Apollyon Appears-II
The False Prophet

Cult

We are children of the bomb.

Those of us–especially those growing up in the ’50s and ’60s–lived under the shadow of the mushroom. From elementary school drill of covering our heads and hiding under our desks (highly effective ways of surviving a nuclear attack, by the way…), to watching the Cuban missile crisis play out on grainy gray TV screens, we felt that primal fear of impending annihilation, of bomb shelters and fallout, of silos releasing their deadly arrows as we waited that agonizing 15 minutes until the incoming salvos struck.

We learned, over time, to live with–and even love–our dysfunctional companion, like a battered spouse returning home, with no where else to go. Perhaps it was the dark humor, a la Dr. Strangelove, which dulled our senses; perhaps the overwrought rhetoric and ridiculous answers of the anti-nuclear left, with their unilateral disarmament proposals and Grim Reaper costume marches. But the fall of the Soviet Union let us focus on more important things, like global warming and saving the snail darter, televangelists and “reality” TV.

With two global giants armed to the teeth, toe-to-toe in MIRVed madness, our focus–when we stopped to think of it–was “The Day After“–a massive missile exchange, nuclear annihilation, the end of Earth as we know it. It was, ironically, a calming, reassuring thought: no one could unleash such madness, such horror, such destruction of an entire planet: it would be … suicidal.

Exactly.

Nation-states–even though they be fixated on world domination, as were the Soviets, or small-time despotic troublemakers like Syria or Iraq under Saddam–ultimately have their own self-interest–and self-preservation–at heart. As much as they desire global conquest, or regional dominance, they value their own lives and the preservation of their power base to sustain such dreams of glory–and such vulnerability allows effective deterrence to their threat. The nuclear standoff of the Cold War was at its heart a high-stakes game of chess, where the goal was challenge and response, perceived threats and feints–without ever putting your king in any real danger. There were, of course some frighteningly close calls–the Cuban missile crisis and the story of Stanislav Petrov come to mind–but ultimately the calculation came down to this: there is no sense destroying the world–yourself included–if you want to rule it.

Suicide as a weapon is not without precedent in nation-state warfare and struggle: Japan’s kamikaze pilots in WWII proved a potent and lethal–albeit short-lived–weapon, for which the Allies had little adequate defense: Approximately 2,800 kamikaze attackers sunk 34 Navy ships, damaged 368 others, killed 4,900 sailors, and wounded over 4,800–this carnage occurring in the brief period between October 1944 and August 1945. Their effectiveness was limited by the rapidly crumbling Japanese war effort, the vast supremacy of U.S. air power–and ultimately by the abrupt end of the war brought about by the Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It was the destruction and defeat of the Japanese nation-state–almost ironically, by nuclear weapons–which brought an end to the effectiveness of the lethal kamikaze weapon.

In the first post on this topic, I used the vehicle of historical fiction to portray an apocalyptic vision of the near future. It may come as a surprise to many readers that I am not particular enamored of biblical prophecy interpretation or end-times fear-mongering. I neither pine for, nor live in terror of, any end-of-world scenario. The world may end tomorrow, or in a billion years when the sun exhausts its spent fuel in a spectacular supernova. I have no prescience about such things–nor would I wish to: life is more calmly and sanely spent living a day at a time, rather than obsessing about some future catastrophic event.

Nevertheless, it is instructive to note how threatened some seem by even postulating that nuclear terrorism is a distinct possibility, and that its effects on global stability and commerce, should it occur, would be profound and catastrophic in many ways. One erudite commenter opined that I was “crazier than those Islamic fundamentalists.” OK, yeah, whatever–unfortunately my spam filter doesn’t exclude commenters with IQs under 50. Another commenter gleefully pointed out a numeric inconsistency in the story, proudly proclaiming that the “inhabitants of the story are wrong,” broadly consigning both me and my readers to the trash bin of easily-duped fools. Sigh–such are the products of today’s institutions of lower education, which produce fine postmodern deconstructionists, utterly incapable of discerning truth from falsehood, or good from evil. Bad math is easily corrected; hollow-souled intellectuals far less easily fixed. The grand mansion of Western civilization still stands, majestic, but its supporting timbers are rotting, the termites of nihilism relentlessly nibbling at its ancient foundational beams. The neutered Last Man, so elegantly described by Van der Leun recently, is alive and well, blissful in his tiny, blinkered, spiteful world.

What is striking in our current age–unlike decades past–is the confluence of technology, global communication and commerce, with modern weaponry which makes a scenario such as my prior post so easily imaginable. Such capabilities have existed for many decades, of course–what has now changed is the disinhibition brought about by the end of the Cold War and the rise of Islam. In what may prove to be the ultimate historical irony, the fall of the Soviet Union led to the geopolitical balkanization of nations and cultures which allowed Islam to rise in power and influence–and further isolated and economically undermined dysfunctional client states like Syria and North Korea, leading to their increasing dependence on the development and export of WMD technology for survival.

How then shall we deal with the contemporary threat of Islamic radicalism, which like the Japanese warlords before them have embraced the suicide weapon? Unlike a nation-state, Islam is trans-national; it has no capital, no cities, no boundaries, no industrial base. It is fueled not by economic self-interest, nor the desire for imperialistic expansionism, nor wealth, nor national pride. It is driven by religious zealotry–and not merely this alone (for many faiths manifest zealotry among their followers)–but by a zealotry which envisions as its highest duty the destruction of all other religious faiths, and all unbelievers–and holds as one of its highest ideals the martyrdom of its adherents. Islam views itself as God’s instrument of conquest and vengeance: bringing all into forced submission to the will and rule of Allah–and destroying those who will not submit. Such ruthless zealotry, combined with access to weapons capable of killing thousands or even millions, and the willingness–even eagerness–to die for this cause, is indeed a frightening development in world history–unlike any other.

Islam is of course one of the world’s great religions, its reach rapidly expanding in many parts of the world. As such, it commands a great deal of respect–especially in a postmodern world where all beliefs are equal, all cultural narratives tolerated and valued. In many regards, Islam is today accorded a deference greater than of both Christianity and Judaism: anti-semitism is rampant and rising throughout the world; Christianity often skewered and ridiculed, its adherents frequently characterized as ignorant and bigoted, especially by the media, among the secular and the intellectual left . Yet rarely is a disparaging word heard about Islam in public, and the cry of victimization of Muslims rings out with a predictable regularity. Such selective bias arises, one suspects, from the widespread postmodern contempt for Western civilization. Islam hates Jews and Christians, so the Islamist must not be all that bad–as the moral and philosophical principles of Judeo-Christian faith form the central pillar of Western democratic traditions, now widely decried as racist, oppressive, and imperialistic.

Yet the blindingly obvious is rarely spoken–that the followers of Islam are the perpetrators of some of the most horrendous acts in our modern world: suicide bombings killing and mutilating innocent men, women and children; hijackings, bombings, and assassination; beheadings videotaped and widely circulated in the world media; honor killings of raped women; and of course the horrors and destruction of September 11th, and London, and Madrid. Of course, there is no shortage of evil and heinous acts in the world, which are hardly restricted to Islam; nor are the vast majority of Muslims involved in such acts. But the situation which most threatens the peace–and even continued existence–of the world today is not totalitarian states, nor ethnic cleansing, nor despots torturing and murdering their own people, nor racist Western imperialism: it is radical Islam, and the lethal fusion of a religion pursuing the death of its enemies, and the technological means to accomplish this–in spades.

But even the term “radical Islam” is misleading–for it implies that a peaceful, benign religion has been hijacked by a few crazies, who are wildly misinterpreting its teachings to promulgate violence and chaos. We hear constantly–from politicians and pundits, the media and Islamic apologists–that Islam is a “religion of peace.” But even the casual observer would be remiss if he did not notice that the daily fare from Muslims worldwide seems anything but peaceful: vicious and institutional anti-semitism; enthusiastic support of terrorist acts and suicide bombers (or at the least, silent assent, which seems little better); riots and violent retribution against any real or perceived insult to Islam (such as the current outrage over the publishing of satirical cartoons about the Prophet in European newspapers); death sentences issued–and sometimes executed–against artists and writers critical of Islamic practices; the suppression of free speech and free expression in Muslim countries; the repression and subjugation of women. The list is long indeed. One cannot but wonder whether those who pursue the most heinous of acts–terrorism, suicide bombs, torture–are not rather quantitatively, rather than qualitatively different from their less notorious brethren–and whether it is in fact Islam itself, rather than some extreme perversion of the extremist few–which is the true seed from which this hideous flower blooms.

If you have not done so, I encourage you to read the interview of Dr. Andrew Bostom in FrontPage magazine. It is lengthy, but well worth your time–and a mere foretaste of Dr. Bostom’s remarkable book entitled The Legacy of Jihad: Islamic Holy War and the Fate of the Non-Muslims. This is, by the way, not a religious attack on Islam, but is a rather remarkable work of history: nearly 800 pages of highly detailed, extensively footnoted research on the history of jihad, using both Islamic sources–some first translated into English during this project–and the writings and history of those profoundly affected by its belligerent imperialism. With the precision of cold surgical steel, Dr. Bostom dissects and exposes the history and myths of Islam, from its inception up to the present. The effect is nuclear in magnitude: utterly destroying the myth of Islamic tolerance of Christians and Jews (the so-called “Andalusian paradise” in Muslim Spain); detailing the rape, pillage, subjugation, massacre, and brutality to infidels of every stripe–Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Zoroastrian; the centrality of jihad (holy war, not inner struggle) to the Islamic faith; the widespread deception found in Islam’s apologists today about the true meaning and goals of jihad. It is chilling in its calm, analytical approach to the “Religion of Peace”–and a wake-up call to a sleeping West desperately in need of clarity about its utterly committed, fanatical–and soon to be nuclear-armed–enemy.

We are daily told we are in a war on terror. We are not–we are in a war with Islam. It is not a war we declared, or wanted, but an ancient war now declared on us. It is imperative that we speak plainly about this, setting aside the soft sentimentalities which fear offending anyone. There will, of course, be hollers of protest by the usual suspects; these must be ignored, and answered firmly, with truth, and history, and fact, not wishful thinking and weak apologies.

The Prophet has told us his plans, his vision of a world at peace. It is a false peace, from a false prophet–yet his faithful followers pursue it to the gates of death, and we are their targets. The hour is late–it is dangerous to sleep.

Apollyon Appears-I:
Looking Back

The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and the sun was given power to scorch people with fire. They were seared by the intense heat and they cursed the name of God …

— Revelation 16:8,9 —

Vision of DeathThe fear resonates: softly, quietly, as yet still an undercurrent, like trickling water barely perceptible, but portending something deeper: the rushing of a torrent wild and raging and uncontrollable. The vast multitude still sleeps, with dreams of peace, and pleasure, and profit, and prosperity, their small lives ever constricted in one-dimensional bliss while imagining their own tumescence. And yet the beast grows, increasingly uneasy in his restraint, restless for anarchy and annihilation. There are dark days ahead–frightful, chaotic, unpredictable, foreboding–times no man should endure, but through which too many–by their own measure–will survive.

Apollyon draws near.

Historians may well reflect on these times–if there are historians to record them–and wonder how it might have been different. They will look to November ’79, and recognize the lost opportunity to crush the nascent Iranian Islamic revolution in its earliest days. They will ponder how a series of American leaders–from Carter in ’79, to Reagan in Beirut, to Bush in Gulf War I, to Clinton in Somalia–squandered the opportunity to establish by strength a bulwark against the rising self-delusional tide of Islamic fundamentalist zealotry. They will marvel at the senescence of Europe–once colonial conquerors whose might and resilience survived two global wars, now weakened and whimpering, their grand cathedrals as empty as their souls, their rotting culture paying feckless fealty to impotent diplomacy. And China: mainlining Mideast oil to sustain a leaden economy, buying off their oppressed billions with cell phones and computers, their children chained to factories churning out the worthless goods the West demanded to feed its own addictions.

It all seemed so–ordinary, so much like decades past, with petty diplomatic spats, brush wars, government corruption, ethnic cleansing and genocide in lost lands while CNN averted its eyes: the banality of evil hiding its hideous face behind a million facades. For great evil had shown its face before: the Great Depression gave rise to global fascism and the icy winter of Communism–but had also steeled a generation sufficient to its challenges, willing to sacrifice their lives to cool the ovens of Auschwitz and break the back of the gulag masters. Darkness had learned its lesson: better to drug the patient, seducing him with wealth, and pleasure, and shimmering screens made bright with empty images, normalizing the depraved while drumming away all reflection through iPod ear buds.

The outlines of the great Darkness formed slowly, over centuries, the confluence of myths and hatreds of ancient desert tribes with fiery fury over a New Mexico desert–ironically named Trinity. Scattered glimpses of its ghastliness were seen, demonic eyes furtively glancing from still-shuttered windows: nail-laden suicide vests shredding flesh and spilling blood; beheadings, hijackings and terror camps; moral equivalency leveling heinous acts with heroic deeds; the wrath of Khan in Pakistan. But still they slumbered, blind to the gathering darkness.

The curtain was ripped back one crisp morning in September 2001, as pretensions of peace and safety collapsed with the twin towers that dark day. The response was swift–and surprised those accustomed to hollow verbal threats unbacked by power. First in Afghanistan, and shortly thereafter in Iraq, the forces of terror sponsors and Al-Qaeda were dealt sharp and striking defeats, decapitating their leadership and decimating their ranks.

But the beast had many heads, and Al-Qaeda was but one .

History presents many ironies, and the defeat of Al-Qaeda was truly one–for in its defeat, slaughtered in remote mountain caves and on Iraq’s desert killing fields, lay the beast’s reincarnation, for its greatest foe was vanquished in its very victory. For Iraq had constrained the Great Satan, tying up valuable and limited resources in a task which was necessary but insufficient both in timeliness and extent. For secular tyrants–while always a threat, and happy to bed down with the zealots of Islam for their own ends–nevertheless always proved more interested in their own grandiosity and power–and hence proved feeble warriors, useful idiots, propitious diversions which bought valuable time.

But Iraq proved valuable in one other, more critical way: it exposed the soft underbelly of American will, fattened by wealth, pleasure, and materialism, weakened by those with whom the desire to govern a cowering giant trumped any sacrifice needed to assure her survival. America could throw a deadly punch–but could be trusted to leave the ring should the fight drag on.

The Iranian project started small–seeded by the Khan Islamic bomb effort, initially prodded by the ever-present threat from the hated infidel Saddam. But the neighborhood grew vastly more dangerous when Americans rolled over Afghanistan–an albatross which drained the lifeblood even from the Soviets–and soon thereafter roared through Iraq. Surrounded now on two sides with hostile forces unstoppable by any conventional army–much less Iran’s–the nuclear trump card become paramount. With the ascent of Ahmadinejad to the presidency–a fanatic Shi’ite who imagined himself the Twelfth Imam–the dry kindling was fanned to a blaze. If the martyrdom of one was glorious, the martyrdom of an entire nation would please Allah greatly, and bring about his kingdom–which Ahmadinejad would rule.

There were, it is now believed, eight bombs: four produced by Iran herself; two purchased from Kim Jong Il, desperate for cash to keep his movies rolling and his regime afloat; and the greatest prize: two high-yield nukes from the Russian Mafia. These broke the bank–but oil prices were high, their target was priceless–and money would be worthless after their use.

The Russian nukes arced toward Zion on pillars of holy flame. Patriot missiles took out the Haifa arm, but Tel-Aviv was incinerated, the waters of the Mediterranean boiling as the sacrifice climbed to heaven. The Palestinians would die, of course–but their usefulness to Allah had long since passed, their timid suicide acts pale archetypes of Allah’s true vengeance. Jerusalem would survive, though its inhabitants would die slowly and painfully, befitting of goats and swine inhabiting that most holy of cities. In a massive counter strike, Iran ceased to exist in any recognizable form. Ahmadinejad and his inner circle were long gone, of course–secure deep within their mountain redoubt in northern Pakistan. The hardened production sites in Iran survived largely intact–but the fruit of their bowels had long since dispersed to faraway cells in faraway lands.

The barge on the Thames was next, eight days later. The Korean nuke was low-yield and dirty, but served its purposes well, killing tens of thousands instantly, many more over the ensuing weeks, decapitating the government, and rendering London uninhabitable for a generation. Paris was next, three weeks later, the Iranian bomb prepositioned in an unused Metro tunnel, it is thought–to destroy a millennium of Western culture while preserving the Muslim suburbs. Russia was next–not Moscow, as expected, where security was airtight–but the oil fields, setting alight enormous blazes which would burn for years, destroying forever in one blow the economy of the butchers of Chechnya.

And then–the pause. Months passed, terror reigned, as anarchy roiled Europe and the Middle East burned. Global commerce stopped; oil became unavailable at any price. Jews and Muslims alike were slaughtered, torn apart by angry mobs and incensed governments. Angry recriminations flew like missiles between governments and politicians, as the world economy ground to a halt. Riots were everywhere, martial law ruled, as all personal freedoms were revoked under pain of incarceration–or worse. Religion was outlawed in many places–and suspect everywhere. Conspiracy theories abounded–was this calamity fomented by America, as yet untouched in this global conflagration? The truth could not be spoken: the last Korean nuke was discovered, serendipitously, in a freight yard in Atlanta–its ensnarement now top secret lest public panic ensue. The two remaining, quietly resting, somehow avoiding the frantic search of all inbound cargo–one in a tanker truck in the Jersey refineries outside New York City, the other in a warehouse just south of San Francisco, located directly over the San Andreas fault–awaiting their synchronized detonation, that fatal day on August 6, 2008 …

Update: Late-night writing makes for bad math. The numbers have been fixed.

Pan-Cosmic Mullings

flying saucerOK, this is a site worthy of browsing–especially if you want your higher consciousness expanded in ways you never imagined possible. What’s particularly frightening for me is the fact that it makes sense–which is doubtless a reflection on my own deeply disturbed psyche, detached from reality in ways I have yet to fathom. I stumbled on it courtesy of Dr. Sanity, who linked to this post.

Just to get a flavor of the site, here’s his blog header:

One Cosmos

The Innersection of Lumin Development, Mental Gymgnostics, Paleoliberal Futurism, Leftist Noise Abatement, Supernatural Election, Darwinian Revelation, Isness Ministration, Orthonoetic Logomystique, Stand-up Cosmology, Escatological Upunishantics, and Dilettantric Yoga

Don’t be too put off by the, umm, eclectic nature of this (I spent about ten minutes trying to understand even one of the above terms, with no success–which means I have way too much time on my hands). This fellow’s (? gal’s?) a deep thinker, and a good–if somewhat eccentric–writer. Check it out.

Fishocrites

fishThis little nugget popped up several weeks ago, and got relatively little notice in the blogs — although OpinionJournal gave it a nod. In brief, our friends at the Washington State Democrats web site had this little gem for sale, a variation on the car magnet ribbons which say “Support the Troops”, “Hate Isn’t a Family Value”, or some similar inanity. At least, they did sell it–for about an hour, until some folks on the Dark Side noticed, after which they promptly pulled it (but you can see the original page here).

Fish symbols on cars have a long and illustrious history. Starting as a simple Christian symbol, they were soon followed by fish with crosses, fish with “Jesus” spelled out (in English, Greek, or Aramaic–your choice), fish on feet proclaiming the lordship of Darwin, Jesus fish eating Darwinian fish, Jihadi fish with suicide vests blowing up Jesus fish eating Darwinian fish (haven’t seen this one myself–but sales have evidently exploded). Anyway, you get the idea.

I’ve always wondered at the mentality of bumper-sticker evangelists: whom do they hope to convert? The guy behind you who thinks you’re driving like a senile ninny? The tractor-trailer whose crack-addled driver is trying to run you off the road? Or the guy you just cut off and gifted with that casual five-minus-four-finger wave? Personally, I’d rather not advertise my faith, my politics, how much I love rainbows, visions of whirled peas, or any other preference, rant, or mantra on my car: I just want the darn thing to start, and get me where I’m going, as anonymously as possible.

sound carBut if you’re gonna promote your religion with your car, you really should go for the gold: early Jehovah’s Witnesses used sound cars blaring anti-Catholic and anti-clergy vitriole back in the glory days of ol’ Judge Rutherford. No lame fish magnets for them, no sirree: say it loud and say it proud. Leave them Watchtowers in the car, Mildred, forget about ringin’ them doorbells, and crank it up, baby!

But back to the matter of hypocrisy: is there anyone who does not manifest this trait nowadays? It is the coin of the political realm: if you are a conservative, liberals are hypocrites; if a Democrat, of course all Republicans are hypocrites. The culture wars are no different: everyone who disagrees with you about abortion, or gay marriage, or separation of church and state, or guns, or whatever, is an extremist, and a hypocrite–and probably abuses little children as well. Thus is the high-water mark of public discourse in our thoroughly-modern millennium.

The word hypocrisy has its roots in ancient Greece, where the word hupocrites was used to depict actors or the parts they played–and some would say it is still used this way. It bespeaks a dichotomy between conviction and action–specifically that which occurs when one pretends to be something or someone which they are not. Hypocrisy is, of course, a matter of degree, and of one’s perspective: if you believe that lying is wrong, for example, but have ever told a lie, then you are by rights a hypocrite–although most of us would find such clarity of definition a bit too threatening, for the obvious reason that we would be its primary target.

You see, the charge of “Hypocrite!” works best when applied to others–carefully applying my surgical log to the splinter in your cornea, to make your vision Lasik-sharp, just as mine is. And it is, in a way, a left-handed compliment–insofar as it implies that you actually have some principles, although you may be acting contumaciously to their dictates.

One, of course, is tempted to respond to such a charge with counter-charges of still more hypocrisy, on your accuser’s part. And thus the cycle of violence continues, a verbal Munich which spirals downward until we all become cynical bastards incapable of even the faintest glimmer of human decency or moral compass.

But I for one take a different view: to be called a hypocrite is a badge of honor. It tells me that someone cares enough about me to point out my moral shortcomings — for which I am grateful, as I am wont to overlook them otherwise. And it has another benefit rarely noticed: it elucidates how my behavior fails to measure up to your standards–which guides me along that meandering, aimless brick road toward true multicultural tolerance, the Oz of our postmodern world.

The fishocrite magnet was acquired by our Washocrat friends from the delightfully-named Reefer Magnets company, which specializes in promoting the decriminalization of marijuana–and whose efforts thereby may help keep the marketing consultants to the Washington State Democratic Party out of jail. Allison Bigelow, whose magnetic personality envisioned and founded this enterprise, is a woman clearly interested in raising the moral standards of the world around her to new highs:

She sees the media attention as a chance to talk about the real aim of Reefer Magnets and her efforts to educate and advocate for the decriminalizing [of] marijuana.

“In my opinion, we wouldn’t be such a warring people if we used more cannabis and used less alcohol,” Bigelow said.

Bigelow has marched in anti-globalization and anti-war rallies in Seattle. She has written letters to editors and voted for Massachusetts Sen. John Kerry in 2004 if only to vote against President Bush.

“I’ve done everything I can, but I still feel I have blood on my hands,” Bigelow said of the ongoing war in Iraq.

Through her online store, Bigelow sells magnets the size of business cards with a pro-pot messages.

“We don’t need to be in a war for oil because we have industrial hemp,” Bigelow said. “If you look into all the little things that hemp can do, you’ll understand. We wouldn’t be killing people for oil.”

Now lest you be confused, Ms. Bigelow did not create the clever fishocrite with her own bloodied hands, but acquired it from another, unnamed source:

This latest ichthys parody was created by a Seattle activist who wanted not to be named. He said he feared for the safety of his cats if the controversy grew out of control.

Now the confluence of Christian hypocrites, reefer madness, and smitten kittens did–I must confess–stump me for a bit. But after due deliberation, in a puff of perlucidity, it all became as clear as bong-water: If I turn from my religious ways, smoke some weed, fill my tank with hemp, and stop killing all those darn cats (spawn of Satan, don’t ya know!), world peace will be upon us–or whirled peas, if you are of the vegan persuasion. If you are still confused, take a deep breath, hold it as long as you can, then slowly exhale–aahh!–and it will all become clear to you as well. Just be sure your room is well-ventilated so the neighbors won’t celebrate the demise of your hypocritical ways by calling the cops.

The charge of hypocrisy against religious folk, especially Christians, is hardly a new one. It’s been the battle cry of those opposed to Christianity, for any reason–political, philosophical, moral, personal–virtually since the apostles started pounding pavement to convert the world. And it should come as no surprise that there really are Christians who are hypocrites–just as there are Buddhists who are hypocrites, Muslims who are hypocrites, yes, even atheists who are hypocrites–not to mention accountants, lawyers, doctors, brick layers, plumbers, prostitutes, and street people. It is an equal-opportunity avocation, whose membership requirements involve simply having a pulse, and not (yet) pushing up daisies.

Hypocrisy is the pretty face we put on the sordid underbelly of the human condition, the dark side of our nature, the charade we maintain to cover our shame. It is a function of our relational nature, as we seek the acceptance of others by making ourselves more attractive on the outside than our inner decay warrants. For our lives are not simply a process of gilding the lily–though we often we imagine them so–but are rather spent candy-coating a cow pie, embellishing the outside while the inside corrodes. For if our inner light was the shining jewel we presume it to be, we would proudly show it forth in all its glory–and there would be no pretense, no deceit, no hypocrisy, no hiding. But such is not the condition of man, so we take pains to pretend to be that which we are not.

The accusation of hypocrisy is directed at Christians, and others of faith, for any number of reasons. At times, the charge is spot-on: when Jimmy Swaggart was ranting about the evils of sexual immorality and fornication, all the while addicted to pornography and frequenting hookers, there is no more apt description than hypocrite. But such egregious cases, while commonly cited as the norm by opponents of Christianity, are in fact condemned by Christians of all stripes virtually without exception–and are grotesquely and disproportionately magnified in significance by media obsessiveness with such scandals. At other times, the charge of hypocrisy resembles an archeological dig, as the dust is brushed off the fossilized remains of the Inquisition and the Crusades to “prove” how debased and power-hungry Christians are by nature and inclination. The Inquisition and the Crusades were many things: the first a toxic confluence of religion and political power, the latter far more a series of defensive wars than the militant evangelism they are purported to be. But in both cases, historical facts are conveniently ignored while these remote events serve as convenient straw men for those committed to castigating Christianity in every age and every place.

But there is another, more common, motive behind such charges of hypocrisy. Religion in general, and Christianity in particular, are not simply benign, quirky notions without consequence, such as believing in alien spaceships or in your fairy godmother. Religious conviction has consequences–consequences which require personal decisions which often go counter to our natural inclinations. Although generally dismissed as mere superstition by secular skeptics, religious faith demands that we change, and conform our lives to the dictates of morality and–particularly in the case of Christianity and Judaism–be accountable to a personal God. The religious person asserts, through both his faith and his actions, that behavior has consequences beyond that easily foreseen. Such a testimony can prove threatening to those who would prefer that their actions and lifestyles be unassailable, no matter what their impact on them personally, the people around them, and society in general. Christianity is, furthermore, by its founding and nature an evangelical faith, seeking to actively call men away from self-centeredness toward the goodness and mercy of God through personal change and repentance. But this proactive endeavor is–unsurprisingly–threatening and uncomfortable for many, even when done for the best of motives.

Faced with the implication that their lives may not meet the highest of standards, and with the uneasy feeling that, if there is a God, He (or She) may not necessarily be all that pleased with their life and choices, it therefore behooves those who reject religious belief to in effect shoot the messenger. If the Christian can be demonstrated to be no different than non-Christian–motivated therefore only by self-interest and the lust for power and control–then their message can be more easily dismissed as simply another form of psychological manipulation or power-play. Those of the secular persuasion naturally assume–cynically but consistently–that Christians cannot be motivated by the desire for the best for others and for the society in which they live. Hence, when Christians assert that some personal or societal behavior or policy is in fact destructive for either the individual, or society, or both, they must be dismissed as hypocrites who are merely following their own cynical wishes to gain power for personal or political gain.

But the Christian, in the purest sense of the word, is in reality driven truly by different motives, brought about by an inner transformation achieved by faith. The car may look the same on the outside, but the motor has been completely re-engineered. Christianity is an inside-out job, wherein God changes the heart, setting us on a course to transform our motivations and desires to those closer to His own. The inner change can be striking, and often is: new perspectives, new priorities, new insight, new rejection of things once accepted unquestionably. But while the heart may change radically, the outside changes with painful slowness, as old habits and behaviors persist.

Christianity is not really about self-betterment or mere behavioral change, but is rather an exchange: a heart transplant, if you will, where something of the God-life begins to live within the spirit of a man. There is, as a result, a conflict: the mind and emotions still following another, older set of rules, while the spirit slowly, almost imperceptibly changes those rules. To the outsider, this may appear to be hypocrisy, with the Christian acting out of sync with his or her stated beliefs–as all do to greater or lesser degree. But this discord is in reality the antidote to hypocrisy: not changing the outside to hide the inside, to deceive and mislead, but rather having the inside changed, leading to inexorable and lasting transformation of the whole man. For true hypocrisy is to change only the outside, to improve oneself through self-sufficiency, strength of will, or even religious observance. For such change is incapable of changing the heart, leaving it instead still self-absorbed, self-centered–and ultimately self-destructive.

But don’t expect those who reject the moral claims of religion and faith to abandon their claims of hypocrisy any time soon. For if, in some perfect world, Christians lived up to their high standards and morals without fail, those who now cry “Hypocrite!” would find us even more hateful than they do now. To hope or believe otherwise is truly a pipe dream.

Speaking Truth to Power

Winter solsticeNeo-neocon ponders the origins and significance of the term “speaking truth to power”–so commonly heard from the left in recent years most recently from Dan Rather. Speaking of the media’s coverage of Katrina,

Rather praised the coverage of Hurricane Katrina by the new generation of TV journalists and acknowledged that he would have liked to have reported from the Gulf Coast. “Covering hurricanes is something I know something about,” he said.

“It’s been one of television news’ finest moments,” Rather said of the Katrina coverage. He likened it to the coverage of President Kennedy’s assassination in 1963.

“They were willing to speak truth to power,” Rather said of the coverage.

It is not terribly difficult to deduce Rather’s point here: the media coverage of the hurricane challenged the authorities in power–specifically the Bush administration, one suspects–by depicting their failures. And this, in his opinion, resulted in the best media coverage of an event since the Kennedy assassination. The parallel itself is peculiar–the notion that the media perceived themselves as instruments of an assault on political power in 1963 seems at best revisionist history. I watched both as a news consumer, and the comparison of Katrina coverage to that of the Kennedy assassination is highly strained–bizarre, even.

The principle that coverage of a natural disaster should be about the news itself–rather than a statement about politics and power–seems rather lost on Rather. Not surprising, really–but still somewhat startling to hear the major media’s core motivation enunciated so clearly from one of its heavyweights. And one is also presented with growing evidence that the media’s coverage of Katrina significantly overstated at least some of the negative aspects of the disaster, such as deaths at the Superdome–and the lack of skepticism about the anticipated 10,000 deaths in New Orleans also comes to mind. While such media missteps may not have been directly motivated by political underpinnings, they certainly appear to dovetail well with Rather’s perception of the political implications of the coverage.

Neo-neocon traces the term “speaking truth to power” back to the Quakers, who promoted the idea of using the proclamation of truth to correct deceived or wayward leadership. But the term has been completely co-opted since the Quakers used it, by the contemporary postmodern movement. The Quakers used the term “truth” to speak of absolute, transcendent principles, given by God; the postmodernist view rejects all such absolutes, replacing them with “narratives” which are predicated and derived solely from language and culture, rather than any deity or transcendent supernatural being.

For the postmodernist, institutions such as religion, or the influences of law, morality or ethics, are merely expressions of the group in power exerting their control. Such vehicles serve as a means of enslavement, oppression, and victimization. The “narrative”–or story–of the powerful uses the tool of language to imprison thought. Hence, the postmodernist’s task is to “deconstruct”–to uncover in the words and actions of such centers of authority their underlying oppression and will to power–which to their mind is always present. Postmodernism is also group-oriented rather than individual-oriented. Groups define their own narrative, their own meanings for language, their own truths.

And so, when the postmodernist talks about speaking “truth”, they are not speaking of transcendent absolutes, but rather about their particular narrative, their worldview, their convictions derived from social consensus among the peers of their group. It is “truth” in a sense that is eminently self-referential–something is True because I, and others of my group, accept it as True. Reference to absolutes or universal principles may be made as part of such truth-speaking (such as appeals to “justice”, “compassion”, or “fairness”)–but these terms are not in reality absolutes at all, but are also themselves defined as the group sees fit. Such reference concepts are therefore in no way universal, nor even remotely related to that which another group conceptualizes them to be, despite the use of identical words or terminology. Words in the postmodern world are completely fungible–rather than representing a single abstract or concrete object or idea, they may be freely redefined to mean whatever suits the group’s purposes.

Postmodernism can be found among members of all political and professional persuasions, but it is most at home in the fertile soil of academic liberalism, the media, and the socialist left. The reasons for this are doubtless varied, but likely include a fondness for Marxism and socialism, a holdover mistrust of authority engendered during Vietnam and Watergate, and a libertine approach toward personal freedom engendered in part by the sexual revolution, birth control, and the drug culture. One dominant factor, however, is the widespread secular or agnostic worldview of those who inhabit these arenas. It is not a huge leap from concluding that one’s personal morality–sexual, ethical, or otherwise–is a personal matter (rather than dictated by God or moral absolutes), to reasoning that there are no absolutes whatsoever, and that groups may therefore determine their own truths or narratives.

The problem with jettisoning absolutes–moral or otherwise–is several fold. First, there are consequences to behavior which stubbornly persist despite studious efforts at their denial. While you may argue that sexual mores restricting intercourse to marriage are oppressive to women and the manifestation of control by the patriarchy, it is nevertheless a fact that when sexual activity is so limited, out-of-wedlock births do not occur as an inevitable result. If you are not addicted to drugs, you do not have to steal to support your habit. To a degree, the postmodern narrative simple rewrites itself to reinterpret such consequences: the high rate of illegitimacy (and its inevitable companions of poverty and crime) in the urban black community is not caused (even in part) by a mores of profligate irresponsible copulation or widespread drug abuse, but rather by racism and capitalistic oppression. But the consequences remain, nevertheless, despite such rhetorical sleights-of-hand–which often contain a grain of truth just sufficient to make them intellectually plausible.

Secondly, defining one’s own truth or narrative works well–as long as the next group’s narrative is not in opposition. Certain differences are tolerable, up to a point–hence the live-and-let-live mindset of multiculturalism and the elevation of “tolerance” to iconic status. But tolerance has its limits–and those limits are met when you encounter a group whose narrative involves absolutes, especially religious or moral absolutes. Conflict then becomes inevitable. Since you cannot appeal to absolutes–you don’t accept that they exist–there is only one recourse left: that of power.

When the postmodernist is in a position of power, the instruments of their position are used to control language, to enforce the narrative–hence the coercion of speech codes and enforcement of political correctness on campus, and increasingly in society at large, as manifested in hate crime laws and punitive, arbitrary sexual harassment and discrimination policies. When out of power, access to such instruments is in the hands of the oppressors, and hence postmodernists are left with their primary weapon alone: speech. When detached from absolute truth and moral restraint, it is a potent tool indeed. You must undermine the oppressors with language, unrestrained by the need for accuracy, truth, consistency, or integrity. You must “speak the truth to power”: you must imprison the thoughts of the many with the language of your narrative, to undermine the power of those who enslave and victimize you. The motives of your oppressors for behavior must always be cynical and self-serving; their assets turned into liabilities. Hence slow response to a disaster is not bureaucratic inefficiency or local corruption and unpreparedness, but is a manifestation of racism and an illegitimate war. Religious people must be painted as hypocrites, when their actions do not meet perfect standards–even if they, on their worst days, far exceed the nobility and selflessness of your own. Tax cuts are always “for the rich”, even when the resulting strong economic benefits bring far more help to the many than the privileged few.

Unfortunately, this has become the currency of our contemporary social and political discourse. One cannot counter with reasoned argument and objective fact an opponent with no regard for either. The effects are corrosive, for both the postmodernists and their opponents: for the postmodernists–whether in media, academia, or politics–because their shrill, angry assaults lack integrity and simple attention to truth or fact; for their opponents, because the constant assault of accusations, half-truths, cynicism and hatred bring about mistrust, distraction, weariness, and defensiveness. There is no longer room for compromise or conciliation–only power struggles and full-volume shouting matches. This is the world which engenders so much pride and satisfaction in Dan Rather and his peers in media and journalism; this is the culture they–and many others like them–have helped to create. Not alone to be sure: there’s plenty of greed, selfishness, and incompetence to go around, on all sides. But they have played a major role as megaphones for postmodern truth-speaking.

Is there an answer to this growing darkness? Yes–a return to common shared absolutes, ethics, moral principles. This is a ground-up, not a top-down proposition: individuals must come to accept the value and benefits of transcendent moral principles and common truths which have served us well in the past through darker times than today–it cannot be coerced or implemented by society or government. It must be individuals–one individual at a time. It’s a huge undertaking, this changing of men’s hearts and minds. Can it happen?

God alone knows. Let’s hope–and pray–it does.

Be Sheehan Ya

HillaryI am not generally given to prognostication on this blog–except perhaps in the broad strokes which experience with human nature and things of the spirit allow one to anticipate. But this one seems a slam dunk, a prediction no savvie bookie would take odds on. You are about to witness an alien abduction: Cindy Sheehan is about to disappear from the face of the earth.

Not literally, of course: you will still find her name and face on sites such as Moveon.org, the Art Bell bellweather of the moonbat Left. But Saint Cindy of Crawford–the darling of every media maven and the idol of digital photojournalists everywhere–who have lusted for each provocative shot of candles and crosses, tears and tirades–will meet her demise, forgotten and homeless, in the litter-strewn gutters of American politics.

In her day she was a great heroine–a bereaved mother, cloaked in absolute moral authority, taking on the most powerful man on earth. Encamped with her army of Righteous Ones, she spoke Truth to Power, sacrificing sorrowful reclusion and reflective privacy for the withering heat of photofloods and the sweaty, funky olfaction of a Sharpton embrace. But emboldened by successes she had not created, our femme fatale, like Icarus, sought higher things. But she has met her Helios, and the wax is about to melt.

In Brooklyn last week, on her antiwar bus tour, Cindy Sheehan took on Hillary Clinton:

Cindy Sheehan, the mother of an American soldier killed in Iraq, last night brought her campaign to end the war to New York, where she accused Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton of not doing enough to challenge the Bush administration’s Iraq policies.

Speaking in front of more than 500 supporters in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, Ms. Sheehan, speaking of Senator Clinton, said, “She knows that the war is a lie but she is waiting for the right time to say it.”

Then, as the crowd cheered, she issued a challenge to Senator Clinton, saying, “You say it or you are losing your job.”

Cindy, Cindy, Cindy! You are a white dove flown into the strike zone of Randy Johnson heat. You are no longer taunting the President–whose handling of political enemies borders on the effeminate. This is Hillary: you have poked the bear with a stick, and there’ll be Hell to pay. For Bush, politics is a vehicle for principles; for the Clintons, politics is principle.

You were useful in your day–eroding the popularity of an embattled President and his compatriots in crime. But Hillary is on the move, craftfully tacking to the center, supporting the war while criticizing it, moderating her stance on abortion, seeking the support of those elusive values voters so critical to her 2008 presidential bid. Hers is a treacherous tightrope: snarling denizens of the Moore, teeth bared, panting for blood while shovelling dollars into the raging furnaces of the Left; on the Right, wary independents and ex-Democrats fed up with Bush–but still mindful of the tainted regency she ruled with an iron fist, concupiscent husband close in tow.

And you are shaking that tightrope, Cindy … “I find your lack of faith… disturbing.”

Have you forgotten James Carville, Paul Begala, Sid “Vicious” Blumenthal–the political hammers employed by the Clintons, whose coarsely-crafted assaults left many a bruise? Have you forgotten Kathleen Willey’s missing cats and slashed tires, the mysteriously-paid legal bills of bouncer Craig Livingstone’s FBI file fishing expedition defense? The IRS audits of organizations critical of the Clintons? Terry Lenzner, Jack Palladino, and Anthony Pellicano–the P.I.’s hired to dig dirt on Ken Starr’s boys and various bimbo erupti? Remember “If you drag a hundred dollar bill through a trailer park, you never know what you’ll find”? This isn’t T-ball, Cindy–you’re in The Show now, and the pitcher’s throwin’ real heat.

Of course, Hillary is the consummate politician, so don’t expect anything crude or overt. And she doesn’t have to lift a finger: she has friends in all the right places. Look for stories on the heroism of Casey Sheehan to start showing up in the media. Look for reports of her mental instability, expose’s of past embarrassing events in her life. Look for the dwindling of funding for the Cindy Sheehan Rolling Review, the absence of celebrities and Democratic bigwigs at her ever-shrinking rallies. Watch the Lexus-Nexus hit rate for stories about her drop like dew on a fall morning.

In a short while, Cindy Sheehan will fade to black–a fading memory never again mentioned by pols or pundits.

Just my guess, of course–time will tell. Where’s my bookie’s number?

Brazile Diplomacy

Donna BrazileI caught this over the weekend, and frankly was rather encouraged by it:

On Thursday night President Bush spoke to the nation from my city. I am not a Republican. I did not vote for George W. Bush — in fact, I worked pretty hard against him in 2000 and 2004. But on Thursday night, after watching him speak from the heart, I could not have been prouder of the president and the plan he outlined to empower those who lost everything and to rebuild the Gulf Coast…

I know, maybe better than anyone, that there are times when it seems that our nation is too divided ever to heal. There are times when we feel so different from each other that we can hardly believe that we are all part of the same family. But we are one nation. We are a family. And this is what we do. When the president asked us to pitch in Thursday night, he wasn’t really asking us to do anything spectacular. He was asking us to be Americans, and to do what Americans always do….

Mr. President, I am ready for duty. I am ready to stir those old pots again. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work.

Man, do we need more of this!

Donna Brazile was Al Gore’s controversial campaign manager in 2000–an aggressive and outspoken partisan, often controversial, with a long history in civil rights activism and Democratic political strategy. She may be one of the people I would expect least likely to step up to the plate and support George Bush–having served as an attack dog against him in recent campaigns. There have been, however, some indications that she has much more political savvy than your average Democrat pol seems to possess these days: in 2004, she penned an opinion piece bemoaning the fact that Democrats have so thoroughly abandoned the heritage of Scoop Jackson and other pro-defense and national security-conscious Democratic senators and representatives of days past. She seems to understand that simply being against everything, critical of everything, attacking everything your politcal opponents do has great potential for undermining the unity and strength we Americans possess when we swallow our differences and unite in common cause.

I suspect that Donna Brazile and I would disagree on virtually every major social and political issue you could name–but I applaud her for her courage and integrity in joining hands with her bitter political enemy for the benefit of her city–and her country. Thank you, Donna–and may your tribe increase. You go, girl!

Poisoned Waters

PI Logo
The Seattle Post-Intelligencer has a remarkably snarky little editorial (well, it’s not really that remarkable, on reflection) just seething with Bush hatred:

Does anyone else feel like storming the Bastille? It’s hard not to, when faced with how the Bush family has responded to the devastation in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

In a serious let-them-eat-cake moment, first lady Laura Bush said that mothers must get their kids to school, as doing so gives children “a sense of normalcy.”

Sounds great, but, um, was she seriously asking people who had watched their homes disappear to get their kids in school within a week? We’re guessing most parents are putting hot meals and warm baths for the little ones above all else.

Then her husband made the unthinkably moronic remarks about his partying days in New Orleans and how he looks forward once again, to chillin’ at Mississippi Sen. Trent Lott’s house. “Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott’s house — he’s lost his entire house — there’s going to be a fantastic house. And I’m looking forward to sitting on the porch.”

Well thank goodness someone said something about the devastation endured by the Lott family! Because of all the images we’d seen from this disaster — bodies floating face down in filthy streets, children bawling for food, people picking through trash amid violent outbreaks throughout New Orleans — it was the thought of Lott’s devastated porch that was keeping us awake at night.

Now, don’t get us wrong — we’re not happy the senator has lost his home. We’re just stunned (and we know we shouldn’t be) that our president is stupid enough to say something about one wealthy man’s home while surrounded by the poor, the sick and the displaced. His mother, former first lady Barbara Bush, seemed equally clueless, as she toured the Houston Astrodome where thousands of Katrina victims are being temporarily housed.

“This is working very well for them,” she said.

Which part, Barb? The part where they lost everything they’ve owned? She then added, “Almost everyone I’ve talked to says we’re going to move to Houston.” Well, of course they do. They’ve been living in their own filth, starving, fearing rape, or worse, for five days at the Superdome in New Orleans. But why let that image mar a perfectly good sound bite, eh?

So, the heroic revolutionaries of an almost-great Seattle newspaper–enraged that their cocooned existence drinking Chai tea lattes and acting the apologist for organized King County voter fraud has been upset by those very disturbing images from New Orleans–has decided it’s time for a real revolution. But, hey–after last year’s bloodless coup in the governor’s race, perhaps it’s time to move on to bigger and better conquests. Bring on the guillotines! Off with their heads! Hold the whipped cream!

Of course, one might expect that a newspaper would bring us news–but it is hardly news that the Seattle Left–and their mouthpieces at the PI–have a full-blown case of Bush Derangement Syndrome. Fine, so be it–you’ve got lots of company among those who not-so-secretly await with eagerness every disaster at home or abroad as yet another opportunity to bash the evil moronic fascist Bushitler–be it Iraq, or the tsunami, or the London bombings, or New Orleans. Bad news is good news in their world. This is good ol’ American politics, and hardly unique: there were lots of folks who detested Bill Clinton with an irrational passion. And there’s no doubt that Bush is not the world’s most eloquent spokesman–something we his supporters have been frustrated by as well, as the communication deficit has hurt his efforts in the war against Islamic terrorism home and abroad–not to mention his domestic agenda.

But seriously, folks: after the worst natural disaster in US history–bar none–this is the best topic the PI can opine about? The supposed elitisim of the Bushes? Talk about pot calling the kettle black. When Bush clears brush at his Crawford ranch with a chainsaw, he’s a dumb, uneducated Texas cowboy hick–but when he talks about sitting on Trent Lott’s porch, he’s a wealthy out-of-touch elitist. So which is it, guys? And, come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of the common folk from the PI down there mixing it up with the suffering masses at the Astrodome. No Starbucks nearby is my guess. But of course, in postmodern liberalism, it does not have to be one or the other: Bush can be a stupid cowboy hick and a wealthy out-of-touch elitist–all at the same time. Truth matters not–only attacking those in power–and only when it’s not your guys running the show.

No mention by the PI editorial staff about the emotive incompetence of Governor Blanco, or the potty-mouthed whining of Mayor “not my fault” Nagin. Why? Because they’re the “right kind of people” in the PI’s view, “compassionate” and “caring”–and liberal. Their incompetence and lack of preparation–widely acknowledged by disaster management experts across the nation–likely cost thousands of lives, and in no small part contributed to thousands “living in their own filth, starving, fearing rape, or worse, for five days at the Superdome in New Orleans.” But why let that fact mar a perfectly good anti-Bush editorial, eh?

God forbid the PI could write about something constructive–like the successes of handling the largest population dislocation in U.S. history, or the generosity of millions of Texans and others who have opened their homes, volunteered their time and efforts, and opened their pocketbooks to help absorb and assist the poor, the sick, the starving. God forbid they examine the emergency preparations and planning should a Richter 8+ earthquake or a tsunami make Seatlle look like New Orleans West, and hold local leaders’ feet to the fire to make sure they get it right. God forbid they should stop the hysterical hatred and political dungthrowing for even a few weeks in light of a calamity of this magnitude.

Yes, God forbid–but I hope He’s patient, because Trent Lott’ll be sippin’ julips on his front porch with W. long before the PI gets a clue.