You're probably not the President — and if you are: Greetings, my President! — but you can read "Rationalism in Politics" here — "no man can hope to be successful whose reason has become inflexible by surrender to habit or is clouded by the fumes of tradition" — and here's "The Vanity of Human Wishes":
Let Observation with extensive View,
Survey Mankind, from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious Toil, each eager Strife,
And watch the busy Scenes of crouded Life;
Then say how Hope and Fear, Desire and Hate,
O'er spread with Snares the clouded Maze of Fate,
Where wav'ring Man, betray'd by vent'rous Pride,
To tread the dreary Paths without a Guide;
As treach'rous Phantoms in the Mist delude,
Shuns fancied Ills, or chases airy Good.
How rarely Reason guides the stubborn Choice,
Rules the bold Hand, or prompts the suppliant Voice,
How Nations sink, by darling Schemes oppres'd,
When Vengeance listens to the Fool's Request.
Fate wings with ev'ry Wish th' afflictive Dart,
Each Gift of Nature, and each Grace of Art,
With fatal Heat impetuous Courage glows,
With fatal Sweetness Elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the Speaker's pow'rful Breath,
And restless Fire precipitates on Death.
But scarce observ'd the Knowing and the Bold,
Fall in the gen'ral Massacre of Gold;
Wide-wasting Pest! that rages unconfin'd,
And crouds with Crimes the Records of Mankind,
For Gold his Sword the Hireling Ruffian draws,
For Gold the hireling Judge distorts the Laws;
Wealth heap'd on Wealth, nor Truth nor Safety buys,
The Dangers gather as the Treasures rise.
Let Hist'ry tell where rival Kings command,
And dubious Title shakes the madded Land,
When Statutes glean the Refuse of the Sword,
How much more safe the Vassal than the Lord,
Low sculks the Hind beneath the Rage of Pow'r,
And leaves the bonny Traytor in the Tow'r,
Untouch'd his Cottage, and his Slumbers sound,
Tho' Confiscation's Vulturs clang around.
The needy Traveller, serene and gay,
Walks the wild Heath, and sings his Toil away.
Does Envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding Joy,
Encrease his Riches and his Peace destroy,
New Fears in dire Vicissitude invade,
The rustling Brake alarms, and quiv'ring Shade,
Nor Light nor Darkness bring his Pain Relief,
One shews the Plunder, and one hides the Thief.
Yet still the gen'ral Cry the Skies assails
And Gain and Grandeur load the tainted Gales;
Few know the toiling Statesman's Fear or Care,
Th' insidious Rival and the gaping Heir.
Once more, Democritus, arise on Earth,
With chearful Wisdom and instructive Mirth,
See motley Life in modern Trappings dress'd,
And feed with varied Fools th' eternal Jest:
Thou who couldst laugh where Want enchain'd Caprice,
Toil crush'd Conceit, and Man was of a Piece;
Where Wealth unlov'd without a Mourner dy'd;
And scarce a Sycophant was fed by Pride;
Where ne'er was known the Form of mock Debate,
Or seen a new-made Mayor's unwieldy State;
Where change of Fav'rites made no Change of Laws,
And Senates heard before they judg'd a Cause;
How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish Tribe,
Dart the quick Taunt, and edge the piercing Gibe?
Attentive Truth and Nature to descry,
And pierce each Scene with Philosophic Eye.
To thee were solemn Toys or empty Shew,
The Robes of Pleasure and the Veils of Woe:
All aid the Farce, and all thy Mirth maintain,
Whose Joys are causeless, or whose Griefs are vain.
Such was the Scorn that fill'd the Sage's Mind,
Renew'd at ev'ry Glance on Humankind;
How just that Scorn ere yet thy Voice declare,
Search every State, and canvass ev'ry Pray'r.
Unnumber'd Suppliants croud Preferment's Gate,
Athirst for Wealth, and burning to be great;
Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant Call,
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.
On ev'ry Stage the Foes of Peace attend,
Hate dogs their Flight, and Insult mocks their End.
Love ends with Hope, the sinking Statesman's Door
Pours in the Morning Worshiper no more;
For growing Names the weekly Scribbler lies,
To growing Wealth the Dedicator flies,
From every Room descends the painted Face,
That hung the bright Palladium of the Place,
And smoak'd in Kitchens, or in Auctions sold,
To better Features yields the Frame of Gold;
For now no more we trace in ev'ry Line
Heroic Worth, Benevolence Divine:
The Form distorted justifies the Fall,
And Detestation rids th' indignant Wall.
But will not Britain hear the last Appeal,
Sign her Foes Doom, or guard her Fav'rites Zeal;
Through Freedom's Sons no more Remonstrance rings,
Degrading Nobles and controuling Kings;
Our supple Tribes repress their Patriot Throats,
And ask no Questions but the Price of Votes;
With Weekly Libels and Septennial Ale,
Their Wish is full to riot and to rail.
In full-blown Dignity, see Wolsey stand,
Law in his Voice, and Fortune in his Hand:
To him the Church, the Realm, their Pow'rs consign,
Thro' him the Rays of regal Bounty shine,
Turn'd by his Nod the Stream of Honour flows,
His Smile alone Security bestows:
Still to new Heights his restless Wishes tow'r,
Claim leads to Claim, and Pow'r advances Pow'r;
Till Conquest unresisted ceas'd to please,
And Rights submitted, left him none to seize.
At length his Sov'reign frowns — the Train of State
Mark the keen Glance, and watch the Sign to hate.
Where-e'er he turns he meets a Stranger's Eye,
His Suppliants scorn him, and his Followers fly;
Now drops at once the Pride of aweful State,
The golden Canopy, the glitt'ring Plate,
The regal Palace, the luxurious Board,
The liv'ried Army, and the menial Lord.
With Age, with Cares, with Maladies oppress'd,
He seeks the Refuge of Monastic Rest.
Grief aids Disease, remember'd Folly stings,
And his last Sighs reproach the Faith of Kings.
Speak thou, whose Thoughts at humble Peace repine,
Shall Wolsey's Wealth, with Wolsey's End be thine?
Or liv'st thou now, with safer Pride content,
The richest Landlord on the Banks of Trent?
For why did Wolsey by the Steps of Fate,
On weak Foundations raise th' enormous Weight
Why but to sink beneath Misfortune's Blow,
With louder Ruin to the Gulphs below?
What gave great Villiers to th' Assassin's Knife,
And fixed Disease on Harley's closing life?
What murder'd Wentworth, and what exil'd Hyde,
By Kings protected and to Kings ally'd?
What but their Wish indulg'd in Courts to shine,
And Pow'r too great to keep or to resign?
When first the College Rolls receive his Name,
The young Enthusiast quits his Ease for Fame;
Resistless burns the fever of Renown,
Caught from the strong Contagion of the Gown;
O'er Bodley's Dome his future Labours spread,
And Bacon's Mansion trembles o'er his Head;
Are these thy Views? proceed, illustrious Youth,
And Virtue guard thee to the Throne of Truth,
Yet should thy Soul indulge the gen'rous Heat,
Till captive Science yields her last Retreat;
Should Reason guide thee with her brightest Ray,
And pour on misty Doubt resistless Day;
Should no false Kindness lure to loose Delight,
Nor Praise relax, nor Difficulty fright;
Should tempting Novelty thy Cell refrain,
And Sloth's bland Opiates shed their Fumes in vain;
Should Beauty blunt on Fops her fatal Dart,
Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd Heart;
Should no Disease thy torpid Veins invade,
Nor Melancholy's Phantoms haunt thy Shade;
Yet hope not Life from Grief or Danger free,
Nor think the Doom of Man revers'd for thee:
Deign on the passing World to turn thine Eyes,
And pause awhile from Learning to be wise;
There mark what Ills the Scholar's Life assail,
Toil, Envy, Want, the Garret, and the Jail.
See Nations slowly wise, and meanly just,
To buried Merit raise the tardy Bust.
If Dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
Hear Lydiat's Life, and Galileo's End.
Nor deem, when Learning her lost Prize bestows
The glitt'ring Eminence exempt from Foes;
See when the Vulgar 'scap'd despis'd or aw'd,
Rebellion's vengeful Talons seize on Laud.
From meaner Minds, tho' smaller Fines content
The plunder'd Palace or sequester'd Rent;
Mark'd out by dangerous Parts he meets the Shock,
And fatal Learning leads him to the Block:
Around his Tomb let Art and Genius weep,
But hear his Death, ye Blockheads, hear and sleep.
The festal Blazes, the triumphal Show,
The ravish'd Standard, and the captive Foe,
The Senate's Thanks, the Gazette's pompous Tale,
With Force resistless o'er the Brave prevail.
Such Bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd,
For such the steady Romans shook the World;
For such in distant Lands the Britons shine,
And stain with Blood the Danube or the Rhine;
This Pow'r has Praise, that Virtue scarce can warm,
Till Fame supplies the universal Charm.
Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal Game,
Where wasted Nations raise a single Name,
And mortgag'd States their Grandsires Wreaths regret
From Age to Age in everlasting Debt;
Wreaths which at last the dear-bought Right convey
To rust on Medals, or on Stones decay.
On what Foundation stands the Warrior's Pride?
How just his Hopes let Swedish Charles decide;
A Frame of Adamant, a Soul of Fire,
No Dangers fright him, and no Labours tire;
O'er Love, o'er Force, extends his wide Domain,
Unconquer'd Lord of Pleasure and of Pain;
No Joys to him pacific Scepters yield,
War sounds the Trump, he rushes to the Field;
Behold surrounding Kings their Pow'r combine,
And One capitulate, and One resign;
Peace courts his Hand, but spread her Charms in vain;
"Think Nothing gain'd, he cries, till nought remain,
"On Moscow's Walls till Gothic Standards fly,
"And all is Mine beneath the Polar Sky."
The March begins in Military State,
And Nations on his Eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary Coast,
And Winter barricades the Realms of Frost;
He comes, nor Want nor Cold his Course delay;—-
Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's Day:
The vanquish'd Hero leaves his broken Bands,
And shews his Miseries in distant Lands;
Condemn'd a needy Supplicant to wait,
While Ladies interpose, and Slaves debate.
But did not Chance at length her Error mend?
Did no subverted Empire mark his End?
Did rival Monarchs give the fatal Wound?
Or hostile Millions press him to the Ground?
His Fall was destin'd to a barren Strand,
A petty Fortress, and a dubious Hand;
He left the Name, at which the World grew pale,
To point a Moral, or adorn a Tale.
All Times their Scenes of pompous Woes afford,
From Persia's Tyrant to Bavaria's Lord.
In gay Hostility, and barb'rous Pride,
With half Mankind embattled at his Side,
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain Prey,
And starves exhausted Regions in his Way;
Attendant Flatt'ry counts his Myriads o'er,
Till counted Myriads sooth his Pride no more;
Fresh Praise is try'd till Madness fires his Mind,
The Waves he lashes, and enchains the Wind;
New Pow'rs are claim'd, new Pow'rs are still bestowed,
Till rude Resistance lops the spreading God;
The daring Greeks deride the Martial Shew,
And heap their Vallies with the gaudy Foe;
Th' insulted Sea with humbler Thoughts he gains,
A single Skiff to speed his Flight remains;
Th' incumber'd Oar scarce leaves the dreaded Coast
Through purple Billows and a floating Host.
The bold Bavarian, in a luckless Hour,
Tries the dread Summits of Cesarean Pow'r,
With unexpected Legions bursts away,
And sees defenceless Realms receive his Sway;
Short Sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful Charms,
The Queen, the Beauty, sets the World in Arms;
From Hill to Hill the Beacons rousing Blaze
Spreads wide the Hope of Plunder and of Praise;
The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar,
And all the Sons of Ravage croud the War;
The baffled Prince in Honour's flatt'ring Bloom
Of hasty Greatness finds the fatal Doom,
His foes Derision, and his Subjects Blame,
And steals to Death from Anguish and from Shame.
Enlarge my Life with Multitude of Days,
In Health, in Sickness, thus the Suppliant prays;
Hides from himself his State, and shuns to know,
That Life protracted is protracted Woe.
Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
And shuts up all the Passages of Joy:
In vain their Gifts the bounteous Seasons pour,
The Fruit autumnal, and the Vernal Flow'r,
With listless Eyes the Dotard views the Store,
He views, and wonders that they please no more;
Now pall the tastless Meats, and joyless Wines,
And Luxury with Sighs her Slave resigns.
Approach, ye Minstrels, try the soothing Strain,
And yield the tuneful Lenitives of Pain:
No Sounds alas would touch th' impervious Ear,
Though dancing Mountains witness'd Orpheus near;
Nor Lute nor Lyre his feeble Pow'rs attend,
Nor sweeter Musick of a virtuous Friend,
But everlasting Dictates croud his Tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
The still returning Tale, and ling'ring Jest,
Perplex the fawning Niece and pamper'd Guest,
While growing Hopes scarce awe the gath'ring Sneer,
And scarce a Legacy can bribe to hear;
The watchful Guests still hint the last Offence,
The Daughter's Petulance, the Son's Expence,
Improve his heady Rage with treach'rous Skill,
And mould his Passions till they make his Will.
Unnumber'd Maladies each Joint invade,
Lay Siege to Life and press the dire Blockade;
But unextinguish'd Av'rice still remains,
And dreaded Losses aggravate his Pains;
He turns, with anxious Heart and cripled Hands,
His Bonds of Debt, and Mortgages of Lands;
Or views his Coffers with suspicious Eyes,
Unlocks his Gold, and counts it till he dies.
But grant, the Virtues of a temp'rate Prime
Bless with an Age exempt from Scorn or Crime;
An Age that melts in unperceiv'd Decay,
And glides in modest Innocence away;
Whose peaceful Day Benevolence endears,
Whose Night congratulating Conscience cheers;
The gen'ral Fav'rite as the gen'ral Friend:
Such Age there is, and who could wish its end?
Yet ev'n on this her Load Misfortune flings,
To press the weary Minutes flagging Wings:
New Sorrow rises as the Day returns,
A Sister sickens, or a Daughter mourns.
Now Kindred Merit fills the sable Bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a Tear.
Year chases Year, Decay pursues Decay,
Still drops some Joy from with'ring Life away;
New Forms arise, and diff'rent Views engage,
Superfluous lags the Vet'ran on the Stage,
Till pitying Nature signs the last Release,
And bids afflicted Worth retire to Peace.
But few there are whom Hours like these await,
Who set unclouded in the Gulphs of fate.
From Lydia's monarch should the Search descend,
By Solon caution'd to regard his End,
In Life's last Scene what Prodigies surprise,
Fears of the Brave, and Follies of the Wise?
From Marlb'rough's Eyes the Streams of Dotage flow,
And Swift expires a Driv'ler and a Show.
The teeming Mother, anxious for her Race,
Begs for each Birth the Fortune of a Face:
Yet Vane could tell what Ills from Beauty spring;
And Sedley curs'd the Form that pleas'd a King.
Ye Nymphs of rosy Lips and radiant Eyes,
Whom Pleasure keeps too busy to be wise,
Whom Joys with soft Varieties invite
By Day the Frolick, and the Dance by Night,
Who frown with Vanity, who smile with Art,
And ask the latest Fashion of the Heart,
What Care, what Rules your heedless Charms shall save,
Each Nymph your Rival, and each Youth your Slave?
An envious Breast with certain Mischief glows,
And Slaves, the Maxim tells, are always Foes.
Against your Fame with Fondness Hate combines,
The Rival batters, and the Lover mines.
With distant Voice neglected Virtue calls,
Less heard, and less the faint Remonstrance falls;
Tir'd with Contempt, she quits the slipp'ry Reign,
And Pride and Prudence take her Seat in vain.
In croud at once, where none the Pass defend,
The harmless Freedom, and the private Friend.
The Guardians yield, by Force superior ply'd;
By Int'rest, Prudence; and by Flatt'ry, Pride.
Here Beauty falls betray'd, despis'd, distress'd,
And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.
Where then shall Hope and Fear their Objects find?
Must dull Suspence corrupt the stagnant Mind?
Must helpless Man, in Ignorance sedate,
Swim darkling down the Current of his Fate?
Must no Dislike alarm, no Wishes rise,
No Cries attempt the Mercies of the Skies?
Enquirer, cease, Petitions yet remain,
Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem Religion vain.
Still raise for Good the supplicating Voice,
But leave to Heav'n the Measure and the Choice.
Safe in his Pow'r, whose Eyes discern afar
The secret Ambush of a specious Pray'r.
Implore his Aid, in his Decisions rest,
Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet with the Sense of sacred Presence prest,
When strong Devotion fills thy glowing Breast,
Pour forth thy Fervours for a healthful Mind,
Obedient Passions, and a Will resign'd;
For Love, which scarce collective Man can fill;
For Patience sov'reign o'er transmuted Ill;
For Faith, that panting for a happier Seat,
Thinks Death kind Nature's Signal of Retreat:
These Goods for Man the Laws of Heav'n ordain,
These Goods he grants, who grants the Pow'r to gain;
With these celestial Wisdom calms the Mind,
And makes the Happiness she does not find.
६९ टिप्पण्या:
"Think a Second Time" by Dennis Prager
There's reading, there's reading and understanding, and then there's reading and understanding and agreeing.
"The Gods of the Copybook Headings" - Rudyard Kipling
The Odes of Horace: Book III, 2
Let the boy toughened by military service
learn how to make bitterest hardship his friend,
and as a horseman, with fearful lance,
go to vex the insolent Parthians,
spending his life in the open, in the heart
of dangerous action. And seeing him, from
the enemy’s walls, let the warring
tyrant’s wife, and her grown-up daughter, sigh:
‘Ah, don’t let the inexperienced lover
provoke the lion that’s dangerous to touch,
whom a desire for blood sends raging
so swiftly through the core of destruction.’
It’s sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.
Yet death chases after the soldier who runs,
and it won’t spare the cowardly back
or limbs of peace-loving young men.
Virtue that’s ignorant of sordid defeat
shines out with its honour unstained, and never
takes up the axes or puts them down
at the request of a changeable mob.
Virtue that opens the heavens for those who
did not deserve to die takes a road denied
to others and scorns the vulgar crowd
and the bloodied earth on ascending wings.
And there’s a true reward for loyal silence:
I forbid the man who divulged those secret
rites of Ceres to exist beneath
the same roof as I or untie with me
the fragile boat: often careless Jupiter
included the innocent with the guilty,
but lame-footed Punishment rarely
forgets the wicked man, despite his start.
Antifragile by Nassim Nicholas Taleb
Johnson's poetry was awful. Smart guy, bad poet. Pope was the only one after Chaucer who could make the couplet work.
Obama should read the Koran. He might learn something
"Ratification: The People Debate the Constitution" by Pauline Maier. Gives you a flavor of how contentious the debate was and how important certain sections of the Document were. Emphasizes how important individual rights were to all those - high and low - who founded this country
I'd have him read The Federalist.
Atlas Shrugged
Mein Kampf
Mixed feelings on Atlas Shrugged. On the plus side, it's nice and long, and thus might prevent him from using his pen and phone for a while.
On the down side, he would probably mistake its descriptions of the government's actions for a how-to manual.
There is zero chance that he would understand the central message.
"The True Believer" by Eric Hoffer
"The Vision of the Anointed" by Thomas Sowell
I think he is beyond having a book influence him, he already knows everything or will ask Valarie.
@ Gahrie The Federalist is a great second choice. A lot of work and one sided. Maier gives you a better feel for the fight and what it was about.
I tend to think that Rationalism in Politics, an essay from which I have quoted or to which I have alluded here many times over the years (e.g. here) should be required reading for everyone. It's a great piece, and it profoundly affected my own thinking.
Maybe the Bible to offset the Koran. If that's too tough, "The American Cause" by Russell Kirk.
I suggest "The Theme is Freedom, Religion Politics and the American Traditions" by Stanton Evans.
Just tell Obama that Mohammed wrote it.
The question appears to ascribe some educational or therapeutic benefit to the reading of books.
Wouldn't work with the current president. There is no reading cure for the dual pathology of Progressivism and narcissism.
But if I could require Obama to read one book, I would pick the longest book ever written, in the original language of course, to keep him busy until the end of his term, so he won't wreck the country any further.
Proust is a candidate. A bit more esoteric but even better for the purpose, there's a 7-volume Dutch novel reputed to be longer: http://www.letterenfonds.nl/en/author/194/jj-voskuil.
Emma by Jane Austen.
C'mon!! You're not going to make a reader out of someone that uses words like "stupidly", or pronounces the s in corpsman.
Maybe have him read his own books aloud to himself, again and again.
What does it all mean?
The Road to Serfdom
by Friedrich Hayek or Capitalism and Freedom: Fortieth Anniversary Edition by Milton Friedman
I wouldn't have anyone read ONE book on a topic I care about.
I'd have them read at least three or four that don't agree with each other.
There's nothing more dangerous than someone who's read one book on a topic. If you've read no books on it, you know you're ignorant. If you've read more than one, you have an idea about how much there is to know about it.
But one book gives the illusion of knowledge and enslaves you to the biases and caprices of one author.
I have a feeling that Howard Zinn's A People's Historry of the United States is Obama's favorite book. He can probably quote verbatim whole passages......Your favorite porn movie is probably more revelatory of your character than your favorite book.
"The Looming Tower" by Lawrence Wright.
Since he never would, I'd go with some fiction he's never read and suggest "Dreams From My Father" by Bill Ayers.
Yeah I can't get past the part of the hypothetical where we're presumably supposed to assume that he would read the selection in good faith.
It's a toss up
Basic Economics - Thomas Sowell
Or
The Road To Serfdom - Hayek
Either would be a valuable opportunity to learn some different than what he was taught at the knee of Frank Marshal Davis.
- Krumhorn
How many here believe Obama would know and understand the references in that poem?
I don't.
That's one long ass heroic couplet. Exhausting to recite as well as too hear, which is good if Obama is the intended audience. Maybe it would bore him to death (just kidding, Holder, in case you're auditing)
I have a feeling that a long book wouldn't keep his attention long... (although..., maybe in comic book form?)
So I'll go with "Economics in One Lesson" by Henry Hazlitt. And he doesn't even have to read past the first chapter, and can even simply concentrate on just two sentences (he oughta be able to handle that, yah?):
"From this aspect, therefore, the whole of economics can be reduced to a single lesson, and that lesson can be reduced to a single sentence. The art of economics consists in looking not merely at the immediate but at the longer effects of any act or policy; it consists in tracing the consequences of that policy not merely for one group but for all groups."
But, ain't gonna happen.
That poem went on for a furlong,
Gawd, it was much too long,
It doesn't get any credit,
Heck, no one even read it.
It might as well be in Hmong.
I'm with the group that thinks he can't read anymore, he's too self-centered to take anything in except money and applause.
I'll cast a third vote for "The Road to Serfdom".
I'd recommend the Road to Sefdom, but Obama can't read Austrian
Nothing. Does anyone think that the most powerful man in the world is going to change his mind because of a book he has to read?
Obama is about power. You think he cares about anything in any book ever written? The people who wrote those books are peons! He's the President.
"If you could require the president to read one book, what would it be?"
"War and Peace", unless there's something longer.
"The Law" Bastiat.
We're talking about Obama here, and so the book would have to be recognized as a classic, the sort of thing his ego would not be comfortable admitting that he had never read. That leaves out all modern works, and especially all books commenting on current affairs. It would also have to be something that might (not likely but just might) get him to see his deepest flaws as a leader, rather than a book about some policy issue he should reconsider.
As for his deepest flaws (I realize there are many to pick from), I'd nominate his narcissism and self-righteousness -- they blind him in so many ways -- which are both forms of an overweening pride.
If that's the target, Milton might be the antidote. I'd nominate Paradise Lost, which besides being an indictment of overweening pride also describes metaphorically what Team O is doing to America.
Alan Bloom's "The Closing of the American Mind".
Atlas Shrugged.
The Law by Frederic Bastiat
If you are the president and you are reading this- Fuck you, you dog-eating pussy-ass Muslim. You wear mom-jeans and throw like a little girl.
What Lily Bart said.
"Liberals" in general (and by "liberals" I mean of course "tax-happy, coercion-addicted, power-tripping State-fellators") should read THE LAW; but it is unlikely a brainwashed Red Diaper Baby such as Obama would ever be converted to the pro-freedom side by even Bastiat. As Voltaire said, you can't reason someone out of what they weren't first reasoned into. And State-cultists are particularly impervious to reason.
Econ 101 textbook, written from a Capitalist perspective.
NAKED CAME THE STRANGER
The Gods of the Copybook Headings, by Rudyard Kipling
THE ROAD TO SURFING, soon to be a major motion picture starring the digitized simulacra of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby as OG Slacker spending their days chasing the waves and their nights chasing the ladies. ("Dad" is played by the simulacrum of Ned Sparks.)
The Vanity of Human Wishes is a close adaptation of Juvenal's 10th Satire - Johnson substitutes modern examples for Juvenal's Roman ones, but otherwise follows the 'plot' quite closely. ("From China to Peru" was originally from Cadiz to the Ganges, roughly the limits of Juvenal's known world.) You can find the Latin text here.
I suggest that Obama learn Latin well enough to read the original with understanding. At his age, that would be a full-time job taking at least a couple of years, so he'll have to resign to do it. Seems reasonable to me.
"If you are the president and you are reading this- Fuck you, you dog-eating pussy-ass Muslim. You wear mom-jeans and throw like a little girl."
Trenchant political critiques are always energizing to read. Tourette's outbursts, on the other hand...are not.
"Alan Bloom's "The Closing of the American Mind"
Yes, that.
But maybe he doesn't have time. In that case, Stossel's "Give Me a Break," the best quick, easy read I have found for gently introducing the conservative way of thinking to someone who doesn't understand it at all.
If he's going to continue pretending to be a Christian, he ought to give the New Testament a whirl. It's quite obvious he has no idea what's in there.
But now that he's facing no more elections, he'll probably drop the pretense.
I'd recommend he read the Presidential Daily Briefing book.
I would have him read the third and final volume of The Last Lion in which we learn how tenuous freedom is, was and will ever be.
I found the Closing of the American Mind to be highly persuasive, right up until he starting ranting about the Rolling Stones. And then it took a lot of self-discipline to get past that and not just discount everything else he said.
Robert Cook said "Trenchant political comments are energizing to read..."
Yes, looking forward to seeing your first.
The rules of behavior at the nearest Federal Penitentiary.
Confessions: St. Augustine of Hippo
The Constitution.
"How to Resign While Also Forcing Your Veep to Resign at the Same Time," by Beldar.
I'd write it if you could promise me he'd read it.
"Witness," by Whittaker Chambers. That would keep him busy for a few days. But, since he seems to have a short attention span, "The Abolition of Man," by C.S. Lewis.
Toy
"The Dream Palace of the Arabs"
--Fouad Adjami
"Six Days of War"
--Michael Oren
"Among the Believers"
--V.S. Naipaul
"Liberal Fascism"
@Freeman Hunt
Just downloaded Give Me a Break to my Kindle. Liking it well so far. Thanks for the plug!
Law of Nations, by Vattel.
Definitely "Atlas Shrugged"
His favorite characters would be Jim Taggart and Wesley Mouch.
"Yes, looking forward to seeing your first."
You'd have to search back a few years on this blog's archives.
In vain, Robert, we would search in vain. I have explained kindly to you before that you are a droning, harping, humorless scold, the communistic equivalent of the fascist Cedarford, but I'm not sure that you paid attention.
For the president, since I really wouldn't want to challenge his reading (corpse-man!) abilities, perhaps he would enjoy a nice comic book: Maus, by Art Spiegelman. Of course he might regard it as stroke material, but what can you do. Hmm, I wonder what animal he would make the Muslims. Snakes perhaps?
टिप्पणी पोस्ट करा