In the course of human events, death is unacceptable. However you may wish to rationalize or intellectualize that all living things die, you’re unwilling to acknowledge the end of your own existence. You simply will not tolerate the thought of nothingness and the abject fear that comes with it. But, in the face of criticism for this silly denial, please do not berate yourself unnecessarily. Since the first day of recorded history, humans have done nothing, if not attempt to find some way to escape the utter inhumanity of death. Predictably and quite sensibly, civilizations conjured all manner of deities to cope with the calamity of life and to justify the virtue of death. Unfortunately, unlike the beasts of the field, as well as the crawling, swimming and flying things, humans have the gift, or curse, of cognition. We are obligated to apply logic to absurdity. We are condemned to contemplate the unknowable. How can we explain this exquisite cruelty – to be granted life only to be guaranteed death? Leaning heavily on Genesis, John Milton gave it a shot. He attempted to shed light on the Fall of Man while he himself fell into the abyss of blindness.  But he gave Christianity a boost by bringing Paradise down to earth, even at the expense of humanizing God and His clutch of corporate angelic lieutenants like Michael and Raphael, and characterizing Satan as a charismatic bad boy, actually reminiscent of luminaries who walk among us today.  Before and since Milton’s epic work, theologians have authored thousands of interpretations of biblical documents written by other men in other times, in an effort to validate the core tenet of all serious religions – death is not the end, but the beginning.  You can understand why millions cling to this gospel truth as an essential outcome. And you envy them. Categorically. You covet their self assuredness, their consummate certainty, their infallible knowledge – that eternity awaits. And you can find a mountain of evidence that proves the afterlife has this hypnotic appeal. Consider the 960 members of the Jewish community at Masada in AD 73 that collectively committed suicide rather than submit to Roman rule. Japan is notorious for centuries of suicide tradition, from seppuku (ceremonial self disemboweling) to kamikaze warriors plowing aircraft into Allied warships. In 1978, Jim Jones presided over 900 souls to meet their Maker (although 276 children had no option). The Heaven’s Gate mass suicide on the Left Coast was apparently necessary for 39 people intent on reaching the next plane of existence. On March 17, 2000, 778 members of a group called the Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments met their demise. Billions of Muslims are doggedly secure in their spiritual rewards, some even willing to leave personal charred body parts scattered about, evidently expecting these parts to be miraculously reunited for endless bouts with a bevy of supple virgins. Yes, you can easily dismiss a romp in the heavenly hay. But can you accept the concept that the end of your life is no different than a fall leaf drifting onto the chilly ground? Logically, you must either believe in Creation or believe that this immaculately designed universe is sheer happenstance, a random cosmic accident. You must choose to believe in God because to believe otherwise is to relegate all of human existence to a sort of insane merry-go-round that eventually malfunctions for a final time. Leaving what? One impressive landfill? You must choose to believe in Salvation because to believe otherwise is to admit that justice is a sham, and that good and evil sleep in a common bed. Meanwhile, you’re also unwilling to accept the attempt to institutionalize God, to package Him, to ritualize Him, to have Him fit neatly into the business of religion. Since you have no answer to the Unknown, you may never be at peace with death. But you take solace in the fact you won’t be singled out unfairly — everyone before and after you eventually leaves town. Like Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep in Defending Your Life, you may “awake” to find yourself in Judgment City, lobbying to see if your earthy life qualifies for the “next phase of existence.” No, more than likely, you will show some reluctance to “slip the surly bonds of earth,” like one Ethan Allen, who when whispered to by his bedside attendant, “General, I fear the angels are waiting for you,” replied: “Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well–let ’em wait.”

You gamely try to ignore the signs, blatant as they are. But your attempts are futile. You would prefer to assume America is immune to decay and inevitable decline. Surely, you suspect, the mere thought is unpatriotic, even disloyal. But in your defense, history proves the greatest civilizations eventually depreciated, often fatally. For some of these empires, the signals were conspicuous, none more manifest than, say, hordes of warriors amassed at the city gates. In other cases, less abrupt and ostentatious, the symptoms of decay revealed themselves rather subtly, like maggots casually feasting on a warm corpse. You do concede, compared to other legendary sovereignties, America is a bit youngish to fear some kind of calamitous free fall. Only 234 years old, she is but a suckling in the stalls of time. And no one can deny that she’s been tested time and again and proved her mettle, her sinew toughened by the most intense adversity. Well, you can rationalize to your heart’s content. Because, barring a reversal of cosmic proportion, our “Shining City On A Hill” more closely resembles gloomy Gotham City before Batman flew to the rescue. You remember. The hoods were in charge. The people groveled at the feet of The Joker. Sporting his dulcet tones and cunning smile, the crime lord posing as Savior promised free money and a better life. And the people genuflected like good little zombies. But the caped crusader would have none of it. And the people of Gotham lived happily ever after. In the real world, sadly, super heroes are on indefinite leave of absence. Along with them, America’s venerated culture is also missing in action. We now live in an “anti” society: anti-God, anti-music, anti-language, anti-learning, anti-truth, anti-excellence, anti-liberty. Criminals and charlatans inhabit our most sacred institutions; teachers and broadcasters rape the English language, not out of carelessness, but out of sheer ignorance. Thinking, listening and learning have succumbed to incessant gabbing, twittering and texting. Drug use by respectable citizens enriches the vast underworld, spreading misery and death. Millions fall in lock step to paint and pierce their bodies, reverting to barbaric, primitive times. Less people work and more people take. Adolescent rap masquerades as music. You must acknowledge that the majority of readers — positive thinkers and optimistic souls — resent this appraisal as exaggerated, obnoxious and totally without merit or value. And, grudgingly, in deference to all that remains bright and uplifting in the world, you might agree, except for one final revolting trend that epitomizes your nation’s rush to nowhere. That trend — television appearances by attorneys – must represent an all-time low in advertising, surpassing local car dealerships and bedding retailers. Possibly, just possibly, you could stomach a little bad taste if attorneys themselves had enough sympathy for their audiences to stay away from the cameras. But, no, their egos must be served. And their dollars must be saved by “doing it themselves.” Amazingly, these solicitors believe viewers will be impressed with facial hair and a stony-eyed stare fixated on the ubiquitous teleprompter. Throw in a jingle, appeal to universal greed, and you have the makings of world-class mediocrity. Apparently, these barrister-actors don’t consider that their appearances and messages may be repulsive; that they themselves may closely resemble felons in a sleazy police line-up. Even worse, the final blow, is the realization that these very same attorneys actually have paying clients. If that fact doesn’t strike fear for the fate of our nation, maybe it’s time to google Bruce Wayne.

You probably agree that lying to others is sometimes forgivable. But how do you explain lying to yourself?  You see a country bleeding like a gut-shot deer. You see a country that has abandoned its historic virtues. And whom do you blame? Why, who else? You blame the millions of citizens who allow themselves to be brainwashed by television and Hollywood — the gang that systematically hypnotizes Americans to act like the good little sheep in Far From The Madding Crowd. There they were, mingling and bleating happily, when a deranged sheep dog stampeded them to their deaths over a nearby cliff. Well, you’re no sheep, not you. Oh, no, nobody’s herding you anywhere because you’re too savvy. Ingeniously, you saw the brainwashing start a long time ago. It was a gradual thing, like moss growing on a rock. You were never fooled by innocent, clever and sometimes hilarious sitcoms that taught you life’s important lessons. Promiscuity is preferable to sexual abstinence. The more partners the better. Better still if they include both sexes. Career women are divas; housewives are drones. Good English is dull; dumb is cool. Christians are recidivist morons; atheists are intellectual giants. You were among the first to notice the advent of social engineering in TV dramas and movies. All authority figures  – police chiefs, judges, department heads, etc. — were (and are) black or female. Clint Eastwood or Harrison Ford seldom have white bosses; and if either does, they are always as corrupt as a white Charles B. Rangel. Big business? Evil. Wealthy white industrialists exist only to rape the environment and pillage the poor. You were quick to learn that movie scripts without the F word deserve little, if any, respect. In fact, the true excellence of any script is in direct proportion to the frequency and diverse use of a word that apparently merits the admiration of the truly cool among us. Any movie that doesn’t play the race or gay card has not a whit of redeeming value.  And, unlike many of your enlightened peers, you never fell for the avant-garde practice of piercing your tongue or nipples or tattooing your skin to improve on God’s design. Nonetheless, like the incessant tide, mass media continues to knock at your door. Drum. Drum. Drum. “C’mon, join the rest of us. Dumb it down, baby. You won’t feel a thing. Be happy. Just give Rap a chance. Rap is cool. It really isn’t as monotonous or juvenile or brainless as it seems.” But you resist, right? You simply won’t take one ounce of credit for the rule of insanity. You didn’t contribute one iota to the corrosion of the American Miracle.  If anyone’s been brainwashed, it certainly hasn’t been you. Right? Right?