Moral Sense

Rounding Out

Warning: Reading the history of man can be a nauseating activity of habitual proportion. Boning up on recordings of pivotal events can be a circular exercise of mobius implications. A bewildered novice observing the current global freak-show is better equipped to stomach the insane human activity on display but a seasoned reader will be hard pressed to refrain from outrage. Both can benefit from mental colonics. It is difficult not to throw up a little bit in your chair when eating buttered sour scream and jive popcorn while watching cable news on teevee.

earthcity

When taking a hard look at the past 100 years, unravelling the global mess we are in leaves me with a sense of rancid futility for hope of better epochs ahead. But one need only look back 7 days to understand that the children of repression and despair are discontent on the information highway and revolution in the streets. The concrete and steel that buttress the emperors imperial threads are no match for the storms in space and the tides of time.

The Damned Human Race

by Mark Twain

I have been studying the traits and dispositions of the lower animals (so-called), and contrasting them with the traits and dispositions of man. I find the result humiliating to me. For it obliges me to renounce my allegiance to the Darwinian theory of the Ascent of Man from the Lower Animals; since it now seems plain to me that the theory ought to be vacated in favor of a new and truer one, this new and truer one to be named the Descent of Man from the Higher Animals.

In proceeding toward this unpleasant conclusion I have not guessed or speculated or conjectured, but have used what is com monly called the scientific method. That is to say, I have sub jected every postulate that presented itself to the crucial test of actual experiment, and have adopted it or rejected it according to the result. Thus I verified and established each step of my course in its turn before advancing to the next. These experiments were made in the London Zoological Gardens, and covered many months of painstaking and fatiguing work.

Before particularizing any of the experiments, I wish to state one or two things which seem to more properly belong in this place than further along. This, in the interest of clearness. The massed experiments established to my satisfaction certain gener alizations, to wit:

1. That the human race is of one distinct species. It exhibits slight variations (in color, stature, mental caliber, and so on) due to climate, environment, and so forth; but it is a species by itself, and not to be confounded with any other.

2. That the quadrupeds are a distinct family, also. This family exhibits variations (in color, size, food preferences, and so on; but it is a family by itself).

3. That the other families (the birds, the fishes, the insects, the reptiles, etc.) are more or less distinct, also. They are in the procession. They are links in the chain which stretches down from the higher animals to man at the bottom.

Some of my experiments were quite curious. In the course of my reading I had come across a case where, many years ago, some hunters on our Great Plains organized a buffalo hunt for the entertainment of an English earl. They had charming sport. They killed seventy-two of those great animals; and ate part of one of them and left the seventy-one to rot. In order to determine the differ ence between an anaconda and an earl (if any) I caused seven young calves to be turned into the anacondas cage. The grateful reptile immediately crushed one of them and swallowed it, then lay back satisfied. It showed no further interest in the calves, and no disposition to harm them. I tried this experiment with other anacondas; always with the same result. The fact stood proven that the difference between an earl and an anaconda is that the earl is cruel and the anaconda isnt; and that the earl wantonly destroys what he has no use for, but the anaconda doesnt. This seemed to suggest that the anaconda was not descended from the earl. It also seemed to suggest that the earl was descended from the anaconda, and had lost a good deal in the transition.

I was aware that many men who have accumulated more millions of money than they can ever use have shown a rabid hunger for more, and have not scrupled to cheat the ignorant and the helpless out of their poor servings in order to partially appease that appetite. I furnished a hundred different kinds of wild and tame animals the opportunity to accumulate vast stores of food, but none of them would do it. The squirrels and bees and certain birds made accumulations, but stopped when they had gathered a winter s supply, and could not be persuaded to add to it either honestly or by chicane. In order to bolster up a tottering reputa tion the ant pretended to store up supplies, but I was not de ceived. I know the ant. These experiments convinced me that there is this difference between man and the higher animals: he is avaricious and miserly; they are not.

In the course of my experiments I convinced myself that among the animals man is the only one that harbors insults and injuries, broods over them, waits till a chance offers, then takes revenge. The passion of revenge is unknown to the higher animals.

Roosters keep harems, but it is by consent of their concu bines; therefore no wrong is done. Men keep harems but it is by brute force, privileged by atrocious laws which the other sex were allowed no hand in making. In this matter man occupies a far lower place than the rooster.

Cats are loose in their morals, but not consciously so. Man, in his descent from the cat, has brought the cats looseness with him but has left the unconsciousness behind (the saving grace which excuses the cat). The cat is innocent, man is not.

Indecency, vulgarity, obscenity (these are strictly confined to man); he invented them. Among the higher animals there is no trace of them. They hide nothing; they are not ashamed. Man, with his soiled mind, covers himself. He will not even enter a drawing room with his breast and back naked, so alive are he and his mates to indecent suggestion. Man is The Animal that Laughs. But so does the monkey, as Mr. Darwin pointed out; and so does the Australian bird that is called the laughing jackass. No! Man is the Animal that Blushes. He is the only one that does itor has occasion to.

At the head of this article we see how three monks were burnt to death a few days ago, and a prior put to death with atrocious cruelty. Do we inquire into the details? No; or we should find out that the prior was subjected to unprintable muti lations. Man (when he is a North American Indian) gouges out his prisoners eyes; when he is King John, with a nephew to render untroublesome, he uses a red-hot iron; when he is a reli gious zealot dealing with heretics in the Middle Ages, he skins his captive alive and scatters salt on his back; in the first Richards time he shuts up a multitude of Jew families in a tower and sets fire to it; in Columbuss time he captures a family of Spanish Jews and (but that is not printable; in our day in England a man is fined ten shillings for beating his mother nearly to death with a chair, and another man is fined forty shillings for having four pheasant eggs in his possession without being able to satisfacto rily explain how he got them). Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one that inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it. It is a trait that is not known to the higher animals. The cat plays with the frightened mouse; but she has this excuse, that she does not know that the mouse is suffering. The cat is moderate (unhumanly moderate: she only scares the mouse, she does not hurt it; she doesnt dig out its eyes, or tear off its skin, or drive splinters under its nails) man-fashion; when she is done playing with it she makes a sudden meal of it and puts it out of its trouble. Man is the Cruel Animal. He is alone in that distinction.

The higher animals engage in individual fights, but never in organized masses. Man is the only animal that deals in that atrocity of atrocities, War. He is the only one that gathers his brethren about him and goes forth in cold blood and with calm pulse to exterminate his kind. He is the only animal that for sordid wages will march out, as the Hessians did in our Revolu tion, and as the boyish Prince Napoleon did in the Zulu war, and help to slaughter strangers of his own species who have done him no harm and with whom he has no quarrel.

Man is the only animal that robs his helpless fellow of his countrytakes possession of it and drives him out of it or destroys him. Man has done this in all the ages. There is not an acre of ground on the globe that is in possession of its rightful owner, or that has not been taken away from owner after owner, cycle after cycle, by force and bloodshed.

Man is the only Slave. And he is the only animal who en slaves. He has always been a slave in one form or another, and has always held other slaves in bondage under him in one way or another. In our day he is always some mans slave for wages, and does that mans work; and this slave has other slaves under him for minor wages, and they do his work. The higher animals are the only ones who exclusively do their own work and provide their own living.

Man is the only Patriot. He sets himself apart in his own country, under his own flag, and sneers at the other nations, and keeps multitudinous uniformed assassins on hand at heavy ex pense to grab slices of other peoples countries, and keep them from grabbing slices of his. And in the intervals between cam paigns, he washes the blood off his hands and works for the universal brotherhood of man, with his mouth.

Man is the Religious Animal. He is the only Religious Ani mal. He is the only animal that has the True Religion, several of them. He is the only animal that loves his neighbor as himself, and cuts his throat if his theology isnt straight. He has made a graveyard of the globe in trying his honest best to smooth his brothers path to happiness and heaven. He was at it in the time of the Caesars, he was at it in Mahomets time, he was at it in the time of the Inquisition, he was at it in France a couple of cen turies, he was at it in England in Marys day, he has been at it ever since he first saw the light, he is at it today in Crete (as per the telegrams quoted above) he will be at it somewhere else tomor row. The higher animals have no religion. And we are told that they are going to be left out, in the Hereafter. I wonder why? It seems questionable taste.

Man is the Reasoning Animal. Such is the claim. I think it is open to dispute. Indeed, my experiments have proven to me that he is the Unreasoning Animal. Note his history, as sketched above. It seems plain to me that whatever he is he is not a reasoning animal. His record is the fantastic record of a maniac. I consider that the strongest count against his intelligence is the fact that with that record back of him he blandly sets himself up as the head animal of the lot: whereas by his own standards he is the bottom one.

In truth, man is incurably foolish. Simple things which the other animals easily learn, he is incapable of learning. Among my experiments was this. In an hour I taught a cat and a dog to be friends. I put them in a cage. In another hour I taught them to be friends with a rabbit. In the course of two days I was able to add a fox, a goose, a squirrel and some doves. Finally a monkey. They lived together in peace; even affectionately.

Next, in another cage I confined an Irish Catholic from Tipperary, and as soon as he seemed tame I added a Scotch Presbyterian from Aberdeen. Next a Turk from Constantinople; a Greek Christian from Crete; an Armenian; a Methodist from the wilds of Arkansas; a Buddhist from China; a Brahman from Benares. Finally, a Salvation Army Colonel from Wapping. Then I stayed away two whole days. When I came back to note results, the cage of Higher Animals was all right, but in the other there was but a chaos of gory odds and ends of turbans and fezzes and plaids and bones and fleshnot a specimen left alive. These Reasoning Animals had disagreed on a theological detail and carried the matter to a Higher Court.

One is obliged to concede that in true loftiness of character, Man cannot claim to approach even the meanest of the Higher Animals. It is plain that he is constitutionally incapable of ap proaching that altitude; that he is constitutionally afflicted with a Defect which must make such approach forever impossible, for it is manifest that this defect is permanent in him, indestructible, ineradicable.

I find this Defect to be the Moral Sense. He is the only animal that has it. It is the secret of his degradation. It is the quality which enables him to do wrong. It has no other office. It is in capable of performing any other function. It could never hate been intended to perform any other. Without it, man could do no wrong. He would rise at once to the level of the Higher Animals.

Since the Moral Sense has but the one office, the one capacity (to enable man to do wrong) it is plainly without value to him. It is as valueless to him as is disease. In fact, it manifestly is a disease. Rabies is bad, but it is not so bad as this disease. Rabies enables a man to do a thing, which he could not do when in a healthy state: kill his neighbor with a poisonous bite. NC) one is the better man for having rabies: The Moral Sense enables a man to do wrong. It enables him to do wrong in a thousand ways. Rabies is an innocent disease, compared to the Moral Sense. No one, then, can be the better man for having theMoral Sense. What now, do we find the Primal Curse to have been? Plainly what it was in the beginning: the infliction upon man of the Moral Sense; the ability to distinguish good from evil; and with it, necessarily, the ability to do evil; for there can be no evil act without the presence of consciousness of it in the doer of it.

And so I find that we have descended and degenerated, from some far ancestor (some microscopic atom wandering at its pleasure between the mighty horizons of a drop of water perchance) insect by insect, animal by animal, reptile by reptile, down the long highway of smirch less innocence, till we have reached the bottom stage of development (namable as the Human Being). Below us, nothing.

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1.1.11 Turtle Soup

With our artificially imposed collective observance of the Gregorian calendar signaling a new beginning to the continuing cycle of reflections on the information age, here are a few exerts from the Jumel Terrace Books annual holiday greetings compilation of personal, profound and not surprisingly alarming observations on the state of our global clumsiness.

It’s something that occurred to me while trying to read and write history and couldn’t believe I hadn’t read somebody else saying the same thing. Facts are seldom what they seem. The plainest fact, in my experience, is dubious. Call me Doubting Thometz but in plotting histories writers are constantly confronted with facts that don’t add up to what happened. Like statistics they can be made to say what you want.

Truth is so hard to prove, fictions win.

Truth can’t be done justice without imagination. Amongst the best written histories are some of our most famous fictions and there are fictions that have succeeded failed fact-ions. Complicating matters is the virtual aspect of the electronic word as opposed to the concreteness of print on paper. As a bookman, this is a peeve of mine. Non-fiction novels, fact-ions, and infotainments are nothing new but poetry and quality lit are in far shorter supply. What Velvetta does to cheese word processing seems to do to literature.

I’ve heard a lot of 14 carat crap about the negligible difference between the virtual and the actual. The new media hasn’t proved itself capable of creating art, which seems lost in the transition. And art’s what’s best capable of grasping and expressing ‘truth’. As Pound put it: “If you think the trade gains by putting poetic quality below pedantry or even below scholastic distinction,” yr an asshole. The court of mid-town editors and academics are at the end of their ignominious history. KT

“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies… If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered… The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”

Thomas Jefferson – The Debate over the Recharter of the Bank Bill (1809).

Jim Fouratt: RIP Solomon Burke. “I remember having Mr. Burke play the new Peppermint Lounge on West 46th St in Times Square. He demanded being paid his fee prior to performance in $10 and $20 dollar bills. Despite my partner Rudolf's objection I agreed. So we sat in the dressing room as he counted his $5000 in $10's and $20's. When finished this huge bear of man stood up, put his arms around me and whispered into my ear "God protects all his children but the devil controls money." Then he walked on to the stage and stopped time, chatter and cruising.”

“Why have we substituted the arrogant undertaking of policing the whole world, for the high task of setting one’s own house in order? All of these questions remind us that there is a need for a radical restructuring of the architecture of American society. For its very survival’s sake, America must re-examine old presuppositions and release itself from many things that for centuries have been held sacred. For the evils of racism, poverty, and militarism to die, a new set of values must be born. Our economy must become more person-centered than profit-and–property-centered. Our government must depend more on its moral power than its military power.

Martin Luther King. The Poor People’s Campaign, 1967.

...I say we have been Post-Literate since September 11^th, 2001. We’d been building up to it for a decade, since the introduction of the word processor and the internet. Since then most people here get their information electronically. It has effected a change of consciousness. We’ve a generation that’s known the internet from first consciousness and, trapped in a the web they’ve wove, can’t tell the real turtle soup from the mock. KT

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summer of 1784

Talcum Dreams

Travel is allot easier when you rely on GPS to find your way around unfamiliar places. Places like Boston where most of the streets have names. Streets that were once paths for cows, now paved, delineate an urban hub for some of the best art schools in the nation. The School Museum of Fine Art SMFA is molding tomorrows artists with a distinct curricula of personal exploration and dream interpretation. To get where you wish to go just follow the highlighted line... and recalculate when veering of the path.



Picnic Treasures

Attending Summer pre-college arts programs is a dream come true for the few fortunate kids with wild dreams and willing parents keen on the value of an arts education that goes way beyond crayons and paper-mache. The seed of self-empowerment is planted there. Like the mighty trees and tender blossoms found in Bostons Arnold Arboretum tomorrows promise and progressives are cultivated with an appreciation for art.



River for a Revolution

The mighty Hudson River cuts wide and clear. It is the principal waterway that defines the American Revolution. It is where George Washington saw the greatness of this land and the promise of tomorrow. It is a place where the swamp meets our history. Like the ebb and flow of tides, it is where our journey begins and ends.




God's House Party

The town of Hudson in upstate New York has a rich history for party and tons of old empty churches. The faithful may be long gone but for a reasonable price a new ministry can be ushered in. This silent and solid old place is now the home of Daniel Arsham's Artists Residency Retreat. It is indicative of the periodic resurgence of rural attractions, of a return to the roots of a revolution for the betterment of artistic expression. Prayerful best to all the dancers, performer, musicians, painter and sculptors that will grace this sacred shelter. Be sure to bring a sleeping bag and bug spray.



Older Than Dirt

Just outside of Hudson is the house that Henry Vanderlyn built in 1784. Constructed on bricks cast on site, it has withstood the 226 years of the development the "soul super-power" in the world. America was a young country when Henry would go to bed promptly at 9 PM with the aid of three glassed of Madeira wine; one for god, one for country and one for George Washington. Lights out. Today you will not find it using GPS as it has managed to remain without an address, thank the Lawd and pass the Madeira.



In Search of Solitude

The Hudson Terrace is home to the Catskill Mountains. Time has carved this magical place into what is affectionately know by many names; the Irish Alps, the Jewish Alps, the Cuban Alps and more. It is home to Rip Van Winkle and West Point. It is also the watershed where countless cottages and near-forgotten towns keep account of our great nation's beginnings. It is where streams and springs swell with the waters of perpetual sustenance and eternal freshness.
A swim in Platte Clove, Blue Hole or other similar waters is the baptismal equivalent of rebooting your hard-drive.






Blue Lips Shrink Swamp's Thing

The magic of the Blue Hole is only outdone by the rigidness of its waters. Mysterious springs feed this aquamarine pool with water so clean, so pure as to warm the spirit to a boil yet zap the tropical family jewels into ice cubes. What matters most is the communion with nature, with summers of solitude and the essence of our make-up. We are after all 95% water. Next stop, Katterskil Falls.



Where the Wild Thing Are

I read in Utne that in the world of wildlife photography there is a disturbing trend. Captive animals are being used as actors to economize and paint a glorified picture of life in the wild. From NatGeo to screen-savers, an image of wild animals in their wild environment is all to often a fake photo. This one of the two young siblings is not, and neither are the deer tick, poison ivy and mosquitoes the size of humming birds. Suit up and enjoy the savagery of summer.




Mothers Milk

Being a third generation ranchero (first with no heard), a date with the local dairy farm was probably the highlight of my vacation. To visit the ladies of Kingston's pastures, to purchase their unprocessed ambrosia and to feed day old calf twins was maternal to the max. The folk that run this loving place are also third generation ranchers who exude the scent of nurture and embrace the gentleness that are happy cows. But they also express a grave concern for the decline of farmings and the perils faced in raising of livestock in the rural region of upstate NY. From Saugerties to Woodstock the viability of community supported agriculture is threatened by corporate food interests. Look, I chow on processed food as much as the next guy but what newfoods offers in price and convenience falls way short of the nutritious and delicious satisfaction of organic homegrown foods, the stuff that our ancestors ate.




George Washington Copulated Here

Next stop on our sentimental summer tour were several points of interest in Harlem USA. If you are a history nut then the oldest house in NY state is no mystery. But for those not familiar with the Morris Jumel Mansion, here are the cliff notes. Morris the loyalist builds a summer house on high ground where the East River meets the Hudson. The place is forfeited to the new government after Georgy Boy clobbers the British. Washington sets up shop in Kingston and the house in New Amsterdam becomes a tavern as the spoils of war belong to the victors. The place is trashed until a French wine merchant Steven Jumel makes it a home for his sexy bride Elisa the temptress. It is possible that our manuar father GW did indeed sleep with Madame Jumel on a sultry mid-summer night. Conjecture is the stuff of campfires.




Jewel of the Hudson

Madame Jumel may have been a temptress. Her Steven shipped wine from Bourdeux and returned with sugar, tobacco and coffee from his spread in Jamaica. They were palsy walsy with diminutive Napoleon. The whole affair was fabulous until Jumel crashed his carriage leaving dear Madame a widow. Eliza returned to Paris only to be accused of being a Harlot and expelled from France, never to return. Whereupon she married, albeit short-lived ex-VP Burr, perhaps the father of the TEA Party for wanting to secede from the USA when the country was just 30 years old. I guess the nations notables were all restless and indiscriminate.




Modified Lady

Our nations first nude was painted by John Vanderlyn. It hangs at the Senate House Museum in Kingston NY. Modified with sheer veils that cover her flesh, she was made respectable in the eyes of the less sophisticated appreciators of fine art in the new world. Vanderlyn was a masterful artist trained in France, he is the creator of several national treasures including a depiction of Columbus arriving in the new world, a portrait of Washington and the fabulous gigantic mural of the gardens of Versailles currently on display at the MET.



Summer of Disconnect

On my visit to the Senate House Museum I sifted through several folders containing letters written by Vanderlyn to officials of the new government. Vanderlyn had a rough time in his effort to get paid for artworks completed. It would appear that back then the USA had about 500 people. Today we are about 50 million strong. Yet with all the radical changes some things never change as 200 years later artists today still have a very hard time collecting money owed for their hard work.




For Sale - This Old House

People are quick to forget that history is with us forever. The Jumel Mansion stands alone; the letters, paintings and relics sit silent in repositories with diminished funding. All passive reminders of our rebellious roots and our uncanny ability to create newish identities, to reinvent ourselves in the likeness of no other. But for millions of Americans the history of their Nation, of our founders is of seeming irrelevance. This old house is really not so old yet it is crumbling from its own weight and the embrace of a weird Darwinian shortsightedness that is counter to our collective wellbeing. The swim holes of the Catskills are still there though, crisp clear and icy blue as the watershed of a great nation now in the winter of its discontent.

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Black Friday

Can you put a price-tag on consumerism? What do you really need now?

What's up with this "black friday" thing?

Is it some "establishment' thing that gets people to the mall?

Is it something Madison Avenue concocted to get people to the Mall?

has it got something to do with things "black" in America?
If so, then visit Jumel Terrace Books in Harlem for a healthy dose of Africana.

Otherwise, enjoy the shopping season that is upon us.

BTW I need new slippers a new electronic gadget and maybe a tatoo.

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Surfside Library Closed

Dried up in the Swamp

The Surfside Community Center was just that, the center of the community. It was mistakenly demolished several years ago and so all we got is a barren lot with an ocean view that is closed to the public as if some old indian bones were found during the dig.

Closed Encounters of the Literary Kind

The old community center provided the residents of Surfside with a great big swimming pool, a nice little cafe, a comfortable assembly hall, a game-room and, no less valuable, our very own little library. The staff was courteous, dedicated and perfectly bookish. There were always people there. After the demolition, all the books and other resources were crammed into a miscerable windowless trailer in a parking lot behind town hall.

Reading Between the Lines.

A long time ago our founding fathers, after incorporating, decided to opt out of Dade County Library Tax and opened their own library with town tax revenues. It was not the library of congress but it was good enough for the times, a time before the internet. I remember growing up in Miami starving for information, spending hours downtown, always wanting more books, mags, papers. Availability was the issue, today it's the opposite, info-overload.




Quiet Please - Children Thinking

Some of my fondest memories of living in this quit seaside town was taking kids to the community center and library. My daughter and I would spend hours in the children's book section rummaging through old books. Those were valuable quality of life experiences no longer available to new families in town. Maybe the demand for such resources has changed but the human experience remains.






I Read a Book Once

A world without books is like a house with no kitchen.

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Inestimable Salaams from Kenya

The Tourist Bureau of the little nation of Kenya on the great African continent
it scrambling to prepare for the anticipated surge of travelers curious to see, hear, smell, taste and photograph the land and people of US president elect Mr. Barak Obama's half-heritage.

In expectation of a surge of travelers — perhaps including some of the thousands who read “Dreams From My Father,” Mr. Obama’s 1995 memoir, in which Kogelo plays an important role — several outfitters are devising itineraries around the village.



In preparation for your travels do read Obama's "dreams of my father". and while you're at it read all his books to understand the mind of another great american poised to put humpty-dumpty back together again.



Obama Sr. certainly knew of Baroness Karen Blixen and her passion for the dark continent.



Merrill Streep as Karen Blixen in Robert Redford's Out of Africa.


Peter could (probably did) charm the panties off Lady Di.


Here is where it all gets wild. To get the full flavor of Kenya look no further than the life and work of Peter Beard. My dear pal is the inimitable, a true originator of raw passion with talent to spare. His life reads like no other, see for yourself.

Obama's heritage will go a long way to lure tourist to Kenya....
But if you still need some persuading, Peter's posters may be the hook.



Also visit Jumel Terrace Books for one-stop references.

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