The Absolute Truth--At Least for Now

I used to be a strong advocate for the death penalty and an even stronger opponent of abortion. I proudly attended Young Republican rallies, fervently listened to Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, and sadly worshiped every gelled hair on Ronald Reagan’s head. I didn’t care in the least that the Canadian spotted owl was endangered or that my wife’s hair spray was slowly depleting the ozone. And I was happy.  To me, my pro-life, ultra-conservative opinions were unassailable, self-evident and absolute truths. “How could anyone not be pro-life?” I naively reasoned. “What are they—pro-death?”  Those were simpler, easier times, of course--before a thing called life got in the way.
I’d always heard that people tend to get more conservative as they get older.  In my case, it seems that the opposite is true. After studying Stephen Toulmin’s position on theoretical and practical argument [I know it's not exactly light reading, but I was in graduate school and trying desperately to make an A], it occurred to me that my shifting political views were not so much the result of gray hair, fatherhood, and boxer shorts, but a more gradual and subtle reevaluation of my beliefs based on practical life experience.

Descartes was looking for the “single certain thing.” Thomas Carlisle and John Stuart Mill called it the “one thing necessary.” If experience has taught me anything, it is to be wary of anyone who claims to have all the answers. There are no pat, easy answers to life’s great issues. Toulmin argues that practical concerns, due to their complexities, can not be “governed by a single overriding principle.” The complexities surrounding both abortion and capital punishment have caused me to shift my thinking on these two very controversial issues. My early political views, sadly, reflected my blind allegiance to a single overriding principle--conservative absolutism. My experience has taught me, however, that issues like abortion and the death penalty are far too complex for this convenient absolutist philosophy.  My rational voice tells me that killing is wrong, for example; but my reasonable experience has seen that there are times when killing is justified. As much as I’m coming to despise labels, I still consider myself “pro-life.”  Abortion is a dreadful practice when it is used as a birth control device, yet over the years I have come to understand, as much as I can, that women view the abortion issue as more a power struggle than a moral dilemma. Pro-choice women resent the male-dominated political and religious systems of our society dictating to them what they can and cannot do with their bodies. Although I do not agree with their ultimate conclusions, pro-choice advocates are neither immoral nor evil. They simple adhere to a different overriding principle—self-determination.

My changing views on the death penalty, like abortion, were due to fifteen years of critical observation, and one very poignant conversation with my father. Although for years I strongly supported capital punishment, I was gradually becoming dissatisfied with its application. As Toulmin would say, two of my absolute principles were having a difficult time coexisting. How could I justify state-ordered executions while I was simultaneously arguing the immorality of abortion?  My father is a man who frequently defies both labels and logic. He’s an admitted yellow-dog, liberal Democrat, yet he voted for Barry Goldwater in 1968 and my beloved Ronald Reagan in 1980. He's deeply and powerfully spiritual, yet he is ambivalent toward organized religion. He also seemingly defies his liberal beliefs in his support of the death penalty. Several years ago in one of our frequent philosophical conversations, he awakened me to a central truth about my own belief.  In countering my statement that capital punishment is necessary as an effective deterrence, he said, “Greg, capital punishment has never been about deterrence. It hasn’t been an effective deterrent since the beginning of time.  It’s always been about one thing--revenge.”  Again, this was coming from a man who feels the death penalty is a social necessity.  As much as I hate to admit it, and I certainly didn’t tell him this at the time (sorry, Dad), my father was absolutely right. For me, the death penalty was mostly about satisfying my own personal need for justice. I simply wanted revenge. How can a “Christian” society that proudly advocates such doctrine as “love thy neighbor” and “turning the other cheek” also sanction and carry out public revenge killings?  I really haven’t felt the same way about the issue of capital punishment since that conversation with my father.

I haven’t completely changed my conservative doctrine, however. Life is too complex. If I ever want to get in trouble with my wife, for example, all I have to do is mention the environment. I refuse to recycle. Al Gore be damned. [Yes, he's my cousin, but haven't you ever had a cousin you were ashamed of?] How do we know that God didn’t create man for the divine purpose of inventing vacuum-formed plastics and chemicals that thin out that pesky ozone layer? And why should I trouble myself with the fate of the endangered American alligator? He’s been around for millions of years, and now I’m supposed to help stop his extinction?  Maybe God intended the species to die out hundreds of years ago, but He didn’t anticipate the politically-correct interference of Greenpeace. Obviously, my cavalier opinions about the environment are not extremely popular. If past evidence of my growth and experience is any indication, however, I am a work in progress.

Face the Nation

                                                          Face the Nation, or Not

Abraham Lincoln was positively the ugliest President of all time.  There’s very little room for serious argument. Granted, there have been several Presidents who weren’t exactly easy on the eyes. FDR was stately, in a Burgess Meredith-as-Penguin sort of way. And rumor has it the White House architects used William Howard Taft’s hefty girth as inspiration when designing the shape of Oval Office. And what was with Andrew Jackson’s Conway Twitty pompadour?  Do you think he was just country before country was cool?  Still, for pure, unadulterated, hide-the-young-children hideousness, nothing matches Honest Abe. This rather blunt observation has nothing to do with his unquestioned place in history as one of America’s most respected and influential leaders or his legacy as one of the world’s most eloquent, powerful orators.[1] However, his painful countenance has always been a curiosity that makes me marvel even more at his incredible rise to political power in the mid-nineteenth century. 

        Would a person this ugly even try to run for President in today’s image-conscious, MSNBC-soundbite era of politics, where a candidate measures his worthiness by how cleverly he can exchange barbs with Jay Leno?  Ask Steve Forbes. He has more money than Scrooge McDuck, yet his weak attempts at securing the Republican nomination in the past only underscore how much he needs to invest some of his hoard in plastic surgery. [2]  Mr. Forbes is ugly, mind you, but Abe Lincoln makes him look like Brad Pitt.  You think I’m being too harsh? How many people in the history of man have had a profile that can be accurately duplicated by a hand shadow? [3]

And it’s not like we are allowed to politely ignore Lincoln’s homeliness.  As a sadistic and cruel joke, the U.S. Mint has twice planted his malformed visage on a piece of extremely popular currency.  If they had to honor him, why couldn’t they have placed Abe’s mug on the rarely used $2 bill?  No, for this uncirculated curiosity they chose the handsomely dashing, pony-tailed Thomas Jefferson. [4] And for the $100 bill, which the average person may only briefly glimpse as he pulls it from the bank envelope and counts it quickly into his creditor’s hand, the sadistic Mint selected Alexander Hamilton, recognized for both his ground-breaking work in the Treasury Department and for his incredibly judicious restraint in never becoming President of the United States. [5]

           If that were not enough, here’s another great idea: let’s carve Abe’s face into the side of an enormous mountain! For years, visitors to Mount Rushmore have appreciated how the many misshaped crevices on Abe’s cheeks can be used for just about anything: bottle opener, knife sharpener, or secure foothold when rescuing Eva Marie Saint from a band of international spies. Repairs are made frequently to the entire incredible monument, but, according to park officials, most of the deterioration is coming from Lincoln’s head. [6]

So how did a man this ugly become arguably the most influential and respected President in U.S. history? I was reminded of Abe Lincoln’s uncanny ability to overcome his physical liability the other night while watching a re-run of PBS Frontline’s  “Abe and Mary Todd Lincoln: A House Divided.” [7]   This outstanding documentary used a combination of archive photographs, bad actors in reenactments, and worse actors like Billy Baldwin and Charlie Sheen narrating or reading authentic letters and speeches to explore the President’s turbulent relationship with his wife during the devastating Civil War. Or it may have been his devastating relationship with his wife during the turbulent Civil War. Either way, I was expecting some dark, serious talk about casualties and destruction as soon as the opening narrator, I think it was Dean Cain, first called The Civil War the “War Between the States.”  That’s like when elderly veterans refer to World War Two as “WW2” or “The Big One.”  You know they’re not preparing to reminisce about all the beautiful frauleins they nailed in Hamburg.[8]

 I’ve been thinking about President Lincoln a lot lately.  While discussing To Kill a Mockingbird, my sophomore students began a very spirited debate [9] over the statement “Let the dead bury the dead,” spoken at the end of the novel by Sheriff Tate to Atticus Finch. To give my students a more recent example of what this biblical statement means, I asked them to argue the merits of our federal government paying retribution to Native-Americans, Asian-Americans and African-Americans for damages caused by past government-sanctioned atrocities.[10] After I told them what retribution and atrocities meant, I played a video segment from a recent episode of “The O’Reilly Factor,” where a Congressman—no, it wasn’t Trent Lott--used Lincoln to support the idea of “letting the dead bury the dead.” According to the politician,[11] Lincoln’s second inaugural address called upon his pro-Union supporters to forgo retribution, vengeance or any punishment for their Confederate brothers.  He argued that, with 600,000 soldiers dead, God had already made the U.S. government pay for its sinful history. Considering that about two-thirds of these fatalities were Union soldiers fighting for the government that supported emancipation of the slaves and an entire generation was permanently damaged by the ravages of war, I agree with Abe . . . and the weasel. I have difficulty believing that the bloodiest war in American history was not retribution enough.[12]

So what’s this have to do with Abraham Lincoln’s ugly mug?  I honestly don’t have a clue.  My gut feeling is nothing.  I only know that the PBS special, with its high-minded educational intentions, left me with one nagging question:  What’s up with Abe’s face? How can I concentrate on his brilliant foresight and inspired leadership when I can’t get past this enormous physical handicap? [13]

           The final segment of the three-part series concluded with a fascinating glimpse into Lincoln’s bizarre relationship with his wife. The dual meaning of Lincoln’s “divided house”—a divided country and a bipolar wife—came to the American public’s attention during the last days of the “War Between the States” when Mary Todd accompanied her husband on a diplomatic trip.  When a Senator’s wife casually chatted and joked with the President, the insanely jealous, but apparently agile, First Lady jumped out of her carriage and proceeded on a two-day tirade that humiliated the President, publicly aired the dirty secret of her failing mental health, and eerily foreshadowed the legacy of the Clinton administration.[14]  But the documentary failed to address the central mystery of the First Lady’s profanity-laced tirade—her husband’s legendary looks.  By my estimation, Mary Todd Lincoln’s bizarre behavior couldn’t have startled the onlookers as much as the very idea that the First Lady was actually crazy enough to think any respectable 19th century woman could be sexually attracted to Abe, a man so incredibly ugly small children were known to write him letters suggesting he find a way to cover his face. 

---

[1] He falls somewhere between William Jennings Bryan and Reverend Al Sharpton.

[2]  He should call Bruce Jenner's personal surgeon, who must have some free time now that his number one patient’s face has fallen off.

[3] Technically three, if you care to include Bob Hope and Alfred Hitchcock.

[4]  Inventor of the dumb waiter

[5] Not even during that brief period in the early 19th century when several instantly forgettable individuals simply took turns at the job.

[6] Protective and patriotic rangers are quick to add that Abe’s sheltering ears also may have single-handedly saved the golden eagle from extinction.

[7] I think the title was lifted from an old Sonny and Cher song.

[8] Elvis Presley still holds the U.S. Army record.

[9] Okay, spirited may be a bit of a stretch for fifteen-year-olds, but they weren’t sleeping, so it seemed spirited at the time.

[10] Speaking of records, I wonder what the record is for number of hyphenated words in one sentence.

[11] I don’t remember whom it was, and I don’t care enough to look it up. He was a weasel.

[12] Do you think I really saw this on The O’Reilly Factor? Explain.

[13] Isn’t that technically two nagging questions? And speaking of physical handicaps, is it too late to mention that Abe had hands the size of Lincoln Towncar hubcaps? 

[14] Although Hillary was anything but agile.  In fact, her legs were shaped like Campbell’s Family-Size soup cans. 

Welcome to Greg Howard's Blog

This is my blog. I'm calling it "Derailed Boxcars" because, when viewed from a distance, I imagine my rants and musings will seem random and scattered--like train wreckage, or my bottom teeth. (That's not completely fair; my teeth were heroically repaired by Dr. Underwood some 30 years ago, and he has the lake house, pontoon boat and four Sea-Doos to prove it.)

So why have a blog? Isn't a blog just an enormous vanity project? Don't I usually mock people who are self-aggrandizing and pretentious? Aren't I, Greg Howard, a man who would never blatantly place his name within a sentence, above stooping to such pitiful levels to get attention? And don't you think four rhetorical questions are excessive?

Of course all of these are true. But not all blogs are created equal. Like Jonas brothers, their quality and worthiness can vary dramatically. I've read some blogs that are exceptionally erudite, helpfully instructive, spiritually inspiring, and profoundly comforting. This blog, thank God, will be none of those. That's a promise. Well, more like an Obama promise; I may need the wiggle room to change my mind if the mood strikes me. I see the world the way I see the world--it's impossible to explain. It just is. So here goes. I'll start by attempting to share some of my musings from the past few years. Enjoy. Or leave this blog to get some yogurt in the refrigerator. It'll be easier to digest.