Click For Photo: https://stream.org/wp-content/uploads/Fetus_900b.jpg
A right-wing atheist I knew at Yale liked to get under believers’ skins. At 22, he sported a prophet’s hipster John Brown beard. (They wouldn’t come into fashion in Park Slope and Portland for another 30 years.) He taught some younger members of the Party of the Right to channel Nietzsche, swig bourbon, and target shoot beer bottles just off campus.
I thought him pernicious. As an angry Catholic culture warrior from Queens, I used to parry wits with him. Once in the men’s room, he posed a musing question: “Didn’t you ever wonder, if God really exists, why did he make [human solid waste] so smelly and gross?”
I thought for half a second and said, “So idiots wouldn’t eat it.”
But this fellow often really did cut to the quick. He’d been staring into the abyss for quite a while, and sometimes he spotted things there. Then brought them out to show the rest of us, whether we wanted to see them or not.
Pack - Nerds - Time - Propositions - Style
Our undergrad pack of conservative nerds spent its time debating abstract propositions, in the style of the Oxford Student Union. No notes, no cards, no time limits. You just got up and delivered your opinion, then submitted to questions. Speeches could run from ten minutes to sometimes a groaning hour. When someone got tedious we would just wander to the bar for gin and tonics, or light more cigars, puffing the smoke up at the cavernous, carved Gothic ceilings.
One night the topic was abortion, and the lines in the Party divided quickly between the coke-snorting Jewish Randians and the Catholic virgins on massive financial aid. This fellow, however, had little patience for either faction. He stood up, and in lieu of a full-length speech, he simply puffed his cigarette, and offered an aphorism worthy of Zarathustra. “They’re only...
Wake Up To Breaking News!