By the standards of 7th century Hispania, Isidore of Seville (c.560-636) may well have been the most learned man of his day.  True, he barely would have qualified as a washroom attendant in Constantinople; but in western Europe any literacy was the definition of genius.  If presumption alone was the measure of education, Isidore was indeed brilliant.  He thought that he knew Latin, Greek, Hebrew, history, medicine, law, rhetoric, astronomy, zoology and music.  His actual knowledge ranged from superficial (Latin and history) to unintended parody (everything else).   But no one dared to dispute his claims.

You see, Isidore was  more than just a pompous blowhard.  He was the leader of the Catholic Church in Hispania and, for all practical purposes, was running the country.  The Visigothic kings, descended from the barbarian chieftains who had seized Roman Iberia in the fifth century, were the nominal rulers; but they were content with having the crown and the army.  The more mundane details of government–the entire realm of domestic policies–were ceded to the presumably literate and avowedly selfless Church.  Who better to settle pasture disputes than the people who could actually read law?  The Church appreciated the implicit power in such drudgery; it would be governing Hispania and the prelates considered that their birthright.

The hierarchy of the Church was the Spanish chapter of the Roman Senate.  Men like Isidore were patricians whose families had settled in Hispania when Jesus was taking woodshop classes at Nazareth High.  Hispania was a great place for a Roman aristocrat.  Its climate and lifestyle were comparable to Italia’s, but a safe distance from Caligula, Domitian and those other zany emperors.  However, Hispania could not be forever spared the turmoil in the Empire.  At the end of the fourth century, in its last effective exertion of imperial power, Rome ordered the patricians to become Christian.  To enforce this policy, the empire began transferring municipal government from patrician bureaucrats to bishops.   In Hispania, the patricians made a complete conversion:  they became Christians and then began appointing themselves as bishops.  At the time, the Church had no specific requirements for a bishop; it was an administrative rather than a theological position, and the bishops often were elected by their community.  So if the largest landowner in Seville nominates himself as the new bishop, do you think that his tenants and slaves–his congregation–dare object?  Even if these early prelates were aristocratic opportunists, most of their grandsons (celibacy was not yet required) proved devout bishops.  Isidore certainly was one, judging how much he hated heretics and Jews.

Furthermore the Church proved an effective protection against the invading Visigoths.  The German tribe respected the Church’s property and dealt with the prelates as the leaders of the Catholic people of Hispania.  The Church and the Visigoths reached a cordial and long-lasting accommodation.  Of course, the Church lost nothing.  The patrician classes ceded one third of their lands to the Germanic overlords, but would not be left starving or particularly humbled.  The Visigoths had the army, so they had the ultimate power; but how often would they wield that?  No, the kings increasingly relied on the Church’s prelates, meeting in synods, to determine the domestic policies of Hispania.

Someone had to repair the aqueducts, maintain the roads and revive the decaying cities. But  even Archbishop Isidore never claimed to know engineering and he didn’t think of borrowing a book from Constantinople.  His only solution to halt the further disintegration of civilized life was education.  He ordered that each archbishopric have a school and he would provide the curriculum.  Isidore himself compiled an encyclopedia of all the available knowledge.  It was called “Eytmologiae.”  Unfortunately, Isidore was more earnest than erudite.  He presumed much more than he actually knew, and the available sources in 7th century Hispania were not exactly comprehensive and extant.  Imagine if our total knowledge were based on an incomplete collection of Reader’s Digests, with half of their pages torn out.

“Eytmologiae” would become one of the great reference works of the Middle Ages, and might explain why the Renaissance took another seven centuries.  Within a century after Isidore, Hispania did have a revival of civilization but the Moors brought it.

Pope’s priest: Abuse flak like anti-Semitism

Personal preacher says accusations similar to ‘collective violence’ on Jews

I am sure that the Vatican media department has issued a clarification of that…..

I hope that none of you were upset by the nude photos of me.  I had no prurient intent in sending them.  They were merely an illustration of how I physically differ from a Byzantine bureaucrat.

https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2006/10/09/the-byzantine-solution/

January 4, 1581: Happy Birthday Bishop Ussher

Imagine being remembered for the most stupid thing you ever said.  And I mean “remembered“:  three centuries later, people would still be mocking you.  That is the pathetic legacy of James Ussher (1581-1656).  He’s the one who said that the universe was created in October, 4004 B.C.  Now stop your sneering.  He was not a village idiot or a charlatan, but a highly respected scholar and Anglican clergyman.  However preposterous his calculation now seems, it was a painstaking interpolation of history and the Bible.

His chronology was the culmination of four years of research.  Ussher was so diligent that he would not trust the Greek or Latin translations of the Bible; he went back to the original Hebrew.  (You may question the quality of Hebrew taught in 16th century Dublin, and if he ever practiced it with any “Dutch” merchants in London.)  The polyglot Ussher was also using the works of Greek and Roman historians to weave the pagans’ chronology with the Bible’s.   Finished in 1654, “Annales Veteris et Nove Testamenti” was in fact an unprecedented work of scholarship.

Until Ussher, ancient history had no precise chronology.  Yes, theater goers knew that Julius Caesar died on March 15, but the exact year was a guess.   When did Alexander the Great live?  You’d think that scholars would know; they didn’t.  History since Anno Domini had a defined order; but “before Christ” was a vague progression.  Rameses comes before Cyrus, who comes before Hannibal.  Ussher changed that and with an impressive degree of accuracy.  He was the first true chronicler of ancient history.  The battle of Marathon–490 B.C.: correct.  Babylonians destroy Jerusalem–586 B.C.: give or take a year.  King David died–970 B.C.:  seems plausible.  Yes, you notice the diminishing precision.

Being a clergyman (an Anglican archbishop, no less) Ussher regarded the Bible as an infallible historical work.   So his chronological interpolation would extend to the beginning of history, and I do mean “The Beginning.”  If you take the Bible literally, then Ussher’s calculation cannot be faulted.  The universe was created in 4004 B.C.  But that is a matter of faith rather than history.

Unfortunately, Archbishop Ussher is best remembered for his worst assertion, not his genuine and lasting contributions to scholarship.  But history isn’t supposed to be fair–just accurate.

Jews throughout the world (any place big enough for a store) are now celebrating Passover. We recount the miraculous story of how we entered the Sinai looking like Charlton Heston and left looking like Edward G. Robinson.  We speak of Passover as a Feast because Jews have a wonderful sense of humor. Matzoh is the original styrofoam. If the Exodus actually occurred, archaeologists would be finding 3500 year-old matzoh crumbs throughout the Sinai. 

But there is no historical evidence to corroborate the story of Passover. You just cannot believe everything that the Bible and Cecil B. DeMille tell you. Egypt was a highly literate and sophisticated society, with a bureaucracy of scribes who would have recorded everything on time-withstanding papyrus.  Someone in the quartermaster’s office would have written–in triplicate–a request to replace those water-logged chariots. And Pharaoh’s media department would have proclaimed “Mission Accomplished” in driving the Jews away.

This is not to suggest that the Jews did not exist at the time. At the height of its empire (from the 15th to the 13th century B.C.) Egypt held hegemony over Canaan. The cities of Canaan repeatedly appealed for Egyptian help against invaders known as the Habiru. Although the Canaanite and Egyptian records never allude to any theological idiosyncrasies among these nomads, there is little doubt as to who the Habiru were and would become.

So there is historical evidence of the Hebrews’ conquest of Canaan. But the invasion came from the East (as a proper Semitic invasion would), not from the West. Why did the Jews claim to be escaped slaves from Egypt? Were the ancient Jews as status conscious as the current readers of The New York Times? Did they fancy the glamour of Egypt over their hardscrabble nomadic life?

On the contrary, the Torah revels in the primitive Bedouin culture of the Jews. Their enemies–the Egyptians, Canaanites and Philistines–lived in cities, an indication of their corrupt natures. The ancient Jews never aspired to Egyptian refinement. However, they may have thought it worth looting. In the 17th century Egypt was conquered by a Semitic horde known as the Hyksos. Perhaps in that invading army, among all those Semitic freebooters, was a contingent of Habiru. (Someone had to operate the P.X. and organize the U.S.O. shows.) And when, a century later, the Hyksos were driven out, the Habiru survivors might have spoken of their hasty departure.

Of course, there could be a theological basis for the story of the Jews’ triumph over the Egyptians. God was padding his resume.

p.s.  If you Gentiles are feeling slighted, here is the historic significance of this day:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2007/03/29/die-polar-disorder/

“It’s funny that people are freaking out about how the Jews are portrayed. If you believe or even look at the Bible as a history book, it’s not like Mel Gibson changed the story. The Jews were responsible for Christ’s death.”

So, according to the Gospel of a college-educated 30 year-old, I am guilty of deicide.   My friend probably would give me the benefit of the Statute of Limitations.   As I informed her, the Jews did not kill Jesus but we do make wonderful scapegoats.

Now beginneth my sermon. The Four Gospels should not be viewed as histories but as advertisements, a potent mix of marketing and polemics that sold a new theology. They were written in a period from 40 to 70 years after the death of Jesus, and their text and tone reflect the conflicts and challenges of the early Church. Christianity had begun and was floundering as a Jewish movement. The Acts of the Apostles admits as much. The Church hierarchy was in Jerusalem, led by Jesus’ relatives and the Apostles, and adamantly directing its message solely to a Jewish audience. Any interested Gentile was first obliged to become a Jew in order to be a Christian.

The prospect of 100 dietary laws and circumcision certainly deterred conversion. St. Paul was the first to challenge this approach, proposing to market Christianity as Judaism-Lite: morality, salvation and pork. In hindsight, we can see that Paul’s interpretation was the more appealing; yet, in his lifetime, he had limited success. The Church was still in essence “Jews for Jesus.”

Then Rome determined the future of both Judaism and Christianity. The Emperors showed a consistent sadism in choosing brutal, greedy governors to control Judea. (On a comparative scale, Herod the Great was one of the more charming rulers.) In A.D. 66, after 12 years of Nero’s appointees, Judea rose in rebellion and put up a ferocious resistance. It took the Empire four years to crush the rebellion but the outcome should have been obvious. Imagine one Richard Dreyfuss fighting twenty Sylvester Stallones. My ancestors evidently were expecting a miracle…and our lease with the Landlord practically guaranteed it. I suppose the miracle was that anyone survived. However, one third of the population did not, and Jerusalem was destroyed. While the Romans were slaughtering the Judeans, they did not distinguish the various theological divisions among their victims. The “Jews for Jesus” were just as dead as the rest.

Without the constraints of the Jerusalem hierarchy, the surviving Christians were now free to drop the Jewish aspects of their religion and make the Church more appealing to Gentiles. The Gospels of Mark and Matthew still adhered to the original Jewish orientation, preaching that Jesus was indeed the promised fulfillment of Judaism. Of course, they weren’t having much success with a Jewish audience; wouldn’t a real Messiah have provided better protection against Romans? The rebuffed Matthew retorted that the Jews had suffered divine retribution for rejecting Jesus and would continue to suffer until they converted. “His blood be on us and on our children.” The frustration of rejection and Matthew’s dyspeptic nature are also evident in his denunciations of the Pharisees, lumping them with the High Priests as Jesus’ killers. In reality, the Pharisees were the long-standing opponents of the Temple Hierarchy, denouncing its politics and venality. The Pharisees had no power in Jerusalem and no culpability in Jesus’ death. However, in the aftermath of the War, their rabbinical, communal approach to worship became the prevalent practice of Judaism. They were succeeding where “Jews for Jesus” was failing, and Matthew hated them for that.

The Gospels of Luke and John were written for a Gentile audience. (It was effortless for Luke; he was the only one of the Gospel writers with a foreskin.) To do so, the authors had to address and surmount the Jewish origins of their religion. In the Hellenized world of the 1st century, Jews were unpopular. We were regarded as obnoxious, crude troublemakers, and we had yet to develop our disarming sense of humor. The Greeks-those cultural snobs–had despised us for centuries, and no one ever accused us of killing Apollo. The Christian Evangelists had to ingratiate themselves with the pagan public, and they had to divorce themselves from Judaism to do so. In a brilliant marketing campaign, the Church reinvented and repositioned itself. It was no longer “Jews for Jesus” or even St. Paul’s Judaism-Lite but a completely different, competitive and hostile religion.

Christianity had to be made more Gentile, and the Church had to avoid any semblance to challenging Rome. Since Nero, Christians were mindful of the lions’ feeding times at the local arena. Jesus had been crucified by the Romans, but the Church seemed willing to forgive a powerful enemy. All the Gospels bestow Pontius Pilate with a tact and sensitivity that his mother wouldn’t have believed. If the crucifixion required a villain, the Jews would be a safer choice. The Church could demonstrate its independence from the other monotheism and assimilate itself in the popular prejudice. The later Gospels reflected this pragmatism. While Mark and Matthew say a crowd called for the death of Jesus, Luke incriminates “the people” and John spells it out: “the Jews.” The Gospels present Pontius Pilate as yet another victim of the Jews, a philosophical but weak soul bullied into ordering the crucifixion. The notion seems more appropriate for satire than scripture. Even by Roman standards, Pilate was a brutal thug. Historians of the period recount his casual use of massacres to ensure quiet. Furthermore, as the Governor of Judea, Pilate had complete power over the Temple Hierarchy, including the right to hire and fire the High Priest. When Pilate was recalled in A.D. 37, his acting successor Lucius Vitellius replaced two High Priests in a three-month period. In A.D. 70, in the aftermath of the Rebellion, the Romans finally abolished the High Priesthood for having failed to reconcile the Jews to servitude. Yet, the Gospels blame the Priesthood instead of the Romans, condemning the dummy rather than the ventriloquist.

The question remains: Why did Pilate kill Jesus? Despite their enthusiasm for violence, the Romans were not in the habit of executing philosophers. Otherwise, Athens would have been depopulated. Furthermore, the Romans had a variety of tortures and executions to punish an itinerant preacher for practicing medicine without a license. The agony and spectacle of crucifixion was reserved for one crime alone: insurrection. Jesus was condemned as a Zealot. Pilate certainly had reasons to suspect it. Jesus and many of his followers were from Galilee, a chronic site of rebellion against Rome. Worse, the Galileans tended to incite the rest of the populace. The Romans had recently crushed an uprising in Jerusalem by “the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices.(Luke 13; 1)” Now Pilate had to deal with another Galilean mob, one with a charismatic leader promising a coming kingdom that apparently would supersede Rome. It may have only been a metaphysical threat but Pilate wouldn’t chance the distinction.

Pilate also might have heard a very interesting allegory. Mark recounts it; none of the later Gospels dared. In Mark 5, Jesus meets a possessed man. Addressing the demons Jesus asks, “What is your name?” The demons respond, “My name is Legion, for we are many.” Jesus then exorcises the demons, casting them into a conveniently close herd of swine. The afflicted animals then are driven into the sea. Of course, Legion was more than just an arbitrary choice of names; it was the principal unit of the Roman army. And what was a herd of swine doing in a nice Jewish neighborhood? It either was the property of an unwelcome Roman garrison or-more likely-it was a metaphor for that garrison. So, to summarize the story, Jesus confronts a legion of demons-a herd of swine-and drives them into the sea. Pilate would have gotten the message, and Jesus evidently got Pilate’s response.

Rome definitely killed Jesus, but that brutal power made it too dangerous to challenge. Mark and Matthew blamed their Jewish rivals. Luke and John incriminated an entire nation. Yet, the Evangelists would never have imagined that their literary license would incite centuries of persecution and massacres. Nor would they have been acquiescent or indifferent to Anti-Semitism. Mark, Matthew and John would have died in the Crusades, the pogroms and the Holocaust. So would Jesus. The Gospels did blame Jews for the death of Jesus, but they really didn’t mean it. “They knew not what they do.”

 Producer Zack Snyder confirmed that Frank Miller’s Xerxes is almost certainly headed screenwards.  It will be a prequel to “300”.

Washington can’t reason with Iran, but perhaps Hollywood can terrorize it.  Yes, if Iran does not immediately disarm and shave, the world will see “Xerxes”.  Iran hardly appreciated the first film,  a snuff cartoon which depicted the ancient Persians as manical hermaphroditic mutants.  That unique perspective poses a challenge for the sequel:  how to make the Persians look any worse.  (The public will expect that.) 

Furthermore, there is a little problem with history.  Prior to his botched invasion of Greece in 480 B.C., Xerxes had a relatively uneventful life.  He did not kill his father or any inconvenient brothers to attain throne.  Indeed, to the chagrin of the scriptwriters, Xerxes led a G-rated personal life:  devoted son, affectionate brother, loving father.  His obituary would have been telling the truth.  Hollywood will have to change that!

Of course, Iran’s President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad can denounce the film as a monstrous lie, but he said the very same about the Holocaust, 9/11 and the doubts that he received less than 200 percent of the votes in his last election.  At least to be consistent, he will simply deny that there was a Persian Empire.

Hark, I hear the first sound of a suburban Spring:  the lawn services are back.  The ensuing racket, while still preferable to “Lohengrin”, amounts to a form of writer’s block.  All I now can write about is that damn noise–or Mexican history.  (For some reason, the lawn services never remind me of Scandinavia.)  If only Santa-Anna could have equipped his army with mowers and leaf blowers, the garrison of the Alamo might have been annoyed into retreating to Vermont.

And here is the second sign of Spring: my essay on lawncare. 

I wonder whether my wife gets more satisfaction from making our yard bloom or making me work.  Over the last weekend Karen fully exploited my vanity, docility and cheapness.  Even at 58, I still have delusions of virility, which I manifest by mowing the lawn.  In the suburbs, any status-conscious homeowner is expected to delegate that chore to a lawn service. While I have a liberal’s sense of shame over the Mexican War (and since the 2000 election would gladly return Texas to its original owners), I don’t intend to pay $50 a week merely to atone for the Treaty of Guadeloupe-Hidalgo.

I now get dirty looks from the passing lawn crews and my neighbors regard me as subversive.  Indeed, some of the local children can’t believe that a homeowner would mow the lawn.  Once, teenagers were going door-to-door to raise money for a high school methadone clinic or some other fringe benefit that my exorbitant property taxes don’t completely subsidize.  I was toiling in the yard, pushing the mower.  The teenagers walked past me and rang the front door.  I didn’t say a word; after all, I wasn’t presumed to speak English.  If someone should ever address the mowing peasant in Spanish, I am ready with this reply, “I am sorry, but I had to read Cervantes in translation.”

My husbandry is not limited to mowing because my wifery is not limited to lawncare. Karen is an obsessed gardener.  I imagine that she read “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” only for landscaping hints.  Of course, in creating a garden Karen needs to cultivate me. She cannot simply order me to rake, dig and lug; I am too fond of the French Revolution to tolerate that.  No, Karen’s stratagem is to ask my opinion. “Do you think that we need to dig up this flower bed?  Do you think that we should weed the lawn?” My opinion invariably is that I have no choice, but serfdom always is more cheerful when you pretend to volunteer.

I must confess to an embarrassing relationship with weeds.  One of them seduced me. Several years ago, I noticed a pretty plant with a brocade of white flowers growing in our lawn.  Karen identified it as Queen Anne’s Lace and she must have assumed that I would mow the weed to oblivion.  However, I let it survive.  More than the plant’s charming look, I felt such sympathy for the original Queen Anne. The Stuarts usually were stupid but attractive: imagine a dynasty cast by Aaron Spelling.  Anne, however, was begrudged the good looks and cheated in every other way too.  The dull, miserable woman outlived her children, was exploited by politicians and betrayed by every friend but her brandy.  I could not remedy 18th century medicine, politics or morality, but I could spare the plant that bore Anne’s name.  Unfortunately, in a month, Anne had spread throughout our lawn.  Her namesake had never been that prolific.  I found myself yanking two-foot stalks to atone for my knowledge of history and ignorance of weeds.

My compassion has never extended to dandelions and, like any other homeowner, I wage eternal jihad against the yellow intruders.  The war has steadily escalated.  I began with personal combat, using a knife to dig up each weed.  The sight of me squatting on the grass and stabbing the lawn may not been a testimonial to my sanity.  I ended up with a lawn pitted with knife wounds, but it was dandelion-free.  Of course, my morbid satisfaction didn’t last.  Any surviving tendrils would resurrect the weed, and the dandelions would sprout back, thicker and surlier. 

In the next phase of the war, I resorted to a socially responsible herbicide.  Its all-natural, biodegradable, holistic ingredients were supposed to persuade or shame the dandelions into leaving our lawn.  Tibet has used the same approach in dealing with China, and with the same results.  So, this year I abandoned all regard for the Geneva Convention and bought a 48-pound bag of death.  Its advertising could have been translated from a Nuremberg Rally, promising me a solution to all alien seeds while nourishing a race of super-grass. 

My herbicidal euphoria ended when I took the time to read the back of the bag.  The warnings were much longer than the instructions.  Skin grafts and amputations were possible consequences, and users should expect to remove dead pets from the lawn.  Karen began to think that the lawn was not worth the dangers; where is Lady Macbeth when I need her?  According to the warnings, the herbicide was dangerous to touch or smell, and it could corrode metal and concrete; yet, it was also good for grass.  How could it be, unless it was grass’ vengeance on mankind? 

Of course, I still used the herbicide.  Captain Ahab would have understood.  I did make a few concessions to survival by wearing a safety mask, gloves suitable for handling uranium, and two sets of work clothes. For all these precautions, the product may still kill me, but at least it will get the dandelions first.  While awaiting my demise, I can keep busy with pruning, raking, digging and more mowing.  And Karen has been asking my opinion about the mildew in a shower stall.  Husbandry is not limited to yardwork.

p.s.  Let’s not forget the historic significance of this day:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/03/23/and-todays-special-guest-victim-is-2/

March 22, 1765:  Parliament Passes a Perfectly Reasonable Law

From a British perspective, the Seven Years’ War might have seemed effortless: victory after victory after victory. Britain gained domination over India and conquered Canada. The few setbacks were just enough to keep James Fenimore Cooper interesting. But all those triumphs did come at a cost–quite literally. Waging a world war is expensive. Britain’s national debt nearly doubled in those seven years, from 72 million pounds to 129 million.

Nor could its new Canadian empire immediately recoup the expenses. Maple syrup was not likely to become a staple of the British diet. Compelling some British regiments to wear bearskin hats would not quickly offset the cost of taking Quebec. Furthermore, peace was no bargain either. To garrison Canada and protect the American colonies from the tribes of the original landlords, a standing army of 10,000 men would be required and at a cost of 200,000 pounds a year. The Exchequer thought “Would it be too much to expect those loyal and grateful colonists to defer some of that cost?” So, on this day in 1765, Parliament passed the Stamp Act.

The surchanges on printed material, ranging from a half-penny to a shilling, was expected to raise 70,000 pounds a year. That was one third of what Britain would spend to protect the colonists. However, the Stamp Act raised rebellion rather than revenues. No matter how legitimate the expenses, the Americans did not like having taxes imposed upon them. It was a violation of their rights or at least British etiquette: no taxation without representation. Parliament backed down and repealed the Stamp Act, but the national debt could not be easily cancelled. Since the Americans had actually started the French and Indian War, and had simply dragged Britain into it, the Crown felt justified in asking the colonists, “Would you like to pay for your damn war?” But the colonists felt free to say, “No.” Neither George III nor his Tory ministers had the tact or charm to coax the Americans into compromise. (A Whig government would have.) The pompous, badgering presumptions of the Tory government drove America to Revolution.

Ironically, while Britain was losing money and colonies in North America, it was making a fortune in India. The management of the subcontinent was completely different: greedy, amoral, ruthless and so obviously successful. Britain basically subcontracted the control of India to a corporation: the East India Company. The British company was the Halliburton of its day, a private business with a lucrative–really quite incestuous–arrangement with the Crown. When its dealings required “muscle”, the Company was free to borrow the British army or navy; but the sly, insidious approach was preferred. The Company offered its services to the various rajahs and princes of India, providing “western” efficiency–at a considerable fee–while the Indian royalty was lulled into indolence and dependence. Company officials made fortunes as military advisors and tax collectors for the Rajahs. Occasionally, the incomes were so astronomical that Parliament had inquiries; after all, partners-in-crime don’t like being cheated of their share. The Company also preoccupied the Indian populace by the hallowed strategy of “divide and conquered”, princes, sects and castes were pitted against each other. And there was the company in the middle–arbitrating, encouraging and profiting.

Unfortunately for Britain, it never thought of using a similar strategy in North America. An Englishman can’t be treated like a Wog. But in hindsight, why not? What if a West India Company had been given license to manage the American colonies? The India Company approach might have set up the Lees as the Rajahs of Virginia, and then toy with the Randolphs and the Byrds about supplanting the Lees. Maryland and New Jersey would have been advised about the aggressive policies of Pennsylvania–those Quakers aren’t as pacificist as they claim–and Pennsylvania would have to be protected against its neighbors. (And New Jersey can’t really trust those Maryland Catholics.) The Dutch and the English of New York would be at each others’ throats–with only the Company to stop the bloodshed that it had incited. With 13 colonies, the Company could create and manage 52 crises–one for every direction.

And for these indispensable services, the Colonists would gladly pay pounds in taxes to the Company; and the Crown would get its share in shillings without any of the blame. Yes, the Colonists would finally catch on; Americans might have won autonomy or independence under a mystic pacifist named Lincoln. By that time, however, American taxes would have paid off Britain’s debts for several wars, and Sir Andrew Jackson would have won the battle of Old Orleans–against Napoleon.

Ind. Ku Klux Klan leader gets out of jury duty

  

March 19, 2010 (SOUTH BEND, Ind.) — A high-ranking Ku Klux Klansman from Indiana has been excused from jury duty after saying he couldn’t be fair unless the defendant was white.

Railton Loy is the Imperial Wizard of the National Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, based in Osceola. The South Bend Tribune reports that Loy was excused from jury duty this week by St. Joseph Superior Court Judge Roland Chamblee Jr.

The newspaper reported that Loy said he planned to wear his KKK robes to court if ordered to appear, and said in a phone call to the court that he couldn’t be fair unless “the defendant was white.”

The Cook County Court reports that today’s 5000 prospective jurors have all asked to be excused because they are members of the Ku Klux Klan.  Accountant Jordan Weintraub announced his political allegiance in the courtroom of Judge Sidney Bresler.  Judge Bresler expressed his surprise since he and Weintraub belong to the same synagogue.  Weintraub explained that he also used his tallith as his Klan sheet. 

Among the other self-pronounced Klan members were Jorge Rivera, Father Eamon Kirkpatrick and Muhammed Jones.  The Court excused them all, but insisted that henceforth all unconscientious objectors  must bring proof of Klanhood: a membership card, a hood or a copy of “Gone With the Wind.”

In a related story, the Osceola, Indiana Chapter of the Ku Klux Klan has received  350,000 membership applications. 

In  what might be a related story Homer Bidslow of Travis Jaw, Texas asked to be excused from Texas jury duty because he is not a member of the Ku Klux Klan.