Edmund Burke never said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” No one seems to know where the phrase truly was birthed. But over the last several decades, the adage and accompanying misattribution have gained incontestable common currency.
So, with my respect offered to whoever actually did coin the phrase, I say, “Amen—sort of.” I equivocate because I wonder how “good” a person can be who does nothing while the world around him goes to hell in a handbasket. A fiddle, properly tuned to the times—ours no less than Emperor Nero’s—should play only dirges as our culture is lit afire by a pseudo-messiah and his ignorantly gullible followers. In a time such as this, any other genre would be rhythmic blasphemy.
It is the fiddlers more so than the fanatical followers who earn my criticism. The fanatics—the true believers, that is, not the acquisitive opportunists—are, at least, motivated by a genuine—albeit misplaced—desire for societal improvement. I completely disagree with essentially every view Trumpists hold dear, but I have at least a bit of respect for their fervor.
I find it much harder to respect folks who finger their fiddles and brandish their bows—playing polka or pop—while the billowing smoke of smoldering societal norms portends the demise of democracy. “Don’t disrupt my play times with your doom-and-gloom agitations!”
“Your play times,” I reply, “were bought and paid for by folks whose unwelcome disruptions incurred the wrath of ravenous despots.”
To that, scores of shrugged shoulders suggest the shortsightedness that will be our nation’s undoing.
I despair.