House of Eratosthenes

It was an evil magic potion that drove men insane. Some said it was the pitch extracted from some long-dead tree that in life had been possessed by the devil. Whatever its source, unscrupulous men sought it out. It made such men dangerous, for its power was to end debate. A man cast a spell with this evil sticky black stuff, and all who sought to contest him on this matter or that one would be rendered powerless — even if they were immediately affected by the outcome, and he was not. The elixir had no name so they called it the “Do It My Way” potion.

It was pure tyranny in liquid form.

The mightiest nation on the face of the globe had used this terrible ooze to lay taxes upon her colonies. Do it our way, they said. This much tax on lead glass, this much tax on your playing cards. This much tax on pins, this much tax on your rum. And so the colonies rose up against their mother nation. But the war was really against the awful sticky black-magic stuff. They started a new country and declared the stuff would never, ever be used here again. This was to be their founding principle; their home would be stuff-sanitized, now and forevermore, a tyrant-free zone. They wrote documents about Inalienable Rights and Separation of Powers to make sure no one single man, or small group of men, could lay claim to decisions that belonged to others. They even started a government with no single head, now isn’t that silly? And yet it worked for a long time — three co-equal branches of government. No king or kingmaker could cast such evil spells, and effectively geld the people who were most directly affected by the decisions being made. They spent months, years even, deliberating the best way to keep the evil sticky black magic potion out of their new country. The embargo against the stuff that had no name, was firm, uncompromising, unyielding, and effective. For generations and generations it remained effective and the nation remained clean. And free. Violent, at times; war-torn; certainly rugged and often even dangerous. But there was no ick. Free men of all sorts of background, even humble backgrounds, had the final word in shaping their own destinies.

And it worked.

For awhile.

The experiment began to unravel with the mere appearance, not established fact, that the evil stuff had somehow made it into the borders. It started with the railroads. Wealthy men bought up land, and were able to make decisions about what took place on that land, decisions that obviously had an impact on others. Concerned citizens made the charge that the railroad men were wizards who were using the forbidden evil sticky black stuff to cast their spells. What does it matter if we do or do not find some actual stuff in their massive basements? The outcome was the same, was it not? This was sufficient evidence to heap the first abuse upon the free market, and so the young country outlawed “monopolies” because they found it so utterly reprehensible that anyone within their borders could cast spells with the evil sticky black stuff that had no name. It was not to be allowed, even in appearance. The irony was that, as soon as a man was barred from having the final word about his own property, it became just a matter of time before everyone could have the final word on everything. Which of course meant nobody could really decide anything.

A few generations onward, someone was allowed to use the evil potion that no man could touch. Womens’ suffrage was imminent, and it was such an event that they allowed the witches to cast the spells forbidden to the warlocks. The issue was the prohibition of consumption or sale of alcoholic spirits. The debate, with the aid of the evil sticky black stuff, was ended prematurely. Stop talking about it. Stop discussing it. Become accustomed to the new “reality.” Prohibition is here to stay, and you need to deal with it. That is the way the ladies want it. Or will want it, as soon as they start voting.

After that, people knew the evil sticky black stuff was in the country and would always be in the country. Not a single document was torn apart, or re-written, to this effect. But things changed. History was altered. The country was not about keeping the evil sticky black stuff out of our lives; it was about each man getting his hands on the potion that had no name, before the next fellow had a chance to use it. And so we started trade unions, which were created specifically for the purpose of seeking out the evil sticky black stuff and casting spells with it. They called it “collective bargaining,” and they described it in terms of giving “the little guy” a “voice” in the “decisions” at the “table.” But there was no table and there was no bargaining. Unions were, and are now, all about getting hold of that evil sticky black stuff, and using it to cast spells; to force the other guy to do things the union’s way.

Hard, cynical men who had spent their entire lives operating outside the law and laughing at it — would be told “The Union Says…” and they would immediately stop in mid-sentence, gulp hard, and resign themselves to the idea that the debate was now over. The evil sticky black stuff had been hauled out and the spell had been cast.

After the trade unions, it was a whole menagerie of embittered special-rights advocacy groups. The evil potion was consumed not out of need, but out of addiction. By the gallon it was consumed; by the bucket; by the barrel, by the truckload. The more we used, the more we wanted. The nation’s young people used it with a whole bunch of other funny mind-altering substances. The embittered, “liberated” women, the civil rights advocates, all with a mix of some causes noble and worthy, others not-so-much. They all said the same thing: “Do it our way, because right or wrong, we are together and we are using the evil sticky black stuff.” They used the evil sticky black stuff to defeat their enemies, and to make their enemies sorry they ever became enemies. They used the evil sticky black stuff to end careers. They called it the “vanishing.” It was a novelty at first, and then it became a habit. Someone would say something, or do something, and it wasn’t pleasing to someone else who had a stash of the evil sticky black stuff. So the spell would be cast and the offender would vanish. The stuff got him. People got used to it in a great big hurry because they didn’t want to be vanished. Before it was over, men were afraid to put up swimsuit calendars over their desks at work. Oh, they pretended it was because they were decent men. That was always the claim. But the real fear was that someone would use the evil sticky black stuff to end their careers and vanish them. And they still had to worry about retirement, and sending their kids to college. It wasn’t “worth it,” they said.

It took the country a century before it had any real fear the evil sticky black stuff had arrived at its shores. It took a century and a half for the country to actually use it. As it reached its bicentennial, it was now wallowing in it. Too late, we had realized: You need to have a social contract in order to keep any enclave clean and free of the ick. And the social contract demands that men who believe their positions are right, should be ready to put them up against the different positions of other men who believe their positions are right.

And when you participate in an argument, you have to be prepared to lose.

The cold hard truth is, we just weren’t that good anymore. We had gotten some ick on ourselves, and it would not wash off unless we wanted it to. We didn’t want it to.

The sticky black stuff is evil, therefore it is never used to create anything, only to destroy. It brings power only to the man who wields it, and it rots his soul from within. It does nothing good. That is why it was banned here.

People have now so reconciled themselves to living lives under the tyranny of the evil sticky black stuff, that the nation has been consumed by a modern plague: the proxy offense. Someone, wielding the now-commonplace evil sticky black stuff, might find that joke offensive. And so I shall act as his agent. You are to be vanished. And so, here and there a new business might be started free of the sticky evil black stuff, and within a fortnight it would be awash in the ick. Because the nation had already been engulfed. And so you are to be vanished because a handicapped person might find your joke offensive; you are to be vanished because you might have offended the homosexuals; you are to be vanished because that word you just used was phonetically similar to something that is actually a racial slur, didn’t you know?

Do it my way, because I make movies.

Do it my way, because I’m gay.

Do it my way, because I’m a woman.

Do it my way, because my dad’s a senator.

Do it my way, because I’m black. Or because the President’s black. Either way, you just have to stop talking and learn to live with what I’ve decided. I don’t need to argue with you. I don’t even need to make my decision look good. I don’t need wisdom, or logic, or common sense. I don’t need to show standing, injury or interest. All I need is a gimmick. Then I can cast my spell, and we’re done talking.

Now, we’re 234 years into it. And we’re about to build a massive engine that is actually fueled by the evil sticky black stuff. The new machine will run on barrels and barrels of it, daily. It’s supposed to be a “health care” plan, but the politicians hammering it together haven’t been talking too much lately about getting health care services to the people who need them. It’s been many a month since we’ve heard any of that kind of talk. No, this machine is built to consume a certain thing, not to build a certain thing. It gulps thirstily at the wellspring of ick, for it is constructed to do nothing else. It is an instrument of destruction, and like all other instruments of destruction it needs not draw on too high a threshold of design talent, to become an engineering masterpiece. The ancient, Revolution-era wizards of the evil ooze could never have dreamed of such a device or what it will do.

It will cast evil magic spells, now well-known to us, and secretly dreaded by each and every one of us. Massively, laboriously, unrelentingly, by the minute, by the second. It will churn through the ick and it will blacken the sky with the exhaust from its smokestacks. All according to plan…

No one who is in the process of building this evil device, talks about making sick people well. Ever. Not anymore.

But when they do give their speeches, we notice they seem to be awfully fond of that evil sticky black stuff. That sticky oozy substance that ends debate, and forces all involved to just do it so-and-so’s way. We started a nation to make sure the sticky stuff would never be used again, and now we’ve started a lifestyle that is devoted to it, in fact, seems to depend on it. Generations of young people, and not-so-young people, now know of no other way to live. Ah, well. It was a noble experiment while it lasted.

That is a brilliant piece of work, Morgan. One of your best.
- philmon | 02/24/2010 @ 07:45
DAMN, son. I’m with philmon, that is absolutely gorgeous.

One thing for certain, there is cause for rejoicing despite the current state of the Nation. As long as people like you won’t shut up this crap will nevermore go unremarked. As you so eloquently illustrate, the real poison here is the insidious nature of this phenomenon; it does and has always depended on darkness, as it is darkness itself. It’s almost impossible to describe the gloom that overtook people, and men in particular, as we watched The Great Sleep spread throughout the culture in the ’70s.

Merle Kessler, better known as Ian Sholes of the Firesign Theater, once bridled at his characterization as a Curmudgeon with the reply “Somebody’s gotta notice this crap.” Pessimism is an ancient and honorable estate; Cassandra was given the gift of prophecy, and foreseeing the fall of Troy resulted in her murder – which she also foresaw. It’s never been easy.

I dunno. Maybe my own optimism is increasing simply because I’ve been incautiously offered a forum for my ravings at Washington Rebel. I find that I have a lot to say – but it never would have happened if a younger generation hadn’t seen this swamp for what it was despite being forced to grow up in it. Thanks for the inspiration of watching you struggle your way through this shit. Over the last two years I’ve watched your writing develop as your thoughts get clarified, and I draw encouragement from watching another generation discover the expressive joys of the English language, which allows for a precision unmatched throughout civilization.

Thanks for the goad, and for God’s sake let go of all this “Get off my lawn!” crap. You’re just a kid yet, and I, at least intend on getting younger every day. Somebody’s gotta notice this crap.

You go, boy.
- rob | 02/24/2010 @ 08:44
Good job, Morg. I can’t add anything to your fantastic piece.
- HoundOfDoom | 02/24/2010 @ 09:12
Ah, well. It was a noble experiment while it lasted.

I don’t hear no Fat Lady… and it’s FAR from over. You need a Big Tall Cool Glass o’ optimism and a cigar, Morgan.
- bpenni | 02/24/2010 @ 11:16
Even if it is over, it ain’t gonna get over because I curled up into a ball and shut up.

If you’re feeling dismayed, watch the last 10 minute segment of Glenn Beck’s CPAC speech even if you don’t watch the rest of it (which was pretty good as well). It’s out on YouTube.

Love the way he interpetively reads the inscription on the Statue of Liberty in contrast to how it is normally read these days.
- philmon | 02/24/2010 @ 11:29
I don’t hear no Fat Lady… and it’s FAR from over. You need a Big Tall Cool Glass o’ optimism and a cigar, Morgan.

Perhaps.

But if we’re going to fight this thing, we need to fight the sticky sludge that’s bringing the rest of it on. Or else don’t bother.

Thing I Know #5. It takes a lot of maturity to keep your silence on an important decision, simply because you recognize it belongs to someone else.
- mkfreeberg | 02/24/2010 @ 12:07
This is what I like about what Beck is doing. He recognizes the black, sticky ick. And over time he has decided, and I think he’s right — that the way to fight it is to get educated with the facts, apart from the narrative that’s been sold since the 1930’s, and ever more successfully by the year.

Get armed with facts, and call them out when they attempt to cast their spell. “I see no magic here, all I smell is the putrid black on your fingers, your wand. Show me what facts lie underneath your black, fetid fluid.”

Like Breitbart and friends did to that smug piece of Alinsky waste in the video you recently posted. They are doing it.

And we each need to do it, too — with our families and friends. One or a few people at a time. We must be as polite as possible while remaining firm and confident in our position. It will expose the truly infected, and help clean the filth from the eyes of those who have up to now not really questioned those who cast their spells.

Because in the end, the people are going to have to rise up and throw off this nonsense if the ick is ever to be banished again, or even contained. The politicians will not unless the people demand it.

I think we have a lot of potential allies out there with ick in their eyes. I’ve had it in my eyes as well, and before it was washed from them I probably used it on occasion myself, not really knowing any better.

No more.
- philmon | 02/24/2010 @ 13:31
Thing I Know #5. It takes a lot of maturity to keep your silence on an important decision, simply because you recognize it belongs to someone else.

We keep our silence when silence is the appropriate course of action. My point being that one does not cry Wolf! at each and every opportunity. The republic is not in mortal danger at this point, the further point being that although the situation is grave… it has ALWAYS been grave. That’s the nature of the beast and it’s also the nature that provides grist for your mill. I tire of all this angst; it grows wearisome after a while. But, as always, your mileage MOST certainly may vary. Me? I prefer to focus on Olympic hockey at the moment. Now there’s a subject of national import. 😉
- bpenni | 02/24/2010 @ 15:55
I think Morgan’s expression of despair at the end was just that. Not really a “wolf crying” alarm, but an expression of temporary beaten-down weariness after thoughtfully examining the situation he found ourselves in with the icky stuff.

I’ve been there.

He’ll get back up. Won’tcha, buddy?
- philmon | 02/24/2010 @ 15:59
Oh, and wile we’re here… no offense, Phil, coz I love ya to death and you know it… but Beck is an asshat. He’s (a) preaching to the choir while (b) educating those who perhaps need the education. Those of us who have read our history find him to be both strident (to be kind) and inflammatory, at best. One can find better things to do with one’s time. Just sayin’.
- bpenni | 02/24/2010 @ 15:59
Ah. Will we exchange comments in near real time? Despair is insidious, Phil. You can NEVER let it creep into your world view, coz it is ravenous and will consume all other rational thoughts.
- bpenni | 02/24/2010 @ 16:02
I think Morgan’s expression of despair at the end was just that. Not really a “wolf crying” alarm, but an expression of temporary beaten-down weariness after thoughtfully examining the situation he found ourselves in with the icky stuff.

Yep, that’s a bulls-eye. I’m a builder, and builders don’t say “this is a lost cause”; if you take that attitude, then what do you do when the fellow next to you isn’t willing to give up? Try to discourage him?

However, builders do figure out what’s compatible with what. A doctor may heal you, but he doesn’t do it by just pumping any ol’ blood in your veins, now does he? Of course not. Well, you have the American experiment; you have the sludge. You have lots of people who fail to see an incompatibility between the two — that doesn’t mean they’re compatible. We were started to be an ick-free zone. That is the point, and I hope at least that much got across…

In truth, I really didn’t know the right way to conclude it. I sort of grasped for a proper closing line. But as I think on it some more, I realize: It isn’t up to me, is it? It’s really up to all of us. Each individual has to give it a serious think, and figure out just how American he wants to be.
- mkfreeberg | 02/24/2010 @ 16:14
Well, that’s ok. No offense taken. After all, you didn’t say I was an asshat. 😉

I do find that people who think he is one really haven’t listened to him much.

He’s (a) preaching to the choir while (b) educating those who perhaps need the education.

And there’s the rub. Much of the choir needs an education, me included to some extent (though I’ve gone a long way toward that in the last 5 or so years — largely thanks to things he’s brought up). But another thing I like about the guy is he tells his audience. Don’t just take my word for it. Go check this stuff out yourselves. Educate yourselves. I am not an authority. I try to do my best. But I can be wrong

I do disagree that he is an asshat. And if you listen to the guy in context … not just selected soundbytes, he’s not even very inflamatory. Far less so than Rush, easily. Glenn has occasionally said things I wished he hadn’t. But then again, so has Ann Coulter. And I still like her, too.

But he’s a lot like Morgan and me in many respects (and all three of us are about the same age)… we think things out out loud. That’s what he does. Which means sometimes he’s going to say things that haven’t been thought all the way through. If you understand that, it changes the way you hear him.

If he wakes up enough of the people we need to be woken up to break the spell of the icky black stuff, he will have done us a great service. If we could rely on only the few who have read their history without people like him, and given his audience size I’d say especially him … we would be hosed, no matter how well us few knew their history or how well we knew it. I think thanks to him and to Rush (who I respect in many ways but can’t stand to listen to) … I think we have a fighting chance.

I myself was sort of in a restless sleep before I started listening to his show. And several times I have heard him say things over the years that I thought was bullshit … and then it turned out months later the dude was on the right track and I had my head in the sand. I can’t dismiss him anymore. That doesn’t mean I believe whatever he says. It does mean that I do pay attention and check stuff out.

Which is all I think he expects of people. Or at least hopes for of people. Just hear me out and check it out.

And another thing he often says is “I want to be wrong”

And as far as despair goes, I hear what you’re saying. But call them momentary lapses of weariness. I fight them off pretty well for the most part.
- philmon | 02/24/2010 @ 19:37
[…] Palin Speech Opens Sixth Seal Memo For File CVIII The Hard Left’s Reaction to Dick Cheney’s Hospitalization Blumenthal’s Bad Day […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 02/24/2010 @ 19:46
I kind of picture the evil black sticky stuff as the symbiotic goo from Spiderman 3. You know, the stuff that turned Spidey (and anyone else it enveloped) into some kind of power-mad villain.
- cylarz | 02/25/2010 @ 00:22
[…] notion that you have what I would call “swollen” rights. Rights brought to you by the evil sticky black slimy stuff. Any dispute that arises from you having these rights, shall be adjudicated in your favor. Every […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 03/18/2010 @ 07:24
[…] that will conquer ideas instead of simply examine them. Something that dismisses. The magic elixir of thoughtlessness and undeserved rhetorical victory. Obama’s skin color happens to be the munition that finally netted the desired results and […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 09/06/2010 @ 07:53
[…] fable of the evil sticky black stuff makes it perfectly clear: It doesn’t really matter what we decide to do, quite so much as how […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 02/19/2011 @ 20:09

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Memo For File CVIIIWednesday, February 24th, 2010

Memo For File CVIII
Wednesday, February 24th, 2010