No, not the influence of drugs or alcohol. I mean
the influences that come from being alive. We start with the influences we were born with; innate notions of how things should be. Then we’re influenced by parents, family, friends, and teachers.
Later we’re influenced by famous people, who
by their examples paint pictures of what to do and what not to do.
Many have been blessed with mentors who have influenced us to better behavior. None have been blessed by the influences of drugs or alcohol.
Lifelong, we influence ourselves as we discover what we should do and what we shouldn’t do. Occasional successes, along with bruised knees, guide our way as we stumble along trying to get things right.
Some learn, some don’t.
My friend James told me a story about a night he spent with a crack-whore. James had provided the crack and, as James himself said, probably too much alcohol.
I have some doubt about that. I think the crack might have been enough on its own.
In any case, enthused by the infusion of crack & booze, a grand adventure came to mind. They would drive out into the night and rob a gas-station – which they did, successfully.
I imagine the robbery was James’s idea. He always fancied the romance of being a pirate. I don’t think the crack-whore cared what they did at all.
Miraculously, No one was hurt. James couldn’t remember what happened to the money. Maybe they
lost it. Maybe they threw it away. Money wasn’t the point. Adventure was the point.
Reckless adventurism is the root of more evil than money ever will be.
On the other hand, I recall a family story, told many times, about the unswerving earnestness of my Hamilton Grandparents. At the close of each day, just before bed, Alfred, Nellie, and their four daughters would gather in the parlor to read aloud from the Bible.
They lived each day in accord with the values they read from the Bible. Their daily ambition was to be useful, decent, and Godly.
Their lifelong example of goodness as its own reward influenced several generations of children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.
Good influences stay that way. Bad influences never get better.
It may seem there is nothing in common between my friend James’s story and my Hamilton family story. It’s not so. If it were possible for my Great-Grandpa Hamilton and my friend James to sit together to discuss Right & Wrong, they would not disagree.
James never claimed he was doing good when he was doing wrong. He was recklessly impulsive, but he wasn’t confused. Neither was anyone else.
Current confusion about Right & Wrong began in the 1960’s.
People have always made excuses for their bad behavior. It wasn’t until the 1960’s they started believing their excuses. The descent into darkness began in the counter-culture revolution of the1960’s. It continues today, at an ever-accelerating pace.
It seemed innocent enough to begin with, Peace and Love, the Age of Aquarius, Make Love, not War, Never Trust Anyone over Thirty - wait a minute. That last slogan was not so innocent. It meant the accumulated wisdom of the ages could not be trusted. It meant snotty ignorant brats barely past puberty knew more than their parents.
Of course ignorant brats always think they know more than their parents. The idea was considered laughably preposterous until the 1960’s.
It was the first breech of common-sense that led
to all the absurdities that followed.
When children can decide what’s Right & Wrong, Right & Wrong becomes amorphous. It means Right & Wrong is nothing more than personal opinion. It shreds the moral fabric of community. Truth is only a matter of opinion. No opinion better than any other.
Intellectual rot follows moral rot. Thinking is replaced by feeling. The sick influence of impossible notions substitutes for reality.
The occupants of the madhouse have no knowledge they’re mad. Men believe they can be women. Blacks believe hating Whites isn’t racist. Governments believe they can print extra dollars without making the value of existing dollars less.
The influence of insanity leads the merry march down the rainbow road to . . . what?
God knows.
I don’t.