A compassionate society
Art, education and health care
are too important for a functional society to be left unaided, for artists and
educators and scientists to be left to eek out a living according to the rules
of a free market economy. State support and subsidy are vital. Think of
musicians today who can't make an honest buck because all their stuff is on YouTube,
the free market didn't help them, the very people who enjoy their music, their
fans, fucked them. Health care costs are skyrocketing and an honest insurance
company or HMO is about as rare as an honest politician. Education equals
national security, it’s that simple. The ignorant are easy prey for anyone
marketing a violent ideology, and lack of marketable skills leads to poverty
which leads to desperation and leads to the spontaneous emergence of gangs
and violent mobs.
Its not rocket science, societies
have to protect themselves not by excluding and excising undesirable parts of themselves
but by making sure that everyone shares in the collective responsibility of
ennobling and elevating every individual in these societies. So, I say fuck
capitalism! What the world needs is a compassionate society. Capitalism is like
Mother Nature, its not empathetic, dreamy or human in its mercy, it’s harsh and
unforgiving. Instead of elevating us, it drags us down into the primordial
ooze. I for one do not want any part of a society that measures the value of a
human being by how conniving and dastardly he/she can be in generating and
hording material wealth and exploiting others without mercy or compassion.
From 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens:
"'Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,' said
Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe,' but I see
something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding
from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw.'
'It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,' was
the Spirit's sorrowful reply. 'Look here.'
From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children;
wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt
down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.
'Oh, Man. look here. Look, look, down here.' exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling,
wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where
graceful youth should have filled their features out, and
touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled
hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and
pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No
change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any
grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has
monsters half so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him
in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but
the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie
of such enormous magnitude.
'Spirit. are they yours.' Scrooge could say no more.
'They are Man's,' said the Spirit, looking down upon
them. 'And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both,
and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy,
for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the
writing be erased. Deny it.' cried the Spirit, stretching out
its hand towards the city. 'Slander those who tell it ye.
Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse.
And abide the end.'
'Have they no refuge or resource.' cried Scrooge.
'Are there no prisons.' said the Spirit, turning on him
for the last time with his own words. 'Are there no workhouses.'"
From 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens:
"'Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,' said
Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe,' but I see
something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding
from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw.'
'It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,' was
the Spirit's sorrowful reply. 'Look here.'
From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children;
wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt
down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.
'Oh, Man. look here. Look, look, down here.' exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling,
wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where
graceful youth should have filled their features out, and
touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled
hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and
pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No
change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any
grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has
monsters half so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him
in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but
the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie
of such enormous magnitude.
'Spirit. are they yours.' Scrooge could say no more.
'They are Man's,' said the Spirit, looking down upon
them. 'And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both,
and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy,
for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the
writing be erased. Deny it.' cried the Spirit, stretching out
its hand towards the city. 'Slander those who tell it ye.
Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse.
And abide the end.'
'Have they no refuge or resource.' cried Scrooge.
'Are there no prisons.' said the Spirit, turning on him
for the last time with his own words. 'Are there no workhouses.'"
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