Tenth tenth tenth
Ninth ninth ninth
Eighth eighth eighth
July moves along
Lie lie lie
Bully bully bully
Fraud Fraud Fraud
maga moves along
If you love me
If you love you
If you love us
Hold onto truth
Do not give in
Do not give up
Do not give over
Your soul
Their lies bullying
Fraud cynicism
Cruelty unhappiness
Is the death of them
Lies and lying are having a heyday.
Immanuel Kant looks askance.
One of the great difficulties with Kant's moral philosophy is that it seems to imply that our moral obligations leave us powerless in the face of evil. Kant's theory sets a high ideal of conduct and tells us to live up to that ideal regardless of what other persons are doing. The results may be very bad. But Kant says that the law “remains in full force, because it commands categorically” (G 438–39). The most well-known example of this “rigorism,” as it is sometimes called, concerns Kant's views on our duty to tell the truth.
In two passages in his ethical writings, Kant seems to endorse the following pair of claims about this duty: first, one must never under any circumstances or for any purpose tell a lie; second, if one does tell a lie one is responsible for all the consequences that ensue, even if they were completely unforeseeable.
One of the two passages appears in the Metaphysical Principles of Virtue. There Kant classifies lying as a violation of a perfect duty to oneself. In one of the casuistical questions, a servant, under instructions, tells a visitor the lie that his master is not at home. His master, meanwhile, sneaks off and commits a crime, which would have been prevented by the watchman sent to arrest him. Kant says:
Upon whom … does the blame fall? To be sure, also upon the servant, who here violated a duty to himself by lying, the consequence of which will now be imputed to him by his own conscience.
1. Korsgaard CM. The right to lie: Kant on dealing with evil. In: Creating the Kingdom of Ends. Cambridge University Press; 1996:133-158.
We are likely to protest -- who among us does not lie? A few seconds of self-examination will have us all answer in the affirmative, namely, “I lie.”
It is what we do. Maybe not always as some actually do, but often enough, within and without, as the rest of us invariably do.
Mahatma Gandhi held that “Truth is God.” It is a thought-provoking change from a more traditional statement that God is truth.
Was Kant suggesting that our deepest duty is to Truth? To God (a word he does not use.)
Our current fascination with the incessant telling of lies by liars and the deceptive characters confusing and misleading the people of our country and the world is a fascination that dulls our brains, drains our emotions, and weakens our moral foundation.
Is it our duty, our Kantian duty, to behave as though our actions become the didactical or pedagogical essence attainable and attune-able to the lives of everyone existing today and going forward?
5. The Formula of the Universal Law of Nature
Kant’s first formulation of the CI [Catagorical Imperative] states that you are to “act only in accordance with that maxim through which you can at the same time will that it become a universal law” (G 4:421). O’Neill (1975, 1989) and Rawls (1980, 1989), among others, take this formulation in effect to summarize a decision procedure for moral reasoning, and we will follow their basic outline: First, formulate a maxim that enshrines your proposed plan of action. Second, recast that maxim as a universal law of nature governing all rational agents, and so as holding that all must, by natural law, act as you yourself propose to act in these circumstances. Third, consider whether your maxim is even conceivable in a world governed by this new law of nature. If it is, then, fourth, ask yourself whether you would, or could, rationally will to act on your maxim in such a world. If you could, then your action is morally permissible. (--Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)
We are unlucky students these days living in the inauthentic didacticism and false doctrines of the current administration of the United States.
Their lesson plans are poisonous, their blatent and shameless misrepresentation of reality, their ignorance and avoidance of Truth is stunning. Their pedagogy a death-knell.
It becomes as difficult as it is dangerous to speak, or attempt to embody, truth today, given the vehemence and retaliation threatened against it.
Perhaps Emily Dickenson’s poem will help us during this awkward time:
Tell all the truth but tell it slant — (1263) BY EMILY DICKINSON
It is possible that Truth is unaffordable today.
Or, as some might say, non-valuable.
It is also possible that it only exists within, and is brought into being only when realized within.
Invaluably but (mostly) invisible.
Poverty and impoverishment are difficult teachers, teaching things so many of us deem completely undesirable.
Only saints and wise fools seem to grasp the pedagogy of voluntary poverty.
Francis of Assisi and other maladroit meandering mendicants seem to walk closely with the un-hidden (ἀλήθεια) (die Wahrheit) (the Truth).
It is worth considering.
Truth.
yes
yes?
yes
is it possible
to say yes
in such turmoil?
yes
only yes
penetrates
confusion
disturbance
uncertainty
when we arrive at the place we are
when the body stops still
when the mind becomes silent
there arrives the sound of creation
articulating Being, bespeaking Becoming
nothing is outside this, here, now, in truth
Good to know there was no crime with regard to Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell, no files, no client lists.
Nobody did anything wrong. Epstein committed suicide (who said he was murdered?) for nothing. Maxwell got 20 years for nothing. Donald Trump never knew Epstein, never partied with him, never was caught on video images with Epstein and ogling dancing women.
I’ve been confused.
Now I’m not.
Attorney General Pam Bondi, FBI Director Kash Patel, Asst. Director Dan Bongino, President Donald Trump all have explained that we’d gotten it wrong, nothing happened, squirrel over there, crickets over here.
The world was once strange.
Now it's not.
It’s July.
(Yawn!)
Wake me up if anything changes.
Can you hear me?
Are you standing in the place
you are standing?
If you are, you will hear me—
I am the place you are
Standing.
I understand from the cabinet meeting today that up is now down, in is now out, what you’ve seen and heard is no longer what you’ve seen and heard.
Most important is the fact that we are being told that every human being is no longer capable of discerning right from wrong and the president will be the sole authority to decide what is right or wrong for the whole country.
Phew, I’m glad to have that finally clarified.
Two sections of local news site I am happy not to see my name: Knox County Criminal Docket closed cases, and, Obituaries.
Actually, I’m happy not to see my name anywhere.
Goethe wrote that “Names are but noise and smoke, obscuring heavenly light.”
I don’t know about heavenly light. But I do know about dawn. I look out my window each morning, continuingly surprised how early it comes this time of year.
I listen to “The Stranger in the Lifeboat, a novel” by Mitch Albom.
Wash dishes. Feed cats and dog. Think about mowing lawn.
“On the first part of the journey...” America sings in “A Horse With No Name.”
The lyrics end with:
In the desert, you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
Does pain render us nameless?
¿Cómo se llamas? -- asks no one we know. (What is your name?)
Mi nombre es el suelo sobre el que estoy parado -- responds each one who understands love. (My name is the ground I stand on.)
we ran into each other in a cafe in Belfast Maine
It had been years we’d not talked to each other
who can remember exactly why, or would want to
he’d given me fabric art work over the years,
Chinese brush stroke, three of them hang from beams
in front room where I sit. In my room calligraphy on wall.
I value these. As I value our silence.
Things like that happen. No need for post-mortem.
He died five years ago today. I wanted to put that in words.
In prison this morning we looked at three photos of three sculptures on last page of recent issue of The Christian Century, p.96.
aSteve Novick, Sculpture, Epitaph, 2022, found marble and brass object, rubber, 12 x 8.25 x .5 I
July July Ju-
ly
You overheated month!
Testing us
Who love cool days
With your inten-
se
ly
Close
Heat
House cat stares
She knows I have the uncanny ability to
Find cans of cat food, open them,
Manipulate spoon to distribute contents
Into circular bowl placed on floor by
Water bowl
She’s right
I am singularly gifted in this craft
So it is she walks across my chest
Curls on pillow by wall, purring
Admiration for what I have
accomplished in my otherwise
useless life, me, an erstwhile disciple
Of Benedict Joseph Labre, he homeless
Beset with mental illness, vagabond piety
An afterthought of belonging infused with
Solitude and reclusive isolation
Churchless monstrance of real presence
Contemplation, the circular nature of silence
She closes her eyes, breathes shallow sawing
Near rosary. It is Sunday. Sunshine and leaf sway
Everything has become a new silence
As I look out into the day, I am merely here
Belonging nowhere, devoid of skill, unlearned
Unattachable, impertinent, an unspecial fool
Unaligned, misinformed, a nameless passing
Sound the meaning of which is dismissive wave
Enough of that
It is always time for nap
That holy invitation into dimensions
Not yet catalogued, no clear cartography
To reference what or wherefore the pilgrimage
Fisher cat
(or was it fox)
stares at me
From other side
of green fence
Each of us
glowing eyes
unsure
of the other
I understand now
it is readying time
everywhere preparing
the next real revolution
will be christian versus
christian -- it is inevitable
those who think they own
Jesus taking up arms against
those who are Jesus unbeknownst
those whose innards burn
whose inner realization can
no longer abide the hateful
outers who bank Jesus who
kneel to Jesus after their cruelty
garners enough votes to crucify
again their prop and circumstances
forecast a good stock market
tomorrow, thank you thank you
There are two kinds of christians
the inner holy and the outer holding
all the cards in their poker game
the outers send their Jesus to ride
with gangsters and mercenaries to
beat and imprison the stranger
the inners attend to bleeding faces
visit the impounded, place their
bodies between batons and beatings
I sense the next revolution will be
between the true and the false, the
christ-like and the cynical masks
fronting a false narrative of hate
dressed as popular jingoist lies
befuddling a mesmerized populace
will there be bloodshed? Yes
will there be chaos? Yes
will the country be rift? Yes
We near the time when semblance
will no longer resemble what is real
when what is false will collapse and fall
I tell you -- this will not be a war of ideas
this will be a tearing apart of dissemblance
a throat cut of dissimilitude of the crude unholy
I will hide in the loft of my barn, in my cell
as christian against christian clank and clatter
tossing charters and chapters of scripture at
each other, parading credentials and certifications
temporary restraining orders and articles of heresy
sacramentals and letters of passage and patronage
none of which will make a difference when bullets
fly, when knives are unsheathed, when messiahs with
bitcoin certificates storm houses and sanctuaries
making america god’s address red hats will proliferate
but bare-headed protectors will bow and advance
no more fear, only, no more camouflaged hypocrite
And where is the Christ-Itself in this conflagration?
I don’t think we will know. There will be no deus-ex-
machina, no white-hat on white-horse entering town
Christ-Itself will remain, as always, away/within out
of sight -- no material appearance behind a podium,
no emergency alert on all airwaves, no full page ad --
Christ-Itself will remain, as always, away/within deeply
centered and uncircumferenced; (to misquote Philip Whelan):
invisible and incomplete uncontrollable everything
~fin~
... ... ...
Poem by Philip Whalen:
4:2-59 Take I
What I need is lots of money
No
What I need is somebody to love with unparalleled energy
and devotion for 24 hours and then goodbye
I can escape too easily from this time & this place
That isn’t the reason I’m here
What I need is where am I
Sometimes a bed of nails is really necessary to any man
Or a wall (Olson, in conversation, “That wall, it has to be there!”)
Where are my hands.
Where are my lungs.
All the lights are on in here I don’t see nothing.
I don’t admit that this is personality disintegration
My personality has a half-life of iox years; besides
I can put my toe in my mouth
If (CENSORED), then (CENSORED), something like
Plato his vision of the archetypal human being
Or the Gnostic Worm.
People see me; they like that . . .
I try to warn them that it’s really me
They don’t listen; afterwards they complain
About how I had no right to be really just that:
Invisible & in complete control of everything
(—Poem by Philip Whelan, pp 26-27, in On Bear’s Head, 1960)
