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Update: I should have had more faith in Alabamans! The GOP dodged a bullet with this election. Doug Jones is a temporary set-back. We will take back the seat in ~4 years. Roy Moore would have been a long-term problem for the GOP, a Democrat rallying cry which proves their moralizing right. Good riddance to […]
For a kid growing up in an Italian-Catholic household in 1970s New England, the Lenten season wasn’t a whole lot of fun. It wasn’t supposed to be. For a month and a half, you were required to give up something that you liked. Friday night dinners always meant fish. And, every other night, or so it seemed, you had to go to mass. And these masses were not the ordinary Sunday affairs: there might be ashes, incense, holy water, or palm fronds, the sermons and the readings were extra long, and sometimes, you had to engage in a ritualized call and response with the priest in which your role was to choose the reprobate Barabbas over Jesus Christ.
No kid really understands adult concepts like hindsight, context, and tyranny. And being a kid, I refused to join in that portion of the ritual, to choose Barabbas, a thief and a murderer, over Christ. I just could not understand how anyone would make such a choice. But, as an adult, I understand it well: Occam’s Razor.
Judea, in the time of Christ, was a Roman-occupied province. The Judeans were chafing under the yoke of a government that they viewed as tyrannical and that viewed them as the enemy. Worse still, the Judeans’ own ruling elites were, at best, complicit. However, Barabbas, the thief and the murderer, was also an insurrectionist. So when the Judeans were offered the choice between some guy who chafed at Rome’s tyranny as much as they did, and some guy accused of claiming to be the Messiah, I could imagine that that choice would be a rather easy one to make: for this Christ guy to actually be the Messiah and not just some madman, that would take a miracle, and miracles are exceedingly rare, so, “give us Barabbas.”
I’ve come to the conclusion that, in the event Judge Moore is elected to the US Senate by the good people of Alabama, it will be because the Progressive Left has so befouled its own reputation that it can no longer present itself as a viable ethical choice outside of its own deep-blue bastions. That […]
I think the number one source of animosity on Ricochet is when someone is accused of “abandoning their principles” for whatever the current argument might be. You voted for the guy, you didn’t vote for the guy, etc. I admit I am guilty of doing it, and the length of the list of those to whom I have said it makes me uncomfortable. I also admit that the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up when someone accuses me of this, and I guarantee you that I am immediately ready to fight.
So when someone said to me, “Remember, no one cares more about morals and character than all the Republicans indicting Clinton, that is until it is their guy and their shot at power that is on the line, then its Fake News all the way down.”
Jonathan Swift, Anglo-Irish satirist, Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, and author of “Gulliver’s Travels,” published “A Modest Proposal” in 1729. Swift’s tongue-in-cheek essay encouraged the impoverished, starving Irish to sell their prodigious supply of children to the wealthy to eat. His essay included tips on how to best prepare and serve the uniquely Irish dish. Swift’s satire was intended as criticism of the ruling parties for failing their desperate citizens.
I have similar modest proposals, though not involving cannibalism.
Just as a thought experiment, let’s say that all those very belated accusers of Judge Roy Moore in Alabama are telling the truth. Okay. In this world (which may or may not be Actual Reality, considering we are in the middle of a witch hunt situation) we now have a super-creepy and sleazy guy as our Republican Senate nominee.
Whose fault is it? Trump reluctantly backed Strange, the establishment guy, so it’s sure not his fault. The GOP and other contributors spent between $15 and $30 million dollars on Strange, a cost of as much as nearly $140 per vote he got. Those are some darned high costs.
Ah, poetry. For some of us, the temptation to express our visions and desires, sacred or profane, in more than prose is irresistible. At times, we cannibalize others’ poems for the purpose – a gal like me might prefer ol’ W.B. Yeats; a guy like Slick Willie, Whitman. Other times, only our own words will […]