Friday, November 03, 2006

 
The following was sent after John Derbyshire's "God & Me" piece. As noted months ago on the Corner, late-night dorm room cosmic bullsh*t sessions can be *fun*. But Derb's testament of whatever was something of a downer -and -sigh- is difficult to refute. And most of us, I suspect, have had much the same thoughts at one time or another. Maybe it's just me, but I can't get *anything* out of NRO's search program and most of the time Google gives only the main page of the Corner, but I recall Stuttaford writing something which I found to be creepy- like, "give it more time" regarding Derb's not being ready to agree that human existence is a "chaos of nothing." Why wish this opinion, whether or not it's true, on someone else? Misery may love company(hey, it's still cliche day)but most of us are probably hard-wired to huddle together and tell each other that life is *not* a chaos of nothing.
At any rate, JD posted a letter from a reader asking if "lapsed Anglican" wasn't something like, "gay antique dealer." I've edited the following dorm-room quality(OK- maybe a Junior College dorm room)letter/post of October 30 only very slightly.



I met a fellow-traveller from an antique store...

OK, so I don't know diddley about his politics, but one of the guys with whom I've worked for years, owns an antique store and his co-worker/girlfriend (I think he's been married a number of times)works at said store at times. Also my departed Dad was obsessed with antiques and frequently frequented antique stores. I do recall, however seeing a bumper-sticker type thing touting gays and antique stores on a storefront window or door. -just thought I'd throw this in in the event you were keeping count of non-gay dealers in this meaningless universe.
Looking upon the mighty work that is the brain of man -with its inbred desire to avoid its inevitable decay, becoming a trivial senseless wreck - I too, despair.
I have no lifeless bones to pick with you and nothing[ness]to add regarding today's column other than to note omission of what must surely be a commonplace, if usually transitory, sentiment: that of feeling some impotent *hatred* for something suspected of creating the observable and unobservable universe, realizing that billions and billions critters are conscious and some like us are conscious of our mortality-and don't like it -and that this Creator-Thing doesn't give a shi -I mean rat's neuron about it.
Well that, and that it's hard to look at one's children as temporary phenomena, soon to be brothers to insensible rock. -"Mysterian" stuff, I guess. My self-described "stripster"("hipster and stripper")daughter once told me that she cried when she learned or came to believe that there is no God. God forbid that she croak before moi, and that I have to mourn her passing. -Just kidding, God/Hairy Thunderer, about the hating you thing!
A good word for Protestants: I've been surprised by how much I recall(though surely less than by your enormous noggin)from Lutheran sermons -and "thus endeth the lesson" stuff -mostly J.C.'s parables- during discussions with my St. Thomas University freshman(no, not the stripster one) regarding her theology class.
My wife and I don't often go to her synagogue, but from the little I've seen, most of all of the services are nothing more than variants of the Monty Python, "we're so small and you're so big and we're so awfully impressed, I can tell you."