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The Verdict Is In (3b of X)

March 22, 2018

The Insatiables simply cannot get enough of what they very much want: money, and the personal pleasures that they like to buy with it, at whatever expense to everyone else: power and influence, room at the top and recognition by their peers there, privilege, an illusion of security.

The Insatiables are deeply into money. They have so much money that no amount can be enough, because in their lives money is only a number, an abstract comparative in the vacuous imagination of their symbology. Their only meaningful number is their highest number, which must be surpassed. If their number is 22,987,566,000, it must be growing to 22,987,666,000 or they feel unfulfilled, unstable, not quite real, maybe even at risk.

Like the Despicables, Insatiables will comfortably kill to get what they want.

They are the Riggers of the world. To their minds, the keys to the value of other persons is the amount of their own wealth that they must transfer to such other persons in return for service in helping generate more wealth for themselves, and the amount of the other persons money that can be transferred to them. That monetary value translates into general intrinsic human value only in so far as humans are necessary to perform that wealth-generating service. A life of wealth among wealth-generating robots would be (maybe will be) more convenient.

It’s my impression that many of the Insatiables are Libertarians, and that many Libertarians are insatiable. Emptiness hurts. An insatiable ego is an empty self.

As St. Paul tells it in his “Letter to the Congregation at Davos,” 6:66-69 (Brand New American Bible, 1981):

A multibillionaire (USD) came to Jesus and said, “Lord, I want to get into Heaven if I die. Tell me what I should do, just in case.” And Jesus said unto him, “Look, there’s no free lunch.  Let’s check out what you really want. Tell your man to fire your accountants and give all your numbers to the people who don’t even have an account.” But the multibillionaire was on his way to a dinner, and he was afraid that without his numbers he would not be recognized at the gate.

Here I want to quote, again, the classic, haunting Fitzgerald, near the end of GG:  “They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made. . . .”

And there are characters like Jeff and Mark. . . .  If I were making this up, not lying but imagining fictive characters who could dramatize their part of the deeper reality of human experience in a crazy world, they would be characters who mask their lust for wealth (hiding it even from themselves, perhaps, or at least justifying its destructiveness) with a vociferous claim to be doing something wonderful for humanity.  And like F’s narrator, I would find it hard to shake their hands; and if I did, under the quotidian obligation of our peaceable perspective of our commonality, I would find solace in knowing them clearly, so as to seek the bittersweet equanimity that is offered by the flow of time.  And breath.

[Pages (3a) and (3c).]

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