What's Wrong with America

Against one who denies the principles, there can be no debate.

— Aristotle

Breaking my pledge to ignore reactionary loudmouths, I recently reacted to a Facebook post by just such a loudmouth.

He posted a meme blaming the high price of gas on Canada.

Yes, Canada.

When I challenged his unsubstantiated claim, citing the consensus of oil-industry analysts—namely, that Canada is doing its best—he responded by calling me "snarky" and insisting that analysts are all just "spin doctors."

"Facts shmacks," he wrote.

(ICYMI: Canada already supplies the US over 4 million barrels of oil every day, according to oil-industry analysts, who agree the country's oil exports are maxed out because investors refused last year to expand Canada's production facilities.)

Contra principia negantem non est disputandum.

"Against one who denies the principles, there can be no debate."

In America today, we can't agree on facts. 

We can't even agree on that there are such things as facts.

Norman Mailer predicted 50 years ago that America would wind up in this place when he coined the word factoid.

Conservatives dwell in a world of factoids. Trump won. Covid-19 is a flu. Blacks are just immigrants. Disney grooms queers. Canada is denying us oil... and we should nuke them.

Aristotle saw 2,500 years ago that parties who cannot agree on the facts of a case simply cannot reasonably discuss it.

The best the parties can do is name-call.

The 20th-century philosopher Karl Popper believed mankind's greatest enemy was irrational relativism, which prevents our mutual acceptance of facts.

By caving into irrational relativism, "one cannot rationally discuss anything that is fundamental," Popper lamented.

The only way out of the impasse, he said, "lies in the realization that all of us may and often do err, singly and collectively, but that this very idea of error and human fallibility involves another one—the idea of objective truth."

Alas, until every conservative is willing to let go of fear, we're stuck with irrational relativism.

But there is a quick exit from our impasse.

It's the solution to relativism known to philosophers as the argumentum ad baculum ("appeal to the stick"), first suggested by the 11th-century Aristotelian, Avicenna.

Its forcefulness derives from force.

"Those who deny a first principle," Avicenna said, "should be beaten or exposed to fire until they concede that to burn and not to burn, or to be beaten and not to be beaten, are not identical."

I like that solution!

Mouse Trap

Conservative clerics, right-wing pols and greedy fundraisers are whipping their followers into a full-blown frenzy over an alleged, decades-long effort by Disney to "groom" kids to be homosexuals.

"Disney has officially declared itself a woke leader while advancing the rainbow agenda," says Catholic homeschooler Mary Cuff.

Setting aside the whole notion that gays are “groomed” by other gays, I find it strange that, while the Bible devotes only 6 of its 31,102 verses to homosexuality—three in the Old Testament and three in the New—right-wingers spend so much time obsessing over the topic.

What's up with that?

What about the other 31,096 verses? 

Like all the ones that champion love, charity, tolerance, and peacemaking?

And why target Mickey Mouse?

Why not target this creepy guy—a groomer if I ever saw one?

The Forgotten Lem Boulware

Ronald Reagan's insane policies helped create today’s Gilded Age.

— Ben Gran

They are ideologues. I hate ideologues. 

— Philip Roth

Historians credit Ronald Reagan's antediluvian notions of "big government" to the influence of the right-wing ideologue Barry Goldwater.

They've forgotten the more important influencer: Lem Boulware.

Boulware was GE's head public relations man in the 1950s. 

While on the job, Boulware gained a national reputation for extolling laissez-faire, bashing Washington bureaucrats, and bullying labor leaders.

Nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of raw capitalism, Boulware insisted.

Nothing.

Boulware's libertarian influence on American businessmen was so pervasive that it endures today, when a nonnegotiable stance—such as the price of a new car—is called an instance of Boulwarism.

The paranoid Boulware believed that American workers, abetted by New-Deal era intellectuals in Washington, posed a mortal threat to the business-owning class—and made no secret of it. He rang the reactionary's alarm bell at each and every opportunity, using GE employees like Ronald Reagan as his shill.

Reagan had befriended Boulware while the Hollywood actor served as the weekly host of "General Electric Theater," one of the nation's top TV shows for over a decade.

As they toured the country hosting press junkets, Boulware took it upon himself to "tutor" the dimwitted actor (Christopher Hitchens once called Reagan "as dumb as a stump" and his deputy chief of staff Michael Deaver told me that he "babysat" the puerile president).

Like a sponge, Reagan absorbed Boulware's Hobbesian views.

America, Boulware preached, was the land of opportunity, private ownership, free markets, and low taxes. 

Anyone who wished to call himself an American accepted those qualities—plus the fact that prosperity trickled down from the "beneficent" 1%. 

Resistance meant you were a goddamn Communist.

Boulware's Gilded Age views were known in Chamber of Commerce circles as the "philosophy of private enterprise."

The gullible Reagan, while traveling with the wily PR man, would listen to his teachings and swallow them whole.

The actor wasn't the only one of GE's 190,000 employees to imbibe Boulware's Kool-Aid during the '50s. 

Tens of thousands did.

The PR man made sure of that by circulating right-wing books among management and publishing four in-house magazines that explained the philosophy of private enterprise; arranging continual in-house workshops on the topic; and deputizing supervisors throughout the company to act as his mouthpiece.

To prepare GE's supervisors to carry his message, Boulware also circulated reprints of articles by the arch conservative William F. Buckley.

Boulware viewed his task as one of re-educating the serfs.

The simpleminded star of Bedtime for Bonzo was merely one of them.

Grammar

People who cannot distinguish between good and bad language, or who regard the distinction as unimportant, are unlikely to think carefully about anything else.

— B. R. Myers

On a Facebook group dedicated to the prize-winning writer Shelby Foote (a fav of mine), a civil war broke out after I corrected someone who used "hung" to mean "executed." (If a man or woman was executed by hanging, as grammarians know, he or she was "hanged.")

Some group members backed me, but many went apoplectic over my comment, insisting grammar was irrelevant to communicating.

Facebook even banned me for 24 hours, saying "your comment didn't follow our Community Standards."

The irony of advocating sloppy grammar in a group dedicated to Shelby Foote escapes them, as, I'm afraid, do most subtleties.

B.R. Myers is right: sloppy grammar signals a sloppy thinker—or at least a poorly read one.

No, sloppy grammar doesn't prohibit communication.

But it does reflect a pitiable sort of poverty.

The Gnadenhütten Massacre

The news of the atrocities in Ukraine are heartbreaking.

Russians are barbarous, we say.

It can't happen here, we say.

Wrong.

In March 1782, a year before the end of the American Revolution, a band of Pennsylvanians murdered 96 Lenape Indians by smashing their skulls with mallets as they knelt and prayed to Jesus.

In what became known as the "Gnadenhütten Massacre," the Pennsylvanians then piled the bodies of the men, women and children inside a Moravian mission and burned it to the ground.

The murderers claimed they wanted revenge for Lenape raids on their homes.

But the Lenapes they bludgeoned were innocent.

Like Quakers, Moravians were pacifists; so were their Indian converts.

Ironically, the Moravians and the Lenape converts had been helping the Patriots all through the war, working as guides and spies—acts that often got them arrested and tried by the British.

The incident spurred reprisals.

The Lenapes resurrected their practice of ritualized torture—discontinued during the French and Indian War 20 years earlier—and targeted the men who had participated in the atrocities.

As the philosopher Thomas Hobbes said, "To the war of every man against every man, this is also consequent; that nothing can be unjust. The notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have no place there."