An Unsustainable Illusion

In the Year of our Lord 2022, we set out under an illegal curfew imposed by the Legault government after some sixty consecutive renewals of so-called "emergency powers." So drastic is the situation we face here in Quebec that we couldn't even sit down to enjoy the Orange Bowl last night, because Videotron somehow got screwed up by its attempt to persuade everyone's TV to churn out the government's latest duck-and-cower bulletin. That was especially unfortunate after the cancellation of the World Juniors over a few boys coming down with a cold, or at least testing positive for one. It's getting difficult to find something fun to watch these days, while (as Felix the Cat would say) we have the government and the globocaps right where they want us.

Thanks to captain Bill Gates and his GAVI team, whose sharp new jerseys sport a big syringe on the front and an omicron on the back, one is now a "case" whether one is sick or not. When I was young, and the world was a crueler and more dangerous place, you had to be sick to be sick. A "case" was someone who was not quite right in the head. Like Dr Fauci, for example, who seems to think that having a cold is worse than not making the team in the first place, or making it and then losing to the Latvians. Now that I am older, I am significant only as a potential case; someone to be vaxxed before I overwhelm the healthcare system, someone from whom everyone else must be protected, even if I have natural immunity and am no threat at all.

To be fair, it's not all Gates' fault, or Fauci's, or Schwab’s. They may have been looking for—what was it? O, yes—"something disruptive and also iterative." Clearly they found it. But who has actually been seeing to the iterative part, to the sixty-odd renewals and counting? Premiers, health ministers, CMOs; that's who. Locally, it's "Let's go Legault" and friends, backed up by the labcoat lobbyists who, with them and like them, are drunk with a power they've never known.

Back in 1958, in one of his most penetrating pieces, C. S. Lewis fingered that lot with precision:

How I dread specialists in power because they are specialists speaking outside their special subjects. Let scientists tell us about sciences. But government involves questions about the good for man, and justice, and what things are worth having at what price; and on these a scientific training gives a man's opinion no added value. Let the doctor tell me I shall die unless I do so-and-so; but whether life is worth having on those terms is no more a question for him than for any other man.

I'll come back to Lewis in a moment, but here's my new year's wish: that no one will ever speak to me again about the kind of "protection" such men and women offer, except to expose for the scrutiny of the courts some new feature of what is quite obviously a protection racket. I am thoroughly sick of the lot of them, from the superstitious medicine man who wears a mask even when alone in his car, to the bumbling self-important bureaucrat, to the generous philanthropist and his bought-and-paid-for collaborators in the GPPP scam. Which of them really gives a damn about young lads and their hockey careers, or even about the health of little children or the advance of their schooling? Mask them, jab them, keep them in perpetual uncertainty. Some day soon, no doubt, we’ll deliver education itself through a series of jabs or implants, once we get this routine down pat.

Meanwhile, to protect us all—or rather, as Professor Forte puts it, to protect the pandemic from us all—these paragons of civic virtue will carry our young men off the ice in handcuffs, if they have to, just as they did this time last year. Or off the football pitch on stretchers, as the case may be. And they'll close the schools and the churches and the small businesses as often as they please, and arrest the pastors and priests who dare to defy them.

But wait, there's hope! If you stay home and sign up for the metaverse, you can win the Orange Bowl or World Junior gold without ever donning a helmet—any helmet, that is, but the one Mark Zuckerberg will sell you. Put that on, and you can win whatever you like right there in your gaming chair. You can make your safe and remote existence "more life-like," though it's not clear why you should want to, when it's precisely real life you're escaping from. Perhaps you'll even be able to create faux emergencies of your own, with which to grind imaginary neighbours into submission while saving their hospitals. Or a world in which emergencies don't exist at all, except for power outages or the drone with your dinner crashing into your closed door. And please don't worry about that sulphurous smell. It’s probably just the broken drone and in any event it means you've fully recovered from "the covid" you weren't supposed to get. Who’s being superstitious now, eh? It's not as if Lucifer (he who supposedly envied the power of God to will into existence that which had no existence) were knocking about the place!

Sorry, I may have got a bit carried away there. And don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that there is no emergency at all. Surely it's something of an emergency when you've already taken three poisonous death shots (as Dr Zelenko likes to call them) only to wake up with an omicron or upsilon stuck in your throat, your day-pass cancelled so you can't leave the flat, and the GAVI boys at the door with their syringes, promising you another shot every three months—every three weeks, if necessary—until you finally clot up and keel over. When they turn to go, you'll see the zero on their backs; funny how they all wear the same number. But the real zero is you, because you sold your birthright, your liberty to live, for a mess of their lipid nanoparticles.

That, I would say, is an emergency of the soul if not of the body, a quite dire emergency. But there's more. However your own heart is doing after the first three or four jabs, the monitor on our democracy is beeping ominously, which is also an emergency, a collective emergency. Nearly two years under government by order in council? More than twenty months of rule through duck-and-cower commands? And all for what, exactly?

Not to reduce mortality, because the evil god, COVID, though he has haunted the bedsides of the elderly and infirm, hasn't produced much in the way of "excess" mortality. (There is no such thing, of course, for every last one of us is going to die; what the term indicates is premature deaths, more deaths than would be expected in a given time frame.) No, it's the twin gods of HEALTH & SAFETY who are beginning to achieve that, with their debilitating, economy-destroying lockdowns and their experimental injections that down-regulate natural defences while up-regulating autoimmune disease, thus killing more often than saving. The fearsome COVID has never even managed to overwhelm the healthcare system, beyond the level of seasonal flus. Only the government's disastrous COVID policies have managed that—or will manage it, as the chickens come home to roost.

All for what, then? Not philanthropy! Not love of the neighbour! Not responsible government! Not science! Not truth! Rather, to crush those who are actually committed to such things, while making the wealthy wealthier and the powerful still more powerful. To make sure that special attention is paid by governments officials, under cover of the pandemic and in league with their Davos partners, "to the development and implementation of key enabling technologies; e.g., digitalization, Artificial Intelligence, Internet of Things, biotechnology and micro and nanotechnology." In other words, to effect the new world order in which biodigital convergence and universal surveillance and the breaking down of social bonds will assure them an unheard-of control, constrained neither by families, nor nations, nor constitutions, nor churches, nor liberties of any meaningful kind. Not even by the holy grail of liberty from the body and all its ills, that “gnostic” liberty which even death cannot guarantee, as these men of hubris will discover when their own time is up—when they stand before God and realize, to their everlasting shame, the true meaning of Anno Domini, terminology they have defiantly replaced with "in the Common Era."

And what is most common to the Common Era, as we launch into 2022 and press on with Agenda 2030? Fear and folly, cowardice and conformism, division and distrust. The collapse of reason, the failure of religion, even the new religion of medicine. The decline of responsible government and the advance of sovereign PharmaTech, now half way to its goal of multiple needles in every arm. Corruption and crime, fraud on a global scale. All this is common, far too common. It belongs to the unfolding apocalypse of the man who is not God but would make himself God, "an apostate and a robber," as Irenaeus put it, "anxious to be adored as God," to be his own lord and saviour. Or if in most instances rather less ambitious than that, then just anxious to watch the Orange Bowl, or the World Juniors, without too much trouble and without any particular reference to God.

In my hung-over condition—2021, we can all agree, was again a rough year—I'm not quite sure which is worse. I only know that the former requires the latter, as Lewis observed in that prescient essay, Willing Slaves of the Welfare State. For our freedom can only be taken from us if we are willing to give it, to exchange it for hollow comforts and empty promises of peace and security. "The question about progress," he insisted—though we prefer now to speak of sustainability—"has become the question whether we can discover any way of submitting to the worldwide paternalism of a technocracy without losing all personal privacy and independence." Indeed.

"Is there any possibility," asks Lewis, pressing the question, "of getting the super Welfare State's honey and avoiding the sting?" The implicit answer is negative, for what assurance can we possibly have "that our masters will or can keep the promise which induced us to sell ourselves?" He might have had today’s masters in view when he added:

Let us not be deceived by phrases about 'Man taking charge of his own destiny'. All that can really happen is that some men will take charge of the destiny of the others. They will be simply men; none perfect; some greedy, cruel and dishonest. The more completely we are planned the more powerful they will be. Have we discovered some new reason why, this time, power should not corrupt as it has done before?

Now there's a sobering question for the first day of 2022, Common Era! 

But this is not only the beginning of a new calendar year. Far more significantly, it is the solemnity of the BVM, mother of the man who really is God. Here in Quebec, of course, we're no longer allowed to go to church to celebrate that, not even if we're vaxxed and hence less—well, more actually, as new data from Germany also attests—susceptible to the latest variant. It won't do to have people rediscovering religion while they're out catching the covid. Religion renders them more susceptible to feeling the force of such questions.

And yet a few people are doing just that. There they are, standing in the cold at the door of their parish church, sans obligation or even invitation, to honour Mother Mary and her divine Son. They will do it again tomorrow at the first Sunday Mass of AD 2022. There is hope in that, real hope. There is hope, too, in everyone who is learning that the truth will set them free, even if they are not quite sure as yet who the Source of truth and freedom really is.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Pray that we may discover the One who is truth, who is freedom. That we may learn how to live before we die, such that when we die we are ready to live eternally. Pray that we, and our neighbours with us, will break free from this infernal spirit of fear, this lying spirit, this deluding influence that keeps us chasing an illusion—the illusion of security without the Father of all, of salvation without his Christ, of sustainability without his most Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of Life.