Moon of Alabama Brecht quote
January 28, 2007

We are all Oskar now

by Uncle $cam
lifted from a comment

Where a community has embarked upon organized lying on principle, and not only with respect to particulars, can truthfulness as such, unsupported by the distorting forces of power and opinion, become a political factor of the first order. Where everybody lies about everything of importance the truthteller, whether he knows it or not, has begun to act.

~Hannah Arendt, ‘Truth and Politics’

A Question of Two Truths?* (pdf)

Michel Foucault’s last works tell us that parrhesia is the act of fearlessly speaking the truth. To engage in parrhesia is never, however, a ‘neutral’ act. Parrhesia simultaneously incorporates aesthetic and ethical dimensions. The parrhesiast is someone whose fidelity to the truth becomes the pivot of a process of self-transformation. [For themselves and others, I might add].

Looking for God’s eye I found only a socket—
Huge, pitch dark, and bottomless. Such night
Seethes there it seeps into this world, deepening always;

And around this pit arches a strange rainbow,
The sill of Old Chaos. The void is a mere shadow
Of that vortex devouring our worlds and days!

Best we submit, give up our will, make ourselves tasty, salt ourselves for fates ravenousness hunger. The Eye of Brahma grooms us with appetition.

rgiap's abyss speaks of looking back, but what does a rabbit see while being devoured by the white wolf ...

Does a mango feel pride at the lips of insatiable greed?

I remember the night one of my fathers died, more vividly than kissing my mothers corpse. And to this day still feel a twinge of guilt, because I didn't feel anything the night I pressed my lips to her cold lifeless cheek. I was not there when my mother died but arrived soon after. Rationally, I know looking back, it was because I was in shock.

He died of brain cancer in a make of weeks. One sky blue day at the doctor, gone two weeks later. Surprising how fast we submit. But etched in my soul is the night he died. So drugged on morphine he was catatonic. His body functions were slowly shutting down, I massaged his feet. He was a good man, a hard working man. He was an ink setter for a printing company who worked 70/80 hours a week just to make ends meet. I suspect his company killed him. Poisoned him, as they had others, but alas, that is a different story.

All he could manage to do on his off hours --which were few-- was sit in front of the box, the tit. That became his world, his world view, all he could manage tired and torn down as his was, from working so much for shit pay; his world became small. Sad, but hardly unexpected, in todays times. But I digress, the night before he died I had had a heated scene, an exchange with his pretentious doctor. I had not known that the man was terminal. Doctor X had stopped feeding him two or three days before I got into town, however, Doctor X didn't bother to tell the family that pop was a gonner and didn't have the need?

When I found out he had not been fed, even intravenously, I went into a rage! Not knowing AMA protocol for a terminal human. Within what seemed like hours afterwards, but was only minutes, they fed him at my request, more like demand. I didn't have the wherewithal at the time to understand that the tube in his arm wasn't food, but high doses of drip morphine. I was completely aghast, in my stupor all I could think was that this man was dying and they were denying him at least the precious gift of food, life affirming water; in my mind not only was he doped beyond the pail, I kept thinking, what if underneath, somewhere that we don't know about yet, or talk about, what if he knew he was dying and more, if he would rather not be drugged.

Anyone who has gone through these kinds of life/death ordeals knows of the crazy thoughts that goes through ones mind. I kept thinking, he can't talk, he is to drugged to talk, what if he wants to talk, to communicate in some way, one last time. Visions of what it must be like being trapped or buried alive ran through my head. Does he feel like that? Would he rather go not in a drugged induced state? As I said above, I massaged his feet, I didn't know what else to do.

At some point, as time seamed to sit still, though I continued to rub his feet, it occurred to me to pinch the inner arch of his right foot, there was a reaction, he could feel it! I gripped it harder, not out of meanness, or cruelty, but, well, I don't really know why, it was like the proverbial pinching oneself to see if your real .. to see if your dreaming this ... why was I PINCHING HIM AND NOT MYSELF? What if he wants to talk, but can't, trapped under man's opium. The other synthetic God. I remembered writing a paper in school about the opium wars, the trade wars, the building and financing of Princeton, the West tends to forget the atrocities and pain of death it has done to other countries, the East never does ...

"quinine for malaria, hartshorn for snakebites ... and opium and whiskey for everything else." (Haun 1996)

Is this all we can do, bake (Chemo-thearpy) and dope them? Is this our medical practice? Is this how far humanity has advanced?

Can he recognize me? Does he know where he is at? Does he know he's dying? what if, what if ... it was maddening. But the thing, that got me, the thing that will forever be imprinted on my soul, was looking up and realizing that his lips were dry, it dawned on me in that way that snaps you out of one trance and into the liminal state before another, he can't even drink. O' what cruelty of death, and of life, I thought. I moved to his side, thinking, how many days, hours, minutes has he lain here without water. His parched lips, were magnified in my reeling mind. My mother, walked in about that time, turning, I asked, "mother, how how has it been since he's had a drink"? She replied, 'son he can't drink'. I burst into tears.

It was like being hit with a hammer in the face. Goddamn, Goddamn you God! I moved to his side table there was water there, it was within reach, what if he wanted water but couldn't reach it. My mind was on fire, I was screaming inside my head, what if he's thirsty? What if he's thirsty, what if he's ... and can't even reach for water, thoughts tumbling upon other unfinished thoughts, to be that close to water and not be able to even drink! It was beside his head! On the table beside his head. Imagine not even being able to ... the things we take for granted.

I looked back at his dry cracked and parched lips, there was spittle in the corners of his mouth, but the rest of his lips were white and chalky. I picked up his water cup, there was a dabber sponge on a stick in it, I slowly and gently put it to his lips, tears flowing from my eyes, this man, this man was 6'6, a huge bear of a man, he moaned a sound like a coo of a baby, an infant, an silent organism and then a sigh. He suckled on the dabber stick sponge like it was the last thing he would ever do. It was. I cried for hours and days, the waves of that night washed over me again and again, deeper it went each time, in the days afterward and even as I write this, it comes, it envelops me like the air I still breath.  It is painful, yet I am grateful for it.

And if the great agora (αγορά) does fall another will take his place and another ... such is the world.

I have said before, "AMERICA FEELS LIKE IT'S UNRAVELING..." Because it is. To see it, --It seems-- one must look back at it. It seems one must look (read: see) with the eyes of an MC Escher; this impossible chessboard. It is being unraveled. A POLARIZATION method of the grand shellgame. "Suicidally beautiful."

Many can't see, most will not even look, And here we are, with one and a half political parties dividing up the spoils, pushing the empire ever outwards, apologizing for constant collateral damage, justifying jail and worse for dissenters, claiming citizenship itself is a revocable privilege of good behavior. We are watching the American sun come up on Oskar's view.

Through Oskar's eyes, there could be no illusion of salvaging or steering the situation in certain directions. Just the certainty of waiting it out, getting through the day, week and month. Acting no longer as a participating citizen of a state or society but as a roving soul seeking only to stay on its feet until the storm passed, until the madness burned
out.

A view he did not choose, or think up, or convince himself to hold. It came to him when he opened his eyes. It was there one morning.

America can no more back down from conquering the Middle East than give up the American way of life, the American seat atop the human pile. This madness of our nation will continue to burn until it burns out. No amount of discussion will derail it. The world is being taken step by step into total war, by America.

We are all Oskar now.

*Us or them. Our house made of dawn.

Posted by b on January 28, 2007 at 9:47 UTC | Permalink

Comments

Thank you Uncle.
I have no other words right now. Maybe later.

Posted by: Juannie | Jan 28 2007 13:45 utc | 1

It is hard to comment on this. perhaps there is no need. what can anyone add?

well done.

Posted by: dan of steele | Jan 28 2007 13:59 utc | 2

I am reminded of yet another Oskar.

The success point of the Bush-Cheney Administration is when America arrives at a dire and urgent struggle for safety and stability. Permanent war. An existential struggle for survival.

The PNAC master plan described this goal in 1998, and now requires it.

Within that milieu of total war, the neocon license will be unrestricted, and the citizen's license will be revoked. You will belong to the State, and not the other way around.

And we shall all be Oskar Schindler, no longer trying to stop a war that never ends, but simply putting together a list every morning, a list of who we may salvage.

If Cheney and Bush can just manage to launch America upon Iran, they will have their total war. They will know on that morning that they have escaped from justice, retribution or control. They will never again fear the nation they rule, for the nation will burn to the ground before the fire ever approaches their bunker.

They must be stopped short of their goal. They won't be dissuaded. They must be stopped short of their goal.

Posted by: Antifa | Jan 28 2007 15:27 utc | 3

I think the image you have painted will stay seared on my mind for a very long time. And you have expressed the sense of utter helplessness many of us are feeling as we watch our country decompose, literally, before our very eyes. Each day brings some new evidence of its erosion. Is there anything that can be done to bring it back?

I too saw the movie Pan's Labyrinth yesterday and found myself thinking about how societies can go very far down the path of militaristic, fascistic oppression and yet still, in the end, be brought back. I have not yet lost hope. But after reading this post, I am redoubling my determination to speak out and express to anyone I can the truth of the state of my country, as I see it. The truth is the only weapon we have.

Thank you for sharing this post.

Posted by: Bea | Jan 28 2007 15:40 utc | 4

very brave of you to share your experiences surround the deaths of your parents.

interestingly last night i found out one of friends and neighbors(who by profession is a pain management specialist) was back east as her mother has recently died. this neighbor is the person i called when i was in my home state attending the last few days of my fathers life under similar circumstances you have shared w/us. i had distrust of the local hospice instruction and the confusion and coupled w/emotional unpreparedness (who is ever ready for death) welled up in me. anyway, mary was who i called when i thought my father was being slowly starved to death.. last night over a glass of wine i shared my experiences about my fathers death w/the messenger of mary's news reliving my memory/experience of the last fews days of his life, wondering about mary, if uncertainty crept up in her also regardless of being an MD. this morning i found a card for her but have yet to write anything, what words can one say.

very odd to come here and read this still fresh from reflection of my own fathers death.

i am not sure that i can process the experience along w/the idea of america dying, not now, not this morning.

there's too much confusion, i can't get no relief.

Posted by: annie | Jan 28 2007 17:11 utc | 5

as always, thanks uncle

Posted by: r'giap | Jan 28 2007 17:45 utc | 6

An uncle of mine died, but before the event insisted to the doctors that he must stay alive to finish the tale of Oskar Matzerath (The Tin Drum.) And so it came to pass.

Death (I was maybe 15) and Oskar are intertwined, and for that reason I have not so far been able to re-read the Tin Drum.

So sympathy and a incredibly weird meeting of the fork lines, Uncle Scam, what can be said? grief, sadness and outrage. Tears.

What a crock of shit, it really is. I’ll stop.

Posted by: Noirette | Jan 28 2007 18:12 utc | 7

I also say thanks Uncle for saying these lucid words and sharing your experience. Societies can decay, they can come unraveled even, sometimes the linchpin that holds civilization intact can be removed and a whole people is plunged into abyss. But salvage that Antifa describes in Schindler's List restores our most crucial connection to others. "The list is an absolute good." The revolt that takes place in the heart, as Camus spoke of it, causes a spontaneous movement to justice; people are capable of great kindness and solidarity in the face of oppression.

Sure, the madness that must burn itself out of "The American Century" must come and can't be avoided. Orwell said that telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act; and I know we must live up to that responsibility.

Posted by: Copeland | Jan 28 2007 18:12 utc | 8

I vacillated about writing anything following the article quoted by Uncle$cam but I found the Foucault thought false. Parrhasia means simply frankness or freedom of speech and has no relation to truth. Then in the quoted article Hannah Arendt is quoted as saying that except for Zoroastrianism the major religions did not have any specific injunction against lying except where the matter of false testimony entered. I was astonished so I looked among my books and found that Augustine of Hippo has a whole work on lying entitled appropriately "De Mendacio" where the classical definition of lying is found : a lie is the speaking of a falsehood with the intention of deceiving. On the other hand the speaking of the truth is called witness or testimony and when it is carried as far as giving up one's life then is called martyrdom and there are religions that put a lot of weight on martyrdom. The point of all this is that many many things that are written are gobbledigook, rantings filled with half truths and edited with the hope that nobody with any firm knowledge will catch them. Very tiresome all this business of quotations and "scholarly" elucubrations.

Posted by: jlcg | Jan 28 2007 20:00 utc | 9

@jlcg - well - not everybody has every book available and we all have fields of knowledge were we have to rely on secondary sources and thoughts. Thanks for sharing your knowledge.

The point of all this is that many many things that are written are gobbledigook, rantings filled with half truths and edited with the hope that nobody with any firm knowledge will catch them.

I agree with you here and state that I do not think that is an attack on Uncle's writing above.

I am myself guilty of writing lots of half truths and of editing. But it gives me a chance to be critizised and to learn from it.

@Uncle - thanks for sharing - I accountered as much with my dad and my mother too - both times fighting the doctors and feeling helpless in what occured. It later helped me to develop a buddhist attitude to personal death.

And yes, the feeling for once country slipping away - it is similar - but out of the buddhist realm - so it hurts more - it's happening here too - slower, less pronounced, but still happening.

Posted by: b | Jan 28 2007 20:17 utc | 10

& of course there is the good ss soldier oskar gröning who without incident participated in everything at auschwitz (from which he like many benefited through corruption) & who participated in all actions without as much as a second thought - who was also a beneficiary of the 'german miracle' & who no doubt never had any trouble sleeping at night

Posted by: remembereringgiap | Jan 28 2007 21:18 utc | 11

Oskar’s view leaves open the possibility that ‘...the storm may pass, the madness burn out...’

I enter this bar daily for a rare hit of sanity. A drop diffusing into the ocean of madness? And I sigh and retreat back into Oskar’s view.

But the possibilities left open by Oskar and Uncle drive my soul to keep believing that all this too may pass, and I continue with the daily struggle hoping to somehow make a difference.

Parrhesia: (Another new word. Thanks. jlcg, the definition I use comes from wikipedia. )

..."More precisely, parrhesia is a verbal activity in which a speaker expresses his personal relationship to truth, and risks his life because he recognizes truth-telling as a duty to improve or help other people (as well as himself). In parrhesia, the speaker uses his freedom and chooses frankness instead of persuasion, truth instead of falsehood or silence, the risk of death instead of life and security, criticism instead of flattery, and moral duty instead of self-interest and moral apathy."

and:

Where everybody lies about everything of importance the truthteller, whether he knows it or not, has begun to act.
~Hannah Arendt, ‘‘Truth and Politics’’

Now I know why I visit this place so regularly. As I lurk in the dark corner here, the parrhesia infuses my mind and soul and I carry that during my daily struggle to make a difference. It makes a difference for me.

I guess this is just my way of trying to express my appreciation to y’all. You make a difference in my life. I only hope I can extend that to others along my way.

Posted by: Juannie | Jan 28 2007 21:29 utc | 12

I apologise if I have given impression of arrogance or vanity but the fact is that I do not believe anything anymore and particularly I don't give credit to whatever is written. I deny to the written word any dignity that is not found in the spoken word. In short I am upset worried and don't trust anything.

Posted by: jlcg | Jan 28 2007 21:54 utc | 13

there was a similar death watch on my grandfather, he was unable to speak. Family came from decent distances. When my dad got there, he stood at the foot of the bed with his dying dad, and the first thing he said after hellos was to start ranting about antiwar people who were "going to" throw urine balloons at the Dem convention in Boston. this was chewed over for a while, before he even started talking to his father. I don't know what he ultimately said and I can only assume that at some point they were able to interact in some sort of decent way. Anyway he didn't die right away. Basically as long as they could keep pumping the fluid out of his lungs he wouldn't die. After a few days the doctors were clear that this was not going to end well and people were called down again. I don't know what people were telling him but I got to be alone with him and told him point blank he was in rough shape, he kind of smiled at that, I how much we loved him and how my grandmother always said how lucky she was to have him, he was full of morphine like you say but cried anyway and tried to say something. I really really hope I wasn't the only one who had a chance to or got around to saying things like this. It was a military funeral on a day with a perfect blue sky and I remember picturing the bomber he was on in ww2, going down in flames with everybody except him on board, glinting here and there in the sun under an even bluer sky in the stratosphere because it wasn't worth painting them when they got shot down so fast. So I figure there were nine funerals and deathbeds with wives and grandchildren more or like what I saw that never happened at all like what I saw. war sucks. The kicker is, I remember grandpa advocating 'frag-bombing' Baghdad, I think in the first gulf war. I wouldn't speak like this if it were not anonymous. and so war sucks doubly. but my grandma understood, and didn't like hearing him say that. She asks me what happened to my Dad with being such a wingnut and I can't say.

so I think that being full of morphine doesn't make them unable to make connections, and maybe you need not be afraid that you didn't make yourself clear to him.

and these damn radio shitheads really chafe me

Posted by: boxcar mike | Jan 28 2007 22:11 utc | 14

I know the feeling jlcg but I found your post neither arrogant nor vain. I found it another informative datum and appreciated it. I had read your post just as I was about to post and added the acknowledgment.

Uncle mentioned the other day that he was more a thinker than a good writer. I disagree with his later referent but I know the feeling. I only I wish we all could have this conversation face to face over a non-virtual bar serving. It has started to happen as evidenced by the early January postings here that fully warmed my heart from across the Atlantic. I imagine that I could far more than lurk in that setting were my privy. But then again it might just be another lesson for my ego.

Enough. :-\

Posted by: Juannie | Jan 28 2007 22:24 utc | 15

Thanks Uncle. For this and everything.

Posted by: beq | Jan 28 2007 22:26 utc | 16

uncle

ditto

Posted by: slothrop | Jan 28 2007 22:48 utc | 17

like others i have debated with myself about whether i was able/willing to post a comment in this thread. but here i am. i have recently lost someone very important to me and can fully identify with the parallels uncle draws. it was in part behind my comment yesterday about how important it is to take that step, in whatever form it occurs.

for the last month or so i have been surfing waves of grief. deciding earlier this week to either attend the march or join the lobbying effort tomorrow did not come easily: new york is 4-5 hours from dc, there are dog care issues, etc. it is still not certain that i will head south - tonight i am waiting to hear back from the new york lobbying coordinator about the meetings tomorrow and whether they will need or even be able to accomodate my assistance. the meeting i am most likely to attend is at the end of the day with schumer's and clinton's iraq/iran teams together. they have limited the number of people who they will allow to attend to 30. i will only go to dc if they do not have 30 people who will still be in dc at the end of the day.

however, i wrote what i wrote yesterday because even if i don't go, i made a small contribution and it helped the effort and it helped me as a human being. to explain, when i spoke with the new york coordinator on friday morning she expressed frustration that they had managed to set up meetings with nearly all the ny reps and clinton's office, but had not been able to get a return phone call from schumer's people. i remembered that during the alito and robert's confirmation hearings, when i was reading and commenting on threads with people who like me were following the hearing and ssending faxes and emails and calling senators throughout the country, some commentators mentioned how schumer's office paid attention to dkos. it seemed as if someone reading there possibly had inside access to the senator's office. on friday i posted a comment on an open thread and then wrote a diary asking for help getting access to schumer's office. the four comments to the diary were all snark denigrating schumer, and i thought oh well, it had been worth a try. surprisingly, that night when talking with coordinator i learned that the diary had been noticed and schumer's office did reach out to the coordinator and a meeting was scheduled for tomorrow.

my point in telling this is to say how important it is that each of us do whatever it is that we can to make a difference. doing this little thing illustrated for me that the reading and writing we do online is meaningful and that we are the agents of change. i don't know that the meetings tomorrow will change clinton's or schumer's mindsets about iraq and iran, but if i attend i will go armed with the links bernhard and bea and others have posted today and during the last weeks here. and i think it is critically important that each one of us, either singly or in a group, speaks up - parrhesia if you will (thank you for a new term, uncle) - and makes that moment of truth. chances are it will set off a chain of moments and chances are we can effect our destiny.

on a personal level, engaging in this effort even in this small way has made me feel that much more whole, and yesterday was one of the first days in a while that i did not feel like i was swimming in pain.

Posted by: conchita | Jan 29 2007 0:27 utc | 18

uncle, very powerfully written

Posted by: annie | Jan 29 2007 2:34 utc | 19

Uncle,

I just want to say how much I appreciate your gifts to us - the many resources, your insightful perspectives, your empathy for others, and your passion for truth. Please don't quit posting ever, Moon would never be the same. As Juannie related, an even more human experience (ie. another moon meeting) would be an even greater experience and gift. Let's hope a face-to-face meeting in Venice (or anywhere) is in the future for all here who share your compassion.

Posted by: Rick | Jan 29 2007 2:38 utc | 20

Read the post last night on the other thread, and was moved by it. But I could'nt reconcile the connection between your fathers plight with that of the country, and it took a while recognize that beyond the obvious emotional connectivity in the sense of loss there is perhaps also this more gut wrenching dread in the metaphore that is this sense of inevitability -- that like our lack of power to prevent natural human death, also pre-destines us to accept (no matter how hard we try) a pervasive and creeping darkness in our living life. To which I object. Because, resistance, in all its manifestations is at its root an expression of the will to live, a light that CAN AND DOES transcend both the individual and his/her individual death. If it were not so, we would have already devolved into a permanent master-slave state of affairs thousands of years ago. So we rise up, as we must.

Posted by: | Jan 29 2007 5:02 utc | 21

Or as Sonny Boy Williamson sang "I aint fattening no more frogs for snakes".

Posted by: anna missed | Jan 29 2007 5:19 utc | 22

Thanks all, what an odd feeling, to come and see b, has lifted your half drunken comments to it's own thread. Thanks b, I think...lol

However, antifa's post here, was much more worthy imo. Had I thought b were to lift this to it's own thread I would have editied the spelling, grammar, etc... a bit better.

And I was not at all upset with jlcg's comments, if anything I did learn from them. I hope hir will share more.


Confession, though the experience was mine, that last three or four pargraphs part was a cut and paste from somewhere, here maybe? But said what I felt fit. Having said that, writing the other was cathartic, I slept well afterwards, prolly, for the first time in months.

*For those whom frown on my cut and paste, of the ending well, truth is I am ambivalent with it. This is not an accredited forum, nor was I getting a grade...lol I have sd, before, I enjoy the art">http://www.english.vt.edu/~siegle/Comp/Cut-Ups/cut-ups.html">art form of the Bob Burroughs school. For those whom are really concerned with Implications on plagiarism, well reread the above* I no more have respect for our education system and it's mechanics than I do our government and theirs. Prolly less so. Because those in the Ivory towers, at least as far as I can tell, since the 70's haven't done anything to expose or speak out to any degree, much like the whore journalist, of the day, to expose the co-orruption of the system, because they are the system, and they fear losing there jobs, or getting promoted. Fuck that.

Posted by: Uncle $cam | Jan 29 2007 5:31 utc | 23

jlcg- I'm curious to know what you think about the following view of the transfiguration of the word "truth" -

One of Heidegger's most insistent assertions about the identity of modern Europe is that its origins are not Greek, as has been assumed in discourses of Western modernity since the Englightenment, but Roman, the epochal consequence of the Roman reduction of the classical Greek understanding of truth, as a-letheia (un-concealment), to veritas (the correspondence of mind and thing). In the Parmenides lectures of 1942-43, Heidegger amplifies this genealogy of European identity by showing that this Roman concept of truth--and thus the very idea of Europe--is also indissolubly imperial.

(From Spanos, William V. "Heidegger's Parmenides: Greek Modernity and the Classical Legacy" Journal of Modern Greek Studies - Volume 19, Number 1, May 2001, pp. 89-115 The Johns Hopkins University Press -- and available via Project Muse for those who have access via an institutional or other subscription.)

-- or from this look at alétheia in regard to Heidegger's mentions of the same. I would appreciate your view of this issue of "unconcealment" vs. a correspondence of that "which is stated as is" with that which is "represented." (which is my limited understanding of this idea.)

Truth as unconcealment seems to be what Uncle's post is about...about the pains and sorrows we carry within that are the other side of love. at least that's how I understand his words. Unconcealment seems to be what "of, for and by the people" is about, too, as well as the difference between Greek city-state and Roman empire, as noted above.

my mother died when I was 12 years old. she was run over by the car she was in, along with her sister. when my mother died I could not accept that "veritas" -- the sight of her dead, of her mouth gaping at the sight of death, it seemed, though it was most likely an expression created by something as meaningless in the context as a plastic tube. But the plastic tube wasn't "veritas" --the horror of death was my truth at that time, and so my mind choose to conceal that moment from itself -- no, that's not the truth...it was not the moment that was concealed, but my unaccepting and angry response to the moment -- months beyond the moment. (this is, of course, now recognized as post-traumatic stress and is also most often recognized in those who have served in combat and seen death in ways far worse.)

I didn't know I had hidden that time (or rather, myself) from myself until more than a decade later, and even then the veritas of the events of the time were first others' "unconcealment," not my own. And sometimes I wonder whose memories belong to whom. The question, to me, is the same one raised by looking at a photograph of oneself taken at age three or four...do you remember the moment itself, or is the photograph the memory? Is the memory the "veritas?"

All to say I have personal as well as political reasons to wonder about the understandings of truth.

Posted by: fauxreal | Jan 29 2007 6:18 utc | 24

Truth as unconcealment seems to be what Uncle's post is about...about the pains and sorrows we carry within that are the other side of love. at least that's how I understand his words. Unconcealment seems to be what "of, for and by the people" is about, too, as well as the difference between Greek city-state and Roman empire, as noted above.


Excellent fauxreal, that is very close to what I was going for, but didn't know any other way to articulate it.

Posted by: Uncle $cam | Jan 29 2007 7:06 utc | 25

[De Mendacio.] On Lying
Translated by Rev. H. Browne (wtf he is)

There is a great question about Lying, which often arises in the midst of our every day business, and gives us much trouble, that we may not either rashly call that a lie which is not such, or decide that it is sometimes right to tell a lie, that is, a kind of honest, well-meant, charitable lie[*]. This question we will painfully discuss by seeking with them that seek: whether to any good purpose, we need not take upon ourselves to affirm, for the attentive reader will sufficiently gather from the course of the discussion. It is, indeed, very full of dark corners, and has many cavern-like windings, whereby it oft eludes the eagerness of the seeker; so that at one moment what was found seems to slip out of one's hands, and anon comes to light again, and then is once more lost to sight.

*charitable lie? Is that like the Plato's idea of the Noble Lie? Or Leo Strauss and the Noble Lie : The Neo-Cons at War?

Posted by: Uncle $cam | Jan 29 2007 7:52 utc | 26

grrr.. On Lying (St. Augustine) missing from my above...

Posted by: Uncle $cam | Jan 29 2007 7:55 utc | 27

What a sad and powerful thread.

Thanks all.

Posted by: a swedish kind of death | Jan 30 2007 3:18 utc | 28

@fauxreal #24

<> to you. I don't know what else to say, but what you have shared about your mother's death was very moving to me. I won't forget it. <>

Bea

Posted by: Bea | Jan 30 2007 16:39 utc | 29

Oops -- the brackets disappeared. My bad. I had written {{Hugs}} in both places with two brackets. I forgot that this might have html significance. Sorry about that!

{{{{{{{{{Hugs}}}}}}}}} for fauxreal!

Posted by: Bea | Jan 30 2007 16:41 utc | 30

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