T.M.I.
Sunday afternoon, following a magical promenade beneath a canopy of blossoming Cherry trees, we paid homage to our nation's finest Republican.
The Lincoln Memorial is a stunning, majestic tribute to an equally awe-inspiring President. It's a temple, as noted by the inscription above Lincoln's head, to a person and a time, when morality - true ethics, not moralistic fundamentalism - dominated public debate. The image of Americans battling Americans militarily over state's rights versus human rights -- an event that is difficult to imagine happening today -- comes sharply into focus as one approaches the neo-classical columns that recall the temple of Apollo; the political morphs into the mythical, and the Gettysburg address an inspired sermon.
Heading back down the Colorado Yule marble steps, my mom told me that Lincoln had little formal education, and taught himself the law that he would eventually practice. Not a Yale graduate, like our current lame duck President, but an avid reader with an inherent will to ameliorate and govern 19th century America.
What is the probability that a similar situation could arise today? With the exponential flourishing of degrees and diplomas over the past half-century, and the near necessity of obtaining a college degree to hold jobs for which a high school diploma sufficed 30 years ago, climbing the political ladder today seems impossible if one's sole credentials include a modest library and 18 months of formal education. And yet I would venture that Lincoln's intellect and rhetoric - not to mention courage and determination not to cower under political dissension within his own Republican party - would overwhelm that of any Ivy League Presidential candidate today.
Ours is not the age of idealistic log-cabin dwellers studying in earnest hopes of attaining public office. Today, in the time of T.M.I., a person attempting to educate himself on a single subject - say, tort law - would need web blinders of steel to keep from straying into the salacious infotainment industry headlines dragging curious passersby into the sordid details of the Spitzer sex scandal, Britney's latest nervous breakdown, or pseudo-political debates on political correctness and race in America.
Where does one find the balance between a Thoreausian retreat and submersion in the avalanche of useless facts that do not enhance our capacity to analyze critically?
The Lincoln Memorial is a stunning, majestic tribute to an equally awe-inspiring President. It's a temple, as noted by the inscription above Lincoln's head, to a person and a time, when morality - true ethics, not moralistic fundamentalism - dominated public debate. The image of Americans battling Americans militarily over state's rights versus human rights -- an event that is difficult to imagine happening today -- comes sharply into focus as one approaches the neo-classical columns that recall the temple of Apollo; the political morphs into the mythical, and the Gettysburg address an inspired sermon.
Heading back down the Colorado Yule marble steps, my mom told me that Lincoln had little formal education, and taught himself the law that he would eventually practice. Not a Yale graduate, like our current lame duck President, but an avid reader with an inherent will to ameliorate and govern 19th century America.
What is the probability that a similar situation could arise today? With the exponential flourishing of degrees and diplomas over the past half-century, and the near necessity of obtaining a college degree to hold jobs for which a high school diploma sufficed 30 years ago, climbing the political ladder today seems impossible if one's sole credentials include a modest library and 18 months of formal education. And yet I would venture that Lincoln's intellect and rhetoric - not to mention courage and determination not to cower under political dissension within his own Republican party - would overwhelm that of any Ivy League Presidential candidate today.
Ours is not the age of idealistic log-cabin dwellers studying in earnest hopes of attaining public office. Today, in the time of T.M.I., a person attempting to educate himself on a single subject - say, tort law - would need web blinders of steel to keep from straying into the salacious infotainment industry headlines dragging curious passersby into the sordid details of the Spitzer sex scandal, Britney's latest nervous breakdown, or pseudo-political debates on political correctness and race in America.
Where does one find the balance between a Thoreausian retreat and submersion in the avalanche of useless facts that do not enhance our capacity to analyze critically?
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