It’s an article of humanist faith that human hearts and minds can be shaped any way we please by means of “education,” intimidation, violence and coercion–breaking eggs to make the omelet. That they never get beyond the egg-breaking stage doesn’t seem to concern them.
And so we have one social engineering project after another, all of them based on “This time we can do it!”
Only the Holy Spirit can change the heart; and only the acquisition of knowledge can change the mind (and even knowledge won’t change the stubborn mind). But they go on and on with one project after another, thinking they can mold us into whatever shape they like by yelling at us, browbeating us, throwing mandates at us, telling us what we should love and what we should hate, propaganda, indoctrination–and, of course, lying: feeding us “information” that isn’t true.
Like, who needs the Holy Spirit when you’ve got the government, schools and colleges, social media, nooze media, and Hollywood?
These projects have always failed because they go against God and human nature. And who can begin to calculate the wasted wealth, the ruined lives, whole countries reduced to beggary and lawlessness, and the freedoms sacrificed for empty promises?
May the Lord our God defend us, and give us the tools we need to defend ourselves–and faith: the shield of faith.
Here’s an essay (later a book) that I’d never heard of till today: The Engineering of Consent by Edward Bernays (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Engineering_of_Consent). It was published as an essay in 1947, expanded into a book in 1955, and its author has been credited with founding the public relations industry.
He’s also been credited with being the source of the notion that our society can be controlled by experts and elites using “scientific principles” to get people to support ideas and programs and buy stuff. Sort of hypnotizing the public. Big Brother as Svengali.
Why did anyone listen to Bernays? Well, in 1928 he created a highly successful campaign to win society’s approval of women smoking. Prior to that, women smoked, but it was looked down upon as rather too raffish for good taste. Bernays’ public relations campaign mainstreamed it. (Gee, Lord Peter Wimsey was involved in just such a campaign in Murder Must Advertise. As an advertising professional, author Dorothy L. Sayers was surely familiar with Bernays’ campaign: betcha anything it served her as a model).
Can “they” really “engineer” our consent? Certainly they think they can. Heck, obviously they think they can! Watch them get you to try to love the quarantine. Watch them try to get you to blame it on Trump. Look at the PR campaigns for “gay marriage” and “transgender.” They’ve been busy, busy, busy!
Just for the record, there is no such thing as “transgender.” There are only deluded persons who say they are “transgender.” There are also persons who say they are human-space alien hybrids.
Anyhow, they’re rending their garments over these “flagrant acts of evil” aimed, they say, at “1.4 million transgender Americans.” I don’t know where they came up with that figure. But if 1.4 million people say they’re Napoleon Bonaparte, instead of just one person saying it, that doesn’t mean we have 1.4 million Napoleon Americans.
First Hillary called normal people “deplorables,” then loony Joe Biden called us “the dregs of society,” and now Organized Sodomy calls us “anti-equality extremists” because we won’t hop on their bandwagon. They sure don’t like us much.
If you are even thinking about voting to put Democrats back in power in November… don’t. Unless, of course, you really like mob rule, open borders, making it a crime to disbelieve in Man-Made Climbit Change, and the whole “transgender” movement. If you’re for those things, you’re for Democrats.
Don’t be at all surprised when our courts and media and political leaders demand that we respect, affirm, support, and celebrate the bestiality lifestyle–and punish us if we don’t. Don’t be surprised when they teach it in the public schools and declare this or that page of the calendar National Zoophilia Pride Month.
We’ve seen it before.
O Lord our God! If you don’t save us, I don’t think we can be saved.
[Still no word from Newswithviews.com . So here I’ll write what would have been my next week’s NWV column. ]
All the experts and futurists are saying it’s inevitable that human beings will wind up having “relationships” with robots–dating, sex, love, the whole kit ‘n’ kaboodle. Now I always listen to experts, so I decided I ought to at least go on a date with a robot and see what it might lead to.
My first problem was, I don’t have a robot and can’t afford to buy one. Nor can I rent one at Home Depot. Still, when all is said and done, what is a robot but a piece of fancy machinery? So all I had to do was to select a machine or gadget that I already had and let it serve as a robot.
I finally picked my toaster oven. My bicycle is too big to be wheeled comfortably into a movie theater, and I have hurled too many harsh words at my computer even to ask it to dinner and a movie. The air conditioner is much too heavy.
“Elsie,” I said to my toaster oven–a date really ought to have a name–“what would you say to dinner and a movie tonight?” Silence meaning consent, I ran upstairs to trim my beard and change into a clean t-shirt.
We went to the movie first. There aren’t many theaters around here and the selection of films is rather small, so we had to settle for something called Galactic Superhero Jidrools, starring, I think, Harry Reid.
I didn’t think I’d need to buy a separate ticket for Elsie, but the guy stopped me at the door. “Why are you bringing that into the theater?” he said. “You know you won’t be allowed to plug it in!”
“I’m not going to plug her in,” I said. “It would be the height of bad manners. After all, she’s my date. I brought her here to see the movie.”
Would you believe it? They made me pay! Well, she was taking up a seat that they could’ve sold to somebody else, so perhaps it was only right that I should pay for it. I settled her into the seat, and after the commercials and the previews, etc., I put my arm around her. Unlike some other dates I’ve had, she did not object.
After the movie, we went to our favorite Chinese restaurant. Well, my favorite: Elsie hadn’t been out before. As a toaster oven, of course, she has extensive experience with food. But we never put Chinese food from the restaurant in the toaster oven, so I reckoned it would make a nice change for her. Elsie didn’t complain.
I got a lot of funny looks while they were seating me and Elsie, and then some collidge kid came over to wait on us.
“Uh, is that your toaster oven, man?” he wondered.
“It is my date, sir,” I replied, a bit annoyed. “And this is not an it, but a she. Her name is Elsie, and she is all woman–or is it wimmyn? I can’t keep track of all the new terms. But she is every bit as much a woman as I am.” I stared him down, but I needn’t have bothered. He said nothing about my beard.
“Whatever you say, sister. Do you wish to order now?”
“I think Elsie would like an appetizer. What will you have, sweetheart?”
I was getting into the spirit of this caper. By and by, when Elsie didn’t answer, I got all huffy. “You’ve offended her!” I said. “I demand you apologize at once!”
“What? Apologize to a toa–”
“I’m warning you. Don’t come any closer to misgendering my date and projecting microaggressions at our shared safe space.”
He could not bear up under that, so he bowed to Elsie and offered profuse apologies for his oafish and biggited behavior. “Elsie would like for us to share a pu-pu platter,” I concluded.
To make a long story short, I had to eat all the food and I was feeling awfully shaky by the time it was time to go home. I almost fell over when I picked up my toaster oven and carried it back to my car.
And my wife was waiting for me at home.
“Where the dickens have you been with that toaster oven?” she inquired (which is not putting it strongly enough). “What have you been up to?”
I leave the rest of this sad story to the reader’s imagination.