– H L Mencken, A Book of Burlesques, “Sententiæ” (1920), quoted from The Columbia Dictionary of Quotations
There is only one honest impulse at the bottom of Puritanism, and that is the impulse to punish the man with a superior capacity for happiness — to bring him down to the miserable level of “good” men, i.e., of stupid, cowardly, and chronically unhappy men.
– H L Mencken, Alistair Cooke, ed, The Vintage Mencken, quoted from James A Haught, ed, 2000 Years of Disbelief
The truth is, as every one knows, that the great artists of the world are never Puritans, and seldom even ordinarily respectable. No virtuous man — that is, virtuous in the YMCA sense — has ever painted a picture worth looking at, or written a symphony worth hearing, or a book worth reading, and it is highly improbable that the thing has ever been done by a virtuous woman.
– H L Mencken, Prejudices, “The Blushful Mystery: Art and Sex” (First Series, 1919).
IS this the worst of all possible worlds? I’m an old Puritan in HL Mencken’s sense. I’m anti-fun, anti-having a good time. So just “enjoying myself” isn’t going to be a world out for me. I need a Milton to justify the ways of God to man. Do not mistake theodicy for religion, I’m an atheist. But in order to be able to speak, I must name God.
I’m at the bottom of the heap in this society. Would it be so much better to be a Roman slave, if I knew the master who beat me was a noble civic Republican? Are the young rape slaves of the Mongols, conciled by the fact that a tribal democratic cosmopolitan is being built? Do the murdered Helots rejoice that all Spartans are brothers? Is not this the best age to be a loser? It is true if I was a citizen in a past age it might be better, but thats an unequal comparison, since the losers of the past were slaves and serfs. If I’m destined to be a loser in all ages, is this not my golden age?
I assumed I was a world conqueror. Yeah this is a pretty crummy time to be a conqueror. Even if you are victorious you have done it for nothing. So perhaps it is the leaders who ought to be pitied. It is they who miss out on the glorious republican legacy. I would have just been their slave anyway.
Does not everyone believe they are uniquely destined? For me it took on truly grandiose terms. I told a Wiccan, that I was guided by the star of destiny- Fortuna.
“Ah the whore goddess” she replied.
I scoffed, I’m going places, people can see that in me, I insisted. I will fulfill the dream. The babe is resting his head suckling on his mother’s bosom. Her wind blows with the words. Maringo, Austerlitz, Jena. Fatherland. That was the dream. Oh gentle Liberte, how I caressed you. What cruel insults I threw at your beautiful sisters, what is egalitie in chains? what is the fraternite of slaves? Such nonsense I spoke. Or beautiful virginal liberte, they have made you the painted whore- liberty!
My life is the story of two sisters. One who was right to betray me, the other who erred. Sophia, you were gentle and soft. Fortuna, ah you were the great seducer. How you drugged me! Oh the miraculous kingdoms you promised me. Or did you? Did I just delude myself? Did I speak for you old whore? Ah Sophia’s soft eyes. Do you remember that time, after those harlots confronted me after football practice. I was quite the Cato then. I’m sure I gave them a very noble reply, and they laughed. Oh those miles I ran after that. And in that lovely park, where I rested on the swings alone. I came running there. Exhausted and worn out, I ran harder, because you Sophia, were there with outstretched arms. I believe you Sophia. You could have given me all, and you asked for nothing. Oh Sophia, how I have failed you. What an ungrateful servant I was. How I lived by your sister.
It is my fault. All my fault. This hellish world is my creation. Evil could have been fought. It was my duty to have courage to fight their fire with fire. Coward! Wretch! You flinched! The butterfly effect. The mistakes of I, the insignificant worm, made a small ripple, that 1000 miles away became a great storm that would engulf the world. I’m too blame. Life is struggle. Good stood on one side, evil on the other. Those were the barricades. Yes this world is one ruled by evil. But only because that battle was lost. And I’m to blame.
What a strange, ugly, dull, boring world. Accursed! And I’m too blame. The whole weight of the world is on my back. I’m directly responsible for everything. Not a leaf falls, that I did not will.
Virtue in the mind alone, is no virtue. Virtue must be made into a fist to smash evil. I had my chance to do that. I was a miser not an investor.
The word talent used to be a unit of Greek currency. It is only because of Jesus’ parable that talent is only useful in the world, and not buried, that talent came to mean skill. Isn’t that my own story? Perhaps I did have virtue, but I buried it in the ground so it would not be stolen, I did not invest it so it would grow.
Who says I had to accept the values of the world? But even to fight for a better one, my honor had to be thrown into the wide world. Only then could it have been set right.
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