Tomorrow in Colorado, the ashes of journalist Dr. Hunter S. Thompson will be blown out of a cannon in keeping with his wishes. I wrote the following last February, and I re-post it now in his memory.
We’re All Liars
It’s been a week since that glorious bastard, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, left this one-horse planet, blew this shitty pop stand, pulled the trigger, and got the hell out of here. I’m sad that he’s gone, I miss him already, but I don’t think he ever really liked it here anyway.
A lot has been written about him, especially since his death. He has been described as many things, but I think the most appropriate description is truth teller. He was a truth teller on a rampage. He saw a certain kind of truth, a raw truth, and it’s a hard thing to look at every day. It drove him nuts and pissed him off and he could only stand it by consuming massive amounts of mind-altering substances.
Yet he maintained enough sanity to write about what he saw. He maintained enough humanity to make it hysterically funny at times. Whatever faults he may have had, he was generous and kind enough to offer up his pain for our edification and amusement. It was a rare and valuable gift.
To understand what Hunter was seeing and telling us about in his writing, we have to acknowledge the fact that there are different levels of truth that sometimes contradict one another. One truth resides in reason and fact — the civilized truth. The other truth resides in instinct, emotion, and impulse — the raw truth.
In the world of the raw truth, we’re all liars. And the lie we’re always telling each other, as well as ourselves, is that we’re reasonable people. In the world of the civilized truth, this may actually be an honest assessment. Perhaps we are people who listen to others, consider before we act, have open minds and honest hearts. But in the world of raw truth, this is nothing more that window dressing.
The raw truth is made up of wholly unreasonable things. Sometimes it remains hidden, but other times it intrudes. Raw truth is birth, death, an orgasm, a life-threatening illness, a fist in the face, or an heroic rescue. We all recognize the elemental power of these moments. We understand them, but they can’t really be described, only experienced. And they’re usually not pretty.
But the raw truth is always there, under the surface, pushing and pulling at us, exerting its influence in all of our interactions. And this is how the raw truth makes liars out of us: I’m fine; you look great; of course I don’t mind; that seems like a good idea; no, I’m not angry; of course I’ll cooperate.
We repeat these lies day after day while inside, we agonize and gloat; the coward cringes and the killer seethes; the ravening beast wants more and the craven wretch plots its revenge.
It is the most secret part of us, sometimes the worst, but also the best because art and genius reside there too. Under the surface we find beautiful minds obsessing over mysteries, sensitive souls weeping at beauty, compassionate heroes willing to lend a helping hand, and brave hearts ready to do the right thing whatever the cost.
But this stuff, whether ugly or beautiful, is exhausting. You can no more be a beast or a sinner every day than you can be a hero or a saint. Sometimes we are more one of these things than the other, but they reside in us all to greater and lesser degrees. We can avoid our natures or remain true to them, but ultimately who we are as people depends on how well we do at taming ourselves.
The things that burn brightest cannot be sustained. If we all lived in the raw world, life would indeed be brutal and short. And since it tends to be easier to be bad, good usually ends up getting its ass kicked by the angry mob. So we had to find some way out of the raw world and we thought and formed words to symbolize those thoughts and we started communicating, compromising, and agreeing to certain rules, protocols, and formalities and constructed this veneer that we call civilization.
And while civilization may turn all of us into liars, it has its own truth. The truth of any civilization is the collective dreams and hopes of all of its people. When we observe a formality or hide a raw truth, at the same time we are agreeing to the noble purpose of the group. Civilization is a collective effort. Its truth only remains in our ability to sustain it.
And this is a good and worthy project. Over the long haul, our worth as people can be judged by how well and how often we participated — how much effort we put into sustaining our hopes and dreams. In fact, it may be the only thing that really counts, so far as I can tell.
But there is one danger with becoming too civilized. The danger is believing that it’s how things really are instead of the result of the collective works of the many. We long to put the raw truth behind us. To forget it or even deny it, so we need the Hunter Thompsons of this world to act as our emissaries. To show us the ugly bits we don’t want to see anymore.
And sometimes when surface appearance contradicts the inner workings, we need a man like that to tell us what’s really going on. It took someone like him to see a pleasant looking leader wearing a suit and tie, and call him a monster with blood dripping from his fangs.
And some of us would still deny the truths Hunter was showing us. We tend to scorn such men, calling them mad or calling them monsters. If they want to be listened to, they damned well better make it funny, because some of us don’t want to take this stuff seriously. But if Hunter saw fangs, I had more faith in that than my own flimsy perception of the suit.
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson spent most of his life here courageously staring into the gaping maw of the raw truth. He chased it, sought it, battled it, and told us what it was like. It was ugly and powerful and many didn’t believe him. He was a warrior engaged in a long, hard slog of getting to the truth. He didn’t get enough credit for his service. He fought bravely and well in exposing the truth and I hope he’s finally free of it.
(cross-posted from Unbossed)
