Nonsense

Forgive me my nonsense, as I also forgive the nonsense of those that think they talk sense.

― Robert Frost

A high-school history teacher outside Paris was beheaded yesterday by an angry Islamist.

The teacher's sin? 

He showed his class Charlie Hebdo's cartoons of the Prophet Mohammed.

French president Emmanuel Macron responded by declaring that Islamists are at war with "the Republic and its values."

"This battle is ours and it is existential. They will not pass. Obscurantism and the violence that goes with it will not win."

Imagine an American teacher beheaded by a Proud Boy for showing his class the cover of Mad, and you'd have the picture. 

Obscurantism has an obscure history.

The term derives from Letters of Obscure Men, a 16th century book lampooning the argument between a humanist and a monk over whether every copy of the Talmud—being heretical—should be burned (the pope favored burning the books).

Two centuries later, philosophers called all enemies of the Enlightenment obscurantists.

Obscurantism, as Macron means the word, assumes the hoi polloi are morons and seeks to restrict knowledge—especially knowledge about the workings of government—to rulers.

It was obscurantism that provoked the French Revolution, when Louis XVI's clumsy efforts to cover up famines cost him his head.

Obscurantism is alive today, not only in the Paris suburbs, but in the White House.

Trump's effort to cover up Covid-19, disclosed last month by Bob Woodward, is a costly example. Over 225,000 Americans have already died from the virus. Another 175,000 are soon to follow.

“I wanted to always play it down," Trump boasted. "I still like playing it down, because I don’t want to create a panic.”

Plato called that sort of nonsense a "noble lie." 

I call it obscurantism—and eagerly await our revolution on November 3.

Breathing Together

Everyone loves a conspiracy.

― Dan Brown

While not every Trumpster insists Barack Obama is a Muslim or Hilary Clinton a cannibal, every Trumpster demands we acknowledge the "deep state."

You cannot find one that doesn't.

Conspiracy-thinking is the Trumpster's oxygen.

But after spending 40 years in Washington, and watching close up a succession of nine administrations—Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, George W., Obama and Trump—I can assure you there is no deep state.

There are only deep pockets—the ones rattled by fat-cat donors of every stripe. Their goal is not world dominion, but control over the various industries that produce their massive wealth.

But Trumpsters must have their deep-state conspiracy, that octopean treachery they long to "unmask."

Conspiracy (meaning "plot") entered English in the 14th century from the Latin conspiratio, noun-form of the verb conspirare, meaning—literally—"to breathe together."

So you could say Trumpsters' romance with conspiracies is a deep fondness for breathing together.

They demonstrate that love at every maskless rally the president holds.

If there's a conspiracy afoot, it's theirs: the confederacy of dunces.

Commander in Cheap

The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter.

― Dashiell Hammett

As The New York Times reports, Donald Trump has been cashing in.

Sixty lobbyists, corporate men and foreign agents have put over $12 million in  Trump's pockets by buying memberships and booking events at his properties.

Trump has responded in kind, granting favors that can only be fulfilled by a sitting president.

If you pay Trump $250 thousand for a Mar-a-Lago membership, according to the Times, you get to meet him and ask a favor. It's likely he'll respond by summoning one of his stooges and directing them to take care of you.

Vice versa, if you see him outside the golf club and mention you want a favor, Trump will point out you'd better reup your Mar-a-Lago membership pronto.

Trump has proven he doesn't want to govern, only rob the Treasury.

But a penny-ante $12 million?

Trump claims he's worth billions but, instead of combating Covid-19 or joblessness, he spends his time making phone calls to dun members. 

What a cheap crook.

"He's corrupting the presidency for peanuts," writes Daily Kos. 

"The world at his fingertips, the man spends most of his time obsessing over how he can use the presidency to boost golf club memberships."

How Can They Believe This Crap? Episode IV

Fourth in a series wondering why Trump still has adherents

In Episode I, I suggested Trump's supporters have been brainwashed by their betters; in Episode II, that they simply find him entertaining; and in Episode III, that they sympathize with him.

A fourth theory occurs to me: Trump's supporters don't believe his crap. They merely tolerate it.

What they believe are the century-old tenets of the GOP: low taxes, corporatism, and a strong state.

Trump's just a useful idiot.

How Can They Believe This Crap? Episode III

Third in a series wondering why Trump still has adherents

In Episode I, I suggested Trump's supporters have been brainwashed by their betters; in Episode II, that they simply find him entertaining.

One more theory occurs to me: Trump's supporters—though themselves victimized—think he's the victim.

Blame it on sympathy, the emotion Adam Smith described as the part of our imagination that lets us picture what others feel.

Sympathy elevates our humanity, Smith says—and as every fundraiser knows. It allows us to feel for sick children, frightened refugees, and abandoned pets.

But it has its downside, the philosopher says, giving rise to irrational beliefs.

We sympathize with the dead, for example, imagining how miserable we'd be, were we dead. This "illusion of the imagination" gives rise to our belief in an afterlife.

We make a similar mistake, Smith says, when we imagine the "rich and powerful."

We imagine their perfectly happy lives, and relish that imaginary happiness so strongly we come to believe the rich and powerful deserve their wealth and privilege. So we grieve for "every injury that is done them." 

We could care less about the plight of the poor and powerless; thinking about them provides no vicarious joy.

The rich and powerful, however, aren't perfectly happy, Smith says; in fact, they're often miserable, cunning and vicious. 

But they know how to exploit our sympathy—our illusions about them—by continually claiming victimhood.

Sympathy deludes us, Smith says—and leads us to love our oppressors.

Sympathy: that's how Trump's fans can still believe his crap.

Don't miss Episode IV