My Mother...

Books. When I think of my Mother, I think of nothing so much as her devotion to books. Books not for their own sake, but for their function as the storehouse of ideas. For her, human thought was all that was truly holy about us, and books were the repository of those thoughts. She read vociferously, carnivorously, anything and everything that interested her. She did not read for recreation, she read as she breathed, for her very survival. I often think of the old woman of Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451", who immolates herself and her library, rather than submit to the state's "firemen", and think how easily, cheerfully, my Mother would have done the same.

You see, my Mother's reverence for thought, unexpurgated and unsullied by intellectual cowardice and conformity, was matched only by her loathing of the latter. Independence and freedom of the mind and conscience of the individual, were as inviolate to her as any sanctified space is to the most religious of souls. Anything and everything must always be open to question, nothing must ever be permitted to exist free of criticism, analysis, or contest. No question is ever "settled", but merely sidelined until better evidence or a more elegant hypothesis comes along. No individual or collective opinion must ever be regarded as infallible, as nothing human can ever be so. Acquire the evidence, consider it, weigh it, and draw your own conclusions. Trust no "authority", no intellectual "knight in shining armor" come to rescue you from ignorance, for only you can do that.

My Mother passed away this Tuesday, the 8th of December 2009. In the end, death came for her, as he comes to us all, but carried away only her life, which was the least significant of her possessions. He could not take her freedom, her independence, her dignity, her courage, or her spirit. Nor could he take the love of her sons, her family, or of all those who knew, admired, and loved her.

Peace Prize in our time...

Reading about Iran's approval of 10 new uranium enrichment plants this morning made me wonder just how long Obama's fantasy world can be maintained, not that the question hasn't occurred before. But in the course of mulling that over, it struck me that Obama may not be merely the combination of the worst traits of Nixon and Carter I once thought him to be. He may also be the reincarnation of Neville Chamberlain, and that may be a strangely positive thing. It can be argued that what ultimately brought Churchill out of the wilderness to lead a nation and a world to victory against fascism was the arch incompetence and sheer, willful, refusal to face reality of the world's most credulous negotiator. Chamberlain was noted for his extensive efforts at press management, and his overriding desire to be remembered as a domestic reformer, untroubled by foreign entanglements. Sound familiar?

Nixon's "The One"...

"The Imperial Presidency", title of a '73 work by Artie S., describes what Arthur considered a Presidency as office run amok. Nixon was at the time considered only the most recent, and perhaps most egregious, example of a trend that dated back to F.D.R. As G.M. sinks beneath the waves, and the bankers cash their relief checks, is this ringing any bells, oh thou children of the Obamasiah? Me, I was foolish enough to think we were finally rid of the 'Great Leader' notion after Reagan faded from the scene; but no, it's back, and this time it's PERSONAL!.

I wonder, are we truly so spiritually bankrupt that we don't give a damn if someone else makes all our choices for us, so long as health care's cheap? Do we long for the Big Brother of George O's nightmare to come and save us from ourselves? The backside of every great civilization's arc of existence consists mainly of the long slide to oblivion on the razor edge of "benevolent" dictatorships. The mob is fed, the elites content themselves with whatever pass times B.B. approves, and the barbarian hordes gather quietly at the borders and wait...