“Either way, this whole — volent business presupposes the existence of God, which is an unverifiable position to take — as is the non-existence of God — because, from a purely epistemological vantage, a posteriori knowledge is a consequences of observation. In other words, faith is the only way to have either God or no God because any material proof or disproof of God is completely beyond our perception or cognitive abilities — furthermore, faith, as Bayle observed, is required if we are to even advance beyond the problems associated with Cartesian duality, the brain in the vat problem and so on. Regardless, this is the real reason why any material manifestation of God is a miracle — it contradicts the very nature of God.
“Now, I am not one of the faithful; I am an agnostic. Many people believe, to paraphrase Mr. Colbert, that an agnostic is just a dissident atheist; but it is really the only rational way to go about matters of religion. I mean, it is certainly more rational than the ludicrous beliefs of the Christians, who think a Trinity can be unified. You may assert that my view is simply contingent upon my rejection of Christ as my lord and savior, but I simply can't see how someone believes that God can be both eternal and temporarily encompassed within the body of a man, who lived some two thousand years ago, and who, at present, sits on the right hand of Himself — sounds like Someone is preparing for the holy stranger as opposed to Judgment Day, you get me, mate.” He takes a massive gulp. “And then there's the Holy Spirit, which no one seems to really understand,” he adds before gesturing with a dismissive hand and a slight whistle. “The Holy Trinity: Father, Cloud, and Tongue,” he adds with disdain. “Honestly, I do not understand why Christians refuse to doubt the validity of this doctrine and just accept Adoptionism or Nestorianism or Arianism — and, no, this last one is not related in any way to white supremacy—, but, then again, I don't understand why these same people, in this country, voted an admitted alcoholic into the White House.”
“An alcoholic?”
“Yes; once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic,” he says with conviction even though the comment is completely irrelevant. “Your president is, ipso facto, an alcoholic.”
“I see,” I respond hesitantly even though I share his disgust.
“I don't compare him to Hitler, as some are wont to do. While Hitler's rise to power was a democratic Volkerwanderung—and that includes an umlaut over the o—a democratic Völkerwanderung that came about as a consequence of an election, his policies and positions were violently antidemocratic. That's the real danger of Nazism — not its capacity for violence, but its appeal to the common people. Bush's win was simply a victory for a very conservative portion of your country, although I do find it troubling that he constantly refers to himself as the commander-in-chief, as that seems to suggest that he sees himself as, or his speech writers wish to make him out to be, a kind of imperator—even if he has not won occasion for a triumph, or even an ouatio for that matter — not that he would even know what such things are, as his head is even more vacuous than that of Calvisius Sabinus. Now, not to go too far off topic here, but I do wish to say that I am absolutely fascinated by the people who continue to support him and a foreign policy that echoes what Calgacus said of the Romans: 'Si locuples hostis est, avari, si pauer, ambitiosi, quos non Oriens, non Occidens satiaverit: soli omnium opes atque inopiam pari adfectu concupiscunt. Auferre trucidare rapere flasis nominbus imperium, atque ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant.' I am—”
“What the hell did all of that mean?”
He pauses for a moment. “To paraphrase: A rich enemy excites their — the Romans — cupidity; a poor one, their lust for power.” He pauses again. “Their rapacity finds satisfaction from neither East nor West. Alone in this world they are covetous of the abject, as well as the rich. To robbery, slaughter, rapine they give the mendacious name empire; they leave…hmm…I guess deserts in their wake, and call it peace. Actually, that last line is a bit hard to translate. Solitudinem, I guess, is pretty much the same as solitude, but there's a certain aspect to it that….” He scratches his head. “Have you ever read Camus' 'Le Renégat'?”
“'The Renegade'?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the one with the guy who's lost his tongue and he's in the middle of the desert with some weird tribe of really hedonistic people? I know there's some metaphor that I'm fucking up, but I can't really remember.” Patrick nods hesitantly. “To be honest, I don't really remember it. I haven't touched any of Camus' fiction in three or four years.”
“Well, that's the one I'm thinking of.” He pauses. “Or you could think of the landscape, perhaps moonscape, featured in McCarthy's Blood Meridian.”
“That just came up the other day.”
“Well, it's an excellent novel.” He takes a small sip from his cup. “So, to reiterate, it's solitude in the sense of harsh solitude.”
“Okay.”
“As I was saying, though, I'm also amazed by the fact that there are thousands of people your age who support his economic policies even though they are nothing more than fodder for late capitalism's process of stratification. Furthermore, I am disgusted by those who support the war even though they do not fight in it. Rupert Brooke was overzealous in his patriotism, too, but at least he had enough personal integrity to reserve a portion of Greece for Britain.
“And yet the left cannot persuade the moderates of the country to reject the administration, which, with the help of some very Bush Senior-oriented CEOs, has looted this country without restraint, all the while making the conservatives more resolute in their belief that a Democratic administration will pillage the nation of its wealth with public programs that were considered necessary only a few years ago — during the Reagan administration. They quote Lucan—Arma tenenti omnia dat, qui iusta negat—as they bow to Caesar.”
“What does that mean?”
“He who abnegates his due from the armed bully grants him — the bully — everything.”
“I see.”
“Where was I? Oh yes: about the answer to your second question. I am interested in what the young artists are doing in this city, and I’ve made it my business to seek out a lot of them and get their thoughts on art. To be blunt, it has been a piss-poor showing of hacks and cultural bulimics who equate Kurt Cobain’s suicide with the assassination of JFK. At best they are spoiled children, who think themselves entitled to the boon of a best seller just because they've picked up a fucking pen with some specious nostalgie de la boue. That's the writers, of course. Those who use other mediums can be even worse in their unwarranted pomposity — their envy, too. As Antisthenes, one of the contemporaries of either Socrates or Plato, said: 'As iron eats at rust, so too are the envious consumed by their passions'. What’s far more deleterious, however, is the level of condescension and the general isolation that I've found in your generation.” He shakes his head with disappointment. “For one, I absolutely hate being spoken down to by such brutally ignorant people who think their BAs in English actually mean something, especially when their feigned ataraxia is really just akrasia in disguise. Secondly, I don’t understand how you guys get laid. It is absolutely beyond me,” he says slowly. His observation is without enmity. “Do you fuck your sisters and cousins, or is that just in the South?” He pauses, but allows no rebuttal. “I know we're supposed to be the ones with the odd sex life — you know, fucking goats and sheep and all — but, honestly, we at least have the common courtesy to initiate a conversation every once in a while without trying to come off like a owl perched on an ivy tower. You guys, on the other hand…”