In the examples above, we choose the good of our neighbors’ wellbeing.  Our neighbors are infinitely more good than the good we would achieve by getting a new computation device, or getting to work five minutes early.  By not stealing the laptop and not speeding on the interstate, one sees a good for himself, but then acts in accordance with freedom to choose a higher good.  This is the proper use of human freedom, and fits perfectly with the definition given by the great doctor, Thomas Aquinas: freedom is the ability to choose the good.

Understanding freedom in this context brings us to a stark conclusion: the only hope there is to maintain a truly free society is to enable laws that protect the greater good.  If the greater good is not chosen and men continue to abuse freedom without repercussion, then society will be doomed to fail.  It will be an archetype of what freedom does not look like.

Stay tuned for a follow up post where I mention love, virtue, vice, and the odd proposition that slavery may be better than freedom.

The Sincerity of American Self-Loathing

Marcello Pera

The Italian philosopher and senator, Marcello Pera, in his essay "Relativism, Christianity, and the West," has written about the perhaps inappropriate self-loathing of Western Civilization -- its recantation of former beliefs sincerely held, its illness of toleration, its apologies for colonial wrongdoing.

Recognizing the legitimate problems present in the negative side effects of Western colonialism, Pera defends the great good that the West -- that's us -- has brought about in suffering countries. I am reminded, for example, of a statement by George Obama, Barack's brother, to the effect that South Africa is a well-organized state because of Western influence, while Kenya is in a condition of chaos because that influence is no longer present.

George Obama, who lives in an 8x8 shack, appreciates the benefits of Western culture. We know that his brother probably shares this opinion, if only subconsciously.

But this is the European picture of Westernesse that I am talking about, not the American.

The European West is necessarily insincere in its self-loathing. Or at least hypocritical.

On the one hand, it sustains large-scale humanitarian efforts, while on the other, it condemns its own self-righteousness -- particularly in the universities, where cultural contextualism is the new "Marseilles." Europe is embattled with itself, and we can only pray that its Christian roots win out in the end.

America, however, is an entirely different story. America is the dumber younger brother nevertheless attempting to emulate the older in his singular inner turmoil. America is addicted to the attractive aloofness and arrogance of its inattentive idol. It's why we like French things.

America puts on airs. It has pretensions to Europeanism, but it is hopelessly ignorant of the ideological troubles faced on the European continent, and so it is hopelessly doomed to ape them ineffectually. And this unrootedness of America, this disconnection from heritage, is bound up in the very reason for our founding: flee the system.

Unfortunately, when we fled society and culture for the wilderness, we fled society and culture for the wilderness.

Here, capitalism has lifted its dress for the bestialism of the frontier. Moneyed bestialism then decided to try on culture. And when the nouveau riche donned their borrowed spectacles, they found themselves disjointed and uncomfortable, but nevertheless unwilling to lay down that assumed arrogance that sweeps over the abyss with waxen wings.

Moneyed bestialism then aped the great empires of the continent, but instead of civilization left mostly burnt forests and oil interests. And when it had found that this was no longer the trend, it turned on itself -- not knowing why -- and began to slap its own wrists for all the wrong reasons. There was no sincere questioning of morals, only an arbitrary reformulation of morals to more adequately conform to both moneyed bestialism and blind idol-worship.

Idols, of course, are not the real thing. Europe, with its cognizant self, may pull out of its self-loathing with a redemptive re-imagining of the Western spirit and the values of that spirit.

America, alas, may be both solitary and sincere in its self-loathing when the "I-less" want overtakes it.