Essays in Idleness

DAVID WARREN

The bigness of lies

In my poignant search for uncontaminated news, I see that the Springer scientific publishing group (in Germany, across Europe, America, and everywhere) made 2,923 retractions last year. Perhaps they will exceed that number this year — it is a big company — but does that mean the retractions are significant? That depends which retraction we are discussing, or which of innumerable other items were censored or amended to placate or mollify the political authorities in Red China, or all the other countries in which Springer publications circulate. This does not amount to a modest degree of lying.

My own outrage is aimed more generally at the North American press and media, and is not restricted to their science stories. But everywhere that I have practised journalism, in the last half-century or so, I have noticed that “inaccuracies” are increasing. In the present century I have come to distrust every fact that is cited, in all the current literatures, and to expect instead ideological bias, or “bullshit” in the vernacular.  This, too, is accumulating, everywhere, and becomes more odorous as “leftishness” prevails, apparently universally; for even the many various dimensions of this lying are increasing.

It is often unintentional, because the springs are corrupted. Nor is it almost ever innocent. Yet it is easily understood, at least in English, by those who have heard Samuel Johnson. He memorably observed, in answer to the question asked even in his day, that, “The first Whig was the devil.” He was referring to the subscribers of the left party, then called the Whigs, and the other chic and fashionable forces, that wish to disrupt the peace of the world.

We cannot legislate against them. Indeed, by trying to legislate we invariably make the problem worse. For it is not a physical problem, except in its ramifications. It can only be remedied piecemeal, by bold and unambiguously moral acts, which will be frequently punished. Only the man (or hysterical woman, occasionally) who is willing to be punished can make a stand against this. It is the way of the world. Down here the truth is persecuted.

Rent control

From Argentina we learn that my controversial views on Rent Control — that we should retire it, “with extreme prejudice,” and snuff it along with everything like it — is actually being tried by the government of the “dangerous” Javier Milei. Even people who consider themselves to be rightwing nutjobs find nice words to say about Rent Control, which they assume is why they can afford to live in big cities.

Myself, in addition to “rent commissioners,” I am opposed to Bed Bugs.

And now I read (in John Loeber) what the terrible consequences of Milei’s reckless act has been. “Rent has dropped by 40 percent in real terms, and the supply of rental properties in Buenos Aires has increased by over 300 percent.”

The Argentine economy is meanwhile growing at around 8 percent. America’s will grow at 4 per cent, once Trumpery is fully engaged. Our Canadian economy is, of course, contracting.

It is true, I adore Trump, but only half as much as I love Javier Milei. If we are going to utterly crush “The Left,” we need, in the colloquial expression, to “grow some balls.” Do not compromise, and do not pause: our job is to smash, smash, and smash. Take a fire axe to every well-meaning bureaucracy — or a chainsaw, if there is somewhere to plug it in.

Electrical cars

I don’t know anything about cars, or some other topics, and most of what I do know about gets me into trouble with the humourless scolds. My attitude to automobiles is like my attitude to apartment blocks; I’d rather be in one, than looking at it from the outside. In that sense, we might say I am an “insider,” on vehicles and flats, like other people who grow opinions about “the environment.”

Should cars all go electric?

My anarchist sensibility says, it doesn’t matter. It is like the question, Should people have cars at all? Or, Should I own one? I do know the answer to this last is, No. And not because I do not have a licence, for as I explained to Kate McMillan, licences are for cissies. I first piloted my papa’s Volkswagen bug, around a disused airfield, entirely without licence, at age nine.

It’s like needing a licence to own a gun. If you are carrying one, people don’t ask.

It is a similar question, should one practice poetry, or painting, or journalism? Yes, if you want to do it, and No, if you don’t. You may eventually learn whether or not you know how. (I didn’t found my Comet Express until I was ten.)

Should one make electrical vehicles, like Elon Musk? No, in that case definitely, because you are not Elon Musk, and were precluded by birth, as Lia Thomas was precluded from being a woman. As well, perhaps, one does not have the facilities, for like poetry, painting, and journalism, everything requires equipment. Do you own a brush, or guitar? (Well, some use an imaginary guitar, and you might consider an imaginary manufacturing plant, as an economy.)

The idea that some government, especially the lunatic one that runs this country, should have an opinion about who should make what; let alone pass laws on the matter; or decide if it should be electrical, or must not use petrol; touches very near to the obscenity of liberalism and democracy. All democracy is tyranny, as we have known for a very long time.

Proudly unCanadian

National pride, or more specifically pride in one’s nation, can be, but often isn’t, an innocent affair. Canada gives an example of this pride at its worst, and most debilitating. At least in the spaces east of Wawa, Ontario, and many of the spaces West, it takes a negative and evil form. It is almost purely anti-American. By no coincidence, this is a country which absolutely depends on the United States, for its defence and prosperity. Our national cultures and “multicultures,” including the French Canadian element, are copied and adapted from American models, and we have nothing that is original (except the vestiges of Crown-in-Parliament). Our “dignity” consists of a landscape that is extraordinarily beautiful and inspiring; but we do proportionally more to destroy it than the U.S. and most other countries.

However, it’s not all bad. I was asking myself last Tuesday, which was Dominion Day (before the Liberal government of the demonic Pierre Trudeau stripped it away), what was the last time I felt real pride in a Canadian achievement? Unmistakably, it was the Canadian truckers’ convoy in early 2022, when our highways were lined with the fearlessly honest. Canadians, for the first time in a long while, stood up against a vicious government, and set an example which was celebrated in Bolivia and most of the other countries in the world. I cannot describe the government of Mr Trudeau’s “cutest” child without using vocabulary I try to avoid. But the suppression of this exhilarating “strike” on his watch was the counter-example of stinking corruption.

We found that while there were still examples of the “old” Canadian virtues in the rural retreats, where real and necessary work is done, in urban life “our” Canada is, morally, a dead loss. I became filled with shame, at these depraved “gliberals” — the flip side of the pride I had been feeling.

The revival experiment, now being attempted next country over under Donald J. Trump, is a mixed bag. Much that he is trying is vulgar, or worse. But that it is working, economically, overall, and has contributed to many admirable things, is undeniable. Most important, he is reducing the tyranny of government and its bureaucracies. Rather than indulge our envious hatreds, we should resolve to copy whatever is good from the Americans, and try not to be played again by the Liberal Party, exploiting our incredibly low intelligence.

Gubbinal

That strange flower, the sun, is just what you say. Have it your way. The world is ugly, and the people are sad. …

That tuft of jungle feathers, that animal eye, is just what you say. That savage of fire, that seed, have it your way. …

The world is ugly, and the people are sad.

*

The above, “Gubbinal,” is, I have thought, the most political of Wallace Stevens’ lyrical poems, which, by and large, are not political at all. Except, everything is political to the humourless scold.

Or, in “the Nietzschean reading” you will find in the Wicked Paedia, it is one of Stevens’ “poems of epistemology.”

But instead I would observe, to academic experts unreachable by verse, that they might have it their way. For, “the world is ugly and the people are sad.”

Of course, this is not entirely true. On Thursdays, for instance, I have found enough happiness to last into Friday. And on Mondays, too, freedom from despair. Only the world of the progressive liberals — of the tedious Left — is ugly, and only Democrats are sad.

Over on the Right — and the farther over you go, into what a progressive would call “superstition” (i.e. Catholic Christianity) — the world is quite blissful. Joy and merriment may be found, even in a hateful and smelly leftist, for Satire will quickly provide a few laughs. And when they are attempting murder (abortions, intifadas, “Maid”) we needn’t be judgemental. For we are not the One who sends them to Hell.

I do not take polls seriously, except as illustrations of the obvious. I noticed some American media poll recently (it was Pew Research, if I remember), that asked Democrats and Republicans, respectively, how satisfied they were with their lives. Predictably, and by a huge margin, as ever, Republicans were happier, and Democrats more sad. This is because, to a Democrat, the world is unjust and unfair. To a Republican, too, it can be rather ugly; but he has other things to think about, and to motivate him, towards rejoicing.

Selective deletions

“Beauty is truth, and truth beauty,” — said Keats, controversially, — “that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” The controversy is in the fact that he was probably examining a Greek urn that we, in our much-vaunted wisdom, would now condemn as rather ugly, and buy something else in the trinket-shop of history, where the Sung pots from China seem rather more attractive.

Mere tastes change, over the years, but with Keats I suggest that when one can appreciate beauty of some kind, one has also discerned truth of some kind; and vice versa; in a world that is complex.

Benito Mussolini, for instance, could appreciate not only the beauty of bombs exploding, but of the aeroplanes that deliver them, and by extension I would imagine the beauty of missiles bearing nuclear bombs. But he had a (quite literally) Fascist sensibility, and the truth in that easily slips away. Normally, it does not slide so easily, from an Italian savant.

Yet in one respect, Benito was onto something. At the complex intersection of beauty and truth, morality may be ignored. For goodness sake, itself, it should never be ignored entirely, because we were instructed to avoid evil, initially by God; but there is a pure sense where beauty and truth are amoral. This sense is discovered both in art and life.

Much of Shia, and Muslim, art is gorgeous; and I was a child in Lahore, exposed occasionally to the truth and beauty of Persian art and gardening. Given my own descent from designers and calligraphers, I am mesmerized by Persian, Arabic, and Turkish writing. Fortunately, the IDF and the USAF were not called upon to delete any of that, unless incidentally. Most of what they deleted was of far more technical than aesthetic significance.

Indeed, generally their deletions from the Iranian environment improved it aesthetically. This is often the effect of warfare, but it is transient. For after the bangs die out, the workmen go back to making ugly things. Whereas, that for which we long is truth and beauty.

The old in-&-out

One of the most cheerful accomplishments of the precision bombing of Iran, is the demolition of the front gate of the Evin Prison for political inmates. This has been just one of the “showier” acts of the blesséd IAF campaign. It has destroyed so many of the Ayatollahs’ brutal institutions, while their captives are left only to watch and applaud.

For 46 years the Persian and other peoples imprisoned within the Iranian totalitarian regime have been not only tortured and murdered, but forced to look daily upon the symbols of Shia oppression. But with control over the Persian-turquoise skies, and a seemingly endless supply of efficient, Western-made airborne munitions, the Israelis have made use of the leisure to “edit” the official landscape, and replace the enemy fixtures with delightful ruin.

“Regime change” was not the best idea, as the Americans learnt in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, &c. Like other aspects of “democracy” it has never been adequately thought through. It is, and will always be, too much trouble, and it never works. As I wrote, when as a daily journalist I was recommending the invasion of Iraq, the intention ought to be purely destructive, both going in and coming out. (In the manner of pagan Rome, as my colleague John Robson then suggested: in through Kuwait, and out perhaps a few weeks later through the wreckage of Syria and Lebanon.) It is for the surviving natives to decide what comes next. And if, by chance, they make another poor decision, you can always invade them again.

Study drama. Read Aristotle on the importance of poetic unities.

Exuberance is beauty

The “Proverbs of Hell,” to which I, at least, concede some authority, hold that, “A dead body revenges not injuries.” Indeed, William Blake is among my leading quasi-Christian prophets.

There is possibly no exception to this Proverb. However, the leading tactical experts observe, that the body may not be dead yet. A supplementary beating may still be necessary.

I thought I should render my thoughts on Iran, and on Mr. Trump’s employment of more than a dozen gleaming “bunker busters” on Fordo, Natanz, and Isfahan, in the present news cycle. Surely he did not use them on the archaeological vestiges of Isfahan, which I have visited and by which I was aesthetically pleased, but only on Isfahan’s uranium conversion plant, which is, or was, slick, modern, and probably ideal to be “blowed up real good.” Veritably, Iran has so many of these “miracles of modern engineering,” that we should keep up the production of high explosives.

But will there be a “live one” left, now all the bunker busters have exploded? Or will some supplementary beatings be required?

For the principal threat of any monster regime (one thinks, for instance, of China and North Korea) is not its possession of nuclear weapons, but that its rulers try to use them, if not for war then for blackmail. It is the same issue with guns: no problem at all, except in the hands of criminals or worse. (Religious fanatics are generally worse.) The ayatollahs of Persian Shia Islam, i.e. “Twelvers,” have consistently fit this description — Worse.

But this is not a new thing. The Zoroastrians, who seem to be making a comeback in Iran, after many centuries, could be as bad (read their history); but had no nuclear weapons. Ahura Mazda could be as troubling as Allah, when he was invoked aggressively, and Zarathustra could be as annoying as Muhammad. Thus we must all remain Christian Crusaders, with our elbows ever up, in Prime Minister Carney’s awkward hockey metaphor.

And, in this case, “Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.” … Or, one might add, “Gung ho!”

The Malice proposal

Michael Malice, the inaptly-named, Soviet-born anarchist (less malicious than most who sport lively political opinions), has proposed a solution to the “Canada problem,” which will also solve several other problems associated with it. He begins by estimating the population of the “Great White North,” to be approximately forty millions. There are apparently also about that number of blacks in the United States, whom we understand to be seeking reparations from states like California, for their ancestors’ involuntary immigration to the American South.

Mr Malice’s idea is, that when Donald Trump annexes Canada (and Greenland), he could give one Canadian slave to each and every American black. The numbers are not precisely equal — there may be a million extra blacks — but let us not be distracted by administrative details. A few extra white slaves could be collected among Greenlanders and Danes.

Not only could this be presented as a handsome solution to the reparation issue, but also as a cure to Canadians’ unbearable smugness. And it corrects for what otherwise might have absent-mindedly created so many unnecessary Democrat voters in the USA.

Of course, I, and the few dozen sincere Catholics who reside in the Canadian Dominion, would be exempted, for we are not “citizens of this world.”

“Peace, peace” considered

Every media cliché about Israel and the Middle East — including those which are presented as neutral — is built upon lies. The biggest is perhaps that which was satirized in the Book of Jeremiah — the call for “Peace, peace, when there is no peace.” It is that kind of peace that is achieved by negotiations and compromise. Both sides must agree to something less than total victory.

This is the tactical peace, the hudna, or tahidya, recognized by Islam: the ceasefire obtained when you are losing, for the recovery of tactical advantage. War resumes only when your advantage resumes. In the meanwhile, your enemy is suckered by your lies.

Compare this with the peace that followed the destruction of Nazi Germany. Peace was achieved through “Victory Europe”; it consisted of the complete physical annihilation of the Wehrmacht.

To be fair, Islam recognizes something like this principle, too: in the Dar al-Islam that will be imposed when every alternative to Islam is vanquished, so that nothing is left but submission. The world will then enjoy the “perfect peace” of a single Caliphate with comprehensive, absolute power. The Muslim law, that holds apostates must be executed, will assure that it will be a lasting peace, as well. Obey, or die.

To the Catholic, even Protestant Christian, or the Jewish mind, this would be absolute tyranny. Rather than allow this sort of peace to be accomplished, we who are faithful — faithful to God — are committed to war. We are not pacifists: we are not that stupid.

I notice the radical difference in practice between the Muslim way of war, as exemplified by Iran and its proxies, such as Hamas; and our own. Missiles are gratuitously lobbed at the Jewish civilian population, although allowing for collateral damage when their Muslim neighbours are hit, too. Presumably, these latter will qualify as Muslim “martyrs.” Contrast this with the Christian view, enunciated by Saint Augustine: “It is not the punishment but the cause that makes the martyr.”

Israel’s targets are all military, and there are a lot of them. Unnecessary civilian casualties are avoided.

Of course, we want a singular peace. Everyone does, except those who long for death, which is not the Christian or Jewish desire. And peace can be achieved, however transitorily in this world. In this case, it requires the complete, permanent destruction of the Shia Iranian regime.

¡Viva Cristo Rey!

My very favourite among all the historical groups of Mexican revolutionaries were the Cristeros, who rose in rebellion against the persecution of the Church by the violent, anti-clerical Mexican state in the 1920s. And cried these words: “Long live Christ the King!” They were the last from the mouth of Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro, the Catholic priest who was martyred — executed without trial on the usual false charges — by the order of the memorably evil Mexican president, Plutarco Calles. A vicious anti-Christian, President Calles had the execution filmed in the expectation that this priest would give a cowardly display. He did the opposite.

Today we are apparently celebrating “No Kings Day” — designed as a counter-intimidation of Donald Trump, by leftist Americans, illegal immigrants, and other social filth. It would be very easy to sneer at those who wave Mexican flags because they don’t want to be deported to where it legitimately flies, while rioting and looting, &c. But let me at least take this opportunity to express my contempt for these people.

Father Miguel was shot with Crucifix in one hand, and Rosary in the other, both arms extended — facing the firing squad with fierce serenity. … ¡Viva Cristo Rey! he cried out, as the bullets cut him up.

That is how one deplores the pretensions of mere worldly kings.

Urban civility

The advantage of shooting looters is that it solves a serious problem, and quickly, rather than simply “discouraging” the crime, as may be promised by high-tech anti-theft devices. (One sees these advertised more and more.) For shooting will eliminate the looter directly, or when it misses, will nevertheless prove a more effective discouragement tool. Indeed, merely having a reputation for shooting looters is often prophylactic.

On the other hand, as Machiavelli probably observed, it comes with a downside. In a democratic political order — and virtually all polities are democratic at their lowest level — shooting looters will only be popular at first. One’s polls may decline if one keeps it up too long, or if, as so often, leftist trash is in control of your media.

This is where shooting journalists comes in, though as a journalist I have never recommended it. Moreover, shooting people too numerously and persistently could easily devolve into a tyrannous habit, to which I would be opposed.

Still, I would like to contribute to problem-solving, in cities like Los Angeles and Chicago for instance, or in the several dozen others where “Demoncrats” are in power. The consistent and prompt enforcement of legitimate rules of law, with fairly severe punishments against corruption, has apparently encouraged even economies to flourish. Justice need not apologize for itself, when it is applied justly. The human animal is, as it were, programmed (by the programming gods) to appreciate justice; only a few perverts are exceptional.

However, with sentimentality, and the loss of an ardent manliness, justice and trade soon go into recession.

Gee Dee Pee

Once upon a time, I delivered a few informal lectures to aspiring financial journalists at Thammasat University in Thailand. This school was in an earlier phase of a transition into a batty, shrieking, left-wing nuthouse; but some were still sincerely teaching the little that was known about development economics. (Note, this involves supply and demand.) Today, the economic students at Thammasat and elsewhere are taught instead how to permanently disable and impoverish venerable nations, enslave unthinking populations, and spread chaos and violence in the cause of fashionable “revolution.”

Well, I was then young and naïve. I already knew that economic faculties in the West were under siege from what I call (accurately) “communists and perverts.” I was just learning that this is a universal phenomenon. The whole self-appointed “intellectual” world is on the left, and indeed, throughout the universities — probably since they replaced cathedral studia in the Middle Ages — they had not been a source of sober seminary training, but of dangerous revolutionary notions. We might think of Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas as representative of the new academic institutions of the West. But rioting by spoilt, godless rich children was more commonplace, from the XIIth century, forward; and the young rioters then grew up into the professorial idiots who people the faculty associations. (Or perhaps I am being excessively sardonic.)

The example that is teasing me at the moment is the formula for calculating Gross Domestic Product. A whole Seyfert galaxy of cumulative evils, implicit in government spending, now counts as contributing to national wealth; and tax money is scornfully wasted that could have been spent productively. Inflation is everywhere.

The challenge I encountered then was not to advance this mad and maddening statistical game of GDP calculation, but to replace it with something meaningful.