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Paying the Price of Principle
The
following essay is the text of a speech delivered to the Spring
National Committee Meeting of the Constitution Party in Boise,
Idaho on April 21
by William Norman Grigg, editor-at-large, The Right Source
Media Enterprises
Principles
mean nothing – in fact, they mean less than nothing – when
adhering to them is easy. Adhering to them when it's hard is
what principles are all about, and the determination to do
so is called integrity.
-- L. Neil
Smith, award-winning science fiction author and freedom activist.
There is nothing so rare – and so dangerous – as integrity.
Rare, because that quality is displayed only in striving against
the moral gradient of our fallen world.
Dangerous, because those who distinguish themselves by displaying
that quality shame the rest of us, who seek refuge and self-assurance
in the collective. Like every other worthwhile thing, integrity
is a gift of God's grace. And it's a problematic gift, because
those who possess it, and magnify it, frequently find themselves
candidates for martyrdom. I wish to speak today of a handful
of exemplary people who received that gift and refused to conceal
it; they held fast to principle in defense of human freedom,
even though doing so meant sacrificing their individual liberty
and even their mortal lives.
*John Cooke (1608-1660)
John Cooke did not seem to seem to be the stuff of which rebels
were made. A slight and physically unprepossessing figure, the
17th Century English attorney was raised in a poor but honest
Puritan home. On the strength of his ability and idealism he
became one of the most notable legal scholars and activists of
his era, doing much to develop and articulate many of the legal
principles we have long taken for granted.
In
my opinion, John Cooke – along with many of his Puritan
colleagues – should be numbered among the founding grandfathers
of our republic. In their struggle against the corrupt absolutism
of King Charles I, Cooke and his associates bravely asserted
the same principles of liberty under law that later found expression
in our Declaration of Independence and Constitution.
Cooke
distinguished himself as an advocate of legal and penal reform,
and his candid critiques of the legal profession made
him somewhat notorious among his peers. Deprived of the protection
of a prominent family or political patrons, Cooke took refuge
in his faith in God and the conviction that doing God's will,
as he was given wisdom to understand it, was the only appropriate
course of action.
Of
Cooke, British
legal scholar Geoffrey Robertson observes:
“ John Cooke was respected but not trusted. He tended to do and
say what he believed was right, rather than what was popular
or politic or likely to ingratiate him with the prevailing power,
be it the King or Parliament or a bench of judges. He would do
nothing merely to please, unless it were to please God.”
Into
John Cooke's hands was delivered, on January 10, 1649, a fateful
document that only his hands would receive. The document,
which would have been refused immediately by a more “respectable” barrister,
instructed Cooke to “prepare and prosecute the charge
[of treason] against the king.”
In
defense of his royal prerogatives, Charles
had twice waged civil war against Parliament, beginning
in 1642. At the time of his indictment, the king was in prison,
whence he
had attempted
to organize – via messenger -- a third military campaign
against England with the help of allies in Scotland and France.
On
the orders of King Charles, disarmed prisoners had been murdered,
horrible
tortures inflicted, entire villages had been put to
the torch. Writes
Robertson: “It had been with the criminal
object of securing unlimited and tyrannical power that Charles
I had levied war against Parliament and had set out to destroy
the very people whose life and liberty he was obliged to preserve.”
Those
claims of tyrannical power have an oddly contemporary flavor.
Charles
insisted that the role of Parliament was merely
to ratify the king's whims. He created Courts
of Star Chamber,
staffed by figures subservient to the King. That court claimed
the power to arrest any subject, detain him indefinitely “at
His Majesty's pleasure,” subject him to torture, and even
to death, for such supposed offenses as seditious libel.
Ever
hungry for money to support his vast retinue of parasites,
Charles
devised and tried to impose a tax on commercial shipping
that was not authorized by Parliament. To justify this extraordinary
measure, Charles claimed that British shipping was in a state
of constant peril from piracy – what we would now call
terrorism. According to one of Charles' Star Chamber judges,
Justice Vernon, “The King may dispense with any laws in
case of necessity.” Another Star Chamber jurist insisted
that the King's war powers were absolute and all-encompassing,
and his judgment was definitive in assessing whether the kingdom
was in peril.
In
this we see the direct lineal ancestor of the extraordinary
claims of executive power made by George W. Bush and his retainers.
Charles, however, was willing to wage a literal civil war in
order to preserve the powers he claimed.
Parliament's
legal brief against Charles was a unique indictment, since
it was “a set of instructions to formulate a criminal
charge against a king widely regarded as ruler by Divine Right,
in a credulous age when people believed their skin diseases
could be cured by a touch from a monarch who was God's representative
on English – and Irish and Scottish – earth,” notes
Robertson. “Even to contemplate laying a hand on the
`Lord's Anointed' was treason punished by death if and when
the Royalists returned to power.” By so much as handling that indictment, Cooke made himself a
target for Royalist assassins, whose lethal reach extended throughout
the kingdom an onto the continent. And receiving that communique
would result in a sentence to death by torture should the Stuarts
reclaim the throne.
Under
the treason
statute of 1351– which was still
in effect during the American Revolution, incidentally -- those
of noble birth convicted of that offense enjoyed the privilege
of a quick surgical death administered through the swift stroke
of the clean axe: Amid the brief but violent convulsions of the
decapitated body, the hooded executioner would hold aloft the
severed head and exclaim: “Behold the head of a traitor!”
This relatively humane execution was reserved for those of the
nobility. For those of common birth, like John Cooke, death didn't
come through the swift stroke of the clean axe; it was granted
only after being drawn and quartered, an oddly mundane way of
describing one of history's most astonishing exercises in prolonged,
artful sadism.
The depiction of William Wallace's death at the end of Braveheart
captures some of the horrors of that mode of execution, while
sparing the audience the worst.
Since there is no delicate way of giving an adequate description
of this practice, I will defer to Robertson's account, and please
forgive me for doing so:
“ The [condemned] would be drawn on a hurdle, facing backwards,
to the place of execution: he would be forced up a ladder, hung
for a few moments to the jeers of the crowd, then cut down while
still conscious. His [genitals] would first be cut off, and dangled
in his face. A knife through the [rectum] would deftly extract
a few feet of bowel, which would be set light by a torch, before
his boggling eyes. Oblivion, in the stench and excruciating pain,
was delayed as long as possible, and would be followed by cutting
pieces off the carcass (`quartering') before it was dragged away
on the sledge.... This obscene ritual was laid down in the law
books: it was intended as the ultimate deterrent to any commoner
who might think of deposing a king.” (After learning of this practice from our Anglo-Saxon heritage,
I was prompted to re-evaluate what I had considered to be the
unique depravity of my own Aztec ancestors; granted, the Aztecs
carried out such executions more promiscuously than the English,
but this is a difference in volume, not in kind.)
That penalty was also the reason why every other eligible English
lawyer made himself inconspicuous when Parliament tried to find
someone to serve as prosecutor at the trial of King Charles.
Cooke
accepted that brief not just because he believed that mortal
justice
required that Charles be punished for his crimes
as an individual, but because he believed in the principle that
all men, including kings, were subject to God's law. He wanted
to bring an end to sovereign impunity. He eventually became convinced
that the institution of monarchy itself was an affront to God's
sovereignty, a view he expressed in a pamphlet entitled “Monarchy:
No Creature of God's Making.”
John
Cooke and his supporters insisted that there was “No
King but King Jesus” -- a phrase adopted as the battle-cry
of American Patriots more than a century later.
But
the self-evident truths vindicated on American battlefields
couldn't
be spoken – or even thought of – in 1649
England unless one was willing to risk his life. Believing that
his life belonged to God, and that it was to be used in the service
of truth, Cooke accepted the charge to prosecute King Charles.
Once again it's important to recognize that Charles was, in
every significant sense, a precursor to George W. Bush. Superficially
pious, he was a spoiled, stammering, vindictive heir to the throne,
an individual raised in a cocoon of privilege. His manner suppurated
unearned self-regard and a pathological indifference to the needs
and aspirations of those unwise enough to have been born into
the lesser ranks of society.
His
father, James I, made claims of royal power more extravagant
than any
of his predecessors of the previous half-millennium.
In his view, the King was the absolute and unqualified master
of the lives and property of his subjects. Those who questioned
the royal prerogative, wrote King James, were guilty of undermining “the
mystical reverence that belongs to those that sit in the throne
of God,” and that “no misdeeds can ever justify resistance.”
The monarch was brought to bar on January 20, 1649. Haughty
and confident of his ability to over-awe the court, Charles refused
to remove his hat in the presence of his judges. In his hands
he carried a silver-tipped walking cane.
As
Cooke began to read the indictment, Charles tapped him on the
shoulder
with the cane, and commanded, “Hold” --
expecting that Cooke would stop and allow the monarch to speak.
Rather than doing so, Cooke resumed his presentation, only to
be tapped a second time, somewhat harder. After Cooke began again,
Charles hit him with the cane so stoutly that the silver tip
flew from its end and rolled to the floor between them.
As Cooke looked at Charles, the King nodded for him to pick
up the silver tip. Cooke ignored the arrogant little man and
began to read the indictment:
“I
do, in the name and on the behalf of the people of England,
exhibit and bring into this court a charge of high treason
and other high crimes whereof I do accuse Charles Stuart, King
of England, here present.”
Deflated
by Cooke's words and his refusal to be cowed, Charles – to
the astonishment of those present – bent down to pick up
the silver tip.
“The symbolism of this incident was plain to all. The
King, the divine majesty, had bowed, powerless before the majesty
of human law,” wrote Robertson.
A
better rendering would be that the King deferred to God's law,
as enforced by the sovereign people.
Ten
days later, after being convicted in a fair and speedy trial,
Charles was given the quick, surgical execution to which
those of the noble class were entitled. A
little more than eleven years later, following Cromwell's reign
as
Lord Protector and a short-lived English republic, the
Stuarts were restored to the throne. Cooke and many others who
did not cut their convictions to meet the prevailing fashions
were sentenced to death by a Star Chamber court devoted to the
credo that “the rule of law is that the King can do no
wrong in the estimation of the law.”
Cooke and Puritan preacher Hugh Peters were executed by being
drawn and quartered, with all of the attendant horrors, on October
16, 1660. Cooke went to his death knowing that his wife and infant
daughter would be dispossessed. Speaking from the scaffold, Cooke
forgave the supposed judges who had sent him there, among whom
were numbered several individuals who displayed a cynical dexterity
in changing their supposed convictions to suit prevailing the
circumstances.
In
seeking to restore the ancient rights of Englishmen, and to
create
a republican framework to protect those rights, Cooke
and his colleagues paid a dreadful price. They sowed the seeds
of liberty, and nourished them with their own blood; the harvest
was our own War for Independence. At the time of their martyrdom,
however, they had no way of knowing that their cause would be
vindicated before man; to this day, John Cooke is largely unknown,
except where he is reviled as a “Regicide.” He met
his death content in the knowledge that he had done God's will,
irrespective of the outcome.
The same is true of those martyred for the cause of freedom
under God's law in Nazi Germany, to whom we turn now.
*Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945)
Born into an aristocratic family in Silesia on February 4, 1906,
Dietrich Bonhoeffer resolved to become a preacher and theologian
at the precocious age of 14. The product of a deeply learned
and humane family that was firmly rooted in Christian principle,
Dietrich from the youngest age displayed an amazing, intuitive
grasp of theology, and more importantly an indomitable heart
for serving God.
He was twenty-seven years old when the National Socialists were
thrust to power. Decades of war, depression, and moral upheaval
had left many otherwise sober and responsible Germans with the
belief that Hitler's movement, although disreputable, would restore
a sound social order and give the nation a chance to recover
some element of its former greatness. Bonhoeffer, who had scrutinized
the Nazi program with an eye single to the glory of God, knew
better.
As
one of his biographers notes, “He was one of the few
who quickly understood, even before Hitler came to power, that
National Socialism was a brutal attempt to make history without
God and to found it on the strength of man alone.”
Bonhoeffer thus abandoned his promising academic career in 1933
to begin his ministry. He first went to England to pastor a church
for German expatriates there. But he soon felt a call to return
to his homeland and take an active role in serving Christ by
confronting the demonic evil that had seized control of his country.
Along
with others in the Confessional Church, Bohoeffer established,
in defiance of what the Nazi regime was pleased to call the
law,
a teaching college intended to disseminate unadulterated Christian
doctrine. By this time, German churches were expected to treat
the Regime and its ruling Party as the embodiment of God's will,
and to revere the Fuhrer as an adjunct member of the Trinity.
Bonhoeffer knew that idolatry of this kind was a provocation
to God, and would be severely punished in the war the Nazis – and
their counterparts elsewhere – were preparing.
He
had already made it clear that he would not serve in an aggressive
war.
Asked by Danish friends what he would do when the war came,
Dietrich replied: “I will pray to Christ to give me the
power not to take up arms.”
As the war approached, Dietrich's friends urged him to flee
Germany. This, he refused to do, even though it was clear that
he was choosing the course of martyrdom.
“I shall have no right to participate in the reconstruction
of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share
the trials of this time with my people,” he wrote. “Christians
in Germany will face the terrible alternative of either willing
the defeat of their nation in order that Christian civilization
may survive, or willing the victory of their nation and thereby
destroying our civilization. I know which of these alternatives
I must choose; but I cannot make this choice in security.”
Consider the horrible dilemma confronting Dietrich and other
Christian patriots in Nazi Germany.
And now consider how terrifying close we are to confronting
exactly that same dilemma.
Out
of love for his country and, more importantly, duty to God,
Bonhoeffer
chose the course of resistance. The “fanatical
devilish forces within National Socialism left no alternative.
They were aiming at the destruction of Germany as a European
and Christian country.”
In
the summer of 1940, when dissenters within Nazi Germany were
convinced
that resistance was useless, Bonhoeffer refused to
relent – even if there was no practical reason to believe
that victory was possible.
“If we claim to be Christians,” he wrote, “there
is no room for expediency.” German Christians weren't called
by God to be politically victorious, he understood; they were
called to stand in the truth irrespective of their prospects
of mortal success.
Arrested and imprisoned by the Gestapo for the supposed crime
of helping Jews escape to Switzerland, Bonhoeffer stood fast
even in the shadow of the torture chamber and the scaffold.
“Defenseless and powerless as he was [during his interrogatory
hearing] and only fortified by the word of God in his heart,
[Dietrich] stood erect and unbroken before his tormentors. He
refused to recant, and defied the Gestapo machine by openly admitting
that, as a Christian, he was an implacable enemy of National
Socialism and its totalitarian demands toward the citizen – defied
it, although he was continually threatened with torture and with
the arrest of his parents, his sisters and his fiancee, who all
had a helping hand in his activities.”
In October 1944, friends and supporters made an effort to liberate
Dietrich and send him to safety abroad. He refused that offer,
choosing to remain in prison rather than endanger the lives of
those who would have rescued him.
“When
Christ calls a man,” wrote Bonhoeffer, “he
bids him to come and die” -- to die to his own desires
and to make God's will his own. This was the antithesis of the
facile, feel-good religiosity Bonhoeffer called “cheap
grace.” True discipleship, he came to understand, inevitably
comes with a cost.
A few months before his death, Dietrich wrote the following
lines:
“ Men
go to God when he is sore bested, find him poor and scorned,
without shelter and bread; whelmed under weight of the wicked,
the weak, the dead. Christians
stand by God in His hour of grieving.”
In “Who Am I?” one of his prison poems anticipating
his martyrdom, Bonhoeffer asked God to explain what was being
made of him in the crucible of punitive confinement.
“Who
am I? They often tell me I stepped from my cell's confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly, like a Squire from his
country house.
Who am I? They often tell me I used to speak to my warders freely
and friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me I bore the days of my misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win.
Am
I then really that which other men tell of? Or am I only what
I myself
know of myself?”
Bonhoeffer then described, in self-critical detail, some of
the fears and faults he had come to know so well in his solitude,
before concluding:
“ Who
am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever
I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!”
Because he knew that he belonged to God, Bonhoeffer could not
surrender to the State what Hitler required of him, nor could
he choose to collaborate in the regime's rebellion against God's
law. He was a child before God, which made him a giant among
men.
Bonhoeffer spent the last hours before his execution on April
9, 1945, ministering to his cellmates at the Flossenburg concentration
camp. He was led to the scaffold naked, but clothed in the serene
dignity that is the sweetest reward God gives those who stand
firm for principle.
*Hans (1918-1943) and Sophie Scholl (1921-1943); Helmuth Huebner
(1925-1942)
Dietrich
Bonhoeffer embodied what one historian calls the “uncorrupted
spiritual forces which opposed all that Hitler and National Socialism
stood for on grounds of Christianity and the basic values of
life, of truth, justice, goodness and decency.”
The
same was true of the
White Rose, a resistance cell led
by Hans and Sophie Scholl. Comprised of five young students and
a college professor, who wrote and circulated six pamphlets urging
resistance to the Nazi regime.
Their inaugural pamphlet put the matter quite candidly:
“It
is certain that today every honest German is ashamed of his
government. Do not forget that every people deserves the
regime it is willing to endure!”
With the uncorrupted idealism of youth, the White Rose confronted
German Christians for the hypocrisy and moral lassitude they
displayed in submitting to a manifestly evil regime:
“[W]hy
do you allow these men who are in power to rob you step by
step, openly and in secret, of one domain of your
rights after another, until one day nothing, nothing at all will
be left but a mechanized state system presided over by criminals
and drunks?”
The
Scholls were captured by the Gestapo on February 18, 1943.
They were
subjected to a burlesque of a trial before the so-called
Nazi People's Court, presided over by the histrionic judge Roland
Freisler – a fanatical Communist who became an equally
devout Nazi (a living illustration of what Goering called a “beefsteak
Nazi” -- brown on the outside, red in the middle). On February
22, the Scholls and their friend Chrisoph Probst were sent to
the guillotine.
Roughly four months earlier, the guillotine had claimed the
life of Helmuth Heubner, a 17-year-old from Hamburg. Like the
Scholls, Heubner and his friends, Ruddi Wobbe and Karl-Heinz
Schnibbe, circulated pamphlets condemning the Nazi regime. A
devout and active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints, Heubner had been moved to resistance by the hateful treatment
of a member of his congregation who was a Jew by birth but a
Mormon by conviction.
After
being arrested, convicted and sentenced to death by Freisler's
Blood
Tribunal, Heubner suffered what for him was the most painful
sanction – he was excommunicated from his church. Scant
hours before his execution, 17-year-old Helmuth wrote a remarkably
forgiving letter to the
church leader (and Party member) who had excommunicated him:
“I
am very grateful to my Heavenly Father that my miserable life
will come to an end tonight--I could not bear it any longer
anyway. My Father in Heaven knows that I have done nothing wrong....
I know that God lives and He will be the Just Judge in this matter.
I look forward to seeing you in a better world! Your friend and
brother ... Helmuth
*Franz Jagerstatter (1907-1943)
The
Nazi guillotine also claimed the life of Franz
Jagerstater,
an
Austrian peasant and self-taught philosopher who was found
guilty of “sedition” and executed in August 1943.
Jagerstatter was a sacristan at his local church and a self-taught
poet. Although he had little formal schooling, Jagerstatter educated
himself through weekly visits to the modestly appointed local
library. He served as a conscript in the Reich's army from October
1940 to April 1941. After a year at home with his wife and three
daughters, he refused orders to return to military service, asserting
that Hitler's regime were an affront to God.
To
fight on behalf of the Reich, Jagerstatter believed, “was
a matter of personal guilt and serious sin.”
He was arrested and interrogated by dutiful public servants
who couldn't refute his arguments (which astonished them, coming
as they did from the mouth of an unschooled peasant). He was
repeatedly told that his duty was to power, not to conscience.
A
military interrogator reported that Jagerstatter, despite being
compelled
to take an oath of loyalty to the Fuhrer at the
time of his forced induction, “stubbornly refuses for personal
reasons to fulfill his patriotic duty in Germany's hard struggle
for survival.” Those “personal reasons” were
Jagerstatter's sober and binding moral convictions, chief among
them the belief that no government or ruler has the right to
re-write the moral law to suit his corrupt whims.
“Who dares to assert that among the Germany people in
this war only one person bears the responsibility?” he
asked of those who insisted that once the Fuhrer was the Great
Decider accountable to nobody. “What Catholic can dare
say that these raids which Germany has carried out in several
countries, and is still carrying out, constitute a just and holy
war?... If the Church stays silent in the face of what is happening,
what difference would it make if no church were ever opened again?”
After
being condemned to death, Jagerstatter was visited by his local
Catholic
bishop, who advised him to suppress his conscience
in order to survive and live a “Godly” life after
the war. Despite his desire to live and be reunited with his
wife and daughters, Jagerstatter wasn't willing to surrender
that which made him a man – his freedom to obey God's law – in
order to live as a serf.
“When a leader allows himself to break the rules of humanity,
it is the duty of every citizen to break the leader's rules,” he
wrote. He recognized that he could “change nothing in world
affairs,” but understood that his doomed resistance would
be “at least a sign that not everyone let themselves be
carried away with the tide.”
A man is not a cork carried haplessly on the eddies and currents
of contemporary opinion, but a firm and immovable rock that the
stream must accommodate. Jagerstatter was rock-like in his composure
as he was led to the gallows, and he left an impression on those
who witnessed his matrtyrdom. Father Jochmann, the priest who
was with the condemned Christian patriot in the hours prior to
execution, later testified that Franz Jagerstatter was the only
saint he had ever met.
These martyrs to the cause of freedom were willing to pay the
price of principle at a premium.
Why had that price grown so dear? I believe it was because in
each case too many of their countrymen were willing to sell their
freedom in a buyer's market. They didn't do this all at once,
of course, but often through the process of incrementalism: They
were carefully led into tyranny through a lengthy series of small,
subtle, and apparently irresistible compromises.
With each surrender, the price of principle increased, often
with compound interest. Eventually that cost became so great
that only those of the highest integrity were willing to pay
it.
The
Framers of our republic, well acquainted with fallen human
nature,
understood how this process works. This is why, to
paraphrase James Madison, they didn't wait until usurped
power had strengthened itself by exercise, and entangled the
question in precedents.
Where the operating principles of government led to tyranny,
the Founders saw the consequences in the principle – and
avoided the consequences by denying the principle. And they upheld
sound principles with equal tenacity.
In assessing our nation's present condition, too many Americans
are content to measure the scant freedoms we can still exercise,
rather than those that have been stolen from us. Others insist
that as long as we have the freedom to complain, we have nothing
to complain about.
Still
others allow that the regime that rules us – the
term “government” is somehow inadequate – has
seized vast and unprecedented powers to commit aggressive war,
detain people without trial or judicial recourse, conduct surveillance,
and set aside constitutional protections. However, such people
quickly assert, those powers are relatively benign, since they
are directed only at the worst of those who plot to destroy us.
Updated for contemporary circumstances and translated into our
idiom, that's exactly the same argument made by Charles I as
he transformed the British monarchy into a literal dictatorship.
It is also akin to the arguments used by Hitler's regime to consolidate
power following the Reichstag Fire. This would be readily recognized
by Freedom-focused people like those whose lives we've briefly
examined.
Putting
principle above politics requires that rarest and most dangerous
of attributes – integrity. It is difficult to
summon such integrity in the best of times. But if this isn't
done when times are relatively placid, and the only costs to
be dealt with are paid in the coin of controversy and social
inconvenience, the price will eventually become prohibitively
high.
We still have the luxury, even now, of pursuing the restoration
of our republic through peaceful, principle-centered activism.
This will not be so within a decade, however, if present trends
continue unresisted.
Lord
John Maynard Keynes, who was one of history's most influential
pragmatists
(a term I do use as a compliment), summarized that
point of view in his most quoted phrase: “In the long run,
we're all dead.”
If that is true, then principles don't really exist. Those of
us who know that death is a comma -- rather than a period or
question mark -- know differently. Freedom is not only a gift
from the Creator, it is a stewardship for which we will be accountable
to Him. And only if we are true to His principles will he prosper
our efforts.
There
is no room for principle on the agenda of those who preside
over
the “big-box” political parties – or,
better stated, the two retail outlets for the Establishment's
Big Box Party.
An
increasing number of Americans are becoming aware of the prohibitive
costs
of unprincipled politics, and they are weary
of the interchangeable varieties of insipid cynicism being offered
by the Big Box Party. This gives us an opportunity – perhaps
the last one God will grant our richly blessed but shamefully
ungrateful nation – to restore the republic that was one
of His greatest gifts to mankind.
But this can only be accomplished if we are prepared to pay the
price of the principles we profess. Pragmatism is simply not
an option because it fails its own test: It doesn't work.
Mr.
Grigg is editor-at-large for The
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