The Boredom of History
It sets on like a cold sweat. So what? It don’t mean a thing, with or without that swing. Religious values can get you through the night and up in the morning. Nice for you, but it just might not mean anything.
Maybe I should not staff cocktail parties with diplomats. Last night, an ambassador from the middle-east spoke in the parlor of a modest little taj mahal in Beverly Hills. He was impressive. The invitation-only schmooze-op consisted mainly of wealthy and influential Jewish laypeople, and he was to come here and speak about middle-eastern politics, Hamas, the recent bombings, and Iran. He would present the point of view of nations who oppose Israel on some issues.
The Ambassador (a prince) showed up in an English-cut suit, speaking English like a soft-spoken scholar, and treated potentially controversial topics with such gentleness and dignity that he won friends even among those who disagreed with his views. He arrived at the house with no staff, not even security, and he rang the doorbell to be admitted. The host sized him up and said, "How are we supposed to address you?" (We had been told to address him as "Your Royal Highness.") The Prince said, "Call me anything." As he began his presentation, rain fell outside and there were frequent roils of thunder.
The discussion was very pragmatic. No good news in the middle east, few silver linings. Servants offered hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Wealthy industrialists
were helped to their seats by wives much younger than them. There was
laughter, gossip about families, talk of golf handicaps and basketball scores, and the admiration of the exotic-looking fish in the fountain in the front yard.
It was the sort of evening that gets politicos and wonks all a-pother: lots of dispassionate talk about big issues, influential people in the room to mingle with, opportunities to forge new alliances. This is where policy gets moved and alliances are formed - not in the public view, but on golf courses or over lunch. The transactions of wealth, power, sex, and death are not sentimental. There is nothing idealistic in the push and pull of political pressure. Not once in the conversation did human love or grace or God manifest in the discussion. The cold chill of nihilistic realpolitik was not soothed by all the hardwood furniture and floral paintings, nor by all the coffee I drank. I left at 9:00 PM feeling empty, as the bright red fish darted around in their fountain.
Human beings are funny creatures. And we are consistent. In spite of all our pretexts and doctrines and dreams, the real business of human life is eating, sex, and death, and we carry on. So will I.
