Wage Slaves

Pre-Civil war plantation owners often claimed that their slaves were better off than the “wage slaves” toiling in northern factories. Of course the main difference was that Southern slaves were permanently slaves, unto the last generation, and had no rights at all outside of being a valuable piece of property .

But I wonder if those gentlemen have a point in the modern world. Not long ago we would laugh at the notion of wage slaves. The world was fat in America, companies took care of employees even providing good health care, and there were always alternate possibilities to escape to .

Now? Not so much .

Medical coverage is frightful. Unions are weak and often destroyed by corporate power. Non-compete clauses are enforced. Entrance certifications are insane. More hours are demanded, more severe effort is demanded, each minute is monitored like in an old Charlie Chaplin film. There is no stability, loyalty, pride, or hope. Any worker can be “sold down the river” by email, gone with no trace at the end of the day . And forbidden to work at the same type of job for years.

There is still a mythology of work in the United States, but it is fraying rapidly. Successful entrepreneurs and the billionaire inheritors are the new plantation owners. It’s a very mean world.

I wonder how long the center holds .

Taxes

The Roman Empire ran government of the rich, by the rich, and for the rich. Wealthy individuals were required to pay a lot for government positions, in the expectation that they would be more than reimbursed (by bribes, extortion, etc, within reason). It worked remarkably well .

The Roman Empire mostly ignored individual taxes. Entities like cities and provinces were expected to pay decreed amounts, and were free to raise money any way they wanted. If they failed to do so, the legions went in and looted it. That also worked well for hundreds of years .

Modern government is more “enlightened”. It is run “for the people” meaning, by definition, the poor. It is paid for by multiple … well, the problem is that it really is not paid for. The wealthy, as always, have ways to protect their wealth. Their bribes go to preventing taxation, sometimes by illegal evasion, more often by legal maneuvers like “exemptions” or “investment”. The result is increasingly government by debt

In an age when everything will be made by machine and billions of humans helplessly consume, all bets are off. The very idea of paying for scarce items may be obsolete.

But, of course, that land of cockaigne remains ever over the hill, far away, and in the future .

Hot Shower

This morning I pulled myself from my comfortable clean insect-free bed. Heated instant coffee in a microwave, drank it gratefully in a soft chair as I watched birds fly against a blue sky behind budding maple branches. Wrote in a journal with a ball-point pen, checked news on the internet. Woke up with a hot shower, shave, brushing teeth. Put on warm clothes, brought in the emptied trash cans and newspaper … and on and on .

Every one of these things would seem miraculous to most humans living over a hundred years ago. Many are still unavailable to many people today. All taken for granted by me .

Electricity! Water! Safety! But you can complete the endless list without help.

A sad note is that we rarely notice how wonderful all this is. From the top down, everyone loves to complain. Our leaders scream that we live in a hell hole surrounded by horrible aliens. Neighbors worry that their house is too old and small, their yards too filled with dust, perhaps their children less than perfect. Ignore the wonderful, concentrate on whatever bothers us (this moment).

I’ve always been a little too complacent and content, more so now that I am elder and retired. I’m amazed that the sun rises, electricity works, and that I am so much alive. And that hot morning shower remains a treat worthy of gods – which in some ways we are .

Ghosts

As I stroll through this cold, wet spring, I notice wild garlic sprouting, roadside daffodils in bloom, lawns greening, and trees laden with buds. But amidst all this rebirth, I am surrounded by ghosts .

Oh, not so much people, although there are a few of those, some dead, some merely gone away, others changed. I here speak of the ghosts of things and situations passed – dead trees removed, houses decayed or rebuilt, shorelines mutated, and on and on. I remember also who I was those other times, a person with sharper attributes and stronger drives, inhabiting a truly different world. Those ancient images overlay all that I actually experience now, and they sometimes haunt me .

Enchantment remains, the moments are wonderful. The memories are simply depth. This spring is a lovely time, the universe is infinitely, fractally magnificent. And yet …

The actual recollections are quite vivid, and on occasion it feels like that world was better, once upon a time, not so long ago. It even occasionally feels wrong to replace the old visions with fresh overlays .

Then I snap out of it, enjoy the sunshine breeze, and glory in simply and happily existing well. Ghosts and all .

Dirt of Ages

After a great tragedy, Notre-Dame cathedral has been restored. Cleaned, polished, “better than ever”. Yet, somehow, the shiny new stones and woodwork have lost their aura of magic. The “dirt of ages” is missing, and more than mere grime has vanished .

There was a feeling – as there often is in older places – of the weight of time. The countless years of visitors and worshipers weighed on the soul. True, most tourists neglected to know that the place had been vandalized during the revolution and reimagined by Violet Le Duc. But it was dignified, solemn, and quite different from a magnificent modern edifice.

This is an era that prizes only the new, even as it restlessly searches for meaning and roots – which it destroys every day in the name of progress. Sometimes with reason. A new church is far more comfortable than the chilly, dark, rigid old structures .

Mostly, I’m just as caught up in shiny new as anyone else. More than many, however, I try to take time to venerate the old, respect the past, be awed by the ancient. Like many experiences, that mood is enhanced by odd details, including wear, nicks, and dirt. It seems more real, truly authentic .

Glad I got to visit Notre Dame before Mr Clean arrived .

Bavarian Daffodils

Once again daffodils are blooming in Huntington. As I am sure they did in the spring of 1938 in England and Bavaria. No doubt folks as old as I am tottered out of their cabins and admired the sight, dreaming of warmth and summer gardens .

There is, of course, always trouble in an unknown future. People mostly stay sane by ignoring the possibilities and concentrating on the exact day in the immediate neighborhood. Events just move along and we deal with them as best we can when and if they impact us .

I imagine that like today some people had strong resentments based on old horrors and current difficulties. Some yelled loudly. Some hoped things would work out. Few 78-year-olds thought they had much say in how the world was run .

The daffodils bloomed again a few years later, in spite of bombs and tanks. But life had changed drastically for most of the old folks who gazed at them fondly in that final spring of relative calm .

Well, I also go out and admire the daffodils. I touch the internet gingerly. I’m afraid I strenuously avoid thinking about possible futures .

It is not a good time to dream of what may come. Anyway for now, after the daffodils, surely the roses .

Old Mr. Gibbon

I’ve just finished volume three of Gibbon’s Decline and fall of the Roman empire. I know I probably skimmed through it many years ago, when I purchased the full modern library edition. But his story is far from the “gladiator” cliches .

Consider the examination of human nature. Gibbon considered the Roman empire to have functioned continuously until the final fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453. He reviewed extensive documentation regarding the follies of ruler and ruled, wise men and fools, passions of the day, and the odd beliefs that motivate people to good, evil, or simple daily life .

Lately, I’ve become enamored with historians like Gibbon. They were not so focused on comparisons to today as our current writers. They could be very intellectual, assuming a certain degree of decent education for their readers (which, alas, current writers cannot.) And they were unafraid in calling things as they saw them (although Gibbon did have to be obscure about sex and coy about Christianity) .

All that makes for a deep, provocative, powerful read. I took my time this time through. Much more engrossing than modern digital melodramas. Made me appreciate my own life and times all the more .

A grand subject, to be sure. An obsessive historian, sometimes tedious and confusing (all those names! Dates! Events!) But now, what a fine thing to rediscover .

Fire, Flood, Drought

“Everyone complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.” In this era of massive technology, scientific hubris claims we can . Geo engineering concepts abound, from seeding the oceans, to sulfuric acid clouds and/or reducing certain gas emissions .

So far, it does seem the climate is more extreme. Bigger storms, major variations in “normal patterns.” Pretty clearly this is not simply “better weather reporting”. But equally, it is not immediately disastrous to everyone, nor an existential survival threat .

It may be humanity can change things. If not, some small fragment of our bloated numbers could probably survive anything. Famine and catastrophe first, of course .

But what does it mean to me and you? Obviously most of us should avoid building or living in river valleys or on sandy barrier Islands, among other adjustments. But personal changes are largely symbolic, especially if they are not normalized for everyone.

Brushing my teeth more quickly or dashing in the shower do nothing unless everyone is forced to do so. Also what kind of car I drive or what I eat. Giant problems, unfortunately, require giant solutions. Feeling virtuous about my CO2 footprint is like feeling lucky when I throw a coin down a wishing well .

In the meantime, I better fix my leaky roof.

Mercenary “Warriors”

It’s a truism that the military always prepares for the last war. A new element is that our current leaders want to prepare for war as depicted in movies and video games. Manly men who can savagely destroy all opposition with increasingly massive personal weaponry .

Of course we’re not quite sure what the “last war” was for the US, but we didn’t seem to win it. On the other hand, the Ukraine conflict seems to prove that any tween in her city bedroom can wipe out a squad of bazooka toting cowboys with a remote drone strike .

And if a “real war” starts, both the cowboys and tween are one nuclear blast – delivered hypersonically – away from oblivion .

But manly men want jobs and the military life seems to fit a certain psychology. The problem is that building an elite group of well-paid volunteers (aka mercenaries) who follow politics – which seems to be the current goal of the administration – will surely lead _ as it always does (witness the Praetorians, Mamalukes, Janissaries) _ to that cadre getting rid of leaders they don’t like (i.e who don’t pay them enough .)

Obviously, I am hardly a fan of manly men syndrome. But personal squeamishness aside, I just think the idea is ineffective, historically inaccurate, stupid, and based on adolescent male fantasies .

Legacy

Before writing, humans seem to have existed in almost perpetual ” dreamtime”. There was today, tomorrow, yesterday – and awareness of seasons. But the idea of long time was irrelevant. The world was and is as it always is and was .

Writing gradually evoked a sense of time, a knowledge of change. Rulers followed known rulers. Cities waxed and waned. Heroes might be remembered for a while.

Eventually civilizations got used to the idea that all would be judged somehow in and by eternity. It might be gods, or universal spirits, or culture or history, or simply some limited posterity. That would be preserved forever as a slice of eternity. Such gave meaning to life.

The subsequent loss of really long time perspective created one of the profoundly deep and usually submerged sicknesses of our culture. An engulfing pessimistic nihilism overlays our actions. The gods have dissipated into geologic eons. Nothing – not even the sun – remains forever. No judges, no long-term legacy. Only the insane believe that what they do or do not do matters at all in the long run .

In fact, we need to adjust to this new mental reality of inhabiting dreamtime once more. What we do is what we do now. We can remember our past, in the future we can remain proud of those recent achievements, we can strive so we have happier future memories.

“Legacy” is currently reserved for use by charlatans and others seeking any way to gain or maintain immediate power .