Friday, October 9, 2009

On the Topic of Money

Last night we were having a discussion of the value of the dollar and what a distributist would propose in the realm of money and banking.

It seems, from what I've read lately that a large part of modern distributists are split between two camps on the money issue: 1) Social Credit and 2) some form of gold/commodity backed money. I'm sure there are other variations, but it seems to me that it would be rather hard to argue for the Federal Reserve and fractional reserve banking using distributist ideals. Plus, with Ron Paul quite popular, hating the Fed is quite in vogue.

The root of the split is over the nature of inflation of the money supply. Social Credit and other systems propose that money must expand along with both economic growth and population growth. The goal is to keep prices fairly stable. Now, if you had a little Amish-with booze-style community or a Community Land Trust, Social Credit seems a workable theory. But if we really want to change society, it seems to get a bit impractical. That said, it's certainly a better system than the one we have now.

Those who favor money backed by something, usually gold or silver since that's pretty traditional, don't see the need for constant prices, so do not want inflation at any noticeable pace. Detractors of this system cite fears of deflation. The problem is that inflation isn't as bad as we think it is...or rather it's only bad under current money and banking systems. Lower prices seem to be a good thing. Costs get cheaper, so goods get cheaper and you can buy more with the same amount of money. This is what happened for long periods of time in the US and it didn't harm our growth any. Since this system has, in fact, worked in the past and the theory behind it does not seem nearly as problematic as the alternatives, this seems to me to be the best system.

Some recommended reading online:
*Note: Much of the following comes from Austrian School Sources, the main reason? Because they post their stuff online for free.

Money & Banking Theory (general)

The Ethics of Money Production looks at the history of money, how it has been perverted, and how we can see reform. It's a very good introduction to money and banking. Jörg Guido Hülsmann is a German and an Anarcho-libertarian of the Austrian school. However, his works are quite good, present solid arguments, and he's quite friendly towards many things that distributism proposes.

What Has the Government Done to Our Money (Rothbard) A look at the decline of money in modern times thanks to our dear leaders.

Gold/Commodity Backed Money and Anti-fractional Reserve

Gold and the Gold Standard: The Story of Gold Money Past, Present and Future
(Edwin Kemmerer)
Defend the Gold Standard (Robert Murphy)
The Semantic Subversion of the Gold Standard and Free Banking


Free Banking and the Free Bankers (Hülsmann)
Free Banking and Fractional Reserves (Hülsmann)


Social Credit
Social Credit (Clifford Douglas)
Social Credit: A Distributist Reform of the Financial System (Oliver Heydorn)
Social Credit and the Teachings of the Popes (Alain Pilote)
Social Credit: Not Socialism Not a Political Party (Editors of Michael's Journal)
How to Apply Social Credit Locally (François de Siebenthal)

Douglas Social Credit Secretariat

Anti-Government Debt (I think everyone agrees this is a bad idea)
Why Money is Sick (John Sharpe)
The Government Must Create Its Own Money (Alain Pilote)

Deflation
Deflation and Liberty (Jörg Guido Hülsmann)
Deflation: When Austrians Become Interventionists (Phillip Bagus)

This should keep everyone busy...

The One-Man Revolution

Eric and I drove home after Chesterton, or rather I was driven, and it came to me for some reason to think of Robert’s Frost’s poem in which he says his goal is to “unite his vocation and avocation” as “my two eyes make one in sight.” That has always seemed to me the summit of wisdom about personal economics. I couldn’t remember the name of the poem but soon found it. Here it is:

TWO TRAMPS IN MUD TIME

Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.
Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.
A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
His song so pitched as not to excite
A single flower as yet to bloom.
It is snowing a flake; and he half knew
Winter was only playing possum.
Except in color he isn't blue,
But he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.
The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.
The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You'd think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.
Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
The judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.
Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay
And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.
But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.

In many of his poems, Frost explored the borderlands of politics and poetry and, most especially, farming. He joked about his farming—“living on a farm and writing poetry is not exactly farming,” or words to that effect. Though born in San Francisco, fergawdsake, Frost gravitated to the old New England farms and farmers after he also tried his hand at farming in Buckinghamshire. It was always on his mind. Last night I thought, Frost and those old New England farmers, the true Yankees like John Adams, one of several president-farmers, were often close to Distributism. As for Frost, he was a states-rights man and his middle name was, after all, Lee. Had he been a southerner, I have little doubt that he would have been in I’ll Take My Stand, and he could surely talk turkeys with Wendell Berry.
I tried to find the text of “Build Soil: A Political Pastoral” on line. Since it is not a sentimental high school favorite, it seems to have been pushed into oblivion. So I have decided to do the traditional thing, transcribe some of it here and to hell with copyright and literary criticism. I am excerpting:

Needless to say to you, my argument
Is not to lure the city to the country.
Let those possess the land, and only those,
Who love it with a love so strong and stupid
That they may be abused and taken advantage of
And made fun of by business, law, and art.
They still hang on . . . .

No, refuse to be
Seduced back to the land by any claim
The land may seem to have on man to use it.
Let none assume to till the land but farmers.
I only speak to you as one of them.
You shall go to your mountain farm,
Poor castaway of commerce, and so live
That none shall ever see you come to market—
Not for a long, long time. Plant, breed, produce,
But what you raise or grow, why, feed it out,
Eat it or plough it under where it stands,
To build the soil. For what is more accursed
Than an impoverished soil, pale and metallic?
What cries more to our kind for sympathy?
I’ll make a compact with you, Meliboeus,
To match you deed for deed and plan for plan.
Friends crowd around me with their five-year plans
That Soviet Russia has made fashionable.
You come to me and I’ll unfold to you
A five-year plan I call so not because
It takes ten years or so to carry out,
Rather because it took five years at least
To think it out. Come close, let us conspire—
In self-restraint, if in restraint in trade.
You will go down to your run-out mountain farm
And do what I command you. I take care
To command only what you meant to do
Anyway. That is my style of dictator.
Build soil. Turn the farm in upon itself
Until it can contain itself no more,
But sweating-full, drips wine and oil a little.
I will go to my run-out social mind
And be as unsocial with it as I can.
The thought I have, and my first impulse is
To take to market—I will turn it under.
And so on to the limit of my nature.
We are too much out, and if we won’t draw in
We shall be driven in. I was brought up
A states-rights free-trade Democrat. What’s that?
An inconsistency. The state shall be
Laws to itself, it seems, and yet have no
Control of what it sells or what it buys.
Suppose someone come near me who in rate
Of speech and thinking is so much my better
I am imposed on, silenced and discouraged.
Do I submit to being supplied by him
As the more economical producer,
More wonderful, more beautiful producer?
No. I unostentatiously move off
Far enough for my thought-flow to resume.
Thought product and food product are to me
Nothing compared to the producing of them . . . .

You see the beauty of my proposal is
It needn’t wait on general revolution.
I bid you to a one-man revolution—
The only revolution that is coming.
We’re too unseparate out among each other—
With goods to sell and notions to impart . . . .

We congregate embracing from distrust
As much as love, and too close in to strike
And be so very striking. Steal away,
The song says. Steal away and stay away.
Don’t join too many gangs. Join few if any.
Join the United States and join the family—
But not much in between unless a college . . . .

I can tell better after I get home,
Better a month from now when cutting posts
Or mending fence it all comes back to me
What I was thinking when you interrupted
My life-train logic. I agree with you
We’re too unseparate. And going come
From company means coming to our senses.


That kind of Yankee independence is certainly compatible with the southern farmer and the English Chestertonian, which is why those three groups, plus the modern Thomists, came together on the pages of The American Review (1933-1937), on which I wrote my doctoral dissertation.

“For Heaven and the future’s sakes.” Anything done in less spirit is merely marketing.

Monday, February 16, 2009

The Original Vagina Monologues Broadside

The Eternal Revolution
An occasional publication of the Chesterton Society
“Tolerance is the virtue of the man without convictions.” –G. K. Chesterton


Eve Ensler, the author of The Vagina Monologues, currently being produced (again) in Cookeville, argues that writing the play permitted her to understand “the sacred nature” of theater. She is certainly correct about the deep connections between the sacred and drama. From its several inceptions in Greek religion and the medieval church, drama has depicted human action in relation to the vertical, that connection with the sacred that Mircea Eliade defines as the very nature of religion itself. Certainly, as well, it may be argued that the sacred nature of the human person, including the feminine, takes its eternal colors from great dramas. From Aeschylus through Shakespeare and T. S. Eliot, the human figure has been ennobled and celebrated with the sense of awe that only religion can give it.

In her V-Day website, Miss Ensler argues that her play, a series of monologues from a body part, emphasizes the sacred in woman. In the literature of trash culture, this bizarre twist of mind has successfully raised money for a campaign against domestic violence by celebrating an astonishing sacred moment—the lesbian seduction and rape of a thirteen year old girl (changed to sixteen in the present version to “soften” the play for audiences west of Manhattan, which now troop into university theaters and gleefully chant, “cxxt, cxxt, cxxt” in an orgy of release.) “Culture,” sociologist Philip Rieff wrote shortly before his death last year, “begins with renunciation. Therapy begins with the renunciation of renunciation.” That, I suppose, is what the enlightened audiences of middle America gain from their participation in sacred theater: the therapeutic release of crossing the last frontier of inhibition in the kulturkampf, the war against culture. As Freudian feminist Camille Paglia noted in Salon, Ensler represents a perversion of feminism that turns “Valentine's Day, the one holiday celebrating romantic harmony between the sexes, into a grisly memento mori of violence against women.” Eleven thousand people in Madison Square Garden recently performed the “cxxt” chant during a performance. When will we read that such a crowd has cheered the burning of a virgin to raise consciousness on global warming?

Given the hurtling downward of the times, I don’t think my question is far fetched. If the lesbian rape of teenagers celebrates the feminine, it is not at all a far leap of logic for the neo-pagans of our time to associate a Mayan ritual with the liberation of the psyche from all taboos against such pure and honest human moments. Jerry Springer will, no doubt, lead the chorus.

If Eve Ensler had read further into the dictionary and encyclopedia entries on the vagina, she would have been reminded of a primal biological fact: in one of the most important moments in human existence, it serves as the birth canal, and if it is to be celebrated as sacred, let it be done as a celebration of life. Instead of such a celebration of the human person in the feminist traditions of Sigrid Undset and Adrienne von Speyr, Ensler gives us another chapter in culture of death, in which lesbian violence may be added to the Nazi litany of the apostles of death such as Francis Crick, Konrad Lorenz, Dr. Kevorkian, and ethicist Peter Singer: abortion, euthanasia, cloning, eugenics, infanticide.

As French philosopher Phillipe Nemo demonstrates in his recent What is the West? the brilliant writings of Pope John Paul II underscore a central fact of our civilization: that what is distinctive about the West is its understanding that the human being is a person, a central doctrine that non-Western cultures have yet to originate or value. Morality begins there, ethics begins there, in the nature of this wonderful kind of being called person and its inviolability. “Thou shalt not violate person,” some of us used to say in the protests of the 1960’s. After Roe vs. Wade in 1973, I didn’t hear it much anymore.

Let us return to Philip Rieff, who capped a great career as a student of Freud with his publication of the first volume of Sacred Order/Social Order, My Life Among the Deathworks: Illustrations of the Aesthetics of Authority (2006). In the tradition of Allan Bloom’s The Closing of the American Mind, Rieff gives us a breathtaking view of the history of culture from the point of view of sacred order, the kind of order that originates with the authority of nameless power is the pagan religions, and with divine personal authority in the great monotheistic religions. In Rieff’s analysis of art in the twentieth century, he understands that most of it consists of “deathworks,” works of art that use deformity, disfigurement, and dissociation to destroy the moral and spiritual foundations of traditional culture. Meditating on Duchamps, Joyce, and the photographs of Mapplethorpe and Andres Seranno, Rieff takes us on a tour of modern art that ends in the ultimate anti-sacred theater of the absurd—the Nazi deathcamps. As he had first pointed out in The Triumph of the Therapeutic (1965), with Freud the entire foundation of culture in the “good, true, and beautiful” had been supplanted by the cult of “feeling better.” “The therapeutic mode of thinking and acting calls for a flight from the discomforts of fear, the responsibility inherent in identity, and authority itself. In the therapeutic, everything is a game, and all truths are contingent and negotiable.”

Briefly, what Rieff understands so well is that the death trains of Auschwitz and the torture chambers of the abortionist connect, and they run through the halls of academe very much on time, where the Deconstructionism that began with Nietzsche completes the relativizing of young minds in a way Protagoras could not even begin to imagine. The new elites salute plays like The Vagina Monologues because they serve the deconstructionist agenda: “an abolition of all calls to the sanctification of the world and its creatures.” The “babble of the Left Bank,” the babble of Foucault and Derrida and de Man, he tells us, is nothing other than spitting in the face of the Primal Father, in order to bring down the Temple once and for all. Through the perpetual therapy of art based on anger and hatred of the good, and kindly assists from the educational establishment such as “values clarification,” moral law, self-discipline, and authority will be no more. Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues fits in perfectly. Obsessing on one body part and glorifying rape have pathological precedents and pathological comrades: perverts and grave robbers.

Dr. Ken Craven kencraven@yahoo.com

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Members of The Mid-Ten Chesterton Society Speak!

This Thursday past, the members came together for a special meeting to discuss "What is the purpose of the group?" A total of six members were present for the voting. Members were Jones, Shulte, Gudan, West, Douglass, and Robertson.

In a purely democratic process the results are as follows:

Meeting time and day will not change. 6-yeas 0-nays

The reason why we are called the Mid-TN Chesterton Society is because of our foundational text, G.K. Chesterton's "Orthodoxy", not because we only read Chesterton. 6-yeas 0-nays

After we finish our current reading of St. Thomas, we will begin Orthodoxy concurrently with another text alternating after each completion of one chapter in Orthodoxy, which Chesterton will not be required as the concurrent text. 6-yeas 0-nays

A new group was brought to the floor by Member West in which the group will read fair tales and like fiction beginning at Crawdaddy's on Wednesday of each week at 6 o'clock in the evening. At the location of this group one can smoke one's pipe or favorite cigar and enjoy a beverage of alcohol content or non-alcohol content. This group will begin on Wednesday 29, 2008 at 6 o'clock in the evening at the above location. If you do not know where Crawdaddy's is you may Google it.

Also, a new broadside was proposed in the form of an Op-Ed piece for the Herald-Citizen, the local paper here in Cookeville, TN. The broadside will address the issue of the Homosexual bar in Cookeville.

After doing some research on other Chesterton Societies throughout our great country, I have found that ours is on par with the all. We do meet more per month than the average group meets, with the average group meeting only once monthly. I propose that we look at these books which will help us on the road to a deeper appreciation of who Chesterton is: "The Apostle of Common Sense" by Dale Ahlquist, "Common Sense 101" by Dale Ahlquist, The Father Brown Stories, and a book of Chesterton essays.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

October 2, 1187

A day which will live in infamy, for on that day the city of Jerusalem fell to Saladin and his Muhammadans. Also of note, the eagle found on the Egyptian, Palestinian, and various other Arab group's coats of arms is none other than the "Eagle of Saladin."

Thursday, September 25, 2008

My, How Things Have Changed!


Food will win the war, and the nation whose food resources are best conserved will be the victor. This is the truth that our government is trying to drive home to every man, woman and child in America. We have always been happy in the fact that ours was the richest nation in the world, possessing unlimited supplies of food, fuel, energy and ability; but rich as these resources are they will not meet the present food shortage unless every family and every individual enthusiastically co-operates in the national saving campaign as outlined by the United States Food Administration....
Not only have its authors planned to help the woman in the home, conserve the family income, but to encourage those saving habits which must be acquired by this nation if we are to secure a permanent peace that will insure the world against another onslaught by the Prussian military powers.

Quite a few good recipes, too.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

GK Chesterton in Chattanooga

In the first months of 1931, GK Chesterton and his wife were traveling through the United States. Mrs. Chesterton fell ill while traveling through Tennessee by train and the couple stayed in Chattanooga. They stayed at the Reed House and Mrs. Chesterton was treated at Erlanger Hospital.

There are some references to their stay in the Chattanooga papers.

Most interesting of all is the following interview which comes from the The Chattanooga News, Wednesday 4 February 1931 edition. Not only do we see Chesterton coming off as very pro-southern, but tobacco and alcohol is made mention of (alcohol makes the 7th Sentence, could have been written by a time traveling Cookeville Chestertonian?).

G. K. Chesterton, English Notable, "Stranded" in Chattanooga, agrees with ideals of "Young Confederates"

Gilbert K. Chesteron, the great English man of letters, is as fascinating in real life as he is in his writings. One is simply swallowed alive by his wonderful personality.

He is an enormous person physically, towering, it would seem, more than six feet, and probably topping the scales above the 200 mark. There is nothing about his whole make-up to indicate smallness.

One is impressed, above everything else, with the perfect English gentleman that he is, from the first handshake on. His merry chuckles now and then, with his brilliant epigrams, make everything about him seem to pale.

He says with a chuckle that he thinks prohibition immoral and un-Christian, and then argues that this is true because Mohammed was a prohibitionist and Jesus wasn't, and that folk ought to be able to decide on their own diet and take care of their own health.

Mr. Chesterton agrees with the writers of I Take My Stand, which he had just finished reading when called on for an interview Wednesday morning. He is also reading John Brown's Body. He agrees in the main with the young southerners and thinks the returning to the farms is the great solution of the industrial situation with which the world is faced today.

This typical English gentleman looked like some old English character in a novel as he stepped from the elevator of the Read House into the modern atmosphere of the lobby Wednesday morning. His hair was long and combed straight back and tinged with gray, as were his bushy mustache and heavy eyebrows.

Wears "Whoopee" Hat.

Carrying in one hand a stick and in the other his typical English small black felt hat, turned up on either side, somewhat on the lines of the modern "whoopee" chapeaux worn by the modern American college lad, he wears around his shoulders a long English cape from which hangs a shorter one, perhaps the same kind worn by Sir Walter Raleigh when he met Queen Elizabeth back in the sixteenth century. He wore a morning suit, and on his nose almost a minuature pair of tight "pinching" glasses, rimmed with gold, that somewhat detracted from his kindly gray eyes, but added to the quaintness of his make-up.

He sat on one of the overstuffed lounges in the lobby, drew a cigarette from a package and before he had placed it to his lips there was a porter standing by with a lighted match. It seemed as though a fine old Meerschaum pipe that had turned brown with age would better have suited the picture.

"Do you object if I smoke, or will you have a cigarette?" inquired the courtly gentleman, and who could refuse a cigarette from the pack of G. K. Chesterton?

"It is great fun to be stranded in your interesting and historic city - much better than being stranded in some place - we'll say, like Pittsburgh," he comented, climaxing his sentence with a hearty laugh. "I have just been reading 'I Take My Stand,' by those interesting young southern writers, and I agree with it in the main," he added.

Advocates Agrarianism.

He advocates the following of the plow rather than the steam engine, which he says "is already broken down." "It is industrialism that is old-fashioned and broken down more than ruralism."

Out in the middle west Mr. Chesterton said he found all sorts of "ordinary business men talking quite openly" on just such an idea. "These men," he added, with his characteristic chuckle, "were not of the old southern stock or members of the Klu-Klux Klan. There are business men in Chicago and New York who are saying very much the same thing. I'll take my stand back to the simple life again. If the manufacturers are saying that naturally the agricultural traditionists should say it."

He then drifted into a discussion of "John Brown's Body" by Benet, describing it as an irregular sort of epic, dealing with the war between the north and the south, assuming an ordinary northern point of view, but at the same time a respectful attitude toward Jefferson Davis. He referred to the allegorical ending which depicts John Brown's body living in the machines and skyscrapers of the north. "But even the poet does not think John Brown's body looks nice in the wheels and skyscrapers and was somewhat pro-north," continued Mr. Chesterton. "He does not say whether it is good or bad but only says the condition is here.

John Brown's Body.

"It is John Brown's soul that lies moldering in the grave, and not his body which goes marching on more and more in the northern centers, blocking up the streets in New York and Chicago with motor-cars."

"This industrial situation is not an easy matter to adjust," Mr. Chesterton remarked. "England has allowed itself to become practically entirely industrial. We have allowed our agriculture to go to seed." He said England was a good example of how unwise it is to get away from the natural fundamental things in life.

"We said we were going to be the workshop of the world and we were not going to bother about food. We felt that we could get food anywhere with the biggest navy in the world and so we went ahead making machines and trusting in machines.

"Suddenly one fine day a new machine was invented called the airplane which really altered the whole importance of the navies in the world," he continued.

England refused to heed the advice of sage leaders who urged that it cling to the old English villages and country life, - the most English things of all - and drifted even further away than America, argued Mr. Chesterton.

Says Dole External.

The industrial situation has deadlocked the world and one can only wait and see what will be the outcome, Mr. Chesterton believes. He also thinks there will always be one form or the other of the dole, in countries where there is desperation and distress, otherwise heaps of people would be lying around dead in the streets. America has all kinds of organized charitable agencies distributing aid and is improvising all kinds of means of avoiding the ultimate outcome, in the opinion of Mr. Chesterton.

The people were happy back in the days of the Roman empire, he commented, when the emperor scattered grain every day. "The masses were happy if they had their bread and circuses. Things are not much different today."

The whole conversation was woven around the one idea of the masses returning to the country and throwing more stress on agriculture and less stress on industry. This might be the solution of the present-day conditions is his belief.

Mr. Chesterton is in this country making a study of the American people and conditions for leading newspapers and journals of England. His wife was taken ill on the train while passing through Chattanooga several days ago and he has been detained here since. He was very complimentary of Erlanger hospital, where Mrs. Chesterton is a patient, declaring that the services had been splendid and the attendants wonderfully kind to Mrs. Chesterton.

Accompanying them is Mr. Chesterton's charming secretary, Miss Collins, who makes all of his appointments and otherwise atends to his business affairs.

Mr. Chesterton bowed good-bye as he brought the interview to a close, stating that he was going to the hospital to see Mrs. Chesterton, adding that her condition was much improved.

Source (you never know what google will lead you to)

Belloc would, in 1936 author an essay in Who Owns America: A New Declaration of Independence which was a creation of the Southern Agrarians of I'll Take My Stand as well.