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About jparquette

Fortunate and blessed in companionship with my wife of fifty seven years, in health and in modest, but more than adequate circumstances. Life is good.

Rock the Baby

She was naked, terrified, utterly alone, confused, sinking ever deeper into hypothermia.  Initial shivering and body movement slowly diminished.  She hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink all day; in point of fact she had never eaten since she was born – early that morning.  Her cries weakened; the slight rising and falling of her little chest was barely evident.  The baby lay on a ledge outcropping at the edge of the forest; her recently severed umbilical cord was clearly visible.  The cautious female hyena approached tentatively, her head in constant motion looking for the baby’s protector, but there was no one.  Creeping ever closer, the scent aroused the hyena’s hunger.  Jaws opened and snapped closed; the weak cries stopped altogether.  The hyena mother picked up the tiny body and knew what to do, what all mothers should do: back in the cave her babies had to eat.

In ancient Rome and Greece, infanticide was routinely practiced.  Often the murder was by neglect: exposure to the elements or putting babies outside by the doorstep in earthen jars.  Starvation, thirst, asphyxiation, cold, heat or predators would kill them, and the parents could absolve themselves from direct responsibility because a god or another person could have come along and saved them.  Some were more direct.  Burying alive, strangulation, bashing them against a rock or throwing infants into the Tiber, each method had its advocates.

We would prefer to suppose such barbaric practices were abandoned as more enlightened civilizations evolved.  Since the most recent past century was the bloodiest in human history, we should be disabused of our smug pretensions by now. Even a cursory examination will show that infanticide is still common, especially in China and India, but it is a curse in every nation, including our own.  The most frequent victims due to various sociological pathologies and selection have always been baby girls. Link to a brief history of infanticide.  

Outrage and violence, this is all I see,

all is contention, and discord flourishes.

And so the law loses its hold,

and justice never shows itself.

Yes, the wicked man gets the better of the upright,

and so justice is seen to be distorted.

Habakkuk 1: 4 -6

Dr. Peter Singer holds the Ira W. Decamp Chair of Bioethics at Princeton University and is considered by many as one of the premier bioethicists in America.  The guiding light of the animal rights movement, he decries “speciesism” as being as woeful a human failing as racism or sexism.  His premise is that a mature animal capable of suffering is more deserving of our protection than, say, a human pre born or neonate.

Prominent in his post modern ethic is euthanasia for the suffering or disabled, especially if they are infants.  His is a “quality of life” utilitarian ethic, not a “sanctity of life” natural law ethic.  Let him speak for himself.  “We may not want a child to start on life’s uncertain voyage if the prospects are clouded. When this can be known at a very early stage in the voyage, we may still have a chance to make a fresh start. This means detaching ourselves from the infant who has been born, cutting ourselves free before the ties that have already begun to bind us to our child have become irresistible. Instead of going forward and putting all our effort into making the best of the situation, we can still say no, and start again from the beginning.”

Nor is Dr. Singer alone in his cause.  Nobel Prize-winning molecular biologist, Sir John Sulston, who also worked on the Human Genome project, implicitly advocated the extermination of the disabled when he said, “I don’t think one ought to bring a clearly disabled child into the world”.  Professor Robert Edwards, the IVF pioneer who helped bring to birth the world’s first test-tube baby, said, “Soon it will be a sin for parents to have a child which carries the heavy burden of genetic disease.”  Playing God is an adult game as old as humankind and is still in vogue.

Now, we cannot ascribe this position solely to the radical fuming of ivory towered academia; Dr. Singer was the bioethics advisor in the Clinton administration and remains one of the lights (such as it is) to that which informs much of the “progressive” agenda.  Here’s another of his pomposities, “Human babies are not born self-aware or capable of grasping their lives over time. They are not persons. Hence their lives would seem to be no more worthy of protection than the life of a fetus.”   Couldn’t be much more clear, and in this regard, I am in complete agreement with the last phrase.  There is no moral difference between abortion and early infanticide.  It is not the journey down the birth canal and into the light that makes a human being a person.

“After ruling our thoughts and our decisions about life and death for nearly two thousand years, the traditional Western ethic has collapsed.”  Dr. Peter Singer

More disturbing still is the mainstreaming of the utilitarian ethic concerning human life and the insistence of the progressive that irrespective of our profound moral objections, we all should pay for it.  Buried among the 5 gazillion platitudes, the 2012 platform of the Democratic Party Convention included this: The Democratic Party strongly and unequivocally supports Roe v. Wade and a woman’s right to make decisions regarding her pregnancy, including a safe and legal abortion, regardless of ability to pay. That’s “newspeak” for “we want complete access to abortion for any reason at any stage of the pregnancy paid for by the state.” The platform committee included in its members some of the most radical progressives like Barney Frank. **

As a State Senator, Barack Obama opposed a bill protecting infants born alive during a botched abortion.  Ramesh Ponnuro’s recent article in National Review Online wrote of it and quoted Obama, “Granting them protection by requiring that a second doctor be present to treat any born-alive infant would ‘burden the original decision of the woman and the physician to induce labor and perform an abortion.’ Legal protection for these infants, in addition to being wrong on principle, would inhibit abortion.”   (Emphasis mine.) Apparently, drowning them in a bucket like a kitten (as is common practice among abortionists when something goes wrong and the baby is born alive) was perfectly OK with the good senator.  He is the most radically pro abortion president in our history.

No clichés about the slippery slope.  We’re well past the crest and rushing down the icy hill.  The question is: what are we going to do to mitigate the crash at the bottom?

You’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
You’re gonna have to serve somebody

Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

Gotta Serve Somebody (From the album “Slow Train Coming”)   Bob Dylan

** The DNC Platform Committee also caused public furor when, unprecedented, they removed any reference to “God”and Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, which after a political decision to limit the damage, treated us to the spectacle of God, Israel and Jerusalem being booed from the floor of the DNC.  The Mayor of Los Angeles,  Antonio Villaraigosa, was forced to gavel over the objections of many convention delegates to add those references back in on a voice vote that clearly fell short of the 2/3’s needed. Pretty entertaining though.  (Link to video).

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Gimme Shelter

 An early fall chill lends urgency to the just after sunrise start.  A five person house framing crew stretches and climbs out of the crew cab pickup truck, which tows the tools and nails trailer.  The first floor deck sheathing had been laid down the day before, and first walls would be nailed in place before day’s end – on track to frame the 2,300 square foot colonial in three weeks with garage and farmer’s porch.

First out of the trailer is the generator and compressor; no temp power is yet available at the jobsite.  Next out, the carpenters deploy cords for the saws and hoses for the nail guns.  The truck from the lumberyard pulls in.  The driver releases the Moffet forklift from the back and begins to unload pre cut studs, plate stock, OSB sheathing and a few 2 x 10’s for headers according to the estimator’s take off and framing foreman’s review with the lumber salesperson.   The practiced driver spreads the materials about the foundation to limit the amount of grunt work by the carpenters to get the right product to its designated place in the structure.

Carpenters jump on the lumber driver with good natured  repartee; profanity goes back and forth along with bawdy inquiries about girlfriends, wives and the attractive woman two doors down in the house they finished a couple of months ago.  Almost no sentence and few phrases avoid the habitual “F” bomb as a verb, noun, exclamation, adjective, adverb or occasionally an emphatic two syllables in the middle of a word.   “Where are my f’ing pencils and hoodies?”  As the driver pulls away, the lead carpenter or foreman is already snapping chalk lines on the deck.  After cutting them to the right length, he tacks together top and bottom plates to mark them out for studs as a start to assemble one of the twenty or thirty walls that make up the first floor.  Worn plans are rolled out on a makeshift plywood table.

The rest of the crew carries studs to nail between the plates and begins to cut headers, jacks, cripples, window frame sills and all the rest.  There isn’t a lot of talk by this time; everyone knows what to do.  By 8:30 or 9, they are standing up the first walls, bracing them plumb and level.  As the sun gets higher, shirts come off.  Arms, chests and backs are well developed, not with gym muscles, but resilient strength that will go all day.   Everyone is tanned dark with calloused hands.   At around 10 or so, the “roach coach” bounces in with horn blaring and the crew drifts over for coffee and snacks.  Some of the guys buy their lunch for later, usually a plastic wrapped day old sandwich or steamed hot dog.  The joking banter starts up anew.  By the end of the day, the first floor walls will be ready for the second floor joists tomorrow.

So the process goes.  The foundation form workers, concrete trucks, tree cutters and site work equipment have already come and gone – the dirt movers will return later to finish the final grading, driveway and landscaping.  After the roof is on and the windows are in, the other subs show up sequentially scheduled by the contractor:  roofer, siding and exterior trim crew,  MEPs – mechanicals (heating, ventilation, etc), electricians, plumbers, then masons, insulation installers, sheet rockers, plasterers, finish carpenters, painters, flooring installers, cabinetry and countertop makers.  Some MEPs come to rough in, and others come to install the finishing plumbing, lighting, fixtures and cover plates after all the other crews have finished their work.   Carefully planned throughout the progression are the various permits, inspections and checklists along the way to comply with thick code books and engineering requirements.  Sometimes in a small company, the builder and his wife finish up to final clean and take the manufacturer’s stickers off the windows.

Many of the subs know each other from other jobs.  Most get along; some don’t, especially if their work is increased or complicated by other subs.  If the plumber gets out a Sawzall and attacks floor joists to put in their drains or the sheet rocker buries the electrical boxes, sometimes sparks fly literally or figuratively.  The contractor frequently plays the role of arbitrator in these disputes.

Dependent upon these job site jobs are thousands of hardworking lumberyard, window, door and appliance manufacturers, pipe makers, wire makers, cabinet makers, log sawyers, timber cutters, gypsum and copper miners, cabinet makers, lighting assemblers, supply houses, realtors and myriad others who benefit from this bedrock industry.  Without them, our economy will and has suffered grievous harm.

An efficient builder will turn over a typical new house of this size in 90 days from digging the foundation to bikes in the driveway.  Some of the big national builders can get occupancy permits in 70 days.  When a company puts up 30,000 houses a year, efficiency is at a premium.  A large, fully custom home can take a year or more.  Approvals for lots and subdivisions usually take several years with frequently contentious planning board and zoning variance hearings.  Deals are cut for “contributions” to the town such as sewage pumping stations or Little League fields.  Relationships for good or ill are forged with building inspectors.  Bonds are filed; roads are cut; land is donated to the towns for public use.  Acquisition, development and construction loans are a never ending ongoing struggle.  Creativity abounds.

As large as the big builders are like Pulte, Lennar and D.R. Horton, most new homes are still built by small entrepreneurial builders, who by their risk taking, will, intelligence, experience, persistence and courage turn raw land into someone’s dream and shelter from the storm.

On this Labor Day weekend, I salute the thousands of entrepreneurs, who work as architects, engineers, contractors and subcontractors; almost all are small businesses.  They claw a living out of the earth, providing jobs for many others and homes for families all across this country in every state and county. I have been in and around this business for almost forty years, and my admiration for these independent, skilled businessmen is undiminished.  I am proud to play a small role in this demanding enterprise.

The fruit of their work is a fundamental of human survival – shelter. An honorable, necessary and admirable group of skilled builders, artisans and sub contractors get up each workday morning in wind, numbing cold, snow or parching heat or steady drizzle to provide with great difficulty what is critical to our way of life.

And, yes, Mr. President, they did build it.

Oh, a storm is threat’ning
My very life today
If I don’t get some shelter

Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away  

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards

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A Wedding of Great Promise

Meg was radiant; tough guy Marty’s eyes brimmed with emotion as I walked toward him with her on my arm. The Atlantic created the backdrop behind him while a gentle on shore breeze eased the heat from the mid August late afternoon sun.  The emotions were true, lovely, dear and necessary.  The wedding was charming not because of the setting or the beauty of the bride, the handsomeness of the groom, but because of the promise.  It was a very good beginning, but, still, just a good start.

And I don’t mean a start to the great party afterwards upstairs at the Newport Atlantic Beach Club, although, it, too, more than lived up to expectations.  Everyone danced, the food was superior; conversation flowed easily with much laughing, many toasts and more than a few tears from time to time.

Meg and Marty vowed their lives one to the other from this time forward.  Meg said this, “I love who I am when I’m with you and strive to make you as happy as you make me.  I look forward to seeing you every day and never grow tired of our time spent together.  I find myself comfortable and at peace with growing old together…. I love you with all of my heart and before everyone who is most dear to us today, I promise to commit myself to you completely (even during hockey season).  I know that happiness in a marriage may come and go – but whatever hardships we face throughout the years, I have full confidence that we’ll face them together, make decisions to love even when it’s hard, and we will both be able to look back and find the happiness we feel today.”  I don’t have a copy of Marty’s vows, but they were similarly heartfelt and completely sincere.

Now, don’t get me wrong, the father of the bride is a traditionalist and finds no fault in “to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer until death do us part” in a church, but promises of the heart are promises of the heart, and God is in the promises – they are compelling and for the rest of their lives.  Meg, Marty and the friends and family who gathered to affirm their promise all know this to be true.

You will reciprocally promise love, loyalty and matrimonial honesty. We only want for you this day that these words constitute the principle of your entire life and that with the help of divine grace you will observe these solemn vows that today, before God, you formulate.  Pope John Paul II

The value of a promise is in its keeping:  in making decisions to love day after day, year after year, even and especially when we don’t feel ‘loving’ and are tired, discouraged, broke or sad.  You have good precedents.  Dore and Gloria (Marty’s folks) have loved and kept their promises for over 35 years; Rita and I have as well for 45.  This is my prayer for Meg and Marty:  keep your promise, trust in one another, cling to your first love when times are hard (and they will be), and you will be all right in the end.

As for man, his days are like grass;

he flowers like the flower of the field;

the wind blows, and he is gone..Psalm103

A few years ago a movie with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson called “The Bucket List” was so popular it added the phrase to common usage.  I think most of us have a “bucket list”.  Mine has nothing to do with climbing mountains, jumping out of airplanes or visiting Florence (although Florence sounds wonderful).  Those have more to do with ego, self image and reputation than legacy.  For me, living a purposeful life and keeping my promises with the beautiful bride of my youth, Rita, is far more important.  She was also a stunning bride, who has grown in character, virtue, wisdom and inner beauty through faithfulness born of suffering the vicissitudes and challenges of life through the years.  I love her more now than then, although at the time, I didn’t think that possible.   Would that my children share this blessing.

Of paramount value in my bucket list is seeing my children off to a good start, especially in their choice of a spouse of good character from a loving, laughing, stable family.  My Meg did that last week.  I know that through age and infirmity, I will be less and less able to help them as time goes by, and eventually be gone from this stage.  My children’s spouse and family will see them through.

High on my list, also, is the hope that my four children will continue to be true and there for each other as well.  This is from Meg’s older (slightly) sister, Angela, her matron of honor last week, “Throughout the years we’ve had different friends and different tastes, but we share the same family, heritage and the same blood.  We’ve been there for each other through first days of school, first kisses, first everything.  I will never ever forget the loving support and encouragement you gave me the day I gave birth to Gianna.  I’m not sure I would have made it through that day without you.   Life may separate us by many miles, but in the words of Jo March in Little Women, (how many times have we seen that movie, maybe 25?!): “I could never love anyone as I love my sisters.””  Link to full text of toast

I say to God, “Do not take me away

before my days are complete,

you whose days last from age to age..”  Psalm 102

And so, dear children, this old dad’s heart is full and at peace this Sunday.  Be of good heart yourselves and thank you all so much.

The psalms seem to me to be like a mirror, in which the person using them can see himself, and the stirrings of his own heart; he can recite them against the background of his own emotions. St. Athanasius

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Truth Fairy Revisited

My colleague from three companies ago, Anthony, lives near Atlanta making his living as a “storyteller, speaker, humorist and writer.”  When I first encountered him as a professional trainer, he was (and presumably still is) engaging, funny, warm, articulate and full of insights he was most eager to pass along to us; he was good at what he did.  We engaged in a brief exchange of ideas as comments in last week’s blog, in which we went back and forth with a fundamental divergence of opinion – would that all opposing views could be discussed so genially.  Later in the week Anthony published the current edition of his “Waypoints – Guideposts for Fellow Travelers” entitled “The Truth Fairy.” It is herein attached; please give it a read.  Link to Waypoints.  Back arrow to return to this post.  Sign up, and he will add you to his email distribution list.

His ideas, so amicably held and voiced, when juxtaposed to mine, lead us to what I believe is the crucial divide of our times – a rift that cannot be reconciled, but can have mutual understanding and respect among people of good will.  Religious and agnostic; progressive and conservative all distill down to this:  utilitarian positivism and moral relativism in stark contrast to the concepts of revelation and natural law.

Postmodern ideals and ethics evolved through the Enlightenment and later the Nihilism and “God is Dead” philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, the Existential writings of Jean Paul Sartre and many others.  Perhaps the positivist roots go even deeper into thirteenth and fourteenth century scholastic writings and Father Wilhelm of Ockham of “Ockham’s Razor” renown.  These seminal ideas developed parallel with the ascendency of the scientific method as the sole arbiter of truth like a robotic meshworm boring through the ear and into the brain of Western Civilization until it insinuated itself into the synapses and impulses, unhinging us utterly from any absolutes, and as Waypoints would have us say, “Are there any truths or are there merely facts?  To say that a thing is true is to definitively and confidently declare it both undeniable and incontrovertible.”   Just so.

The argument of the positivist is that without empirical evidence nothing can be known as true.  In the beginning, those like Father Wilhelm would exempt the unknowable complexities of God and miracles from the strictures of positivist dogma because revelation and faith are by definition of a different nature of truth.  As all ideas have consequences, fledgling positivist thought eventually overran all that Creator folderol and pontificated loudly “Gott ist tot! – if indeed He ever existed – and He is therefore irrelevant to the discussion.”

“Ultimately, the problem with militant neo-atheism is that it represents a profound category error.  Explaining religion – or indeed the human experience – in scientific terms is futile.  It would be as bizarre to launch a scientific investigation into the truth of Anna Karenina or love.”  Bryan Appleyard writing in the New Statesman

My contention is not that Waypoints expresses the thoughts of a dyed in the wool positivist, clearly Anthony chooses an alternative faith, that of Emerson and Thoreau and “The Little Prince”, but only that positivist thought inculcates our culture and fashions our perspectives.  If we wandered through most of what passes for education since the mid twentieth century, it is the sea in which we swim and the lens through which we see.

My objection lies in the dismissal of those who are of a different faith as “blindly giving all that I have to you” and foolishly relying on “an anthology of ancient stories, screeds and scriptures, all of which are subject to great debate and drastically differing translations,” and thus to Anthony ”both silly and pointless.”  This seems to me superficial and smug, unworthy of such an intelligent mind.

“Don’t lay no boogie woogie on the King of Rock and Roll!”   Long John Baldry

As an aside, the utopian visions of Emerson, which have their foundation in transcendental principles not provable or disprovable in physical experience, were tried and found wanting in the communes of the nineteenth and twentieth century, and the gulags of the Soviet Union.  Emerson and Thoreau were among the guiding lights of Brook Farm, but only visited; they didn’t live there, being far too bright for that.  No utopian society existed that did not deconstruct into discord, chaos, tyranny or dystopia.  As for the “Little Prince”, unless one reads Antoine Saint-Exupery in the original French, we are relying on one of dozens of translations.

The library we call the Bible, the meticulous translations from the original languages and the tens of thousands of books written about it and the faith it represents are among the most comprehensively analyzed, discussed and thought about subjects in human history.  Thomas Huxley, the famed agnostic biologist of Victorian times, put it this way, “Take the Bible as a whole; make the severest deductions which fair criticism can dictate for shortcomings…, and there still remains in the old literature a vast residuum of moral beauty and grandeur.”

Is truth exclusive?  In other words, if two things are posited and are exactly opposite, is it only my truth and your truth with no objective judgment possible wherein one position is right and the other wrong?  Or is objective truth itself a self evident impossibility outside the laboratory?

For the ancients of Western Civilization, the existence of a Natural Law of incontrovertible truths set deep in the DNA of human kind by its Creator was a given, far before the amazing body of Christian literature on the concepts by the likes of the brilliant Aquinas and Augustine.   No lesser light than Aristotle put it this way, “There is in nature a common principle of the just and unjust that all people in some way divine, even if they have no association or commerce with each other.”  As C.S. Lewis wrote, there are sometimes differing interpretations of what “fairness” means across cultures and times, but there is universal agreement that the concept of “fairness” is of high value to a healthy society.  No one contends that a culture rooted in injustice or unfairness would be a good one.  Or for that matter one rooted in cowardice, lies and the murder of the innocent.

So, dear friend, we can disagree about the mores and morals of our current culture, but please don’t admonish us to “think about it”.    We do.

Law is “the highest reason, implanted in Nature, which commands what ought to be done and forbids the opposite.”  “Right is based, not upon men’s opinions, but upon Nature.”  Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC)

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Scientists and Their Dogma

A series of papers on “HIV in Men Who Have Sex with Men” from the prestigious British medical journal, Lancet, were presented as a symposium at the recent international AIDS 2012 conference in Washington, DC.  Not necessarily surprisingly, given current scientific dogma, one of the major causes of the continuing epidemic among active homosexual men was cited as homophobia and discrimination against gay men.

Oh yes, there are some behavioral risk factors, of course, but if only gay men felt secure enough to take advantage of best medical practices, HIV incidence would plummet.  Toxic intolerance, especially religious bigotry, compels homosexual men, particularly black homosexual men, to forgo proper care and increases risk. Huh?

One might reasonably ask what behavioral risks?   Within the papers, we find that active homosexual men are eighteen times more likely to contract the HIV virus and AIDS than the general population.  A single homosexual act with a new partner puts the impassioned at a 1.4% risk of HIV infection.  Why is that?

Several factors are named.  In the interest of keeping this a family friendly, PG rated blog, some discretion will be necessary.  Anal sex is more risky (if not more frisky) since HIV is a gut-tropic virus.  (i.e. the little guys tend to prosper in the alimentary canal.)   Secondly, since the male can be (not to put too fine a point on it) either the inserter or recipient in the transaction, the odds of something going awry increase and things can get dicey.  An additional risk factor, despite protestations of forever love and marriage, irrefutable statistics show the gay lifestyle to be predominantly promiscuous.  Multiple partners mean multiplication, if not exponential risk; it’s just math.  As a further result of these behaviors, gay men also have far higher rates of infection by other STDs, depression and substance abuse.   But, it’s homophobia that’s really at the root of the problem.

Whether the discussion is global warming/climate change, the creation of our universe, embryonic stem cell research (now largely moot due to scientific advancements using adult stem cells) and even “definitive” studies “proving” conservatives suffer from a kind of mental illness,   increasing impenetrability is encountered when trying to ascertain the real facts.  It seems almost impossible to determine what’s really behind the conclusions.  Larry Summers, former head of the Economic Council for President Obama and Treasury Secretary for President Clinton, lost his job as President of Harvard University when he said women were underrepresented at the highest levels of science, and that may be caused because women, while possessing higher average intelligence than men, are underrepresented at the periphery of the intelligence bell curve – both ends:  more male geniuses and more males with below normal IQs.  Just citing a scientific study sealed his fate among the faculty, which condemned him with a vote of no confidence.

 If someone presumes to question the causes or the proposed solutions for global warming, they are relegated to the ranks of anti science Neanderthals, but the scandalous emails exposing the ideological agenda of the purveyors of global warming are passed off as an anomaly.  If a layperson suggests that cloning human beings to kill them and harvest their stem cells may pose moral difficulty, well that reactionary is clearly a desperately ignorant, knuckle dragging dupe.  Physics by definition has no idea what occurred before the Big Bang, when time and space and light and matter came into being, yet if someone suggests that there may be a theological explanation, the derision dripping from some scientists is transcendent.

Dogma of any kind is similarly derided by the ideology of the left.  Yet someone’s dogma prevails always; whether the dogma of science or ideology or religion, there is a body of thought and belief that forms conclusions and solutions.  To believe that there is no dogma promulgated by worship at the altar of the god of “purely objective” science, is naïve and dangerous.

“Science is silent on what should be done with the fruits of science.  Science can cure illnesses and cause them, destroy cities and build them, save lives and take them.  It is the realm outside of science, the realm of morality and religion.  i.e., the realm of dogma that tells us what is permissible and what is taboo.  The scientist free of moral dogma is a cartoon villain who creates death rays for sport or ransom. 

Dogma constrains how science should be doneThe Hippocratic Oath… represents not a triumph of science but a triumph of moral absolutism.” 

“The Tyranny of Clichés”, Jonah Goldberg.

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Hercules and the Giant

520 BC – Hercules slays the giant, Alcyoneus

 Hercules Industries drew first blood against an overwhelming giant this week when Colorado District Federal Judge John Kane granted a preliminary injunction against the imposition of the Obamacare mandate which requires private companies to provide insurance at no cost to their employees that will supply embryocidal chemicals, contraceptives and sterilization procedures.

 Hercules manufactures and distributes HVAC (Heating-Ventilation-Air Conditioning) products to contractors throughout Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and parts of Wyoming and Utah.  The company was founded in 1962 by William Newland, and he and his family still run it, employing over 265 full time workers.  As a privately held company, the Newland family holds deeply held convictions, born of their Catholic faith, that inform and provide a moral structure for their business. Mission statements are seemingly de rigueur in current business practice; most are trite and laden with regurgitated buzz words.  Hercules appends an unusual emphasis, “We will nurture and maintain the culture of a family owned business in which our employees grow financially, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually.”

“Profit is a regulator of the life of a business, but it is not the only one; other human and moral factors must also be considered, which in the long term are at least equally important for the life of a business.”  Centesimus Annus, Pope John Paul II

The Newlands, as did many Catholic hospitals and universities, filed suit against Kathleen Sebelius, Secretary of Health and Human Services, Secretary of Labor Hilda Solis and Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner.  This scary group is defended by Eric Holder’s Department of Justice.  The Greek mythical warrior, Hercules, hardly faced more formidable odds.  Declaring that the mandate violates not only their consciences, but their religious beliefs and First Amendment rights, Hercules went to battle and won the first skirmish.

 The DOJ response to the motion for injunction ran for 76 pages, but it came down to this: Plaintiff’s challenge rests largely on the theory that a for-profit, secular corporation .. can claim to exercise a religion and thereby avoid the reach of laws designed to regulate commercial activity. Matt Bowman, attorney for Alliance Defending Freedom, who helped represent the family, said, “The bottom line is that Congress and the Constitution explicitly protect all religious freedom.  They don’t exclude family businesses.”  Judge Kane (appointed by Jimmy Carter) found that the Department of Justice arguments “are countered, and indeed outweighed, by the public interest in the free exercise of religion.”

“Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”
John Adams

Irrespective of whether the full Colorado District Federal Court upholds or strikes down Judge Kane’s ruling, either Hercules or Holder will appeal, and the Roberts Court will decide ultimately once again.  Since the rough shod ride over the First Amendment is undeniable, perhaps the Roberts Court will find this abridgement of fundamental rights of conscience is somehow justified by the compelling interest of the State to pay for its citizens to kill their young or mutilate their bodies with sterilization, thus saving the bill once again.

What is not surprising in the bill is the relentless effort of Secular Progressives to not only prevail over the people of other faiths, but to silence in the Public Square the voices and actions of conscience by dissenters from the creed of Secular Progressivism.  The intent of Freedom of Religion enshrined in our Constitution is upheld by all Americans: that there will be no state sanctioned official church of any kind.  To insist that moral decisions, conduct of personal business (including commerce) and political choices should not be influenced by human consciences is merely silly.

“Human rights can only be assured among a virtuous people.”  George Washington

ObamaCare is a glimpse into the Progressive soul, which finds in the State not only the sole solution to complex human problems, but that dissent is heresy of the worst kind.  When President Obama slips into rare, unguarded candor with statements about private sector business like “you didn’t build it” or that the small business owner was not successful because they were “smarter or worked harder”, we see another glimpse into his soul – the Progressive’s deepest convictions. When he thinks about hard working middle class, faith filled Americans, he sees a people “clinging to their guns and Bibles.”  Really.  And when he thinks about those who have worked hard and become successful, his soul glimpse and driving impulse is to “spread the wealth around.”

A deluge of bewildering regulations from every Executive Agency from EPA to IRS to HHS to Labor is costing business billions to figure out,  a distressing reality that favors large businesses which can afford to hire staff to comply.  If this administration cannot convince the American people to change a law which doesn’t fit the President’s agenda, they act by arrogant fiat and refuse to enforce them, thereby breaking their solemn oath to do so.  (e.g. Defense of Marriage Act, current immigration law, the Clinton welfare reform that required recipients to work, etc).  Our only relief from this usurpation is in November, just a hundred days away.

Among the twelve labors imposed on Hercules as punishment by the gods was to clean the Stables of King Augeas, who owned more sheep, horses and cattle than any other person in the world — to clean the Augean Stables in a day – an impossible task.  Hercules accomplished the impossible by hewing out large holes in either end of the Stables and rerouting the Alpheus and Peneus Rivers through the breaches, washing out years of horse pucks, sheep dip and bull excrement in a day.

If Hercules Industries can prevail over ObamaCare, may I suggest to these dauntless businessmen a trip to Washington?  The Potomac is a very big river……

“It must not be forgotten that it is especially dangerous to enslave men in the minor details of life….  Subjection in minor affairs breaks out every day and is felt by the whole community indiscriminately.  It does not drive men to resistance, but it crosses them at every turn, till they are led to surrender the exercise of their own will.”

“Democracy in America”, Alexis de Tocqueville

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Lumpenproletariat

Making a Move

The scream of Wes’s customized Sach’s 250 dirt bike coming out of the foothills, and then kicking up a great cloud of dust on the long dirt driveway, signaled the beginning of our work day.  He was rarely late, but never early; his avocation was motocross racing, which he did professionally, but not lucratively.  His daily bread was earned, like the rest of us, cutting trees for EZ Tree Service in 1969 Colorado.  Our fenced in staging area on the plateau north of Boulder and just east of the beginning of the Rockies was where Ed Zemekis stored and split his for-sale firewood. The lot provided parking for the various bucket trucks, chip trucks, log trucks, trailered large wood chippers, pickup trucks and stump grinders with which we plied our trade.

Ed was a self taught genius mechanic who could fix, weld or fabricate almost anything.  He weighed in at over two thirty and couldn’t get up a tree if a grizzly was chasing him, but he could run an organized and effective business.  My interview for a job was typical of skills based hiring methods at the tail end of the post war boom.  I drove into the yard between his house and barn for our appointment, and as I walked toward the front door past an eight yard dump truck, I heard a grunt, then a “put the pin in for me, will ya?”  Looking around, I saw a hefty set of legs protruding from under the truck.  Ed was bench pressing a drive shaft back up to the transmission and needed someone to jam in the bolt to secure it.  What he would have done had I been late was never made clear.  Perhaps he was waiting to show me how strong he was.

He slid out from under the truck and asked me if I had my rope and saddle with me.  Of course I did, and he gestured towards a large cottonwood in his side yard.  I threw the rope into it with one cast; foot locked up to a low branch and scrambled to the top, tying in when I got there.  “Can you start Monday?”  “Sure.”  His Prairie Home Companion pleasant, pretty, fiftyish wife brought out some lemonade, and I had a job.  Both of us knew that should Monday prove that I was good at a climbing interview, but fell short in cutting or pruning skills, there wouldn’t be a Tuesday.

“Do not hire a man who does your work for money, but him who does it for love of it.”  Henry David Thoreau

Two of the crew worked in the lot full time cutting and splitting the hardwood we brought back with Ed’s homemade, vertical log splitter, which was powered by a barely mufflered Ford industrial strength engine and his own concoction of foot pedal and hydraulics.  The terrifying monster functioned as a guillotine for logs, could easily blow apart 18” oak and would have horrified any hapless OSHA inspector who stopped by – not that one ever did.  Load the log between the channel iron guides, step back, step on the foot pedal and the blade would slash downward with the inexorable slam of a pile driver.  No safety lock out (not even shutting off the motor, because the hydraulics held enormous pent up force), no cage, no emergency shut off – just drop in the wood and get the hell out of the way.  The rest of us mounted up in whatever configuration of equipment the assigned work required, and off we went.  The good old days.

The climbers were Wes, who had a degree in History, Ted, the handlebar mustached lead foreman and quintessential Westerner, Hatch, originally from Boston, who we later discovered stole high performance cars as a side business, a multi degreed (Math and Physics) Rocky Mountain Rescue Group mountaineer named Bob Cormack and I, newly hired. Ron, who supplemented his income as a part time marijuana dealer, and Stan from Chicago, a former Oakland Branch Hell’s Angel, were the bucket truck operators.  The rest of the crew worked on the ground, running lowering lines, chain sawing up fallen trees, chipping, dragging, loading and raking up chips in the yards of our customers.

Young and fit men all, but the alchemy of the late sixties, especially in a place like Boulder, melded a disparate cast of characters into a crew, a team, who worked, played and took considered risks together.  Men of quite different backgrounds and education, but mutually respectful and sharing a common, fundamentally American, understanding of how the world worked.  Some of us challenged that understanding, but we all had no doubt that it was how things were.

We were brought up to share the principles and promise of capitalism:  success and opportunity if we “worked hard and played by the rules.”  The differences among us regarding the “playing by the rules” part were legion, but everyone fully integrated, indeed never thought to question, that every day we got up and worked hard at rough physical labor.  We all simply expected it of ourselves as a given.

Karl Marx ridiculously postulated in The Communist Manifesto that there were only two classes, the owners and the workers – the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, and the resolution of that “exploitation” would create a utopia.  As it turns out, Marx soon contradicted his premise by parsing his dichotomy into many subsets.  The lowest of the low was the lumpenproletariat, that “dangerous class”, and there were elements of that outlaw self perception among the well educated, countercultural and underemployed tree guys.  Set apart – sweaty, dirty, brawny, laughing, profane and derisive of those outsiders who were condescending towards those of us who did for a living what most of them would never attempt.

Take Down

With the foolish vanity of youth, we saw our motley band as made up of the kind of guys recruited by Hedley Lamarr in Blazing Saddles: “rustlers, cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperadoes, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, half-wits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswagglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass kickers, shit kickers and Methodists.”  And proud of it.

After an additional forty more years, I now recognize the naïveté, narcissism and vainglory of such posturing, but at the time, invulnerable young men held it dear.

I have stories to relate – both of the work and the men who did it.  We can go down that road together, if you like, in future posts.

“If boyhood and youth are but vanity, must it not be our ambition to become men?”  Vincent Van Gogh

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Threads, Calculations and Tinkering

                      Leon Black was revealed this week as the buyer in May of “The Scream”, the Edvard Munch masterpiece of terror and despair, for nearly $120 million, the largest amount ever paid for a work of art.  After leaving as head of Mergers and Acquisitions for Drexel, Burnham, Lambert, Mr. Black founded Apollo Global Management, a private equity, alternative investment firm specializing in leveraged buyouts and restructuring of distressed corporations.  He is widely respected as a knowledgeable collector of art, sitting on the board of both New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art, setting up a potential rivalry for display of the pastel on board version of the image.

Munch painted four iterations of “The Scream” as well as creating a lithograph stone; the other two painted renditions and one pastel already reside in Norway museums.  He wrote a poem describing his vision as “an infinite scream passing through nature” amid blood-red clouds. The scene was painted in Oslofjord, a “popular” site for Norwegian jumper suicides and in 1895 was near both a slaughterhouse and a lunatic asylum.  The overused and clichéd adjective “iconic”, which I have come to despise, may, in this case, truly apply.

Mr. Black’s mother was an artist; his father, Eli, controlled United Brands Company, which owned Chiquita Bananas of gunboat diplomacy infamy.  Eli jumped from the 44th floor of the Pan Am Building while under investigation by Federal regulators for bribing a Honduras official. The Pan Am Building, now the Met Life Building, is over 800’ tall, and from the 44th floor, in 1975, Mr. Black senior leapt from about 600 feet after breaking a window with his briefcase.  At the universal acceleration constant, it would have taken him around six seconds to hit Park Avenue like a water balloon at over 130 MPH.  One, one thousand….  Two, one thousand…. Seems like a long time to scream.

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.”  Fire and Ice, Robert Frost

**************************************

To put things into a bit of perspective, $120,000,000 would buy Mr. Black about 3 ¾ seasons of Alex Rodrigues’ services at third base for the NY Yankees, OR salvage about 1/5 of what the Obama administration drained into the Solyndra bankruptcy and 1,100 laid off green jobs, OR cover just 17 minutes of 24-7-365 Federal spending. Then again, if we add up the nearly $16 trillion in Federal debt and the nearly $120 trillion in unfunded Federal entitlement programs, Mr. Black’s $120 million covers the Federal liability of only 69 of us 313 million of U.S. citizens.  Every American man, woman and child owes just over $1.7 million of liabilities as our share of the debt and unfunded entitlements.  See National Debt Clock.  Plug that into your personal balance sheet, per person in your family, and see how it looks.  Thank goodness my four children are grown and gone, so they are on their own – only $3.4 million in additional debt for Rita and me now.  Just kidding, kids.   For Mr. Black, reputedly worth over $3.5 billion after Apollo Global went public last year, the $3.4 million for him and his wife of layered on Federal debt represents less than 1/10 of a percent of his net worth, but for most of us, it’s far more than we will ever accumulate or earn in this lifetime.  Perhaps a primal scream or two wouldn’t hurt.

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Since money seems to be weaving threads together in a barter equivalency, recently Melinda Gates and the Gates Foundation pledged $560 million, somewhat less than five “Screams”, to promote, disseminate and spread the “gospel” about contraceptives to the third world.  “That’s universal – we want to bring every good thing to our children,” she says. “But what’s not universal is our ability to provide every good thing.”  Material success and the aggregation of possessions are therefore the raison d’être of our 70 or 80 spins around the sun and how we are to keep score –   presumably not a problem for Bill and Melinda’s kids.  The Gates solution for the rest of the world is to not have children, or at least to have a lot fewer of them.

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned

The Second Coming, W.B. Yeats

This is a solution that is working out well in all of Western Europe, Japan and more recently the United States, where the population growth has fallen below a replacement rate, resulting in an increasingly aging population wherein it will become ever more unsustainable for the young to support the needs of the old.

Certainly, contraception is not a cause, but merely a symptom and enabler of the trend in Western culture as we persist in deracinating marriage by the cultivation of the utilitarian ethic of the “progressive” and devolve in viewing sex as less a function of commitment, family, children and intimate bonding between human beings and more as solely a function of hedonism and unhindered pleasure.  Since widespread use of contraception and sterilization has taken root in our culture, our divorce rate has exploded to 50%, we’ve progressed from three or four sexually transmitted diseases to over a hundred, pornography grows more graphic and dehumanizing as it saturates our cyberspace and all manner of spousal abuse abounds: the objectification of women on steroids, as it were.

Medical side effects of the Pill include decreased libido (some minor irony there), high blood pressure, weight gain, blood clots, more strokes and heart attacks, increased risk of depression and breast cancer (up to 70% higher), especially if taken before a woman’s first child, and twice the aging rate of the uterine lining, which can contribute or cause future infertility.  This magic potion (“Just take this, honey, and we won’t have any worries!”) causes on average at least one early term abortion a year per woman, since the Pill, not just the “morning after” version, indisputably is an abortifacient because it inhibits the ability of the uterine lining to implant and sustain the life of the conceived tiny baby.

But it gets even better.   A Time Magazine article on The Pill cites recent studies proving that progestin from The Pill, (artificial chemicals that mimic the action of the progesterone hormone) are excreted in the urine of millions of women taking the stuff, and it inevitably flows into our water supply.

Early studies show (perhaps like the canary in the coalmine) that aquatic life (fish and frogs) and a few mammalian studies (rats and mice) show degradation of ovaries resulting in infertility from the ingestion of this water.  Women, who take the pill after childbirth, have lower milk producing capability.  A French funded study showed that progestin and other artificial steroids that make their way into our water supply are cumulative and are much more difficult to purify out than other contaminants.  As we travel down this road, even those not taking these potent chemicals will suffer some of the consequences.

Progress, indeed, providing a windfall from which the rest of the world surely will benefit.  Perhaps Bill and Me Lady should stick with malaria.  Perhaps Edvard Munch had something there after all.

“This is the dead land

This is the cactus land….

Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow….

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang, but a whimper..”

The Hollow Men, T.S.  Eliot

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Jobs and Dignity

Still cutting at 65

The young lions roar for their prey and ask their food from God.

At the rising of the sun they steal away and go to rest in their dens.

Man goes forth to his work, to labor till evening falls.  Psalm 104

Propriety and neighbors always proscribed starting up chainsaws before 7:30 in the morning, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty to do in the cool of the morning.  We would set up ropes, sharpen and fuel saws and throw a climbing line into the tree.  After whipping the thrown end back down to the ground I’d foot lock up the rope to a lower branch by holding the two ends together, then free climb to the top of my first assignment.   I would tie off with a taut line hitch between both sides of the rope on either side of the “highest, safe, center” crotch I could find.  Fasten the safety clip into my climbing saddle, pull up a pole saw or chainsaw to go with the curved pruning saw I carried in a scabbard clipped to my saddle, and I was ready to start work.

We wore high topped boots, for me the light and strong Dunham Duraflex, but some preferred Chippewa or Timberline or Herman Survivors.  Like everything else in a crew of working men, debate over the best boots or ropes or saws were forever unresolved, and their advocates were adamant and impassioned.  Dissenters were viewed as at best, ignorant and at worst, heretic.  Prior to their first use, every pair of boots I bought went to a cobbler for protective Naugahyde patches to protect the inner seams.  Constant climbing and scrapping against rough bark would tear out the seam in a month.  Even with the patches, climbers were lucky to get a year out of a $125 pair of boots, which cost us half a week’s pay in the sixties.

If we were taking down a tree, we would wear ‘hooks’ or gaffs fastened with three straps to each leg.  Pole spikes are about 1 ½”, but tree gaffs ran closer to 3” to penetrate sometimes loose or rotten bark into solid wood.  Pruning a tree takes balance and excellent climbing skills without hooking the tree because gaffs can spread disease or injure healthy bark.  Taking down a tree took climbing skills, but was more a matter of planning and rigging.  Locate a good lowering crotch (not our climbing crotch), tie off as large a limb or leader as was prudent with a second, larger ‘bull’ line and throw down the other end of the line to my “ground guy” for each cut.

The partner on the ground would ‘take a wrap’ or several wraps around the tree depending on the perceived weight of the piece being cut.  I’d usually use a clove hitch with a half hitch or two to stabilize the knot, but sometimes due to the circumstances a running bowline would be easier and safer to tie.  The placement of the tie off varied with the necessity of the cut:  balanced, butt end first, brush first.   A few climbers preferred the timber hitch, but I judged that while that knot was useful and quick to secure a log on the ground to a drag line, I never trusted it not to come undone at a critical juncture on an twelve inch by eight foot piece of beech protruding out over someone’s chimney, slate roof or power line, unraveling at the worst possible moment and spinning the piece like an out of control spindle through the roof.  I didn’t need the extra adrenaline.  Knots were another topic of continual dispute among the crew.

Occasionally in a tricky spot, a second line would be tied off on the butt of the cut to control both ends.  The ‘butt line’ would usually be mine to control from the tree after the branch swung loose and I cut the power to the saw.  A single cut could take ten minutes or more to set up.  All manner of other rigging tricks were employed, including a zip line to run a series of smaller pieces from the tree to the ground.  Each cut required close control of the saw and employed a variety of undercuts and notches to send the piece where I wanted it.  A ‘take down’ required tying in at the top, then coming back down and working from the bottom up, so that lower branches didn’t hang up the pieces above them.  A typical tree for such a planning process might be in the 40 to 50’ range and extend out over various hazards such as houses, garages, swimming pools and valued shrubbery.  Large ones could run over 100’ tall with the canopy spread out half of that or more, four or even five feet in diameter at the base and take all day to get safely on the ground.

Rarely a cut would go wrong; I once blew out the power for several blocks in Denver when my ground guy mistimed roping down a large piece.  We were working off a service alley behind a large 18th century home in an upscale neighborhood.  The old cottonwood hung way out over the house, and there was a tiny backyard into which to lower the branches.  After successfully lowering several safely down, we ran into a problem.

The nature of the location meant the ground person had to let the rope run through heavy gloves after the branch cleared the roof in order to get it down before it swung back into the house or out over the power lines.  On the fourth cut, he held the rope a bit too long, perhaps paying too much attention to the coed sunning herself on the neighbor’s deck.  The piece swung from the roof perfectly, I made a jump back for safety into the trunk of the tree, but the large branch continued out over the wires and got hung up on two primary lines.  The power arced through the branch, blew the transformer spectacularly and it was lights out.  Neither neighbors nor my boss were amused; the local electric company even less so.  An afternoon without lights in the middle of summer in Denver wasn’t much of an inconvenience, but missing episodes of two or three favorite soaps was near catastrophic, and it was always the fault of the guy up in the air, who ran the crew, was conspicuous and had no place to hide.

The camaraderie of working crews, whether tree climbers, carpenters or masons, is difficult to understand if one hasn’t experienced it.  Teasing, laughing, sometimes bursts of temper and competition.  A gamut of personalities, intellects, education, marital status and financial conditions melded into a team that trusted one other, shared all manner of self revelation at lunch and in the trucks.  For climbers, even their coffee breaks were sometimes taken fifty feet up depending on how big the tree was and how long it would take to descend and reascend.  Someone on the crew drove to the donut shop, and the best knot man on the ground would tie a bag with a coffee and snack onto the climbing line.  Woe to him who dropped a morning break.  We would compete at lunch and sometimes after work on almost anything: foot locking, pushups, axe throwing, pull ups, rock throwing, log lifting and arm wrestling were regular fields of play.

There is dignity in physical work that again is not understood by those who have never done it forty five hours a week, fifty weeks a year.  I’ve worked in management now for twenty five years, sales for a decade, and as a fence installer, carpenter, truck driver, newspaper reporter, landscaper and CEO of a couple of small companies (one my own), but nothing ever replicated the easy friendships forged on those tree crews of my youth.

Occasionally I reflect that it was no accident that Jesus was a carpenter, St. Paul a sail or tent maker and St. Peter a fisherman.  The inherent worth of earning one’s way with strength, physical skills and thoughtful application of hard work and sweat cannot be replaced by any other sphere of human endeavor.

 “No living man will see again the virgin pineries of the Lake States, or the flat woods of the coastal plain, or the giant hardwoods…..”  Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, 1948

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Compromise and Ideology

Blind Lady Justice

Are there two less understood concepts in the lexicon?  “Ideology” derives from the “science of ideas” and “philosophy of the mind”.  “Compromise” derives from “a mutual promise”.  In our post modern usage, ideology is usually depicted as bad and compromise as good.  The current media blockbuster of the Supreme Court’s narrow 5 to 4 decision to uphold Obamacare is a case in point.  Led by Chief Justice John Roberts, a hybrid compromise of sorts allowed the ill advised, cumbersome law to stand.  At least temporarily.

Some conservatives took some consolation in the Court ruling definitively that the Commerce Clause of the Constitution could not justify Congress passing legislation that coerced  a private commerce transaction (i.e. purchasing health insurance).  This is a tinny and Pyrrhic small victory.  However, the Court decreed, Congress, under its constitutional powers, could tax those not buying insurance.  As Justice Antonin Scalia scathingly noted during the hearings on the bill, if a law citing the Commerce Clause could order a citizen to buy health insurance, what would prevent a law being passed under similar rationale to order us to buy broccoli?  Or, I suppose, to not buy sugary drinks, eight cylinder cars or microwave ovens.

Under this ruling, the Commerce Clause cannot be used to order us to not buy microwaves, but it could tax us into impecuniousness for doing it.  The Supreme Court put its imprimatur on all such future laws and widely exposed us to incursions through the tax code on any liberty inconvenient to a social agenda.  The Supreme Court rewrote what the legislature did by declaring the mandate a tax, which the legislators and the President explicitly denied that it was  on many occasions during its debate.  We haven’t seen such blatant judicial legislating and constitutional rework since Roe v Wade.  Charles Krauthammer called the Court’s tortured reasoning a “great finesse”.

This convoluted compromise performed a Heimlich maneuver on bloated legislation, but it left proponents with all the unresolved problems of the bill.  Obamacare now has been deemed by the highest court in the land as the biggest tax increase in our lifetimes, again something the President promised over and over he would not do to anyone making under $250,000.  Obamacare, even with the huge tax increase, will still add to our deficit a staggering one trillion dollars over its first ten years.  Obamacare will add millions to the lists of the insured through its provisions, and according to an exhaustive Price Waterhouse study, raise insurance premiums for the average family by 40%.  Since it will be far cheaper for the young and healthy to pay the tax than to buy insurance, and because they now can sign up for insurance at any time irrespective of their health and previous conditions, what will prevent them from waiting to buy it until insurance is a desperate and expensive necessity?  Nothing.

The economic underpinning of the bill relies on the assumption that younger, healthy people will buy policies and support the expenses of the old and sick.  Of course, the solution would be to raise the penalty tax even higher, and the authors of the new bastardized system clearly love taxes.

Occasionally compromise is not possible without splitting the baby in two in some Solomonic solution.  How, for instance, is it possible to reconcile a fundamental divide on an idea such as “fairness”?  For many, fairness involves a person getting to keep, spend and reinvest the gains earned by their hard work, risk, intellect and talent.  When President Obama was asked by Charlie Gibson of ABC News in 2008, “If you knew – not believed, but knew — that lowering the capital gains tax rate would raise more (tax) revenue (through increased economic activity), would you still favor raising them?”  Obama answered that he would because of “fairness”.  OK, then.  Explain, please, how a “moderate independent” would find a principled compromise for this gap in the very understanding of the concept of fairness.  Or abortion (a baby is a baby only some of the time)?  Or racist policies such as ‘affirmative action’ (it’s ok to discriminate in favor of some minorities, but not in favor of others)?

A compromise trying to gap that deep a divide of standards is like both camps starting from either side of a ten mile ravine to build a bridge.  Each builds five miles and stops, waiting for the other.  The complication is that they started fifty miles apart on their side of the abyss.  Both get to the end of their side of the bridge with nowhere to go and no plan to complete the span. (Thanks to Jonah Goldberg’s new book, “The Tyranny of Cliché’s” for the metaphor.)

If compromise is not always good, how about ideology?  Ideology is often depicted as akin to some unidentified sticky substance under our shoes in a discount movie theater.  Originally the word connoted a worldview: a set of learned suppositions and principles based on experience and observation that informs our decisions and understanding.  Edmund Burke, the Irish born long serving British House of Commons member, is remembered as a strong supporter of the American Revolution and passionate opponent of the French version.  He decried the blood-spattered extremes of Jacobin ideology and was the intellectual father of modern conservatism.  Burke perceived all “ideology” as the province of Utopian madness determined to create a man made Heaven on earth, sort of a political religion based on the fallacy of the perfectibility of man.  Not really dissimilar to how many conservatives view leftish ideology even today.
A radical ideology renders a left leaning partisan obviously incapable of holding a reasonable idea not based on totalitarian impulse.

More recently, it is the left that decries the ideology of conservatives as bigoted, if not actually racist, small minded and reactionary – certainly not “progressive” or “pragmatic”, which is a code word for utilitarian ethics.   A benighted ideology renders a conservative obviously incapable of holding a reasonable idea not based on “clutching their guns and Bibles”.

Just as some ideas are bad and some are good, so similarly are ideologies.  Is it reasonable to conjure up ghosts of Himmler and Hitler when debating those who expound a worldview that favors smaller government, personal responsibility and fewer subsidies based on race?  (The dogmatic error that Nazism was other than a movement of the Left notwithstanding.)   Is it reasonable to allude to Lenin or Mao when debating those who insist that government should solve complex problems with higher taxes, deficit budgets and bureaucratic mandates?    Would it not be a step up for all to take a step back, articulate our ideas without invective and do the best we can in good faith to understand other American’s ideas with the assumption that the loyal opposition is just that?  Perhaps we can find no compromises without abrogating our principles, but we can treat each other with civility and respect.

“Every social order rests on an ideology.”  Friedrich Hayek

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