The Transcendance of Truth

In history, it seems, or history textbooks rather, that writers and publishers are afraid of placing blame. It is as if the Civil War just happened, slavery just happened...out of nowhere the black man became a possession; a piece of flare for the white man. There is something about merely presenting facts that makes it almost impossible for people to see emotions behind the movements and events in our history. I do not think that kids, when they have been conditioned into a life of memorization and objectivism, can infer that Abe Lincoln had a serious moral conflict by learning that he once owned slaves, but at some point freed his slaves. For some reason I don't think that it is important to those printers or publishers. Is discussing Thomas Jefferson's feelings going to get them more money, sell more books? Probably not. Oh well...skip it. It is as if facts can eliminate the human found within and terrible things simply happen just because they do. The understood villians such as Hitler get what's coming, but he must be a well-known villian to accept such blame.

This week has been yet another doozy. Life has hit me pretty hard, which is usually what happens when work seems pretty great. I was thinking yesterday on this idea that no one is to blame and no one wants to accept responsibility for anything that has failed or was not done well.
I was thinking in terms of splitting up with a partner: There are these different ways to express what happened, "split up," "left," "broken up."
Each of which carrying a totally different charge.
Split is equal, a mutual decision come to pass through a lot of deliberation.
Broken up, that seems adolescent. I hear my kids use this term often.
Left, I think this is when one person makes the choice to go. To take with them what was built and disappear.

The only one of the three that carries any weight, or blame, is left. Why, if one person chooses to go, should we say split.
When we are all responsible for writing our own history why should we be afraid to place blame? If we don't will we carry the burden of not remembering? Of allowing memory to mix with imagination and forgetting what was done and who was responsible? Of blaming ourselves for something we are not responsible for.

Sometimes the lessons that we are unaware we are learning as school children, such as the lesson of miraculous failures, transcends our youth to corrupt our adulthood. We are left with not knowing and a history that is tainted by imagination.