§3. Early Popular Song. XXVII. Oral Literature. Vol. 18. Later National Literature, Part III. The Cambridge History of English and American Literature: An Encyclopedia in Eighteen Volumes. 1907–21

XXVII. Oral Literature.

§ 3. Early Popular Song.

An early mention of popular song in America occurs in an entry in the diary of Cotton Mather for 27 September, 1713:   3
  “I am informed, that the Minds and Manners of many people about the Countrey are much corrupted by foolish Songs and Ballads, which the Hawkers and Peddlars carry into all parts of the Countrey. By way of antidote, I would procure poetical Composures full of Piety, and such as may have a Tendency to advance Truth and Goodness, to be published, and scattered into all Corners of the Land. There may be an extract of some, from the excellent Watt’s Hymns.”   4
  Doubtless many legendary and romantic ballads were brought from England by the colonists, but probably Mather’s “foolish songs and ballads” did not refer to these but rather to convivial, sentimental, or humorous ditties, the street pieces or broadsides popular in the mother country. These he would like to see replaced by religious and moralizing songs. Most songs, of either type, in the period before the Revolution, were probably imported, either orally or in broadside versions; but there were also historical pieces that were indigenous. Professor Tyler, writing in 1878, mentions as ballads popular in New England The Gallant Church, Smith’s Affair at Sidelong Hill, and The Godless French Soldier. These pieces do not appear in printed collections, however, and, in general, little has been done in the way of an attempt to recover songs from the period before the Revolution. The oldest remaining historical ballad composed in America of which texts are available is Lovewell’s Fight, recording a struggle with the Indians in Maine, 8 May, 1725. It was composed not long after the event, and was long popular in New England. A text reduced to print almost a century later begins:
What time the noble Lovewell came,
With fifty men from Dunstable,
The cruel Pequa’tt tribe to tame
With arms and bloodshed terrible.
Longfellow chose the same subject for his early poem The Battle of Lovell’s Pond.
  Greater effort has been made toward collecting songs and ballads of the Revolution, though the work should be done again more exhaustively and more critically. Frank Moore printed in 1856 a collection of verse, brought together from newspapers, periodicals, broadsides, and from the memory of surviving soldiers. Most of these pieces are semi-literary in character, to be sung to familiar tunes imported from England. That oftenest quoted as having the best poetical quality is Nathan Hale. 1  Many express the discontent of the colonists, and many are burlesques. Sometimes they were based on older pieces, as Major André’s The Cow Chace, which is built on The Chevy Chase. Of better quality is A Song for the Red-coats, on the defeat of Burgoyne.
Give ear unto my story,
And I the truth will tell
Concerning many a soldier
Who for his country fell.
Some of the most popular pieces of the Revolutionary period, mostly satirical verses by known authors, have been treated in an earlier chapter. 2 
  From the War of 1812 remain James Bird, a ballad of a hero shot for desertion, texts of which have drifted as far inland as the Central states, and a camp song in ridicule of General Packingham. Some verses beginning
Then you sent out your Boxer to beat us all about;
We had an enterprising Brig to beat the Boxer out,
and some stanzas preserved as a marching song for children—
We’re marching down to old Quebec
While the drums are loudly beating—
may also date back this far. The Texas Rangers, widely current through the South and the West, and modelled on the British Nancy of Yarmouth, sounds like an echo of the fight with the Mexicans at the Alamo in 1835.
  Songs surviving from the Civil War are frequently sentimental in character, like When this Cruel War is Over and The Blue and the Gray. 3  These are of traceable origin, yet they have passed widely into oral tradition. There were numerous camp songs on sieges or battles, but these have not shown vitality. Best remembered in popular literature from the time of the Civil War are many negro, or rather pseudonegro songs, given diffusion by the old-time itinerant negro minstrels. Many are the work of composers like Stephen C. Foster 4  or Henry C. Work. 5  These persist in popular memory side by side with songs like Juanita or Lorena, or the later After the Ball. Every collector of folk-song comes upon pieces of this type far oftener than upon songs commemorating battles or political events. In similar manner, the popular song given currency by the Cuban War, A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight, modelled on a Creole song, does not reflect directly the war that “floated” it. Nor do the songs universalized for England and America by the war of 1914—Tipperary, Keep the Home Fires Burning, Over There, The Long, Long Trail—commemorate its leading events.   8

Note 1. See Book I, Chap. IX. [ back ]
Note 2. See Book I, Chap. IX. [ back ]
Note 3. See Book III, Chaps. II. and III. [ back ]
Note 4. See Book III, Chap. V. [ back ]
Note 5. See Book III, Chap. II. [ back ]


A branch of American Literature too often ignored.

Cracking the Scratch Lottery Code | Magazine

Cracking the Scratch Lottery Code

Photo: John Midgley

Is the apparent randomness of the scratch ticket just a facade, a mathematical lie?
Photo: John Midgley

Mohan Srivastava, a geological statistician living in Toronto, was working in his office in June 2003, waiting for some files to download onto his computer, when he discovered a couple of old lottery tickets buried under some paper on his desk. The tickets were cheap scratchers—a gag gift from his squash partner—and Srivastava found himself wondering if any of them were winners. He fished a coin out of a drawer and began scratching off the latex coating. “The first was a loser, and I felt pretty smug,” Srivastava says. “I thought, ‘This is exactly why I never play these dumb games.’”

The second ticket was a tic-tac-toe game. Its design was straightforward: On the right were eight tic-tac-toe boards, dense with different numbers. On the left was a box headlined “Your Numbers,” covered with a scratchable latex coating. The goal was to scrape off the latex and compare the numbers under it to the digits on the boards. If three of “Your Numbers” appeared on a board in a straight line, you’d won. Srivastava matched up each of his numbers with the digits on the boards, and much to his surprise, the ticket had a tic-tac-toe. Srivastava had won $3. “This is the smallest amount you can win, but I can’t tell you how excited it made me,” he says. “I felt like the king of the world.”

Delighted, he decided to take a lunchtime walk to the gas station to cash in his ticket. “On my way, I start looking at the tic-tac-toe game, and I begin to wonder how they make these things,” Srivastava says. “The tickets are clearly mass-produced, which means there must be some computer program that lays down the numbers. Of course, it would be really nice if the computer could just spit out random digits. But that’s not possible, since the lottery corporation needs to control the number of winning tickets. The game can’t be truly random. Instead, it has to generate the illusion of randomness while actually being carefully determined.”

Srivastava speaks quietly, with a slight stammer. He has a neatly trimmed beard and a messy office. When he talks about a subject he’s interested in—and he’s interested in many things, from military encryption to freshwater fossils—his words start to run into each other.

As a trained statistician with degrees from MIT and Stanford University, Srivastava was intrigued by the technical problem posed by the lottery ticket. In fact, it reminded him a lot of his day job, which involves consulting for mining and oil companies. A typical assignment for Srivastava goes like this: A mining company has multiple samples from a potential gold mine. Each sample gives a different estimate of the amount of mineral underground. “My job is to make sense of those results,” he says. “The numbers might seem random, as if the gold has just been scattered, but they’re actually not random at all. There are fundamental geologic forces that created those numbers. If I know the forces, I can decipher the samples. I can figure out how much gold is underground.”

Srivastava realized that the same logic could be applied to the lottery. The apparent randomness of the scratch ticket was just a facade, a mathematical lie. And this meant that the lottery system might actually be solvable, just like those mining samples. “At the time, I had no intention of cracking the tickets,” he says. He was just curious about the algorithm that produced the numbers. Walking back from the gas station with the chips and coffee he’d bought with his winnings, he turned the problem over in his mind. By the time he reached the office, he was confident that he knew how the software might work, how it could precisely control the number of winners while still appearing random. “It wasn’t that hard,” Srivastava says. “I do the same kind of math all day long.”

That afternoon, he went back to work. The thrill of winning had worn off; he forgot about his lunchtime adventure. But then, as he walked by the gas station later that evening, something strange happened. “I swear I’m not the kind of guy who hears voices,” Srivastava says. “But that night, as I passed the station, I heard a little voice coming from the back of my head. I’ll never forget what it said: ‘If you do it that way, if you use that algorithm, there will be a flaw. The game will be flawed. You will be able to crack the ticket. You will be able to plunder the lottery.’”

The North American lottery system is a $70 billion-a-year business, an industry bigger than movie tickets, music, and porn combined. These tickets have a grand history: Lotteries were used to fund the American colonies and helped bankroll the young nation. In the 18th and 19th centuries, lotteries funded the expansion of Harvard and Yale and allowed the construction of railroads across the continent. Since 1964, when New Hampshire introduced the first modern state lottery, governments have come to rely on gaming revenue. (Forty-three states and every Canadian province currently run lotteries.) In some states, the lottery accounts for more than 5 percent of education funding.

While approximately half of Americans buy at least one lottery ticket at some point, the vast majority of tickets are purchased by about 20 percent of the population. These high-frequency players tend to be poor and uneducated, which is why critics refer to lotteries as a regressive tax. (In a 2006 survey, 30 percent of people without a high school degree said that playing the lottery was a wealth-building strategy.) On average, households that make less than $12,400 a year spend 5 percent of their income on lotteries—a source of hope for just a few bucks a throw.

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Well-written and fun to read.

Book Review: The Poems and Prose of Elizabeth Bishop - WSJ.com

Wherever Home May Be

Elizabeth Bishop was a restless, searching writer whose poems are rich in the wonder of being human


One hundred years after her birth in Worcester, Mass., in 1911, Elizabeth Bishop stands as the most highly regarded American poet of the second-half of the 20th century. She is admired in every critical camp—from feminists to formalists—who agree on little else. Her work also attracts a wide general readership. Taught and studied in high schools and universities, Bishop is, for the time being at least, the most popular woman poet in American literature after Emily Dickinson.

Such immense regard would have astounded the author. Bishop (1911–79) had a high regard for her own work, which she crafted with scrupulous care, but she never courted a broad public. She wrote slowly and published little. She disliked giving readings or interviews, and she generally avoided public literary life. (When she won the National Book Award, she skipped the ceremony.) For most of her career, Bishop was, in John Ashbery's only slight exaggeration, "a writer's writer's writer."

What makes her pre-eminence particularly remarkable is that she wrote so little. She published only five volumes of verse and a short illustrated book on Brazil. Her final collection, "Geography III" (1976), included only 10 poems. Indeed, the contents of all five books, excluding translations, total 88 poems. If one gathers in all her other uncollected original verse, the published oeuvre rises to 105 poems. In other words, across her adult life Bishop wrote, on average, only two or three poems a year.

But what poems!

Critics have a hard time describing the special quality of Bishop's poetry. We tend to fall back on adjectives like "reticent," "meticulous," "restrained," which make her work seem dull and slightly mechanical. The quiet perfection is hard to express without making it sound like a Swiss timepiece. Bishop simply wrote so well that she never needed to raise her voice for emphases or effect. While poets such as Allen Ginsberg shouted slogans or rumbled with prophetic noise, she spoke to us calmly as equals.

What animates Bishop's poetry is the deep authenticity of a writer who knew exactly what she was and never tried to seem otherwise. Her work is never pretentious or inflated. Preternaturally observant, quietly inventive, detached but compassionate, Bishop created poems that seem unnervingly real. We see the place, the person or the thing as if we were truly there, and we feel emotions that the author doesn't state overtly but slyly awakens inside us.


By Elizabeth Bishop
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 352 pages, $16

One reason that Bishop's work feels so real is that most of it grew directly out of her life, though she characteristically presented it indirectly. The author rarely stands center stage in the poems. Bishop acted mostly as a surrogate for the reader, underplaying her own emotions and inevitably viewing the scene with provocative ambiguity. Her celebrated poem "Questions of Travel," for instance, ends not with answers but deeper questions:


'Is it lack of imagination that
makes us come

to imagined places, not just stay
at home?

Or could Pascal have been not
entirely right

about just sitting quietly in one's

Continent, city, country, society:

the choice is never wide and
never free.

And here, or there . . . No. Should
we have stayed at home,

wherever that may be?'


Notice that the lines rhyme. "I have always been an umpty-umpty poet with a traditional ear," Bishop told Anne Stevenson in 1963. Most of Bishop's poems employ rhyme and meter, though she used those techniques with enormous freedom. She could write with equal ease in free verse and occasionally published prose poems. Her imagination was disciplined but inclusive, and she could make a good poem from a nursery rhyme, a samba or a surrealist sculpture. But her characteristic poem has an iambic beat and unfolds in a clear narrative line, like a story.

There is a special irony that Bishop has come to be the signature poet of late 20th-century American literature, a period stereotyped by free verse and experimental forms. Bishop admired Modernism, but she resisted being drawn into its endless arguments about stylistic innovation and the radical transformation of human consciousness. She was, in the highest sense of the word, a prosaic poet, who like the supreme prose masters—Flaubert, James, Na bok ov —could create a verbal fabric so fine that nothing was lost to it. Never trying to be merely modern, she succeeded in becoming perpetually immediate and contemporary.

Bishop's early life was a chronicle of loss and dislocation. She was the only child of a wealthy American contractor and his Canadian bride. Her father died before her first birthday. A few years later her emotionally fragile mother was institutionalized, never to recover. The young Bishop was allowed to visit her mother only once after her confinement.

She was raised first by her poor but affectionate maternal grandparents in Nova Scotia. Then the 6-year-old child was moved to her wealthy but remote paternal grandparents in Worcester. She soon developed asthma and eczema and was transferred to an aunt's. The orphan continued to be shuffled among well-meaning relatives in both countries until she was packed off to boarding school as a teenager.

It was at Vassar, in the early 1930s, that Bishop began to write seriously and co-founded an "advanced" literary magazine with fellow student Mary McCarthy. In her senior year she met the poet Marianne Moore, who became a lifelong friend and the first of her many literary champions—these would eventually include Robert Lowell, Randall Jarrell, Octavio Paz and James Merrill. Bishop had a gift for friendship, which proved a saving grace in her rootless and nomadic life.

Rosalie Thorne McKenna Foundation/Center for Creative Photography, UA Foundation

Bishop at Lota de Macedo Soares's house in Petrópolis, Brazil, in 1954.


A small inheritance from her father gave Bishop a freedom few artists enjoy. She never had to work regularly, except at writing until late middle age, when inflation reduced her income. What she did mostly was travel, constantly seeking a real home. She tried to settle in New York and Key West, Fla., and spent time in Paris and Washington, D.C. In 1952, having embarked on a trip around the world, Bishop took ill in Rio de Janeiro. There she met Lota de Macedo Soares, an architect, who became her lover. Bishop quickly settled in Brazil, and the two women lived together for 15 years—the one extended period of domestic stability in Bishop's life. Then in 1967 the Brazilian idyll was terminated by Soares's suicide.

Bishop wanted to stay in Brazil, but it proved impossible to manage alone, especially given the animosity of her lover's friends. Reluctantly, she left her exquisite historic home in Ouro Prêto, Brazil's baroque mining capital, and returned to the U.S. She lived briefly in San Francisco and settled, finally, in Boston in 1970 to teach at Harvard. Bishop liked her students (as I learned personally 36 years ago), but she disliked teaching, which she did only from financial necessity. In these last years, Bishop's fame began to grow. In 1976, she won both the Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the National Book Critics Circle Award. Academics suddenly discovered her work. But the public recognition came too late to make a meaningful difference to the author—though she had the personal comfort of a new relationship with a stable and successful younger woman. In 1979, she died.

Since Bishop's death, Farrar, Straus & Giroux has published nearly every surviving scrap of the poet's work, including unfinished drafts, paintings and much private correspondence. These five posthumous volumes were then supplemented by a large Library of America compendium. The fiercely private and self-critical author, who had so fastidiously edited her own lifework down to less than 100 poems, has gradually been unveiled to public scrutiny.


By Elizabeth Bishop
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 507 pages, $20

Now two new volumes, simply titled "Poems" and "Prose," have been culled from this editorial abundance to celebrate Bishop's centenary. They essentially contain everything the author published or drafted near completion. Taken together, they provide a compelling record of a great but unusual writer.

"Poems" is one of the indispensable books of modern American poetry, presenting a writer who can bear comparison with her own masters: Wallace Stevens, William Carlos Williams and Marianne Moore. There are no bad poems. One finds a few weaker ones in her first collection, but even early in her career she achieved a consistently high standard—frequently interrupted by masterpieces such as "The Fish," "The Map," "The Moose" and her heartbreaking late poem "One Art."

The only problem in "Poems" is the publisher's desire to bulk up the necessarily slim volume. It seems reasonable to include her unpublished drafts and fragments as an appendix, though few of them add much to her reputation. The best is probably "It is marvellous to wake up together. . ." a discreet but overtly lesbian love poem. But does the reader really need 27 pages of photographs of journal pages and typescripts?

Bishop has received less attention for her short stories, essays and memoirs, which were never collected in her lifetime. Her best fiction and memoirs are almost on a par with her poetry. Indeed, they are all spun from the same autobiographical cloth, presenting similar settings (and sometimes the same characters) with similar concision and evocative detail.

Elizabeth Bishop and The New Yorker: The Complete Correspondence

Edited by Joelle Bielle
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 421 pages, $35

The stories are mostly early work and mostly somber. Set in the hardscrabble Nova Scotia of her childhood, they present small, stark dramas of anxiety and loss. The real treasures of "Prose" (admirably edited by Lloyd Schwartz) are the memoirs. Bishop's fiction uses its energy to control the dark material it explores, but her memoirs luminously unfold, casting light instead of shadows.

Bishop had a particular genius for sketching memorable characters in a few perfect sentences. In a memoir of her mildly dissolute uncle, she sketches his formidable wife in a few sharp phrases: "If Uncle Neddy was a 'devil,' a feeble smokey-black one, Aunt Hat was a red, real one—redheaded, freckled, red-knuckled, strong, all fierce fire and flame." Once again it is the sheer physical presence of her writing that astonishes. Most authors try to achieve verisimilitude by slowly piling on des criptive details. Bishop achieves it swiftly by offering just the right details. Here, for example, she evokes a desolate and barren store in rural Brazil in one short sentence: "A glass case offered brown toffees leaking through their papers, and old, old, old sweet buns."

Even in her memoirs, Bishop rarely makes herself the central subject but focuses her imagination on the people and places she encounters. Balancing humor, pathos and compassion (with a touch of innocent wonder), these pieces capture the emotional complexity of daily existence. The best of the memoirs—such as "The U.S.A. School of Writing," which describes her brief stint working at a shady correspondence school—have the resonance of short novels.

The critical selections in "Prose" are quite minor by comparison. Abstract speculation bored Bishop, and she had no gift for intellectual argumentation. Her best pieces are short and idiosyncratic, though brightened by flashes of wit, as when she calls e.e. cummings "the famous man of little letters." A painstaking writer, who agonized over every sentence, Bishop lacked the necessary facility of the professional critic. In 1970, the New Yorker appointed her their new poetry reviewer, and she took on her first assignment. Three years later they were still waiting for it.

Special Collections/Vassar College Libraries

The New Yorker played a central role in Bishop's career. She published the vast majority of her work in the magazine, whose editors had recognized her special talent from the start. Already in 1946, just as her first book appeared, the New Yorker offered her the elite status of a "first reading" contract—giving Bishop a higher per-word rate and the magazine right-of-refusal on all her poems. Her editors adored her, especially Howard Moss, who eagerly accepted almost every poem she submitted, usually with lavish praise and a prompt check. "I love your flattery," Bishop responded, "and wish I could believe 25% of it."

Bishop's long and affectionate relationship with the magazine is thoroughly documented in "Elizabeth Bishop and The New Yorker: The Complete Correspondence." This ample volume presents 400 pages of letters between Bishop and her editors, most notably Moss and Katharine White, and covers 45 years of dealings: from 1934, when the magazine accepted an anecdote from the new Vassar graduate for its "Talk of the Town" column, to a postcard written shortly before the poet's death.

This book of letters is not for every taste. Poets and New Yorker aficionados will find it irresistible. The rest of humanity will rightly find it baffling. Although the letters address many topics, their central concern, their ruling passion, is punctuation. The dash, hyphen, parenthesis and especially the comma have never inspired greater emotion and imagination than among the old New Yorker editors who could —and regularly did—discuss small matters of punctuation for weeks.

"Commas in the New Yorker," quipped E.B. White, Katharine's husband, "fall with the precision of knives in a circus act, outlining the victim." Yet reading this volume, noting the meticulous attention brought to each poem and story, one realizes how skillfully the editors helped focus and clarify every detail of the text. Bishop would sometimes complain, but she rarely discarded the changes when her poems appeared in books.

The letters also document the scrupulously polite etiquette that prevailed at the old New Yorker—a ritualized kindness worthy of a Victorian parsonage. Bishop would submit poems (many of them now famous anthology pieces) to Moss, her most devoted fan, with self-deprecating comments such as, "I doubt you will be interested in this." Moss would quickly accept the poem with lavish praise. Then in the next paragraph the editing began—not stopping until the final proof. The exaggerated politeness clearly helped ameliorate the annoyance of the magazine's protracted copyediting and factchecking process. But as these letters so copiously prove, the editors never tried to change the author's intentions, even in the smallest matters, only to realize them. For a woman without a fixed home, family or even country, the New Yorker provided a sense of stability and continuity. It adopted her early and gave the consistent support that allowed her to develop her idiosyncratic talents into genius.

Elizabeth Bishop's future reputation will surely fluctuate slightly according to the currents of taste, but she has indisputably won a permanent place in the American literary canon. An independent and honest writer who never chased fashion, joined groups or struck public poses, she labored at the art's perennial task—to communicate the joy, sorrow and wonder of being human. She took her time about it, and it shows.

—Mr. Gioia, the former chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, has just been appointed professor of poetry and public culture at University of Southern California.

Elizabeth Bishop is on everyone's short list of major American poets of her generation.

Govt asked to explain failure to stop fatwa

Thursday, February 3, 2011
Front Page

Govt asked to explain failure to stop fatwa

HC gives Shariatpur admin 15 days to tell why it could not save life of 14-year-old rape victim

L-R: Mofiz Uddin and Joynal

The High Court yesterday ordered district officials in Shariatpur to explain why they failed to protect 14-year-old rape victim Hena from being whipped to death as per a fatwa on Monday.

The deputy commissioner, the superintendent of police of Shariatpur and the thana nirbahi officer of Naria upazila -- where the incident took place--will have to report to the HC in 15 days how it happened although the court (HC) had eight months ago declared fatwa illegal and a punishable offence.

In a suo moto rule, the HC directed them also to report what steps they have taken in this regard.

An HC bench comprised of Justice AHM Shamsuddin Chowdhury Manik and Justice Sheikh Md Zakir Hossain issued the rule following press reports on the killing of Hena.

The reports said Hena was raped by her 40-year-old relative Mahbub on Sunday. Next day, a fatwa was announced at a village arbitration that she must be given 100 lashes. She fell unconscious after nearly 80 lashes.

Fatally injured Hena was rushed to Naria health complex where she succumbed to her injuries.

Supreme Court lawyer Seema Zahur yesterday placed before the HC bench a press report on the incident on behalf of Bangladesh National Women Lawyers Association.

Meanwhile, another HC bench yesterday directed the law enforcement agencies to submit a report to it within three weeks on what steps have been taken following this incident in the light of its judgement on extra-judicial punishment.

The bench comprised of Justice Syed Mahmud Hossain and Justice Nazrul Islam Talukder also ordered the information ministry to run a media campaign to create awareness among people against extra-judicial punishment.

The bench headed by Justice Syed Mahmud Hossain on July 8 last year delivered the verdict declaring illegal all kinds of extra-judicial punishment including those in the name of fatwa at local arbitrations.

Following three writ petitions, the court directed the authorities concerned to take punitive action against people involved in enforcing fatwa against women.

It also observed that infliction of brutal punishment including caning, whipping and beating at local salish [arbitration] by persons devoid of judicial authority constitutes violation of the constitutional rights.

Barristers Rabia Bhuiyan, Sara Hossain and Mahbub Shafique, and advocate KM Hafizul Alam, lawyers for the writ petitioners, yesterday placed the judgement to the bench following the incident involving Hena.

Ain O Salish Kendra (ASK), a human rights watchdog, expressed deep concern and shock yesterday at the killing of teenage rape victim Hena.

It demanded punitive action against those who enforced fatwa concerning her.

The ASK called upon the government to take effective steps to stop recurrence of such incidents.

Can this be?

Macauley on the Puritans with reading by JV

The Whig historian Thomas Babington Macauley explains why the Puritans, ridiculous and ridiculed, deserve our respect and admiration. You may notice the irony of his attacking the Catholics for lack of tolerance, when he treats them to very little of it himself.  This is an excerpt from his essay on Milton, the greatest of Protestant poets.

YouTube - Republican Response to the State of the Union 2011- VIDEO analysis

Republican Response to the State of the Union 2011- VIDEO analysis

The linked video shows an analyst reviewing Paul Ryan't response to the State of the Union Address by the President.  Click the link to the critique.  My critique of the critique:

Paul Ryan is the father of three children and the Chairman of the Congressional Budget Committee. He is no kid or gawky office manager. The analyst here is a media consultant, however, and not interested in substance at all. He is all about image. It is true that Ryan looks young.

The anlaytic tradition of our speaker goes back to the sophists by way of Machiavelli. For them, it is silly to worry about what is right or wrong.  What matters is results.  The sophists claimed that everything is opinion.  If so, truth does not matter.  Persuasion and persuasive technique do. Power is everything.  In this case, I believe every individual point made is valid. This is a competent analysis.  But it is what is chosen to analyse that troubles me some.

The analyst assumes that Ryan shares his professional cynicism, butconsider that Ryan was  saying that if our government keeps borrowing as it is, disaster is inevitable. Disaster means deep austerity and slow growth, which translates to a lower standard of living for everyone. If he is right, his message is urgent., His style or haircut, not so much.

Thus media analysis even though correct on every point may still, by its choice of the terms of reference, end up trivializing everything. And in the process, the citizenry become merely members of a vast audience.


Language and Thought Control

January 18th, 2011 7:42 pm

Free the Dictionary

CNN is now apologizing for the use of the word “crosshairs” in general political speech, as shown in the video after the “Read More” jump. The implication is that the word itself has been used to facilitate a hate crime. That is untrue, as former New York City Mayor Ed Koch observes. But maybe the belief is that if a lie is repeated for long enough then it eventually becomes true. Then power follows. “Real power is the ability to define what the fight is about.” The entire discussion moves into a rigged casino. Control words and you control truth. George Orwell understood this so well that he believed one of the first things every totalitarian ideology does is redefine the words in a language, purposefully, forcefully and relentlessly. In his novel 1984, he called this artificial language of totalitarianism Newspeak.


Thomas Szass pointed out that "In nature, it is kill or be killed; in culture it is define or be defined." An important point to remember when entering the lists of our culture wars...