On Fatigue

Christmas is coming, season of goodwill. I know I sleep well, many hours, many times, yet here at year’s end I know I’m deeply tired, a level below. A low or depressed energy or mood is natural at the end of any great enterprise, even when we succeed. We’ve called on all resources, needing replenishment now. Celebration, and fatigue.

            A word of many guises. In the military, a punishment detail. For architecture, the state of materials worn to their last. Of action, to subject to stress, often repeatedly, to the point of exhaustion. Then we add Christmas, formerly Saturnalia, when the slaves took over the shop. Wearing in its own little way. What is called consuming.

            Competition is fatiguing. So is campaigning. Conditional love is exhausting: a lot of this around. Passion (especially passionate about) fatigues by definition: suffering. When intelligence appears, Lao Tzu says, a tiresome hypocrisy accompanies; when disorder is orders, we see loyal ministers with words to wear us out.

            Whatever has come to be has already been named, says Ecclesiastes: the more words, the more vanity. Fulfil your purpose, says Lao Tzu: sometimes push forward, sometimes rest behind. Breathe. Become as a little child. 

On Having It All

Shame is so popular. Ashamed of having hair, or having no hair; of having too much height, or weight; of certain jobs, or no job; of not being straight, or having no kids, or having kids, and how they behave. Of not being fair enough, strong enough, smart enough, cool enough; of living in the wrong district. Of race, disability, style.

            There’s a deficit of enoughness, it seems. We’re not tall, powerful, healthy or magic enough. Not male enough, even when we’re girls. We never have enough money. We need more space, more attention, more love and more fame. We lack enough more.

            If we should happen to be that ideal, sex specific, family blessed, wellness crowned, truly employed, successful bright and beautiful example to the world about us, we still sleep badly knowing that one trip in the dark, one car crash, one mutating cell or rogue gene stands between us and humankind.

            Jesus said, ‘I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’ He noted, ‘They that are whole have no need of the physician’. Then why shame? I wish you this Christmastide enough repentance, healing, and goodwill. There is enough: you can have it all.

On the Margins

The margin is getting crowded these days. So many are marginalised: poor, disabled, sick, homeless, imprisoned; widows, orphans, singles, divorced; gays, and straights who object to gays; religions victimised for their righteousness; various races in various places; even the rich. Many people do not like the rich, more envy them, and they will never know if they have any true friends. Even Jesus sent away the rich young man: his only recourse was to become less rich.

            The default is thought to be health: a trip to the medical rooms shows young, old, and  in-betweens: the default is actually, as Buddha says, suffering. Myriad names for mental illness depict the default as sane lucidity: there are priests, politicians and media magicians who demonstrate the default as opinionated folly.

            With so many marginalised, often marginalising each other, my question is: where’s the page? Jesus had compassion for all the marginalised (including the rich young man, with all his responsibilities; not so the righteous). His favourites were sex workers and tax collectors: go figure.

            Perhaps the page is the Way. Jesus called himself the Way; the Tao Te Ching says the Way is nameless. The page is blank: what do we write there?

On Faith

I emerged from five years in a theological school convinced that faith is something other than assent to the doctrines of the church. Other also than the customs of the church, which have included anti-Semitism, misogyny (witchcraft trials), racism (apartheid), homophobia (hangings) and support for the Biblical system of slavery. All these Greek words covering up the righteousness of readers.

            We’re living through one of the great international migrations of history. Xenophobia:  another Greek word expressing the thought that while one or two of you is all right, in great waves you feel unmanageable and beyond our scope. Note that Greek words distance in the English language. ‘Anti-Semitism’, not Jew-hating; ‘misogyny,’ not woman-hating; ‘homophobia’ not gay-hating; ‘xenophobia’ not ‘foreigner hating.’

            What kind of faith hates so many? I find a definition of faith based on ‘persuasion’: to be convinced intellectually, ideologically, by words. Some words coming out of some churches make me want to walk.

            Another meaning of faith is trust. Trust what is dependable, reliable, comfortable. (‘Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith.’) Faith, in the ancient world, meant ‘personal loyalty.’ Give loyalty to someone you trust. Who has faith in you? Who can trust us?

On Good Dogs

Every evening at the end of the day, my dog is told that he has been a good dog no matter what has happened during the day. He gets stroked and patted and assured that he’s always a good dog. That’s how he knows he has a home.

            Alas I don’t have the same conviction about myself. On the contrary, I’m sure I am and have been a sinner, and my daily experience confirms this. A survey recently wanted to know if I looked back on my life as a scene of happiness and success. Not entirely. Most of my trips to the past reveal sometimes grim mistakes and true catastrophes, enhanced by ignorance, arrogance, and greed.

            And there’s no one to tell me each day that I’ve been a good human all day long. This realistic view of my condition doesn’t lead me to feel low and depressed, though, because I have a hidden treasure. My errors comprise a lengthy list, added to by my limitations. But I am a soul for whom Christ died, and so are you, and so are all of us. You cannot be saved alone, but we live in honour nonetheless.

On Symbols

Sacred days, dates, games; gestures, as standing (for honour), kneeling (for reverence); objects, perhaps flags, (as rainbow, Aboriginal, national); music, (as songs, anthems, carols): these are symbols, inspiration or tragedy. Prayers in schools. Anything that happens in schools. (Teaching as archetype). A wine glass held over the water glass: King over the water.

 One or two persons with a bucket of paint can get through a lot of trouble in one night, rejecting the lives of millions given to lay to rest the meaning of Swastika (‘pure Aryan masculinity’) in the last century. Whether troubled and troubling souls or real-life agitators, they forget its ancient meaning of luck and spirituality. All the examples I’ve given are in the news today, sites of confrontation and conflict (except the Jacobites, whose time has passed).    

Symbols have two parts, bringing together visible and invisible, material and image. The risk is in the hidden world. What’s actually meant here? Whose ideal is manifested? The symbol of wine and water, at its deepest level, is the only one that counts. More divine than a game, a song, even a king, even a prayer.

What are you seeing? Be aware of the invisible values.

On Charity aka Love

Love, like friendship, seeks the good of a friend. For Aristotle, friends seek the good in one another. Charity, says Aquinas, is the friendship of man towards God, and such love is reciprocal. How did Charity, the supreme virtue, become so poisoned?

            Unlike exclusive loves, divine charity includes our fellows. All persons, neighbours, are subjects of God’s charity. How, then, did we come up with statements like ‘I love my gay friends, but…’ or ‘I love my black friends, but…’ or ‘I love my Muslim friends, but…’? And these friends are always many.

            Conditional love is judgement. I myself have been told, ‘We don’t approve of you; it doesn’t mean we don’t like you.’ Approval and disapproval are judgements. Of course you don’t like me. I feel your coldness.

            Conditional love for a child is disabling. A child who is never good enough. If only a child was different. Such love denies God’s generosity. Think of what you’ve been given in this child, faults and all. The appropriate response is gratitude.

            Think of what you’ve been given in this neighbour. This gay, black, or Muslim, disapproved of neighbour. Seek the good, earthly good, for your friend.

On Hope

Hope is the last thing in the box. When all misfortunes are released, hope remains. Whether this was irony of the Greeks, or inspiration, is ambiguous. Yet hope is even a virtue: desire and expectation that good will arise. I wonder, though, if expectation is quite the word.

            We may hope the Earth remains when the nations have raged furiously together; that preservation of heath may become a masterpiece, an art form; that love and beauty shine out when ugliness and hate dissolve. Are these results we expect?

            Hope against hope, or beyond hope, suggests the uneasy relationship between desire and expectation. The Paul of Romans first finds belief in hope a virtue: belief in what you hope for. Without hope, which of the other virtues would follow? Hope in justice, hope lending courage, hope restraining excess and promoting wisdom: indeed, hope as wisdom under pressure.

            That thing looked for is the province of hope; it’s strongest in danger, for the comfortable complacent mind desires without need of hope. As a theological virtue, hope of eternity, divinity, confidence in salvation is given: despair is not advised. Yet all may practice hope: it’s the strength of ordinary sinners, in all circumstances

On History

It has all been said before. Historian Barbara Tuchman, still hopeful, laid it out. ‘In the United States we have a society pervaded from top to bottom by contempt for the law. Government — including the agencies of law enforcement — business, labor, students, the military, the poor no less than the rich, outdo each other in breaking the rules and violating the ethics that society has established for its protection. The average citizen … is daily knocked over by incoming waves of venality, vulgarity, irresponsibility, ignorance, ugliness and trash in all senses of the word.’[1] This view was arrived at in 1976.

            Her comprehension of history as cyclical serves as hope and warning. We’ve lived through this before. One of my history professors (an Englishman) remarked unforgettably that the United States was by far the most lawless country in the world. And the role of President is not that of Sun King, although Tuchman believed it bewitched its occupants and dazzled the public.

            I doubt that Australia needs a Presidential republic. I wonder who is fit to be head of state?

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[1] Barbara Tuchman, “On Our Birthday — America As Idea,” in Practising History: Selected Essays by Barbara Tuchman (London: Macmillan, 1983), p.305.

On Fortitude

Courage must be renewed daily. While some brave are natural heroes, some devout natural saints, many, including myself, are very ordinary sinners: for us a virtue is no gift, but a practice.  Generally, we practice what we aren’t very good at doing, having, or being.

            Holding fast before danger is more than instinct: it implies strength — of mind certainly — and persevering endurance. Courage may be employed in supporting a virtue, as Justice, or alas a vice, as domination. Persons of great violence can be courageous too. Courage is thus like fire.

Other virtues are entwined with Courage. Justice, which gives to everything that which belongs to it, requires courage in face of injustice. Temperance, or moderation, calls for fortitude turning away from excesses. Wisdom or Prudentia provides discernment to choose when acts are courageous or reckless, moderate or extreme, just or unjust.

            Courage confronts danger in spite of fear. Fear is not the enemy of courage, but its fuel. Fear of God isn’t dread of divine anger, but respect of power so great that all things are possible. The image of Courage is the lady with the lion. It is large and fierce; she has tamed it beneath her hand.

On Patience

In my sad experience, everything takes at least six months. Losing weight, learning a new piano piece, getting the roof fixed. Just about anything takes longer than you think. Patience is a virtue, also a necessity. Yet sometimes patience interferes with mercy.

            The saying ‘justice delayed is justice denied’ refers to situations where patience is applied to the wrong subject: to the oppressed rather than the oppressor. The strong want patience, while the weak need mercy now. In the matter of debts, for example, whether third world debts or welfare debts, extending patience to the debtor is merciful in the creditor. The Lord’s prayer can read ‘forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors’ and yes, this means money.

            Paul believes a God of patience requires our patience towards one another, not demanding too much speed. Some people may never be very speedy, too. But can we be too patient with sincerely unjust convictions? That domestic violence is a husband’s right, for example, or same-sex couples should be denied marriage? Should the weak show patience with power and privilege?

            The Lord is plenteous in mercy. When in doubt, find mercy. Showing patience with injustice is only confusion

On Barriers

As I passed by Princes Bridge the other day, I saw brightly coloured traffic barriers lining the walkway: to separate cyclists from the cars, or cars from the pedestrians? Signs of the times, perhaps? They changed the sober Victorian architecture to something resembling a building site.

            Signs of change. I was reminded of the stone viewing tower in Beckett Park, visited soon after arriving here. It was built in 1937 to commemorate Victoria’s centenary, and my guide remembered Empire Day bonfires there. The park was then an outlier, but when I saw it the district was dense with subdivisions: the passage of time is also the passage of space.

            The park is refurbished; the bridge streams with traffic; everything is as it seems to be. The past, though, is different than it seems to be. Many things have changed for the better, some for the worse. Change seems incremental, but wears us out from day to day.

            The Lord of heaven and earth will change them like clothing, says the psalmist. They change now as we speak. The Lord looks upon the earth, to hear the pleas of the prisoners. Do we need more, or less, of barriers?

On the Fruits of the Earth

This morning’s conversation with the greengrocer was most enlightening. Current practice often associates government with business. We see whole nations given over to representatives of international wealth, led by those holding profit the highest morality. Where are you, Gore Vidal, when we need you now?

            The greengrocer sold the business to an entrepreneur; he works as an employee: competition with the large is becoming impossible. The land, growers, fruits of the land are increasingly owned by big business, who dispose of produce at every stage in the most efficient manner. He didn’t make clear whether the new owner was the agent of one of the great foreign merchant families, or simply someone who took opportunity to advance himself in new surroundings.

            This happens at a time when the government is performing like a travelling circus about a handful of asylum seekers. The prophets exhort us to protect the stranger within the gates, but as far as I know, say nothing about allowing the nations to possess the land.

            Galilee was run for the benefit of large landowners, too. The Kingdom of God, though, is not like this. The Kingdom of God is run for the weak. Blessed are the meek.

On Seeing

Seeing is believing, if you’re easy to convince. Like Thomas, I begin to think touch more reliable. Some people see things that are not there; many see things that are placed there. Wars, invasions, propaganda may depend on seeing things, present or absent. Ask a migraine subject about the flashing lights. Don’t begin to contemplate the actions of certain drugs, legal or not.

            Photography is a language:  like English, Chinese or any tongue it can be used for truth or fiction. If the devil is the father of lies, photography must be the mother, or at least the sister of lies. Why the sister? Because like Wisdom, she sees deeper than others, but any deceit plays on thoughtless unsupported concepts of veracity: seeing is believing. Many believe wordy falsehoods: even more false pictures.

            ‘I saw you,’ said Jesus, of a man in whom there was no deceit. The quality of the eye is also important. What everyone hopes to see is the truth. Deep, deep in the understanding is a precondition for identifying what the truth might be. Is it a ruthless, punishing God? No God? A merciful, availing God? May you see grace to understand the last.

On Magnitude

I read about the super-rich constantly building new yachts: massive, bigger than the Normandie. You need a new one, because your neighbour has a new one: bigger swimming pools, in-house submarines, helipads onboard. You need a new one with better features.

            Biggerness and betterness are often conflated. How big? How good? Is magnitude always relative? Do we know when things begin to be large?

            Big trouble is usually easy to find. But if one of the, say, top 100 wealthy feels suddenly poor as the neighbours increase, what does it say about the order of magnitude? Is smaller than the Normandie still big?

            Anselm says God is that which nothing greater can be imagined. We’ll have to define ‘God’, ‘great’, and ‘thought’. Mathematics isn’t my world, but it seems to me the numbers involved must be either very large or very small. So small they become great?

            Aquinas doesn’t buy this argument, because God is a mystery. What, then does magnitude say about the human condition? Comparison with those above (richer, smarter, happier) rather than those below (poorer, and so on) is natural, but unenlightening.

            John the Baptist understood magnitude. “He must increase; I must decrease,” he said.

On Rejection

Last night I dreamed I was new arrived again, and fell to weeping in my sleep. Those who welcomed me, rejected, accepted, attacked, tolerated or disapproved of me: I’ve forgiven you all. Some indeed have by now forgiven me.

     Why then do tears run down in sleep? Sleep, the alternative world, is peopled with the past, a treasure-store of memory:  prop-room, wardrobe, prompt-box, rehearsal space for life’s cautionary dramas.

     Proust says a cast of divinities inhabits memory: those people who have made us suffer. Recollection comes through the senses, an uneven paving-stone, for instance, and Venice appears. For me the question ‘How d’you like Australia?’— once a common expression — awakened memory to work again in sleep.

     All this was decades ago, many have died, and died heroic deaths, too. Yet in memory, in sleep, they live to perform their roles. As Proustian divinities, they’re only a metaphor: they point to the joy received when they embrace instead of doubting.

     Is life so personal? The rational mind would allow, explain, excuse, comprehend. In sleep, though, the mind recounts its private story. What I’ve learned is this: for the love of God, treat your immigrants well. The marks are indelible.

On Charlie

I miss Charlie. Sometimes I attend city hospitals for treatment, when I’ve seen Charlie, sitting on the pavement with her crossword puzzle, passing the day. I saw her tent once, pitched in St. Peter’s grounds, because homeless shelters are not felt safe for women.

     Charlie, a polite, well presented young woman, says the city is better for her than the country town. It keeps her away from bad company; she’s here to put her life together again.

     I haven’t seen her lately. Nor the man I greeted on Bourke Street, who has such terribly swollen, shoeless, blue-purple feet. The city is closing in. Some things happened. Boarding houses shut, for why? Did the land become too valuable, or were they just such unsound premises? Facilities fenced out at night, due to fights over limited resources. Flinders Street Station featured the police, who as in the times of the English Poor Law, moved people on. A better place to sleep, crowded, lighted, food and water nearby? Better than a dark lonely alley?

     I’d miss Charlie less if I knew she was in a warm, dry, safe place. I can’t forget her little fingerless gloves, her courteous conversation, her half-finished crossword puzzle.     

On Superstition

Excess fear of the gods. I’ve experienced, and others do report, an absence or shunning (friends, colleagues, even family) in the presence of misfortune, especially death: more particularly sudden or violent death. Where some respond generously, others flee through superstition.

 ‘They need rest and quiet’ (assumption never plumbed); ‘I wouldn’t invade their privacy: so, so private’ (imposed, unrequested isolation); ‘I wouldn’t know what to say’ (unspoken words protecting self-esteem). Superstition is located low in the brain; I liken it to fear of contagion, following an epidemic. Death is the ultimate malady.

            Superstition is concerned with luck and the means of controlling fortuitous events. Where there’s no rational way of confronting chance, deflecting randomness, becoming safe, quite unconsciously I have no doubt, minds turn magical: feelings freeze.

            The gods that are feared, of fate, destiny, circumstance, attract these silencing prayers although one hopes for help from gods and not rejection. The Beatitudes say mourners will be comforted, but Beatitudes may be expressive of all the opposites. In the Kingdom of God, comfort will come.

            These gods of superstition are not the God of truth and justice, of living water that flows and is not still. That’s my personal observation.

On the Civilised Heart

The civilised mind is full of wisdom and past regard. But what is the civilised heart? A direct answer would be Bach. Why civilisation at all, with barbarity so entertaining?

            I attended a Choral Scholarship Appeal yesterday. The high arts have always needed patrons; benefactors have many calls on their resources. Why is the training of these young singers important? Why are sixteen voices more beneficial than eight? Could every cent given to music, painting, or literature better serve with the poor?

            In seeking the welfare of the city, attention (a form of therapy) must be given to the sense or significance of values. Barbarity in the form of greed heaps up riches while the soul may be required before nightfall. How to understand human fate or come to terms with divine matters?

            Civilisation refers to societies with highly developed arts, sciences, religion and government; not fundamentalism, despotism, denial (whether unscientific or unhistorical), illiteracy of language, arts, or music. It’s a privilege to be a civilised person, to act with civility.

            Where knowledge meets human feeling, the heart is civilised to consider other than self. So yes, it is important. The arts provide a civilised heart.

On Going Slow

Lent is a desert. It partakes of that holy isolation beloved of early church ascetics, in contrast to those who dwell naturally in the desert, who may find it quite a crowded place. For there are invisible cities and rungs of association, even in the most spacious desert.

            It’s called quaresima, ‘forty days’. As if these were the only 40 days there are. In Advent, we look forward, but in Lent we look back. Our whole salvation history lies in Lent. And we have time to repent: slowly, lento, as music wants to reflect on a phrase or develop a theme.

            Thank God, we can stop pretending to be what we are not: invincible, immortal, insatiable. We consume less. Live as Ecclesiastes says, between frugality and feast. We jettison what will not float: I like to start with prejudices (still got many). We exercise the virtue of moderation.

            Why Lent? Why the liturgical year at all? Why liturgy, come to that? The liturgies of antiquity were obligations of the rich to civic benefaction, keeping the city in everything:  aqueducts, baths, libraries, public banquets. A liturgy lasted all year. We could embrace a Lenten liturgy: giving up, and taking up.

On Reliability

Reliability: not the most glamorous quality, you say. Charm, energy, strength, creativity, self-expression being more engaging. Charisma and dominance stand out from the crowd. Spectacle makes an impression. Which would you rather be, impressive or reliable? Who would you rather trust?

            Unreliability in big public systems leaves thousands without power and takes down the phones. Health and communications need reliability. Unreliability in private curates anxieties and dramas. Reliability charges the batteries and fills the tank. Reliability watches your back.

             Reliability partakes of the virtue of justice, that gives back to everything what belongs to it. While we ache to be noticed and long to be stars, reliability is also divine. God is said to be plenteous in steadfast love: reliable attentiveness.

            Watchful attention, care and cultivation, being there at the right time: all are godly qualities. Picking up the pieces, setting out a wholesome order, healing, cure and holding on: assisted by reliability. Wouldn’t you like someone to do all this for you? And think of the skill, concentration, commitment and desire you show when you exercise the divine process of being reliable for others. Value it in yourself. Treasure it in others. On it the world spins.

On Not Caring

The man in the street: ‘Oh, the refugees, they come from a war zone, blah blah, blah blah…’ This morning’s man in the street, bearded, aged, drinking coffee outside in the suburbs. A lot of people don’t care about a lot of things. Politicians Do Not Care about sections of the suffering public, proud to say so. A speeding driver might say I Do Not Care that someone was killed in the collision: I have my own problems. Homelessness, family violence, poverty, distant wars: why care?

            Caring is a subset of attention. We suffer from ethical exhaustion, it’s true; we have our own problems. We have looser and more burdened attention than we think we did. Attention, not merely mental activity, includes impressions of courtesy, consideration, persevering watchfulness. It has traces of the divine. Hagar says: ‘Thou God seest me’; the divinity pays attention to her case. God, of course, has endless ways and timeless hours for paying attention. We humans have to choose.

            We have our own problems. How much attention do they take? We live with others, knowingly or not. Do we hug our troubles so tight, loving them so dearly? Where does attention rest?

On Saying

Many things are unsaid; few are unspeakable. I’ve seen enough sudden death, often of young people. Significant speech is hard to come by. I can’t confront it, engage it, or ameliorate it. It confronts you.

     Mourning is actually a virtue. It stands with mercy, peace-making, pure hearts and desire for right living. Mourning falls under the cardinal virtue of Justice, that gives back to every thing what rightfully belongs to it. What can the beloved dead require? Mourning gives back the treasures their presence gave to us. It’s an honest rendering of account.

     Suicide is not unspeakable, nor is murder. We live in an unjust world. It doesn’t only happen to other people, other families, other friends. It’s here. Closer than you think.

     At the crossroads, where we won’t be missed, or will we? the virtue of mourning may display how the most desperate will still be missed. Saying is saving. So few things are actually unspeakable. However unlikely it seems, we will be mourned.

     Find someone you can trust. There will be one person, perhaps not the one you expect, who can be trustworthy. For one honest soul, the Lord will not let the city be destroyed.

On Making a Mark

I remember being so young, I wanted to make my mark on the world. I thought if I could perform so well I’d win admiration and respect. The ancients thought of this as glory and honour, but significantly, these qualities spread to include not only self, but family and nation as well. You don’t win for yourself, but for all.

            The mark you make will be your own mark, as it turns out. It may be admired or despised, depending on your gifts, limitations, intentions, inspirations and chances. You always make some kind of mark. Some marks are faint, some regretted, some authentic.

             You may also erase the marks of others. This could be grave sin or needed correction. Laws may be rewritten, antiquities destroyed, lives liberated or encaged. Lao Tzu felt the less done the better.

            I’m fascinated by the marks Jesus wrote on the ground when confronting the woman taken in adultery. What does he write? His ministry was to bring sight to the blind and liberation to captives. The men accusing her were blind to their own faults and had to be enlightened. She herself was freed to make her fair mark. Make it so.

On Work Not Grace

The argument that unemployed, sick, disabled, or aged persons aren’t worthy of government support, even where their taxes have filled government coffers, isn’t a financial but a theological view. Just because people seem atheistical, ignorant, secular, or indifferent doesn’t mean they have no theology. Indeed they may be more influenced by it than those who take a conscious position.

            In this 500^th anniversary year of the Reformation, politics provides ongoing evidence of the pervasiveness of work over grace. Where the signs of salvation (a limited quantity) are shown in hard work, frugality, and self-discipline, those who are born to fail display other qualities. The theology is of a judging God, a judging State. United States culture, due to Puritan influence, is vulnerable to this view.

            Where this is secularised, you get judgements such as: you should’ve saved against misfortune; shouldn’t have taken drugs; shouldn’t have lost your job; shouldn’t have married a violent man. Grace, which is the unmerited favour of God, would say: so this has happened; we will help you.

            We’re about to be living in a post-work world, as robotics advances. What then? Will peace be then on earth, to those of good will?

On Plutocracy

‘If religion was a thing that money could buy the rich would live and the poor would die.’ I couldn’t find a name for the original writer of these lyrics, but versions were around throughout the latter 20^th century. Version, itself a word that scares people. Version implies at least two views, with its meaning of ‘variant’ offering diversity, difference, mutability. That translation varies deeply threatens some. Who dares vary?

     The word plutocracy, first noted in the 17^th century, links wealth and power. The reign of the rich. The three Magi, or kings, brought their precious offerings to the King, thus keeping their treasures within the circle of authority. This King had a variant view of the poor.

     From the worldly rich in their states of power we see the poor: disorganised, feckless, profligate, decadent. They fail the test of virtue: they fail to be rich. Plutocracy has no room for the poor.

     King Herod was troubled when the Magi appeared. Where is this treasure going? To the Benefactor of the poor, of women, cripples, sex workers, tax collectors. Tax collectors? Yes, we need to pay more tax. And it needs to go down, not up, into plutocracy.