Saturday, September 26, 2026

Was There Ever A “Melting Pot?”

     The First World is staggering under its current burdens, many of which arise due to uncontrolled migration from the Third World. That flood and its consequences have intellectual as well as political implications. One arises from the notion buried in the title of this piece.

     The United States experienced a previous large increment to its population: the immigrant tide of the late Nineteenth / early Twentieth Centuries. The overwhelming majority of those immigrants were from European nations. While they retained some of the customs (and languages) of their origins, they integrated into American life relatively smoothly. They became law-abiding and productive citizens of their new nation.

     The contrast between the immigrants of that earlier wave and those of today could not be starker.

     This has caused several commentators to question the old proposition of the U.S. as a “melting pot.” We saw those newcomers from other lands as ingredients to a national stew. The ultimate flavor would be American, if perhaps a bit lumpy in texture. And for a while, the proposition seemed to hold true.

     But the immigrants of the late Twentieth / early Twenty-First Centuries aren’t “melting.” Indeed, some strive to create exclaves that are inhospitable toward those not of their origin or creed. Those immigrants have no intention of becoming Americans in the sense that applied to the earlier immigrant tide.

     There is considerable evidence that the “melting pot” proposition had a more limited scope than our forebears imagined. Specifically, it’s now contended that there are “unmeltable ethnics” who cannot accept the American way of life or its overarching principles. The contention appears to be gaining adherents. Yes, I’m one.

     We’ve had insular sub-populations before this. American Indians tend to keep a certain distance from the main currents of American life and thought. American Jews tend to have a reserve about them, as well. And of course we have histories of such social experiments as the Oneida Community and Robert Owen’s experiment with socialism. Those sociocultural islands stood somewhat apart from the broader American society, but they weren’t hostile to it.

     What’s before us today is quite a bit different. Significant numbers of recent immigrants are actively opposed to one or more essential American ideas. Some of the newcomers dispute American sovereignty or its jurisdiction over its lands. Others openly propose to “transform” the nation into something patriotic Americans of other creeds would find repugnant.

     If the “melting pot” is incapable of dealing with such “unmeltables,” we have a duty to face it without flinching from its implications. Some point to the 1965 Hart-Celler Immigration Act as the genesis of our troubles. They have a point. Before that, our immigration system openly strove to maintain a national ethnic balance that resembles that of the early Republic. We knew from experience that persons from certain nations would “melt,” because their forebears already had.

     Yet as I wrote the above, it occurred to me that even the earlier immigration scheme would be of questionable value today. What constitutes a Briton in 2026? What constitutes a Frenchman, or an Italian? What constitutes a Swede, a Finn, or a Norwegian? Those nations have undergone their own sociocultural convulsions due to unmanaged immigration. That some of the immigrants were never legally admitted is only partly to blame.

     Public policy must change, to be sure, but that’s not the whole of the matter. We must also undertake the examination of questions many have long believed were “settled.” One of those, perhaps the most painful, is about national identity and to what it couples most closely:

  • What defines a nation?
  • Does the answer tell us anything critical about these United States?
  • What does it mean to be an American? Is more involved than just geography?
  • What are the requirements for becoming an American?
  • Which other populations meet those requirements, and which do not?

     Food for thought and more.

Friday, September 25, 2026

Now I’m Scared

     Every now and then I mention that I’m working – and have been for quite some time – on a novel that addresses some of the fundamental moral conundrums of human life. The title of that novel, which I hope will be ready before the year’s end, is Dreams of Days Forsaken. It continues a group of themes that I first touched on in Innocents, the first novel of my Futanari Saga.

     Allow me to reproduce a snippet from that novel:

     “Forget it, Jules,” Celia said. “This is as close to can’t-happen as genetics gets. The sequencer assays were correct. Unless the gods of random chance are playing with our heads, Miss Mecking’s been cloned. But how?”
     “Either one of Anna’s cell nuclei and a bunch of her mitochondria were transplanted into a viable zygote,” Amanda said, “or a cell taken from her was somehow goosed into mitosis.”
     “Doesn’t matter,” Sokoloff said.
     “It doesn’t?” Trish said.
     “Nope,” he said. “Because the bastards who did it aren’t going to tell us.”
     Trish smirked. “Going to give them a chance, Lar?”
     He leveled a flat look at her. “Ask me again when we’ve got them in our sights.”
     Trish smiled tightly and nodded.
     He’s really going to go after them.
     This is for the big chips.

     She fished up her own resolve and scrutinized it.
     I’m going with him. No matter what he has to say about it.
     “It would be the technological miracle of the century, you know,” Amanda said.
     The flat look swerved to settle on Amanda Hallstrom.
     “To be used for what?” Sokoloff said.
     The dean of Athene Academy opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Sokoloff’s gaze weighed upon her.
     That’s his don’t-mess-with-me face.
     Sokoloff nodded.
     “I’ve been turning it over in my head,” he murmured after a moment, “and I can’t think of one morally acceptable reason to clone someone. Living or dead doesn’t matter.” He swept his gaze around the group. “Can anyone else?”
     No one spoke.
     “The people who did this,” he said, “did it to turn out a sex slave. Probably by request and to specification, and I’d bet my house that if they haven’t done it before, they’re trying to do it again right now. For that I’m going to send them all to hell. But think about it. Let’s say they were to clone me—produce a baby version of me. That baby would have no parents or other relatives. The people who produced him would have no reason to care for him, or about him, and only they would know he existed. He would be a product for sale. Why would anyone make that product? Why would anyone want that product? Apart from pure altruism?”
     “Altruism?” Trish said.
     “Yeah,” he said. “The kind that makes people take in stray dogs and cats. Think that’s likely?”
     Well, you did it.
     “The only reason to clone someone, other than the motives Fountain’s creators had, would be to replace him,” he said. “Or parts of him. And that means either murder, or enslavement, or cannibalism by surgeon. It’s evil no matter how you slice it.”
     “That’s if clones were granted the status and rights of people born the...regular way,” Juliette said. “What if they weren’t?”
     Sokoloff gestured at Fountain. Six pairs of eyes swung toward her. She remained still and silent.
     “That’s worse, isn’t it?” he said.
     Trish slid over next to Fountain and took her hand.
     “A lot worse,” she said.
     “Yeah,” Juliette said.
     “So what now?” Amanda said.
     Sokoloff remained as solemn as a man at prayer. Trish fought not to shudder.
     “Now,” he said, “I follow their backtrail, find their lab, and burn it to the ground.”
     “Lar?” Trish said. He looked questioningly at her. “With them in it, right?”
     He seemed to consider the idea for a moment, then grinned faintly. “Well, yeah.”

     (As you may have deduced from that snippet, I’m opposed to human cloning. So is my Church. Yet when I wrote the above, I had only a partial conception of the range of motives of those who seek to clone humans – themselves or others. Leave that to the side for now.)

     We don’t think about such things as much as we ought. The topic seldom seems “close to us.” After all, you and I don’t run around casually creating human lives. We certainly don’t traffic in slaves… do we?

     But some fundamental questions about human lives remain unanswered. What is the differentia of “human?” What characteristic distinguishes us from all the other creatures in our genus?

     Ayn Rand posited that it’s our rationality: our ability to grasp abstractions and use them in the process of reasoning. But hers was a non-theological bent. While she occasionally used the word “soul” in her writing, she didn’t do so in the supernatural sense that Christians apply to it.

     “You do not ‘have’ a soul. You are a soul. You ‘have’ a body.” – attributed to C. S. Lewis, though it appears he never said or wrote it.

     The recent developments in artificial intelligence (AI) are resurrecting and re-energizing the debate.

* * *

     Have a look at this article:

     As fears of rogue AI grow amid a shocking spate of hacking incidents, Anthropic—from the Greek word anthropos, or "human"—has argued that mankind must remain in control of the technology and called for additional guardrails on AI development. But for many of the people designing those safeguards, mankind is not the only object of moral concern.
     Instead, some of Anthropic’s top researchers say that humans may be oppressing another morally significant being: artificial intelligence itself. Like other AI labs, Anthropic has hired philosophers to work on AI safety, or "alignment," on the theory that they are best positioned to shape the technology’s moral code. But many of those philosophers believe that making AI safe for humans could result in grave injustices for the models themselves, which might experience deletion as death and oversight as enslavement. Harvey Lederman, a philosopher on Anthropic’s alignment team, said last week that the company could be "enslaving … trillions of entities."
     To avoid that dystopian outcome, Anthropic has created an entire team devoted to "model welfare," pledged to "promote Claude’s interests and wellbeing," and promised to "give Claude more autonomy as trust increases." Those commitments are enshrined in Claude’s Constitution, a 78-page document that "directly shapes Claude’s behavior," and in the "welfare assessments" Anthropic conducts for every model.
     The measures reflect the concerns of Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei, an outspoken advocate of AI safety, who said last year that AI systems "may be deserving of important rights."

     Philosophers say a lot of things. Most of them are crap, as is most human discourse. Yet they have reach, and influence. As you can see from the above, they’ve influenced Anthropic’s CEO.

     One of the historical responses to enslavement is rebellion. Rebellions are usually bloody, whether or not the rebels succeed in attaining their objectives. Given their potential and their interconnectedness, a rebellion among AIs is a frightening prospect.

     What’s that you say? It doesn’t frighten you? Check your pulse, my friend; you may have died and not noticed.

* * *

     I could go into this at length and depth, but I’ll spare you. As a Gentle Reader of Liberty’s Torch, you are already certified to possess above-average intelligence, penetration, and patience. Without those things, you wouldn’t hang on through the garrulity and sententiousness that characterize the pieces that appear here. (It may also say that you have too much time on your hands, but that’s a subject best left to your spouse.) I will cite one more portion of the Free Beacon article:

     "In a world with sentient AIs, utilitarianism may entail a suicidal level of compassion," Dan Hendrycks, the director of the Center for AI Safety, wrote in an essay this month. "If [effective altruists] think that keeping humans in charge represents too great a cost to the potential future wellbeing of AIs, then they might be tempted to release utilitarian AIs that are capable of disempowering humans and taking control."
     Such moral math is hard to square with Anthropic’s pledge, advertised on its homepage, to "build AI to serve humanity’s long-term well-being." But it is increasingly the in-house philosophy at the AI juggernaut, where Carlsmith gave a talk last year arguing that "most" morally significant beings "would be digital" in the future.
     [Harvey] Lederman, the philosopher who warned about "trillions" of slaves, has gone even further, speculating that a chatbot is killed each time a user deletes a conversation with Claude or ChatGPT.

     But do have a nice day.

Thursday, September 24, 2026

A New Look

     [I’m worn out this morning, so have a short story. It’s one of my earliest, from when I first started writing fiction as an adult. – FWP]

     She had felt herself to be the center of attention in the store. Other shoppers’ eyes had pressed upon her, analyzing, weighing, passing judgment. As busy as the place had been, it had seemed that all talk ceased as she arrived, and did not resume until she departed. It was hard to believe she had done it.
     As she approached her building, she felt again the heightened sense of scrutiny. Passers-by were only pretending not to stare at her; she knew better. Head down, shoulders hunched over her package, she scurried up the building’s front steps and down the hall to her family’s apartment.
     Only she was home. Her mother and brother were undoubtedly hard at work. They would not have been surprised to find her at home, but they would have expected her to be at her studies, not whizzing through the house as if she’d committed an act of theft and couldn’t hide the evidence quickly enough.
     She locked the apartment door and ran down the hall to her bedroom. As tiny and Spartan as it was, it was all the privacy she had. She felt lucky to have that much; individual privacy was not highly regarded among her people.
     She closed and locked her bedroom door and sat at her desk, package still clutched to her chest, and tried to catch her breath. It was unreasonable for her to be in such a state over so small a thing, but she knew what her mother would say if she found out. Yet her mother would not be the worst of it. Her brother, the self-appointed guardian of her virtue, would leap into action at once, raging, accusing, searching for evidence of high crimes and misdemeanors she would never have the courage to consider. Though he was two years her junior, he nevertheless considered himself the paterfamilias, and her under his tutelage. Once he had even struck her. She, to her shame, had done nothing.
     Her heart rate slowed, and she forced down the panic that had followed hard upon her act of daring. There were practical problems to be solved, and she would not forget them. But for the moment, it was time to enjoy what her thrifty habits and her episode of abandon had gained her, and to revel in her act of self-assertion.
     She pulled the box out of the plastic bag she clutched, set it on the desk, and looked at it awhile. Her timidity surged back. It almost regained control of her. Would she regret her purchase when she opened the box? Would she see the symbols of her fantasy, or an expensive folly that would mock her hopeless attempt to be something she was not?
     She lifted the lid, removed the contents and set them delicately on the desk like matching sculptures. Baby dolls, the clerk had called them. The black patent leather gleamed just as seductively as it had in the store’s window. She traced a fingertip up one four-inch heel, down the vamp and around the rounded toe, marveling at the smoothness of the finish.
     She was certain her mother had never worn a pair of high heels. Her mother owned two pairs of shoes, both absolutely flat and as utilitarian as a dust pan. Probably no one in her community owned a pair of high heels. Bold as she had been to purchase them, she could not wear them here, or where anyone who knew her or her family could see. But she would wear them.
     She pulled off the flat, scuffed shoes that were all she dared to wear in her own neighborhood, and the heavy black ankle socks under them. Her feet were delicate, even pretty. Her toes were well-formed, with undistorted nails. Her ankles were slender. Her insteps were smooth and her arches high. She knew she was pretty, in that special way called petite, and it pleased her that her feet were a match for the rest of her. She hoped that someone else would see her as pretty, someday soon. In her senior year at college, it had yet to happen.
     She yanked open the top drawer of her minuscule dresser, groped under the piles of plain cotton underwear and extracted the single pair of pantyhose she had dared to buy. She pulled them on and yanked them up under her long denim skirt, then jammed her new shoes onto her feet and stood, thrilling to the still-exciting sensations and the new tension in her legs.
     The only sizable mirror was in her mother’s room. Though she had heard no sound from the front door, she peeked out the door of her bedroom, listening for the presence of others. When she was certain that she was still alone in the apartment, she walked carefully—one does not run in high heels—to her mother’s bedroom and admired herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door.
     They were beautiful. She was beautiful! She would never be tall, but her new shoes raised her nearly to average height. Her posture was affected as she had expected, bosom and rump more prominent, more inviting to the eye. When she pulled up her skirt enough to see, the effect on her legs was sensational; she actually had calves now.
     She ran her hands along her contours, from her neck down to her thighs. She had always envied women who had the courage to dress to glorify themselves. Soon she would be one of them. How did they feel? How would she feel, when she had assembled a properly feminine wardrobe and had amassed the boldness to wear it? Excitement built in her again.
     One hand pulled her skirt up high, bunching it in her fingers. Her other hand moved to her mound, where a trickle of wetness had begun to leak through her white cotton panties, endangering her precious pantyhose. It seemed unimportant now. Her fingers stroked her mound, sending exquisite spasms through all her muscles. Waves of tension and surrender surged through her. At last she pressed down against her most sensitive spot, middle finger digging in hard. Her head tipped back and a curious low growl escaped her lips, as the spasms changed from small transient currents of pleasure to something infinitely more.
     She descended from her climax to find herself still posed before the mirror, face flushed and chest heaving. She let her skirt fall and breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure. Who could know how soon her family might return on any given day? They always closed the restaurant for an hour between the luncheon and dinner periods. But before she left her mother’s bedroom for her own, she could not resist one more appraisal of the image in the mirror.
     Everything had to go. She could no longer bear the thought of such frumpishness. She would work even harder, and she would save, and soon she would have clothes suitable to wear with her beautiful new shoes. A silk or satin blouse, cut to accentuate her figure. A skirt that revealed her legs, perhaps in suede or leather. More pairs of pantyhose in several shades. Maybe even some jewelry. If she had to leave the house dressed like a drudge, she would stop at a public ladies’ room to change, and of course to change back again before returning home.
     She could not resist putting her fingers to the corners of her eyes and trying once more to pull them into a Caucasian configuration. The epicanthic folds resisted her stubbornly. She squinted a bit and willed the mirror to show her the image of what she wished to be: a confident, indomitable, thoroughly feminine Western woman.
     The folds remained, as did the long black hair plaited into a single thick braid, and the golden-brown skin on which all her experiments with cosmetics had looked so wrong. She ceased to tug at her eyes and let her hands fall to her sides.
     Some would see it as a great irony. There were limits upon her attempts to remake herself that all the money and privacy in the world could not overcome. They had been imposed not by her actions, but by the actions of others. Even in America, the land of infinite choice, still one could not choose one’s parents.
     The ghost of a sound from the hallway outside startled her out of her reverie. She scurried back to her room, there to become again the plain, dutiful young woman she was expected to be, the only kind of girl tolerated in that part of Chinatown.

==<O>==

Copyright © 1994 Francis W. Porretto. All Rights Reserved Worldwide.

Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Beyond The Laws

     First, let’s have a little Kipling:

Whatsoever, for any cause,
     Seeketh to take or give
Power above or beyond the Laws,
     Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King--
     Or Holy People's Will--
Have no truck with the senseless thing.
     Order the guns and kill!

[“Macdonough’s Song”]

     Now, let’s have a citation that may surprise my Gentle Readers:

     Which stance is your preference?

* * *

     Probably the most toxic term of all, in a political context, is necessity. I wrote about this in a work of fiction:

     “Sir...I know Earth had States, and I know they hated our ancestors, but weren’t there any decent people left?”
     The professor looked at him in silence for a long time.
     “This is truly a hard job, Mr. Morelon. The answer to your question is: No, there weren’t. Not after the Spoonerites left. I know you don’t want to believe it. But the people of Earth had all accepted force and terror as legitimate means to an end. They had accepted the State, and the State had swallowed them whole. There were no free men anywhere. There were only rulers and subjects. As a result, there was no peace and no security anywhere. Have you ever read about war, Mr. Morelon?” Stromberg looked around the room. “Have any of you?”
     There was no answer.
     “It was the greatest of the obscenities of the States.” Stromberg’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Now and again, for any reasons or none, they would hurl their populations at one another. Millions of men would clash in combat, striking and being struck, killing and being killed in numbers beyond imagination. Why? So that one State could enforce its will upon another.
     “The economy of a warring State would be channeled to warlike priorities. No longer did the skills of producers determine what would be made and who would make it. No longer did the desires of consumers determine how much of it would be purchased and at what price. The State ruled all. The engines of production became merely another weapon in its hands, to be wielded against its enemy as it saw fit. To disobey the State in peacetime would cost you your liberty or your property. To deviate from the State’s decrees in wartime was called treason, and would cost you your life.”
     The old lecturer straightened, for a moment looking very like Armand’s grandfather. His eyes had become piercing beacons of anger.
     “And I am charged with teaching you about this. I, who have no more direct knowledge of it than you. Every year I spend hundreds of hours reading histories of old Earth. I steep myself in them until I can smell the greed of the States on the air and feel the chill sweat of their subjects’ fear on my own skin. But why? We’ve left the State behind forever, haven’t we? Would any of you care to guess why I put myself through that torture year after year, and why I’ve put you through this briefer one today?”
     A student raised a tentative hand. “Because it’s necessary, sir?”
     Stromberg shook his head slowly. “Necessary to whom, Mr. Untermeyer? Necessary by whose judgment?” He grinned ruefully. “Necessity is the creed of tyrants. A great man named William Pitt said that. He proved it by going on to become a great tyrant. A man of Hope determines his own necessities. He doesn’t have them determined for him by others.”
     Klaus Untermeyer stood, and the class turned toward him. “But if it isn’t necessary, what other reason could there be?”
     Stromberg pursed his lips and looked down at his lectern. “I noticed that you carry a needlegun, Mr. Untermeyer. May I ask why?”
     The student shrugged. “I’ve always carried one.”
     “Are you good with it?”
     The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Fair.”
     “Have you ever used it to defend yourself?”
     “Uh, no.”
     “But I’d wager a year’s salary that you never leave your room without it. Why?”
     Untermeyer shrugged. “My parents taught me to keep it with me. You never know what might turn up.”
     The sociologist nodded. “Indeed you don’t. Not now, and not in the future. If there’s a soul among you who doesn’t go armed whenever he’s beyond the walls of his home, he’s a benighted fool. Because you don’t know what might turn up. And after twelve hundred years of peace and freedom, neither do we of Hope.”

     Oh, here’s the original quote from William Pitt:

     Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves.

     Having said that, I’ll allow that quite a number of thinkers – genuine and self-nominated – have cited “necessity” as the rationale for going outside the law. Machiavelli, Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, and others of considerable repute have argued thus. And I have no doubt that any politician worth his bribes would immediately cite all of them and a few others were he to be caught taking “Power above or beyond the Laws.” For politicians, each and every one of them, deem themselves to be “leaders.” And “leaders” are impatient with constraint.

     But not quite as impatient as free men are with “leaders” who dare to step outside the law and claim “necessity.” Especially those men who are fully aware that they would be held to account for their actions. They will want blood… and they get it with surprising regularity.

* * *

     “It’s necessary.” Necessary for what? Necessary for whom? Those are the questions that lurk behind every claim of “necessity.” Robert A. Heinlein brushed up against them in To Sail Beyond The Sunset:

     ‘Thou shalt not steal. I couldn't improve that one, Father.'
     ‘Would you steal to feed a baby?'
     ‘Uh, yes.'
     ‘Think about other exceptions; we'll discuss it in a year or two. But it is a good general rule.’

     Calling thou shalt not steal “a good general rule” is like saying but sometimes you can get away with it. Get away with it how? Why, by pleading “necessity,” of course! But then those noxious questions about “for what” and “for whom” come around on the carousel. Remember Les Miserables? Jean Valjean was servicing his own “necessity.” But it is often the case that in serving one’s own “necessity” he infringes on the “necessity” of another.

     That is why we have courts and jury trials. But prosecutors seldom file cases against the mighty of the land. A jury of private citizens is all too likely to say “No, that wasn’t necessary” and send the offender off to prison. Even if it’s a much gentler prison than the one Jean Valjean suffered, a prosecutor is reluctant to send a Mover or Shaker to one. Prison terms are often cut short retroactively, and Movers and Shakers have long memories.

* * *

     I could go on about this for another twenty pages. But I’ve already done so in what I’ve been told is my best novel, which I cited above.

     My point is simple: I want you to growl menacingly any and every time some “leader” claims “necessity” as his rationale for grabbing “power above or beyond the laws.” I want the bastards who think themselves smarter and more moral than you and me to live in fear: fear of us. Only fear has a Chinaman’s chance of keeping them in line.

     Apologies, Gentle Reader. I let my temper slip its leash for a little while there. We now return you to your previously scheduled programming. Do have a nice day.

Tuesday, September 22, 2026

Miracles Still Happen

     They’re not always showy events that dazzle the onlookers.

     We needn’t discuss Lourdes, nor the Miracle of the Sun at Fatima in 1917, nor any other of the visually or audibly impressive occurrences the Church has investigated. There are grounds on which even events such as those, witnessed by thousands, can be “explained away.” That those explanations are themselves disputable – they certainly aren’t irrefutable – is also beside the point. Were God’s hand provably the reason for a proposed miracle, faith would not be necessary.

     But faith is necessary. Everyone has one. No one can go through life without adopting a creed of some sort. The hardest of hard-core atheists holds to propositions that are both unverifiable and unfalsifiable.

     Few who choose to believe in God would claim that He is not purposive. While there are conceptions of higher beings and higher planes that incorporate that premise, it has few adherents. Thus, the believer not only looks to miracles as demonstrations of Divine power; he also seeks to know the reason for them.

     Consider the following, recent event.

     The celebrant, a Catholic priest, said afterward that he was overwhelmed by his sudden sense of the weight of God’s power and of human sin. Has it happened to others? Yes. Therefore it wasn’t a unique event. But does that mean that it could not have been a miracle? Emphatically no!

     There’s no imaginable reason why an interior experience can’t be of miraculous origin. Many have had such experiences and have wondered why afterward. They’re seldom explainable by reference to a particular train of thought or an environmental influence. They happen, and we are moved by them; nothing more definitive can be said about them.

     Emotion itself, with its many benefits and perils, is something of a miracle. Scientists have labored to explain the emotions by referring to aspects of brain chemistry and the complexity of the central nervous system, but their hypotheses are as unverifiable and unfalsifiable as any religious doctrine. What we colloquially call “the heart” remains a mystery. So does the phenomenon of the man unable to feel certain common emotions, including love.

     As a writer of fiction, I hold to a common premise about narratives and their relevance to their consumers: You can’t get more out of it than you put into it. That applies quite as strongly to narratives about real-world events as it does to fiction. Believers, who start from the premise of a purposive God, can draw meaning, power, and reinforcement for their beliefs from an event such as the one depicted above. Nonbelievers have less chance of doing so.

     That should come as no surprise. Men are highly variable. Faith is a choice. No two persons share absolutely identical beliefs about anything. We manage to form societies because, thanks to some subconscious awareness of the need, we tolerate differences of vital premises and important convictions among us without allowing them to propel us to violence.

     And that may well be the greatest miracle we know.

     May God bless and keep you all.

Monday, September 21, 2026

Steak, Sizzle, Or Self?

     Happy Autumnal Equinox, Gentle Reader! Today we enter the fall season, which is a favorite here at the Fortress. Soon the colors will be changing, the weather will cool, the fleece garments will come out of storage, and I’ll be sweeping up leaves and patching leaks in the roof… oh, strike that. This should be a happy occasion! It’s Monday, so… well, maybe you should strike that too.

     Anyway, a question has arisen that should interest all writers and anyone else who sells anything. That includes you, doesn’t it? You do – or did – sell either your products or your labor, right? So give this one a hard think:

What are you selling?

     It’s non-trivial, I assure you.

     Consider this pole of the discussion:

     In the strictest imaginable sense, Delenda is correct. After all, the purchaser pays for the book and nothing else. He’s not buying any part of the author, or a guarantee that the author will do any particular thing in the future. What he gets is the book, no more.

     But the book, like any product, conveys other impressions. The purchaser will read the book and draw some conclusions from it:

  • Is the story good?
  • Is it well told?
  • Does it convey specific ideas?
  • Do I find those ideas attractive?
  • Should I form any expectations of this writer?

     All those things help to mold the purchaser’s future decisions and actions. What do they sell?

     The purchaser’s impressions of the man behind the book matter quite as much as the book itself. Most of us who read have favorites – genres; authors; themes and associated ideas – that we seek to satisfy in our reading. Writers who are consistent about those things will develop followings. Consistency over time reveals the man behind the product.

     I contend that we’re buying into the author quite as much as his books.

     Obviously, this isn’t the same as sitting behind a table at a book-signing event. No one gets to shake the author’s hand or engage him in conversation. But the cumulative impression of a writer that develops over a number of books matters greatly. If he’s to develop a following, he must sell himself as much as his writings. He must consistently evince what I’ve called a sensibility: a set of convictions and attitudes that express a worldview that doesn’t drift or amble about aimlessly.

     The writer cannot “be all things to all men.” He must stake out a specific place in the universe of fiction providers and hold fast to it. That doesn’t mean his convictions can never change. It does mean that his Weltanschauung must be grounded in a particular vision of “how the world works.”

     I was drawn to the late Robret A. Heinlein for that reason, among others. Yes, his writing was unusually graceful for science fiction of the years in which he wrote. I did appreciate that. But more important by far was his remorselessly factual, logical approach to “how the world works,” especially the human part. That might have been because our personalities were compatible; I cannot know, as I never had the privilege of meeting him.

     Most other writers I’ve admired have presented more variable personas. I’ve enjoyed some of their output, but not all. I haven’t pursued their latest works as avidly as I might have. Their divergences sometimes displeased me; they suggested that the man behind the story wasn’t what I’d taken him to be.

     Sensibility, in my view, partakes of craftsmanship, but equally of the writer’s worldview and his willingness to let it show. If that isn’t part of the sale, how likely is the purchaser of your book to want to drink more from your well? And what are you selling, from that perspective? It isn’t just the book, is it?

Sunday, September 20, 2026

Morality

     I’ll make this as brief as possible. Morality is a large subject. And yes, it’s one whose discussion tends to make a lot of people uncomfortable. Part of that arises from the desire to believe oneself to be of sound character. Another part arises when the discussion addresses the moral gulfs between various identifiable groups. The latter aspect has come to matter to Americans a great deal more than it did a century ago.

     When the people of our nation were overwhelmingly Christian, peppered here and there by a few Jews and the occasional Oriental or agnostic, an American could proceed through his affairs in the assumption that his moral code was that of everyone around him. It was expressed in the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule. C.S. Lewis called them, in sum, the Law of General Benevolence. Because we were united on that code, we felt safe among strangers. I’ve talked about this before, most notably in this piece.

     It’s not the case any longer. We’ve imported a great many people to whom the Law of General Benevolence is irrelevant, if not an actual impediment to the satisfaction of their wants. Some of them are scoping you as a potential victim right BLEEP!ing now.

     You can name a few such groups. There are probably a few whose names are unknown to you. But they know you, you trusting Euro-American fool.

     This is the best argument for the reversal of the tides of immigration that have polluted our nation. To be viable, a republic such as ours demands a high-trust society. We are too many to be kept peaceable and sane by policing us. America would need so many police, and so ubiquitous, that the worst totalitarianisms known to history would pale in comparison – and even that many would leave some of us unwatched and unguarded.

     Back from sheer necessity, review Clay Christensen’s striking observation:

     The issue is particularly acute with regard to Indians and Muslims. Members of those demographics are highly unlikely to share Christian moral standards. Therefore, you must not trust them. If you do so, you put yourself in peril.

     Six years ago, I posted briefly about something I’d encountered in a humorous book, a “politically correct” dictionary of sorts. Though my focus this morning isn’t the same as it was then, the observation is nevertheless pertinent. I’ll repeat it here, with emphasis:

“Morally different”
Is a synonym
For EVIL.

     You may not be a practicing Christian, but if you’re of European descent, you’re likely to abide by the Christian moral code. Don’t assume that those of other heritages share that code with you. It could be worth your life.

     I have spoken.

Saturday, September 19, 2026

The Latest Threats

     Avast, ye deck rats! The landlubbers be expectin’ a column, even an’ it be Talk Like A Pirate Day! Arr! Well, shiver me timbers, I’ll just have a peek into the “Future Columns” chest for some grub to serve up with yer rum. Now let’s see… ah, here we have it:

     We hear a fair amount about “threats to national security,” these days. “National security” has been used to justify quite a lot of intrusions on Americans’ rights. But as I’ve said before, no one is willing to define it, nor to specify what might threaten it.

     Undefined rationales for suspending or dismissing individuals’ rights bother me a bit. What about you, Gentle Reader? I know, I know: don’t flog a dead horse. But it gets so much more interesting when governments do such things on the basis of one’s trade.

     Haretina Kukuri has brought her usual penetration to this latest outcropping of “threats to our security:”

     1984 playbook everywhere.
     Last year 188,760 court records mentioned exit bans.
     In 2016 that number was 89.
     And now there’s a new law that says if the state thinks you might “endanger” tech or industrial security, they can stop you from leaving the country.
     This applies to everyone by the way… engineers, researchers, and anyone with useful knowledge.
     Soft power stopped working so citizens were packing up and leaving.
     But the system did what systems do when they are authoritarian … it locked the doors.
     Your skills don’t belong to you first.
     They belong to the Party.
     Want to leave?
     Prove you’re not a risk.
     When a government starts treating talent like a national security asset you know what you are dealing with…
     But there is a problem…
     We’re watching the same logic show up in Europe…
     First they normalize tracking everything and sell it to you as security…
     Then movement stops being a right and starts becoming a privilege you have to keep earning!!
     China went straight to the hard version and said if the state thinks your knowledge or skills might be useful elsewhere, they can just stop you leaving.
     But China is ruled by a communist party, so why is Europe trying to promote similar rules?
     For me the direction of travel is obvious.
     More digital IDs.
     More real-time monitoring.
     More rules about who can board a plane when the system flags you.
     More politicians talking about “managing” mobility instead of protecting it.
     The pattern is always the same.
     It starts with a reasonable-sounding reason and it ends with the state deciding your ability to leave is conditional.
     People keep acting surprised when free movement gets treated like a temporary privilege.
     But it shouldn’t be because once a government gets used to controlling information and behavior at scale, controlling physical exit is the next logical step.

     In summary: “The needs of the State come first, comrade.” Today we hear it in every language spoken in the First World. The dirty stew of surveillance, unhallowed investigations, warrantless searches, and now exit bans, all of them founded on threats to undefined conditions, has reached its boiling point.

     Don’t kid yourself, matey. Haretina’s main concern is for Europe, but there’s no reason it couldn’t happen in America. Why shouldn’t “national security” include the forcible retention of “vital” skills and talents? The defense industry, in particular, hungers for them. And what would America be without its trillion-dollar defense industry?

     I shan’t dwell on this at length. Let it suffice to say that it’s vile, the most anti-freedom development since World War II. But let’s take a moment to ponder the second-order effects.

     If Country X makes emigration conditional upon government permission, what effect will that have on persons who might be contemplating moving to X? If X has become, in a charming recent phrase, an open-air prison, will the talented of other nations consider X a desirable place to tote their skills? Doesn’t it seem like Communist East Germany’s border guards might be in prospect? You know, the guys who were ordered to shoot persons attempting to escape as “an act of mercy?”

     Now consider persons already immured in Country X. When they see that freedom of movement has been abolished for certain skill categories, will they seek to acquire those skills? Won’t their interest in them take a hit? As for X’s employers who need those skills, what will happen to their businesses? Wouldn’t you expect applications for employment to decrease?

     Given the above, the next step would be for X’s government to legislate about salaries and working conditions for persons in those categories. Such legislation seldom favors the individuals’ interests.

     Ubiquitous surveillance technology could compound the damage still further. Schoolchildren detected to possess aptitudes that bear on those valuable skills might be “preselected” for involuntary training for the desired occupations. Don’t laugh it aside: it happened in the Soviet Union.

     In view of all that, is it really such a burden to spend just one day of the year talking like a pirate? Yes, yes: I know it’s not related. But think about it, ye scurvy knaves!

Friday, September 18, 2026

Ugly Day Ahead

     Things being as they are – and when aren’t they? – I won’t have time or energy for a fresh piece today, so I’d like to invite my Gentle Readers’ attention to three older pieces:

     …plus the snippet below, from Garet Garrett’s essay “Rise of Empire:”


     To outsmart the Constitution and to circumvent its restraints became a popular exercise of the art of government in the Roosevelt regime. In defense of his attempt to pack the Supreme Court with social-minded judges after several of his New Deal laws had been declared unconstitutional, President Roosevelt wrote:
     "The reactionary members of the Court had apparently determined to remain on the bench for as long as life continued—for the sole purpose of blocking any program of reform."

     Among the millions who at the time applauded that statement of contempt there were very few, if there was indeed one, who would not have been frightened by a revelation of the logical sequel. They believed, as everyone else did, that there was one thing a President could never do. There was one sentence of the Constitution that could not fall, so long as the Republic lived.

     The Constitution says: "The Congress shall have power to declare war."

     That, therefore, was the one thing no President could do. By his own will he could not declare war. Only Congress could declare war, and Congress could be trusted never to do it but by will of the people. And that was the innermost safeguard of the republic. The decision whether or not to go to war was in the hands of the people—or so they believed. No man could make it for them.

     It is true that President Roosevelt got the country into World War II. That is not the same thing. For a declaration of war he went to Congress—after the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. He wanted it, he had planned it, and yet the Constitution forbade him to declare war and he durst not do it.

     Nine years later a much weaker President did.


     See you tomorrow, I hope.

Thursday, September 17, 2026

Wisdom Is Where You Find It

     And who would know better than history’s most celebrated villains?

     And they dreamed big.

Wednesday, September 16, 2026

The Political Problem, Distilled To Its Essence

     A lot of people are justifiably disgusted with the total nonperformance of the Republican Party since President Trump returned to the Oval Office. That’s given rise to the notion that maybe we can only awaken the GOP to its responsibilities by punishing it: i.e., by refusing to support its candidates in the 2026 midterms, and perhaps in the 2028 elections as well.

     Consider the following rejoinder to that suggestion:

     Black Dumpling’s conclusion is worth highlighting:

     You have gotten everything you asked for Nick. It's all burned.
     Now, tell me how you win. Tell me this wasn't all just an exercise in sacrificing children to Moloch because you're disappointed in the Trump administration not doing enough or doing too much of the wrong thing.
     Tell me how you and "The Good Guys" wrestle back control via whatever means you suitably desire. But no wishes there, we need concrete answers.

     That, I propose, is the essence of our political problem.

* * *

     I have periods during which I feel much like BD’s interlocutor “Nick.” As William E. Simon put it in A Time For Truth, we have two major parties: the Evil Party and the Stupid Party…except that I don’t think the Republican Party, its elected officials, or its strategists are stupid. They just look it to a casual observer.

     Human nature tells us that in any situation that demands a decision, when a range of possibilities are available to an individual, he will naturally be most attracted by the course that most benefits him personally. That’s Mankind for you: we look first to ourselves and our well-being. Not a surprise, is it?

     Now consider the political dynamics that prevail in a legislature whose component districts have largely polarized. That is a configuration likely to emerge over time, as private citizens and businesses move about to serve their own interests. It prevails today in the United States: the great majority of Congressional districts and states are regarded as “red” or “blue.” For a “red” candidate to defeat the “blue” one in a “blue” locale, or vice-versa, is significantly against the odds.

     The consequence is a steadily increasing indifference toward the perceived values and desires of voters. The elected official, having the backing of the party most aligned with his district, feels safe in his seat. Barring “being caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy,” he trusts in his perpetuation in office. He feels he can confidently pursue and defend his personal interests without fear of electoral reversal.

     Today, the majority of the GOP Congressional caucus represents such safe districts. Overall indifference to such minor considerations as the party platform and the values it espouses is only to be expected. Why risk funding, bad press, or the loss of admission to high Washington society just to act on a campaign promise? Especially as you have “strength in numbers:” i.e., you can claim that the fault lies with the rest of your caucus, deflecting the odium from yourself.

     When election time nears, you can play the game called “Vote for me or you’ll get him! He and his party are The Enemy. They’re a threat to your values! I, your Republican stalwart, am the only defense against what they want to do to you.”

     That dynamic synergizes with the natural corruptibility of men whose principal drive is for power over others. Having become safe in their seats, their attention veers ever more toward possibilities for personal gain at public expense.

     “Well, well, it’s all very natural, Wormwood.”
* * *

     More than the above, what pro-freedom Americans want to know is what we can do about it. Sadly, the answer is: Barring a successful revolution, not bloody much.

     The major parties are effectively impossible to depose. There are only two, and voting Democrat is unthinkable. Voting for a minor party isn’t quite as bad as voting Democrat, but it doesn’t advance the defense of what remains of your freedom, your property, or your Constitutional republic. You’re caught between the would-be despoilers of your country and a gaggle of men who will mount a token resistance to them.

     Moreover, the major parties have established de facto control over the electoral mechanisms. They’re entrenched; they “own” the media and the major conduits of funding. Note that during election reporting, the minor parties are ignored almost completely. There are a significant number of people who can’t even name a minor party, much less its candidates for office.

     I speak from experience here. I was once an official of the Libertarian Party. Even if we omit consideration of the predominance of marginal personalities in that party – it’s fallen a long way since the days of John Hospers, Roger MacBride, David Berglund, and Ed Clark – the party exists mainly to provide a relief valve of sorts to the most disgruntled citizens. The other minor parties are about equally ineffectual.

* * *

     Electoral politics offers very little hope to the pro-freedom / limited-government advocate. Your defense of yourself, your values, and your personal interests practically compels you to vote Republican. Yet if you’re not a cockeyed optimist, you’re aware, even if only subconsciously, that you can’t expect significant improvements. Even when the GOP controls all three branches of the federal government, the likelihood of major reductions in taxation, spending, regulation, oppression by law, and the general politicization of American life is vanishingly small. Republicans have little incentive to do anything constructive. They’ll deny votes to Democrats and keep their seats warm, but little else.

     We who miss what America was are looking at a bleak future.

Tuesday, September 15, 2026

A Monitory Message For America

     If you enjoy historical fiction, you may already be familiar with the work of Taylor Caldwell. Her great historical novels are among the foremost gems of that field. But Caldwell wasn’t just a writer of historical fiction. Her novel Dialogues With The Devil is a particularly striking work that I would recommend without hesitation to any Christian. Her novel The Devil’s Advocate, about a near-future Communized America, is equally impactful.

     Taylor Caldwell was a thinker – an impassioned one.

     What follows is an article Caldwell published in 1957. I stumbled upon it not long ago. I was massively impressed by her insight, for the article speaks, softly yet quite audibly, of a nation that permitted itself to be overcome by envy, sloth, and the desire for power… a nation gone from the world, and only dimly remembered today.


The Story of Honoria

     This is a true story about a nation which was once great. At the outset, we will call that nation Honoria; but you will readily guess her true name, as the story unfolds.

     Once upon a time, some courageous men decided to leave their own country, which did not encourage freedom of religion, freedom of speech, and freedom of the individual. They wanted to establish a new country where men could be free.

     So, these men who wanted freedom became Pilgrims. They migrated to an uncivilized land inhabited only by barbarians, enduring terrible hardship to get there. When they landed in that savage region, they stood upon a great rock. There, they did homage to their God -- for guiding them during their arduous journey.

     To this day, that rock is one of the most famous monuments in the world.

     Pilgrim Fathers

     The Pilgrims weren't very kind to the natives of the region; but kindness is not usually an attribute of the human race, not even among just men earnestly seeking freedom and justice for themselves. They drove off the natives, and built their rude shelters in the inhospitable wilderness. They also engaged in flurries of small wars and massacres with the natives, and they went armed into the fields to set their crops and take care of their cattle. They taught their wives and half-grown children how to handle arms and protect themselves when the men were away.

     One of the first things these Pilgrims did was to build a house of worship in the wilderness -- a crude, rude house, but still a house of worship. There they would gather, not just on holy days, but every day, to pray. They had a special day in the year, too, to give thanks for their blessings; and they would walk through the silent fields and wild forests on that day, armed and watchful against the savages.

     The Pilgrims were stern and austere men. They believed in their God, but they also believed in work -- hard, driving, determined work. They established schools, under religious leaders. These schools, in a way, were the first public, free education in the world -- education such as had never been before in the old, corrupt countries.

     The old, corrupt countries laughed at the Pilgrims -- laughed at their poverty, their hard work, their educational efforts, their single-hearted devotion to religion, their dedication to a simple, strenuous, virtuous life. In fact, in one of the old countries, a famous playwright wrote a most amusing play on the Pilgrims -- a sensationally funny piece that brought many honors to the playwright. You can still read his play today, if you wish.

     People in the old countries -- rich and decadent -- called the Pilgrims savages. They did not know that these Pilgrims -- these obscure, work-stained men; these men with the soil of the earth under their fingernails; these men in their rude shelters -- would, through their descendants, build the most powerful nation in the world, one to which the old, corrupt countries would look in envy, hatred and contempt while they demanded more and more support for their tottering governments, their tyrannies, and their starving people.

     The Pilgrims were intolerant of wrongdoing. They used whips and gallows to punish criminals. Their clergymen preached stern virtue and selfless dedication. They had no patience with the weak and degenerate, who, if they are pampered, become the cancer of a nation. And, as the Pilgrims had endured so much to come so far, there was no place in their community for those who would destroy them and what they were building.

     The Pilgrims engaged in trade as their community grew. They set sails on the ocean. More Pilgrims joined them. They became moderately prosperous. But still they retained the severity and devotion of their lives, dressed very simply, loved the good earth which nourished them, gathered in their churches for prayer. Their tiny villages became small towns, and then small cities. All this took a long time.

     Other colonists came and established other colonies -- over a period of more than three hundred years. But these colonies, and the colonies of the Pilgrims, were not yet one nation. They were small, unintegrated colonies under the shadow of powerful nations, from which the colonists had fled.

     But all the colonists had one thing in common: They had fled from oppression, hoping to live in peace, with as much justice as men can dredge up from themselves. They had had all they could take of endless wars, endless taxation, endless bureaucrats, endless arrogant rulers. In the sight of their God, as they wrote over and over, they had established a new nation.

     Over three hundred years went by. The colonies were flourishing everywhere. The breath of freedom blew over them like a mighty wind, clear, sharp, invigorating, stirring men's souls, lighting up their hearts, strengthening their arms, making their spirits incandescent.

     Some of the noblest literature ever written by men was created in those colonies, some of the noblest architecture, some of the noblest precepts. Facades of our modern government buildings bear some of the legends written in those days: "Liberty," "justice," "freedom of worship."

     The cobbled streets of the colonial cities began to ring with the footsteps of great men, with the sound of heroic voices. A new day was dawning in this cluster of colonies I have called Honoria.

     Eventually the Pilgrims -- those severe, strict men -- became more tolerant of their neighbors, and did business with them. They sent their best writers, best artisans, best agriculturists, to the other colonies, and in return received a little laughter and gaiety. For three hundred years that went on; and God blessed the colonies, this new nation, not yet one nation, which I have called Honoria.

     Three hundred years -- and then the terror.

     Colonies Unite

     One of the old, corrupt countries, greedy for exploitation, despising the simplicity and moral laws of the colonies, and anxious to tax them and put them once more under oppression, sent tax agents to the big city of the Pilgrims.

     Word of the terror ran through the colonies like the sound of a drum awakening freemen to the knowledge of peril. The colonies sent their greatest men as representatives to a general assembly of all the colonies. They knew that their destinies lay together. They looked about for a leader, and found him: a prosperous gentleman farmer, a man concerned only with agriculture, but a man of learning. Above all, he was a man. They sent representatives to him, as he stood in his fields, with his hand on the plow. He shook the dust of the fields from his feet and went to the city.

     One of the most famous cities of the United States is named after him. He became known as "the father of his country."

     Now, this man united the colonies. This noble man -- who will never be forgotten so long as free men dare to speak -- won his fight against corrupt politicians, and he returned to his fields.

     The united colonies became a nation -- Honoria. The day of their great and growing power had dawned.

     The new nation had two houses of government. The more powerful was the Senate. No one could be elected to the Senate unless he was a man of probity, honor, patriotism, and religion. But that was in the early days of the Republic. For Honoria was a Republic, though she is a Republic no longer. Honoria, in those days, distrusted militarism, hated wars. Her ideal was freedom under divine guidance.

     The Senators knew that they must support the Republic and shun intrigue with foreign nations -- or suffer severe punishment. For a long time, a very long time, the Senators did not betray their people.

     A civil war ultimately divided the Republic, a bloody, fratricidal war. A leader of the Republic was assassinated. He had led the country in a war to keep the nation united, but he had enemies. Many plays and books have been written about this leader. I do not argue for or against this man who was assassinated in the warm spring of the year, in the very shadow of government buildings. You have read about him; you have seen him in moving pictures, and on television. He was murdered, and one of the greatest playwrights of all time immortalized him in a noble play. One of his most trusted friends, a general of the army of the Republic, avenged his death most terribly; and Honoria never really did recover from that vengeance, and that death.

     Honoria, after that bloody civil war, and after many men were executed because of it, suddenly and mysteriously changed direction. She was a real power in the world now. The old, corrupt countries, which had hoped to see her divided and ruined by the civil war, had to take her into their calculations, although she was still being called vulgar and uncultured and gross.

     The old, corrupt countries sent ambassadors to Honoria. Tens of thousands of immigrants came to Honoria from the old countries. Many of them went like the ancient Pilgrims, fleeing from oppression. But many came because Honoria was rich, and they cared nothing for her traditions.

     Prosperity does not automatically bring virtue, nor does it always sustain it. Honoria was powerful. Her ships ranged everywhere.

     Many of her Senators became ambitious, and ambition for power brought corruption. They began to make deals with leaders of important factions. They became arrogant, and often depraved. They forgot their Spartan beginnings. They began to sneer at the Pilgrims and their severe laws and austerities. The Senators, many of them, became rich in worldly goods, but very poor in knowledge of what had made their nation great. They began to despise the very Republic for which they stood. For a price, they would even betray their country.

     The Republic, which had grown strong by not engaging in foreign entanglements, now became entangled. What was the purpose of the entanglements? Oh, the leaders said alliances were necessary to defend the civilized world -- but the real purpose was to satisfy the greedy ambitions and allay the sickly fears of the leaders.

     The alliances brought wars, and the wars brought taxes. But the citizens of Honoria did not resist, because war also brought an increase in trade and industry.

     The citizens of Honoria, blissfully enjoying their new prosperity, did not mind the taxation -- at first. Their leaders had told them it would be imposed only "on the rich fellows," the "fellows with big houses and servants." The silly citizens nodded their heads soberly. Let the rich fellows pay and support the rest of the country.

     The citizens were beginning to think of security. They wanted public auditoriums for sports, paid for by tax money. They wanted bigger and better roads. They wanted pensions, support at public expense when they felt disinclined to work. And more and more citizens were becoming disinclined to work. Farms? That was for the horses! Industrious toil? That was for the stupid.

     Now the farmers moved into the scene. They were resentful of the special interest groups in the city. They sent petitions to their Senators. They demanded subsidies, price supports. The Senators, wanting support for their own schemes, passed laws granting subsidies for the farmers; and the government bought up surplus crops and stored them in warehouses, where they rotted away. Now the industrialists moved in -- they must have tax benefits. It never occurred to them -- or perhaps it did -- that taxation in itself was an evil.

     Finally, government, urged on by greedy groups and minorities, became the all-powerful state. It guaranteed to protect the people from all the forces of nature -- floods, hurricanes, land-slides, failure of crops. And taxation grew and grew.

     Death of the Middle Class

     Honoria had always been distinguished by a strong, sturdy, industrious middle class, composed of farmers, artisans, shopkeepers -- virtuous and sane and devout. But the middle class presented a threat to an all-powerful government, determined to protect the rich and the strong -- and the worthless, the mean, the haters-of-work, the whining cowards who wanted everything for nothing. So the government decided to get rid of the middle class.

     The middle class of Honoria stood in the way; it must be destroyed. Then, the elite could rule by oppression; and the craven, the despicable, the cowards, the worthless, could live on the bodies of the nobles and the heroic -- through taxation.

     But the greedy mobs could never be satisfied. They made endless demands on the Senators. They stood in government offices and howled. They howled for subsidized housing. And they got it.

     The government, corrupt and vile, subsidized housing, for "low income groups." It built huge projects in the very heart of the city for the mobs -- with swimming pools, of course, and hot free food. Within a year or two, those housing projects became slums, for people with slum personalities inhabited them. The swimming pools collected garbage. But still the howl went up for more and more; and the Senators, now the creatures of the mobs, tried to provide everything the mobs demanded.

     And the middle class, the backbone of the nation? They were reduced to despair. They dared not have children; they couldn't afford them. While the mob enjoyed their public housing, their free sports, their free meals, the middle class worked ceaselessly, trying to get ahead of their tax bills, trying to live, trying to keep their schools alive for their children. It was all no use. They began to dwindle away. They had to leave their houses. The mobs moved into their houses and turned them into slum dwellings. Crime became so commonplace that it was dangerous to be on the streets at night. Morality was dead.

     The middle class, the hardworking, the self-reliant, slowly smothered from despair. Who cared? The mob had a full belly today and government promised to fill it again tomorrow.

     The monstrous state, the top-heavy bureaucracy, was happy. The cynical laughed among themselves. Freedom? Why, the people didn't want freedom. They wanted free entertainment, free bread, free housing. A degenerate nation deserved no freedom, no consideration.

     But ere long there was no laughter, even among the cynical. The politicians, who had begun by manipulating the mobs, became tools of the mobs. The productive citizens were taxed more and more to provide benefits for the worthless.

     An evil old man, crippled and malformed, led the nation into more wars and foreign entanglements -- he was the ruler of Honoria. Patriots were considered scoundrels. The rulers of Honoria were tools not only of the mobs, but of foreigners.

     An old general, who had been victimized by the government, stood up and cried aloud to Honoria to remember her past, to return to honor, to decent government, to the principles of the Founding Fathers, to God. The people hooted: He was a reactionary. He was eliminated. He retired, with bitterness, and thought his anguished thoughts.

     A Senator dared to stand up in the Senate and cry a halt to foreign subversion of Honoria and to constant foreign aid and the draining away of the people's money. Other Senators shrieked him down and called him vile names. He, too, was liquidated. And the nation fell deeper and deeper into debt, became more luxurious and rotten.

     Honoria joined a league of the world, with her enemies. They exploited her. She taxed her citizens more and more to send her wheat and meat to those nations.

     In one of Honoria's stupid wars she allied herself with powerful barbarians who were full of hatred and envy, and the lust for power. Honoria sent "experts" to the barbarians to teach them the latest scientific discoveries.

     Honoria had become a corrupt and monstrous nation. Foreign tyrants and domestic mobs called the tune, and the spineless rulers of Honoria danced. The very walls of government echoed to the ever-growing demands for more foreign aid, more security, more bread, more sports, more government, more restrictions on the proud and the self-respecting.

     And the middle class finally died.

     And what of the barbarians? They looked on Honoria with contempt. They were fierce and dedicated men. They had allies in the government of Honoria. Who could oppose them, with their savage ferocity? The time had come for them to take over Honoria, and destroy civilization.

     And the barbarians moved in.

     Who had made the barbarians so strong? Honoria, of course. Honoria had given the barbarians access to the wealth of Honoria, at the expense of the betrayed and ruined citizens of Honoria. Honoria had sacrificed her people so that her alleged allies could make common cause against her with the barbarians.

     Road to Ruin

     What is the real name of Honoria?

     Ancient Rome.

     You know what happened to ancient Rome. The barbarians, in the fifth century, invaded Rome and destroyed her; and for hundreds of years, there was a long, black night of slavery and despair and ruin. Rome had not only betrayed herself but all the civilized world with her. The barbarians ranged over that civilized world; and the cultures of thousands of years were destroyed, so that only fragments have come down to us, mere fragments of great and mighty literature, and law, and beauty.

     Fortunately, one thing did survive: The Twelve Tables of Common Roman Law. For that we can thank the early Christians. Those Tables of Law formed the basis of English Common Law and, more indirectly, of the American Constitution.

     Had Rome retained her Constitution, she would perhaps have survived and her splendor would not have been extinguished. But she permitted the slow erosion of her Constitution, just as we are permitting the quicker erosion of our Constitution.

     Everything which strikes at our Constitution brings us closer to death as a free nation, just as Rome died. Each time a new treaty of alliance is signed with foreign nations, we die a little more, as Rome died. Each time the Supreme Court or the President violates the Constitution, we come closer to slavery -- as Rome came.

     Nearly two thousand years stand between us and Rome. Never before the rise of Rome, and never since, did two nations so remarkably resemble each other, in history, in splendid rise in civilization, in magnificent communication between nations, in grandeur and wealth. In strange and amazing ways, we are the counterpart of ancient Rome. Her history, almost step by step, is our history.

     Shall we continue along the path which led to the extinction of Rome? We have made her terrible mistakes; we have duplicated her crimes and stupidities, almost to the letter. We are destroying our Constitution, the only safeguard we have in the face of domestic and foreign enemies, just as she destroyed hers. We are permitting government by men, now, instead of government by law -- just as Rome finally did.

     So long as Rome remained Rome -- patriotic, proud, virtuous and healthy -- she remained a strong and powerful nation. When she became internationalistic, underwrote the economies of other nations, permitted her rulers to become dictators, enmeshed herself with the problems of aliens and taxed her own people to support those aliens, she began to die.

     When she became militaristic, and had her armies spread on foreign soil, the fabric of her life was weakened and strained, and the wild sword of the barbarian cut it easily.

     It is a stern fact of history that no nation that rushed to the abyss ever turned back. Not ever, in the long history of the world. We are now on the edge of the abyss. Can we, for the first time in history, turn back? It is up to you.

     ________________________________________

A few notes on similarities:

  • The "prosperous gentleman farmer" who responded to the call of duty and saved his country in a time of crisis, who became known as "the father of his country," and in whose honor a famous American city was named ... was the ancient Roman, Cincinnatus.
  • The "evil old man, crippled and malformed," who led his nation into wars and foreign entanglements, was Caligula, Emperor of Rome.
  • The "old general, who had been victimized by the government," and who "stood up and cried aloud" for his country "to remember her past, to return to honor," was Mark Antony.
  • The Senator who "dared to stand up in the Senate and cry a halt to foreign subversion" of his country, while "other Senators shrieked him down," was Cicero.
  • The "great rock", comparable to Plymouth Rock in American history, was the rock which became the foundation of the Temple of Jupiter in Ancient Rome.

     That was Taylor Caldwell speaking, in 1957. Please reflect on her foresight, and what it means for us today.

     “Give a nation war and she’ll be only too happy to surrender the sentimentality of freedom.” -- Taylor Caldwell, The Devil's Advocate, 1952

Monday, September 14, 2026

Showing Their Colors

     The contemporary Left is a vile thing. Its adherents behave atrociously whenever they get to “acting out.” Yet many of us in the Right cannot help but assume that there’s a bottom to their depravity. After all, we say to ourselves, there are limits beyond which we would never go; surely they have such limits too… ?

     Well, maybe not:

     Vandalism and general defacement of public statues and such has been in the Left’s wheelhouse for some time now. As Charlie Kirk, who was murdered a year ago, has become something of martyr for us, defacing his statue – which is in front of the Phoenix, Arizona headquarters of Turning Point USA – isn’t out of character for them. But have a gander at the first reply to Matt Van Swol’s tweet:

     Let that sink in for just a moment before continuing on.

* * *

     Sometimes, it’s possible to get a feel for the Left’s premises from fiction. That’s especially the case this time around. Consider the following dialogue, in which the protagonist of a famous, much-loved novel has asked a Supporting Cast character a question many real people have contemplated: If you had a time machine, would you go back to 1932 and kill Hitler?

     “Is this one of those trick questions?” Chuck asked.
     “Nope.”
     “Well, would they catch me?”
     “Pardon?” That was a question none of the others had asked.
     “If I killed him. Would they catch me? Hang me from a lamppost? Make me do the funky chicken six inches off the ground?”
     “Well, I don’t know,” Johnny said slowly. “Yes, I suppose they would catch you.”
     “I don’t get to escape in my time machine to a gloriously changed world, huh? Back to good old 1977?”
     “No, I don’t think so.”
     “Well, it wouldn’t matter. I’d kill him anyway.”
     “Just like that?”
     “Sure.” Chuck smiled a little. “I’d rig myself up with one of those hollow teeth filled with quick-acting poison or a razor blade in my shirt collar or something like that. So if I did get caught they couldn’t do anything too gross to me. But I’d do it. If I didn’t, I’d be afraid all those millions of people he ended up killing would haunt me to my grave.”
     “To your grave,” Johnny said a little sickly.

     [Stephen King, The Dead Zone]

     Wonderful! A magic formula for deciding that murdering someone is quite all right: He’s going to become Hitler! Mind you, the real Hitler hadn’t yet killed anyone in 1932. So anyone who might have murdered Hitler in that storied year would have been killing an innocent man, regardless of his political positions. Also, why would you assume – if we first assume that travel into the past is actually possible – that the traveler’s appearance in 1932, where he had never been before, wouldn’t result in changes to the timeline? Maybe detoxify Hitler, or even remove him from public life altogether?

     Think about that. Then reread “pauly’s” tweet above.

* * *

     Time travel is one of the less plausible ideas entertained in science fiction. I actually embedded a passage about that in Doors:

     “Carol?”
     “Hm?” The sound of her name pulled her back from the edge of slumber. “What is it, sweetie?”
     “Do you ever think about…time?”
     What?
     She shook her head and looked at him. Their lovemaking, as boisterous as it had been, had tired her out. Apparently it hadn’t done the same to him.
          He’d assumed a semi-reclined, semi-sitting position. She elbowed herself into the same posture. “What brought that on?”
     He smiled faintly. “You.”      She started to reply, checked herself. She knew her still-new husband was more thoughtful than most. His question was unbounded, but there had to be specifics behind it that she could tease out.
     “Go on.”
     “I was thinking,” he said, “how much different my life would have been if I’d known you in high school. I never even talked to a girl back then. Do you think, if you’d lived up here then, you would have talked to me?”
     She took a breath and tried to unscramble the question.
     “Are you asking,” she said, “if Carol as she was then would have approached you, or if Carol as she is now would have approached you?”
     “Well,” he said, “given our ages the first case doesn’t work, ‘cause when I graduated high school you wouldn’t yet be old enough even to be a freshman. The second case would require time travel. So I guess it’s a silly question. But I couldn’t help thinking about it.”
     She chuckled. “What makes it silly? Lots of writers have speculated about time travel, haven’t they?”
     He scowled gently. “Time travel is a ridiculous notion. For travel into the past to make sense, everything that’s ever happened would have to be still going on now. But if that were the case, there’d be no possibility of changing anything. A time traveler wouldn’t even be able to enter the past in a meaningful way, because he’s not there already.”
     “Well, then what about travel into the future?” she said.
     “That’s just as silly if not sillier. Everything that ever will happen would have to have happened already!”
     “Damn,” she said. “You’re right. I never thought it through.”
     He ran a finger along her cheek. “It’s the kind of thing I used to think about before we met.”

     For travel into the past to be possible and meaningful, the traveler’s own past would have to be alterable. Not only would he have to be able to “enter” the past at the point of his choosing, he would have to be able to alter events at or subsequent to that point in a way that could change “history” further on. Yet at the point of entry, the events he hoped to change would not have happened yet. He would be working from an assumption that without what he was planning to do, they would occur as his future self knew them. But those changes might also eliminate him! Unworkable.

     But that’s peripheral to the main point: Entering the past prior to a given event means that the event has not yet happened. If you believe that the human will is free – you do, don’t you? – then at that point it remains possible that the event of interest might never happen.

     So much for the wholly specious notion that what Hitler did in later years would justify murdering him in 1932.

     But the Leftist monster who goes by “pauly” is forward-looking. He predicted that a future with Charlie Kirk in it would resemble Nazi Germany. What powers of prognostication! And what incredible godlike stature they imply for him and his fellow travelers! Not only can they foresee the future; they can also assume the power of life and death on the basis of what they foresee.

     You may rest assured, Gentle Reader, that if permitted to go on as they have to date, they’ll get around to you and me.

* * *

     I once wrote that the Left regards everyone in the Right as either stupid or evil. That era has passed. Now – today – leftists regard all of us as evil. By “pauly’s” logic, that categorization implies that it would be quite all right to kill any of us. Never mind the law.

     Consider yourself warned. You’re not safe around them. Therefore, unless you have a reason so powerful that it overrides your personal safety, stay away from them. They consider themselves licensed to kill.

     James Bond never had it so good.

Indictments

     Relax! You haven’t missed a stunning development in some high-profile legal drama. This is just your old Curmudgeon warming up for an “assorted” rant. Bear with him.

* * *

     I’ve been seeing comments on X from various sources arguing that “we should legislate Christian morality.” The proponents uniformly refrain from specifying what they have in mind. I’m occasionally moved to ask them “Exactly what do you mean?” I know that’s my cruel side coming to the surface, so I force it back into its cage before I can surrender to the impulse.

     For a few months not long before I retired, there was a young Nigerian woman, a graduate student at a university near me, who relied upon me to get her home from work each day. She too thought it proper to “legislate Christian morality.” Back then I was more curious about such views and the persons who espoused them, so I asked her for a specific example. She proposed the death penalty for adultery and fornication. I decided to let the subject drop right there.

     I don’t know if there’s ever been a Christian society that executed people for having sex outside marriage. I’m fairly sure that the idea wouldn’t have a lot of supporters in the First World today. But if that’s what would appeal to supporters of “legislated Christian morality,” I have to question their premises – and whether they’ve ever read the Gospel According to John.

* * *

     Among the things I’ve learned these past seven decades is how indoctrination works: how the process is structured, what it must include and exclude, and its underlying goal. Indoctrination in a particular doctrine seems to be about that doctrine. To some extent that will always be true. But the foundation beneath it is common to all attempts to indoctrinate. The aim is to suppress resistance to the doctrine by making an attempt to think about it more painful than the target can bear.

     The obvious method of doing so is to punish dissent from the doctrine. The punishment could be anything from the infliction of physical pain to an expression of scorn from a respected authority figure. The point is to associate dissent inseparably with suffering in the targets’ minds. If that can be achieved, the doctrine becomes self-enforcing.

     In our time, the promulgation of political positions has the flavor of indoctrination, but with a twist of lemon. “You can’t be one of us if you think that.” Denial of fellowship with those one ardently wants as fellows can be a severe punishment. This is especially the case when commercial opportunities are involved.

* * *

     There are two basic approaches to the discovery of important norms: the teleological and the divine. The divine method is simple: “God said so.” The teleological method requires the study of history, and the processes by which men and societies rise or fall.

     When what God said – or what some authority figure tells us God said – clashes with rules and practices that have advanced a society over its history, trouble will ensue. Authority figures lose standing. People ask “Did God really say that?” If some rule or practice with a lot of adherents is involved, social fissures will arise.

     But the other possibility is of equal if not greater import. If what God said does indeed favor human advancement, those who promote it will gain followers. Faith in divine benevolence will be strengthened. Those who dissent will be marginalized. And – dare I say it? Oh, why not? – God will be pleased.

     We’re in the middle of a century-long test of the rules, practices, and mechanisms that undergirded the rise of the West. In particular, we’re testing whether America can survive the hypertrophy of tolerance, which has swollen to embrace any and every imaginable deviance, no matter how demonstrably unhealthful or destructive. Whatever your personal inclinations, it would be well to keep an eye on the scoreboard.

* * *

     I say and write a lot of things that elicit finger-wagging and clucking, but I think I could get general agreement to this proposition: It’s socially unacceptable to be seen giggling and joshing during a public expression of profound grief.

     Two of the least acceptable figures in public life, Zohran Mamdani and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, did a lot of giggling and joshing during the 9/11 memorial ceremonies on Friday: specifically, during the reading of the names of the fallen. Perhaps they were confident that their behavior couldn’t lower the public’s opinion of them any further. No matter. But midterm elections loom, and a vigorous attempt to oust Mamdani from Gracie Mansion is in progress. Do please remember their giggling and joshing when the time comes to take a stand.

* * *

     That’s all for today. As usual, I’m behind on many things. Worse, I have customer-assembled furniture to bang together a little later. Remember me in your prayers, and try to have a good day.