Of all the traditional forms of government, the one most reviled in the contemporary era is monarchy. The notion of a single ruler whose governance derives solely from that ruler’s judgement and desires is as antithetical to the contemporary sensibility as slavery. Indeed, it has been identified as a kind of slavery by its enemies, but this is overstatement, and serves to show the impunity with which one can now attack a method for government which has the longest history, the most magnificent successes, and the greatest possibility for progress.
These last claims seem extreme, perhaps, but they are no more extreme than my charges against the more popular contemporary forms of government, tyranny and democracy, charges which indicate the superiority of monarchy. Tyranny, manifest in totalitarian governments of many kinds, not only rules by reducing people to mere ciphers, but also has little history of preserving its governmental structure. Democracy, both in a representative form, as in the US, or in direct form, as in the ancient poloi of the Greeks, also reduces people to a standard unit, and promotes mediocrity of necessity. Neither of these systems creates the greatness of spirit that is the high water mark of human achievement.
Before going any further, let me state clearly that I use “monarchy” to refer to a pure, absolute monarchy, with no deference to any other human or group of humans. The current British “monarchy” does not meet my criterion, though most any British king before John would meet it. The current British monarchs do not actually govern, rather Parliament does. Prior to Magna Carta, the British kings ruled as absolutely as the czar of Russia or the emperor of China.
So how dare I defend the doctrine of a ruler primus supra omnes? Why not? From what defensible notion does “all men are created equal” spring? Only the doctrine of essences, that the equality proposed here is an equality of human nature, makes any sense at all, and does not contradict monarchy. It is ridiculous and unnecessary to imagine a monarch as different in kind from a subject. No, the difference is in the accident of the monarch’s birth. And are such accidents unimportant? Surely it is in matters of accident, not essence, that professional athletes deserve the money they earn. It is accident only that separates the billionaire’s child from the pauper’ child, but this difference is a difference that makes a difference. Twain’s assault on monarchy in The Prince and the Pauper is right in suggesting that no essential difference exists between the lad who would be king and his poverty-stricken lookalike. Nevertheless, once that accident of birth gives rise to accident of raising, to accident of experience, to accident of knowledge, even Twain knew that the difference between prince and pauper was real and important.
Any other notion of equality is given the lie by the reality of life in a democracy. Equality before the law? Not so long as no two attorneys have equal abilities and equal resources. Equality of opportunity? Not so long as inescapable physical and mental distinctions exist between persons. If no sense beyond the one proposed above can be made of “all men are created equal”, then monarchy is as compatible with this central element of the American public philosophy as democracy.
In fact, democracy is far more suspect as a metaphysically well-founded system since it overlooks important accidental difference in favor of the common essence, as if one person were in all ways the same as the next. In so doing, the accidents that makes us the people we are become trivialized. This attitude does not respect the individual, but rather homogenizes more surely than even the tyrant can manage.
And the tyrant, flawed mirror of the monarch, does homogenize. However, the tyrant pays no attention to any other individual’s importance. Alone, the tyrant’s individuality is given respect. In this respect, tyranny is at least less hypocritical than democracy, where the individual is supposed to be sacred, but is instead, metaphysically speaking, eliminated.
But to call the tyrant less hypocritical than the democrat is not to put either on an equal footing with the monarch. The tyrant can only rule by fear, through violence, caring neither for the good wishes of the subject nor the subject’s well-being. The tyrant exists in a state of war, either literal or figurative, at all times. History shows most tyrannies collapsing after the death of the tyranny’s founder. The intrinsic violence undermines social stability and cultural permanence.
The monarch rules by accident of birth, not by fear. One cannot deny that fear of the monarch exists, but fear of the government always exists, regardless of the governmental system. However, the monarch needs no fear to be a successful ruler, Machiavelli notwithstanding. Monarchs, true, absolute monarchs like Peter of Russia and St. Louis of France, needed no fear to present their subjects with law and order, with peace and prosperity. No, these monarchs maintained their hold on the populace through love and adulation. So, though some monarchs have made tyrants of themselves (and have often paid the price of such foolishness), monarchy is not identical with tyranny, and is able to create a desirable society. Tyranny can create only bleakness and despair, since these are the physical products that fear creates.
Are all monarchs so loved? No. Can all monarchs be so loved? No. Love is a matter of accident, not essence, and monarchs differ in accidents just as other persons do. The point to carry from this contrast is that the traditional democrat equation of monarchy with tyranny, and, therefore, with slavery, is a false analogy and unworthy of consideration as a counterargument against monarchy.
What, then, is the positive case for monarchy? First, monarchy is better at dealing with emergencies than democracy. This fact has been acknowledged since the Athenians elected a sole and absolute ruler during wartime thousands of years ago, and continues to be acknowledged in the present day via means such as the War Powers Act. One person, given complete discretionary power, can act more decisively, more flexibly, and more certainly than any committee or legislative body.
Secondly, monarchies have produced far greater cultural achievements than any tyranny, indeed more than most democracies. Where is the tyrant’s Beethoven, Leonardo, or Socrates? Where is the democratic Shakespeare, Michaelangelo, or Newton?
Thirdly, traditional monarchies have been founded on a far gentler model of competition and inclusiveness than its competitors. The tyrant’s war of all against all creates an air of terror and makes the competition in any field too frenzied and the unity too mortifying to be humane. Democracy’s egalitarian tendencies appear to undermine competition, wishing to do away with the accident of winner and loser. The inclusiveness this gives birth to undermines personal distinctions and creates a featureless mob from distinct individuals. Monarchy, instead, creates competition through a kind of sibling rivalry, where all subjects are children of the monarch, each vying for the favor the parent would bestow, but begrudging nothing but the glory to siblings. Thus, the Elizabethan era, the Periclean age, the glories of Augustan Rome, the grandeur of Ming dynasty China, the majesty of the Sultanate are the creations of the competitions between loving siblings for their beloved parent and their fellow children, subjects of a glorious monarch.
Lastly, monarchy promotes stability and continuity better than other forms of government. Monarchy provides, in the person of the monarch and family, a symbol for the public and a model for family values. The model so presented sets standards rather than follows them, by virtue of the status of the monarch. These standards create an environment of stability and cultural integrity that democracy with its necessary trend-following nor tyranny with its oppressive control can provide.
Thus, monarchy provides the environment that best enables the finest elements of humanity to blossom. Whether a hereditary monarchy, like most historical examples, or a monarchy of merit, the theoretical Republic of Plato, or, I judge, the actual state of the Papacy, this form of government has and shall always present humanity with its best chance for humane and civilized government. Humane, because it aims to produce a place to pursue the pleasure and goals which only humans can pursue; civilized, because it extends these pleasures into structure of the community at large. The monarch as the ideal human gives the society a goal and a driving force. That monarchs are seldom, if ever ideal, does not rob the role of cultural force or significance. Monarchy makes the world better by giving the world a foundation on which to build, a foundation which does not shift, like democracy, nor collapse, like a tyranny.
A celebration of life. A miscellany of opinions, facts, and rationality. Some fun, eh, Boss?
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Monday, June 14, 2004
The Right to Know -- A Chimera
Many right-thinking (as well as many wrong-thinking) individuals are alarmed by the changing emphases in reporting in the news media. The news seems to be saturated with vulgarities, obscenities and trivialities, leading many to ask, "Why are these people prying into all this?" The answer most generally given is "The public has a right to know." But does the public have a right to know? Does wanting to know something translate into having the right to know something?
To begin with, the unqualified right to know does not exist on any logically consistent moral ground. The proof -- not my opinion, the proof -- is very simple. I recently heard a newscaster refer to the conflict between "the right to report a story and doing the right thing." Morally speaking, this conflict cannot exist. One cannot have the "right" to do something that is immoral. After all, the definition of "right" entails that one is both free to perform some action and remain moral in that performance. This is true under any moral theory. That some "legal rights" violate this account merely indicates that some laws are immoral, and that these "legal rights" are without moral justification. Such a condition existed when the "legal right" to own human beings was affirmed by the Dred Scott decision. Further, that varying moral theories offer different accounts of what is moral does not endanger my definition of "right". Instead, it simply guarantees that differing moral premises result in differing moral rights. Those who think moral actions are those which minimize pain while maximizing pleasure have the right to lie on occasions, namely those in which more pleasure than pain is so generated for all concerned. A person who takes morality to rest on universally applicable rules can never have that right. But the basis any individual has to claim to have any right comes from that individual's moral premises.
Some knowledge, say, the knowledge of what it feels like to shoot and kill random people passing beneath a college library window, an action which violates both principles discussed above, can only be gathered by immoral means. Since this knowledge is gotten immorally, we cannot have the right to know it. Thus, the unqualified right to know does not exist.
With the loss of an unqualified right to know, each case of the "right" to know must be established. For example, I have a right to know the common body of knowledge necessary to function meaningfully in my culture. Another example comes from my duties as a citizen. I have the right to know whatever is necessary to make an informed decision, be the decision made in the voting booth or the jury room.
At this juncture, one might be tempted to put forward a new formulation of the "unqualified right" to know: Individuals have the right to know anything they do not learn through immoral activity. I see at least two flaws in this formulation. The first flaw is that the new formulation is circular. If we replace "right" in the new formulation with the definition suggested earlier, we get "Individuals are free to morally learn anything that is not learned immorally." Clearly this is circular and teaches us nothing.
The second, and more interesting flaw, has to do with the large body of knowledge which can be learned without violating moral principles, but which it is not clear that I have the right to know. For example, it is not clear to me that I have the right to know whether you are wearing clean underwear or not. I can learn this information through moral means easily enough. All I need do is ask you. However, I am not sure that you are morally compelled to answer, which you should be if I have the right to know all things which are not learned through immoral means.
The real qualification for the right to know, then, is being free to ask such questions with an expectation of being answered. This expectation seems to arise from special personal relationships. If my mother should ask me, at age eight, whether I am wearing clean underwear or not, she should be able to expect an honest answer. Today, at age 48, such an expectation is probably misguided. If my wife should ask me about marital improprieties, she should be able to expect an honest answer. Locker room buddies and other nosy busybodies should not expect an answer, if they ask about such matters, let alone the truth.
Which brings us back to our original claimed source for the right to know: a free press. The claim is made that the relationship of the press to society entitles the news media to ask questions of varying natures and to properly expect an answer. I believe this view misrepresents the relationship of the press and the members of society; indeed, it misrepresents the relationship of the whole of society to its constituent parts. As we have already seen, no one has the right to complete knowledge of my every action, except through special relationships, such as parent-child, husband-wife, student-teacher, etc. If this relationship does not exist, no such right exists. Clearly, as these are special relationships, they cannot exist between all persons, else the specialness would disappear. So the press cannot claim to be filling the role of surrogate learner, gathering information to spread to others who have the right to know but are not there, unless the right to know proceeds from other grounds, such as political decision making or safety education or even the duty to help where one can. Mere curiosity, the fact that "inquiring minds want to know," gives the press no special privilege. My mother may genuinely be concerned about the state of my underwear today, but as an adult, I am not required to give an answer.
Where the claim for the right to know seems strongest is in areas that affect the would-be knowers' duties to act on the knowledge. Mothers have a duty to keep clean underwear on their children. Voters have a duty to make decision based on the best information. Juries have a duty to give a verdict based on all the pertinent evidence. But if you are not a mother, or a voter, or a juror, then you have no right to this information.
When applied to the press, this position may smell of censorship. I do not think it is. I would take censorship to mean, "preventing the press from letting individuals know what they have a right to know." This is not my goal. I do not think my position does any more than provide some grounds for editing. After all, when the newspaper does not print the encouraging results of my barium enema, no one feels that censorship has occurred. Likewise, inquiries into the private lives of public figures are not matters to which we have a right to knowledge, unless these matters can be proven to affect matters that affect other individuals. The response given by many, "Who knows what matters?" is a case of the informal fallacy argumentum ad ignoratiam, or appeal to ignorance. Our ignorance about a matter does not entitle us to act however we like on the matter, but rather is a call to learn more about the matter. Thus, a continued investigation into an issue in the private life of a public figure might reveal that the issue does affect the performance of the public figure in public life, but if it does not, then such material as was gathered in preliminary investigations is not the sort of thing to which we have a right. The right to investigate is not identical to the right to know. Thus, a properly formulated and research article on, say, the marital infidelity of a U.S. Senator would have to demonstrate that this would affect her ability to legislate and represent her constituents.
On the other hand, this doctrine does not limit the press to printing only what we have a right to know as result of special relationships nor only those things which are general importance to us as citizens. Some things are shared with us not because we have a right to them, but because the sharer desires that we have them. Such "gifts" of knowledge can be refused, but should not be "stolen." Thus, one may wish others to know about one's illness, in order that others may learn about the illness in general, or be moved to help one person in particular. But stealing news of an illness, as happened to Arthur Ashe, and sharing with others is not an exercise of the right to know anymore than my stealing your car is an exercise of my right to own property. Limiting the press' activity to reporting those two sorts of matters, things that we have the right to know and "gifts" of knowledge, is not censorship. Instead, it is protecting the press from immorality. The proper relationship of the press to society is not as procurer for the public's every curiosity, but rather, the unfettered educator of the citizens of a free and just society.
To begin with, the unqualified right to know does not exist on any logically consistent moral ground. The proof -- not my opinion, the proof -- is very simple. I recently heard a newscaster refer to the conflict between "the right to report a story and doing the right thing." Morally speaking, this conflict cannot exist. One cannot have the "right" to do something that is immoral. After all, the definition of "right" entails that one is both free to perform some action and remain moral in that performance. This is true under any moral theory. That some "legal rights" violate this account merely indicates that some laws are immoral, and that these "legal rights" are without moral justification. Such a condition existed when the "legal right" to own human beings was affirmed by the Dred Scott decision. Further, that varying moral theories offer different accounts of what is moral does not endanger my definition of "right". Instead, it simply guarantees that differing moral premises result in differing moral rights. Those who think moral actions are those which minimize pain while maximizing pleasure have the right to lie on occasions, namely those in which more pleasure than pain is so generated for all concerned. A person who takes morality to rest on universally applicable rules can never have that right. But the basis any individual has to claim to have any right comes from that individual's moral premises.
Some knowledge, say, the knowledge of what it feels like to shoot and kill random people passing beneath a college library window, an action which violates both principles discussed above, can only be gathered by immoral means. Since this knowledge is gotten immorally, we cannot have the right to know it. Thus, the unqualified right to know does not exist.
With the loss of an unqualified right to know, each case of the "right" to know must be established. For example, I have a right to know the common body of knowledge necessary to function meaningfully in my culture. Another example comes from my duties as a citizen. I have the right to know whatever is necessary to make an informed decision, be the decision made in the voting booth or the jury room.
At this juncture, one might be tempted to put forward a new formulation of the "unqualified right" to know: Individuals have the right to know anything they do not learn through immoral activity. I see at least two flaws in this formulation. The first flaw is that the new formulation is circular. If we replace "right" in the new formulation with the definition suggested earlier, we get "Individuals are free to morally learn anything that is not learned immorally." Clearly this is circular and teaches us nothing.
The second, and more interesting flaw, has to do with the large body of knowledge which can be learned without violating moral principles, but which it is not clear that I have the right to know. For example, it is not clear to me that I have the right to know whether you are wearing clean underwear or not. I can learn this information through moral means easily enough. All I need do is ask you. However, I am not sure that you are morally compelled to answer, which you should be if I have the right to know all things which are not learned through immoral means.
The real qualification for the right to know, then, is being free to ask such questions with an expectation of being answered. This expectation seems to arise from special personal relationships. If my mother should ask me, at age eight, whether I am wearing clean underwear or not, she should be able to expect an honest answer. Today, at age 48, such an expectation is probably misguided. If my wife should ask me about marital improprieties, she should be able to expect an honest answer. Locker room buddies and other nosy busybodies should not expect an answer, if they ask about such matters, let alone the truth.
Which brings us back to our original claimed source for the right to know: a free press. The claim is made that the relationship of the press to society entitles the news media to ask questions of varying natures and to properly expect an answer. I believe this view misrepresents the relationship of the press and the members of society; indeed, it misrepresents the relationship of the whole of society to its constituent parts. As we have already seen, no one has the right to complete knowledge of my every action, except through special relationships, such as parent-child, husband-wife, student-teacher, etc. If this relationship does not exist, no such right exists. Clearly, as these are special relationships, they cannot exist between all persons, else the specialness would disappear. So the press cannot claim to be filling the role of surrogate learner, gathering information to spread to others who have the right to know but are not there, unless the right to know proceeds from other grounds, such as political decision making or safety education or even the duty to help where one can. Mere curiosity, the fact that "inquiring minds want to know," gives the press no special privilege. My mother may genuinely be concerned about the state of my underwear today, but as an adult, I am not required to give an answer.
Where the claim for the right to know seems strongest is in areas that affect the would-be knowers' duties to act on the knowledge. Mothers have a duty to keep clean underwear on their children. Voters have a duty to make decision based on the best information. Juries have a duty to give a verdict based on all the pertinent evidence. But if you are not a mother, or a voter, or a juror, then you have no right to this information.
When applied to the press, this position may smell of censorship. I do not think it is. I would take censorship to mean, "preventing the press from letting individuals know what they have a right to know." This is not my goal. I do not think my position does any more than provide some grounds for editing. After all, when the newspaper does not print the encouraging results of my barium enema, no one feels that censorship has occurred. Likewise, inquiries into the private lives of public figures are not matters to which we have a right to knowledge, unless these matters can be proven to affect matters that affect other individuals. The response given by many, "Who knows what matters?" is a case of the informal fallacy argumentum ad ignoratiam, or appeal to ignorance. Our ignorance about a matter does not entitle us to act however we like on the matter, but rather is a call to learn more about the matter. Thus, a continued investigation into an issue in the private life of a public figure might reveal that the issue does affect the performance of the public figure in public life, but if it does not, then such material as was gathered in preliminary investigations is not the sort of thing to which we have a right. The right to investigate is not identical to the right to know. Thus, a properly formulated and research article on, say, the marital infidelity of a U.S. Senator would have to demonstrate that this would affect her ability to legislate and represent her constituents.
On the other hand, this doctrine does not limit the press to printing only what we have a right to know as result of special relationships nor only those things which are general importance to us as citizens. Some things are shared with us not because we have a right to them, but because the sharer desires that we have them. Such "gifts" of knowledge can be refused, but should not be "stolen." Thus, one may wish others to know about one's illness, in order that others may learn about the illness in general, or be moved to help one person in particular. But stealing news of an illness, as happened to Arthur Ashe, and sharing with others is not an exercise of the right to know anymore than my stealing your car is an exercise of my right to own property. Limiting the press' activity to reporting those two sorts of matters, things that we have the right to know and "gifts" of knowledge, is not censorship. Instead, it is protecting the press from immorality. The proper relationship of the press to society is not as procurer for the public's every curiosity, but rather, the unfettered educator of the citizens of a free and just society.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
A statement of principles, such as they stand
I celebrate life. This blog is intended as an expression of that celebration. In order, then, that you may celebrate with me, a definition or two is in order.
"Celebrate" is a carefully selected word. We normally use it to talk about parties, victories, anniversaries, and other times of joy. And joy lies at the center of life's experiences for me. Not that I have no feelings of depression, nor is it the case that I have faced no setbacks, no failures, no inadequacies; no, all those things are components of life, and so, in the end, are sources of celebration. Perhaps we need to recall that "celebrate" derives from the idea of ritual and ceremony. Life needs every sort of ritual and ceremony, as life has so many sides and so many experiences.
And what is "life?" Do not expect any answer but a practical one from me. Life is defined by the biology department: respiration, alimentation, reproduction, reaction. When I define life, I am answering the question, "How can you tell a rock from a tree?" Or "When is it time to bury the dog?" Such questions do not require profound inquiry; the answers are fairly obvious.
So in celebrating life, I am commemorating, rejoicing in, reveling in the physical world of sensation, interaction, and change. The non-living world is of interest only insofar as the living has made some use of it, as utility only then, not as a class of things in itself. The non-living includes all things which do not perform the functions above, not just the obvious, like rocks and corpses, but the eternal, the universal, the unchanging. Such things -- if such items are "things" -- are not living, and I do not celebrate them, except as the living can make use of them. An eternal verity which stultifies life, or subordinates life, is anathema and not a source of celebration.
You may object, "I do not agree with your definition of life. It misses so much." Or you may object "The eternal is far more important than the ephemeral. How can you suggest otherwise?" Here I can only suggest that you are wrongheaded. Here we are discussing fundamental stuffs where disagreement lacks the proximity to permit meaningful friction. The matters are close enough to generate heat, but not close enough to permit a controlled interaction, rather like rubbing two sticks together, rather than rubbing a stick against a knife on a lathe. The two views do not cut into each other, only grate up against each other. But permit me a moment of seduction.
I define life as I do because I do not wish to beg any questions. Grass is alive. I am alive. The desk before me is dead. How do I know? Not because of a spiritual connection between me and grass that does not exist between me and the desk, but rather because grass behaves suspiciously like me. It grows. It depends on some sort of food and water. It responds to the stimuli of fertilizer and lawn mower. Grass seems to be alive. The desk does not. The desk has not grown, or changed, or responded to anything I have confronted it with (I suppose I should mention that it has a granite top and heavy wooden drawers.) The desk not only doesn't behave like me, it doesn't behave at all.
"Ah," you say, "a behaviorist." And the arguments begin to line up. But do the arguments you propose make the desk alive? If so, then I suggest you should abandon them, as a granite topped desk is most assuredly not alive. Do the arguments you muster make the grass non-living? Then again, I suggest you are in error. Do your arguments suggest life is something else, something I have missed, but leave the grass alive and the desk not? Then I leave you to your notions, though I do wonder why you need more than to know that I and the rich green grass live, while my handsome green granite desk does not. In terms of distinguishing the living from the not-living, I cannot see what more is needed. More is commentary, not definition.
Now, regarding the eternal: If the eternal does not change, and it cannot, as change has time for a component and the eternal exist transcendant of time, then it has no place in the world of the living. For the living is changing always -- eating, sleeping, growing, atrophying -- and needs to change or cease to live. Indeed, the sure sign of the non-living is abscence of change. That which is not part of my world cannot be more important to me than that which is part of my world. To suggest otherwise is to suggest that I abandon living, and that does not celebrate life.
Of course there is more. But for now, it is enough for you to know that I celebrate life.
"Celebrate" is a carefully selected word. We normally use it to talk about parties, victories, anniversaries, and other times of joy. And joy lies at the center of life's experiences for me. Not that I have no feelings of depression, nor is it the case that I have faced no setbacks, no failures, no inadequacies; no, all those things are components of life, and so, in the end, are sources of celebration. Perhaps we need to recall that "celebrate" derives from the idea of ritual and ceremony. Life needs every sort of ritual and ceremony, as life has so many sides and so many experiences.
And what is "life?" Do not expect any answer but a practical one from me. Life is defined by the biology department: respiration, alimentation, reproduction, reaction. When I define life, I am answering the question, "How can you tell a rock from a tree?" Or "When is it time to bury the dog?" Such questions do not require profound inquiry; the answers are fairly obvious.
So in celebrating life, I am commemorating, rejoicing in, reveling in the physical world of sensation, interaction, and change. The non-living world is of interest only insofar as the living has made some use of it, as utility only then, not as a class of things in itself. The non-living includes all things which do not perform the functions above, not just the obvious, like rocks and corpses, but the eternal, the universal, the unchanging. Such things -- if such items are "things" -- are not living, and I do not celebrate them, except as the living can make use of them. An eternal verity which stultifies life, or subordinates life, is anathema and not a source of celebration.
You may object, "I do not agree with your definition of life. It misses so much." Or you may object "The eternal is far more important than the ephemeral. How can you suggest otherwise?" Here I can only suggest that you are wrongheaded. Here we are discussing fundamental stuffs where disagreement lacks the proximity to permit meaningful friction. The matters are close enough to generate heat, but not close enough to permit a controlled interaction, rather like rubbing two sticks together, rather than rubbing a stick against a knife on a lathe. The two views do not cut into each other, only grate up against each other. But permit me a moment of seduction.
I define life as I do because I do not wish to beg any questions. Grass is alive. I am alive. The desk before me is dead. How do I know? Not because of a spiritual connection between me and grass that does not exist between me and the desk, but rather because grass behaves suspiciously like me. It grows. It depends on some sort of food and water. It responds to the stimuli of fertilizer and lawn mower. Grass seems to be alive. The desk does not. The desk has not grown, or changed, or responded to anything I have confronted it with (I suppose I should mention that it has a granite top and heavy wooden drawers.) The desk not only doesn't behave like me, it doesn't behave at all.
"Ah," you say, "a behaviorist." And the arguments begin to line up. But do the arguments you propose make the desk alive? If so, then I suggest you should abandon them, as a granite topped desk is most assuredly not alive. Do the arguments you muster make the grass non-living? Then again, I suggest you are in error. Do your arguments suggest life is something else, something I have missed, but leave the grass alive and the desk not? Then I leave you to your notions, though I do wonder why you need more than to know that I and the rich green grass live, while my handsome green granite desk does not. In terms of distinguishing the living from the not-living, I cannot see what more is needed. More is commentary, not definition.
Now, regarding the eternal: If the eternal does not change, and it cannot, as change has time for a component and the eternal exist transcendant of time, then it has no place in the world of the living. For the living is changing always -- eating, sleeping, growing, atrophying -- and needs to change or cease to live. Indeed, the sure sign of the non-living is abscence of change. That which is not part of my world cannot be more important to me than that which is part of my world. To suggest otherwise is to suggest that I abandon living, and that does not celebrate life.
Of course there is more. But for now, it is enough for you to know that I celebrate life.
Monday, May 17, 2004
A first blog
For years I have remained silent about a great many ideas I have had because I thought that all reasonable people shared them, and so the ideas were not worth stating. Gradually, and tragically in some cases, I have learned that I was wrong. The world was not really waiting for my great and extraordinary thoughts, but rather the ones I believed to be commonplace and banal.
So here I am, taking my shot at the blog monster, saying my say and getting out the truth as I have come to understand it. Feel free to shoot back, and I usually will reply forthwith. Nevertheless, I will also feel free to ignore you. I shall rant about all the big issues and many of the little ones, treating this blog as my own editorial page, and myself as good ol' Charley Kane.
Enjoy the ride.
So here I am, taking my shot at the blog monster, saying my say and getting out the truth as I have come to understand it. Feel free to shoot back, and I usually will reply forthwith. Nevertheless, I will also feel free to ignore you. I shall rant about all the big issues and many of the little ones, treating this blog as my own editorial page, and myself as good ol' Charley Kane.
Enjoy the ride.
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